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Wet and Wild in Western Tanzania, the Mahale Road

April 27th – May 3rd, 2022 (TLDR? There is a youtube video at the end of this post, or on my youtube channel, @stuckinlowgear)

The Rusumo border crossing from Rwanda into Tanzania was pretty painless, but now we were in northwest Tanzania with no good camping options. More or less right after the border the north side of the road follows the edge of newly gazetted Burigi-Chato National Park. There isn’t a lot of info available on this park but we had a notion to go and see if we could organize some informal camping at the gate.

Western Tanzania is a lot less populated than the rest of the country, traffic consisted of the occasional big truck. The road was in reasonable condition with some parts getting a new layer of chip seal added. The terrain is bush and scrubland on lazy hills, nothing like the steep green hills of Rwanda with its busy terraced farms. 

Soon after we made the turn for Burigi-Chato we passed what looked like a ranger post, abandon. A little further on the gate had a sign proclaiming the park fees, but it was open and no one was in attendance.

Another road branched off, marked “Private – No Entry.” We went a 100 or so meters up that road to find a new building. Here we met one of the rangers who was surprised to see us. His English wasn’t very good and our Swahili still perfunctory, so we struggled to communicate that we hoped to camp nearby.

He eventually called his supervisor on the phone, who in turn called his supervisor, and eventually to our surprise we were denied and told to head down the road to stay at one of the guesthouses in the next village.

Rolling through the next village we eye’d the guesthouses. They were modest to say the least and we were not enthusiastic about them, deciding to continue on. There was one campsite marked on the map, but after bumping down a little used side road for a while it proved to be a phantom.

Back at the main road there was an old quarry, from some old road maintenance project. Quarries like this are common throughout Africa and are oft recommended as good places to wild camp. The land isn’t in use for anything else and it provides a flat spot that hopefully you can get out of sight of the road. 

Tonight we continued the tradition, our first quarry camp. We tucked ourselves all the way in the back and felt pretty good about our spot. There was no fire tonight, we had pasta and watched the sky. Dark rain clouds passed to the south of us and we had a peaceful night. 

The successful night’s wild camping made us feel like real overlanders for once. Some people do that almost all the time, but it isn’t really our style of travel. Feeling good we hit the road.

The day was pretty uneventful, a fairly long drive to the city of Kigoma. After we turned south the road changes to gravel. We’d driven most of this road in 2018, going the other direction. There were still road crews and heavy equipment working, getting ready to tar this stretch, as there had been in 2018. It seemed no progress had been made in the intervening years. 

A steady rain came down as we drove and the Cruiser got covered in the dark red mud that is prevalent in this part of Africa, so red that it can stain your clothes or even the white paintwork if left on the car too long. 

I have long talked up The Count of Monte Christo to Jenny, and she suggested we tackle the audiobook version, all 52 hours of it!. Alexandre Dumas’ epic tale is still excellent and made the kilometers pass by quickly. We rolled into Kigoma in the afternoon with enough time to pick up a couple things in town and stop by the Mahale/Gombe Information Center.

We still hadn’t settled on our route south and wanted to ask here about the roads. Mahale National Park lies to the south, along the lakeshore, and Gombe to the north. Both are parks well known for chimpanzees. Reportedly April is one of the worst months to visit, and we’d just seen chimps in Uganda, so Mahale wasn’t really on our list. However the road down there looked interesting. Whether it’s even possible to drive there is a question I’d seen online a few times, so we thought we’d stop in at the info center and get the story from the source.

The ranger at the information center told us the road to Mahale, the R332, is in good condition, no problem there. This runs along the lake shore as far as the northern edge of Mahala National Park. You can’t however drive all the way into the park. At the southern end of the road there is a ranger station and you’d have to leave your car there and take a boat the rest of the way, which he quoted at 300,000 TSH (~$130 USD). 

A few kilometers north of the end of the road is a track that cuts inland and hooks up with the T9, the regular thoroughfare that connects the north and south of Western Tanzania. Information on this road is scant and we hoped the rangers from the park would know the latest. 

Our information center ranger told us that someone had driven this road not too long ago, but that they reported back was that it wasn’t recommended, that it was densely overgrown. We pressed him to call the rangers at Mahale and ask them for a more up to date report and he obliged.

