A Life Shaped by Curiosity

Born Valerie Jane Morris-Goodall in London on 3 April 1934, Jane’s fascination with animals began in childhood. She often recalled carrying a toy chimpanzee everywhere, sparking the passion that would define her life.

In 1957 she travelled to Kenya, where she met anthropologist Louis Leakey. Recognising her gift for patient observation, Leakey gave her an extraordinary opportunity: to begin fieldwork in what is now Gombe Stream National Park, Tanzania.

Redefining Science at Gombe

In June 1960, Jane Goodall set up camp on the shores of Lake Tanganyika. Armed with a notebook, binoculars, and boundless patience, she began the work that would change scientific thinking forever.

Her discoveries included:

• Chimpanzees using tools – fashioning twigs to fish for termites, overturning the belief that only humans make tools.
• Hunting behaviour – revealing that chimps are not passive vegetarians, but active hunters of smaller animals.
• Complex social bonds – documenting compassion, conflict, grief, and alliances within chimp communities.

Unlike many researchers of her era, Goodall gave the chimps names—David Greybeard, Flo, Fifi—rather than numbers, affirming their individuality.

From Scientist to Advocate

By the late 1970s, Goodall shifted from field science to global advocacy. She founded the Jane Goodall Institute in 1977, dedicated to research, conservation, and education. In 1991 she launched Roots & Shoots, empowering young people to take positive action for animals, people, and the environment.

Her influence reached far beyond primatology. Appointed a UN Messenger of Peace in 2002, she became one of the most recognisable and trusted voices for wildlife and climate action.

Awards and Recognition

Goodall’s tireless work earned her global recognition:

• Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DBE)
• Templeton Prize (2021)
• Presidential Medal of Freedom (2025)

Her books and documentaries, including In the Shadow of Man and Jane, brought her research and message to millions.

A Legacy That Endures

Jane Goodall’s message was simple yet powerful: every individual can make a difference. Her optimism, even in the face of environmental crisis, inspired countless conservationists, scientists, and everyday citizens.

As the Jane Goodall Institute noted in its tribute: “Her voice, her vision, and her hope will continue to guide us.”

Jane Goodall’s passing is a global loss. Yet her life’s work—her science, her activism, her unwavering belief in hope—remains a living legacy. She showed us that caring for animals is inseparable from caring for the earth and one another.

Image: Copyright Jane Goodall Institute

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At the heart of the Defender Awards initiative is a commitment exceeding £1 million, focused on fostering grassroots efforts that often go unnoticed. This generous programme aims to honour seven deserving winners, each selected for their outstanding contributions within defined categories. Successful applicants will each receive a £100,000 bursary, a rugged Defender vehicle tailored for demanding terrains, and invaluable mentorship from a network of experts devoted to these crucial causes.

Categories of Impact

The Defender Awards spans four categories, each targeting specific facets of our world’s conservation and humanitarian needs:

• Defenders of the Wild: This category focuses on projects dedicated to safeguarding endangered and at-risk species. Whether it’s the delicate Alpine Shrew in Europe or the majestic vulture populations in South Africa, every effort counts in preserving the biodiversity of our planet.
• Defenders of Humanity: This initiative is aimed at projects that support vulnerable communities during challenging times. These endeavours are devoted to ensuring that people not only survive crises but also thrive in their aftermath, creating a more resilient future.
• Defenders of the Land: Acknowledging the importance of ecosystems, this category supports initiatives working to protect and restore fragile landscapes. From the moorlands of the UK to the rainforests of Australia, these projects are crucial for maintaining ecological balance.
• Defenders of the Sea: This vital category aims to uphold marine species and ecosystems. Addressing threats such as water pollution in France and unsustainable fishing practices in Japan, it underscores the need for comprehensive solutions to protect our oceans.

A Call for Applications

Do you manage or know of a project that fits one of these categories? If so, the Defender Awards initiative could be your opportunity to gain recognition and support. The application process is open to all qualifying organisations, with a closing date for entries set for 16 June 2025. For full details on how to apply, interested candidates should visit landrover.com/defender-awards.

The selection process is thorough to ensure that impactful projects receive the recognition they deserve. A national panel of judges will choose two entries from each of the four categories per country, creating a shortlist of 56 finalists. These finalists will then be reviewed by a distinguished judging panel consisting of globally renowned experts in conservation and humanitarian work, who will ultimately select the seven award winners.

The Legacy of Defender

Defender has a storied history that intertwines closely with humanitarian efforts, tracing its roots back to the first Series Land Rovers in 1948. Land Rover’s partnership with the British Red Cross commenced in 1954, making it one of the most enduring friendships in humanitarian history. This latest initiative serves to build upon that legacy, further extending its support to grassroots organisations that embody the spirit of community and conservation.

Mark Cameron, Managing Director of Defender, stated, “Our new programme represents an investment of more than £1 million and will assemble an international network of experts to share knowledge and advance change. It is international in scale but has a local focus.” His vision reflects a commitment to not only support established charities but also to uplifts smaller, less-known initiatives tirelessly working to instigate positive change.

Supporting the Unsung Heroes

Charlie Mayhew OBE, Founder and President of Tusk, emphasised the initiative’s importance, stating that many project partners have relied on Defender vehicles for over two decades. The Defender Awards presents an invaluable opportunity for smaller organisations seeking to cultivate new partnerships, obtain funding, and gain access to expertise – all while benefiting from the robust capabilities associated with the Defender brand.

In conjunction with the Defender Awards, the brand is launching the ‘Rhino Whisperer’ campaign, celebrating its 20-year partnership with Tusk. This campaign highlights Defender’s commitment to supporting conservation efforts in Africa, where over 50 million hectares of critical wildlife habitat have been preserved, along with the safeguarding of more than 40 threatened species.

You Can Make a Difference

The Defender Awards initiative is not just a chance to receive substantial financial support and a rugged 4×4 vehicle; it is an invitation to join a community dedicated to creating a better world for future generations. As the closing date for applications approaches, the time to act is now. If you are aware of local projects that embody the spirit of the Defender Awards, encourage them to apply and unlock the potential to change lives.

For further details and to submit your application, please visit landrover.com/defender-awards. Remember, the closing date for submissions is 16 June 2025, so don’t miss this chance to make a meaningful impact in your community and beyond.

As a seasoned adventurer, explorer, or passionate advocate for conservation and humanitarian work, this initiative speaks directly to you. The Defender Awards aim to celebrate and empower those who take on the complexities of environmental and social challenges every day. Your involvement could not only change the trajectory of a local project but also foster a ripple effect of positive change around the globe.

Join a Community of Change-Makers

Participating in the Defender Awards means joining a wider community of like-minded advocates who are committed to making a difference. The mentorship support offered to award winners is invaluable, as it connects them with a network of experts who can provide guidance, share insights, and help amplify their reach. This network can enhance collaboration, spark innovative solutions, and drive substantial progress within communities that need it most.

The camaraderie among those engaged in these essential efforts fosters a spirit of partnership—uniting various disciplines, experiences, and approaches to tackle pressing issues that affect our environment and society.

Get Involved!

If you’re not directly involved in a project but have a passion for 4×4 vehicles, overland travel, and exploration, this is still an opportunity to support those champions at the grassroots. Engage with local conservation and humanitarian efforts in your area, spread the word about the Defender Awards, or participate in community initiatives.

Whether you’re hitting the trails on your mountain bike, camping in remote locations, recognising the beauty of nature through photography, or advocating for conservation efforts—every bit of awareness raised contributes to a larger narrative of sustainability and humanitarian support.

