It has been a tumultuous last couple of weeks here for all of us in New Zealand, and for me it has
been a great time to reflect on our recent trip to Africa. Africa. The word itself means different things
to different people, but I feel the constant association with Africa is the opportunity for exploration.
Be it the wildlife parks of the Serengeti, cultural immersion in ancient cities like Casablanca,
self-exploration by way of experiencing vastly different cultures forging their existence or exploring
the rivers that provide life to all the occupants of the african landmass. For Ari Walker, Dewet Michau
and myself, it was the latter that would draw us to Africa. To be fair Dewet is actually from South
Africa, but his motivation for exploring and experiencing other parts of his home continent aligns with
ours… we want to know, experience and be shaped by Africa. And this first expedition, of many if this
Covid thing ever relents, would begin our journey.
In the interest of keeping this ‘brief’ I will summarize or skip over large parts of the trip, which was
only 26 days but each day would almost have enough for write-up on its own. The trip seemed to
start off without an issue, all our bags arrived, phones sorted, linked up with Dewet and our driver
arrived with our kayaks that somehow made it from Pyranha UK → Cape Town → somewhere else
in South Africa → overland to Bulowayo → Harare, Zimbabwe. Thanks Matt, Andrew K and all
involved. Our driver was an eccentric Zimbo called Zuga, who arrived in an impressively decorated
1990 Hiace. A Hiace that we would essentially spend the first 10 days in, driving around trying to find
rivers in the Eastern Highlands but to no avail. The drought in the Honde Valley was running deep
into the wet-season, the rivers were dry. We were so desperate to kayak and equally adamant not to
turn this into a Zambezi trip, that we literally looked at a rain radar for Southern Africa and drove to
where there was gradient and water. This would take us to Mulanje, Malawi. Getting to and from there
was maybe the most ridiculous part of the trip.
image: Ari Walker
On the way we had to go through the Nyampanda border-crossing into Mozambique and then out the
Zobue border-crossing into Malawi. A series of events led to us not making the push through
Mozambique before the latter border closed. So without any money or information we had to try to
find a place to stay on the main road. I managed to dredge up some portuguese from our trips to
Brazil and organized to camp at a security guards house, well at least that is what I thought I had
achieved. We gave some chicken and supplies to a small boy we found alone at ‘the’ property, who
he was we will never know but we do know he was a happy chappy. Later that night we were woken
by a large group of people, some jovial voices and some less so. Either way they didn’t directly bother
us, thankfully. Early the next morning, we made a hasty departure but not before I spoke, haphazardly,
with someone who seemed to be a leader and who was definitely not that security guard. We
shook-hands and then left. We made it through the next border and to the salvation of Malawi.
Image: Ari Walker
image: Ari Walker
Back to at least some spoken english, friendly people, food and what would turn out to be our first
whitewater of the trip. After scouting a section of the Shire (thankfully we did not run into crocs,
hippos or snakes while walking through the long grass) we rallied over to Mount Mulanje in hope of
paddling Likhubula Falls or any of the rivers that ran off the unique little mountain range. We weedled
our way into the Likhubula park and after some 4-wheel sending in the van, I took over driving for that
part, we made it most of the way to the falls. Two persistent local lads followed us and basically joined
us by osmosis. Self-proclaimed local guides, we gave them a token donation for them to walk with us
but we didn’t employ them. Electing to carry all our gear and just talking to the boys are the area
during the hike in. At the falls it was the classic, ‘we have driven all this way… but god damn it is
dubious’. Cue Ari. He figured, “it’s not bad a go”. So after some fairly thorough scouting, planning,
considering… Ari sent her, straight down the only possible line. The hit at the bottom was not nearly
as savage as we envisaged, with Ari hand rolling in the pool and surfacing with two thumbs up. I knew
what that meant, my turn. Same line, same result. Poor old Dewet. Something this tall with all its risks
just gave out two seamless lines, enough to twist a kayakers arm but still. Would it give a third?
image: Dewet Michau
image: Ari Walker
Dewet couldn’t resist and put into the lonely little eddy above the falls. ‘Whoop, whoop’, safety was set,
cameras on and the local lads were fired up to see another crazy mzungu (white-man) fall off their local
attraction. Dewet dropped in, and took off. Literally. Carrying in a bunch of speed and flying off the drop,
flat as a pancake. Luckily he was tucked forward and his back was strong. Stoked on our first descent
we’d treat ourselves to some actual food, finally, and even a few beers at the local. Turns out mzungu’s
do not go to ‘the local’, but we did, they will remember us and we will be most welcome back next time
we are in town.
image: Jordy Searle
The next day we popped up the main southern drainage of the Mulange ranges, we didn't have the
flow required to get the best out of the river. But still, we did find an epic section of class III-IV (or more
if you got the flows) that you can drive to the put in and pick up fresh cut tea from the source at
take-out. After this, we checked out the northern drainage but that would need a biblical amount of rain.
