1. 30 A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C • S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 6
Beach
parties
There is a small neglected corner of South Africa where animals still move freely along the
coast and use beaches as highways. Zoologists and wildlife photographers Thomas P. Peschak
and Cheryl-Samantha Owen went there and found that Dwesa Nature Reserve on the Wild
Coast might be small, but it packs a mighty, rhino-sized punch.
Text by Thomas P. Peschak & Cheryl-Samantha Owen
Photographs by Thomas P. Peschak
2. D
espite its small size
(only 3 900 hectares
of land and adjacent
marine environment are
protected), Dwesa is home
to a formidable diversity of both habitats
and species. Two major rivers bound the
reserve, the Nqabara in the south and
the Mbashe in the north, and between
them four smaller streams, the Mendu,
Kobole, Mendwana and Ngomane, snake
their way to the sea. From the reserve’s
landward boundary a mosaic of grassland
and coastal forest descends towards the
ocean. Even a patch of fynbos clings
precariously to a hillside. In places such
as Kobole Point the grass ends abruptly
and steep cliffs disintegrate into rocky
ledges or drop directly into the ocean.
Elsewhere the transition is more gradual;
grass gives way to dunes draped in
milkwood thickets before opening out
into vast sandy beaches.
Just under 300 recorded bird species,
including mangrove kingfishers,
yellow-streaked greenbuls and Knysna
woodpeckers, call this diverse range
of habitats home and, as the area is
E
very morning the myriad
tracks etched into the beach
tell countless stories. Over
there two leopards, probably
a female with a sub-adult
cub, made their way south, the youngster
dragging its tail playfully in the cool wet
sand. The moon was full and they were
travelling towards a heavily forested
portion of their range, probably with
duiker or bushbuck on their minds.
Along the same stretch of beach just
before dawn, a Cape clawless otter
emerged from thick vegetation where
a small stream spills onto the seashore
and sprinted to the sea to feed. A short
while later, it dragged a sizeable crab onto
a rocky ledge and sent crustacean legs
and pincers flying in all directions. A
few kilometres to the north, a 20-strong
phalanx of wildebeest descended through
a large opening in the coastal thicket and
galloped onto the beach. Their hooves
obliterated the tracks left by mongooses
that had scavenged amongst the flotsam
and jetsam, as well as those of diminutive
duikers that had dashed to the water’s
edge in the dead of night to lick salt. At
Dwesa Nature Reserve, coming down to
the seashore before dawn is like turning
the pages of a storybook; each track or
spoor tells a tale of what went on while
we were fast asleep.
Dwesa nestles in the southern reaches
of the Eastern Cape’s Wild Coast, which
in recent years has become known more
for its problems and controversy - bitter
land-claim feuds, rampant poaching and
a hotly contested toll-road proposal –
than for its treasures. During countless
drives up the N2 highway from Cape
Town to Durban, not once did we
think of turning off the tar and heading
east towards the coast. We simply
assumed that the reserve would be
trashed, so why bother?
Then, in 2004, we undertook a trip
to photograph and identify marine and
coastal conservation priorities along the
Wild Coast for the WWF-SA/Sanlam
Aquatic Programme. Just finding Dwesa
was a navigation exercise in itself - with
countless winding dirt tracks and almost
no signboards, it took us more than two
hours to cover the 100 kilometres or
so from the tar to the reserve. As we
signed in, we glanced at the guest book –
there were fewer than 10 entries for the
previous month and it transpired that
we would have the place to ourselves
during our stay. We settled down for
the night and prepared for whatever
conservation carnage would greet us in
the morning.
We were woken by flocks of trumpeter
hornbills and hadeda ibises commuting
from roosting sites to feeding grounds
and the chatter of vervet and samango
monkeys descending to the forest floor
to drink. Stately kingfishers took up
perch and stared intently as bushbuck
flitted across the grassy patch in front
of the tent. Just when the idyll seemed
complete, a herd of eland emerged from
the forest and posed at the edge of the
beach. It was a far cry from the snare-
infested, poacher-riddled Dwesa that we
had heard about. If something was amiss
here, it was not immediately apparent
and would require further investigation.