Remarkably the person that answered the phone had recently driven the road, informing us that the park staff uses it sometimes. The report was that the beginning was very rough and requires a “strong car,” but after a certain village (who’s name was not on the map) it was easy going. This matched recent reports on iOverlander, which also said that the beginning was awful, but after that no problem. Though ominously more than one iOverlander person had given up and turned back.

With this fresh intelligence we retired to the overlanders’ standby of Jakobson’s Beach Campsite just south of town. We’d been here before and it felt nice to know where we staying. It was giving us a nice confidence to be familiar with some of these out of the way places. 

Jakobson’s was as we left it. The campsite is down the hill, set in the trees and just above the lake. There isn’t much of a lake view, because of all the trees, but there is a little bit and it’s just a few steps to get down to the lake. We hiked up to one of the lookouts close to the top of the hill for the sunset.

Jakobson’s used to have a few zebra that roamed the grounds. In 2018 we’d asked about them and Jakobson himself said they were here when he arrived and started the camp and they just stuck around. Sadly there is only one zebra left, the others have moved on. Apparently he is a bit lonely, but he didn’t stop in to check on us. 

The Mahale – Bamboo Valley Lakeshore Road, the R332

This road is rarely driven and accounts of it are even more rare, so forgive me, I will go into some detail. 

The information we had on the lakeshore road seemed pretty up to date so we decided to go for it. After topping up on fuel we hit the road. The first stretch is tar, back tracking a bit on the road into Kigoma. 

At the junction we locked the hubs and went into 4×4, anticipating a lousy road. Instead we found the road to be…perfect. There is something about a good gravel road that is even nicer than tar. With the tire pressures lowered the Cruiser is true to its name, cruising along eating up the kilometers with ease.

We cruised and cruised, disbelieving how good the road was. The countryside wizzed by, palm trees and green lands and red dirt. The road brought us through the occasional small village. In between villages we saw people on bicycles, walking and the occasional motorcycle. Life was good. 

After a while we came to a river crossing, barely a hundred meters wide, serviced by a small ferry. A little after we arrived it departed the opposite shore and not long after disembarked a few vehicles, a lot of motorcycles and even more pedestrians. 

Jenny procured a ticket for us. It was very cheap, about .50 cents US for one person and $2.50 for a vehicle and driver. After some waiting around the crew waved us on and we drove aboard along with another vehicle. After that the rest of the ferry was filled to the brim with motorcycles and pedestrians. Only a few minutes later the crossing was done and we drove off in a hustle and bustle people and vehicles.

The road from here on was narrower, still in great shape. Mostly it is set back from the lakeshore, but we often got good views. One map showed a road that was a loop down to the lake, passing through a village. Jenny piloted us on this scenic detour and after crossing a rocky stream we entered a village and were greeted by a lot of friendly locals, mostly waving enthusiastically, though a few just gave us curious looks. The reason for the curious looks became obvious when we reached a dead end, this was not a through road.

After turning around we drove through the village again, returning all the waves once more as we backtracked.

Later in the afternoon we began to work on where to camp. On the map there’s a lodge at the very end of the road that we weren’t entirely convinced existed. If we stayed there we’d have to back track some kilometers to take the turn that would bring us inland to the T9, the main artery that runs north south through Western Tanzania. 

The other option was wild camp. There were a few promising areas on the map, where the road went down to the lakeshore. These spots would also not require us to back track in the morning. Unfortunately we found the stretch of shore that we thought might have some spots to not be as good as expected. Lake Tanganyika’s level has risen over the last few years due to consistent heavy rains in the basin. The lake had simply swallowed up the shore, and potential camp spots.

Our choices were a quarry well within sight of the road, a lovely beach spot well within sight of the road, and the mystery lodge that might not exist another 30 or so km down the way. There were a few hours in the day left, we decided to scope out the beach spot and see how it felt, we had enough time to move on if we didn’t feel comfortable. 

We 4×4’d our way though a short patch of deep sand to find a nice level spot about 20’ from the beach and 20’ from the road, with some brush to obstruct the view of only the most unobservant of passerby. 

The sun’s heat beat down and the lake was calling. We had a decadent swim in cool clear water. The beach was made from sand and thousands of perfect flat skipping stones. I tried to revive lessons of my childhood, skipping stones across the water. We lounged in our camp chairs at the lake shore and declared this spot great. Forebodingly to the south we could see the rugged Mahale mountains being lashed by rain squalls, likely drenching the rough track we hoped to pass tomorrow.

