The African Fisherman Magazine Volume 24 # 4 | Page 3

E d i t o r s C o m m e n t By Ant Williams T hey say “Without fear, there can be no courage...” I firmly believe that we are the sum of our experiences – we are molded by the good and the bad, in much the same way rocks in a flowing river evolve over millennia. We all face trials and tribulations in our lives, and often at the time, they may feel like challenges we will not overcome. But really as our path continues, there will be events which will stand out, and at the end of one’s life, these significant events will probably only be counted on one hand. There will be moments that define us… occasions which when other tribulations confront us, we draw on and find the strength to move beyond our situation... or maybe not. My recent trip to Hippo Pools on the Mazowe river I believe, will be defined as one of these moments. It compares to the very first solo cross country flight I did while training for my private pilot’s license, or later, when I donned a parachute and actually jumped out of a plane. Among others, events which convinced me to confront my fears, and triumph over them… but which took no small measure of personal courage. Our visit to check out the new A-Frame lodges built on the river, and investigate the illegal dredging for gold which was taking place in the river, was planned to end with a return visit to another project the Wilderness Africa Trust is involved in - known as Sunungukai. It was on our way home, but was some 40km distance back along the main road through Murewa. I was not overly fussed and knew I had enough time, but Iain Jarvis - owner of Hippo Pools - suggested I might like to try a new road they had cut through the mountains. “The scenery is incredible” he mused, “though the road is a little tricky, but should be okay if you have four wheel drive.” I was indeed driving a 4x4, and considered myself moderately experienced in general terrain. I had dug enough cars out of mud, sand and even when drowning in lakes, to have learned a few lessons. “What’s tricky?” I ask. “Oh, for a few hundred metres the road is very narrow” he says. “We have done it several times, and a lady came through there a while back in a two wheel drive pick-up.” Well, if that’s the case, I am sure my quadruped Nissan will make it! As we took our leave, I queried just what a “few hundred metres” was. “Oh, about 500... well maybe seven to eight hundred. Not more than a kilometre though.” Iain decided. Fine. It was only 12km as opposed to the 40km and would be an adventure. Often jokingly, I will use a well worn and favored quote “Do something that scares you every day”, rolling it off my tongue with a measure of bravado, I always secretly hope it will not scare me too much. But as is my nature, I took the path less traveled. I wanted to see, and maybe test myself so I would know. An hour later, we were perched on a narrow, but navigable road with the idyllic Mazowe snaking below us (this issue’s cover). The track was relatively rough and while I tried not to scrape the passenger door on jutting rocks, keeping the wheel comfortably safe from the cliff edge, had me feeling uneasy. It was too late though, as turning back or reversing was not an option. The track climbed some more and narrowed still further and now reminded me of those trucking roads somewhere in South America (featured on one Top Gear episode on TV) where “road” and sky literally meet on a cliff-edge. Engaging four-wheel low, I began creeping up the incline. I now could not see the edge of the track out my driver’s window any longer, and the passenger door was mere inches from the side of the mountain. Around a small bend, the road suddenly angled into about a 20 degree incline. This was beyond my four-by-fouring experience, and I knew that if I messed it up, stalled, or lost traction in any way, we were going over the edge. Gunning the motor a bit to keep from stalling, my alarm rose to panic as the bonnet of the car rose sharply so I could no longer see the track ahead. Watching out the passenger window, I kept going, briefly clipping a rock with the mud guard, but not hard enough to bounce the truck off the road, all the time shards of loose stone cascading off the edge into the abyss. At the top of this incline, I stopped. Sweating palms, shaking hands and a strange buzzing in my head (adrenalin overload I think). Looking out over the cliff, the view was indeed spectacular. It really was, but my awe was short lived as vertigo kicked in, and an imaginary vacuum began sucking the truck toward the edge. Frozen for a moment, I had to make a physical effort to halt the panic and get moving, as I knew I was only seconds away from freezing completely. I would have left the truck there, and walked out! Needless to say we made it down the almost-as-sharp decline which followed, edging the truck inch by inch on the brakes - probably not the right technique - but we did not slip or drift off the edge. My mouth was dry, body shaking, and when we climbed out of the vehicle, my legs were like jelly and threatened collapse. But for the brief moments I was able, looking out over those valleys cut by the Mazowe river, was an experience which will stay with me long after the lingering memory of the raw fear has gone. 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