On one of my Grand Traverses, I was sitting huddled against a rock at the top of Bannerman Pass, awaiting the arrival of our resupply team. A cold wind was blowing. Suddenly, a long pink tongue curled under the peak of my cap and almost lifted it off my head. I looked up into the face of a large dog, whose nearest relative must have been an Irish wolfhound. He had a coarse, curly ginger coat, and other than his unkempt appearance, he was a fine looking fellow. His stump tail was wobbling uncontrollably. I wondered where he had come from. He could have been a Basotho shepherd’s dog that had grown tired of the harsh lifestyle and opted out when he saw the chance. Or he could have been a farmer’s dog that had got lost chasing Basotho dogs or buck onto the escarpment.
“Buddy”, as someone named him, decided to tag along for the rest of our traverse southwards, continuing on with us past Sani Pass and ignoring the warm fires and nice lady dogs there. He was good company, and there were just enough scraps after dinner every day to keep him fed to his satisfaction. That year was a particularly dry traverse, and our only problem with Buddy was that he always got to water before we did, and then stomped around in it. One of our team members took such a liking to Buddy that he took him home with him after the traverse. I assume that Buddy lived out the rest of his days in his new master’s large backyard.
On another occasion, I did a traverse from Sani Mountain Lodge Backpackers to Bushman’s Nek. There used to be a large black dog at the backpackers that looked like a Newfoundland or Saint Bernard. He was very promiscuous and probably died of exhaustion, because I haven’t seen him there on recent visits. On this occasion though, when we headed out towards Hodgson’s Peaks in the morning, we were accompanied by two other Basotho dogs. They were of medium size but one had very short fur while the other was quite woolly. They were the best of friends to each other.
We assumed that at some stage the two dogs would turn around and head for home, but they did not. It was getting towards winter and they stayed with us in the tunnel at Sandleni Cave. The following night they stayed with us at Mzimude Cave which is quite exposed and it was very cold. The less well-clad dog was whimpering, so we covered her with a spare groundsheet and she settled down. We fed them what we could from our meagre rations.
The next day we headed towards Thomathu village in Lesotho. Some ladies and girls were in the fields harvesting wheat with sickles, while a few young men stood by waiting to take the sheaths back to the village on sleds pulled by oxen. As usual they had dogs with them, so we started growing concerned about the potential for a dog fight. However, the Basothos had complete control over their dogs and after some initial disturbance they all settled down, although “our” ones were looking nervous and stayed close by our feet.
We had been wondering what we were going to do with our two companions. Dogs are not allowed in Ezemvelo KZN Wildlife wilderness areas and we could not take them home because none of us had room for them. Efforts to get them back up Sani Pass might prove fruitless and then someone else would be landed with them or they would have to be destroyed.
In broken English, one of the men asked if they were our dogs. When we said “No”, he asked if he could have them. We decided that was a good solution to our dilemma. Rural Basothos seem to be good dog handlers. They lassoed our two dogs with ease. The dogs complained bitterly and looked really hurt that we did not come to their aid. The one dog became quite aggressive towards its captor, whose eyes lit up in delight that he had acquired such a dog, ideal for keeping other dogs and jackals at bay. The Basotho captors left with our two dogs, reigning in the length of the lassos as they walked. By the time they disappeared around the corner, the dogs were walking resignedly next to them.
A previous Ezemvelo KZN Wildlife conservation manager at Monk’s Cowl had two dogs. The one was a beautiful English pointer named Frere, the other a Jack Russell. The latter could only ever walk on one rear leg at a time, and when it managed to escape its fenced yard, it would often join visitors for short day hikes within eyeshot of its home.
Over a 3-day long weekend in August 2004, I led a group of very fit hikers on a challenging route up Gray’s Pass and down Ship’s Prow Pass, a distance of 40 km and a height to climb of 1895 metres. As we were approaching the small gate on the path going up to Crystal Falls, the (small) Sphinx and Breakfast Stream, a white flash streaked past me. It was Frere, who was clearly excited about her escape and the prospect of joining a “proper” hike, unlike her little companion. For the next three days, Frere ran first ahead of us, then back to check on our rearmost hiker, and then ahead of us again, repeating this behaviour many, many times over. She probably covered at least 100 km in all. She had no problem ascending Gray’s Pass, although we had to help her up some of the clambers as we did for each other.
It was -8 °C in Nkosazana Cave, and being a short-haired dog, Frere was very cold and not even the least bit interested in the little striped mouse that was running all over us and our stuff. A kind young couple draped spare fleece jackets and a groundsheet over her, she enjoyed my spare hamburger which she took ever so gently out of my hand when I offered it to her, and slept peacefully with the rest of us.
The next day we traversed behind Champagne Castle and headed down the dreaded Ship’s Prow Pass, eventually reaching a suitable camping spot just above the contour path. Frere slept the second night in the bell of the young couple’s tent. In the morning though, when they tried to get her out of the bell so they could get out themselves, she let out a howl of complaint and refused to budge.
On inspecting her, they discovered that Frere’s front paws were cracked and bleeding and she did not want to stand on them, let alone walk. Now Stephan is a sports kineticist and always carries an impressive first aid kit on his hikes. He taped up her damaged paws, administered a pain killer, and within a few minutes Frere was right as rain again.
We headed back towards our starting point at Monk’s Cowl, with Frere doing her usual “go ahead and check, then go back and check” thing. At one point on the contour path as we were approaching Blind Man’s Corner, she suddenly stopped ahead of me and pointed. That was when I realised that she was a real birding dog, except that this time she was pointing at a herd of eland for us. When we reached the same gate where she had first joined us, Frere suddenly bolted for home. On reaching the office, I asked if I could phone the conservation manager and explain to him why his dog had arrived home with bandaged paws. He was quite amused and said it was not the first time she had disappeared for a few days to join overnight hikers.
