Page 17 - SoMJ Vol 74 - No 1, 2021

The 1991 Phalombe Disaster 7

The 1991 Phalombe Disaster

Mike Petzold

“Fancy a two-nighter at Sombani?” I asked John Killick in early March
1991. He didn’t need an excuse for a Mulanje trip and agreed without hesitation.
John and I enjoyed the mountain best in the rains when the whole place comes
alive. Little did we know that the intended short trip was to become an enforced
four-nighter. We chose the Chiradzulu route. It rained steadily, but not hard, all
the way to Phalombe. It was still drizzling at Fort Lister and we relished the cool
conditions for our ascent to Sombani, but there was an ominous blackness about
the sky, some hours before nightfall. It rained heavily all night and all the next
day. Unusually, we were besieged in the hut. Opposite the hut, Namasile’s wall
was white with cascading water. On the second morning, Sunday, the whole
Sombani basin was a lake, stretching across to the base of Namasile.
We began our return to Fort Lister around mid-day. Initially, we had to
take the route towards Chinzama/Madzeka as far as the watershed between the
Sombani and Malosa rivers. We then crossed over to the foot of Namasile and
made our way slowly across country to the top of the plateau where the path starts
its descent. The streams across our route were in full spate. Fording most of them
required an up-stream bush-bash to find narrower crossing places. We had some
tense moments as knee-high white water swirled round and past us. The last
stream in the evergreen forest, before the brachystegia woodland begins, was
particularly fierce and the bridge had been swept away. It was jammed
downstream against some trees. It was on its edge, but we did manage to scramble
across this narrow escape route over an otherwise unfordable river. “The bottom
stream will be difficult,” said John. While still several hundred feet above it, we
could already hear the roar of rushing water. It was a deep menacing sound. But
it wasn’t difficult at all – it was impossible!
One glance at the swollen river, extending several yards across the rock
slabs on both banks, was enough. We watched transfixed, as massive logs and
other debris were swept away. We explored upstream for a possible crossing place
but there was no chance. The whole forest seemed to be a yard deep in moving
water. We were stranded. And it was getting dark. A short distance above the
river, we found a rock shelter, just off the path. There we spent an uncomfortable
and soggy night, where hyaena had obviously been. Our supplies were pitifully
small – we dined on half a tin of sardines and a roll each. As far as I can recall,
that left a couple of samosas and some barley-sugar sweets to look forward to for
breakfast. Drinking-water was not a problem! It dripped onto us throughout the
night from the roof of our shelter. Sleeping bags were soon saturated. We must
have managed a little sleep, for when we awoke, the sky over Mozambique was