One spot in Lesotho consistently gives visitors a tough time: the Katse Dam road that turns off from the A1 between Mokhotlong and Mapholaneng.

Despite thorough preparation, 4x4 training and a helping hand from Garmin, the Borchards of Pretoria and their friends found themselves stumped. The day after they got home, they sold their yellow Hilux. Petro says that despite the nightmare experience, she “behaved pretty well” and threw only one late-night tantrum. “And, honestly, I can give myself a pat on the back for that.”
Here’s their story:

On your marks, get set …

It’s not as if we just drove into Lesotho blindly. A friend of ours, a guy with plenty of 4x4 experience, gave both our drivers a couple of hours’ practical training, and we asked everyone we could about Lesotho and its roads.
I did a lot of research beforehand and even phoned Garmin to ask whether they had anything about Lesotho that I could buy to make life easier. They assured me it wouldn’t really help, and that it wouldn’t be necessary anyway.
We were six adults and two little girls in two Hiluxes. In ours – the Yellow Canary – it was me, my husband, Heinz, and our English friends Graham and Beverley Bourne, who frequent four- and five-star hotels in Kenya and elsewhere in Africa. Jeff and Sarah Teasdale were in the other Hilux with the kids.

The Brit Beverley Bourne’s first encounter with Lesotho, here at the border post on top of Sani Pass.

Who said Sani Pass is tricky?

Using our AA map and a Lesotho guidebook, we crossed the border at the bottom of the Sani Pass early in the morning.
At that stage the Sani Pass was our greatest challenge, and we had no plans to try any other “4x4-only” roads on the AA map.
But when we reached the top, the guys weren’t exactly thrilled with the “easy pass” and decided to set off on the Katse road. Seeing that both vehicles had been serviced before we left, and we had long-range fuel tanks and enough food and water to feed an army, we carried on without a care in the world.
According to the guys we chatted to that morning at Sani Top Chalet, who were from a 4x4 club, the road was in a reasonable condition. We never saw them again after taking that left turn to Katse – and I’m sure they had a good laugh that evening, thinking about the naive bunch they’d sent off into hell.
At first, the road was in pretty acceptable condition, but then we came across stretches of road where parts were totally gone – always right next to a sheer drop.
We saw signs of repairs here and there, but mostly the road was pretty dismal.
Even so, we weren’t too worried. It was only later, when the road became narrower and narrower, and there were more and more precipices, that we really started stressing.

Ready to go. Graham Bourne, Petro and Heinz Borchard at the Hilux, the Yellow Canary, just before they started driving up Sani Pass.

‘Just keep left’

Meanwhile, Heinz realised something was seriously wrong with the bakkie. Each time he had to turn, he had to let go of the accelerator, turn, and then step on the accelerator to get round the corner. But he kept it to himself.
Although we had new engine mountings installed at home, it broke because of the rough road, causing the engine to push up against the steering column. The rest of us only realised the gravity of the situation the next morning when we took a look in the daylight.
Solution: Heinz took a carpet from the truck, folded it in half, stuffed it into the space between the engine and steering column, and so we drove back to Pretoria. As he always says, ’n boer maak ’n plan, but a German always has two up his sleeve!
At half past four that afternoon we reached the Malingoaneng Mission Station, where the road forms a T-junction with the river. The mission was some distance downstream, about 100 m from the track, all on its own. To the right was a clay-and-stone road of sorts that ran along the river. There was no sign of any other kind of road. So logically we followed that road.
We stopped to take a couple of pics – the last anyone would take that day.
At that stage rain started coming down gently, and we asked some locals whether we were on the road to Katse. Naturally, the answer was “yes”, and we thought all the giggling among them was just a sign of friendliness.

From that point onwards, everyone we encountered gestured vaguely leftwards when asked about Katse – “around the next corner” (of which there were millions).
The kids in the bakkie behind us later said, “The only thing around the next corner is the Yellow Canary.”
We carried on in the rain, which meanwhile turned pretty much into sleet.
Eventually, up on a plateau, we came across another vehicle – one of only two we found along the way. It was a family in a vehicle complete with rooftop tent, and they’d decided to rather stay put for the night and battle on in daylight. How I envied them!
In some places there was barely any indication of a road, just rocks. Then we would reach a fork in the “road”, and usually we’d just take the road that looked like it carried more traffic.