300 Metres to Heaven: Our Wild Backyard Camping Adventure

Because sometimes the best place to get lost… is your own backyard.

Owning a bush camp doesn’t mean we spend every night watching bad TV reruns and pretending that counts as adventure. Sometimes, it means packing the Urban Escape Vehicle, driving a whole 300 metres from the house, and rediscovering the wild from inside a tent—just like our guests do.

Yes, Rodney and I actually camp at our own camp. Not because we have to. Because we want to. Because if we don’t love it here—*really* love our backyard and its Big Five heartbeat—how could we expect anyone else to?

Where the Roar Feels Closer

There’s something raw and real about swapping four solid walls for a flap of canvas. At night, the bush breathes differently. Those lion calls you hear faintly from the house? Out here, they vibrate through your mattress.

Jackals don’t just bark—they hold full-on political rallies outside your tent.

And the whoop of a hyena at 2 a.m.? That’ll have you sitting bolt upright, clutching your duvet like a riot shield, heart pounding faster than a pot of pap left unattended on high heat, while your brain calmly whispers:
“Is that outside the fence… or outside the tent?”
(Just joking. Sort of.)

Even the insects seem louder. It’s like the whole bush has a volume knob—and it only turns one way: up.

Whether we’re tucked into one of our private, fenced bush stands or roughing it off-grid in the wilderness site, every night reminds us: Dinokeng isn’t just alive. It’s practically breathing down your neck—in the best possible way.

Trail Cams, Night Vision & Bushveld Intrigue

Naturally, Rodney never misses a chance to fiddle with his trail cams. I, of course, sit beside him with the night vision binoculars, doing the very important job of whispering, “Did you hear that?” like I’m auditioning for a bushveld horror film.

And more often than not—something does show up.

We’ve captured:

• A sleek brown hyena, ghosting past our tent like a thief in the night

• A bushpig family snouting around the fence line like they’re casing the joint

• Three white rhinos, grazing peacefully just 10 metres from our chairs

• Herds of wildebeest and impala casually photobombing the footage

And then comes morning…

Forget alarm clocks. The francolins and hornbills don’t ask you to wake up—they demand it. The sun hasn’t even broken the horizon, just a soft red glow creeping in from the east, while we put the kettle on and dunk our first aniseed rusk in strong camp coffee.

Wrapped in blankets, faces lit by the fire’s last embers, we sip and watch as the sky blushes pink and gold. The bush stretches. So do we. And the day begins the way every bush morning should—wild, warm, and utterly unscripted.

Rocket Boilers, Braais & Bushveld Tweaks

These camping stints aren’t just for fun (though let’s be honest—they’re a lot of fun). They’re also our undercover quality-control missions.

We light the rocket boilers at dawn and dusk. We poke the braai stands. We test the lights, the taps, the firepits. And yes, we might sneak a marshmallow or three in the name of “inspection”.

But above all, camping here reconnects us with the “why”.

Why we started this camp.
Why we still sleep under canvas.
Why we fall asleep to hyenas and wake to francolins.

Because if it still gives us goosebumps after all these years, we know it’s ready for you.

Hot Chocolate, Stars & a Bubbling Bushveld Idea

One night, sitting by the fire with mugs of hot chocolate in hand and a sky full of stars above us, we had a brilliant idea (as one does in the bush):

What if we added wood-fired hot tubs to the magic?

Imagine it—fire crackling, the scent of "sekelbos" smoke drifting by, and a steaming tub under the stars. Add in a few jackal howls and a toasted marshmallow and, well… who wouldn’t want to soak up that scene?

Who knows… maybe soon. Watch this space.

One Uninvited (and Hilarious) Visitor

And then there was that night.

We’d just settled in—Rodney cradling his mug of hot chocolate (yes, he’s a softie when the stars come out), me bundled up in a blanket. Trail cams set. Night vision ready. Silence settling like dew.

Then: rustle. Shuffle. Thump.

Out of nowhere, a bush baby came flying out of the darkness like a caffeine-fuelled acrobat, crash-landed on our table, flung the hot chocolate into the air, snatched a half-eaten rusk, and sprang up into the tree with a look that said: “Thanks for the snack, suckers.”

Looking up, we spotted Dobbie and Gizmo—two orphaned babies that Elzabé and Shana hand-raised and released. Clearly thriving. Clearly cheeky. Clearly raising a family of sugar-fuelled ninjas now marauding Thorn Tree by night.

Rodney stared at the empty mug like it had personally betrayed him.
“At least he didn’t take the biltong,” I shrugged.
Rodney laughed so hard he nearly spilled the backup hot chocolate.

They say “expect the unexpected” in the bush.

They weren’t joking.

Living the Story, One Night at a Time

So if you spot a rooftop tent under the monkey thorns, or see Rodney fiddling with motion sensors while the stars blink awake—know this:

We’re not just the owners.
We’re the campers.
The fire stokers.
The wildlife whisperers (and coffee guzzlers).
The ones chasing footprints by day… and stories by night.

We don’t just run Thorn Tree Bush Camp.
We live it.
Every rusk-thieving, hyena-whooping, goosebump-raising moment of it.

Want more behind-the-scenes bush tales?

👉 Meet the wild ones inside our fences

👉 Explore our tented cabins and private bush campsites

👉 Browse our blog for wild stories, tips & campfire confessions

Come pitch your own story soon.

You never know what might knock over your hot chocolate.