Wilderness Bush Camp

WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN A WILD, RAVING BEAUTY GETS A HOLD ON YOUR HEART AND SIMPLY WON’T LET GO? IF YOU’VE GOT ANY SENSE, YOU DO WHAT JOHN PFAFF DID – THANK YOUR LUCKY STARS AND RESIGN YOURSELF TO YOUR FATE.

- David Muirhead

When you wind up the steep road to the summit of the hill and get out of your car, it’s easy to see why he fell so completely under the spell of the place. Wherever you choose to sit or stand, you see the kind of views the gods try to keep to themselves – a vast swathe of surf-swept beaches, endless sea, forested headlands and a lazy lagoon. The bushes and trees around you team with birds, including the famed Knysna turaco, flashing scarlet and green as they weave through the branches.

I woke on the first morning, sat up in bed and looked blearily out of the window; there, perched on the veranda fence, silhouetted by the rays of the rising sun, were two turacos. It was a dawn of creation moment, the kind of thing that’s only supposed to happen in paradise. But notwithstanding the angelic choirs singing in my head and the beatific feeling of contentment, at some point I still had to roll out of bed, make coffee for the wife, and fix breakfast.