32 A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C • S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 6 33W W W. A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C . C O M
ABOVE Equisit utat, cor sustis nonum
iriliqu ipsusti smoluptat la facincidunt
adiat. Bor sit lor sum vullupt atumsan
utem non henisl ex eum vel ullut pratum
in hent aciliquam quat praestie
OPPOSITE Equisit utat, cor sustis nonum
iriliqu ipsusti smoluptat la facincidunt
adiat. Bor sit lor sum vullupt atumsan
utem non henisl ex eum vel ullut pratum
in hent aciliquam quat praestie
Icivervi sulinte inatuam quo inculia
notimmodio ca neres ere halium la
perfeciam nius dum que publint eritebe
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➥
DWESA
NATURE
RESERVE
INDIAN OCEAN
SOUTH AFRICA
EASTERN
CAPE
3. 34 A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C • S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 6 35W W W. A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C . C O M
two rhinos emerged on the ridge before
us. The sight of rhinos grazing in front
of the Indian Ocean was so offbeat
and unexpected that it took us a few
seconds to regain our senses and focus
the camera. We didn’t move fast enough,
though – the wind direction changed,
carrying our scent towards the rhinos,
which disappeared behind the ridge.
Not only is Dwesa the only place in the
world [ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE?] where
you can, (admittedly with some effort)
see rhinos against an Indian Ocean
backdrop, but it also appears to host all-
night rhino beach parties. It is thought
that, especially during summer when
parasite numbers in grasslands become
intolerably high, the rhinos find respite
on the more wind-exposed beaches.
When we came across the rhino midden,
slap-bang in the middle of a beach, we
fancied our chances of spying on what
must surely be an extraordinary sight.
For two solid weeks, we woke up long
before sunrise and slipped out of our
sleeping bags into a world where the
blood-curdling screams of tree dassies
filled the night air. We then drove 30
minutes to the end of the road and
walked for another half-an-hour in
the darkness, creeping along the dune
slopes until we found a good lookout
point. There we waited with bated breath
until first light revealed… no rhinos
whatsoever. We would return every
afternoon to check on their exact
relatively under-birded, this number is
likely to grow exponentially. Mammals
are also abundant, with blue wildebeest,
red hartebeest, blesbok, eland, white
rhinos, porcupines and even caracal
ranging widely across the grasslands,
while buffaloes, leopards, bushpigs,
genets, samango and vervet monkeys
and tree hyraxes live in the forests. Cape
clawless otters prowl the seashore and
dassies occupy the cliffs. The extent of
the reptilian and amphibian fauna is
poorly known, but to our great surprise
a small population of crocodiles, which
was re-introduced some years ago, can be
seen basking on the banks of the Kobole
River on hot summer days.
Compared to the reserve’s terrestrial
invertebrates, which are also severely
understudied, the adjacent marine
realm, especially the intertidal zone
has been relatively well researched. A
diverse rocky shore fauna, subtidal stocks
of abalone and reef fish populations
abound. Every June and July the reserve’s
marine diversity swells as the sardine
run barrels past, attracting Cape gannets,
bronze whalers, dusky sharks and
common dolphins in their thousands.
At the same time humpback whales
pass the reserve as they travel north to
their breeding grounds off Mozambique
and Madagascar.
The reserve’s flora is equally diverse,
with mahogany, yellowwoods and
stinkwoods occurring in the deep sandy
forest soils. Ferns and cycads comprise
much of the understorey and acacias
grow where the forest spills onto
grasslands. Mangrove communities occur
in the estuarine reaches of both the
Mbashe and Nqabara rivers.
At that stage, our schedule allowed for
just three short days at Dwesa, which
was far from enough time to investigate
and photograph it properly. After
completing our work along the northern
stretches of the Wild Coast, we returned
and invested two more weeks. Every
day we delved deeper into this magical
place and slowly began to understand
the unique rhythms to which it beats.
Thanks probably to its remoteness and
low visitor numbers, Dwesa is one of the
few places in South Africa where wildlife
still moves effortlessly and relatively
unmolested along the coastline. Here,
a diverse range of animals, from
wildebeest and eland to leopards and
porcupines, spends part of the day at the
beach, using the long stretches of sand
as express highways between sections of
the reserve.