In addition, consider volunteering your skills or time to organisations that align with the values of the Defender Awards. The essence of the initiative resonates with those who carry forth the spirit of adventure and philanthropy, fostering a deeper connection between our lifestyle choices and the global environment.

A Lasting Impact

The Defender Awards is a celebration of not just achievements but the very essence of humanity’s innate ability to care for one another and the earth we inhabit. By investing in local champions, Defender is ensuring that significant issues get the attention they deserve, and by the same token, creating pathways for those eager to contribute to global conservation and humanitarian efforts.

As we face the many challenges that our world presents, the Defender Awards stands as a beacon of hope and action. The initiative invites everyone—whether an individual, a local organisation, or a corporate partner—to unite for the sake of our planet and its people.

With a legacy of strength and dependability, Defender continues to lead the way, not just by delivering exceptional vehicles but also by nurturing the very essence of community and support.

The call to action is clear: if you know a project that is making a difference, encourage them to apply for the Defender Awards. Together, we can drive change, conservation, and compassion forward into a better future.

For more information, further inquiries, or to submit your application, please don’t hesitate to visit landrover.com/defender-awards. Every application is a step towards making a real difference – let’s celebrate those who dare to protect what matters most.

In the spirit of adventure, purpose, and community, let’s rally around the Defender Awards and ensure that the efforts of local heroes receive the recognition and support they so richly deserve.

DEFENDER AWARDS

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I’ve listened to enthralling stories about Romania for decades. I don’t know why, but this country, rich in cultural and natural assets, has wandered up and down my bucket list as one of the countries I know I want to visit, but never actually seem to get around to. Well, now I’ve done it and my first note to self is simple: I wasn’t there long enough, have to go back.

I’m sure you know the feeling that when you go somewhere new and meet nice people, it sticks with you. And let’s face it, as long as you don’t misbehave or disrespect someone or something, you’re unlikely to come away thinking anything else. But, Romanians have a particular trait that is omnipresent. A trait that has so many definitions: friendly, warmhearted, fun, generous, open, helpful, sincere, communicative. But they are by no means overbearing. Quite the contrary. If you want to be left alone, fine. Demonstrate any kind of interest or try to start a conversation, and you may as well be a sibling. They will go out of their way (literally) to help you and make you feel welcome.

I was travelling with my son, Tristan, and a good friend, Stefan. Our sights were set upon some remote areas in the Carpathian Mountains—we were here to follow the SuperKarpata Trophy. So, the content of this article is focussed more toward nature and adventure travel than it is a cultural experience or history. I will cover those aspects on a separate occasion.

Romania spans 238,397 square kilometres and has a population of 19.3 million. Outside of Bucharest, the capital, where the population density is close to 200 per km2, the rural population hardly exceeds 87 per km2. Our destination would reveal itself as virtually devoid of any life forms at all other than the teams that were navigating their way through the wilderness and the occasional bears and wolves.

The countryside is divided almost equally between mountains, hills and plains. Geographically, the country would be landlocked were it not for the 150 miles of coastline along the Black Sea to the Southeast—Romania is bordered by Bulgaria in the South, Serbia to the West, Hungary to the Northwest, Ukraine to the North and very Southeast, and Moldova in the East.

The Carpathian Mountains are neither as high as the Alps, nor do they extend as far. Arch-shaped, the mountains are approximately 600 km long and broken into three significant ranges which present themselves with varying landscapes due to different geological influences (glacial, structural, karstic, and volcanic): the Eastern (Oriental) Carpathians, the Western Carpathians and the Southern Carpathians. The latter, also known as the Transylvanian Alps, are home to several preserved medieval towns, and many beautiful churches and castles, including Bran Castle which has close ties to the legend of Dracula. Interestingly, some of Europe’s largest gold deposits can be found in the Apuseni Mountains which also form part of the Southern Carpathians.

As far as flora and fauna are concerned, 1,350 floral species have been recorded in the Carpathian Mountains. This area is also home to one of the largest undisturbed forests in Europe where 400 unique species of mammals and 60% of the European brown bear population live.

Most rivers in Romania have their source in the Carpathians and include the Arges, Ialomita, Mures, Olt, Prut, Siret and Somes. The upper streams are often more picturesque with caves, gorges and precipices. The Danube, Europe’s second longest river, forms part of Romania’s borders with Serbia, Bulgaria and Ukraine in the Southeast where it divides into three branches, Chilia, Sulina and St. George, to form the triangular Danube Delta which comprises sandbanks, marshes and floating reed islands. The Danube Delta is a UNESCO Biosphere Reservation and protected wetland serving as a natural habitat for rare plants and animals.

Besides it’s rivers, Romania is littered with some 3,500 small to medium-sized lakes. Whereas the largest are located close to the Black Sea or along the Danube, the smaller glacial lakes in the mountains which were formed during the ice age are more spectacular. It is certainly worth visiting lakes Zanoaga (the deepest in the country) and Bucura in the Retezat mountain range as well as lakes Balea, Caltun, Capra and Podragu in the Transylvanian Alps.

The lake of particular natural beauty is St. Ana, near Tusnad. This is the sole volcanic lake in the country, formed by a perfect crater surrounded by tall coniferous forests. Fed solely by rain, the water is exceptionally pure.

The last noteworthy lake, Lacul Rosu (the Red lake), near Bicaz Gorge in the Hasmas Mountains, is a natural dam formed by a major landslide in 1837. Its name is derived from the reddish alluvial soils deposited by its main tributary, the Bicaz.

Romania is a spectacular country in so many ways, but when it comes to overlanding in Europe, the expanse of the Carpathian Mountains with its changing landscapes and accessibility is a destination to consider for more than just a few weeks.

In closing, I’d like to explain the hospitality we encountered during our stay with a few anecdotes. The first springs to mind because of an untypical situation: It all began a year previously when I lost my wash bag. In one guise or another, it had accompanied me for decades, its contents evolving steadily into a unique completeness that left me prepared for most eventualities (whether that meant daily hygiene, medical supplies or other useful nicknacks). The sum of its components was more than I can remember, even today—items that you only know you’re missing when you need them most. Well, in this particular scenario a seam had split and needed repairing. True to Murphy’s law, the mini-sewing kit I always have with me revealed itself with untimely absence.

A visit to a supermarket in a small town proved fruitless, but I did receive instructions, from someone who spoke German, and sought a nearby clothes shop. Silenced by my complete lack of Romanian vocabulary, I resorted to pantomime to explain my needs to the proprietor and a few interested standers-by. A shaking of heads echoed by a waving of fingers was my second let-down until a man gesticulated and gave me cause to believe he had a resolve. Leading me off the premises with invisible reins, we walked for about 500 metres along a busy road until we stopped in front of a hole-in-the-wall I would surely have missed even if I knew what I was looking for. Entering the narrow room, my guide struck up a conversation with the only other person in the room. A drawer opened, small flat packages and spools of different sizes were displayed upon the counter top.

Minutes later, I paid four Lei (or about €0.80) and held a small paper bag with needles and thread.

My guide’s face broke into a broad grin which spread to his eyes. He seemed even more relieved than I that we had found what we were looking for. Upon leaving, he turned to me and took my hand in both of his and shook it whilst nodding and saying something I sadly did not understand. And then he was gone.

The second example of boundless generosity came completely out of the blue. We had been looking for a place to camp for the night and were in the throes of deciding whether or not to stay in a field on some high ground with an endless view across rolling hills. I heard a car pull up behind me, but didn’t pay it any particular attention until the sound of feet came closer and a man, speaking impeccable English with a London accent, enquired if he could help. He explained someone had called him to say there were people who looked as if they were about to camp on his property.

