Rafting the Orange River

Posted on 26 October 2010

On the first morning, we gathered around the inflatable rafts at the put-in at a campsite right next to the Onseepkans border post between Namibia and South Africa. Rafting trip leader Anthony Hoard and guides Heinrich Booysen and Abrie Swanepoel handed out white dry-bags, a cooler box, paddles, life jackets and helmets, and briefed us on safety and packing. Ant, as Anthony became known, gave a demo on how to paddle and what to do if you fall out of a raft: float on your back, feet first downstream. “˜The river is at the perfect level now, so there shouldn’t be any surprises,’ he said. “˜Any questions?’ Silence. “˜Aweh, let’s go.’

We paired up, two to a boat, and pretty soon the group of six and three guides settled into a languid pace. Paddling was almost an afterthought, more for direction than locomotion as the river was doing most of the work. Perfect. There were light-hearted exchanges as couples got to grips with steering and paddling in unison. By the time we arrived at Scorpion Camp, a few kilometres downstream, everyone was in sync and smiling.

From that day, on arrival at each camp, the routine was to find a spot, set up a tent, or simply roll out a mattress and sleeping bag for a night under the stars. Then chill with a cold one, taking in the serenity until food was ready. Each day the guides produced tasty, balanced and hearty meals that, despite the apparent lack of facilities, outshone the previous offering at every stop. We were left gobsmacked by the roast lamb with all the trimmings and dessert at the end of the fourth day. These okes are good.

A couple of the guys had brought fishing rods and spent a fair amount of the time being teased by the yellowfish and barbel. That is until Ant produced a bag of mielies, which changed the game to favour the fishers. But first he let us suffer a bit by pulling out a few yellows with a makeshift hand-line, before inviting the rest to pillage his mielie stash. Then a frenetic catch-and-release was on. Abrie topped us all with the biggest catch that took him the best part of an hour of walking up and down the beach to bring in with his lightweight rod. I’m pretty sure his fly was spiked with one of Ant’s deadly mielies, but that may be sour grapes.

Days started slowly. Breakfast. Lounge around a bit. Fish or read. Then we’d pack up and head downstream before stopping halfway on an island or a beach for lunch. Ant told us what to expect and coached us on the best line to take when negotiating each section. The rapids all have names: Corkscrew, 42-Man-hole, Mini Falls and the most descriptive: Dolly Parton’s, with two very big protruding rocks that narrow and accelerate the flow of water between them.

But none had more mystique than Big Bunny. Apparently the name evolved from a punter who’d say “˜rabbit’ instead of “˜rapid’. On the whole stretch this was indeed the biggest and most challenging section. If we were going to fall out of our rafts, this would most likely be the place. The silly name evoked excitement and anxiety.

To get there, however, we first had to eat a few more meals and sit around two or three campfires. Then, from a campsite called The Trees, the group portaged the boats and gear around a gnarly section above Richie Falls. From the crest of a granite boulder, we re-entered the water below the falls by lowering the fully laden boats 30 metres down to the river below. From there we paddled upstream to play in the spray at the base of the waterfall, before letting the flow push our rubber flotilla through a long calm-before- the-storm section.

We pulled up, gathered along the rocky bank and listened attentively. Ant pointed out the best line to take to beat the rabbit, before he drew our attention to the large wall of water caused by a rock right in the middle of the line. This is where the rabbit would most often claim a rubber croc scalp or six. “˜If you make it past that, you’re home free,’ the guide said. With that he jumped into his heavily laden inflatable and showed us how it was done. One by one, the group followed his lead.

The rabbit tossed and tugged at the boats ahead, only managing to wrench one of the group (who shall remain nameless) from his craft. Then it was our turn. Richard, my partner and an ex-river guide, piloted my hapless arse into this maelstrom. Where everyone else began the run with pensive expressions of concentration, he grinned maniacally at me. “˜Just my luck,’ I remember thinking. His barks of “˜Don’t paddle! Paddle! Left, left!’ had me bewildered. This guy has an inordinate water sense and his skill put us right into the eye of the, well, rabbit. From the forward position, my shaky view was first of the seething cauldron, then of a wall of water (that rock), then sky, then water and more water. Home and not quite dry on the other side, we all whooped and gave each other the thumbs up.

The rabbit had successfully transformed the pensive brows to Cheshire grins and we all would happily have gone back and done it again, repeatedly.

That night, our last, was spent on The Beach, a long, wide stretch of white sand, with red desert rock, still warm, that towered all around us. I lay on the coarse sand long after the first snores had started and the full moon had drowned out all but the brightest stars, the battle with the Big Bunny on continuous replay in my mind. Ant had spoken of how the moods of the river change as the flow varies, how sedate sections can become technical and exciting. I thought, “˜Hey Bunny, I’ll be back!’

With experience comes wisdom

Gary and Chantal Venn:
“˜We experienced beautiful scenery, great food, good company and had lots of fun and relaxation. An unforgettable four days!’

Lydia Scholtz and Gerhard Prinsloo:
“˜We thought we were coming to raft, but we walked away having experienced a whole lot more. It was a great experience – we’d recommend it to anyone with a sense of humour looking for loads of fun, adventure and a bit of adrenaline.

“˜Consider bringing a headlamp and use the red light to avoid the muggies. Bring waterproof bags of different sizes and a good mattress. A buff is handy to keep the muggies out of your mouth. Don’t forget something to while away the afternoons: a fishing rod, book or cards. Gravity even caters for vegetarians.’

Lydia added: “˜Don’t bother with a tent; the best sleep I had was under the stars.’
Nuts and bolts

Difficulty grading: 2 – 4 (easy to challenging)
Length: 3 – 10 days (standard trip four days)
Season: Year-long
Driving time from Cape Town: About 8 hours
Driving time from Johannesburg: About 10 hours
Get more on-line…
For a video clip from this trip, including a POV of me “˜negotiating’ the Big Bunny rapid, click here.






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