The glamour of prospecting

by Fred C. Cornell

Our anxiety, however, was not now so much about water, but about Old Gert himself, for he had contracted rheumatism so badly that he could scarcely hobble, and it soon became apparent that, until water fell in the pans, or t’samma made it possible to employ a riding-ox to carry him, we should have to rely upon his instructions, and search out the places for ourselves.

Aar Pan we could not miss, and thence the nearest pan where diamonds had been found was but half a day’s trek. The others were several days’ journey distant, but this nearest pan appeared an easy task to find. Gert tried to dissuade us, however, and suggested that we had better first try to locate a vast salt pan at one time well known to the natives, and which should be, he considered, about six hours’ trek due east, and impossible to miss. The locating of this pan would, he explained, help us greatly in our further operations, and we accordingly set out early one morning with the intention of finding it.

Du Toit, van Reenen, and myself made up the party, as Telfer was indisposed. Each man carried only a water-bottle, a little food, and a rifle, for we fully expected to reach the pan by midday, and be back by night.

Experienced as I thought myself in the desert, that first walk eastward, so lightly undertaken, was to provide a lesson never to be forgotten.

For an hour or so the almost straight straat in which the camp stood led in the right direction, due east. It ended in broken dunes, very high and confused; still, we were able to keep the general direction for another couple of hours, when we had the “luck” to strike another series of dunes and straats apparently in a beeline with our objective, and we pushed on, congratulating ourselves that by noon we should reach the Salt Pan. Unfortunately, however, the rough country had thrown us a point or two out of our bearings, and this easy, wide, and seductive-looking straat fooled us nicely. For, as we afterwards discovered, it not only started slightly in the wrong direction, but curved so gradually as to deceive us completely, and without even a glance at the compass we toiled on till the terrific heat of the blazing sun right overhead showed us that it was noon, and our burning feet and aching calves urged a halt. There was an abundance of low bush and thick grass, but not a tree anywhere, and we threw ourselves down and rested for a while in the blazing sunshine. We had been walking about six hours with scarcely a breather, and even allowing for slow progress in the broken dunes, we had, we calculated, come a distance of at least twelve miles, and should be near the Salt Pan. But the crest of the dunes showed us no break in either direction, and with a brief rest we pushed on again for about an hour, when the end of the straat came in sight, barred by formidable dunes running right across it. Evidently there was no salt pan in that direction, and a tardy look at our compass showed us that we had gradually been turning from our course, and were heading north-east instead of east. Had we been sensible, we should have turned back to camp, whilst there was still time to get within sight of it by nightfall, but we were so chagrined at having neglected to steer a straight course that we wrong-headedly determined not to return till we had found the Salt Pan. It was a foolish decision. We had brought only a little water, and most of it had gone already, for there had apparently been no need to economise, and we had even given a few precious drops to the two wretched dogs belonging to Old Gert, which had followed us in spite of all our attempts to keep them back. The scorching sand had already played havoc with their feet, and at every short halt we made they scratched themselves frantically into a hole in the sand.

It was about two o’clock, and there was therefore about six hours’ daylight left to us as we left the straat and plunged into a perfect chaos of broken dunes, from the crests of which the whole of the circumscribed expanse from horizon to horizon revealed nothing but a featureless ocean of ridges.

In vain we swept it for some recognisable landmarks, our big dune near the camp or the vastly bigger one that marked Aar Pan; but either they were hidden from view by intervening dunes, or were no longer recognisable from our new viewpoint.

“Either straight back on our spoors or due south,” said Du Toit, and as we thought of Old Gert’s sardonic grin when we told him we had not found such a big space as the Salt Pan, we unhesitatingly turned due south.

Late in the afternoon, already nearly played out, we crested a prominent rise, and saw an exceptionally high dune a good deal east of us, and from its base there seemed to stretch a white flat space, though but little of it was visible. Evidently this must be the Salt Pan, and we concluded that Old Gert had been mistaken about the time needed to reach it, and that we had not been so far out of the course after all. So we headed for it, thankfully trying to forget that we had scarcely any water, and that we should have a long, thirsty day’s trek back on the morrow. The dune was a great deal farther off than it appeared, and seemed to recede from us; but the pan at its foot showed more plainly from the brow of every dune we toiled over, and at about sunset we struggled clear of the sand and stood on the edge of its flat surface. It was about a mile in width, almost a perfect circle in shape, and across its broad surface there trotted away from us a fine troop of at least a hundred gemsbok, which halted every now and then to stand like statues, gazing back at the intruders. Then, again, a big bull would give a toss of his four-foot horns, and a stamp, and instantly the whole body would break into a rapid trot, keeping line and pace, and wheeling and changing direction as might a well-drilled regiment of cavalry.

We stood for a minute entranced at the fine sight, then, as they cantered off, I said, “Well, boys, here’s the pan at last!”