8. Sundays River Mouth to Woody Cape

8. Sundays River Mouth to Woody Cape

 

3 November 2011 to 5 November 2011

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the walk 

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This walk didn’t go according to plan. Looking back now, there was never really much of a plan. So in some ways, this walk was all part of the greater script.  Perhaps “the script” is what actually happens far more than what we wish might have happened.

 

I am writing this soon after getting back from the walk that I am about to detail, and after taking some time for my body to rest and for my thoughts to settle. I thought it would be wise to write as much as I can remember - if only to serve as a reminder of  the many and multiplying risks involved in pushing limits, as well as what effort and preparation is reasonable if I am to continue this walk in a way that balances some of my ambition with the obvious care and concern of those around me.

 

I’ve always pushed the boundaries in everything I’ve done: nothing in moderation, always striving for the extreme or nothing at all. We might interrogate this if we wished, but in the moments where I have stopped to ponder about why this thinking was so normal and automatic for me, I have never found such questioning particularly comfortable and certainly never enjoyable. Suffice to say, this mode of operation is my natural programming. If I focused on running, it was the Comrades Marathon and nothing less. In darts, I wanted three trip 20s and managed to feel surprised every time it didn’t happen (which is every time). When playing golf, it becomes about breaking par. Whether it was sport, work, family, or drinking, there were many times in my life when I operated outside the acceptable norms and values, simply to test my limitations. I am stubborn, and I’ve always felt the need to discover things for myself. Following the instinct to “test it yourself,” has led me to make many mistakes along the way, and to bump my head more often than necessary. I like to talk about “school fees” to my children as I watch them trying to make their own way in this world… they understand this phrase to mean “the cost of life’s lessons whether that be financial or otherwise”... I will find a way to explore that more in a future story, but for now, perhaps I should say that this particular walk was part of my own school fees - understanding that reality (as it is) perhaps works differently to the realities each of us create for ourselves in our own minds, and sometimes the cost to get back on script with the story that matters (it’s the real one rather than the narrative of our minds)... perhaps those are the fees we pay to participate in life - on its own terms.

 

At 18, I discovered that exercise was a cure for depression and stress. My poem, “Drawwende Denke”, was written after a battle between body and mind on a hot summer’s day along the long, endless road outside Tarkastad. In chasing life’s limits, I had ran from Umtata to Port St. Johns alone in 1974, cycled solo from Tarka over the Winterberg to Adelaide, and returned via Bedford and Cradock the next day. I swam across Commandofontein Dam, and back, all alone that same year. After my divorce in 1989, I retraced Darryl and my footsteps from Gonubie to Kei Mouth, alone. On my 41st birthday, I climbed the Sentinel in the Drakensberg, via the chain ladders—again, alone. I was not a stranger to struggle. I was certainly no stranger to self-induced struggle either.

 

And despite this, finding a solution to a problem, engaging in the combat between body and mind, experiencing victory or defeat - this was most familiar to me. It becomes far more meaningful and fulfilling when I do it alone, without interference or help from others. We might pause and ask ourselves why this is the case, but this has always been the case for me. While this has undoubtedly caused those around me to feel sadness, anger and frustration at my unwillingness to live, act and think more inclusively, it’s part of my own hardwiring - and those who love me most accept me this way without demanding I be different.  Something in my soul finds me in certain times of life and demands something from me and I feel that urge for a “fix”... to feel good about myself again.

 

To unbundle some heavy things that don’t serve me on this brief walk through consciousness… to reconnect with my innermost self somehow. Even if that leaves me defenseless against my invincible stubbornness, pride, and “know-it-all” attitude. It’s only then that I find genuine relief: when I am close to breaking, alone in God’s paradise.

 

Whether it’s barren sand dunes along the coast, lush hilltops in the Transkei, or the Drakensberg, I can’t hide. It’s one-on-one with my body, my mind, and with God - the Great Reality. Interestingly, it has also felt like a confrontation with my loved ones, friends, enemies, problems, and addictions, although how much actual relational confrontation

can effectively happen in the mind is surely worthy of a debate. In these isolated moments, I feel the judgment, the sentence, and the suffering as my penalty. My body may be dirty and broken, but my soul feels clean and healed once it's all over. I can then look in the mirror and know that I’ve been given another opportunity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. However, despite all these years and the “wisdom” I’ve gained, I find that I still seek this out. So then I ask myself: “Why, even in the later stages of life do I still push myself to the extreme and do it alone?” I believe I have a bit of Winston Churchill in me. I came across a quote of his yesterday that resonated with me: “Personally, I’m always ready to learn, although I do not always like being taught.” Yes, Mr. Churchill, well said.

 

I say this, rather long-windedly, to say that it still happens. Sometimes impulsivity is not cured with lessons. Perhaps my argument is that it’s not something that requires a cure. The prospect of scratching an itch safely perhaps only makes the itch more intolerable. Proof of these musings is an adventure on a motorbike through the Baviaans that would still be four years after the below reckless adventure. Carl has asked me to write about this, so perhaps we will venture inland at some point……

 

Anyways….. Let’s get to the story. It’s a long one.