Occasionally a couple people would walk down the road but nobody gave us more than a glance and a wave. Even though this spot violated one of our core wild camping tenants, don’t be within sight of the road, we felt pretty good about this spot. 

A group of three teenage girls walked by and stopped to gawk and ponder what our story was. We waved and they giggled, and one boldly lead the others over to see what we were up to. They didn’t speak more than a couple words of english, but with that and our smattering of Swahili we had a nice time. Their presence sort of unlocked the flood gates on local visitors and not long after we had a crowd around us. 

I busted out our little photo album from home, which has photos of our house, some California landscapes and the work we do. This was a huge hit and each photo was studied and discussed in depth. One boy spoke a bit of english and I could explain the photos to him, and then he would translate for the rest of the group. 

Evening was drawing near and Jenny started cooking dinner, a veggie stir fry on rice. This generated a lot of interest and discussion as well. We wondered if everyone was going to stick around and try to join us for dinner, but we wouldn’t have near enough. 

We managed to also ask permission to camp here from one of the older people. They nodded their approval. I asked another person, “Sisi lala hapa?” (this is not the proper way to ask, it should be something like Tunaweza kupiga kambi hapa?). They also responded with an indifferent shrug and “Ndio. Sawa.” (Yes. Okay.) We were glad of their approval. Of course it’s no guarantee, but if we were camped in some place that was totally unsafe they would have warned us.

Sunset was near and the group started to trickle away, leaving our original girls and a couple fishermen hanging out to the end. The girls were our favorite. Even out here in rural Tanzania, where these girls lived in huts of mud and wore muslim headscarves, in a world so different from our own, they seemed incredibly normal. Sassy, funny and inquisitive; just regular teenage girls. Eventually they headed off, waving goodbye.

We had a nice dinner of stir fried rice and vegetables, sitting our our chairs with the lapping waters of the lake just a couple feet away.

At dusk the clouds moved in and rain was imminent. We packed up camp, leaving nothing out for the rain or this exposed wild camp. At night we heard intermittent rain tap against the tent. A couple times in the night I woke to the sound of vehicles passing, their headlights flashed across the tent and I’m sure they couldn’t have missed seeing us, but nobody stopped and we slept relatively well. 

Driving Through Bamboo Valley to the T9

Morning came early, the pink light of dawn colored the lake and stormy clouds from last night’s rain were dispersed in the sky around us. It was a big day today. Would we be able to pass the Bamboo Vally road?

The first kilometers were easy, we had yet to make the turn east. It was obvious that we had chosen a decent place to camp last night, as not far south it became fairly populated.

Rain from the night before had cleared out the sky and everything seemed to be rendered in high definition. Crystal clear colors popped, a deep blue sky, white cottony cumulous clouds, the brick red dirt road, bright green palms and every leaf and blade of grass was rinsed clean of dust. It was a beautiful day for our small adventure.

We drove across a long bailey bridge and the GPS said the turn inland was ahead. Eventually the GPS ticked down the “distance to turn” to 0 meters and we stopped, scanning the bush for the road. 

That’s the road? A dark muddy track dove down a short embankment and wove through tall grass and out of sight, very narrow for a vehicle. But we could see clear paths of foot prints in the mud, a few boda boda tracks, and thankfully one full set of tire tracks.

This was it. The tire tracks made us feel a lot better, they must have passed recently. The rain hadn’t washed away their tracks, so the road was at least passable, or had been before yesterday’s rain anyway.

Down the embankment we went, straight into slick black mud. With 4×4 engaged we picked our way along and the cruiser did well. Soon we saw a few people and they just stepped off the track to let us pass, significantly they didn’t wave us down to ask what we were doing. Another small clue that lead us to believe this wasn’t a totally hare brained idea. 

The mud and rough track persisted, sometimes so narrow that tall green grass standing as high as the cruiser hissed down both sides of the car, but we kept seeing the occasional reassuring tire track of another vehicle before us and we kept going. 

Jenny got out to walk a small stream, thigh deep, and let the guys washing their motorcycles and bicycles in the water that a vehicle was coming through. They politely moved aside and the cruiser marched across the stream.

In a few spots there were steep muddy hills and we stopped to let a few boda bodas make the tricky traverse up or down these slopes. It was incredible to see them navigate these tracks on their simple Chinese made motorcycles with street tires. On more than one occasion we saw them take a slow speed spill on a slippery section. 

