Cameroon (2)


			On Felix’s recommendation we headed further south to Campo to visit a new National Park set up in collaboration with WWF. On route whilst stopping for lunch (and off-loading some more Giadia) we caught up with Mark and Karina. During discussions over the GPS map a small adventure began to take form. It seemed that there was a track leading eastwards from Campo that would traverse the centre of the park and deliver us not too far from the Gabonese border. We teamed up together and decided to approach the park headquarters to see if it would be possible. The track on the GPS turned out to be an old logging road that had been abandoned to the forest three years ago and would undoubtedly be overgrown by secondary vegetation. On top of this we were told that at the other end of the forest was a large bridge that had collapsed and was no longer passable on anything other than a motorbike. OK, so it’s impossible then, lets have a go.

	Whilst formalising the arrangements and park fees we managed to copy some map co-ordinates and swap some e-mails before retiring to camp at the new WWF/community eco-lodge on the Campo Estuary (N 02˚ 21.108’ E 009˚ 49.395’). Some unsuccessful spinning lead to dinner at a local restaurant, I’ve still to catch and cook my own fish.

	After a few formalities at the park headquarters and a small donation of two stroke to the cause, we followed Luther, the Forestry Ranger on his motorbike along good logging roads to the forest gate. I was expecting the roads to deteriorate further into the park and was not prepared for the immediate wall of green that lay behind the barrier bisected only by a small footpath barely wide enough for a bike. As we pushed into the sea of foliage, rear view mirrors soon became obsolete and full concentration was focused on the two-foot patch of visible ground infront of the truck. As we pressed on it soon became obvious that this was going to take some time and within the first 500m Mark had stopped. From the back it was never possible to see what obstruction lay ahead because the foliage was so thick that all we could see was the back end of a Landy.




				We fought our way around the Landy to the front of the path to see the first of the numerous fallen trees that lay before us. It was now that Mark pulled out his magnificent weapon, it had a fantastic shaft and a beautifully shaped head, actually the nicest chopper I’d seen for some time, and a bow saw. Full of vigour we attacked the branches and soon made headway (all of a hundred yards worth), before the next wooden barrier.

After taking the lead for some time, it soon became obvious that the Pinz punched a bigger hole in the bush than the Landy (something to do with it’s brick-like aerodynamics) and having no bonnet meant we had better visibility. As time pressed on we got into a good rhythm and shifted dozens of branches and lianas, cutting a swathe through the forest.

After one particular cutting episode I noticed that there were small streams on either side of the track. Since we also knew that there were some fairly ropey bridges to cross, I walked ahead to check the terrain whilst Jools drove slowly behind. I had barely covered 20 yards when I turned around to see the truck at a most unhealthy angle and Jools waving frantically from the cab. My initial thought was ‘what the hell are you doing?’ followed shortly by ‘oh no, here we go again’ and ‘what the feck are we doing here anyhow’. When I reached the cab the front wheel was a clear foot off the ground and I had to climb onto it to open the door. I extricated Jools from the cab and sank into the seat to try and see if it was salvageable, but any further movement just increased the pitch. Having lived through all this before, it all seemed much less dramatic the second time round and the absence of a big drop made it less frightening.

As there was no chance of driving it out (as further attempts would soon tip the balance), we broke out the winches and tackle and looked to rescue the situation. Mark was super keen to use the electric winch mounted on his bumper, a fantastic bit of kit capable of pulling 19,000lb, but a little temperamental at times.

To stabilise the truck we used the Tirfor to winch from the roof rack to a nearby tree, then attached Mark’s electric winch to the back of the Pinz. After dragging the Landy forward a foot it became clear that the truck was fully wedged. Up to this point I was still unsure why we were in this situation in the first place.

As we had secured the truck with the Tirfor I felt that it was safe to get round to see exactly what was going on. After clearing the vegetation we could see that a stream had undercut the road, which had collapsed under the weight of the truck. The back right wheels were now hanging in thin air whilst the truck was resting on the rear extension.