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Day 1

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My most recent solo hike began on Thursday, November 3, 2011, when Cathy dropped me off at the Sundays River mouth. I needed to get away because I had become increasingly frustrated with life. Small things were starting to irritate me, and the final straw came with a midnight call from a family member. The conversation lasted an hour until 00:45 in the morning, and it was nothing more than a social chat about the weather, family, and local news—no emergency. I had already been asleep, and as everyone knows, I go to bed early. I couldn’t fall back asleep, though, and the lack of rest left me irritable the next day.

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I still had to clear a garage full of storage boxes, appliances, and a huge single-seater lounge chair with no place to go. This storage saga had begun 11 years earlier, and I had spent that time packing and repacking boxes. I had just completed moving a loft in the garage to allow Cathy to install a remote to open and close the garage door. After unpacking, repacking, breaking down and rebuilding cupboards, and sorting items for the Church, domestic workers, and others, I was drained. The remaining items had to be sold or thrown away, but nobody was offering to help move them. The lounge and spare room were already filled with boxes that I had planned to sort over the last 14 days, but they were still untouched. I had just had enough and knew I had to find some form of sanity—ASAP.

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There was a surfing competition in Port Alfred that coming weekend, and I had already mentioned to the family that I wanted to use the opportunity to hike, as I could catch a lift there. The tides also seemed favorable, with it being Neap tide—high and low tides were not much different. The weather forecast predicted strong westerly winds for Friday, which would help push me along.

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I had planned my hike from Sunday's River to Woody Cape along the coast. I knew it was a long and treacherous stretch of coastline with no shelter and no water. For weeks, I had studied maps and satellite images on Google to prepare. This was one of the missing stretches in my "bucket list" of solo walks, which spans from Gamtoos River Mouth to Fish River Mouth. After calculating the distance and water needs, I estimated that I could complete the walk in a day and a half, with one night under the stars and six liters of fluid.

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I packed my rucksack with essentials: a spare T-shirt, socks, tracksuit pants, poncho, sleeping bag, tin of baked beans, tin of fish, three apples, bread, and some sweets. For fluids, I had 2 liters of Coke and 4 liters of water. I also packed a torch, toilet paper, Vaseline, sunglasses, a cap, sunscreen, knife, spoon, spare cell phone with R29 airtime, a Blackberry with GPS, and R130 in cash. I was dressed in a light T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. The sun was bright, and the temperature hovered around 25°C.

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Cathy dropped me off at the river mouth at 10:00 as planned. We took a couple of photos with our cell phones, exchanged a kiss and a hug, and I set off toward the beach for my long trek to Woody Cape. Low tide was at 14:00, so I had the entire afternoon to walk as far as I could before sunset. By midday, the sun wouldn’t be in my face anymore, and the glare off the water wouldn’t be as bad. The wet sand felt like quicksand near the water’s edge, so I quickly realized that I needed to walk on the dry areas covered with small stones that I could step on. My rucksack was full and heavy, especially with all the fluids (6kg of awkward weight feels like more very quickly).

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A few hopefuls with lines in the water waved me onwards and, about 3 kilometers later, I came across a lone fisherman with a makeshift "rickshaw wagon" for his mobile fishing operation. He had caught at least two fairly large cob and had fashioned himself something to make his journey manageable - I decided to take heed and do likewise and I stopped for my first rest sitting on a huge tree stump. The going was tougher than I anticipated, and my legs were already feeling the strain. I decided then to take it easy. This wasn’t a race—it was a challenge, and I had to finish what I started. The beep beep in my pocket reminded me that I was “visible” and after shooting off a quick reply, I continued on.

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An hour later, I sat down on a huge tractor tyre for another rest. I ate an apple, drank some Coke, and took in the scenery—sand and sea stretching to the horizon in all directions. I said a little prayer and questioned why God had made the sand so soft today. At this pace, I knew I wouldn’t cover as much ground as I had planned, and with low tide in full swing, I needed to adjust my strategy. I removed my pants and underwear, applied Vaseline generously, and started walking again. I headed straight toward the water’s edge and suddenly found solid footing. It felt like walking on a freeway. With only my T-shirt, socks, and shoes on, I felt free. The wind pushed gently from behind, and the sun/glare was no longer in my face. I checked my phone’s GPS an hour later and realized I had covered twice the distance I had in the previous four hours. Woody Cape was now visible in the distance, but despite walking flat out for the last three hours, it still seemed far away - no bigger, no clearer, and no nearer.

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By 18:00, I sat down again, took everything that was left off, and had a skinny dip to wash off the salt and sweat. I took my time drying my feet, and after feeling refreshed, I continued walking. The sun started to set around 19:15, and I took a few pictures as I turned around to capture the fading light. The wind picked up, so I began looking for a sheltered camping spot in the dunes. Just before sunset, I crested a dune and found a spot sheltered from the westerly wind and safe from the sea but wide open in the dune fields.

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I unpacked my rucksack, opened the can of baked beans for supper, and watched the bright moon as I ate. I dressed warmly in a clean T-shirt, took off my shoes and socks, and snuggled into my sleeping bag. My rucksack made a perfect pillow, and the sand was soft enough to mold to my body, regardless of the position I chose to lie in. I was comfortable, had food and drink, and my body wasn’t aching anywhere. My mind was at peace. All I did was watch the dark sky as it began to spill out one bright star after another, with the half-moon smiling down at me.

