A Little Bit of Heaven in The Kruger Park
Sabiepark is a wonderful, undiscovered place. On the way to the Kruger Park, the thatched roof houses amid marulas, jackalberrys, knob-thorns, buffalo-thorns, weeping boerbeans, and a host of other of the ±400 kinds of Bushveld trees on the right-hand side of the road, elicit curious glances. If one travels westward on the S3 dirt road in the park, all along the river, one marvels at the green-green oasis of the picnic spot, and wonder about the speckled houses of the riparians along the first few kilometres of the route.
Welcome to Sabiepark. This Lowveld Eden on the northern bank of the Sabie River covers an area of 338 hectares, stretching from the fertile Lisbon Estate eastward as far as the Kruger Gate. Here, among the trees, where more or less 250 head of game graze unhindered around the houses, the owners of some 270 properties staked their claims. Some of the houses are large and imposing, others are small and modest. Many are innovatively hidden on even obscured from the road. The most of them are intimately blended with the surrounds.
Sabiepark’s picnic spot is its “flagship”
Enormous Natal mahogany trees, sycamore figs, jackalberrys and sausage-trees cast their shade over a carpet of green lawn and neat braai-places built with bricks and railway sleepers. The Sabie River dashes over a rocky bank on its way to Mozambique. On the other side lies the Kruger Park. A glorious afternoon pastime it is to sit, with binoculars, a bird book and a bottle of cold white wine (or flask of coffee, if you prefer), on a camp stool or a piece of tree trunk along the bank, and to savour the peace of nature.
In order to discover the secrets of Sabiepark, however, one requires a visitors’ permit from a home-owner. The Shangaan gate wardens are wide awake. Nelson, Solly and Thomas will not be fooled by clever talk. Sabiepark jealously guards its peace and quiet. And its privacy. Even an owner cannot simply enter the office to ask the address of a co-owner. One needs to obtain permission first.
About two kilometres before one gets to the Kruger Gate, is the ornate gateway of Sabiepark with its zebra emblem, half hidden behind a hedge some 50 metres from the tarred road. Behind the gate, man and nature live in harmony. Man realises he is an intruder. The vast majority bow to the demands. Therefore they support and adhere to the strict rules which outsiders sometimes find difficult to understand. Home-owners may for example only occupy their bush kingdoms four months a year. For eight months their houses are locked up. This is the price to pay for exclusivity. In this way the restful character is maintained and too many demands are not made on the infrastructure.
Trees, plants and shrubs are not chopped down; wild animals or birds are not hunted or disturbed. Pets, fire-arms, loud music and hunting lamps – even picking up firewood in the veld – are taboo. The houses have no electricity. At night, the moonlight, campfires, solar power, gas or paraffin lamps and lanterns provide light.
In Sabiepark dreams and reality have become reconciled. The late Werner Ackerman, a far-seeing businessman, had dreamt of such a haven, far from the clamour of the city; a place where the animal and plant kingdom could remain unscathed as far as possible, and where tired souls could charge their batteries in peace. This ideal took wing when the citrus estate Lisbon on the Sabie River (owner: David Graaff Foods Pty. Ltd) was auctioned in 1973. Part of this estate was a patch of pristine Bushveld on the Sabie River, known as the “Sanctuary” of Sir David Graaff, elder brother of the erstwhile political leader Sir De Villiers Graaff. Ackerman immediately saw the possibilities. He invited businessmen Albert Wessels, Jan de Necker and Daantjie du Preez as well as a surveyor, Phil Jooste, to join forces. This consortium became the new owners of Lisbon (which they sold after a few years) and of Graaff’s Sanctuary – the future Sabiepark.
Shortly afterwards, the new tarred road from Hazyview to Kruger Gate was completed. In this way the “Sanctuary” was amputated from the Sabi Sand Game Reserve, with which it had formed a unit. This valuable off-cut virtually enclosed by the Kruger and the Sabi Sand was not really suitable for farming. It was, however, eminently ideal for the establishment of a nature and game conservation unit.
