We have been held up by an errant herd or two of cattle before; we have slowed down to allow cyclists to pass; hugged the bushy verge in the face of the odd oncoming vehicle (because this country road does not carry much traffic at any particular time); braked cautiously in the face of a kudu about to jump over a fence; stopped to watch warthogs, black-backed jackals or even baboons cross the road. There is nothing unusual about this on the country roads.

Wind turbines were erected along the ridge of Waainek some years ago and we have got used to seeing them on the skyline. Their heads sometimes disappear in the morning mist; they might loom unexpectedly large from behind a grove of trees; at first one might be taken aback by their whooshing sound as the blades turn in the wind; we acknowledge that there is a certain elegance about them.

The width of the road that turns off the narrow dirt country road towards the wind-farm is an indication of the gargantuan size of the vehicles that have brought them to this point in sections. These are not vehicles to be trifled with – as we were reminded today.

We set off for a pleasant drive late this afternoon in the hope of enjoying the views (altered by a combination of smoke and dust – which is not surprising as a fierce Berg Wind has been blowing all day) and perhaps seeing some wildlife along the way. Our timing has to be spot on in relation to the setting of the sun in order to avoid kudu on our way home. A general rule is to get back onto the tarred road well before dark.

Two graceful waterbuck and a family of five warthogs made the trip worthwhile – as well as a herd of pretty Nguni cattle and a large Bonsmara bull. I was admiring Fork-tailed Drongos catching insects in the last of the light, looked at the silhouette of a raptor soaring high above a hill, and was already wondering if the power would have come on (it was off for six hours today – cables snapped in the wind) by the time we got home when we had to break sharply to avoid hitting a vehicle that slewed across the road ahead of us and came to a halt at an angle. I am sure the driver – Tattoo Man – didn’t even notice us as he got out and walked towards the drivers of two enormous vehicles cosying up to each other on the turnoff to the wind-farm.

We waited. The darkness crept closer. We waited. Tattoo man deigned to indicate that we were not to budge. We waited … and waited. It seemed an age before a third leviathan bearing a bright red crane came rumbling towards us. These vehicles are all so broad that there is no way another vehicle would be able to pass them on such a narrow road. We waited.

Tattoo Man got into his vehicle, reversed and straightened it. We thought we’d take the gap but he held his hand up in an authoritative manner. We had to wait. All signs of the setting sun had vanished. At last Tattoo Man appeared at our window. “When the next truck arrives, take the gap and drive like hell because we are waiting for four more to come.”

We waited. At last we could see the headlights bouncing along the road ahead and the flashing orange lights that crowned each of the trucks. It stopped short of its target. Tattoo Man and another approached it in the near dark. We could see the driver’s door open. Men walked back and forth. We were poised ready to move. The truck crept forward painfully slowly until the gap finally appeared … we were off like a shot – not that one can drive at speed along a narrow dirt road in the countryside at night – and were relieved to have got out of the unexpected traffic jam at last.