I drifted off to sleep and only woke when I had to change positions or when the wind blew too much sand onto me. The night passed quicker than I anticipated, and when I woke, the first light of dawn was peeking through the sky. I felt rested and eager to continue my walk. I packed my bag, put on clean socks, but still wore no pants. The tide was kind, and I was able to walk easily on the wet sand, with only the occasional wave teasing me by attempting to wet my shoes. The sky was cloudy, and there would be no sunrise. None that I could see anyway.

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Day 2

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At 5:35am I sent Cathy an SMS to let her know I was on the road again and joked that I was streaking all the way down the coastline. Shortly after 6am a light shower passed over, but it didn’t affect me much. My rucksack protected my back, and I had my windbreaker on with the hood pulled over my head. I ate my last apple while walking, cleaning my teeth, and a group of seagulls began circling around me, calling out for a share of whatever they thought I might have left. I felt guilty as they asked so nicely, but anyone who knows me knows that I eat the entire apple - core and seeds, the lot. 

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I continued walking in the cool morning, and after each hour, I checked the GPS app on my phone. Woody Cape still hadn’t changed shape from my own vantage point and so in an effort to boost my morale, I relied on my phone to confirm that I was making progress. The overcast sky and mist made it hard to judge distance, and without any real landmarks, the flat beach seemed to stretch on forever.

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At about 7:15am I finally reached the first "little kranzie”. There are about six or seven small cliffs in succession running into the ocean, but as the tide was still low enough, I managed to walk around or just above the waves for another hour. Cornering another kranzie, with the tide pushing higher, I knew I had to get to the top of the cliff soon. I saw a little gap and zigzagged slowly up the soft sand, trying not to slide down as the gradient was steeper than anticipated, and my heavy rucksack kept throwing me off balance. Crawling on all fours the last 10 meters or so, I made it to the top eventually - heart pounding and wet with sweat.

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In front of me was a rock formation that looked like a large round picnic table in the middle of a desert. I walked up to it, took my rucksack off, and rested for about 5 minutes. I mixed the remaining liter of coke with my water, and now I had only one full 2-liter bottle left, plus the 1 liter of pure water in the side pocket. I took a photo of the rock and started walking through the dunes. Wow, they were intimidating, and the strong wind didn’t make it easier.

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It was now 8:15am and I still felt strong. According to the GPS, I was about 7 to 8 km from the Woody Cape hut, where I had been before. I knew there was shelter, water, and possibly weekend hikers, so my last challenge was to get over the dunes. I really had no idea what was coming, but looking back now, this was the point at which conditions became severely difficult.

On top of the first dune, I looked back and far below saw the sea and the "table rock." The sand was very soft in certain areas as the wind moved it all the time. Soon, my shoes were full of sand, as my feet often sank ankle-deep into the sand, especially while walking zigzag up or going down into a small gully. I found it difficult to judge the crests of the dunes because their formations were all different and running in the wrong direction. I would slide down on my bum and crawl on all fours up the sides again.

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The terrain was completely exposed to the strong, almost gale-force wind, as there were no mountains or vegetation to break or slow the wind’s force. The dunes took the shape of waves in the sea, with sand blowing over the crests like water spray just before the wave breaks. This was tough going, and after 2 steep dunes, I reassessed my situation and decided to move toward the vegetated section of the dunes. Atop a dune, I checked my GPS and it seemed as if there was a footpath in the shrubs all along the crest of the cliff next to the sea. I decided to head that way..

It was now almost 9am, and I was on the edge of the cliff. The wind was so strong that I was petrified to go within 5 meters of the edge. I was at least 100 meters above the crushing waves, and my footing became completely unpredictable. I couldn’t judge the depth of the vegetation nor its density. I was caught up in thick, thorny shrubs that ranged from ankle-deep to hip-deep. It had a combination of long, raking strings of thorns that acted as snares to trip me up every 5 meters or so. How the hell had I gotten myself into this mess?

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Well, all was well when I left the dune fields. The first 100 meters into the bush was clearly marked by fresh buck tracks. I followed them until they disappeared into a thicket, fought through it, and picked up the trail again. But it went into another thicket. Now, 10 thickets later, the footpath was blocked off. It was an absolutely NO GO area - a dead end. I had fallen about 10 times over my own feet, my legs were starting to bleed from the thorns and harsh shrubs, and I was drinking more water with every rest period, which rapidly increased. Again and again, I checked the GPS to monitor my progress, as I couldn’t see the dunes anymore. The area was littered with dead alien trees that had been cut down, and all the so-called animal trails had been blocked off by these dead branches of black wattle trees. My foot got stuck more than once while trying to climb over these logs, and the smaller branches just broke under my weight when I tried to climb over them. The fear of a broken leg was very real, and every time I slipped or took a tumble, I talked to myself aloud and said, “saggies seuntjie.” The possibility of standing on a snake was also constantly on my mind, as it was hot and sandy in places, and for hundreds of meters, I could not even see my shoes in the thick undergrowth of thorns and bushes.