Extensive research and lengthy negotiations with the then province of Transvaal followed. After that, the five founders moved fast. Jooste – he and De Necker remained owners well into the new millennium – was the city planner of Klerksdorp. He subdivided the area into erven of about one hectare each. Services were provided, and the picturesque picnic area was developed. Sir David’s “Sanctuary” would soon become a shrine for more people. Marketing could commence.
In newspapers one could read reports under headings such as “Exclusive pleasure garden in pristine Bushveld”, “Your own game park on your stoep”, “Most exclusive holiday resort in SA”, “Most unique town in the country”, “This is the way to live”. With amazement people read of aerial photos provided to architects in order that they could place houses judicially among marked trees, and of homes built around trees to preserve them. They learnt that right of admission would be strictly enforced to prevent the development from becoming “a camping spot for all and sundry”. The piece de resistance was that game could walk freely in the park; no house would be fenced in.
Not everybody was immediately pleased. In certain quarters Sabiepark was branded a “parasite sponging on the Kruger Park”. Other critics complained that Transvaal was “already pock-marked with speculative townships” and that Sabiepark was trying to grab “holy ground” for development. A third group was concerned about “laying the table for extreme confrontation between man and dangerous animals”. Not all the criticism was ill-founded. Although the Sabiepark concept was basically sound, confrontation did actually take place between man and beast. In addition, the new bridge across the Sabie River was not utilised only by tourists. Game-resistant hedges on both sides of the road virtually formed a tunnel along which predators and other game could “migrate”.
Sabiepark was relatively rich in game, and new blood was introduced from time to time. The area invited quite a number of lion and leopard. Hungry predators and naive visitors formed a dangerous combination. Poaching by people of Hazyview, white and black, was another headache. The tarred road made it easier for poachers, and drastic measures had to be taken to deter them. Not only unwelcome predators became the target of the rifle-fire of Ian Crabtree and his successor, his son Derek, but poachers too. Crabtree junior at one stage had to follow the trail of game rustlers for 20 kilometres through dense Bushveld – a daunting task.
Buyers, however, were plentiful: initially only South Africans, but later on more and more from America, Britain, Canada, the Emirates – all bound by one nationalism: their love of nature. For many of the first owners, their hectare in Sabiepark was much more than a mere winter holiday destination. It was their “own Bushveld farm”, the fulfilment of a traditional longing for a heritage which could pass to succeeding generations. To buyers from overseas, the unrefined Bushveld was “the real thing”, an irreplaceable piece of wilderness. Many present owners still see their property in exactly the same light. When they think of their houses with happy names like Bosplesier (Bush delight), Boskasteel (Bush castle), Hakuna Matata (Nothing wrong, here), Piekfyn (Damn fine), Leeuplesier (Lion’s delight), Grensloos (Boundless), Hemel-op-aarde (Heaven on earth) and Netreg (Just right), they do not think in terms of commercial value. To them their properties are a gift from God, in the same form that He originally gave nature to man. Something with eternal value. Capital gain is not calculated in rand and cents, but in sustenance for the soul.
Why someone would ever want to leave this idyllic haven, nobody knows. One of the first owners, Faan Meintjes of Klerksdorp, realised his error, when in a moment of folly, he sold his large thatched house along the river with a view of the bridge and Coert Steynberg’s famous Paul Kruger statue. He immediately offered the new owner double the price he received, but the buyer wasn’t interested.
Another owner advertised his property a few years ago as follows: “Sabiepark nestles in the pristine, native Eastern Transvaal Bushveld. This paradise along the Sabie River is a stone’s throw from the Kruger Park, near Hazyview, Graskop, Pilgrim’s Rest and Blydepoort. The property is fenced by the Bushveld and offers unbelievable hiking opportunities along the Sabie River. Game and bird life abound. Big game can be met face to face. Ideal for the 4x4 enthusiast, the nature lover or people who want to escape from the hectic city life. The property lies within the high security area of Sabiepark and offers admission to a large, attractive swimming pool, tennis courts and picnic spot on the river bank.”