				After ten more minutes of debate around winching, digging and sand ladders, I suddenly remembered what we did last time. ‘Let’s just try driving out one more time’ I offered. I pulled a few more inches on the Tirfor and hopped back in the cab, and easy as pie, on two wheels, the Pinz pulled itself back onto level turf. Even die-hard Landy fan Mark was a little impressed. Now we had seen first hand the fragility of the ground we were passing over, things slowed up a little, and at some of the old logging bridges we had to chuck down the sand ladders to cross the rotting gaps.

	At 4pm we finally reached our biggest obstacle yet. Three huge tree trunks spanning the full width of the track. If they could be cut, it was going to take a fair bit of time, so we parked up for the evening and started work. Having chopped a fair pile of firewood in my time I thought it would take forever, but the wood turned out to be relatively soft and with Mark’s big axe it was lumberjacktastic.




		It took a couple of hours to clear, during which we endured a savage downpour, but just as we finished and the rain relented, Jools and Karina came over from the trucks “Are you guys being bothered by the bees?” “No, what bees?” we replied, as the air began to hum. The trucks were now surrounded by bees and the noise picked up to that angry swarming sound. The only place to hide was inside, so dripping wet we all piled into the Pinz and waited them out. As night came on, things calmed down so Mark and Karina could escape to their tent.



					In the morning it took another four hours of bush-whacking to reach the exit to the park, but the barrier was just a psychological one, as the difficulties continued for another ten kilometres until we reached the radio station. All that really lay ahead now was the broken bridge we had been told about at headquarters.

	We snatched a bite to eat and mustered a small army of conscripts before reaching the river. When logging companies encounter a river they fell huge trees to cross the gap, building them in layers and packing the whole thing with earth. They have a limited lifespan because the logs start rotting and without constant grading, the earth washes away.

	From the look of the bridge we were faced with, it had originally been about 30’ wide and bridged about 40’ of raging river. All that now remained to cross was a 6’ wide bank of soil balanced on top of some remaining logs. This had cut off the villagers on the park side from all but motorbike access, and us from reaching our ultimate goal. We spent an hour clearing vegetation and coming up with various plans to construct a crossing, but the task was formidable and the risks too great. Mark was so keen, that in the shadow of his enthusiasm I looked like a real quitter, but I had to check myself and keep remembering that I would never had reached this point in time if it were true.

	The most difficult part, was that it was only just, not passable. In a light jeep, with some sort of safety line, not in the middle of Africa, it would have been fun to try and drive across, but with so much to loose it was time to turn round. The return trip took little time as the hard work was done and the puzzles had all been solved, including clearing more bees from the Landy with a colander of smoking leaves. By the end of the day we had returned (150km) to the Tara Plage Auberge in Kribi, a little deflated at our overall failure, but also counting the little triumphs.



	We needed some time to recuperate and repair the trucks, so we stayed at the beach for an extra two days. Still failing to provide on the fishing front, we bought two big fish at a local market and planned an evening barbeque.

	However, as we readied the fish in true British style the heavens opened. This was more rain than I have ever seen fall from the sky, the ground was soon flooding and if you opened your mouth it would fill in moments. Mark, having suffered heavily from our previous defeat, was by no means going to be beaten by a little shower. The only dry spot out of the driving rain was under the arse end of the Pinz. Mark laid the fire out on one of his sand ladders and with the howling wind, soon had it roaring.

	We were both saturated, so had to be careful not to drip onto the fire, and as the water levels rose we stacked more and more under the ladder to raise the fire off the ground. It became a battle of will against the elements, but the ridiculousness of the operation just fuelled our resolve, and the whole thing was hilarious.

	The storm continued for the full time it took to cook the fish as if some weather god was experimenting on us to see if we would give in, but we won, the fish cooked perfectly and tasted great, it almost made up for not crossing the bridge. In the morning we packed our soggy remains and headed to Gabon.