Andre took me down to Stormsriver Mouth, once again, to resume my eastward journey through the Tsitsikamma. From the restaurant complex, I walked along the boardwalk, through the indigenous coastal forest, to the mouth of the Stormsriver. As I crossed the mouth by means of the 60m long suspension bridge, I marvelled at the savage beauty of the gorge. Looking north, I could see about 200m of the river calmly flowing down through its 21km course from the Tsitsikamma mountains. The last 2,2km of the river makes its way through a narrow canyon, locally known as "The Gorge". This canyon is at places as deep as 180m and its narrowest point is only 2m wide. This used to be the most popular section on the Black River Tubing route and was the part that we did most of the time. The sheer beauty of this place is spiritual and one cannot help to find yourself speechlessly staring up at the rockformations and overhanging cliffs in awe. But after rain, when the river level increased, we did the section further upriver, that we called the "Top Section" or "Sector 1,2 & 3" as it was formally classified. The Gorge was Sector 4.
On that tragic day of 25 March 2000, we indeed, we opted for the safer Top Section. The rain we had had on the night before, had pushed the river level over the cut-off for Sector 4 and as procedure required, we set off from the Old Bridge in the old Stormsriver Pass. This winding gravel road pass was build by Thomas Bain in the 19th century, following the ancient elephant migratory route.
As I sat there on the suspension bridge, looking upriver, I couldn't help replaying the events of that day, almost nine years ago. A lot has happened since, not all as sad as the accident itself. My live was changed and, I would like to believe, mostly for the better. I had decided, at the time, not to be a victim and with the grace of God, I had managed to deal with the trauma. One can never say that you're "over it", for that would be impossible for any sane person. I do not believe any of us who were directly involved, are ever meant to get over it. Bit I have been determined to make at least something good come of it. That is why this walk is so important to me.
After spending about and hour at the mouth, I said a prayer for those who had died there, their loved ones and the other survivors. Then I moved on, up the steep climb to the lookout deck at the top of the coastal plateau. From here, on a clear day, you can see all the way to the Robberg Peninsula at Plettenberg Bay, with a panoramic view of the Tsitsikamma, from Peak Formosa (the highest peak in the range) to Stormsriver Peak and Witels Peak to the east.
The 8km to Misty Mountain is very similar to the Otter Trail and makes up the first leg of the popular Dolphin Trail, a two day, three night luxury trail, that was developed specifically for those hikers who would have liked to do the Otter, but wanted something shorter and softer. And who could afford the extra cost, of course.
From Misty Mountain, I cut inland towards Blouleliesbos (Blue Lillies Bush) and then followed the gravel road to Sanddrif, where my boys were waiting for me. I spent a lovely 2 hours with Duncan and Philip at their mother's house. Duncan had to go to Badminton practice but Philip decided to accompany me for another 3km the the house of another friend of mine, Daniel Syme. Daniel had been guiding with me on the day of the accident and we spend the night around the fire, recalling the shock and fear as the flood had hit us. It was a quiet, clear evening and I decided to sleep right there next to the fire, instead of indoors.
6 March 2009
Before setting off, I popped in at Daniel's parents home accross the road. His dad, Rob, was overseas for two weeks but his mom, Carla, invited me for coffee, which became breakfast, and turned into a conversation about whether this particular dish was called Welsh "rabbit" or Welsh "rarebit". Nobody seems to be certain, not even Llewellyn, a Welsh family friend who was also visiting Daniel.
By the time I got going eventually, it was after ten in the morning and the sun was already hot. It was to be a sweltering day and the worst was yeat to come.
By the time I reached Witelsbos Forestry Station, I was ready for a break and something cold to drink, so I popped into the Forestry office to say hello to Tonie Scholtz, the forester in charge. He was very happy to give me some cold water and indulge in a long conversation. I was more than happy to spend an hour in his cool office! Tonie had been one of the local rescue co-ordinators at the scene of our accident and he and his wife Christa have been friends of my parents for more than a decade.
However, I still had another 11km of walking to do for the day, so I reluctantly said goodbye and ventured back out into the heat that was threatening to kill you if it caught you alone.
Along the ald R102, the tar was rough, patched and in places, melting in the afternoon heat. My feet were protesting and by the time I reached Manne Hardie's home on the edge of a pine plantation at Shepherd's Bush, I was happy to call it a day.