The Ranger we talked to in Kigoma said that the road was bad until we made it to a particular village, but this village wasn’t on the map. iOverlander had a few reports of transiting this track. One indicated that after 10 kilometers we’d be in the clear. Another said “Don’t do it, I turned back after 15 km.” 

So far we felt like we were managing well. The track was narrow to be sure, and had a few slick spots, but so far the cruiser hadn’t even thought about getting stuck and the views were amazing. This was proper rural Tanzanian countryside, mostly wilderness with occasional small hold farms and tiny villages and people seemed really friendly.

We Get Stuck

The Cruiser bounced along rocky climbs, squished through muddy swales and grass and brush hissed and scraped down the side of the vehicle as the kilometers ticked off. Five kilometers. Eight Kilometers. Ten kilometers. We were getting more optimistic that this might actually work out, having decided that after 15 kilometers we’d be in the clear. 

It was not to be. Exactly one hour since we turned onto this track, 11.5 kilometers in, (which gives you an idea of how slow going it was) we got stuck. There had been a good stretch of road and we were thinking that maybe we’d made it. Then there was a stream crossing near a village, with a few people walking across a muddy bridge or ford of sorts made of logs, with the river washing over and under it. 

The bridge didn’t seem wide enough for the cruiser so I pointed us to the right and went on ahead, expecting us to sail through like we had the previous stream crossings. And we did, almost. Right at the end we got stuck. This caused something of an uproar from the locals, who had been eyeing us already with that “Are they going to make it?” face. 

With the diff locks engaged and in low range we tried to back up and try again, but after a couple tries it was hopeless, I had dug us in, the rear axel buried in the mud. In retrospect I think if we had got out the Max Trax right in the beginning we could have been out of there in a few minutes, we had almost been across. 

Immediately the locals gathered round us excitedly, offering help and yelling at us and each other in Swahili. This isn’t the first time this sort of thing has happened to us and it gets hectic very fast. We’d learned our lessons from before though. Quickly a leader identified himself to us who spoke English, saying they wanted to help. 

We entered into a short negotiation, for the help, though welcome, would be neither optional nor free. Also we wanted to keep the recovery as calm as possible. Right now there were just too many people pressing about us and the Cruiser.

In the end we settled on four helpers only, and that the leader must keep the rest of the people back. After the vehicle was unstuck we would pay him 40,000 TSH (~$17 USD), and he should pay out each helper 10,000. We happened to know that minimum wage in Tanzania is something like 5,000 a day, so 10,000 for an hour or two’s work should be welcome. He made a brief attempt at asking for more, but when I said no he was still happy.

He seemed satisfied with the arrangement and importantly seemed to understand our concern that we all have clear expectations so that nobody felt taken advantage of when all was said and done. He explained our terms to his selected helpers and they were also happy. 

Somehow he also said the magic words to keep the rest of the crowd back a little bit. What I wouldn’t give to know how to do that! They were of course going to stay and watch though, no doubt this was the best entertainment for a while.

This recovery would be quite similar to when we got stuck in the Lower Zambezi, only this wasn’t black cotton soil, making things a little easier. However here we wouldn’t be getting hauled out by a good samaritan like we had that time. This time we’d have to do it ourselves. 

The lesson from that event had been that though putting the Max Trax under the front tires was inviting, because it was so much easier, the rear wheels were the ones that were stuck we had to get the rear axel out of the mud. 

Immediately the locals started braking off branches of nearby trees, that serve as the Max Trax of Africa, but we got them to stop. They gave us a puzzled look, until Jennyclimbedup onto the spare wheels to get our twostudded orange recovery boards off the top of the vehicle. They understood immediately. We only have one shovel, and while they started digging out the mud in front of each tire Jenny and I got out the hi-lift jack. 

A hi-lift jack is one of those things that you hardly ever need. A big clumsy tool, low tech, heavy and dangerous. When you do need one it’s just about the only thing for the job. It comes with a lot of caveats though. They can lift the vehicle quite high and as the vehicle gets higher the angle changes and it’s not uncommon for the jack base to shift and the vehicle to fall, particularly risky if you’re working near the tires, say placing Max Trax or digging. (top tip: do all your digging first)

Also there’s a large handle to ratchet the vehicle up. Each stroke clicks the vehicle a notch higher, and as more weight bears on the jack each stoke is progressively harder. If you pull down on the handle and fail to engage the next click the bar will whip up violently, propelled by the weight of the car. Many an injury to the face or jaw has been sustained by this, the last thing we need out here. 

