The Joy of Fire

I awake today with the smell of woodsmoke hanging in the air, lingering in my hair… Which is both appropriate and pleasant. I realize that woodsmoke has been the background aroma to some of my most beautiful experiences. Yesterday, I was at a braai – with an awesome fire that was made with love, in order to feed a special group of people. 

It occurs to me that the scent of woodsmoke, and fire itself, have been a quintessential part of my life for the longest time. Lingering and reminding me of so many extraordinary moments.

Getting up before the sun in Deception Valley, quietly taking a seat at a barely-there fire of embers, carefully stoking it to get the water boiling, and those first delicious sips of coffee just as the grey gives way to the dawn. In the distance a jackal calls, and the francolin gives a startled reply. Then deep silence again, with the occasional crackle from the fire…

Long nights after longer days of 4×4 training, a larger than necessary fire and a couple of great whiskeys with my mate Rob Crawford, recently departed to the playground in the sky. Conversations that created more questions than answers – yet were deeply profound in their own way.

Sitting at a campfire in Santawani, dinner at an end and people slowly drifting off to their respective shacks. I’m always one of the last to leave, red wine in hand – because the best conversations always take place with less than a handful of people around the fire. It’s always quiet enough then to hear the noises of the bush. That particular night we heard nothing, until the sound of lapping crashed into the night from the adjacent bird bath – perhaps five meters away. Two huge lion – one black maned, one golden – had decided to tiptoe in to slake their thirst. A profound experience where you become connected to that which is primal within you, where you realize that you are, in fact, part of the food chain. It is a feeling that remains with you forever, quietly reminding you that all wildlife is to be respected.

As winter creeps into Joburg, the final sign is the smell of woodfires from the informal settlements. As the cold creeps deeper into your bones, the days become grey, and the woodfires keep those less fortunate warm. 

Youthful beach holidays in Plett. What is a beach party without a fire on the beach? Because, back then, you could… Hours and hours passed, the ocean gently lapping the beach beyond the golden light, conversations, confessions, perhaps the odd stolen kiss. If we were lucky, the ocean gave us a phosphorescence show, with each wave etched in a surreal glowing silver/green light. The beach fire always had a life of its own. 

A cottage in Kruger – always chosen for its proximity to the fence. I am convinced that the hyaenas are habituated to associate fire with food. And, without fail, would slink up to the fence. Whilst acutely aware that this is not natural behavior, it was always a thrill to see them.

Raging, uncontrolled fires tore through Pilanesberg one dark night. I happened to be on duty that weekend. Did you know that lions are drawn to fire? For them, it’s the perfect storm of panic and chaos – the ideal time to grab a bite. Which, of course, makes fighting the fire infinitely more difficult. In the end, a zebra carcass had to be used to lure the lions away so the teams could get close enough to battle the flames. It was a surreal, almost prehistoric scene – silhouettes of men, beasts, and firelight – a re-enactment of something that has likely played out countless times over the ages.

Which leads me to ponder the first people and fire. We live in what was, in many ways, the Cradle of Humankind. Evidence suggests that early humans used fire as far back as 1.4 to 2 million years ago, though its habitual and controlled use is reliably dated to between 300,000 and 400,000 years ago. Imagine a world where, when the sun set, darkness was absolute. A world alive with predators, where humans were not the hunters but the hunted – soft-skinned, slow, and ill-equipped to fight back. The discovery of fire changed everything. It brought warmth, light, and protection – a fragile but profound barrier against the night – and ultimately made possible our migration into colder climates and our survival against the odds.

AI defines fire as “the visible result of a rapid chemical reaction called combustion, which involves a fuel, an oxidizing agent (like oxygen), and heat”. I beg to differ. To me, it is a gathering place, a safety net, a provider of light and warmth. The place to cook food and swap stories. A place to confide or even create new secrets. Or, my favourite, to simply stare, allowing the mind to go blank, one’s body to relax and to simply “be” in this magical world we are lucky enough to find ourselves a part of…

Jacqui Ikin & The Cross Country Team