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I had no gloves, and my hands were full of thorns and scratches from pushing and shoving trees and bushes out of the way. I was fighting my way back to the sand dunes, but the bush seemed thicker than ever. My cap blew off and landed about 5 meters from me in a bush so thick that I could hardly see it. It was an easy decision to abandon it there. My survival was far more important than a cap. My shoelaces came undone every second step as they hooked on every possible twig or branch in their way. I had doubled the knots, but they still came undone, and tripping became part of the walk. Getting up from a fall was initially painful, as wherever I put a hand down to get up, it would be in a thorn or sharp shrub. I later became so used to the pain that I no longer felt it. My palms, fingers, and forearms had hundreds of needle marks and scratches, which quickly got covered in dried blood, as most of it was only skin-deep. The only part of my body that was protected was my back, as the rucksack took the impact of a fall in that area.

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My sunglasses served no purpose in the thick bush, so I placed them in the rucksack as they kept hooking on small branches that I crawled through. By now, both water bottles (shoulder straps) were also in the rucksack, as I tried to be as streamlined as possible, with no straps or loose items hanging around me or the rucksack that could hook on any shrub. I just had to save energy and stop falling and tripping all over the place.

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It was now 1:10pm and I was exhausted. The heat was getting to me. I lay down to rest under a tree and decided not to walk again until 2pm. I had finished the 2 liters of coke and water mixture by now, and although I wasn’t hungry, I decided to eat the tin of sardines. I still had some bread, but my mouth was too dry to eat it at that stage. I took a photo of the area, checked the GPS, and realized I had only covered about 2 km in the last 4 hours. Cathy was already on her way, and I sent a text to her saying that my hike would take a day longer. Hopefully, she would get the message when a signal became available. I had been trying to phone Cathy, Carl, Darryl, Delene, and Eddie, but to no avail.

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At 2pm I got up. My running shoes were full of thorns, but none had penetrated my feet yet. I had 1 liter of water left, and I simply had to find a way back to the dunes. I did a surveillance check every time I got to a dead end, looking around to see if there were any sandy openings between bushes. I would then reward myself with a mouthful of water when I reached that spot. Sometimes I had to go off course to walk around just one huge dead tree that blocked the way, which took about 10 to 15 minutes to cover only 5 meters! I had to take my rucksack off numerous times to fit through dead logs and branches that were entangled with long, very tough, and mostly thorny ranking plants.

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While I lay there resting, I calculated that if I could only do 1 km per hour, I should be able to reach the overnight hut at Woody Cape just before sunset. It was only about 4 kilometers from where I was resting, according to the GPS, and half of it would be on sand. That was reasonable, and I even broke the effort down further to allow myself 6 minutes to cover just 100 meters!!! Well, I was in for a hell of a surprise. The bush became impossible to penetrate soon after my start, and by 4:30pm I was still in the bush, only now I was leopard crawling on my stomach and pulling my rucksack behind me, moving meter by meter. I had finished my last sip of water at 3pm, my face and hair covered in tree sap, my bare knees, elbows, and hands already numb from all the puncture wounds of the long thorns. But... the sand dunes were in sight. I crawled through the last 5 meters and up a steep sandy slope on all fours, and at last, I was out in the open. I fell on my back, said a prayer of gratitude, and checked my GPS again. I was in a valley that led to the big sand crater I had been tracking all along. It started to get overcast, and the wind was still strong. The scrub was not so dense, but very stocky, so I decided to put on my tracksuit pants for the first time to relieve the pain of more scratches on my bare, bleeding legs. I couldn’t wear them earlier, as they would have hooked up with every step I took among the dense bushes

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Again, I set a new target: to get to the sand "bunker" before dark. I wanted to sleep in the open - not here, in or near the bush. I had seen many animal tracks during the day and was not prepared to fight any wild animal in my current condition. I was also bleeding and weak from the 9-hour ordeal in the bush, where I had covered only approximately 3 km. I had NO water and knew that to conserve energy, I must slow down as much as possible. I just had to stay calm and be alert so that I wouldn't make any more mistakes. I also felt relieved that the sand bunker was in the open, and should I run into serious trouble, a search party would be able to find me. It was constantly on my mind that no helicopter, dog, or person would ever find me in the undergrowth of the bush I had crawled through for the last 4 hours. I stopped and started about five times the next hour before lying flat on my back, about 100 meters short of the "sand bunker." It was already getting dark, so I took some time to reflect on what had happened to me during the day. It all started so well, so under control, and within minutes of entering the bush, it turned into torture and absolute misery.

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I felt something on my ankle and picked a brown tick off my skin. I still had the tick between my fingers when I noticed two more crawling on my tracksuit bottom. Shit, had I not suffered enough today? Now I was lying in a tick-infested bush. I jumped up because it was almost dark, and it was impossible to check my entire body. I just had to bite the bullet and trust the Lord that I was not now a few ticks’ meal ticket for the rest of my journey.

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The wind was still strong and was helping me from behind when I reached the sand. The surface was far more solid than I expected, and I decided to walk as far as I could up the dune in the direction of the overnight hut. Slowly, in the moonlight that appeared through the clouds, I made it to the top of the dune about an hour later. I looked at my GPS and saw that the path to the hut was just beyond the sand crater, which motivated me to push on, no matter how slow it might be. I had to get water as my body started to cramp. I stayed just to the left of the bush all the way to the top and walked along the crest of the dune until I could clearly see the path to the hut, about 1 km away. The bush forced me to go left, and as soon as I went over the top of the dune, I realized I had walked myself back into an ambush of bush again. I was too tired to make any more decisions and decided to roll out my sleeping bag and rest.

