Barely 100 years ago the Waterberg region was so wild and isolated that President Paul Kruger handed out farms there to the "trouble makers" of the old Transvaal.  These days it’s a mere two-hour drive from Gauteng. But it can still give you a taste of the wilderness ...

The views, kloofs and undulating bushveld hills are what make the Waterberg landscape. And there’s choice. On a weekend here, you’re saddled with a choice of more than 300 places to stay, all with game-viewing options.
There’s time for a bite before we check in at Rock Lodge, our headquarters for the weekend, close to the Bushveld “capital”, Vaalwater (or Mabatlane, as it’s known today.)
Tuskers is a stone’s throw from the main street stop sign. Four bakkies, two Land Rovers and a Jeep parked in front of the establishment give you an idea of who the regulars are.
Sounding over the speakers, the song “Ver in die ou Kalahari” invites us inside. A few tables are set just in case, but the action’s on the stoep, at the bar. We join the manne and make ourselves at home, because I want to find out what the dirt roads are like around here.
It was raining all the way from Hammanskraal, and when we stopped here, it was seriously wet.
One of the guys lets out a mechanic’s whistle when I ask about the Rankin’s Pass/Rooiberg road. “My friend, right now that road is slippery as snot.”

“You won’t make it, old pal,” says another who heard the question.

It’s not quite what we were hoping to hear. My wife, Denise, Eloïse (our youngest) and I had put the weekend aside to explore the region’s dirt roads and rocky terrain in our Landy.

We had already marked off our turf: We’d start at Vaalwater, with Thabazimbi, Modimolle (Nylstroom), Mokopane (Potgietersrus) and Lephalale (Ellisras) the furthest beacons. (By the way, this area has been declared the Waterberg biosphere.)
I need to take a detour to the gents’ before we leave for Rock Lodge, 9 km west of Vaalwater on the R33. I walk into a tiled open-air urinal, a novelty for me.
Eloïse peers around the corner. “Daddy, is this your shower?” she asks, and as we walk out I quickly change the subject.

Dust, rocks and baboons in the pool
VAALWATER - ROOIBERG | 109km

After yesterday’s ominous news, our off-road exploring sounds a little dicey. Things probably also depend on our relationship with the Landy, I think.

It’s early Saturday morning, and we veer left at the Rock Lodge exit. If we go according to the map book, this wide, terracotta-looking dirt road should lead us to Thabazimbi, about 85 km south-west of us.
The weather’s clearing, and the treacherous bits of road we heard about yesterday afternoon are probably still ahead of us.
Game fences run for kilometres on either side of the road; only later I’d realise this area is strewn with game farms.
The sun’s hardly risen, and we start spotting game: waterbuck, hartebeest, blesbok, giraffes, blue wildebeest and eland. And braving a dirt road is all it’s cost us to steal a glimpse of this.
Later on, the road starts getting a bit rocky, and I secretly wonder if tar wouldn’t have been better.
Further on, 33km from Rock Lodge, a sign points out Rankin’s Pass to the left and Bakker’s Pass to the right. Right it will be, all the way along the mountainside on the edge of the Marakele National Park. The clouds are curling over the mountaintop, almost like Table Mountain when Captain Van Hunks is smoking his pipe. In the distance we see valleys.

The Landy kicks up some unexpected dust; last night’s rain probably stopped short of where we are now. The road demands concentration, the rocks keep getting bigger and I slow down to 30km/h.
It’s not the best of roads, but the joy of off-roading keeps us from complaining: no-one ahead of us, no-one behind, and you’re free to choose which side of the road you want for yourself. And when you do actually pass another vehicle, the driver lazily but courteously raises his right hand in greeting.

Later I wonder if we won’t be driving off a cliff soon – the road looks like it’s quickly heading towards the edge of the high-lying ground. A driver with a Gauteng registration plate sped past us just a short while ago, but now I see him pulling over.

Slowly and cautiously I creep ahead. There’s a major photo session going on and immediately I see why: The landscape in the background would have made Pierneef drool with delight.

From this point the road shoots down the mountain. It must be Bakker’s Pass, but I see no sign to confirm my suspicions.

We must be close to Thabazimbi, but we still can’t see the Ysterberg. The signpost at an intersection 13 km from Thabazimbi says right for Hoopdal, left for Rooiberg. We point Landy’s nose in a south-easterly direction, towards Rooiberg, and we realise we’ve become used to the dusty road.

We drive past a sign that tells us Rooiberg lies to the right, while Alma’s right ahead of us. We turn right, to Rooiberg. The first bit, about a kilometre, is so rocky, you’re not sure if you should speed up or slow down. Suddenly we see a mine dump (probably from the tin mine they used to have here) and we’re on tar again.

This must be Rooiberg. The Koekepan Pub on our left has just opened its doors. A little further on we stop off at Loslappie Home Industry, where a team of tannies sell allsorts on the stoep.
“What can I offer you?” one of them welcomes us, before we’re properly landed.
The choice is between home-made pies with topside mince (R5), or a Russian in pastry (R8). I opt for a pie, though I’m hoping to have space for one of the R2 pancakes at the next table.
Behind me in the queue, Oom Hannes complains about the baboons that keep pestering him at his house. “And now they’re even swimming in the pool!” he exclaims.