MUSSO MINING IN MOREMI

Musso Mining in Moremi

By Raymond du Plessis August 2007

Some time back, while travelling through Moremi in Botswana, I came upon a scene which had me looking around for movie cameras. I was convinced we had stumbled upon a movie set, and that any minute crowds of extras and catering staff would appear out of the wilderness. No location scout in the world could have found a better spot to shoot the comedy of errors that was about to unfold. If you have ever been to this part of Botswana, you will know that three things are prevalent; baking heat, the Big Five and, sand …lots and lots of powdery sand.Act 1 It was mid afternoon. The blistering heat radiated off the bonnet in waves as the temperature edged close to 40 degrees, even though the worst of the midday heat was over. The air conditioner of our Pajero was keeping us relatively cool and the locked differentials driven by the low range gear selected, made light work of the heavy sand road. We were still hopeful that we would catch a glimpse of some of the many animals in this area despite the heat. It is difficult to spot wildlife while they seek shelter in shadows and stand motionless in an effort to conserve energy. Outside the only noise was that of loudly buzzing insects. As we took a bend in the track, spread out for about 150 metres, was the finest-textured sand I have ever experienced. In the middle, blocking our path, were two stationary vehicles. Now, anyone who has driven in sand knows that momentum is everything. Should you allow your wheels to stop turning, or worse, apply brakes, you are almost guaranteed to sink, as the earth sucks onto your 4X4. I was screwed. I had no option but to roll to a gentle halt. I was intrigued though. What wonder of nature could possible be unfolding that would have enticed these intrepid explorers to risk stopping on this track? I looked around and noted a clearing ahead, surrounded by beautiful flat-topped acacia trees. To our right was an open grass plain not much bigger than the size of two rugby fields. This was a perfect spot for a lion kill. Could that be the reason the vehicles had stopped? It did not take me long to realise that it was not the attractive scenery or wildlife that had halted their progress, but rather the powder-soft sand which had their vehicles firmly in its clutches. In true off-road spirit, I cheerfully gave up my air-conditioned comfort and, followed closely by my young son, wandered over to offer assistance. Act 2The first vehicle, a shiny new Land Rover Defender, was kitted out with every possible accessory: roof racks, Gerry cans, gas bottle, spade, hi-lift jack, jacking points, rear-mounted spot light. It even sported a top-of-the-range Minus 40 fridge. At first nothing seemed outwardly wrong. The Landy's driver was standing nonchalantly alongside his vehicle, his left foot resting on the front bumper, an ice- cold can of Castle Lager in his hand. His other hand was shoved deep into his khaki pants pocket. His head was covered in a trendy broad-brimmed leather hat which swung slowly towards me as he became aware of my presence. This guy was kitted out like the Camel Man; Caterpillar boots, khaki cargo pants, Zippo lighter and Leatherman Multitool, all holstered in their leather pouches and hanging from a webbing belt. His multi-pocketed safari shirt was open to the navel, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. Every item of clothing was colour coded. I asked him if he needed assistance. Silently he looked away from me and toward the other vehicle. I noticed a length of steel cable forlornly attached to the Landy's winch. The broken cable told the full story of the failed recovery attempt. The winch cable had clearly snapped trying to drag the other vehicle, a new-looking Ssangyong Musso, through the sand. I wondered if the Camel Man realised how close he had come to having his skull – complete with designer hat – split open by the winch. I summed up the damage: the bonnet was badly dented; the windscreen smashed; and even a section of the Landy's aluminium roof was cut open like a sardine can. A snapped winch cable, overloaded with tons of pressure, will snap back like a teamster's whip – but the steel will cut through just about anything in its path. More than the damage to his vehicle, it was the damage to his ego that was responsible for the Camel Man's sudden interest in beer. I walked over to the second vehicle desperately trying to avoid smiling at what I saw. Act 3There were two deep dongas leading up to the stranded Musso. The poor Ssangyong driver was stripped down to his jeans. Perspiration was all the powder soft sand needed to gum itself completely to his body. He looked like a crumbed and coated piece of KFC chicken waiting for the deep fryers.It was he, who was responsible for digging those deep dongas leading up to his Musso. In his attempt to find something for his wheels to grip, he was burying the vehicle deeper and deeper in the Moremi sand. Occasionally he would look back at the Camel Man, still sipping on his beer, and mutter something under his breath.By this time, my daughter had become bored and had clambered onto the Pajero's roof with my binoculars to "look for the pretty animals". She pointed to a lady who was sitting under a tree some distance away who, it turned out, was the Musso driver's wife. My wife walked over and convinced her to wait somewhere closer and safer. This was lion country, after all. I dispatched my son to fetch my recovery airbag. When my boy came back carrying the inflatable bag, I could almost see the hope drain from Musso Man's eyes as he mentally calculated his chances of survival if he attempted the long walk to fetch help. You could hardly blame him; Camel Man had nearly completely destroyed his own vehicle and now a stranger was coming to his rescue with a child's vinyl jumping castle. This was not what they said off-road adventure would be like in the Ssangyong brochure. Camel Man's interest was piqued. He came sauntering over and even managed a sneer but offered no assistance as my son unfolded the bag. My son ignored him and placed the bag under the Musso while I attached the inflation hose to the exhaust. I asked Musso Man to start his vehicle and within seconds the stranded 4X4 was lifted high enough off the ground for us to start filling in the hole created by hours of digging. That was when my son spotted something we had all missed. Tugging at my sleeve, he pointed to the Musso's tyres. “Err, what tyre pressure you using there?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “About 3 Bar, why?” My son and I exchanged glances, and walked around the vehicle systematical deflating the tyres to 1 Bar, checking with my tyre pressure gauge “That ought to do it.” I said. Musso Man looked pleadingly at us as we packed away our recovery gear and made ready to leave. “Oh all right.” I said to him, and got out to attach a snatch strap. Just before we moved off, Camel Man appeared at my window, speaking for the first time. “So tells for me, where can I buys for me one of those bag fings?” I punched HOME on the GPS and we headed back to our camp.