After another great night of sleep we figured, let's leave Malawi. The affordable, safe, happy,
whitewater little paradise we had discovered and head back into Mozambique? To a river we picked on
the map in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Fun fact, if the river is in the middle of nowhere in
Mozambique… you will probably not be able to access it.
image: Jordy Searle
image: Jordy Searle
So after a 4 hour debacle at the Muloza Border crossing, over the production year of the US $100 we
were paying with (you need the new blue ones in Mozambique), we were on our way back to
Zimbabwe. Kinda off. Turns out the highway we planned on and then went through was a dirt road
that took 10 hours, through a Renamo (militant political party) stronghold and was under some heavy
construction. Somehow we made it, after re-attaching our clutch in the middle of a rain storm and
managing to find petrol in the most lawless town any of us have ever been in. As we popped out off
the N322 highway (do not ever take this road) to the main road, there was an armed checkpoint that
was definitely not expecting us to pop out in the middle of the night. After a quick shakedown looking
for guns, drugs or whatever we were on our way. We spent two days in Chimoio, not a bad part of
Mozambique, and then the next saga began. Our drive lost his shit. That is kiwi for, he became
inconsolably angry. We weren’t sure why but in reflection we can understand somewhat. He thought
we were going kayaking like the Zambezi kayakers he knew… but two days earlier we had driven him
through a militant strong-hold as well as driving his van up 4wd walking tracks, multi-border crossings,
questionable ‘camping’ and a lot of banter. After some negotiating we came to an agreement that he
would take us back to Harere, thankfully, and that day would be maybe the most awkward in my life.
But we got back, dumped with all our gear and not sure what to do. So, we had a beer with Jan and
his wife Amy. Jan is an OG Zimbabwe kayaker and knows everyone. His neighbour Hamish came
over, and he had a beer too. Ultimately Hamish gave us his wifes egg-delivery van to use for the
remaining 10 days of the trip, lucky Bridget was a down-to-earth kiwi and even made sure the vehicle
was full of petrol before we disembarked.
image: Ari Walker
It looked as if our fortunes were changing, but at this point all 3 of us were cautious in believing that.
Before Hamish (Bridget really) came to the rescue we really were considering just calling it quits and
coming back another year. I had to snap my mind out of it, nothing bad had happened. We had just
been dealt a few bad hands, but we had a few chips left on the table and to be fair, coming to Africa
wasn’t exactly based around playing it safe. So we climbed into the 1300cc Toyota Lite-Ace egg
delivery cart and headed back to the highlands. The first check-point went better than any previously
and it looked as if rain was on the way. We were heading back to the Honde Valley.
image: Ari Walker
We had been in touch with Chris Craig, manager of Aberfoyle Lodge, administrator for Far and Wide,
organiser of the Sky Run Ultra, avid kayaker and resident in the Honde Valley. He was telling us that
the rivers were high, and he was not wrong. Rolling into the valley there was water filling every little
depression in the previous parched landscape. Several of the road bridges were just above the
rich-red flood waters, it was on. Dewet, thankfully, convinced us to just start out by paddling the
commercial section of the Pungwe. The hike down through banana plantations was beautiful, but I
couldn’t help but wonder if we were about to get skunked at the other end of the spectrum, would it
be too high? The river was definitely swollen, so much so we couldn’t get out enough to see
downstream. Dewet had been down at moderate flows but even he was uncertain. As a reader it might
seem absurd to put on a massive swollen river with no idea of exactly what is downstream but there is
more to it than 3 bold fella’s trying to risk it for some adrenaline fix. I knew rafts go down it, meaning the
river is not going to be too steep overall and from where I was sitting the river looked very wide. I
confirmed with Dewet there are no specific sections where it constricts drastically, where a dangerous
feature could form. Most importantly we were a good team so as I began to don my gear both Ari and
Dewet did the same. All three of us knew we were putting on for the right reasons, and thank god we did.