If this sounds like a little bit of heaven – to every Sabieparker “a little bit of heaven” is an apt description. And no wonder. Like the enthusiastic hikers Kapous and Leonara Mouton of Vreklekker (erf 169 in Wildevy Avenue) – Glorious or Delicious, will be good translations of their house’s name – you may meet thirteen species in one day. Or nine species in an hour – like the Van Deventers on a short afternoon stroll. Extremely lucky people, Sarel and Julie van Vuuren of C’est la Vie (erf 233, off Apiesdoring Avenue), had a rare experience when from their front stoep they watched two aggressive bushbuck rams in a fight to death. The loser died a few metres away of a pierced lung. That evening a leopard came to fetch the buck, and dragged it deeper into the bush. But then the hyenas arrived. Four of them. Throughout the night the Van Vuurens could hear the sounds of the feast. The next morning there was virtually nothing left of the buck.
Every house has its own waterhole. Even giraffe come to bend their knees to drink right next to your house. All the other bushfolk, from purplecrested louries to baboons, regularly drop in for a few sips. Warthogs dive head first into the cool water. Our waterhole is less than ten metres from the front stoep – just close enough to our bedroom that we can hear the snorts and gobbles at night.
At every occupied house there’s a regular campfire
Around the fire, under the brightest, brightest of stars, many Sabiepark stories are retold – stories of the veld, animal dramas, the good old days – stories of lions and leopards, elephants, boas and deadly spitting cobras, of fright and anxiety, of catches and rescues. Staring into the firelight, one is carried away by the sounds of life in the bush. Hippos perform uproariously. Buck snort nervously when danger threatens. Hyenas call and howl mournfully. At times, a lion roars continually from (hopefully) beyond the boundary fence.
If you have a copy of a good bird guide (e.g. Roberts or Newman), you could identify more than 100 different kinds of birds: large ones like storks, eagles and vultures, and small ones like red-billed queleas that fly past in huge swarms that darken the sky. Even the rare, scarlet narina trogon, which normally keeps in dense forest, might flash from time to time, from branch to branch. Steven James of Hogwarts (erf 270, off Wildevy Avenue), an owner from the Emirates, boast a record 146 species in a day. He thinks he could do better. His aim is 165 plus.
You need not be an expert to be bewitched by the melancholic call of the fish-eagle or the song of the large ringdove, or to try and follow the flight of the purplecrested lourie by its “kock-kock-kock” calls. Even a visit by a swarm of guineafowl or a family of crested francolins is always a welcome bonus.
CAPTION: VISTA on the Kruger Park – Riaan, Riana, Rickus and Xander Prinsloo enjoy the view from the Sabiepark lookout across the Sabie River (new image – hvd)
Piet van Wyk’s Field Guide to the Trees of Kruger National Park will assist the reader to discover and enjoy the wealth of our trees. The knob-thorn (“national” tree of our erf) is the favourite of giraffe, in spite of the vicious, hard thorns. One can learn to distinguish between the white raisin, silver raisin and giant raisin and between the red bush-willow and the russet bush-willow, between the large-fruited bush-willow and round-leaved kiaat; or between the Transvaal gardenia and the Lowveld milkberry; between the aroma of the potatobush (pure baked potato), sicklebush (known as the Christmas tree of the Bushveld, on account of its purple and yellow “lanterns”), the red bush-willow in the afternoon or the snuff-box tree in the morning. You’ll discover with joy that the black monkey orange, tar-chestnut, caterpillar-bean, zebrawood and sjambok pod grow in your own backyard. Surely, this is a world of trees, second to none.
