'The most spectacular sight of the trip so far': the Namaqualand wild flowers
I am shivering in the kitchen of a campsite in Springbok - a tiny town nestling in a bowl of mountains, which claims to be the capital of the northern Cape. I am hogging the only power plug on the site listening to desultory Afrikaans being tossed from one "braai" grill to the next, as my fellow campers toast themselves around their fires and send mouthwatering aromas skywards.

Ten minutes ago, I was watching the sun dipping behind the mountains and the temperature, chasing after the sun, dropped so rapidly that I thought I could actually see the warmth disappearing as well. I am wearing two pairs of socks and my toes are still frozen.

I have driven more than 600km up from Cape Town over the last three days through mountainous areas. There have been spectacular mountain passes to cross and the farming has varied from arable lands of canola just beginning to turn bright yellow, to groves of dark green citrus trees dotted with oranges, yellow grapefruit, lemons and "'naartjies" - now work that one out if you can!

I also passed through the first of my wildernesses: the Cederberg wilderness. This small area of craggy mountains is accessed by a small gravel road winding up the Nieuwoudt pass and then dropping into a tiny fertile valley - an unexpected patch of green in the otherwise brown-grey mountainscape.

This is a great area for hiking, and is now entering my record books as the place I spotted my first eagle. He was magnificent! I wish I could guess at his wingspan. He was sitting on a rock in a field ostriches before I disturbed him, and my fisherman's-tale guess was a height of two feet - is that possible?

Then the most spectacular sight of the trip so far: the Namaqualand wildflowers. The plain I photographed is known as Knersvlakte, "kners" meaning "gnashing", as it represents the barrenness of this area when a 100km/hr wind pummels it at temperatures of 40ºC. But now these flowers carpet this arid landscape for a very brief period of two to three weeks, which happens each spring - if the rains come, and this year they came about two weeks ago. Vast tracts of barren brown plains are transformed to orange with dots of purple, white, red and yellow.

I am hanging on to that warm image as I listen to the wind bashing the metal door of this kitchen, knowing I have to transfer the ice blocks at the end of my legs into a sleeping bag under a flimsy tent - please let my neighbours' fire still hold some warmth!