Diamonds in the rough

THERE was a void next to me that would never be filled.

At least once a year, my stepfather and I head off on a 4×4 wilderness excursion as far away from the clutter and clatter of civilisation as possible. But close to the departure date for our Richtersveld trip, Harvey was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He just didn’t have the energy to travel and my mother wanted him close.

Arriving at Sperrgebiet Lodge outside Springbok after a long contemplative drive, I soaked up the view of the amber-lit rocks and quiver tree-studded hills in the distance. I was still melancholy from the realisation that Harvey was unlikely to join me again on one of these father-son catharses. Ever. It was a realisation I’d tried to purge on the trip up from the Cape with a collection of rock ballads; belted out at max volume on the excellent sound system in my borrowed Isuzu DC KB300 4×4 LX Auto, now rebranded the D-Max 300.

I met George Moyses in Port Nolloth the next day. The veteran diamond diver also acts as curator for the fascinating Port Nolloth museum and