The Drakensberg: The Dragon Mountains. Ominous and foreboding: this was the mountain hideaway the cowardly Boer were making for. Having tasted the sharp end of our assault, they had turned tail and scurried for the rocky peaks of Southern Africa's highest mountain range. There was no choice: we had to pursue them. But to do so meant traversing the kingdom of the Zulu...
The Kingdom of the Zulu.
Girding our loins, we headed for a new base camp: Cayley Lodge. Surrounded by impassable mountains and water, the Lodge was an excellent strategic location selected by Mother to continue the campaign against the filthy Boer. It was tactically enhanced by the availability of miniature golf, a well-stocked bar and a swimming pool.
View from the Observation Post.
A number of punitive expeditions against the Boer guerillas were undertaken from Cayley Forward HQ. For the first of these we employed the services of a local guide who was able to take us deep into the heart of enemy territory.
Ever resourceful, he was able to show us some pristine examples of ancient Bushman rock art...
The enemy is sighted!
Mark shouting "Why I oughta...!"
Scorched earth policy.
Danger was of course ever present, and a sharp look out was maintained at all times.
"Where are those pesky Boers?" A tussle ensued, and the men fought bravely. We took our first casualty when a Boer .303 nicked Mark on the hand.
Mark shouting "Why I oughta...!"
Yellow-bellied as they are, the Boer hastily beat a retreat, refusing to stand and fight like soldiers. There was nothing for it but to put their land to the torch.
Scorched earth policy.
Mark and Fiona celebrate our victory, and Alex in a contemplative mood.
To the victors the spoils.
We were running low on supplies. The pilchards we'd purchased in Barberton with the baby had been used to build a defensive structure and most had been damaged or destroyed during the Boer attack. It was time to head for the nearest trading post to stock up!
Food for the lads.
A warning to outsiders? Some kind of cult shrine? We still don't know...
Those damn giraffe! They get pissed up, think they're OK to drive, and see what happens...
Alex arguing with a trader about the price of ivory and glass beads.
2 comments:
I bet reading this is making Herr Doktor Clay as a sick as a parrot. I hope he's weeping himself to sleep in his crappy 'Germany'
These photos are obviously just a photoshop job of your holiday snaps from Devon a few years back.
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