Around my home, I have already identified and numbered almost as many trees as the sum total of the 35 species of trees on the British Isles. The Bushveld “roads” of Sabiepark have all been given Afrikaans names of trees. We live in Wildevy (common wild fig). We travel via Apiesdoring (monkey tree) to Maroela (marula), which is the “main road” of the park. There is also Ghwarriebos (magic guarri), Appelblaar (apple-leaf), Knoppiesdoring (knob-thorn), Kiaat (kiaat), Boerboon (boer-bean), Worsboom (sausage-tree) and Tambotie (tamboti)
The heart of Sabiepark is the picnic spot. Inhabitants call it “the river” – their river. “Meet you at the river”. It is like a street address, but it has no postal code! The picnic spot has a neat entrance gate, covered by a thatched roof. Outside is the natural bush; inside an evergreen, scintillating pleasure spot – summer or winter. Here the hippos play in the clear water, adventurous elephants could cross the river in search of greener pastures, or a motley crowd of Kruger inhabitants come for a drink. Above fish-eagles circle. An assortment of kingfishers criss-cross like helicopters, to dive down like lightning to catch their breakfast. Buffaloes, elephants and hippos – three VIP’s of the animal world – have appeared within the space of ten minutes, to charm our guests. For any visitor it is a never-to-be-forgotten experience.
Sometimes nothing happens for hours. But when it’s your lucky day, you can experience exceptional surprises. Tokkie and I had one on a lazy afternoon in the winter of 2003. We were sitting alone at a lookout. We were wondering what people in two safari vehicles on the S3 across the river were watching, and searched through our binoculars. “Look there,” I called after a while. “There is a lion.” It was a female. The shade of a tree acted as efficient camouflage. Tokkie could not spot her immediately. I explained. She kept searching. Eventually: “Yes, I have him.” Then. “He’s looking at us.” “Yes, I see,” I said. The next moment a male lion stood up next to one of the Land Rovers and moved in the tall grass, rubbing against the vehicle. “There’s another one,” I called. “Where, where?” And then: “But that’s the one I have been watching all along.” Only then did we realise: each of us had been watching a different lion.
In June 2004 a small group of Sabieparkers stood petrified when a troop of twenty wild dogs cornered a waterbuck at the river. The buck bleated anxiously when the bloodthirsty hunters tackled her from all sides. Within minutes the buck had been torn to shreds.
The picnic spot is the entrance to the sought-after Sabiepark hikers’ trail which runs for more than a kilometre along the river in the direction of the Kruger Bridge. The river is the boundary of the Kruger Park. As soon as you enter the hikers’ trail, you are in dangerous territory. The knowledge that you may not be alone, that the eyes of all kinds of predators could be watching you, could cause discomfort or a surge of adrenalin. At the entrance is a warning: “Here you enter at your own risk. At any moment you could be in danger.” And that’s the way it is.
Until the floods of February 2000 (read the chapter A Farmer’s Fear) the hikers’ trail was a green tunnel between two shady avenues. Everywhere in the soft soil dozens of game tracks could be seen – hooves and pads. Lions, leopards, cheetahs and hyenas shared the area with elephants, hippos, buffalo, kudu, waterbuck and bushbuck. In the gigantic fig trees vultures built their nests. Baboons played on bush-rope. Vervet monkeys chatted with the joy of life. On the ground you had to look out for crocodiles, large otters, iguanas and all kinds of snakes. This was indeed “holy ground”, requiring one to put down your strong hiking boots with respect.
But during the flood – the worst in human memory – the trail was destroyed. Afterwards it resembled a wasteland of devastated trees, branches, driftwood and sandbanks as far as the eye could see. The worst carnage wrought by the angry water was concentrated here, more than anywhere else. For two years the beloved trail was impassable and out of bounds. Only in July 2002 a “new” hikers’ trail was opened*, still rough and barren. But recovering. New young trees are hiding the wounds caused by the Great Flood. River bush-willow, matumi and water-elder are thriving. Thorn trees are back. So is wild life. And a bonus is that bank activity on the opposite side is much more visible than before. To regain the old glory but halfway, will take a long time, however. Trees that cast long shadows don’t grow overnight.
· The “new” hikers’ trail was closed in 2004 as a result of the regular presence of buffalo. Heavy rain caused prolific growth along the river bank. Because of the high risk of meeting dangerous animals, this temporary closing became an undetermined closure. At the time of writing, hikes along the river banks were still taboo.