Since the axel is resting in mud and under water no conventional bottle jack will work in this situation. The Land Cruiser has aftermarket bumpers with jacking points, so that you can lift any corner of the vehicle from the bumper. There is no point in having a hi-lift jack without jacking points, a stock bumper would just rip off.

This would also be our first chance to use the hi-lift base plate we’d bought way back in Lusaka. A simple steel plate with steel cleats, in theory to spread out the load and keep the jack from sinking into the mud or the bottom kicking out.

In practice the whole plate wants to kick out under the load of the jack, but with some jiggery-pokery we got it to stay put. It took us three tries to get out. 

Jenny started placing the base plate and began jacking up one corner, but eventually she just wasn’t heavy enough to get the final clicks. We made sure that one of us was at the jack, to make sure no one got hurt, so her and I swapped. I worked with one helper jacking, and she worked with the others to place the Max Trax. Then we set the vehicle down on the Trax. 

For each attempt I drove and Jenny would spot and direct, making sure everyone was clear and telling me when to go and when to stop so as each attempt failed I didn’t dig the car in further by spinning the tires. This was all done barefoot, standing in calf deep mud and clear stream water running under the vehicle. Any shoes would have been sucked off our feet by the mud. 

The first two tries showed little to no progress. One time we tipped off the jack before we were ready, and on another attempt we only succeeded in burying one of our Max Trax deep in the mud, out of reach and impossible to use. It’s the first time we’ve thought that four Max Trax isn’t the worst plan.

On the third try we went with the more desperate, “drive off the jack” method. Again we lifted the corner of the vehicle and placed our only remaining Max Trax under the tire that had dug in the deepest. The jack had lifted the rear axel and diff mostly clear of the mud. By driving off the jack we were able to get those first crucial inches of progress. 

With much revving, fuss and mud splatter the Cruiser crept (I wanted to write “surged,” but that would be a lie) forward, the jack fell out of the rear lift point, and with both diff locks engaged we found purchase and drove onto dry ground.  

This was met with much amusement from the peanut gallery, though I’m not sure I’d go as far as rejoicing. It almost felt like they were disappointed that the entertainment was over. There was much rejoicing among Jenny, myself and our recovery team, fist bumps all around. 

They helped us clean off the mud from the recovery gear and put things away. I paid them and they were happy. We were off, wondering if that would be the last obstacle or not, remembering that report where one person had given up after 15 kilometers.

From here we found the road pretty fair going, more narrow tracks, more occasional muddy trenches or minor streams across the road. One long stretch of sticky black mud looked very ominous given our earlier labors. I gunned it and we crashed ahead, a muddy wave of spray  slapping against the windshield to cover it entirely. The windshield and the wipers pumped furiously and we made it through. It had been close and we hoped there wasn’t many more of those ahead.

That turned out to be the last of our major obstacles. Bit by bit the road improved and we climbed up the valley and through bucolic countryside. In the few villages people were friendly, smiles and waves, and in between it was all greenery and blue skies studded by white clouds.

The green spot marked “Bamboo Vally” on the GPS wasn’t as impressive as we hoped. Stands of thick bamboo ten meters tall sagged by the side of the road, looking dry and dying. Perhaps this is not bamboo season? 

Eventually the road turned into a regular graded dirt road and we made fast progress. In one spot trees flanked the road and Jenny noticed between them stretching across the road were dozens and dozens of spider webs with big fat spiders patiently waiting. Certainly we wouldn’t be stopping here for lunch! 

After a little over seven hours we made it to the tar. The original plan was to stop in Katavi National Park, but we have visited there twice and were feeling we’d had our fill of the Tanzanian parks fees. Instead we decided to push on to the oasis at Lake Shore Lodge. It was quite a bit further, but they were easy kilometers of good tar or quality graded dirt roads. After airing up the tires we put on our audio book and let the kilometers go by. 

An hour before sunset we rolled into Lakeshore Lodge, returning full circle to the beginning of the East Africa portion of this adventure. It felt like a bit of a homecoming. Owners Chris and Louise welcomed us warmly and we were able to squeeze in a shower and still managed to catch the sunset with a well earned sundowner.

The passage of time is hard to keep track of at Lakeshore as we ticked through our chore list. Days went by as we got laundry done, organized the vehicle, sent emails home and did some more trip planning. Distressingly we also noticed a big crack in our canopy. At first I thought this was a product of the rough Mahale road, but looking back through some photos it happened before that. 

