All of these superb photos were taken by Andrew Royal, Malcolm Royal’s son and co-canoeist in the epic 2013 Orange River Trip where the pair managed to capsize on every rapid no matter how insignificant it was.
Of course they claim that rather than capsizing, they were deliberately bailing so as to cool off in the water.
Few of the other canoeists accepted this story but rather described the explanation as codswallop or something more uncouth.
I will let you be the judge of the veracity of that vignette.
Other Galleries of Stunning Photographs:
Photos taken at just the Right Moment
The World’s Most Beautiful Places
Imagine this scenario. You are on the fourth day of a hike. By now one craves something special, anything different from smash and bully beef and possibly – heaven help us – perhaps an unexpected treat. At that moment one of your co-hikers produces a skillet from their pack together with a pancake mix. At first one believes that one is daydreaming but even the smell is too real for a dream. Arnold could have charged us R10 a pancake but instead he made us all a few pancakes each.
Such is the temperament of fellow hiker Arnold Jonathan Paikin, a considerate selfless friend and co-hiker. In fact the best adjective to describe Arnold’s signature trait is solicitous which means to be characterized by or showing interest or concern.
These are the photos of Arnold Paikin
The bookings for all of the year’s hikes are all made at the beginning of the year. Allowance is made in their timing for events such as the Comrades, the Two Oceans and the Argus as many members participate in these events but never for a Sports Final. But woe betide us when an ardent Hiker and a Rugby Fanatic is forced to choose between the two.
This was one such hike where this dilemma arose but little was I aware of the looming travails and what it would take to view the test match despite being in the middle of the bush far from any television set. At least they could have provided some prior warning as they schemed and plotted their nefarious stratagems and communicated in ciphers.
The Rhino’s Horn is not one of those hikes that many people are aware of except for the ardent hikers. I only became aware of this little-known gem of a hike in the Drakensberg because a member of our Hiking Club, Clive Cameron, had hiked it many times as a youth having been raised in Kokstad in the southern Kwa-Zulu Natal.
Quite frankly by rights Kurt Radzom should have accepted a formal leadership position in Quo Vadis on George Malan’s hasty departure from the Club after the 120km Amatola Hike in 1989. Instead I naively accepted the role. Not that it conferred a large stipend or prestige, but insofar as the duties were involved, it was more akin to that of an Executive Secretary’s role.
What a superb canoe trip! Personally I rate it as the best such excursion for a number of reasons especially for the personal gratification that the Cameron/McCleland team experienced in NEVER capsizing not even once during the five days much to certain attendees’ chagrin. As always, the main reason for such an agreeable trip was undoubtedly the camaraderie amongst all the guys. That factor alone is what indubitably makes Quo Vadis Hiking Club such an exceptional Club.
Notwithstanding that, it was not all beer and braais as we experienced two hard paddling days due to flat water and gusting head-winds but more on that later. At least we have a legitimate claim when we declare that it was not all plain sailing (sic) and that we had to do some exercise!
Amongst other things when one is paddling down the Orange, one has to learn a number of things apart from how to paddle – and rapidly. One also has to assimilate a new language, the unintelligible risible language of the Gariep River People. On previous excursions we had commenced learning the vocabulary. Everyday words such as sun and wind could not be uttered. There were Verboten! Banished from our lips. Instead they were replaced by the avant-garde words “spike” and “spoekasem”.
Throwing down the gauntlet, Mike & Kurt were gone. With their long strides – Mike because of his long legs & Kurt, well, because of his long strides – they easily increased the gap between George & I. I strained to keep the gap as small as possible but to no avail. They steadily drew ahead. I could almost hear the strains of Straus’ Radetzky March that Kurt was humming to himself. Eventually I consoled myself with the fact that as the first of the team into Coffee Bay, they would have to resolve the transport issue which now became the focus of our concerns. It was upper most in all our minds at this juncture.
The next day presented the same challenge as the day before, a surging enraged river hoping to do its worst. Not enamoured with the prospect of another treacherous crossing in dubious boats with equally dubious Sea Captions, that option was quickly discarded. With insufficient rations to allow for any delays to the schedule, there was no alternative other than a long haul up river to find a suitable ford. Turning back was not an option. A second treacherous crossing with Captain Treacherous was out of the question.
Refreshed & reinvigorated, we charged off after a breakfast comprising the full enchilada – eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato & toast. The resort had even managed to wash & iron our clothes overnight. The menacing clouds had converted themselves into friendly wispy innocuous candy floss fluff balls, cute & cuddly. First we had to pass the hut where we were supposed to have stopped the day before. That made the day’s hike slightly longer but being as fit as we were, not an undue burden.