Manne has been a friend of mine for the past nine years and it was great to see him again. His home is on the property of A.C. Witcher Timbers, where he now works as plantation manager. The house itself was recently converted from a milking shed to a comfortable two bedroom cottage. We had a lot of fun and laughter, sharing some of our old stories and past experiences with some of his friends who had come over and Manne's legendary culinary skills once again had everyone munching away until the bottom of the pot was shiny!
7 March 2009
Leaving Manne's place was only temporary as the day was promising to be so hot, the he would not hear of me walking during the heat of the day. As he was on standby, he had to do regular spot-checks in the surrounding plantations (a few fires had broken out recently due to the dry, hot conditions) and would be going into the area where I was heading.
At 11am, Manne picked me up and with the cold bottle of Fanta he brought, we drove back to his home where I took a nap and relaxed for a few hours. By 4pm I was ready to go again and Manne took me back to the Oyster Bay turn-off where he had met me earlier. It was still hot but not as bad aas a few hours earlier. As it was nearly full moon, I would walk until after dark and because I had been fed royally already, making camp would be a quick and simple affair. Around here, on a gravel road amongst dairy farmers and pine plantations, there was no great scenery so I just concentrated on the sometimes rough road surface and kept going until about 8:30pm. I came to a small stand of mined pine and black wattle, where I had good shelter from the wind that had picked up since sunset, so I rolled out my sleeping bag and passed out within minutes.
8 March 2009
I was now less than 30km away from Oyster Bay and heading back to the coast again, so I set off just before 6am to take advantage of the relatively cool morning. As yesterday, the scenery was not very exciting so I put my head down and marched away to the sea. Before long I could see the sandy backs of the dunes and despite the hear of early afternoon, I made it to Oyster Bay well before 3pm.
As I arrived, three holiday makers came off the beach and struck up a conversation. Hannes and Fransien Botha were on holiday here and Hannes' brother, Viljoen, had joined them for the weekend. Before long, I was invited to lunch at their home and it wasn't until 4pm that I resumed my walk. The plan was only to get past the last houses where I hoped to find a good camping spot. I was not disappointed and the old, abandoned campsite that I found, served my purposes perfectly. There was soft grass, running water, shelter from the sea wind and a stunning view of the rough waves, breaking on the rocks.
9 March 2009
Waking up wet from the heavy early morning dew, I did not waste time breaking up camp and got going before 7am. It was promising to be yet another hot day and the terrain was fairly uneven, although not as gruelling as the tar and gravel roads of the past few days.
Along here, the coastline is very rocky but it is also a very popular fishing destination, so my walk was being made easier by the continuously winding footpath all the way behind the rocks that has been tread out by generations of fishermen.
Every few kilometers I encountered fishermen's shacks or small clusters of smarter houses, built close to the sea. These retreats are connected by a sandy road, which I decided to follow, as it was better walking and less rigorous on my feet that were still tender from the tar and gravel.
However, soon this track started moving away from the coast. I could see that it was still running more or less parallel to the sea, so I decided to keep following it.
At one stage, I encountered a game fence, running along the road to my left. Quite unexpectedly, I heard branches breaking and just managed to glimpse the reddish brown rumps of the three antilopes disappearing into the bush. Within fifty metres from there, I caught sight of them again. I moved closer stealthily and was rewarded by getting to within fifteen metres from the three very shy Nyala females. I froze in my tracks before they saw me, and when one of them did look my way, she did not seem to notice me and went back to browsing peacefully. For nearly 10 minutes I stood admiring these beautiful animals, but then they made off suddenly when a car came driving past, trailing a cloud of dust.
I started seeing cars crossing the road I was on further ahead, and suspected that there was a tar road because of the speed and the frequency of the passing vehicles. Within minutes I reached this road and realised that this must be the tar road between Cape St Francis and St Francis Bay. I could see St Francis Lighthouse off to my right.
All that remained for me today, was to call my cousin Annemie, who would fetch me. Duncan and Philip also joined me at Annemie's house in Jeffreys Bay for the night. Her sons, Muller and Devan pitched tents in the backyard, where the fur boys were planning to sleep. My uncle Gideon and aunt Wenda joined us for a braai and we all thoroughly enjoyed recounting the old childhood memories and family stories.
Monday, April 20, 2009
2 March 2009
2 March 2009
It was a gloriously quiet morning when Andre picked me up at Bob and Louise’s home to take me down to Stormsriver Mouth for the start of the famous Otter Trail.
