At the foot of Sneeuberg, forty shivering volunteers group together, rubbing their hands for warmth under a large autumn Oak. A dozen rangers stand off to the side between two Land Cruisers. Everyone is here to return something nearly lost forever to the Cederberg.
The excitement is tangible and smiles flash to and fro.
Most of the volunteers know each other from previous trysts in these same mountains. Everyone brought spades and bottles of water. Some are families and others single, some are wealthy, and some are not. It seems unlikely that such a group would have assembled under ordinary conditions.
Carl Pretorius of JustTrees, a nursery outside Paarl, thanks us for coming and clarifies to the newcomers the reason why we are here. The famous Clanwilliam Ceders (Widdringtonia cederbergensis) of the Cederberg need a boost in numbers.
Two 4x4 bakkies are loaded with two year old ceder tree saplings (not to be confused with cedars). Were they human and had they known of the aspirations and hope placed upon them, they probably would have feinted from the pressure.
With the speeches over we begin the trek to the top of the majestic mountains. As an extra incentive CapeNature decided to allow private 4x4’s up Sneeuberg for this occasion, just this once. It’s an unprecedented event and many of us take advantage of the bonus, including me in my Jimny. Most of the volunteers opt to walk instead. Partly because the two hundred year old pass is too treacherous for their vehicles but mostly because it’s just great to stretch the legs in this awesome landscape.
The twisting twin track is overgrown with bracken and fynbos but as we leave the glacier valley behind and ascend the mountain, the plant life changes to restios and wagon trees. The hikers have an advantage and it is somewhat maddening to be overtaken by them. Child legs are however not made for mountaineering and the rangers’ Land Cruisers soon resemble a kids choo-choo, complete with the associated sugar-rush hullabaloo. My wife and daughter joined them and I feel a little lonely in my Jimny. But I don’t mind, I know how much fun it is to bounce though the veldt on the back of a bakkie.
After more than an hour our group assembles a few hundred metres below Sneeuberg’s peak. Ceders only grow in a narrow topographical band. Not below 900m and never above 1700m. Nowadays the climate is a little warmer than it was a decade ago, which means the band is growing alarmingly narrower.
It gets explained to us that fires also sweep across these mountains ever more frequently and that they will definitely be a threat to our young trees. It is therefore important that we find shelter away from grasses to plant our saplings. I tread through the veldt alongside Rika du Plessis, manager of Matjiesrivier Nature Reserve. I mention that I find it quite strange that an entire region is named after a tree, particularly one that doesn’t grow widespread. She shifts the weight of her bagged sapling to her hip and tells me that there used to be forests of ceders in these mountains.
There was an insatiable need for durable wood in the eighteenth century and it was partly fed by ceders. Entrepreneurial colonists, eager to strike out away from the strict Dutch East India Company, moved to the newly discovered Cederberg valleys. Here they encountered a seeming inexhaustible supply of trees, all perfect for planking. The forests were quickly converted to furniture and construction material.
Later, under the Union Jack, naturalists and missionaries met these wild mountain men and were shocked at the rampant destruction with no regard for sustainability.
It took a long time to bring the practises to a close. In the end the natural fynbos of an entire valley had to give way for a fast growing and profitable pine plantations that would lure the woodcutters away from the peaks.
In the hundred years that followed the forests never returned. Their numbers are still in decline and the ceder is on the critically endangered list with small hope of survival.
The information weighs me down and I recall an old joke to elevate the mood:
Paddy seeks employment as a woodcutter and the foreman asks him:
“Where’d you work before now?”
Paddy: “In the Sahara”
“But there aren’t any trees in the Sahara!”
“Not any more...” grins Paddy
The joke isn’t as funny as it was before. Rika smiles but follows up with a sigh. Oom Jan, one of the rangers within earshot, looks up from the hole he was digging and quotes in Afrikaans:
“Van elke berg, waar nog so kort die kranse. Geverf was deur die son met karmosyn. Oor al ons land daar trek die nag 'n skadu, Groen as die blare van 'n sederboom.”
I nod politely at the melodrama but wonder dumbly what it means, unfamiliar with C. Louis Leipoldt’s epic poem and the possible prophesy.
