Review: White Mountain Folk Festival 2009

Milan Milosevic reminisces about the truly epic White Mountain Folk Festival 2009. A must read!

It is that time of year again, winter has come and gone, spring has set in with a warm welcome and it’s the end of September, meaning a long weekend and festival time. Unlike most festivals I usually attend, White Mountain gets its character from its laid back vibe and amazing setting. Nothing better than waking up in your tent, stepping outside and breathing in the fresh Berg air, enjoying the wondrous sights the area has to offer. All this combined with the knowledge of 4 days worth of the best acoustic acts South Africa has to offer makes for one hell of a breakaway from the stressful rat race of city life.

After negotiating time off from work, and a whole bunch of transport issues, I finally found myself on a ‘Shaggin Wagon’ headed to White Mountain with a good friend and long time festival veteran, Conrad. Led Zeppelin blasting on the speakers and Black Label in hand, I wasn’t the designated driver obviously, we’d hit the open road, and festival mode started sinking in.

By the time we’d reached the gate it was dark and rather chilly, and it being a day early, we were surprised with the amount of festival activities already under way. It seemed as if a lot of people had the right idea, get there early, set up camp, and be ready for action in the morning. So we set up camp, as quickly as humanly possible after a few beers and in the dark, and headed off to Tom’s Tavern expecting a quiet drink before heading off to camp for some well deserved rest. Were we ever wrong? Walking up the path to the bar we were pleasantly greeted by the sounds of Forest Drive, an intimate duo performing a set for the minions who couldn’t wait until Thursday to get their festival on. The bar was abuzz with a friendly atmosphere, smiling faces all round, young and old, hippie and rocker sharing past festival stories over a “few” tequilas and jagers, a recipe for a serious hangover and lost memories.

Waking up surprisingly early on Thursday morning, I ventured into the mist looking for something to settle the stomach and fuel the start of a busy day, luckily Burger Express was open and serving the breakfast of champions, a mighty bacon and egg roll that instantly became a favourite for the weekend. The rest of the morning unfolded quite relaxed as we watched the flocks of people arriving from the comfort of our campsite, awaiting the official start of the weekend’s lineup.

Between missioning around trying to document as much of the festival as possible and hitting the bar for refreshments I managed to catch a few of the acts on offer. Larry Amos blew me away as he did two years ago when I last saw him and Andra was mesmerizing with her haunting vocals and skilled guitar work. After her show though, was that time in the evening where everything started getting fuzzy and the tons of jager I was fed caught up with me, but I managed to focus enough to enjoy Barry Thompson’s set and find my way back to the campsite, in one piece, luckily.

Crawling out of my tent on Friday morning, I had that all too familiar festival feeling, where am I, and where is that damn bulldozer that drove over my head, and what is a bulldozer doing at a festival anyways? But after a good litre or two of the trusty H2O and a decent breakfast I was ready for action, yet again. Opting for a more chilled day at the campsite, jamming some guitar and trying to recollect the broken memories of the night before proved to work in my favour. I got around to checking out more shows and one of my local favourites, Josie FIeld, who once again proved why she’s one SA’s most promising acts.

Towards the end of the evening I was hit with the news that we were going to have to leave the next day, as there were prior commitments to get back to by Sunday, and leaving at 4 o’clock in the morning, as planned, after yet another day of getting “festified” was just not going to happen. So I made the most of my last night at White Mountain, and what a last night it was. Missioning around with a new friend I had made, spending the last of my festival budget on as many shooters as I could stomach, dodging campfires as we stumbled to and from the campsite for refills and eventually crashing on my half-deflated blow-up mattress with a beer in my hand was definitely a successful way to say goodbye.

Looking at my festival scars on the way home the next day, I couldn’t help but smile. Another notch on my festival belt, another weekend of great memories, the ones that stuck anyway. It’s always a pleasure getting home alive after a festival, but after White Mountain this year, I had gotten home with more than just my life, I had made new friends, caught up with some old ones and was part of something that everyone should have the pleasure of experiencing at least once in their life, a festival for the people, a celebration of life and a damn good party. The beauty of it is, next year it’s happening all over again, so cheers to all that were there, and to all that missed it, hope to see you next year.

-Milan Milosevic