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I scrambled around a bit to find a suitable place to lie down, as it was very exposed to wind and sand at the top of this high dune. I didn’t want to go down to look for shelter, and the wind seemed to be swirling from all directions. I just crawled into the sleeping bag, covered my head, and tried not to think about being thirsty. My hamstrings cramped painfully every time I tried to lift my legs or lie on my side. My hands felt swollen, and every now and then, my thumb and forefinger would suddenly pull together because of a cramp. I watched as one dark cloud after another passed overhead and had my black bags ready to catch any rainwater in my ABSA mug. I built a little furrow and covered the bags with heaps of sand on the edges so they wouldn't blow away. The mug was at the bottom of the "funnel," but soon, the moon was so bright that it looked as if the whole area was floodlit. I had never experienced such bright night skies (the full moon was still a week away). Shadows were clearly defined on the sand, and in the distance, I saw two bright orange spotlights of a farm or campsite.

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The night was long and very uncomfortable. Every time I moved in the small sleeping bag, my legs would cramp. My left heel had a huge blister that had now popped, and the raw skin was exposed to sand and hard ground when I lay on my back. It later turned out to be the most painful area of my body, as every step opened the skin a little more, and it felt like a hot coal had dropped in my shoe when I started walking again. Putting on my shoes was a real effort, as I tried to empty all the sand and gently force the back of the shoe over the blister.

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A strange sense of calm overcame me, and I never felt that I was alone. My thoughts were that "we" were going to make it to the overnight hut, and that "we" didn’t need water before that. I questioned myself repeatedly and wondered if I was starting to hallucinate. Every time I stared at the bright sky, I went through the alphabet to see who was present and helping me. Was it the CD combinations—my sons Carl or Darryl, or the two sisters Cathy or Delene? Was it the JJ combinations - Jackson, the faithful dog I take for walks on the beach, or Jesus, the Almighty Savior? I found a sudden empathy for David and all the Psalms he wrote about conquering fear in the valley of death and many other Old Testament passages that referred to suffering and survival in nature with all its dangers. Is this how David, Solomon, and others experienced life and expressed their hardships through the scriptures to others, to instill hope, faith, and comfort for those in similar positions?

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I tested myself with direction skills, looking at the Southern Cross, the Three Sisters, the evening and morning star. I thought of all the ancient travelers and seafarers using the stars as a navigation tool and how they might have panicked in certain situations when the skies were cloudy for days on end. I thought about the Egyptians building the pyramids based on the formation and direction of the very same stars I was now looking at. I was in their world and hopelessly clueless about what belonged where and how the universe fit together. The feeling of sharing my hardship became stronger again, and I started thinking of stars being linked to angels. We had only recently (as a family) lost an angel. Cathy's only niece had recently passed and there were holes in many of our hearts. "She is up there", I thought. As she faced her last weeks of CF with immense courage and grace, I had asked her in a message about exactly how she found the strength to face it. (The "it" that we are all so afraid of facing). I never did hear back from her, but in this moment I felt like perhaps I was receiving her reply to me. There was an exchange. There was a something. In four days, it would have been her 20th birthday, and her last words to me still ring in my ears: "I'm fine." She is busy answering me now, giving me advice to stay calm, comforting me that I am not alone in this ordeal, strengthening me to believe "I'm fine," giving me faith in God, hope for a better tomorrow, and a message of love - love that is genuine, sincere, and unconditional. I felt the warmth of teardrops on my cheeks, and my throat tightened up. I was so very, very close to her on this high sand dune; there was no barrier or cloud between us in the sky, and her voice was crystal clear in the stillness of the night. How I longed just to say "thank you" and hold her tight.

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Day 3

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At 01:30, I awoke - wide awake. The moon was at its brightest, and I turned on my headlamp. The beam was too weak to see far ahead, but it helped with finding the right spot for every step. I rolled up the sleeping bag, put on my shoes, and started walking back up the dune to avoid the bushes I had walked into about four hours earlier.

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When I reached the top, I could clearly see a small passage between the bushes that linked the dune I was on with the one I needed to reach. Another shortcut, but even my GPS confirmed it existed. It was about 200 meters away, directly below where I was standing. The sand was very soft, so I sat down and started sliding down. I reached the first patch of vegetation, dense plant leaves and trees about my height, with no ground cover. I waded through the dense patch, pushing myself through any gaps I could find, continuing downward.

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About 10 meters further, I reached the bottom, which resembled a deep ditch, similar to a water culvert. I dropped into it and, as I tried to climb out, my headlamp illuminated a horrifying sight: more dense vegetation that I had fought through the day before… a tangle of thorny ground cover, dead trees, and no way forward. I was devastated and angry with myself. Why hadn't I waited for sunrise? Why was I always so impatient? Why had I taken the gamble of going down the dune and losing sight of the passage from the top? I felt defeated and desperate.

Here I was, back in the bush where no helicopter or person would ever find me, and there was no way on earth I would be able to climb back up the steep 200-meter sand dune. My body was too weak, but I had no choice - I had to retreat. I climbed back out of the ditch and started making my way up through the small, sturdy trees, pulling myself up from one to the next until I reached the open sand.

