When The River Runs Wild

The Great Floods of 2011 fell upon a searing hot Bushman Land like an all-consuming python. Karoo Space followed the Orange River from the Gariep Dam to the Augrabies Falls.

The Floating Sheep

I was walking my dog TwoPack down by the Great Fish River one morning in January when I saw a dead sheep float by.

The bloated Dorper’s passage – and the German Shepherd’s barks of protest - then drew my attention to the very high waters of the Fish.

The next day, fellow photographer Ryno Ferreira and I drove up to the Gariep Dam to see what all this high-water fuss was about.

A Dam in Full

The normally majestic dam was simply awesome, filled to 115 percent capacity, and its sluices were wide open. We’d never seen such water force before and right there, in the spray and with the dam wall vibrating through our boots, we decided to follow the Orange River down to where the Big Snake sleeps: the Augrabies Falls.

The year 2011 began with floods all over the world: Australia, the Philippines, Brazil, Sri Lanka. La Nina. Climate change. And my mates in Jo’burg said they hadn’t had a sunny day in ages.

The up-country rains and flood surges had turned the Vaal River into a fat, treacherous python as well. It joined its Orange River brother at Douglas and together they flowed into the thirstlands of the west, devouring grapes by the vineyard as they passed through soetwyn country.

Passing Prieska

The rains don’t normally fall in this part of the Northern Cape in January. Many of the vineyards were fat with grapes not ready for picking yet. If the floods had come a month later, most of the grape stocks might have been harvested. Terrible timing.

On the N10, our first sight of a swollen Orange River was at Prieska, from the hilltop heights where an old Boer War blockhouse – made of tiger’s eye – stands flanked by two quiver trees.

There was no panic in the streets, however. Prieska welcomes water. It’s so dry out there that the goats kiss each other for spit. But reports from the air revealed extensive flood damage in the area.

Rotting Grapes

When we arrived at Groblershoop, the southern gateway to the Orange River Wine Route, we could smell the rotting grapes.

Radio Sonder Grense, our travelling flood info service, told us 11 people had been evacuated from Kanon Eiland. Food parcels were being dropped by military helicopters. In Keimoes alone, more than 500 houses had been damaged by the floods and all along the route, bridges were under water. Damage to the grape crops and general infrastructure was estimated at between R100 million and R1 billion.

Early reports indicated that the government would offer some compensation for damaged infrastructure but not for crop damage. This enraged farmers along the lower Orange, who said the impact of the floods could have been mitigated with better floodgate management at the dams. Sputnik Ratau, who spoke for the Department of Water and Environmental Affairs, insisted the whole thing was a ‘natural disaster’.

Conservationist and author Pieter van der Walt describes the Orange River islands eloquently in his book, Augrabies Splendour:

“Dream islands with ample grazing and rich soil. Where many a crop variety flourishes and droughts are not feared – but, oh, the floods that destroy farming achievements!”

A Python Comes to Upington

We drove into Upington. The caravan park was in deluge. The main bridge traffic was like the Concrete Highway at rush hour. But the sight of the Orange, South Africa’s Mother River, was something to behold.

Imagine a very thick greeny-brown python slithering through your living room, from the front door into the passage of your home. You’re on the couch, watching. At first, the movement of the snake seems slow, rhythmical. You are mesmerised. But just leave it be. If you try to hold it, you will find out just how fast this python is moving. You will feel its immense strength.

That’s how it was with the flooding Orange, in January. Some locals fell in and were never heard of again.

The people of the Great Karoo have flash floods. A storm breaks, the normally-dry river turns into a raging monster, people die, lose their homes and possessions and then tomorrow morning it’s all quiet again. Bar the lingering nightmares.

Up in Bushman Land, where the Orange flows, the floodwaters rise slowly. It’s a deceptive, deadly flood.

Flood Carnival

We were headed west, to Kakamas, via Kanon Eiland, Keimoes and a host of little worker-settlements beginning with Louisvale. Grapelands stretched over the horizon and it was clear that this industry had matched its river for magnitude and market force.

Despite the fact that the livelihoods of many of the seasonal fruit workers were now in dire jeopardy, a carnival atmosphere reigned. Kids were playing in the side-spills and canals, chasing crabs and posing for flood tourists who had come from all over to see the rising waters. It was a beautiful day for a swim: the Bushman Land heat clasped us in a muggy bear hug. I felt like dropping boots and gear and joining the chillums. But I would have looked dead silly, so I didn’t.

Up the road at Keimoes, however, there were fewer inhibitions. A cluster of cheery locals – possibly fortified with late-afternoon libations – were dive-bombing off a little bridge into one of the canals.

It was quite hard to imagine that, just over the hill, emergency services were struggling to find missing islanders, ferrying the ones they could locate to safety and feeding hundreds of stranded villagers.

Living by the River

If it all sounds a little cavalier to you, just remember: this community has lived by the river for many generations. To them, the river is everything. It is food, drink, entertainment and fear. They watch its moods and seasons constantly. It’s better value than all the TV channels in the world. It blesses and it bites.

To get an idea of the recent history of Mankind and the Orange River in flood, read Carel Birkby’s Thirstland Treks. He talks about the New Year’s Eve floods of 1934. Even then, the SA Air Force dropped food parcels (called ‘manna bombs’) on the islands between Upington and Kakamas. There was a disaster management system in place as the rushing water ripped out the crops on its way to Alexander Bay. Stranded people gathered on the high ground in churches and waited to be ferried out to safety.

Rescue Rubber Ducks

“The drama of the Cannon Island rescues held the countryside spellbound for days,” writes Birkby. “One crazy motor boat had been pressed into service; a battered thing it was, made of sheet-iron, powered with the engine taken from an old car that had given up the ghost after many a desert journey.”

At Kakamas, we went down to the blocked-off bridge, where a police rubber duck was ferrying people across the waters. One grateful worker dug deep into his pockets and offered the surprised cop some change as a reward.

“No man, I don’t need taxi fare,” the policeman said. And off they sped, past the ruined grapes and over the swollen river.

Pienk Padstal

Just near the river stood Die Pienk Padstal, which acted as Flood Central for curious tourists. In the tea garden, there were wall displays of number plates gathered over the years from who knows where. There was a plaque commemorating the high-water mark of the 1988 floods, that infamous 1-in-200 year event. No one told the January 2011 flood it had come a full 178 years too early.

Augrabies in the Mist

But the real drama lay north of Kakamas, at the dramatic Augrabies Falls. There was hardly a bed to be had in the area, the national park itself was booked out for the week, and day visitors like us parked in a long queue to gain entrance. And even then, once we were within sight of the falls, we could not actually see them. The best Falls photographs were taken a few days later, when the water and the spray had subsided a little.

The regular walkways from where I normally photograph the famous flat lizards were blocked off and drenched with spray. The said lizards and attendant dassies and baboons had all ducked – too many tourists, I think they said.

But just being there and seeing the Bridal Veils was pleasure enough. After taking a couple of shots, we packed our cameras away and just stood in the spray, sharing a delicious shower with a whole bunch of folks we didn’t even know...

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