My daughter, Carmen, has been hearing stories about the Drakensberg since she was a little girl. Apparently, I gave my two girls a small backpack with an Ezbit stove for Christmas, at an age when all they wanted were dolls. Even now their voices rise as they say, ‘Dad, we were only five and seven years old, for goodness’ sake!’
Well, here we are at last, at the Dragon Mountains, as the early Trek-Boers called them. It seemed these towering spires wished to prove me a braggart and a liar, as the mountain peaks were totally blanked out with mist. We were driving up the narrow winding road at the top of the Kamberg Valley to Highmoor Nature Reserve, when suddenly the mist lifted and Carmen burst out, ‘Oh my…