Since the primary purpose of our strenuous and challenging weekly tennis is exercise, and not as you might be led to believe, quaffing champagne and gossiping over snacks, we do every now and then have to resort to other activities when we can’t play tennis. Patty runs in any weather, Meg traverses the spines of towering mountains on her mountain bike and Theresa heads off into the wild bush for days on end with a heavy pack on her back. Its called hiking and its supposed to be enjoyable. Not quite convinced about the enjoyment factor, she nonetheless convinced me to join her on a 5 day foray into the Tsitsikamma forest with everything needed for our survival packed into a rucksack. And so I digress from the tennis court as the Tarts hit the Trail.
We began our journey with our arrival in Natures Valley to meet the Eastern Cape contingent of our hiking party at the first overnight hut. Seasoned, experienced hikers, they come from a small town in the North Eastern Cape which prompted my husband, Kevin to precede any contribution to the conversation around the braai in the lapa with “You know what you farmers are like ...”. They found this rather perplexing since none of them actually farm, they are all business entrepreneurs. I reassured them that it would be quite safe to hike with Kevin and that by the end of the first day they would be just as comfortable as I am in saying, “You know what Kevin is like ....”. And so the adventure began with all of us drinking far too much in a premature celebration of our invincibility on the eve of setting out to conquer nature.
DAY 1: Invincibility was definitely not the word foremost in my head the next morning as we set off briskly, hangovers and all and headed into the forest. This is great I thought. I can do this! Its a walk in the park! 15 minutes later we hit our first hill and I thought I was going to die. I could maybe manage 10 steps before gasping. This was not helped by the fact that my bag was far too heavy (I had 2 litres of wine, OB's, brandy, tons of Game for mixers, cigarettes, too much food, too few clothes and a beer...I could only fit 1 in). I considered tossing the beer out but luckily came to my senses once I had reduced my breathing down to mere painful gasps.
Having made it to the top I was assured that I had been through the worst. Hah! They have short memories, a bit like the childbirth experience. We stopped for lunch at a beautiful pool and waterfall and had an ice cold swim which revived me a bit. Then we set off up another mountain which made the first hill of the morning look like a molehill, and which they also seemed to have forgotten about since their last trip. By this time me and my Dad had been left in their dust - they are all fitness fanatics and to prove it, Kevin witnessed them power walking the last 3 km’s uphill to the hut.
By the time we got to the overnight hut I was half dead. I believe we walked through a stunning tree fern forest and a pine plantation. I however was more familiar with the top of my shoes and watching sweat drip off my nose. The hut was situated on top of a stunning (this is what they tell me) gorge with spectacular views. Lying on my back on the verandah with my rucksack still attached to my back, I was unable to summon any response other than being very abusive to anyone who cheerfully tried to point out the lovely vista to me.
I was also too debilitated to drink anything other than my one precious beer and I only drank that so no one else would, having lugged it over the back-breaking mountains from hell.
The others, obviously not suffering any ill effects, had another celebratory, roaring party which must have made serious inroads into their rations. At some stage in the night some wild bush pigs came out of the bushes. It was quite spectacular to seem them so close, they're gorgeous. By the time the rest went to bed (I was long gone), Kevin had earned himself the nickname Pumba, after he and Theresa, doing an excellent impersonation of bush pigs, came in snorting, snuffling and giggling. The highlight for me that night was that we made a huge potjie and I threw every single potato and onion I could find in my bag into it. I might have thrown in an orange or two as well. I think I prefer tennis.
DAY 2 of Torturous Hell to follow .....
