THE WAY OF THE

She waved a hand in the vague di of home. “No one out there likes jack

In case I had forgotten that, the ca hanging from a fence on the road fro Merweville was a stark reminder.

“Stop!” shouted Scott, my colleag fellow roadtripper. We skittered to a out of the car and were enveloped in

The jackal was rank. It had been t some time.

“Is it a warning?”

“What, to other jackals?” Scott la “‘Hey! Stay away!’ Would other jacka

We agreed that they probably wo “More for us,” the average jackal wou Either way, we had been told back in Merweville that the farmers out here hardy lot, and that we might expect things like dead jackals strung from This is, after all, the Moordenaars Ka

Meanwhile, I got to thinking that another name for my radio station. A “RooikatRadio” — the other name I h picked out — wouldn’t be much good We drove on.

It was the second day of our fast a road trip, on which we would spend deal of time taking the paths less tra such as the R356 , 104km of gravel u over the Nuweveld mountains to Sut and the deep and lonely defile of

Pictures: Paul Ash BACKSTAGE PASS The winding road from Uniondale, above, and a jackal carcass strung up on a fence on the road from Merweville.