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Jul 2009
Article: Swinging in the rain Publication: Sunday Times Canopy Tour: Magoebaskloof Elizabeth Sleith takes a canopy tour in the Land of the Silver Mist |
When I was 10 I tossed myself off a roof. I blame my brother. Two years older than me, he had strung together, with bits of hosepipe and twine no doubt, a surely shoddy example of that great kinderdae idiocy, the foefie slide.It all ended in tears: a cocky leap, a slipped grip, a bellyflop, six weeks in a plaster cast.
Yet two decades later, here I was throwing myself off another ledge. No brother this time, no flimsy string, no cruel suburban lawn. Here were cables, clips and experts to catch me. Not idiocy but ecotourism: a canopy tour. So that was alright then.
The canopy tour was born in the rainforests of Costa Rica, with biologists who wanted to study animal life at the tops of gargantuan trees. They bolted platforms to the highest barks then linked these with steel cables, to which they could clip themselves and commute by sliding through the trees.
After the idea caught on as an adventure activity, it came to SA in 2001 with the Tsitsikamma Canopy Tour, followed by Karkloof in 2003 and Magaliesberg in 2004. But it was in the Magoebaskloof Valley, over the spectacular Groot Letaba river gorge, that I would step into air.
Thickly wooded and mountainous, the Letaba marks the first dramatic rise of the Drakensberg Escarpment. This is a place of lush valleys, misty peaks, rushing rivers, mammoth moths. The roads twist and turn gracefully past forests and tall grasses and lilies the size of small dogs leaning at cars from the edges of the road.
On the day of my tour, launching eerily early, the area was living up to its nickname, the Land of the Silver Mist. A fine cloud hung low as our group met the two guides who would lead us through the adventure. After the safety demonstration, where we were strapped into harnesses and given helmets and leather gloves, it was a short but hilly hike down into the gorge and to the first platform, called the Rabbit Hole.
The mechanics of the slide are quite simple. Attached by the harness to the cable with two clips, you hold onwith the gloved hand. To start sliding, all you do is step off the ledge and loosen your grip. To brake, you tighten.
One guide went ahead to wait for us on the other side, while the other brought up the rear. In between, we canopy tourists stepped off one by one to a short, innocuous ride that allowed us to get the hang of things.
After that, the slides got longer, meaning more acceleration, and longer dangles over the gaping gorge as we headed for platforms with evocative names such as Dragon ’s Den, named for the prehistoric plants that cluster the landing perch; Judgement Day, because there is no way to hike out of the valley after this one; and Soul Searcher, presumably because that’s what everyone must do before they jump.
For me, it wasn’t the adrenaline rush I might have expected. The engineer-designed course is clearly safe; the cables unsnappable; the guides reassuringly relaxed; and no one is ever not attached to some safety mechanism, at risk of a free-fall. The worst that can happen is that you brake too soon, and stop in the middle, so suffer the indignity of having to drag yourself to safety. Or, as happened to me, you brake too late and careen into a guide, waiting with outstretched arms and widening eyes. (She graciously told me that it’s harder to brake in wet weather).
With only small doses of fear then, the magic is in the scenery. Supposedly there are monkeys here, millions of birds, including the giant kingfisher, and butterflies. I imagine a sunny day would be a peek at the Garden of Eden, but on this day the rain had kept them hidden. There were, however, the plants to enjoy, the trees stretching away, thick all around us, wild flowers and orchids draping the cliffs.
And there were three waterfalls, each diving over 20m into the dark river and one that is invisible from either side of the gorge: the only way it can be seen is from the cables. So everywhere here, there are glimpses of the valley’s secrets.
Two-and-a-half hours later, 13 platforms and 11 slides safely done, we marched back out of the gorge, wet and cold but quietly exhilarated. Happy the foefie slide had gone hi-tech. Relieved to report no belly flops. All bones intact. Still flying.