I began to apologise for trespassing when he cut me short. Whether we stayed or not was neither here nor there. Octavian, as he introduced himself, was far more concerned about a possible weather front that might blow or wash us away during the night. We were welcome to stay, but in the light of an ensuing storm, he proposed we follow him to his cabin where we could spend the night more protected. It was only a few kilometres away. I wasn’t about to be rude by declining his offer, so we packed everything in the van and followed him.

Winding roads, that narrowed to tracks (barely wider than the van) the deeper we drove into a dense forest, eventually led us to a gate in a cul-de-sac. We drove through and up to his cabin…which revealed itself as a six-bedroom house with a large garden and red timber annex furnished with a heavy wooden table and enough chairs for a sizeable family and friends. Inside, we were given a quick tour and shown the pantry where smoked meats and sausages hung from the ceiling. “Help yourselves to whatever you want”, he said, as he thrust the front door key into my hand and prepared to leave.

I asked if he wasn’t staying. “Oh no, I have to get back to my wife and kids so we can have dinner before they go to bed. Make yourselves comfortable and hide the key when you leave in the morning.” I was dumbfounded. Octavian didn’t know me from Adam, yet, after only a few minutes of conversation, he was prepared to offer three strangers shelter from the storm in his house and leave us alone with a pantry full of traditional victuals.

We swapped phone numbers and I learned he owned a construction company in London where he spent two weeks every month to make sure his crew had enough work and that his customers were happy.

That was it. Blind faith, or just a huge heart? Either way, another example of the kind of almost limitless generosity and hospitality we experienced over and over again.

TRAVEL TIPS

The language is Romanian. Some people have an understanding of English, German, French or Italian.

Romania joined the EU on January 1st, 2007—but is not yet a member of the Schengen Zone. Citizens of EU member states require a valid passport or national identity card. All overseas/non-EU visitors require a valid passport and should check online if a visa is required: www.e-visa.mae.ro

MEDICAL
Health insurance is recommended. Hospitals do not share the same standards as commonly found in Europe. It is therefore wise to carry a comprehensive emergency medical kit. In the case of a serious illness or injury, it is advisable to travel back home if possible and supplementary insurance cover for such an occasion has proven worthwhile. No vaccinations are required upon entry. However, if you are planning to stay longer than a few days, vaccinations against rabies (stray dogs) and hepatitis B are recommended.

VEHICLE
Besides the vehicle documents (proof of ownership), you must also carry a valid insurance green card (also for a trailer where applicable). All passenger cars, motorhomes and commercial vehicles must buy an e-vignette when travelling in Romania. At the time of writing, motorcycles were exempt, please check for any changes before entering the country. The e-vignette can be purchased online here: https://digitale-vignette-ro.online/

DRIVING
Diesel and petrol are readily available, however it is wise to carry a spare canister if you are considering exploring remote areas. Speed restrictions in urban areas are 50 km/h, on rural roads 90 km/h, on motorways 130 km/h. Seatbelts are compulsory and daylights must be used on rural roads and motorways. Drinking and driving is forbidden, 0.00 mg/l applies. When driving at night, you should anticipate confronting vehicles without lights, slow moving vehicles, and even horse drawn carts/carriages.

DOCUMENTS
Documentation requirements concerning travel with domestic (non-commercial) dogs, cats, and ferrets: proof of rabies vaccinations, official pet health certificate, microchip implantation. Further information can be found here: www.pettravel.com/immigration/romania.cfm

CURRENCY
1 Leu (RON) = approx. €0.20. There is a large network of ATMs that accept standard international credit and debit cards but you may incur a fee. Mastercard and Visa credit cards are widely accepted by many businesses.

CLIMATE
Romania has a temperate climate with four distinct seasons. Regionally, the weather can differ quite significantly but, generally, summers can be hot and winters can be cold – especially at higher altitudes. You can expect snowfall between mid-December and March.

CAMPING
Officially, wild camping is not permitted. However, it is often tolerated. Common sense applies and the principles of Leave No Trace should be adhered to. If you are asked to move on, do so politely and take all your belongings, garbage, etc., with you.

A LOOK BACK AT THE SUPERKARPATA TROPHY 2022

I recently read Cape Cold to Cape Hot by Richard Pape. He documents his 1955 adventure from the Nordkap to Cape Town which he completed in, of all cars, an Austin A90 (a British manufactured family saloon). He knew the journey’s beginning and its end. What lay in between was, to a certain extent at least, unknown. Even so, he overcame some remarkable challenges, against serious odds, before his triumphant arrival in Cape Town which also established a new world record. Compared to travelling in the 21st century, Pape’s journey represents modern overlanding in its infancy. Today, it is quite difficult to find a new overlanding challenge of similar dimensions. Even the glory days of the Camel Trophy, which were held between 1980 and 2000, have been relegated to the annals of history. But the almost forgotten spirit of endurance vehicle-supported adventure is by no means dead

Nearly 70 years after Pape’s inspiring journey and more than two decades since the last Camel Trophy, the SuperKarpata Trophy embodies and upholds the spirit of expedition adventure in its true sense…2022 saw the 16th Trophy after an involuntary three-year interlude.

Since its premiere in 2004, the SuperKarpata Trophy has gone from strength to strength and the 2022 event was by far the largest: 87 vehicles divided into 41 teams from 9 countries. As far as brands are concerned, the line was pretty much in keeping with what you would anticipate: Suzuki Jimny, Mercedes/Puch G, Isuzu, Land Rover, Jeep, Toyota, Nissan, Mitsubishi and Pinzgauer. The organisers are lenient in their approach to vehicle requirements: keep it below 7.5 tons and equip it with a roll cage and winch. As far as the drivers and passengers are concerned, if you want a chance of ranking successfully, your skill set should include navigation, off-road driving experience, mechanical competence, and a healthy portion of team spirit.

Festivities began with a kick-off party at the Hellsklamm Offroadpark just outside of Vienna, Austria, where each team was given the opportunity to introduce themselves on stage. Upon arrival, each vehicle was given its start number and fitted with a tracker so that the organisers were aware of everyone’s location and precise route at any time.

The following morning, all the contenders took a nine-hour drive through Austria and Hungary to reach the start location in Romania where a welcome committee was waiting with a traditional Romanian goulash, beer and some local schnapps.

After what could possibly be the last good night’s sleep for a few days, the organisers called a meeting. Rules and regulations were discussed for a last time, bags of donated goods were collected from every team (in support of people in need in Ukraine), and loaves of bread were distributed to each car. At a set time, all relevant coordinates for the first stage, including the borders of the corridor which is tucked deep in the forests of the Carpathian Mountains and encompasses no less than four thousand square kilometres (yes, 4,000 km2!), were released for each team to download. True to the event’s hashtag #findyourowntrack, there is no road book. It’s down to each team to call upon whatever maps they prefer and to plan what they feel is an achievable route. Then they were off.

At the midway point, everyone met at a hotel for a meal, hot showers, and an opportunity to make good any damage to the vehicles incurred en route. However, a challenge such as the SuperKarpata Trophy will more often than not call upon the competitors’ ability to perform field repairs and practice salvage skills. Intimate knowledge of your vehicle, carrying the parts you know are most likely to fail (and being able to perform creative repairs when something unexpected breaks) are a challenge in its own right—after all, managing the on-board weight is critical for some of the precarious passages the teams had to navigate.