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It had only been about 40 minutes since I had gotten dressed after my rest, and I was exhausted. My rucksack started rolling down the slope, and it stopped about three meters away at the base of the first line of small trees. I crawled to it, pulled out my sleeping bag again, and decided to wait for sunrise. I had to find that small path I had seen from the top.

At first, I placed one foot at the base of a tree and lay almost straight up on my back on the dune, but the pressure on my feet became too much to support my full weight. There was no way to stay put on the steep dune, no matter which direction I tried to sleep. Then, I came up with the idea to use my rucksack as an anchor. I placed it sideways at the base of two trees, curled around it as though I were sleeping behind someone’s back. It worked, but my face was in the sand, as I had no pillow, and I could only lie on one hip and shoulder for so long before needing to turn over and lie with my back against the rucksack.

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The dense bush nearby made me nervous as I often heard rustling noises and a faint, sharp bark - a yelp, perhaps from a small dog or jackal in the distance. Despite my anxiety, I slept very little. Just before 04:00, I decided it was light enough to pack up and get going before the sun became too hot. Again, I felt as if I was not alone, and my worries about messing up the surfing competition became a driving force. I just had to keep moving and somehow let Cathy and the others know I was okay.

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With increasing light, I sat for about 30 minutes, assessing my strategy out of this pit of doom. Going up was a definite "no" - too steep, and once at the top, I would only see what I had already seen before sliding down the dune. Going sideways didn’t make sense either, as the slope was just as difficult - sliding down with every step, and the rucksack weight pulling me down. The GPS confirmed I was in the right area - the path had to be close.

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I couldn’t see any less dense areas in the bush in front of me, so I decided to get back into the ditch and leopard crawl under the bush as I had the day before. This time, it was surprisingly easier as the surface was more sandy than the day before. Most of the bushes were dry, and I could break a path through them. However, it was frightening to be stuck so tightly in the undergrowth, pulling the rucksack through the same openings I had just created. There was barely enough space to maneuver, and it took time and skill.

About 40 minutes later, I finally emerged from the bush and knew exactly where to walk to find the footpath leading to the water and hut. The wind had died down during the morning, and ahead of me was a huge dune. I said a little prayer and started very slowly along the high side, near the bush. I reached a point where the slope was so steep I had to crawl on all fours for five meters at a time to keep momentum and balance.

​

I knew I had to focus and concentrate with everything I had left. My body wasn’t keeping up with my mind anymore. I set little target spots, sprinted a few paces, then crawled 5 to 10 steps rapidly, before digging in and gently trying to balance until I felt stable again. This went on for about an hour before I finally reached the top. Looking down, I saw a lonely pole with a sign on it, facing the opposite direction. I immediately knew I was on the second day of the Alexandra trail. I walked to the sign, gave it a pat, and turned to an opening about 400 meters to the right that led me further down the dune.

​

From there, it was all downhill to the hut. My only challenge was finding the footpath that snaked out of the forest onto the dune fields. After another 10 minutes, I saw two more signs about 100 meters apart. I was still on track and then spotted some fresh shoe prints leading toward the bushes. I knew they were recent because the wind had blown everything away the previous day. And there it was—the best-maintained footpath I had ever seen, right in front of me: steps made from poles and bushes cut back so they wouldn't interfere with your body.

Now I understood why the path had been so clearly visible from the top of the dune, even in the moonlight where I had spent the night before.

​

It was overcast, and the sea was far below. I was on a plateau, and the path led me all along the top of the remaining dunes toward the hut. My legs were strained as the downhill became steeper, but I forced myself to rest, although the hut was clearly visible. My last rest came about 150 meters from the hut. By now, I was incredibly thirsty. My mouth and throat felt as dry as the sand around me, but I had to stay calm. If I rushed, I might fall and hurt myself, and I knew that the reward of cool, life-saving water would still be there, even if I was delayed a little longer.

​

It was now 06:50, but the sun was still behind a thick cloud bank. No colorful sunrise that morning—only the promise of water minutes away.

I reached the hut and went straight to the water tank, opened it, and washed my face. My water bottles were packed in my rucksack, so I drank directly from my hands. I filled the liter bottle and couldn't stop drinking, but soon it all came right back up. All the water I drank spurted from me quicker than I had drank it and I realised I would need to drink little by little at first. I refilled the bottle and made my way to the hut’s deck, where I sat on a bench, took off my shoes, and continued drinking slowly.

​

As I drank, my legs and hands cramped badly. I had to pull my thumb and forefingers apart with my other hand. I felt terribly cold and began shaking uncontrollably, so I wrapped my sleeping bag around my shoulders. Eventually the water stayed down. I felt weak and, after drinking enough, made myself as comfortable as possible on the hard wooden deck. I just needed to close my eyes for a bit.

​

I was finally out of danger, had water, and half a loaf of bread, but I needed to get the weight off my feet. I fell asleep almost immediately and woke up around 09:00.

I unpacked my entire rucksack, shook out the sand, and hung my sleeping bag and clothes over the deck’s balustrades. I felt much better and forced myself to eat some bread. It was low-GI seeded bread, and the label confirmed it had a high energy level. However, I could only get two slices down with about a liter of water. The bread was too dry, and the more I chewed, the more it became like a dough ball that wouldn't fit down my throat.

