The Long Way Round to the Tankwa Karoo National Park

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The solitude of the Tankwa Karoo National Park’s vast desert spaces tempts me. The promise of star-studded night skies continues the seduction, and the possibility of a spring carpet of wildflowers wins me over. And now, all that’s left to do is get to this remote part of South Africa.

I sweet-talk my husband into a two-day road trip with the promise of four laid-back days and nights at Elandsburg Wilderness Camp, deep in the heart of the Tankwa. And the journey home? We’ll do that over three days at an equally relaxed pace via the Karoo National Park.

But Mother Nature has other plans for us. Our road trip to the Tankwa would take us the long way around and wouldn’t be as easy or laid back as I promised my husband. Little did we know that this road trip would teach us to expect the unexpected and, more importantly, to roll with it and, at times, embrace it.

But first,

Where is the Tankwa Karoo National Park?

If you open a map of the western side of South Africa, you’ll notice a blank space between Ceres, Calvina and Sutherland. Somewhere in this empty expanse, you’ll find the world’s only arid biodiversity hotspot, the Tankwa Karoo National Park, lying in a basin bounded by ancient mountains.

The Tankwa is one of the few places left in South Africa where you can genuinely be off-the-grid. There is no cell phone reception or towns with shops and petrol stations nearby, so we must be self-sufficient.

In this extreme semi-desert environment, I expect bitterly cold nights and blistering heat during the day.  Maybe even periodic high winds sweeping across the plains. I was also dimly aware that rain far away in the highlands could cause flash floods, but after a glance at the weather forecast, this seemed highly unlikely.

What more did I need to know about the Tankwa?

There will be Rain.

Mountainous dark clouds congregate above the small town of Calvinia, the last fuel stop before our Tankwa destination, 110 kilometres away. An almighty crack of thunder ushers us into the petrol station. And then the heavens open, hurtling buckets of hail down upon the town.

Well, this is unexpected. The weather forecast predicted a twenty per cent chance of light rain in the evening. By the time we’ve refuelled, the storm has diminished to a light grey drizzle.

Neither of us gives this sudden deluge a second thought. Instead, we’re focused on what lies ahead: the notorious R355. According to the AfrikaBurn Survival Guide, this road is dangerous, like a ‘psycho-pitbull-with-a-hangover’ dangerous.

Beware of lurking ‘klipvis’ on the R355.

Not only is the R355 the longest gravel thoroughfare in South Africa without a single town or petrol station along its almost 250-kilometre length, but wild beasties called klipvis are known to lurk on this road.

Klipvis is an Afrikaans word meaning stonefish. It’s a perfect name for the nasty, razor-sharp bits of shale that, according to regular R355 road users, attack and slash your car tyres.

The fear of a breakdown or a klipvis attack has our hearts in our mouths as we turn off onto the R355.

Spring wildflowers dot the sides of the road, their yellow and white beauty barely diminished by the grey, gloomy drizzle. Up ahead, Namaqualand daisies congregate in a field of solid yellow, and in their middle, a witty farmer has parked his yellow bulldozers in a daisy camouflage.

There is nothing like laughter to calm the heart and settle it back where it belongs. While the road isn’t the greatest, we have certainly driven on worse roads. But Mother Nature refuses to give us a break, and the light drizzle becomes a steady shower.

The road drops down through the Bloukrans Pass in steep, winding curves. Above us, clouds dress the mountain tops in misty swirling veils, and scarf-like swathes of purple flowers drape down their flanks. It’s the kind of beauty that inspires a sense of wonder tinged with a healthy dose of fear.

Mother Nature Doesn’t Hate Us.

She doesn’t care.

However, she does wait for us to get to the bottom of the pass before she opens her heavenly taps. Despite the pouring rain and tiny runnels of water flowing across the road, we continue onwards. Our destination is only 60 kilometres away.

In hindsight, now might have been an excellent time to remember phrases like ‘rain far away’, ‘ flash floods’, and even ‘basin.’

The runnels turn into small streams, and still, we drive on until a broad but shallow-looking stream stops us. There are two more in the distance behind it.

We have a road trip rule: the driver drives, and when needed, the passenger jumps out to open and close farm gates or, in this case, walks through the streams to see if it’s safe to drive across. Guess who’s the passenger?

I take my shoes off, don my raincoat, and plunge into the pelting rain. While icy cold, the first stream isn’t too deep and easy enough to walk across.

I take my first step into the second stream. It’s a lot deeper, reaching just below my knees. I take another step, but the force of the water threatens to suck my feet out from underneath me. I beat a hasty retreat to dryish land.

I’m baffled. How is it possible? I’m not exactly a lightweight. Let me try again. The same thing happens, only this time I glance upstream, where small shrubs tumble through the churning water towards me.

That’s it. We are out of here. We’ll go back to Calvinia and try again in the morning. After all, flash floods are precisely that, finished in a flash, aren’t they?