If the geographic extremes of mountains and forests aren’t enough, Zeus also wanted a say in how difficult things could get. Largely the weather this year was favourable, but a violent storm ensured that the ground would be more glutenous around the midway mark.

After several more days away from civilisation and crossing the finishing line, everyone congregated at the Ramada Hotel in Oradea for the final festivities and award ceremony. Vehicles could be cleaned at a nearby service station and the hotel carpark turned into a unique display of battle-scarred 4x4s.

Georg Müller-Hartburg, supported by his family and enthusiastic crew, has created an event he describes in his own words as follows: “The SuperKarpata Trophy is a one-of-a-kind concept not to be found anywhere else in the world. One of the last expedition adventures in Europe.

Off-road driving in its most authentic and primal form, an expedition into unknown terrain. #findyourowntrack”

Upholding the concept after 16 years is no mean feat. The popularity of each event and the spirit of adventure and camaraderie exuding from every competitor (many of whom come back year after year), is tribute to the countless hours of effort the organisers put in to make each new Trophy more challenging, more exciting, and different to anything in the past.

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Kingsley Holgate: explorer, humanitarian, author, and a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society

In case you’re not familiar with the name, Kingsley Holgate is a South African explorer, humanitarian, author, and a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society. In 2009, he was described by Getaway Magazine as “the most travelled man in Africa,” more than a little reminiscent of the iconic David Livingstone.

It was the end of October 2021, and Kingsley was heading out on a new adventure, one of his greatest yet. After 20 months of lockdown, “all adventurers will agree, it’s time to move again,” says Kingsley. And he notes that this expedition has been almost two years in the making.

The New Defender Transcontinental Expedition will start at Africa’s southernmost tip, Cape L’Agulhas, travel to Alexandria, then reach all the way up to the Nordkapp before heading down again and westward across Europe and the United Kingdom to the Welsh coast and the Irish Sea. The journey will cover approximately 30,000 km and 30 countries, including a visit to the New Defender’s manufacturing site in Slovakia, before ending at Red Wharf Bay on the Isle of Anglesey where, in 1947, Maurice Wilks etched the first drawing of a Land Rover in the sand.

As we have all come to appreciate over the years, when Kingsley Holgate climbs into his car to go places, he will be doing something significant along the way. In his own words, “all our expedition have the principle of saving and improving lives through adventure.”

In keeping with this principle, the New Defender Transcontinental Expedition includes projects such as Malaria Prevention, Mashozi’s Rite to Sight, Water Purification, Early Childhood Development, endangered species conservation, and other environmental and humanitarian activities, all of which are covered in more detail on the Foundation’s website kingsleyholgate.com.

COMBATTING MALARIA IN AFRICA

The mosquito is the most dangerous predator in Africa and transmits malaria which kills young children at the rate of one per minute. Kingsley has been influential in building awareness for the problem by lecturing about the risks, teaching prevention, and distributing free mosquito nets to populations living in remote areas.

MASHOZI’S RITE TO SIGHT

The Rite to Sight project was first initiated by Mashozi (Gill) Holgate during the 2003 23°27’ Tropic of Capricorn round-the-world expedition which lasted 18 months. Since then, the Holgate Foundation has distributed more than 218,700 pairs of eyeglasses to mostly elderly people living in remote areas. Venturing into some of the remotest areas, the team set up a gathering point, test the visitors, and fit those who need them with a pair of eyeglasses on the spot.

THE SEND-OFF

The predetermined location for the send-off party was Point L’Agulhas, not only the southernmost tip of Africa, but also where the Indian and Atlantic oceans really meet. There was a good turnout of well-wishers, but of particular significance was the Guard of Honour which was made up of fourteen or fifteen Land Rover Series 1 models—a fitting parade to send off its youngest descendent on what would also be the marque’s first significant expedition since the new Defender’s launch several years prior. Each of the cars that joined the party was given a special Defender Transcontinental Expedition sticker bearing the flags of South Africa, Norway, and England. Kingsley even managed to leave an inscription on several Series 1s.

SEVERAL RITUALS MARK THE BEGINNING OF EVERY KINGSLEY HOLGATE EXPEDITION

FIRSTLY, the Zulu Calabash. Partially charged with water from the combined oceans, it will carry its fill from South Africa to Alexandria and the Mediterranean, then to the Nordkapp and the Barents Sea. At each of these significant waypoints, the contents will be added to so that the combined water can finally be ceremoniously emptied from the calabash into the Irish Sea at Red Wharf Bay.

SECONDLY, the Expedition Scroll of Peace and Goodwill. Each expedition documents the places it visits and the people met along the way in a beautifully bound ledger which is produced especially by Melvill & Moon for each occasion. By the end of the expedition, hundreds of pages will be adorned with anecdotes and signatures. I, too, was able to leave my mark along with so many others during these first few days.

THIRDLY, the Speech or Wisdom Sharing, as I feel is a more appropriate way of describing it. Kingsley Holgate is gifted with the ability to tell meaningful stories and to draw his audience in so close that he catches your gaze and seems to talk to you at a very personal level.

It’s not just the big beard and deep voice that draws people to him, it’s his ability to convey what he has to say with clarity, charm, and a mannerism that leaves the listener yearning for more. Born in Africa to a missionary family, Kingsley was fascinated by the stories his father told him about explorers. Whilst growing up he learned to speak Zulu and understand what it means to live so close to nature and to be at one with Mama Africa.

This occasion was, of course, no different and he told us the story of “The Pebbles of Life.” Seven stones that mark various stages on a person’s journey though life.

PEBBLES OF LIFE Taking seven pebbles from his pocket, he explains that each pebble represents a period of ten summers. Seven pebbles equals seventy years or a span of life we can hope to enjoy so long as we are spared anything too untoward along the way.

Addressing one of the audience, he asks, “how old are you?”—“53,” replies the man.

“Well, I’ll grant you three years as a bonus,” says Kingsley as hse discards five of the pebbles and explains “fifty years are gone. Hopefully you have memories filled with adventures, happiness, and no regrets. But the years are gone and there is no point in trying to relive the past. You just have to focus on what lies ahead.”

“And the seventh pebble joins the five, because there is no guarantee that you’ll be strong or able-bodied enough to enjoy that final decade.”

Taking a brief moment, he looks at the last remaining pebble thoughtfully before placing it in the man’s palm. “Put it in your pocket. It’s going to become quite an inconvenience. It’ll tangle with your keys and get mixed up in loose change. But, at the end of every day, you will retire it to a spot next to your bed and return it to your pocket the following morning. You’ll hold it unconsciously, rub it smooth between your fingers, and accept it as a constant reminder for you to make time for adventure.”

The moral behind the story of the Pebbles of Life: It’s telling us to fell a conscious decision to shed any kind a monotonous and potentially mundane life in favour of getting out to enjoy the awesome adventures life and Mama Africa hold in store.

FOURTHLY, the Isivivane. Independent of the aforementioned story of stones, the Zulu word isivivane translates to throw your stone upon the pile. Whereas today, a monument is designed by an architect and constructed by employed workers, Zulu tradition anticipated each and every person contributing to and respecting something significant by literally throwing a stone upon the pile, thus creating a collective memory for future reference. Isivivane is also a metaphor for change which in itself is a steadfast component of all of Kingsley’s expeditions.

There will be four isivivanes constructed at notable stages of the expedition: Point L’Agulhas, Alexandria, Nordkapp, and Maurice Wilks’ graveside.