Down in the National Park, I spent some time sorting out my permit and then, as I was about to depart, I ran into some friends. Petrus, his sister Soekie, Mitchell and Benjamin were all guides who worked with my in Stormsriver. They were now employed by SANParks.
By the time I got going, the sun was high and I had a tough 13km ahead of me. It felt weird to walk with the sea on my left, but that was the concession I had to make for permission to walk the Otter: Their route ran in the opposite direction.
After a rocky 4km I reached the well-known waterfall and spend about half an hour enjoying the scenery and eating the snacks Louise had packed for me. Ngubu hut was still another 2km further and unlike conventional Otter hikers, I had to skip this overnight stop. My day would only end at the second hut, Scott. And that was another 14km further.
Apart from adapting to the change of direction, I now also had to contend rougher terrain that I had been used to. The trail was continuesly going up, then down, then up, then down. And I mean UP and DOWN! Sometimes as much as 120-140m up the steep escarpment, just to drop right down again to sea level! The path surface, too, waa rocky and uneven, testing my leg muscles and bare feet to their limits. It was slow going but the scenery was spectacular.
By just after 5pm I made it to Scott hut and decided to take a break before finding a campsite. I had promised SANParks not to sleep in the huts as they were fully booked by paying hikers.
However, before I could leave, the hikers arrived. We started chatting and soon they insisted that I share the facilities with them, so I made my sleeping spot in the Lapa, next to the fire. And just as well, for before bedtime, it started raining. I had quite a comfortable sleep under the roof, out of the rain.
3 March 2009
To get going in the morning, when I had a lonely sleep on the sand, out in the open, is quite easy. But when you are among people it is not as simple. Having company on a trip like this, and being able to share breakfast is great, so the day normally starts slowly. It was past eight by the time I left Scott hut. Like yesterday, the climbs and descends were continuous and exhausting. I had two rivers to make through, but that was simple enough. The sandy mouth of the Elandsbos river was spectacular and I took a break, just soaking up the scenery. A few hundred meters further, I passed Oakhurst hut, normally the third overnight. Now it was 14km to go to Andre hut, the last stop on the trail. After ascending the steep escarpment, the terrain become more even and the view was incredible. But, as with most hiking trails, the last short stretch to the hut was tough. I inched my way down to sea level, along probably the roughest downhill on the trail.
After 10 and a half hours of hard walking, I had reached Andre hut. But it was worth it, for as I walked into the camp, I spotted two familiar, weary looking faces. My two old friends, Chummy and Alan (Cape to Kosi), whom I had met before Stilbaai, had now also reached the same spot. It was a warm, jovial reunion. The other hikers on the trail had all had a rough day and we saw hardly anything of them, so the three of us had the Lapa to ourselves for the night.
Bedtime on this night was not an early affair, as we had many experiences to share. Our routes are more or less the same but here and there, we had opted for different local options. I would have loved to spend more time, but we were now traveling in opposite directions. They had applied for access through SANParks head office and were aloud to walk west to east. I applied locally at the Tsitsikamma National Park and had to do the trail from east to west. So our paths just crossed briefly and I had to accept that we probably would not meet again along our journeys, unless I got held up for an extended period of time, somewhere.
4 March 2009
Again, departure was put off to the last minute and after saying our farewells, I was off towards Nature’s Valley, only 9km away, but a good 4 hour’s walk. The morning passed relatively easily and, knowing the sense of humour that all hikers seem to share, I was starting to suspect there was a surprise in stall for me, somewhere towards the end of the trail. It was just too easy and no trail could end like this. And I was right!
The drop down to the beach was simple enough, but a narrow ridge cut across the beach like the scaly back of a dragon. It was only about 2om high and about as wide, but the path that went over it, was hectic! My pack is fairly wide and it bumped against the vertical rock face a few times, almost sending me over the edge, down into the sea below. I was huffing and puffing by the time I got safely down into the long beach to Nature’s Valley.
From here it was only 2km to the restaurant where I treated myself to a dagwood burger while waiting for Andre. By mid afternoon I was back in Stormsriver Village, resting my aching feet. The truly gave my feet a run for their money but I was happy that they had held out. It was reassuring to know that my soles had recovered so well since the initial tar-damage.