My daughter struggles with her tree and I relieve her of it. The rocky ledges aren’t child’s play with a bagged sapling under each arm and a shovel clenched between the teeth. Beads of sweat quickly pearl on my forehead.
My wife finds a few rocky fissures that look promising. There are few grasses here between the boulders and we guess that our trees might grow up protected from fires. It is difficult to dig a deep enough hole in the stony soil but the miracle of ceders is that they take root in he unlikeliest of places.
I saw some ceders earlier in the day. They were artificially nurtured on farms down in the valley, straight and symmetrical like conifers. Apparently that isn’t an unfair comparison since Clanwilliam Ceders aren’t cedar trees at all but cypresses. Way up here Old Man Ceder grows tough and gnarly from within split stone. He looks like the bonsai on The Karate Kid’s emblem, windswept and full of character.
Around every tree’s neck hangs a token with a unique number stamped on it. Patrick Lane, manager of Cederberg Nature Reserve, wears his legs out to stumps as he tracks down the spread group of volunteers. In his hand is a GPS unit which he uses to log the position of every planted tree and its corresponding number. He looks satisfied with the spot I chose for 38536. I name my sapling Mr. Miyagi but Patrick only cares about the numbers, not the sentimentalities. Then he moves on to a posterior bobbing behind some rocks. The owner of the rear end is hard at work planting his own Daniel-san. Everywhere I look, I see jiggling bums, and only occasionally do I see someone sitting up, taking a break. While I’m busy looking around my daughter scoops a caterpillar from the ground and tries to make it comfortable it on our newly planted tree.
For a moment I consider taking it from her and squishing it between my fingers. I don’t want to take any chances with Mr.Miyagi’s health. But then I recognize how silly I’m being. I can’t keep watch over my tree forever and I can’t protect it from life’s knocks. Besides, my wife assures me, ceders are worm resistant.
Mid afternoon rainclouds gather above us. We take it as a sign to start packing. The last tree gets a home and we start the exodus down the mountain. En route to the parking spot by the great oak tree I keep thinking of 38536’s chances.
Attempts to rescue the Clanwilliam Ceder have been going on since the sixties. In the eighties the reserves even started their own nurseries but they couldn’t produce enough seedlings economically. This is why Carl and his professional nursery, and other like it, were asked for assistance.
Despite the enormous undertaking, the older trees still die at nearly the same rate as they are replaced. Worst of all is the statistical mortality rate of about 70% for newly planted saplings. But no one even thinks about hanging up the gloves, not while there is still a fighting chance...
Ahead of me on the track stands a group of walkers, congregated around a girl with a field scope. Her name is Megan Murgatroyd and she researches endangered Black Eagles. She points out the nest high up on the sheer cliff face. Two downy chicks stare back at us over the twiggy rim of their nest. Their mom is away to find food and evidently hadn’t decided which of the two will be allowed to live. Fortunately Homo sapiens is less animalistic... at least as long as he has food in his belly.
Back at the cars we are greeted by a wonderful sight. Tannie Bet who lives nearby delivers a big bucket of hot gord soup and bowls of freshly baked bread. Salivating like hungry winter wolves around a steaming caribou we dive into the feast. We eye one another to make sure one doesn’t dish up more food than the other.
Carl Pretorius and Patrick Lane offer heartfelt thanks and everyone poses for a group photo. With feelings of satisfaction and accomplishment we bid each other goodbye, get in our cars and head home. In a year everyone will hopefully be back to replant some more trees where they are needed. Perhaps it is a lost cause but some sort of restitution attempt desperately needs to be made. It can be done. After all, didn’t the black eyed and twist ankled Karate Kid won his final fight at the end of the movie?
If you’d like to participate in the next tree planting ceremony in the Cederberg, call the Cederberg Nature Reserve offices direct on: +27 (27) 482 2403
Or contact The Custodians of the Red Ceder Project on: +27 (21) 871 1595 or admin@justtrees.co.za
But the story doesn't really end here. We spent the night at Rika's house and the next day we explored a great little dirt road on our way home.
Dit lyk na 'n lekker outing vir die familie.
ReplyDeleteAh fantasties Mr Striker.
ReplyDeleteKaboef