It wasn’t raining here and we finally managed to dry everything out. We’d found mold under the tent mattress and we sorted that as well. This is the first place we’d been for weeks that it was dry and we were savoring this luxury. 

Lakeshore had a good cast of characters as guests and we enjoyed meeting everyone. There was an Egyptian couple interning with Chris and Louise, who were planning on opening up a cafe in Tanzania in the future. A German overlanding solo, a South African living in in Tanzania with his Spanish partner, and a well to do Tanzanian family on holiday for Eid (the end of Ramadan).

After some days it was time to go. We got back on the road, driving south the same route we had driven north back in December. After fueling in Sumbawanga we made for the small Kasesya border post. 

Crossing was pretty straightforward, and exactly five months to the day we found ourselves back in Zambia. As we drove the tarmac road south we both had unexpected feelings, reconciling that the East Africa portion of our expedition was over. 

In one way we were relieved to be out of the rain and back in the easier traveling of southern Africa. From here on infrastructure was better, roads (barring the terrible Great North Road of Zambia) were better, campsites more plentiful and used to independent travelers like ourselves. On the other hand there was less unknown ahead of us than behind and we would miss East Africa. 

Southern Africa has so much to do, and even now we knew that we wouldn’t have time to satisfy our ambitions for the time we have remaining. Namibia, Botswana and Zimbabwe awaited. A little more Zambia and maybe even Angola? We shall see. 

The Video

I made a youtube video of this, you can find it here.

The Nitty Gritty

Those familiar with northwest Tanzania might ask why after Rusomo we didn’t make for the Old German Boma to camp. Reports were that it is either close for renovation or closed due to covid. There are numerous quarries that might make for acceptable bush camps, though many could be seen from the road.

Kigoma

Jakobson’s Beach is 12,000 TSH pppn. The campsite has water, a shelter from the rain and a baboon proof shelter, though the baboons and monkeys left us alone. The ablutions are basic but totally fine with cold water showers. There is nothing fancy about Jakobson’s, but we like it here. There are decks with wonderful views of the lake and sunset at the top of the hill.

Sadly it seems the Liemba is no longer running, her maintenance period from 2018 having extended into purgatory. If someone doesn’t get her going soon I’m sure she’ll never be operational again. That is sort of my line of work and a friend of mine and I briefly entertained starting some sort of “Save the Liemba” non profit. I feel like she should have a UNESCO designation. 

In 2018 we got a tour of the Liemba by just showing up at the port. The port staff said that people come by from time to time to ask, and they summoned an english speaking guide, charged us $5 ea, and signed us into the security register. I don’t know if this is still on offer, but we really enjoyed our tour at the time. 

Kigoma has a good central market and a few small supermarkets. It’s the largest city in NW Tanzania and I’m sure travelers could get more or less anything they need, within reason, taken care of here. 

The R332 Mahale/Bamboo Valley Road

As I described above, the road that runs parallel to the lakeshore is excellent. You could drive it in any 2WD vehicle. If you want to drive this route I would definitely advise checking in with the rangers at the Gombe-Mahale Information office in Kigoma for up to date road conditions.

The Bamboo Valley portion of the R332 was, obviously, drivable even after recent rain. I don’t think you’re likely to break you car on this route, just that it is slow, sometimes muddy, rocky and the narrow spots not good for your paint work. If there has been rain I would say that you’re likely to get stuck, be prepared to get yourself unstuck. I imagine that in the dry season this route would be rough but fine to drive.

Recovery Lessons

This is the hi-lift base plate we wanted, but we never have found them in stock. It’s lighter than the steel one we have now, and has holes to stake it down and help prevent sliding. We used to have a piece of wood, but we broke it, and the jack seems to just slide off it anyway. Placing the jack securely we found to be the hardest part of using one.

Max Trax come with a nylon webbing strap to put around the handle. They seem a little ridiculous, but they’re super helpful. The weight of the vehicle drove our Max Trax deep into the mud and they disappeared in the mud entirely. The webbing strap helps you find the board again and you can yank on it to get the Max Trax out of the mud. 

TZ Wild Camp (approx. S5° 46.291′ E29° 56.427’) > Lakeshore Lodge via the R322 Bamboo Vally Road: 416km 11h 38m

TZ Wild Camp > T9 Junction (tar) 173 km, 7h 14m