It was a gloriously quiet morning when Andre picked me up at Bob and Louise’s home to take me down to Stormsriver Mouth for the start of the famous Otter Trail.
Down in the National Park, I spent some time sorting out my permit and then, as I was about to depart, I ran into some friends. Petrus, his sister Soekie, Mitchell and Benjamin were all guides who worked with my in Stormsriver. They were now employed by SANParks.
By the time I got going, the sun was high and I had a tough 13km ahead of me. It felt weird to walk with the sea on my left, but that was the concession I had to make for permission to walk the Otter: Their route ran in the opposite direction.
After a rocky 4km I reached the well-known waterfall and spend about half an hour enjoying the scenery and eating the snacks Louise had packed for me. Ngubu hut was still another 2km further and unlike conventional Otter hikers, I had to skip this overnight stop. My day would only end at the second hut, Scott. And that was another 14km further.
Apart from adapting to the change of direction, I now also had to contend rougher terrain that I had been used to. The trail was continuesly going up, then down, then up, then down. And I mean UP and DOWN! Sometimes as much as 120-140m up the steep escarpment, just to drop right down again to sea level! The path surface, too, waa rocky and uneven, testing my leg muscles and bare feet to their limits. It was slow going but the scenery was spectacular.
By just after 5pm I made it to Scott hut and decided to take a break before finding a campsite. I had promised SANParks not to sleep in the huts as they were fully booked by paying hikers.
However, before I could leave, the hikers arrived. We started chatting and soon they insisted that I share the facilities with them, so I made my sleeping spot in the Lapa, next to the fire. And just as well, for before bedtime, it started raining. I had quite a comfortable sleep under the roof, out of the rain.
3 March 2009
To get going in the morning, when I had a lonely sleep on the sand, out in the open, is quite easy. But when you are among people it is not as simple. Having company on a trip like this, and being able to share breakfast is great, so the day normally starts slowly. It was past eight by the time I left Scott hut. Like yesterday, the climbs and descends were continuous and exhausting. I had two rivers to make through, but that was simple enough. The sandy mouth of the Elandsbos river was spectacular and I took a break, just soaking up the scenery. A few hundred meters further, I passed Oakhurst hut, normally the third overnight. Now it was 14km to go to Andre hut, the last stop on the trail. After ascending the steep escarpment, the terrain become more even and the view was incredible. But, as with most hiking trails, the last short stretch to the hut was tough. I inched my way down to sea level, along probably the roughest downhill on the trail.
After 10 and a half hours of hard walking, I had reached Andre hut. But it was worth it, for as I walked into the camp, I spotted two familiar, weary looking faces. My two old friends, Chummy and Alan (Cape to Kosi), whom I had met before Stilbaai, had now also reached the same spot. It was a warm, jovial reunion. The other hikers on the trail had all had a rough day and we saw hardly anything of them, so the three of us had the Lapa to ourselves for the night.
Bedtime on this night was not an early affair, as we had many experiences to share. Our routes are more or less the same but here and there, we had opted for different local options. I would have loved to spend more time, but we were now traveling in opposite directions. They had applied for access through SANParks head office and were aloud to walk west to east. I applied locally at the Tsitsikamma National Park and had to do the trail from east to west. So our paths just crossed briefly and I had to accept that we probably would not meet again along our journeys, unless I got held up for an extended period of time, somewhere.
4 March 2009
Again, departure was put off to the last minute and after saying our farewells, I was off towards Nature’s Valley, only 9km away, but a good 4 hour’s walk. The morning passed relatively easily and, knowing the sense of humour that all hikers seem to share, I was starting to suspect there was a surprise in stall for me, somewhere towards the end of the trail. It was just too easy and no trail could end like this. And I was right!
The drop down to the beach was simple enough, but a narrow ridge cut across the beach like the scaly back of a dragon. It was only about 2om high and about as wide, but the path that went over it, was hectic! My pack is fairly wide and it bumped against the vertical rock face a few times, almost sending me over the edge, down into the sea below. I was huffing and puffing by the time I got safely down into the long beach to Nature’s Valley.
From here it was only 2km to the restaurant where I treated myself to a dagwood burger while waiting for Andre. By mid afternoon I was back in Stormsriver Village, resting my aching feet. The truly gave my feet a run for their money but I was happy that they had held out. It was reassuring to know that my soles had recovered so well since the initial tar-damage.
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