Over the weekend of 18-19 November 2006, I led a hike to Zulu Cave in the Monk’s Cowl Wilderness Area. We took the most direct route via Hlatikulu Nek and then down the Mhlwazini River.
Our large group of 12 enjoyed the spring flowers and quartz crystals, but we were also entertained by the South African Air Force (SAAF). 87 Helicopter Flying School based at AFB Bloemspruit outside Bloemfontein had some of its brand new Agusta A109 Light Utility Helicopters flying in the area. They were doing mountain training flights out of the SAAF’s satellite base at the Dragon Peaks Mountain Resort. This base is also used by Durban-based No. 15 Squadron‘s Oryx helicopters for their mountain training, and most importantly for search and rescue in this area of the Natal Drakensberg.
Being an avid aviation enthusiast myself, I was quite spellbound by the antics of the Agustas. They were flying up the Mhlwazini Valley from the Brotherton Store area at very low level, slapping the air in a tight 90° turn at Eagle Gorge, and then climbing steeply up towards Intunja (Gatberg) and the escarpment beyond. Then they would dive off the escarpment and come whizzing back past us almost within arm’s reach. Another favourite was an energy-loss manoeuvre, where they would pull into a tight 360° turn over the campsites at the river crossing below Intunja, lowering their undercarriage as they did so and completing the turn in a hover.
Our main objective for this hike was to summit Intunja and also traverse into its hole. Both require a steady nerve and a head for heights. SAAF helicopters quite often touch down on the summit of Intunja, so I was hoping we were not going to be competing for space with the Agustas. I was also concerned that they might cause a distraction when we could least afford this. I was sure they would not deliberately fly over us while we were teetering on a free-standing mountain top, because their downdraught could be disastrous.
We left Zulu Cave early on Sunday morning and headed up towards Intunja. My approach involves climbing about halfway up Intunja with our backpacks, and then leaving them where the path from the campsites reaches the ridge.
As usual, a willing volunteer or two stayed with our backpacks as the rest of us made our way up Intunja. There is a pair of crows living in the area that will ransack any unattended backpacks. I learned this the hard way on a previous occasion when we saw them going into our packs while we stood helpless on the summit of Intunja. They also know how to undo zips using their beaks, so nothing is sacrosanct. On cue, they arrived as we started our final ascent, squawking loudly about their lack of fortune as only crows can.
After our successful summit, some of us traversed into the hole. This is the scariest bit and there is no room for error. Then we descended back down, collected our packs, and started the ridge descent down to the river. This is a knee-jolter all the way until you cross a small tributary. In fact, the first 100 metres or so of this ridge are also a real hair-raiser.
On reaching the tributary, one would think that the worst is over, but crossing the stream is a little tricky and many will have quite wobbly legs by now. There is also the risk of relaxing a little too much now that the worst of the descent is behind you.
We had a firefighter in our group named Cindy, and somehow she slipped while crossing the stream, took a serious wipeout and injured her ankle. After doing a self-assessment, her first aid skills told her she had actually broken it. She could not put any weight on it, so now we were in a pickle – except that, after a late Sunday morning start, the SAAF was flying directly over us again.
We left a small group with our injured hiker near the tributary, on a flat area where a helicopter could land, and the rest of us moved down to the main river crossing where I knew we would be more easily seen by the aircrew – if they even had any interest in us. Each time they flew over us, we tried to draw their attention but we did not have any flares so this really was just a hope. SAAF regulations would probably prohibit them from landing and picking up an injured hiker without us going through the official channels anyway.
There is no cell phone signal in this section of the Mhlwazini Valley, so now we had to send runners ahead of us, spacing them out along the path up to Hlatikulu Nek. My instruction was for them to contact Dragon Peaks and ask their management to tell the SAAF there that we needed help. Having a solid diagnosis by a trained medic was a bonus. I based myself in the river, protecting backpacks from those pesky crows that were already in attendance, acting as the go-between for our two groups, and trying to signal the passing helicopters.
After about an hour, the advance party returned smiling, saying that the SAAF was on its way. After another 30 minutes we heard the thrash of rotor blades and an Agusta appeared, this time approaching more slowly with its gear already down. I stood on the bedrock in the middle of the widest section of the river and pointed to the location of our injured hiker with both arms, but I don’t know if they ever noticed me. They did not have a winch, and about the only place they could land was where we had left our patient. I had already briefed everyone there to stack their backpacks and other gear far from where the helicopter would most likely land, and also to remove any loose clothing like hats and caps so that these did not get sucked through the tail rotor blades. Within 2 minutes, Cindy and her backpack were loaded into the helicopter and they were on their way back to Dragon Peaks.
When we arrived back at the Monk’s Cowl car park, Cindy was already there waiting for us. A big, burly pilot had loaded her into a vehicle and she had been driven back to our cars. She said everyone at the SAAF base was very excited because this was the first rescue involving their new Agusta helicopters.
