Nagle Dam: Where the Wild Things Are (Mostly Us)

Guarded by the mystical splendour of KwaZulu-Natal’s Table Mountain (not the one with the cable cars and Instagrammers (this one’s bushveld chic), Nagle Dam and Game Reserve promised us tranquillity, natural beauty, and enough adventure to keep The Man, the Man Cub, Sister, Niece, and myself from resorting to data-hungry doom scrolling.
The Man of course packed for every eventuality, fishing rods, tackle boxes, and an air of rugged optimism that that perfectly matched his love for braaing. He was ready to braai up a storm (which usually starts at 6pm and goes on for hours much to the dismay of us hungry folk. It’s what you term a Lappies Braai here in South Africa). The Man Cub on the other hand brough his bike, a near-expired bottle of sunscreen and a water bottle that had not been cleaned out in donkeys’ years, coupled with energy levels of someone who had consumed one too many packets of NikNaks on the way there. Meanwhile, Sister and Niece approached the trip with the laissez-faire attitude of seasoned veterans in the art of “doing nothing in style”.

Arrival @ Nagle Dam: Into the Bushlands

Driving into the reserve, we were greeted by bushlands with pockets of thornveld vistas, a fish eagle circling in the distance, and the unmissable sound of The Man Cub attempting to negotiate life’s greatest mystery, how to keep a fizzy drink from exploding after you’ve shaken it. As we approached our six-sleeper chalet, Sister muttered something about “rustic charm,” while I muttered something about hoping “rustic” came with hot water and a decent pan for perfect bacon and eggs in the morning.
The chalet, to its credit, struck the perfect balance between safari chic and middle-class comfort. No, it wasn’t the luxury lodge experience you see on Carte Blanche, but it had beds, running water, and a fridge large enough for The Man’s fishing bait and… my wine (just). I’m teasing. The chalet had a double door fridge but, I do pack a lot of wine.

Fishing: Where The Man Meets His Match

The highlight of Nagle Dam for The Man, naturally, was the fishing. As soon as the rods were unpacked, he assumed his most serious expression. A mix of hunter, philosopher, and slightly delusional optimist. He cast his line into the tranquil waters, his hope as boundless as the dam itself.
The man, despite his best efforts, didn’t catch a single fish (I’m seeing a pattern). The Man Cub, rather than joining him by the water with a fishing rod, opted to ride his bicycle around the reserve, zipping past us with boundless energy of someone who has just discovered the joy of open spaces.
As we had arrived quite late, just after 5pm due to the chalet still having wet cement in certain placed and being asked to give it some time to dry, we were all feeling pooped after the drive and the activities of the day which led to a very, very, very long braai and us crashing into bed as soon as dinner was FINALY eaten.
Day one, done and dusted. Those darn Lappies Braais!

Scorching Days: An Exercise in Organized Chaos

Saturday dawned bright and hot, the kind of day that practically begged for a braai and lazing at the pool. The Greeks (friends that have turned into family) were joining us later in the day and The Man declared that upon their arrival, it would be the perfect opportunity to go and test the waters and, his luck again at fishing, which naturally meant he needed all the men in our group (i.e., him, his honorary assistant, the Man Cub as well as Mr Greek and his two progeny). While we waited, mouths were fed (luckily, I had brought my own pan as the kitchen was a bit lacking in crockery, cutlery and gasp…wine glasses!) The team from Nagle Dam came to service the chalet and luckily, also brought some wine glasses. The chalet is in the process of being renovated thus it was not well stocked when we were there as a few things had been taken out of the chalet whilst renovations were underway.
Once the Greeks had arrived, Sister, Niece, Mrs Greek and I took a more strategic approach to the afternoon. Staking out a spot near the pool with books in hand, feigning interest in birdlife while keeping a watchful eye on the two kids who had opted to stay behind with us while the men attempted to catch fish.

Hiking (or Something Like It)

In the late afternoon, we decided to stretch our legs on one of the reserve’s trails. Not the Table Mountain hike – a steep climb best suited to professional athletes and mountain goats. Instead, we ambled down to the dam, wine glass in hand, marvelling at the flora, spotting a couple of shy bugs, and dodging the occasional low-hanging branch a few glasses in. Mrs Greek was enthralled by my expansive knowledge on thorn trees (my knowledge – someone who just Googled “acacia” the night before).
We met up with the rest of our Herd at the Dam who had tales of no fish being caught which is a surprise as the fishing is usually quite good. Alas, it was back to camp with a sorrowful group of men who quickly changed their moods once the fire was lit. It’s amazing how men are cheered by staring into open flames. Beers were cracked, more wine was poured and luckily Mr Greek was braaing which meant mouths were fed at a reasonable hour.
Sadly our friends were heading back that same day but, we didn’t allow this to dampen our spirits. The braai made its second appearance of the day. The Man took charge once again, with the kind of focus he reserves for meat and rugby finals.
The Man Cub, having exhausted himself with cycling, fishing, swimming and nearly riding over a black mamba, lazed in the lounge while Niece entertained us with dramatic re-enactments of the day’s events before crashing into a deep sleep. Sister and I sipped on wine, watching the stars emerge one by one. In that moment, the reserve felt like the perfect blend of wilderness and comfort – far enough from the city to feel like an escape, but close enough to maintain a solid cell signal for posting our adventures online.

And yes, with the man at the braai…it was a late night.

The Farewell: Back to Reality

Sunday morning came too quickly, bringing with it the bittersweet task of packing up. As we drove out of the reserve, The Man declared the trip a success, though he lamented not having caught “that one big fish.” The Man Cub, meanwhile, recounted his mamba escape with the exaggerated flair of a boy who had just conquered the unconquerable.

Sister and Niece, ever the pragmatists, were already planning our next trip. “Somewhere with spa treatments,” they suggested. I nodded in agreement, though secretly I knew we’d be back at Nagle Dam before long. After all, where else can you laze with book in hand staring at fish eagles and Kingfishers, and witness The Man battle both fish and fire – all within an hour’s drive of the city?

As we hit the main road, leaving the bushveld behind, I glanced back at the reserve, its waters glinting in the morning sun. It had been a weekend of laughter, adventure, and the occasional mishap – everything a family getaway should be. And as The Man Cub proclaimed loudly from the backseat, “I’m faster than a crocodile!” I smiled, already looking forward to our return to this little slice of Africa.