FIRST DAYS OF THE EXPEDITION

Having left Point L’Agulhas, I was now travelling with the expedition. Our first stop was a village where we would work on behalf of Mashozi’s Rite to Sight. It is quite remarkable to witness the change a person experiences when suddenly equipped with eye correction glasses. Everything necessary was on board from eyesight test screens—some with the alphabet, others with animals—to frames and lenses so that a needy person could be fitted immediately.

An authentic South African braai

Thereafter, we continued to Kruger National Park where we stayed in traditionally styled huts, had an amazing meal which included a speciality made from beef, garlic and cheese, talked, listened to more stories and, also a Kingsley Holgate tradition, savoured some Captain Morgan rum.

I was parcel to this journey for only a few days, but the experience and having to leave such a charismatic person and his partners proved a moving moment for me. Given the choice, I would have stuck with the Kingsley Holgate Foundation. Not merely for the sake of the journey, but to participate in all the good this handful of people are about to spread amongst numerous communities on its, in parts quite dangerous, path through Africa and Europe.

Keep well.

Text and images: Christian Huntgeburth

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I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little skeptical of the true intensity that lay ahead. In just a matter of minutes my skepticism would be put to rest. Floating through the soft and sandy two track with the roar of the engine reaching a new level, the steering wheel resisted any sort of instruction as we weaved our way into the bush. No sooner had the words “Be on the watch for elephants” left Anton’s mouth when my knees hit the dash of the Defender.

“Elle! Elle straight ahead!”

My eyes strained to focus as I looked through the windshield, only to see an adult female elephant charging directly at us. As if from a scene in Jurassic Park, Anton calmly said: “Do not move. At all.”

The soft click of my camera lens was all that I responded with. I watched in awe as she came to an abrupt halt, digging in her front heels and shaking the dust off her now fully deployed ears. A few seconds later and the whole encounter was over, leaving the convoy at a loss for words. As Anton put the car into gear again and slowly rolled past the elephant tracks, I had gained a whole new perspective on what the word “wild” meant in Southern Africa.

Pushing through kilometres of increasingly difficult terrain revealed just how important each member of this team would be in the hours and days to come. Karl, the resident optometrist for 4x4Outfar, along with his wife Adi, often held the group together with a mixture of caffeine and light-hearted banter. Keeping spirits up across the radio as the height of water crossings went from lug nut, to over-tire, and at times over the hood, or as they say in South Africa, “over the bonnet.” Cam, our fearless videographer, was often running barefoot at full speed back and forth between rigs to capture the true nature of what we were getting ourselves into.

The farther we crept into the wilderness, the more the road began to turn to mud, Bogging down our extremely well-equipped vehicles and creating hour-long rescue missions. Ivor, a skilful man of few words, and his daughter Megan, took up the role of leading our pack through unknown water. Our routine of “walking it” became an all too familiar occurrence when staring down the 50-meter watering holes on our route. At times we even made the decision to cut a new road alongside the standing water, only to find stubborn mud, stumps, and the occasional downed trees. Hour after hour we made our way through the bush, until a moment came that felt uncomfortably quiet. 90 kilometres into our push, with another 60 kilometres still ahead of us, the engine in Anton’s Defender came to a sputtering halt. We were officially stuck.

The sun was shining down on miles and miles of wilderness in every direction, and we were right in the middle of it. Noticing our journey had gone from a confident yet progressive struggle to a much more serious scenario, Anton reached for the satellite phone to send out an SOS.

Not knowing if help would make its way to us before sundown, we made our best effort to pull the Defender with a tow line through mangled bush road. Ultimately, we realised that the Defender had to be left behind. Grabbing only the bare essentials, we packed Anton, his wife Melita, and daughter Cayla into the remaining three vehicles and watched Anton’s Defender disappear into the bush through the rear view mirrors.

It was clear with one vehicle down, the stakes became higher at each water crossing. Knowing that if something else failed, our likelihood of getting out would be close to zero. Chatter continued to come across the radio as we raced the daylight. As we watched the soggy green landscape pass by, our eyes grew wide hearing the radio crackle. Adi’s voice came through with the words, “rigs on the horizon!” A wave of relief washed over the entire team. We were greeted soon after by two safari patrols sent out from a lodge to respond to Anton’s SOS.

Hopping out of our vehicles we shared a moment of pure gratitude with our new lodge companions. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anton with his head buried in a well-deserved moment of emotion. Knowing our journey wasn’t over yet, Anton joined the safari convoy retracing our path to recover his beloved vehicle. Let’s just say that the radio was full of light-hearted jokes as we pressed on.

On the final leg of our trek to the other side of the Okavango Delta, we found ourselves in another pickle. The safari patrol leading the way home fell to the same fate as we had so many times earlier. Wheels buried and high-centred in the mud. This was almost routine for them, and we watched the locals demonstrate their seemingly effortless recovery skills. In a fraction of the time we would have spent ourselves, they used the surroundings to their advantage and were back in action. As fate would have it, Anton’s Defender was able to be rebooted and he even managed to switch roles, giving an assist to the bogged-down safari patrol… Something I don’t think he’ll let any of us forget any time soon.

The rest of our community vision work with 4x4Outfar went off without a hitch. Each village we were able to visit and provide testing would become a testament to the resilience only to be found in a team that is truly committed to its mission. When all was said and done, this trip would see the 4x4Outfar team provide vision testing for over 2,000 children, and distribute 86 pairs of prescription eyeglasses to some of the most deserving and compassionate communities I’ve ever encountered.

On the return trip to the airport, Anton expressed how grateful he and his team have been for the love and support they’ve received from the iKamper community around the world. How much it means to them to be able to go out and do this work to Love People & Love Nature. I told him that one wouldn’t exist without the other.

As the plane took off, I got one last look down at that line in the wild I saw weeks ago. Returning my gaze to the seat back in front of me, I couldn’t help but write these few words down: “The wrong road for the right reasons…the legend of Anton Poplett.”

Text: Eric Gordon | Images: Eric Gordon, Cameron Stuart and courtesy of Anton Poplett

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As I flew from Seattle to the unspoiled landscape of Botswana, I looked down and saw a single road cutting through one of the wildest places on Earth. Little did I know I would soon be standing in the middle of a road just like that one, thigh-deep in muddy water, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

I first connected with Anton close to a year ago. I had received an email about his work providing life-changing prescription eyewear to children in some of the most remote villages of Southern Africa. After a few calls back and forth with Anton, it was clear this was a story that needed to be heard. As a part of iKamper’s commitment to Love People & Love Nature, we dedicated our 2021 Giveback Giveaway to support Anton’s work with 4x4Outfar (4x4outfar.com). The iKamper community showed its true colours and donated more than US$20,000 to further 4x4Outfar’s work. Fast forward six months, and as I watched muddy water spill over the hood of Anton’s 2010 Defender, there was no doubt left in my mind…this guy, his team, and their positive impact on the community are the real deal.

Leading up to this trip, the word “wild” seemed to find its way into conversations with Anton quite regularly. As an avid adventure seeker in my own right, I took it with a grain of salt knowing that word can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. I know now that I’d be leaving with a whole new understanding of “wild” by the time I left Botswana.

When I landed in Maun, Botswana after a leg-cramping 48 hours of airport travel, Anton was waiting to greet me with what I would come to know as South African hospitality. As we drove, Anton explained that possibly the most important piece of this adventure was situated right next to my luggage. A fully self-sufficient prescription eyewear inventory and diagnostic system that allowed him and his team to do what they do successfully. Over the next week and a half, I learned just how impactful this corrective eyewear system would be. As well as how essential the Skycamp 2.0 was to complete the 4x4Outfar team’s rigs.

