It was six o'clock when we came off the escarpments, heading due west, racing the sunset. We drove straight into the reflected glare of the sea and sands, through which Port Nolloth emerged mirage-like from a bank of sea fog. Built on long exhausted stocks of alluvial diamonds, Port Nolloth is attempting to survive on a diet of fishing, tourism, and the occasional Gorteria hunter. Greg Mellers counted forty De Beers employees carefully cleaning the Grazia De Beers Beachfront, but they may have been looking for the last scrapings of stones, as sunbathers are in short supply. Much of this region is diamond country, and it is the first time in the past month that I've felt uncomfortable collecting and photographing our specimens. In these exceptionally arid areas, Gorteria diffusa hugs the run-off channels and our close inspection of dry river beds understandably raised suspicion. At one site we were questioned, permits demanded, and our semi-precious envelopes of dried leaves examined with polite skepticism. But this is a beautiful corner of wilderness, where the flat coastal plains take on the soaring escarpments of the Richterveld. Here among the most northerly populations of Gorteria we were treated to a few moments of absolute silence, a shimmering blanket of stillness. And it is here that we encountered great fields of orange lichen stretching into the distance. It is the stuff of dreams. The wild hallucinations of a half-starved reindeer.