​

I washed my face again and used the toilet roll I had packed to wipe away the sand that had accumulated on my face, nose, and ears. I was all alone, but peeking through the windows, I saw three double bunks with soft mattresses. If only I could sleep for a little while on one of them.

​

I decided I was too weak to walk anywhere that day. My strategy was to stay at the hut, recover, and finish the walk the next day. I knew exactly where to go and how far it was to the two orange lights I had seen from the dune the previous night. I had done that trail on 11/11/2009, so I knew the pathways, the rope ladder section, and the long beach walk.

​

My biggest concern was that I was now 48 hours behind schedule, and Cathy and the rest of the family would certainly be seriously worried by now. I tried calling, but one phone's battery was dead, and my Blackberry had no signal. I felt helpless, only able to pray that they had delayed any search plans. However, I also had peace of mind, knowing that if a search were launched, I would be easily found since I was on the official hiking trail and visible from all directions, especially from the air.

​

I noticed that the window had suffered some damage at the corners of the frame, as if someone had attempted to break in a while ago. The window was held in place by two outside hinges, and the screws weren’t as tight as they should have been. Using my multi-tool star screwdriver, I tested the rusted screws but quickly realized that the window, including the glass, was too heavy to unscrew. To remove it, someone would need to hold the window in place while the screws were undone or fitted.

​

Then, I spotted a piece of wire tied to a roof beam. I untied it, threaded it through the damaged corner of the window, and within 10 seconds, I had unclipped the handle from the inside. The window was open. Standing on the bench, I could easily reach the top mattress. I tried to pull it through the window but quickly realized it was too wide to fit. I had to abandon the effort.

I carefully closed the window again and was surprised by how easily I managed to hook the latch back into place using the wire, bent just right. The only problem was my fingers cramped badly every time I handled the wire. Again and again, I had to stop and pull my thumb and middle fingers apart. Was I having a stroke or a heart attack? Why was it always on my left side?

After all the effort, I felt exhausted. I crawled back into my sleeping bag and used my faithful rucksack as a pillow. I slept on and off, listening to the waves crashing on the cliff below. It was cool, and I chose a spot out of the wind where the sun occasionally shone through, warming the area just a bit. My body didn’t cramp as frequently anymore, and the cold shivers had subsided significantly. I was getting stronger and once again thanked God for bringing me to the hut safely. If I had been out on the trail for just another hour, things could have turned disastrous.

​

At 3pm I noted there were still no hikers around. I wondered if no one was hiking that weekend. If that was the case, I’d try to get inside the cabin. I knew how to open the window, but it was still too high to climb through. I needed something to stand on to gain enough height. I walked around the cabin and found a lone step near the water tank. It was a plank with two poles for legs, nailed to the deck. The legs were buried in the ground. One leg was about 30cm higher than the other due to the slope of the path, but luckily, the legs weren’t deeply buried. I lifted the long side out of the ground, but the short side was fixed with a single long nail.

​

Nearby, I found a log and managed to hit the step free from the deck without damaging the nail or either of the structures. The step was just high enough, but now I had to secure the round, uneven legs on top of the bench in front of the window. I found a solid, flat piece of timber, placed it under the short leg, and wedged the step against the wall. It worked, but now I needed to secure the window in the open position so it wouldn’t close on me while I climbed through. The piece of wire was just long enough to fasten the window handle to a roof beam above. The window was now open to its maximum, and I was ready to put my stiff body on the line to get through the narrow gap.

​

If the step collapsed or slipped under my weight, I would injure myself severely. If I cramped up or got stuck mid-air, I would be in serious trouble. Slowly and carefully, I climbed onto the bench, then onto the step. With minimal weight, I pulled myself headfirst through the window. I got stuck and had to grab onto a bunk bed leg to steady myself while I turned sideways, waiting for a cramp. But it didn’t happen. I wiggled forward like a snake, finally getting my legs over the window frame. I lay on the top bunk inside the cabin. What bliss.

​

Now that I was inside, I did a quick inspection and found that the door leading to the deck had a key in its lock, tied with string to the door handle. I unlocked the door, brought all my stuff inside, and then dismantled my contraption on the bench. I placed the step in its exact position, hammered the nail back into the same hole, and voila… Everything was exactly as it had been, except now I had full access to a bed.

​

I drank water constantly throughout the day and forced myself to eat bread. I was lying down when I heard voices outside, followed by the sound of the front door key turning. A group of 12 hikers—6 guys and 6 girls, all exchange students, arrived. They were very friendly and assumed I was also booked in. There were only 12 beds, and now there were 13 people, so I explained the truth: that I wasn’t actually supposed to be there. Without hesitation, they told me I could keep my bed, as a couple was planning to share a bed anyway.

​

They were a happy bunch, drinking wine and eating peanuts and chips, while the leader made a huge pot of pasta on the gas stove. I stayed in the room on my bed, and they first offered me some nuts, then a plate of pasta for supper. I was very grateful and joined them in the little lounge area where we all ate together. They were concerned about my legs, but I assured them that the damage was only skin deep - no muscle or bone injury. I also explained that I’d be 48 hours behind schedule but hoped to finish the next day. I asked them to pass along the message to anyone who might be looking for me. I told them I was going to walk the exact path they had just completed, and they confirmed that the rope ladder was fully functional.