D
wesa is also home to a small
population of white rhinos
that graze the extensive
grasslands. To get close to
them, however, you need
to go on foot as very few vehicle tracks
cut across the reserve. Under the auspices
of local community guide Vuyani
[SURNAME?], we trekked through head-
high grass, quagmires and deep, forested
ravines in search of a dozen or so rhinos.
Although the hikes weren’t particularly
strenuous, our hearts pumped faster and
we were always mindful of the wind
direction – and the nearest climbable
tree!
We were taking a break from tracking,
our attention turned to flocks of Cape
gannets plunge-diving into the ocean
and vast pods of common dolphins
rounding up schools of sardines into
bait balls, when out of the blue (literally)
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Equisit utat, cor sustis nonum iriliqu
ipsusti smoluptat la facincidunt adiat.
Bor sit lor sum vullupt atumsan utem
non henisl ex eum vel ullut pratum in
hent aciliquam quat praestie
Icivervi sulinte inatuam quo inculia
notimmodio ca neres ere halium la
perfeciam nius dum que publint eritebe
4. 36 A F R I C A G E O G R A P H I C • S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 6
location at sunset (rhinos do not appear
to move far at night) and on many
evenings they grazed tantalisingly close
to the beach, unknowingly taunting us
with every plodding step.
But we were constantly thwarted. By
the end of week two, we were low on
time, money and sleep and decided give
it one last try. Sitting on the dune in total
darkness on that last day, waiting for the
sun to rise, a sick and all-too-familiar
feeling of disappointment descended. Yet
again, there were no rhinos on the beach
and, feeling utterly deflated, we turned
to the sea. A pod of bottlenose dolphins
frolicking in the surf, lifted our sagging
spirits and Vuyani decided to walk
across the beach towards the midden.
He returned, looking solemn. ‘A rhino
was on the beach last night,’ he said.
In complete disbelief, we followed him
back and, sure enough, were greeted with
not only brand-new rhino tracks, but a
parting gift of the freshest rhino scats
we’d ever seen.
We fell asleep that night, with crashing
waves, whistling otters and exhaling
whales sounding in our left ears and
grunting bushpigs, hooting owls and
singing nightjars from the forest in our
right. We had thought about pitching
a story on Dwesa to Africa Geographic
after just a few days here, but that night
we thought long and hard about going
ahead with it. The temptation to keep
this largely ignored secret garden to
ourselves and a few initiated others was
very strong but, ultimately, a wild place
without a large pool of supporters and
fans does not stand a chance of surviving
in a world where wildlife is expected to
sustain itself – and others – economically.
Dwesa is situated in one of South Africa’s
poorest regions and needs to benefit the
local communities not only through
direct income from visitors (in the form
of guide fees and money spent at local
businesses), but also through the pride
that comes with seeing how other people
value their backyard. We hope that
this article encourages you to discover,
explore and fall in love with this Wild
Coast treasure; we ask only that you be
gentle and tread lightly, for it would take
just a few ignorant or careless visitors for
all this fragile magic to disappear.
The people who originally lived on what is now Dwesa Nature
Reserve were forcibly removed when the area was annexed
by the Cape Colony at the end of the 19th century. In 1994,
90-odd years later, the descendants of those who were evicted
mounted a well-organised mass invasion of the reserve that
focused largely on destroying marine resources as a way of
publicising their plight. In 1996 a successful land claim was
lodged and the land was formally handed over in June 2001.
In addition to a R16 000 (US$2 200) grant paid to every
affected household as well as financial compensation for lost
opportunities, the settlement calls for the land (which also
includes the adjacent Cwebe Reserve) to be leased to the
provincial department of environmental affairs for 21 years at
the cost of R1-million per year. The resolution of the land claim
brought the wanton environmental destruction to an end, but
some conservation concerns still apply.
The most pressing issue identified during our surveys was the
fact that poaching syndicates from Port Elizabeth were making
inroads into the region and had begun stripping the reserve’s
subtidal rocky reefs of abalone. We found conservation staff
poorly equipped to deal with this new threat, and through the
WWF-SA/Sanlam Aquatic Programme the reserve’s field rangers
have received important training in marine law enforcement.
There are also plans afoot to develop plans for community-
based tourism that will enable residents to benefit from the land
beyond the compensation payments.
Land claims and conservation
Africa Geographic’s
MBOTYI RIVER LODGE
www.africageographic.com/expeditions