We pulled up to the first school and established an order of operations that would become more and more efficient as each day of the trip passed.

• Step 1. Find the best-shaded area in the schoolyard to park our rigs. Almost always under massive trees in the middle of the property.
• Step 2. Measure out a four-meter distance from the side of our vehicles where eye charts were mounted. The classic ones you might recognise from your own childhood eye exams.
• Step 3. Greet the kids who have already spilled out of their classrooms with excitement, and separate them into lines with the help of the school teachers.

Starting with the large “E” at the top of the chart, a chorus of “Good!” and “Well done!” echoed throughout the schoolyard as the testing was underway. Followed by bursts of laughter and curiosity from children waiting in line. Eventually, a small group of children would form a new line for secondary testing.

This is when the real work begins. Often paired with a local teacher, Anton’s crew would take what they like to call the “You See” glasses, and gently fit them on a child’s face. USee glasses have one small opening for each eye with a dial on either side to adjust lenses and identify prescription strength needed. Once the initial confusion was sorted out, the children would turn the dial for each eye and watch as their world slowly came into focus for the first time. After a few minutes to set the prescription lenses into frames, we were handing the children a brand new pair of eyeglasses on the spot.

Like many youngsters, they were often shy at first and would calmly walk away, but as soon as they got back to their group of friends a big smile would appear on their faces and life would pick up right where it left off. Teachers at each school would share with us some of the struggles that certain students had been experiencing simply because they couldn’t see what was written on the chalkboard. Watching children struggle to discern even the largest letters on the vision chart, it hit home that they have been living with this issue every moment of every day. For many of us, an issue like this would be identified and dealt with at a very early age. 4x4Outfar’s work is giving these children the chance see clearly for the first time in their lives.

Anton and his team have been doing this work for close to four years now. They shared a particular story with me that was very similar to the schoolyard in front of me. On a previous trip, they helped a young boy with prescription lenses. After receiving his new glasses, he improved exponentially in school, and along the way even taught himself how to knit. Anton explained to me that over the past two years this young man was able to knit scarves and sell them to support his family. Eventually earning enough to buy himself a brand-new school uniform.

Stories like these, along with so many others, demonstrate the incredible ripple effect of this work. When a community of people comes together to spread love far beyond their borders, that is what it truly means to Love People & Love Nature.

Text: Eric Gordon | Images: Eric Gordon and Cameron Stuart

The post Anton Poplett – on the wrong road for the right reason (part one) appeared first on overland-europe.

More than 60 years have passed since that memorable moment. There were three of us: Collyn, Rex, and myself. We had met at the de Havilland Aircraft Company in Hatfield, England. Collyn was an electronics engineer while Rex and I were apprentices; we shared an interest in vintage cars and had become friends.

Collyn subsequently left de Havilland to join the research department of Bedford/Vauxhall Motors while I, after my apprenticeship, went to what was then called Southern Rhodesia to become a learner miner. Two years later, in 1959, after I had hitchhiked from Rhodesia to Kenya, I was invited on a journey Collyn had planned to drive from England to South Africa and back with him and Rex. There could only be one response to such an invitation.

It was entirely Collyn who conceived and organised the trip, inspired by the lack of solid data about road conditions across Africa—information sorely needed for realistic testing of vehicles being built for that continent. His employer could not justify financial support for such a venture but made available an unused Bedford QLR 4WD truck for a nominal £100.

Collyn set about researching sponsors for what he called the TransAfrica Survey Expedition. The most vital of these was Mobil Oil, which provided political assistance, and fuel and oil for the entire expedition. The British Army supplied 100 kilograms of experimental dehydrated food that proved excellent.

What I brought to the table was some experience of Africa; a rudimentary knowledge of French, Chilapalapa, and Swahili; plus a small amount of money, which turned out to be rather less than my fellow travellers had hoped. Between us, we had a total of about £550, but decided to keep most of it for emergencies—such as how to get home should the truck break down.

The QL Bedford was designed just prior to WW2 as a versatile off-road military vehicle able to carry three tonnes virtually anywhere. With a fully laden weight of seven tonnes, the QL was powered by a 3.5-litre petrol engine designed in the early 1930s by Chevrolet. This provided a rarely attained (and governed) top speed of 32 mph (about 50 kph). Whilst a fully laden QL makes an overladen oxen-drawn timber wagon seem like a Ferrari, it had a meager bottom gear ratio of 104:1. Even a minor gradient would slow it to walking pace. Still, given enough time, a QL could virtually climb the side of a house. Ours was the rare QLR version. It was built in early 1940 as an emergency aircraft runway control hub but was never used. The QLR had a massive centre-mounted winch, a 12-volt, 600-amp dynamo the size of a large garbage bin, and a giant air compressor. Front and rear axles were driven by separate power shafts from the huge centre-mounted transfer box. The spacious but very heavy metal body was heat-insulated, with opening windows protected by sliding bulletproof shutters. We converted the rear into crude living quarters.

The QLR originally had two 180-litre fuel tanks, and we added three more the same size, plus five 20-litre jerry cans. The resultant 1,000 litres (about 1.2 tonnes) provided a safe 3,500-kilometre range for the Saharan crossings and the ability to cross Europe without refuelling. We carried 700 litres of water (another 700 kilograms). Cooking was via a couple of paraffin-fuelled Tilley pressure stoves. Internal lighting was 12-volt electric.

Apart from preserved food and a large quantity of spares, we also carried a typewriter, letter-headed notepaper, and a selection of rubber stamps with multi-coloured pads to prepare suitable documents for border crossings. The issue date for some of the papers had to be within six months of being presented, which was simply not possible given our anticipated travel time to reach that spot.

I joined Collyn and Rex in Paris, where Collyn picked me up at the Gare du Nord in what seemed to me to be a truly humongous truck painted bright blue. I had never driven anything so large and was a bit startled by the sight of it. Obtaining permission to cross the Sahara involved two months of battling French bureaucracy in the Paris Surrete. Hugely assisted by Mobil Oil’s political clout, they eventually relented, and permits were granted, conditional on our driving in Algeria only outside the curfew hours of 4:00 p.m. to 9:00 a.m.

When we reached the heavily fortified border post between Morocco and Algeria, we were immediately directed to an inspection pit where the truck was given a once-over by teams of both police and military. Meanwhile, we were all hustled off to a building where we were thoroughly body searched and our papers examined. The first 100 meters after leaving the post was along a road bordered by barbed wire with a machine gun trained on us for the entire distance. Welcome to Algeria, we thought. A curfew was strictly enforced at 4:00 p.m., and we spent every night in a military camp where we shared an evening meal with the French soldiers—a hearty feast served with carafes of red and white wine that impressed us, the young lads, to no end.

Our route took us through the beautiful coastal cities of Oran and Algiers, which looked exactly like France to our youthful eyes. Along the roads, we passed toppled power pylons and military Jeeps equipped with a wire-cutting device to protect the occupants from being decapitated by wires strung at head height across the roads. Roadside signs in French proclaimed that Algeria was part of France and it was her right and duty to see it remained so.

We contacted the Mobil office in Algiers, without whose help it would have been extremely difficult (if not downright impossible) to obtain our permits to cross the Sahara.