​

Day 4

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At 4am I silently packed my things and left the hut while all the hikers were still fast asleep. My body was well-rested, and my legs felt surprisingly strong. I walked all the way to the rope ladder and took my first rest at the top, snapping 2 photos, though the sun hadn’t risen yet. I descended the 100 meters down to the beach and was fortunate that the tide was low enough for me to walk on the rocks. Occasionally, a wave lapped at my shoes, but eventually, the water completely submerged my feet.

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I reached the beach around 5:45am and found the going tough - the sand was soft, and my shoes and socks were wet. The sand in my shoes became a real irritation, and I could feel the pressure increasing on the blister on my left heel. I kept searching for the gap in the dunes that would lead to the farmhouse road, and eventually spotted the two Parks Board signs. I walked toward them and found a rope ladder that helped me reach the top of the dunes. Soon, I was on hard ground, heading toward voices I could hear through the trees.

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My first encounter was with a teacher and some schoolchildren on a weekend camp. They confirmed that nobody had been looking for me. My cell phones were both dead, and they couldn’t help, as there was no signal in the area.

​

About 400 meters up the road I saw two white 4x4 bakkies and some men at a cottage. I walked toward them and explained that I was desperately trying to contact my family, as they must be frantic by now, not knowing where I was. The men were fishermen, and without hesitation, they offered me a cool drink. I accepted, only to find it was a cold Black Label beer. As I told them about my trip and why I was so delayed, they offered me the use of their shower. I declined, as I had no clean clothes and all I wanted at that moment was a phone to contact Cathy.

They gave me a Blackberry and the keys to a bakkie, telling me to return it when I was sorted. I had just met these people and was overwhelmed by their warmth and kindness. Not wanting to go alone, as I had no idea how or when I would be able to return their things, Deon van Vuuren offered to drive me to higher ground in search of a signal. We parked on a plateau, but still, there was no signal. I sent an SMS asking Cathy to contact me on their Blackberry, just as another bakkie pulled up beside us. The driver was a Parks Board official who told us they were in the process of mobilizing a search party to look for a missing hiker… ME!

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It was just before 8am when the driver was informed that I was safe. He became very angry and threatening. He told me my family was in a complete state, that I had stressed out his pregnant wife, who was in the bakkie with him. He said I would have to pay the cost of the search, which was double since it was a Sunday, along with a fine of R1,500 for trespassing, another fine for pitching a tent, and a fine for not removing my rubbish. He went on and on, even after I got out of the vehicle, shook his hand, apologized for the inconvenience I caused, and assured him I would visit the Parks Board Offices within the next 30 minutes. Yet, he continued to rave.

​

Deon drove back to his cottage, visibly disgusted with the manner in which I was spoken to, but he chose not to interfere since they were on Parks Board territory too. He was going to fish and handed me his keys to go to the office. I drove to the office and, upon arrival, met Cathy, my brother-in-law, and a friend. They were extremely hostile toward me, not even greeting me before asking, "Do you think this is a joke?" No one offered me water, food, medical attention, or even acknowledged my bleeding legs. There were no hugs or handshakes - only scowls.

Again, I had to endure Mr. Padajachee's anger. After writing down my personal details, I was told the fine of R1,500 would be sent to me. I felt like a humiliated prostitute being scolded by police and doctors, as though my reckless actions had caused them unnecessary inconvenience and work. Their resentment was further fueled by the fact that they were forced to act, not by choice, but because it was expected of them by others.

​

I drove the fishermen’s new bakkie (only had 33,000 km on the speedometer) back to their cottage, alone, while the family followed in their vehicle. I returned the keys and thanked Deon, François, and Jacques sincerely for their help. What a contrast in behavior between strangers and family. I felt disappointed and hurt, knowing that I had done everything in my power to make contact with them, that I had dug so deep just to survive out there alone. All the suffering left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I instantly realized that the kindness and concern shown first by the young hikers, then by the fishermen, was the most important lesson I learned on this trip.

​

The effort to survive is one thing, but for that effort to be worthwhile depends on who you want to see again, not who you think might be happy to see you again.

Angels and strangers taught me a lesson this time around, but my real fear for the next hike is: Will my fight and effort for survival be as motivated and strong then, knowing what I know now? An angel was so close... so close, but I wasn’t ready to meet her yet...

​

We drove back to Port Alfred in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

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Here were some of mine: 

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A birth certificate shows we were born. A death certificate shows we died. But what happened in between?

We all get this time 

What do we do with it?

​

 

DRAWWENDE DENKE

 

Deurmekaar denke deurboor 'n dik kliplaag, 

dring dieper maar bly knaag … baie traag. 

Tyd raak vaag en ek beleef eensaamheid – 

iets word losgeruk uit vergetelheid.

 

Suur slaan soetwyn sy slag met 'n kreet, 

skeel grou-groen oë vol baklei … vergeet?

Liefde verander in haat, niemand vind baat,

Wil of kan sy nie meer gehelp word nie, te laat? 

Selfsugtig is ek op sy gestoot … glo 'n uitgawe.

By Savoy se sypaadjie lê ek weer begrawe, 

Die wrede wêreld daar aanskou – alleen en bleek. 

'n Stammetjie was daar gebuig … of gebreek.

 

Hartseer hart spoeg sweet en traan as loon, 

lyf tam en nat, vuil verby, tog kop is skoon.

 

29 November 1976