Gamkaskloof - Paradise or Hell
Writers Club Article written by Sam Reinders
It really is a great feeling when on a Friday afternoon, at 5
minutes to 5 o'clock, as you're shutting down Windows on your computer, your
colleague asks you what you're doing for the weekend and you can say: Going
to Hell. And mean it!
Gamkaskloof , or 'Die Hel' as it has become known, is a hidden valley deep
in the heart of the formidable Swartberg Mountain range. The fertile valley
runs in an east-west direction and is approximately 20km long but only 600
meters wide. It is the stuff legends are made of - in the Conan Doyle 'Lost
World' tradition, a story of a community of hardy people cut off from the
rest of the world for more than a century. Here was a community that had
missed the Boer War as well as both World Wars, and although most of the
original inhabitants had left, I had to see this 'Lost World'.
From the quaint town of Prince Albert one climbs the spectacular Swartberg
Pass (one of our most underrated scenic wonders) and just before the summit
the road to Gamkaskloof veers off to the right. For some 30kmthe dirt road
climbs, dips and winds through majestic , floral rich mountains. Evidence of
geological anger is everywhere to be seen in the convoluted rock strata, but
the effect is softened by the soft wisps of cloud creeping over the mountain
ridges. The silence is palpable.
Apparently the San Andreas fault runs through these mountains and at the
time of the Tulbagh earthquakes there was considerable action up here.
Looking around at the twisted, towering peaks, I felt very vulnerable and
insignificant at the thought of these rocky bastions shifting and swaying!
Finally, suddenly, you find yourself at the summit of Elandspass - and
there, spread in front of you, lies the green ribbon that is the Hell. But
what grabs your immediate attention - and rather dries the mouth - is the
sight of the ridiculously convoluted zigzagging narrow strip of road that is
the only way to the floor of the valley 1000 meters below. Even the hairpin
bends seem to have hairpins in them. Peering vertiginously over the edge, I
could see 3 or 4 strips of road below me - all within a stone's throw. One
way traffic, good nerves, a dry road surface and reliable brakes were
obviously the order of the day.
The kloof gets its name from the Khoisan word for lion - Gamka - also the
name of the river that enters the valley from the west. This 'Ravine of the
Lions' is truly cut off from the world by the natural barrier of rocks and
high peaks. Rock paintings and other archaeological finds suggest that the
valley had been known to the Khoisan for some time before they were
displaced by the white farmers. The first permanent European farmer to put
his roots down here was Petrus Swanepoel. This was in 1830. Other families,
which became synonymous with the Hell were the Marais, Mostert, Cordier, Nel
and Joubert clans.
But why did these people settle here in the first place? There is no doubt
that the total isolation and the physical difficulty of reaching the
'civilized' world must have posed huge logistical problems - even to a breed
of people where self-sufficiency was second nature. Some say that the valley
appealed to the group of Afrikaners who chafed under British rule, or even
that it was a way of escaping taxes ( perhaps I should consider this more
seriously) . An even more colourful legend has it that a young boy called
Danie Hartman was apparently kidnapped by the Khoisan and taken to
Gamkaskloof. After managing to escape he spread the word about the fertile
paradise he had seen. The more probable story is that the kloof became known
when nearby farmers followed their cattle that had strayed along the Gamka
River, and that some of these hardy farmers were attracted by the idea of an
independent life in a fertile haven, away from magistrates, rules,
regulations and taxes.
Another enigma is the origin of the rather negative name -'The Hell'. A
popular story goes that a stock inspector, one Piet Botha, was sent down
into the kloof in 1940 He descended by way of 'die leer' (the ladder) - a
notoriously steep footpath. Not surprisingly, he described his experience as
"hell". However, some forty years before, a Boer commando who sheltered
here, recorded that the word 'die Hel' was used to describe the area.
This negative name has always been unpopular with the 'Kloovers' - as the
locals were known. And who could blame them; their paradise was peaceful,
fertile, had a beautiful, sub-tropical microclimate and water aplenty from
natural springs and rivers. They grew their own wheat, fruit, vegetables,
tea and tobacco - and they produced their own witblits and wild-honey beer.
Many a humorous and sad tale is woven around these local brews. They even
had their own school and schoolmistress. For a church they used the school,
and for a minister they used the teacher. Perfect. Medical emergencies
proved a problem, but for the common ailments there was Tant Sannie Cordier
and many like her. Tant Sannie and her black doctor's bag (an old tin trunk)
was a common and welcome sight. Inside the trunk was the usual old 'Dutch
remedies' as well as a few of her own 'specialties' - such as axle grease,
cow dung and peach leaves. Inflamed chests were simply wrapped with a warm,
wet skin of a specially slaughtered cat.
Some evidence of how the locals felt about the derogatory name can be seen
in the story told by Brian du Toit in his book: "People of the Valley".
Apparently a Mr.Mostert, collecting his post at Prince Albert, found a
letter from the Receiver of Revenue - addressed to him at "The Hell, P.O.Box
Prince Albert." Not amused, he took up his pen and covered the envelope with
the words: "First find out whether people in the Hell also pay taxes!" and
returned it to the mailbox.
Although proud of their independence, the Kloovers longed for easy access to
Prince Albert, and petitioned for a road. Ironically, however, the eventual
opening of the road in 1962 was the death knell for the Gamkaskloof of old.
Children attending secondary schools out of the kloof rarely returned for
long, and the old people either died or moved to old age homes out of the
valley - never to return. Farm after farm became derelict. As far as I know,
Mrs. Anna Joubert, on the farm Mooifontein, is the only Kloof-born local
still living in Gamkaskloof. A visit to her farm-store is a treat of
witblits and dried-fruit, but more importantly, a rich source of colourful
stories about a unique way of life - a living thread with the past.
The Cape Nature Conservation, to their credit, realized that the valley is a
treasure house of flora and fauna as well as a unique cultural microcosm. At
present they own much of the land and have done much to restore some of the
buildings.
Todays visitor will be rewarded by an approach to the kloof through a
geological and floral wonderland, while the descent into the valley should
be excitement enough for anyone. Besides the lushness of the vegetation in
the narrow valley, and the rich bird life (Black eagles are commonly seen
riding the thermals), it is the silence and obvious isolation that gives the
place a primitive but appealing ambience. Perhaps the old grave stones and
ruined farm houses add a slightly sad note - a reminder of what happens when
the modern world invades what was almost a paradise. A Hell worth visiting.
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