‘Hell, the Transkei is a big bloody place,’ says Mark, my father-in-law and co-pilot. We’ve just crested a ridge of hills and are gazing out over endless valleys, with huts scattered here and there amongst acacia scrubland and pockets of indigenous forest. It’s not the first time he has uttered these words, and he’s got a point. The Transkei is vast; (4.3 million acres) and even if you limit yourself to the aptly named Wild Coast, it’s not easy to get a grip on where to go and what to see. This is why it makes sense to join an organised trip, like the one we find ourselves on – the Cederberg 4×4 Wild Coast Tour. Planned and run by experienced 4×4 veteran, Coenie Moll, the trip acts as an excellent introduction to the area, unveiling some of its more interesting roads and tracks and taking in a number of Transkei highlights.Words and pictures by Stephen Smith.
After meeting and greeting in Morgan Bay, the perfect place from which to launch an intrepid foray into the Transkei, we wake up to mist, drizzle and wind. Brilliant – we’ve managed to hit the very last cold front of winter. Hopefully the howling winds will push it ahead of us and we’ll spend at least some of our time under the sun. As I stroll along the lagoon drinking my coffee, a flight of four Crowned Cranes glides silently out of the mist, landing on the lawn in front of me. One of them hops onto a braai in search of scraps. Soon, though, it’s time for our early morning meeting, and then we’re off. We leave Morgan Bay on a rough dirt back-road that takes us to Kei Mouth, and then to the bank of the river. There we park and wait for the ferry, looking over the water and into the Transkei.
A ferry always adds an element of adventure – you’re going somewhere where they haven’t even built a bridge! There are two simple ferries in operation, bustling backward and forward, and our convoy is soon over the ‘border’ and into the Transkei. Our drive is only 30 kilometres or so; Coenie has said that it’ll take us three hours, ‘…but we’ll definitely be there in time for a pub lunch’. With that sort of average speed, it sounds like more adventure is on the cards. At the top of a hill, Coenie turns right, following a sign that says ‘Trennerys Hotel – Mountain Bikes Only’. An hour-and-a-half later, we’ve travelled probably 8 kilometres. The track is narrow (as mountain bike tracks are, I suppose) and very rocky, and the solitary caravan in our convoy is taking a beating on a short, very steep bit of boulder-strewn track. The red Jeep in front of it isn’t having that great a time either, although the driver is taking it all in his stride and with a patience that is totally foreign to me. He hasn’t kicked anything yet, raised his voice or even thrown anything. Admirable restraint under the circumstances, I feel.
