So I want to share one last Blouberg tale with you.
The one with a helicopter.
The Helicopter!
February 2002 – MSAR training in an Oryx, over Tonquani Kloof in the Magliesberg.
Now, many years ago, I was part of Johannesburg Mountain Search and Rescue (MSAR), which in turn was part of the Mountain Club of South Africa (MCSA). At that time, we had a really solid team. Actually — not just solid — superb. Experienced, committed, and slightly unhinged. The perfect combination for hauling broken people off high places.
We were busy too, often called out for technical rescues and complicated wilderness searches. We trained regularly with the South African Air Force (SAAF), who in those days had plenty of helicopters and some truly excellent aircrews. I used to say I’d trust those pilots with my life — and I did, more than once. Usually in situations that made for excellent stories afterwards. This is one of those.
So, we get a late-day callout to Blouberg’s Wall of White Light. A young hotshot climber — already known to us, as we’d scraped him off one or two other crags before — had fallen while trying to open a hard new route. If memory serves, he had a bit of a reputation for ambition exceeding caution. We knew him. We liked him. We also kind of rolled our eyes every time we heard his name.
The Wall of White Light.
Unfortunately, there was no helicopter available immediately, so it was the long way in — drive to the mountain, then hike all the way up with full kit. It was going to be a long night.
While the rest of the team napped in the car (with remarkable dedication, I might add), those of us leading the mission were busy planning. Triage-by-guesswork. Eventually we arrived at Frans Kraal and started the walk in.
It was dark. It was cold. And it was very much uphill. I clearly remember the moment — around 4am — when my head torch gave up and became a faint glow, like a dying firefly. We were moving quickly, so I didn’t have time to dig for spare batteries. I just pushed on.
And promptly fell into a man-sized hole.
I remember sitting in the bottom of that hole in the pitch dark thinking: Maybe if I stay very still, they’ll forget I’m here, and I can just sleep. It was oddly peaceful.
Alas, someone had seen me fall in, and I was unceremoniously hauled out. Back to work.
Eventually we reached the injured climber just as dawn broke. It was obvious straight away: we needed a heli extraction. And this time the Air Force stepped in — sending us one of those magnificent, huge Oryx helicopters. The big boys. The workhorses of SAAF. The only problem? This was a squadron from Limpopo we hadn’t trained with before. They didn’t know our procedures. We didn’t know theirs. And this was a tricky extraction: the base of a cliff on a steep slope, loose ground and a patient in a stretcher.
The Oryx, landing temporarily.
And I was first up.
They dropped the winch. I clipped in. And WHAM — the Oryx yanked me off my feet and I got winched up so fast it slammed me into the underside of the chopper. Hard. Not gracefully. I may have dented something. Possibly the Oryx. Possibly me.
A young Jenni taking a analog selfie while hanging from the Oryx.
View from the bottom of a long line.
Once inside, bruised and very unimpressed, I grabbed the headset and gave the aircrew a rather firm piece of my mind. The second rescuer had a far smoother ride. The stretcher and the patient came up smoothly. We waved goodbye to the rest of the ground team — poor things, they still had the whole hike down — and off we flew to the hospital in Nelspruit.
And here’s the kicker: the smugness of our dramatic exit wore off very quickly when we realised we were stuck at the hospital for hours. No money. No civvies. No food. No cellphone (!!!). No place to sleep. Just a pile of dirty MSAR gear and a lot of time to kill. Glamorous stuff, this rescue work.
Eventually the rest of the team reached us, and we reversed the whole journey — back to Johannesburg, tired, grubby, slightly squashed, but proud of a job well done.
The climber recovered just fine and, naturally, went on to attempt even harder and even more questionable routes.
And MSAR? Well, we went right back to doing dangerous things safely — through heaps of training, strong teamwork, and always a few spare batteries.
Mountain rescue is no joke – and the teams that do it are among the best. If you or someone you know is ever in an emergency in the mountains, refer to the contact details below for the Mountain Club of South Africa’s Search and Rescue teams across the country. Keep it handy, and stay safe out there.
