The Zen of Hiking
Despite not being an avid fan of abandoning his TV in favour of a weekend of plodding through the wilderness, Gary Hirson recently had a go at Cape Town’s Hoerikwaggo Trail – and even ended up enjoying it.
I just don’t get hiking. What is it about carrying a chafing backpack loaded with dehydrated food, being harassed by mosquitoes, and sweating profusely in the midday heat while plodding from point A to point B? After all, we live in an age where we can watch other people sweating on TV, and usually just an arm’s length from our beer-filled refrigerators.
You can only imagine my disgust, then, when my girlfriend casually mentioned that she had just booked us on a hike during a weekend of superlative sport. I relaxed somewhat, though, when she mentioned that we only had to carry small day packs; the tented camps were already set up, and that there would be a 70-year-old woman accompanying us.
Urban trails run through the mountains, forests and fringes of cities. The one we were about to trudge along starts in the Southern Peninsula, near Cape Point, and makes its way towards the city by the way of the back stage of Table Mountain. In four days we were to cover a distance of 69 km.
So here I was in Simonstown with 11 other people who were considerably happier – and fitter – than I was. At least the 70-year-old woman was also there. This gave me a small fraction of hope, as all I would have to do was stay ahead of her in order to save face.
The first day, we were told, was going to be roughly 14 km of relatively flat sand and should take 4 to 5 hours. With one guide leading and the other bringing up the rear, the 14 of us headed towards home – which we would only reach in four days’ time. Making sure that the septuagenarian stayed behind me, I started out mid-pack. The first kilometre was great, I could even lift my head as I walked. But soon my feet were aching, and my knees creaking. All I could hear over my gasping breathe was “blah, blah, blah” as my fitter companions effortlessly discussed a series of random topics. Even the 70-year-old was laughing and joking with one of the guides, much to my irritation.
Mid-afternoon, they stood; I sat, at the top of a ridge overlooking one of the southern-most lighthouses in Africa. It was an evocative sight, made even more beautiful by my light headedness and the stars flashing before my eyes. Below us, nestled at the foot of the ridge – and even more breathtaking than the lighthouse – lay our oasis: our tented camp.
Showered and barely alive, we sat on the rocks just next to the camp. Everyone else marvelled at the sunset. I marvelled to be over my ordeal.
Day two started bright and early at 07h30. Self-catered breakfast down, day bags packed, we were off on the first part of the day’s 21 km trek: an 8 km walk along the beach. If tired feet and tetchy knees weren’t enough, I now also had to contend with burning thighs and exhausted calves, which only added to my already upbeat mood. The previous day’s banter had quietened down as the group marched single file along the water’s edge towards the car park where, I prayed, someone was going to pick us up and drive us the rest of the 13 km. As we rested halfway, the guides enlightened us with the history, flora and fauna of the area.
And then the pain and dread really began. The next leg of the hike was straight up a steep ridge leading to Chapman’s Peak road. The steep incline conquered, my co-hikers marvelled at the massive beach and blue water beneath us with little concern for me, who was on all fours, whimpering. My life flashed before me as our direct route up Chapman’s Peak and Noordhoek Peak was pointed out.
Both peaks summited, and uninterrupted views of False Bay and the Atlantic later, the group revelled as I prepared to feign altitude sickness, when I noticed my elderly adversary quietly leaning against a rock, sipping water and loving every detail of what she was seeing.
Later that afternoon, I stumbled into the eco-friendly tented camp, and bolted for my comfortable cot, which was stretched out in a spacious two-man tent. On my back was the only place I could be until my gasping subsided.
That evening we sat silently around the fire and listened to the meat sizzle underneath a clear, dark, sky. We then wolfed it down ravenously – an eight hour hike can do that to you!
With the most strenuous day behind us, we were off once again on our way towards the city. We descended sheer slopes and rock strewn pathways carefully negotiated and lead by our guides. And then it happened! In my usual position – second to last – meandering along a flat stretch of grassland and still a day from home, I managed to lift my head and witness, in the distance, the backside of Table Mountain stretching out flatly before me. My breath returned, along with my strength and energy. Remarkably, I even felt good!
The last day’s 15 km hike was a breeze. The sun was bright, the air cool and I was raring to get started. I could breathe, smell, and even lift my head and feet with vigour. I had made it… and I even beat an elderly strider to boot!
The Hoerikwaggo Trail can be organised through http://www.hoerikwaggotrail.org/.
Story & Pix © Gary Hirson