The saying ‘big brown monster’ is a term a lot of kayakers use to describe flooded rivers, well this
monster was a dragon. Initially smooth and beautiful, with a surging power beneath the hulls of our
kayaks. Then once we rounded the first corner, it was on. Crazy big laterals and features, some you
wanted tolet move you laterally to avoid things, whole others would take you to places you did not
want to be. I scouted one long section for the boys but couldn’t put it into words, it was a ‘follow me’
scenario with a flippant, “get right at the bottom, even if I don’t make it there myself’. Powerful low
angle slides, unavoidable ledge holes and two must make boofs. The river was frothing. Even writing
this I am getting goosebumps, a phenomenal river. People that know me can attest to the fact I
despise unwarranted superlatives, this truly was one of the best sections of river I had ever kayaked.
image: Ari Walker
image: Ari Walker
We arrived at the take-out to a huge crowd of locals excited to welcome us. Dewet and I got out at the
bridge but Ari paused. So, Dewet and I routed him through the massive rapid below the bridge. He
made it, the crowd erupted in elation and we were now welcome in the Honde Valley. On the way up
to Chris’ house, our base for the next few days, we paddled the Nymangura. Again super high, but this
threw to Ari and my skill set. Steep creeking, it was like paddling the Turnbull at a decent flow. An
incredible day, that was topped off with some steak and beers with Chris and his partner Chanti. We
spent the next few days doing several sections of the Pungwe, including the dewatered section below
a hydro-scheme. Living was good. We even managed to take Chanti down a lower section of the
Pungwe, a little loose by all accounts but she champed it and will never forget her first step up to
class flooded class III+ with us. We had the flow to ride out the rest of our time in the Honde Valley but
we also wanted to paddle the ultra-classic Garezi River. This risk of commiting to go over there was
that the river could be too high, meaning more lost days paddling wise, cash, admin and stress. But we
decided to go anyway.
image: Ari Walker
Leaving early to take into account finding petrol, the constant struggle in Zimbabwe, we made it to the
river around midday. Dewet was concerned about the amount of water in reference to the gauge at the
put in bridge and I could see Ari beginning to get frustrated. This river was a different consideration to
the Pungwe, it was steep, tight, technical and substantially more isolated. It didn't look like much water
from the bridge but it was a foot higher than when Dewet had previously paddled it, ‘high’. I was
thinking Fastasy Falls gauge, it never looks that high… but I would never consider putting on a foot
higher than the high flows I have been through there before. After two hours of needless bartering by
Dewet and Myself, this almost broke Ari, we saved $5 on a cabin. The local house-keeper sourced us
a ‘village chicken’, imagine a chicken with just enough functional muscle to survive… that is what we
got to add to our now normal dinner of onions, tomato, some form of spice and sadza (a maize wash/
grain).
image: Ari Walker
The next day we awoke to incredible weather and would have a nice early start on the river. The cabin
was upstream of the bridge but we were putting on regardless of flow, unless it came up guess guess?
Anyway, as we floated under the bridge the flow had dropped, by about 6 inches. We would have taken
any drop, of course, but this lifted our spirits. It took a couple of km’s for the river to reveal its hidden
treasures but once it did, it was incredible. And hard. It has been a few years since I have found a river
to be very hard, as an overall average for the river. Steep, tight and technical with a very healthy flow
pushing you downstream. Lots of scouting and safety but the majority of it was good to go. Then
suddenly you arrive as a series of progressively steepening slides, stacked and consequential. We
paddled all of them, although one triple set I portaged as the middle looked very unpredictable and
there would be no safety downstream. I set safety and the boys ran it, both having cleaning but
somewhat dubious moments in that middle section. With this, the run was done and we just had to
paddle 5km down to the bridge. A hilarious finish as once Ari and I caught Dewet at the bridge he
apologised for not waiting for us, but what for? Turns out there was a crocodile risk in the flat and
pools of the paddle out… during which ari and I were lazily floating most of. We will not be doing that
next time we are in africa.
image: Jordy Searle
image: Jordy Searle
With the Garezi complete so too was the trip. We made our way back to Harare, slowly in the poor little
Hiace, and would then take a couple of days to derig, clean the vehicle and our equipment before
parting ways. It gave us a good chance to reflect on the trip, during which we unanimously felt
compelled to come back to Southern Africa next season. Africa was a hard one, which I think is the
appeal. During all the trials and tribulations of this trip we were only 8-10 hours from the Zambezi, one
of the best sections of reliable whitewater in the world. But even now, I think if we went there at the
first sign of trouble I would not have had my authentic experience of Africa. Kayaking is important, the
driver. But it is the context in which we get to kayak and travel that really makes it what it is. We’re
thankful for a safe journey through Africa and all the people that helped make it happen. There were
plans to go back December 2020 but with the current environment we have decided to push that out
12 months and make a more sound plan for the next expedition… but all 3 of us now know that even
the best laid plans will fall apart. And I for one are looking forward to it.
Stay Safe,
Jordy