We finally set off south. The QLR was beginning to run very rough with a considerable loss in power, which could not have happened in a worse place as we started the climb up the rugged Atlas Mountains. We passed notices saying it was forbidden to stop and were overtaken by gigantic Berliet trucks driven by Arab drivers banging on their doors with their fists and shouting Vite! Vite! This area was reckoned to be one of the most dangerous in the whole of Algeria. At every bridge was a guard post with an entrance door pockmarked with bullet holes, high up and accessible only by a ladder pulled up after use. In his North country accent, Rex gloomily remarked, “Now I know what a sitting duck feels like.”

Eventually, we reached the high point at 1,200 metres (3,900 feet), where temperatures were only a few degrees above freezing. We set about trying to figure out what was wrong with the engine and concluded that the problem must be internal. We parked in an alley that seemed reasonably secure and removed the cylinder head for the first of what ultimately turned out to be five times. On this occasion, three of the exhaust valves were completely burnt out, with one having a great split. It took hours of work to replace and grind the valves and recut the valve seats. Fortunately, we had the parts and knowledge to diagnose and fix the problem, which would continue to plague us for the rest of the trip.

Not too far south of here, we reached the outskirts of the desert. Just beyond the town of Laghouat, we passed a road sign that read “Capetown 13,000 kilometres.” We were now finally free of security restrictions, and a weight was lifted from our shoulders. Ironically, the great Sahara Desert—covering an area bigger than the contiguous USA and considerably larger than Australia—had become a relatively safe area compared to the settled and developed coastal zones.

At that time, the Sahara was extremely well administered by the French. We had to check in at each oasis settlement or town where our permits were examined. Before continuing, we had to provide an ETA for arrival at the next checkpoint. If we failed to show up within the agreed interval after that time, a search party would be organised to look for us. They would charge for the search, but at least you would be alive to pay for it.

North of the town of In Salah, we crossed the seemingly endless, stony Tademaït Plateau, which, after two days of teeth-rattling corrugations, terminated abruptly without any warning. Here we stopped for the night. I slept outside on a camp bed with my head towards the truck, so it was out of sight, and when I awoke the following morning, I was greeted by a magical view over a landscape imbued by the rosy fingers of dawn.

Further south, at an elevation of 1,320 metres (4,330 feet) set in the moonlike Ahaggar Mountains, Tamanrasset is an important oasis city and the capital of Tamanrasset Province of southern Algeria. Built entirely of mud, it has for centuries been the trading centre for camel caravans from Kano, Lake Chad, Agadez, and Zinder, all of which we would visit. It was originally established as a military outpost to guard the trans-Saharan trade routes, and a relaxed but efficient atmosphere remained.

Once past Tamanrasset, the track gradually lost elevation through rocky terrain and entered an area of sand where there was no defined track—more a preferred direction of travel delineated by slim posts about 10 kilometres apart. Navigating by compass or the direction of the sun in what you hoped was the correct general direction, the next post could usually be spotted via binoculars from the QLR’s handy gun turret when about midway between the two. This was a tricky part of the crossing as it was often necessary to veer to the left or right for several kilometres to skirt soft sand. It was thus vital to remember whether one had veered to the left or the right of the presumed line between the route markers. We still managed to get stuck and had to dig out using our sand mats.

When miles from the nearest oasis town, we would come across small camel caravans crossing our southerly track at right angles. We would always stop at these encounters, and they would often ask for such items as water or maybe matches. These we would supply if we could, and they always gave something in return—perhaps a piece of rock-hard cheese made from camel milk or, on one occasion, an enamel basin of still-warm milk. The unwritten law of the desert was that if you saw another vehicle or person stationary, you would always stop to check on the other party’s condition.

In Niger’s Agadez, which dates to the 15th and 16th centuries, we saw many Tuareg, a nomadic people of the desert who practice a distinctive brand of Islam. Many make daily prayers to Allah, but strict adherence to other religious requirements is rare. Tuareg men begin wearing a veil at age 25, which conceals the entire face, excluding their eyes. This veil is never removed, even in front of family members. It is believed that men began wearing the dark blue veil to protect their faces from the Sahara sands. Tuareg women are not veiled.

The desert gradually morphed into the Sahel, a vast semi-desert area south of the Sahara, stretching from the Atlantic to the Red Sea. We began to see more people and animals even as the condition of the track deteriorated. Driving was arduous, and we worked two-hour shifts. The track would drop abruptly into dry river beds, and after 12 hours of driving, we covered 159 miles at an average speed of 13 mph. Swarms of locusts filled the sky and battered against the windshield. Collyn bitterly complained, “Don’t they know this is the main road to Europe!” Obviously, this matter did not figure very highly in the priorities of the locals.

We entered Niger at Zinder and continued on to Kano in Nigeria. After so many miles in French-controlled territory, it was strange to see road signs in English, and we were unsure which side of the road to drive. The procedure was to drive in the middle and then, depending on which country you were in, swerve right or left when meeting oncoming traffic. Crossing borders was a game of chicken: you let the other guy dodge first and then acted accordingly.

Nigeria was within a few months of independence from Britain, so we had to tread carefully when addressing officials to avoid any hint of giving instructions. This turned out to be a serious problem at the Kano Post Office, where we went to collect our mail. We were initially told that there was none for us, but we noticed that the mail, supposedly sorted by addressee’s name, was all jumbled up in no order whatsoever. Any comment on our part was taken as unacceptable criticism, which resulted in a total lack of cooperation.

Our map showed a direct road going straight to Fort-Archambault, but when we arrived at the banks of the Logone River, we found no bridge, ferry, or river crossing—just a bunch of unclothed villagers not at all pleased at our presence. We were persuaded to seek an alternative route which led us down a track where the grass was higher than the windshield, and we got stuck in a bog.

Along this unplanned diversion with Collyn at the wheel, Rex and I were riding on the roof rack when we spotted an abrupt dip into a dried river bed directly ahead. As the truck failed to slow down, we realised at the last minute that Collyn had not seen it, and we hung on for dear life. We hit the dip at about 15 mph and everything, including Rex and myself, became airborne, resulting in a total shambles inside the truck. After recriminations and sorting ourselves out, we continued for about a mile when I asked Rex lightheartedly whether we still had a spare wheel. Rex crawled back to take a look and reported it was missing. We turned back and spent more than an hour searching for it in the long grass but never found it. According to Sod’s Law, we had our first puncture the following day and were forced to deal with it right there and then. It was very difficult to break the tyre free from the wheel without proper equipment. At one point, the three of us linked arms and simultaneously commenced jumping up and down in unison to try to budge it. That method failed miserably, but we eventually succeeded with the usual hammers and tyre levers.

We encountered many local vehicles broken down along the way, many of which we tried to help. The most serious was a truck with two halves of a broken chassis resting on the ground. We jacked it up, pulled the two halves together with our winch, and fashioned a fishplate to hold the two halves together. We had no power tools, so holes had to be drilled with a “gut-buster” hand drill. The driver was very grateful and gave us two live chickens and some grapefruit and wanted to buy us some beer but the shop was closed.

As we headed south, we began to encounter more rivers. The larger ones were crossed by ferries, two to three boats tied alongside each other and straddled by a platform with a ramp at each end. Other rivers had very dodgy timber bridges. On rare occasions, when a weight limit was shown, it was always much less than the weight of the QLR. We had little choice but to take a chance because a different route would have meant a diversion of over 1,000 miles, and there was no guarantee that other bridges would be any better. Whoever’s turn it was to drive took the wheel; one of us would guide the driver while the other stood by with a camera to take pictures of what seemed likely to be a surefire disaster. One bridge was shared with a railway, and we had to make sure no train was coming.