Perhaps we aren’t meant to get to the Tankwa Karoo National Park

Dawn is supposed to bring hope and new beginnings. But not today. Instead, the grey, gloomy skies reflect our glum mood. It’s bitterly cold, and Mother Nature still hasn’t turned off her heavenly taps.

Over a delicious, cooked breakfast, our BnB host informs us the South African Weather Service (SAWS) has issued an orange level 6 warning for disruptive rains over the next 24 hours. Now, according to the SAWS weather warning system, a level orange 6 warning has a high likelihood of happening and will have a significant impact.

Now what?  There is no way we are going home just yet.

After yesterday’s adventure, trying to get to the Tankwa today or tomorrow would be foolish. While our BnB is lovely, it is an overnight venue, and we certainly don’t want to spend the next 48 hours cooped up here in the storm.

Over another cup of coffee and much trawling of the internet looking for options, we decide to head across the interior of the Karoo to the end of our trip, the Karoo National Park near the town of Beaufort West. It’s only 400 kilometres from Calvinia, and as a bonus, most of the roads will be tarred.

If we leave now, we should make it long before the storm front hits that side of the Karoo this evening.

And that’s precisely happened. The rain eased up soon after we left, but the storm’s ominous bulk continued to prowl the distant horizons of the Karoo until it caught up with us as we unpacked our car in the Karoo National Park.

But the Tankwa Bug has Bitten.

We hunker down in our Karoo National Park chalet for the next icy-cold, wet and miserable 24 hours, plotting how to get into the Tankwa Karoo National Park. Although we never quite got there, the glimpses of this desert landscape dotted with spring flowers have captured our imagination. And we’re not going to give up quite yet.

The howling winds and torrential rains subsided during our second night in the Karoo National Park. A glance at the weather forecast confirms the worst of the storm is over.

We’ve tried to call the Tankwa Karoo National Park’s office several times with no joy. But today, the landline gods smile upon us, and our call is answered. Yes, we can still check into Elandsberg Wilderness Camp, but the office can’t tell us much about any of the road conditions to the park as no one has come through since the storm started.

It doesn’t require much deliberation. We are going on an adventure. This time, we’ll come in from the southern part of the R355 from Ceres.  We’ll stop at the Tankwa Padstal about halfway to the park to learn more about the road conditions ahead.

A Watery Desert Space.

We drive under a clear blue dome of sky through a vast paradoxical desert landscape adorned with ribbons of purple flowers and blue lakes on either side of the road. It’s hard to wrap my head around this contradictory world of wet and dry. I close my eyes, thinking I’ve imagined this sight, but this improbable panorama is still there each time I open them.

Instead, I focus on searching for the dreaded congregations of ‘klipvis’ on the road. But they are gone, no doubt washed away into the roadside lakes or punched into the earth by the hard rain.

But this enormous, watery desert space keeps drawing my eye back, searching for details. The only detail to be found is in the tiny flowering scrub plants, but we’re passing by too quickly to focus on them.

My unease isn’t alleviated by a large silver disc mounted on a rise next to the road. Red cliffs rip the hill behind it, and two humanoid figures stand motionless before the disc. Have we landed on another planet?

No. We have arrived at the Tankwa Padstal. But it’s closed on Wednesdays, which is today. So much for getting local knowledge, but despite the shallow running water flowing across the road, the road conditions haven’t been bad enough to make us turn back.

When You See the Stick in the River, Keep Left.

With soaring spirits, we continue. Our destination is almost within reach. We think it’s about 90 kilometres away, but we can’t be sure because none of our map apps are working.  We are off the grid.

But then, a mud-covered 4×4 approaches from the opposite direction. This is worrying because the mud looks fresh. We flag it down and ask about the road ahead.

‘It’s pretty gnarly’, says the surfer-type dude behind the wheel.

‘There’s still lots of water flowing across the road. When you get to the Ongeluks River, look out for the stick and make sure to keep to the left. Wait, maybe it’s right. But stop at the Da Doer Padstal. They’ll explain.’

Ongeluks is the Afrikaans word for accidents. Our spirits sink as he goes on to tell us about the vehicles that washed away while crossing the river during the storm.

Are we going to get to the door of the Tankwa only to be turned away again?

At Da Doer Padstal (in English, Da Doer means over there, far away), the owner tells us the Ongeluks River is about five kilometres away. There is a big car-eating hole in the submerged road, but he planted a stick in the river as a marker.

‘Keep left, or you will go swimming!’ he says.

But he didn’t tell us that the Ongeluks River breaks into many rivers. At his five-kilometre mark, we encounter a river, but there is no stick to be seen. Cautiously keeping as far left as we dare, we drive across the river.

There is another river. And another. And another. But still, there is no stick. Could the stick have washed away?

