LOXTON THUNDER

This is sheep country. When I arrived, the first summer rains were already three months late. The land was brittle and grey, the Karoo bush grazed down to its roots, and the farmers were desperate.

Driving the R356 from Fraserburg to Loxton, I was told it would be a perfect Nimbus day. On the return journey the storm began to build. Great black masses gathered over the flat veld, while dark dolerite outcrops cut into the skyline below. Then the rain came with sudden violence. Within moments the road had become a flood, the Mercedes was half-floating, the engine failed, and we were carried helplessly across the veld until a tree stump caught the car and stopped us.

Hours later, after help arrived, the Karoo had been transformed. The earth steamed, the rocks gleamed, and the smell of wet wool and Karoo bush filled the air. I asked the driver to stop. The storm was moving across the outcrops in extraordinary light, and despite everything that had just happened, I could only stand there and watch Nimbus in full possession of the landscape.