In the Congo, a direct contrast to the desert we had been in a mere four weeks earlier, we were startled on one of our first nights by a series of disturbingly loud, creaking cries, released at ever-closer intervals, culminating in blood-curdling shrieks that sounded exactly like someone being murdered. We were distressed to be in our truck all alone, surrounded by dense jungle in this forest of noise. The alarming sounds turned out to be made by a small animal called a rock hyrax, about the size of a rabbit. Bizarrely, their nearest relative is the elephant.

We also met some Pygmies who lived in the jungle, whose average height was around 5 feet tall. Armed with tiny bows about 2 feet long with the “string” (a flat strip from bamboo) about 8 inches from the bow, their primitive weapons were surprisingly accurate and could hit a cigarette from 20 yards. Select arrows were tipped with poison. The men spoke some Swahili and explained that they tested the poison’s strength by nicking a leg so the blood ran down, then put a knife edge below the nick, touching the poison to the blood trail below to see if it coagulated. We were struck by the fact that we would have been at a loss surviving in their world—just as it would have been for them to survive in ours.

As we approached the eastern fringes of the jungle, the road began to climb, and we came across plantations of coffee, papayas, and bananas. In the far distance, we caught glimpses of the snow-covered peaks of the Ruwenzori Mountains (also known as the Mountains of the Moon) which rise to heights of over 4,800 metres (16,000 feet). As we emerged from the jungle, it stretched below us like a vast green carpet reaching the distant horizon. A concrete sign marked the equator at 7,200 feet. The truck was not happy at this elevation and began to misfire and splutter in indignation. After climbing 2,360 metres (7,750 feet), the road descended towards the Great Rift Valley and the Albert National Park, since renamed the Virunga National Park. As we turned a bend in the road, the view stretched out below us, a vast plain with mountains on the far side and, beyond them, barely visible through the mist, the shapes of three volcanoes. To our left, the expanse of Lake Edward (since renamed Lake Rutanzige) stretched into the distance. The valley floor was alive with animals, and through binoculars, we could see elephants, buffalo, zebras, giraffes, and many types of antelopes peacefully grazing on the rich green grass. It was indeed the epitome of a promised land flowing with milk and honey.

We crossed into Northern Rhodesia, which became the independent country of Zambia in 1964. In the town of Kitwe, we stayed with another de Havilland apprentice and his wife, whom we had all known in England. He was working at one of the copper mines for which the area was famous and was able to arrange a tour of one of the mines. Donning hard hats, we took one of the three-story cages to descend to 1,128 metres (3,700 feet) below ground at a rate of 1,800 feet per minute. You couldn’t help being aware of the thousands of feet of rock above you, but it really does not matter whether it is 5 feet or 5,000. It is bad news either way if it falls on top of you.

While here, we had to remove the cylinder head yet again to regrind the exhaust valves on the QLR. We had concluded that the ongoing problems might be caused by the cooling system not having a pressurised filler cap. Using a piece of wood and some rubber hose, we concocted a valve based on the Schrader valve principle as used on a bicycle tyre. The overflow was fed into a can fixed to the front of the vehicle, accessible from the cab through the opening windshield. The guy in the passenger seat would reach through and feel the weight of the can from time to time, and when he judged the can to be almost full, we would stop and return the expelled water into the cooling system.

Continuing on, we visited Victoria Falls, double the height of Niagara and a 1/2 kilometre wider, its spray visible from 48 kilometres away. The African name, Mosi-oa-Tunya, translates as “the smoke that thunders,” and its majesty was undeniable. Bulawayo, on the border with South Africa, was our farthest point south. The roads in South Africa were considered better than most in Africa and therefore did not meet the definition of our expedition. From here on, we would be traveling north.

A visit to the Kariba Dam over the mighty Zambezi River proved an interesting diversion. The project was still under construction, but the immense lake behind the dam had begun to fill. What had been dubbed Operation Noah was in full swing, rescuing the thousands of animals and reptiles trapped by the rising waters on trees and marooned on temporary islands.

We passed through Tanganyika to Kenya, along a route I had hitchhiked one year ago. I reunited with friends in Mombassa in a buoyant moment and sailed at the yacht club. While there, the British Embassy informed Rex that his mother was dangerously ill in England. He immediately flew home, leaving Collyn and me to continue the journey. We took the road to Nairobi, continuing north to Nanyuki, right on the equator, to my father’s house on the slopes of Mount Kenya with its snow-covered peaks.

We had planned to return north across the Sahara, taking a more westerly route through Timbuktu in Mali. I had always wanted to say I had been to Timbuktu. Unfortunately, the Kano Post Office let us down, and we were unable to receive the requisite permits that had been sent to us c/o Posted Restante in Kano by Mobil in Algiers. This was maddening as we were quite sure the permits were sitting in a stack at the post office. The visas arrived, courtesy of Mobil, who we had contacted for help, on April 22. With the Sahara closing for the summer effective May 1, we left Kano the following day.

We had just made it into the soft sand area in the southern part of the desert when a series of problems with cooling water getting where it definitely shouldn’t be caused us to diagnose a blown cylinder head gasket. There was no choice but to remove the cylinder head yet again. We had run out of new head gaskets, which had led to this problem, but we had no choice but to remove the head and see what we could achieve using pre-used gaskets. The conditions were far from ideal. We were in an area of soft sand blown around by a strong wind. In the QLR, the engine was between the seats in the cab, providing some protection from the swirling sand. We selected the least worn of the gaskets, slathered it with compound, and hoped for the best. Fortunately, the fix succeeded, and we breathed again.

Despite the setback in Tamanrasset, we took a diversion into the dramatic Ahaggar mountains and visited the hermitage of Assekrem, built in 1911 by Charles de Foucauld. We had to climb the final distance on foot from where, at 9,000 feet above sea level, there was a wonderful view over the otherworldly mountains with our now-diminutive truck in the valley below.

Back on the Tademaït Plateau, ferocious vibrations caused the top corners of the cab roof to part company with its side supports above the windshield, and one of the tyres developed an alarming bulge. That, along with many other parts starting to protest, such as the leaf springs and shock absorbers, left us in no doubt that the QLR was showing serious wear and tear after 24,000 miles of mostly unsurfaced roads, and we still had North Africa and the whole of Europe to cross.

Fortunately, our stalwart vehicle managed to cover the remaining distance without serious problems—even transiting the Pyrenees and the Alps with snow drifts exceeding the height of the cab. Nearly home, aboard the ferry crossing the English Channel, passengers noticed the map on the side of our vehicle and commented that we were very brave to have set out on such a feat. I just said that we only drove where people lived, and that’s the simple truth. We arrived home on June 4, 1960, after a journey of almost 25,000 miles.

More than 60 years have passed since I stood, spellbound, beneath the stars in the Sahara Desert. Looking back, it was a unique and life-altering experience. We were all in our twenties and consequently felt somewhat immortal. Most of the countries we passed through were at the end of the colonial period. Everyone we encountered was friendly and helpful; never at any time did we feel threatened. Our timing was fortuitous. The Congo was granted its independence in June 1960 and blew up on March 26, just 12 weeks after we left it. Since then, almost every country we visited has suffered terrorist attacks of one sort or another, disrupting the lives of ordinary people. I do not believe the same trip could be safely undertaken today, but similar adventures still abound if, perhaps, slightly less ambitious. The important thing is not to be discouraged by thoughts of all the things that could go wrong. It’s always easy to come up with a thousand reasons not to do something. Seize the nettle and just do it.

This article first appeared in the 02 | 2023 edition of @overlandeurope

Author: Tony Fleming

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