By the time we get to the fifth river, our anxiety levels are in the red. And there, in the middle of the river, we spot our beacon of hope, a fragile stick construction gleaming in the sunlight.

We Made it. We’re in the Tankwa Karoo National Park.

And still, we slip and slide our way through muddy bits. Through more rivers and over a high-level bridge spanning the raging Tankwa River.

After the longest day imaginable, we check in at Roodewerf, the Tankwa Karoo National Park’s reception. We only have another 18 kilometres ahead of us.

Late afternoon shadows define the creases and cliffs of the Roggeveld Mountains in the distance. Low karoo bushes cast long shadows across the dirt track. We crest a small ridge, and below us, glowing in the last of the light, lies our Elandsberg Wilderness home for the next few days. We have arrived.

Life Couldn’t be any Better.

After the adventure of getting here, we’re happy to spend the next few days embracing the rare luxury of silence that Elandsberg Wilderness Camp offers us. So much so that we hardly speak to one another.

On our last evening in the Tankwa. We sit on the patio sipping our wine, watching the sunset turn the  Roggeveld mountains from gold to pink. While a pale full moon rises above them. Life couldn’t be any better.

My husband turns to me and says, ‘Ummm. So, how are we going to get out of here tomorrow?’

The Gannaga Pass Awaits.

When we checked in at Roodewerf, the park’s Section Ranger told us the road to Calvinia was unpassable. He takes one look at our 4×4 and says,

‘You could go up the Gannaga Pass. Or go back the way you came.’

We’re not keen on the last option because it is the long way round from Tankwa for us. Despite the Section Ranger’s assurance, we are apprehensive about tackling the Gannaga Pass after the heavy rains and flash floods.

You see, not only is the pass a narrow gravel track, but more worrying are the seven features that make this pass famous: four extremely sharp hairpin bends plus another three corners sharper than 90 degrees. Oh, and don’t forget the other 35 bends and curves.

While we debate the wisdom of attempting the Gannaga Pass, the sun sets, leaving the full moon to cast its ethereal light across the landscape. We notice two pinpricks of light moving down the Roggeveld Mountains. Two more follow. Another set of lights joins them, but these lights are red taillights going up. That must be the pass.

 We watch them pass each other and disappear over the mountains and onto the plain. If they can do it, we certainly can. But in daylight.

And I’m so glad we did despite the heavy cloud cover threatening more rain. It turns out that there is no better way to experience the raw and rugged beauty of the Tankwa dressed in a fleeting spring canvas of greens, yellows and purples than rising slowly from the plains of the Tankwa and into the Roggeveld Mountain heights.

Although my husband might disagree, he was a little tense when we reached the top and christened Gannaga a pesky pass.

Was this Extended Road Trip to the Tankwa Worth the Effort?

Hell yes. We travelled through parts of the Karoo that we probably would never have seen. We survived flash floods, heavy rains and winds determined to carry us away. Once we arrived, the Tankwa embraced us with a few days of calm.

We found the solitude we sought amidst this desert landscape’s spring beauty. But Mother Nature kept something back. Except for a few brief glimpses, she hid the promised star-studded Karoo night sky above a thick veil of clouds. Which simply means we’ll have to go back someday very soon.

Tankwa Karoo National Park Good to Know

What does Tankwa mean?

Nobody really knows the true meaning or origins of the word Tankwa. Some believe it might mean ‘turbid water’, ‘place of the San’, or ‘thirstland’. Regardless of which meaning is correct, all three perfectly fit this arid yet picturesque South African National Park.

Do you need a 4×4 in the Tankwa Karoo National Park?

After our unusually wet and muddy adventures, I suggest a high-clearance 4×2 vehicle.

But having said that, a good friend of ours has made the trip in a 2006 Toyota Corolla three times with only one flat tyre. Although, he usually visits the Tankwa in the dry season.

Whatever vehicle you decide on, remember to take it easy on the R355, check your spare tyre before leaving, and pack a puncture kit or two.

 And don’t forget, depending on which way round you go to the Tankwa, your last fuel stop is either in Calvinia or Ceres.

Where to Stay in the Tankwa?

We booked a self-catering cottage at Elandsberg Wilderness Camp. Each house has views of the Roggeveld mountains in the distance and is carefully placed to ensure your privacy and make you feel like you are the only people in the Tankwa.

The cottages are entirely off-the-grid, running off solar power. They are fully equipped and include an indoor fireplace for chilly evenings and, for hot days, a private splash pool. Just bring your food and drink.

SANParks offers a range of other accommodations to choose from in the Tankwa, ranging from ‘only leave your footprints’ campsites to the Tanqua Guesthouse to the restored De Zyfer and Paulshoek farmsteads.

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DISCLOSURE: I have no commercial relationship with SANParks or any of their affiliates.  All photographs, experiences and opinions expressed in this blog post are my own.