IN THE twitter-sphere
On a flight of fancy, Nancy Richards tackles the new Swartland bird route in Darling
“GEEZ, what was that?” There is a heavy thud against the windscreen; we both duck. Looking left and right for any more missiles headed our way, we see only passive bulls grazing in the fields. Nothing shattered, only nerves, and most likely the bones of the poor winged creature whose imprint was left on the Triplex. Not an auspicious start to the Darling Birding Route.
Also inauspicious was forgetting to bring a bird book. We have many of them — inherited, acquired, gifted, but sadly, in haste, forgotten. Let me say upfront we are not birders, not professional, amateur or even beginner — just curious to see Darling’s newest tourist attraction.
Dianne le Roux, at the Darling Museum, came to the rescue, first showing us the different online route options as devised by the Swartland Birders, then calling her husband to bring through their own wellthumbed bird bible.
But 20 minutes out on the DarlingZandvlei Circle route, we hit a snag. With no GPS on board, the geographical directions, in particular to the landmark Hildebrand Boer War monument, were hard to follow and, this being rural farmland, signposts are few and far between. No matter, we argued, birds don’t read signposts either — so we’d rather just follow their lead.
But with the sun lowering and time against us, we opted instead for what was probably going to be more reliable: the Darling Hills route and bird hide on the Groote Post wine estate. Good choice.
Through the slit windows of the timbered hut overhanging a reedy dam was a mass of moorhens and others happy in their watery habitat. Snapping off another few dozen pics (twitchers must bless the age of digital photography), we finally headed out, just in time to catch a tasting at the winery and learn from winemaker Lukas Wentzel that a martial eagle had been spotted here recently. But we’d been content with the moorhens.
Another attraction in Darling is the Slow Quarter tap room. It’s here, while one of us gets stuck into a pint of Native Ale, that the other gets on the phone to try to solve the mystery of the monument.
Shaun McLaughlin, owner of the Trinity Guest Lodge, said: “Ask anyone in the main road, they all know where it is.”
John Duckitt of Waylands Farm was woolly about the turn-off. Overhearing the debate and enjoying a Friday night pint of his own, Steve Kriel, local butcher and athlete, offered: “I run past it every day,” but sadly drew a blank on car access. I gave up.
We had a cosy dinner at Bistro Seven, and returned to @Lisa’s, our self-catering home for the night, to peruse their 1958 copy of Voëls van die Kruger Wildtuin and call it a day.
Next morning’s plan was to abandon the Zandvlei Circle and the monument and try another route — we were, after all, here for the birds.
Over breakfast at the Marmalade Cat, the bit still between my teeth, I gave it one last shot and tried the “ask anyone” approach. As small-town chance would have it, the “anyone” I asked turned out to be McLaughlin, in to check on the Cat’s fresh wares, (his wife, Debbie, is chef at Hilda’s Kitchen at Groote Post). He offered not only to guide us but also to walk us up to the top of the hill to the foot of the elusive obelisk — a kind offer from a man who’d just done a punishing dawn mountain-bike ride. McLaughlin is also a former chairman of Darling Tourism — seems I’d chosen my “anyone” well.
So with the monument out of my system, we were able to hit the circle track once more with fresh focus.
The air was filled with the sound of their song, but not a wing in sight — are Darling birds as elusive as their monument? But it’s amazing how they do reveal themselves once you start to concentrate. All of a sudden a roadside bush becomes an orchestral explosion as a flight of small yellow tweeters bursts into the air. Next minute, shoals of the little — well, seedeaters, pipits, LBJs or some such — scoop the breeze in circles alongside the car, then there’s a pair of raptors and a dart of herons streaking across the sky.
In a field far away is a march of maybe guinea fowl or other fat round noisy birds (we also forgot the binoculars) and lighting up another is a host of sacred ibis and — show stopper this — at least 20 blue cranes preening in slow motion just too far for our not-long-enough lens.
And so we were satisfied: Darling’s birding route had finally delivered. But then, as if to prove a pecking-order point, at a bend in the road home, a lone ostrich strode towards us simultaneously blinking, fluttering and stabbing at the ground. We stopped the car to let her pass, in peace. — © Nancy Richards