Day 1

I hadn’t gone hiking in quite some time. Not proper hiking. Not since I was 19. Sure I’d been for the occasional long walk along the beach and when I lived in England I was accustomed to walking to work and back. I considered myself to be walking fit. However, I discovered this week that walking fit and hiking fit are worlds apart. Like men and women.

A friend of mine, who is on holiday from the UK, decided that a 2 day hike would be an enjoyable way to spend part of her holiday. She invited her brother, her boyfriend and me. Foolishly I agreed. Now, in my defence I will say that I’m no greenhorn when it comes to hiking, I’ve done my fair share, but this time was different.

Firstly, I had no hiking boots. No problem, I’d just wear the rigger boots that I’d got in England. Big mistake. Rigger boots are slip-on boots and have steel toe-caps. They’re designed for protection, not for comfort and support.

Secondly, I didn’t bother to inquire about the difficulty of the hike and so underestimated my needs and equipment. The hike was only 2 days so I chose a smaller rucksack instead of taking my usual bergen with its proper kidney belt. If I had taken the time to check out the hike details for myself, instead of just “going with it” I’d have discovered that the end part of Day 1 consisted of a descent to the coast of some 250 metres at an incline of about 50 degrees. This would’ve made me reconsider my choice of shoething because the rigger boots aren’t a tight fit so my foot would just keep sliding forward inside the boot and my toes would be crushed like commuters on the London Tube.

Anyway, I made a few schoolboy errors and paid the price. My feet got really chaffed and this meant that I wasn’t equipped to handle the treacherous parts of the trail as it was too painful to step properly. This in turn meant my ankles and knees took alot more strain than they should’ve and by the time we got down to the coast my legs were a mess. By this stage we had hiked about 13 km through the indigenous forest. And just to compound matters the temperature that day was approaching 30 deg Celsius and there wasn’t a breath of wind.

After lumbering on along the jagged coastline for what seemed like an eternity, I decided I couldn’t take another step and so we stopped for a short rest and a quick swim. The water was freezing. I mean, colder than Loch Ness (I should know) which is why it was a quick swim. In a fit of euphoria I whipped my boardies off and swam free and loose for a bit. Almost got my bits pierced by a sea urchin as a result.

By this time the sun was starting to burn with a fury and fortunately for us (read: sarcasm) we had walked the shaded part of the trail during the early morning hours. We were all down to our last few mouthfuls of water (the previous water point had been a figment of someone’s imagination) and were hoping against hope that the last WP was indeed flowing with fresh water. So, after drying our clothes on the rocks and replenishing our depleted sugar levels, we set off in search of our oasis by the sea.

We finally reached the WP and it exceeded my expectations. It was a Godsend. Crystal cool spring water fed by a waterfall upstream and within a stone’s throw from the sea. I thought it was the perfect place to chill out and relax before we made our final ascent for the day but my companions felt otherwise. They just wanted to get to the hut. It was then that I realised that I had changed. 10 years ago I would’ve led the charge up the hill. You see, I was someone who just like to get where he was going. Not one for stopping to smell the roses. It was all about getting from point A to point B as quickly as possible. And yet, there I stood, 10 years later and I didn’t want to “get to the hut” in order to chill. I was perfectly happy to plant my behind squarely on some flat rocks on an island in the middle of this small fresh water stream and enjoy the coolness of the shade. The others went on ahead and I cooked my lunch.

After a gruelling ascent I finally got to the hut where I found the others relaxing on the porch. We spent the rest of the afternoon dozing and resting before I chopped some wood and made a fire. We all ate a hearty supper and then settled in for the night.

The weather was so warm that we elected to spend the night sleeping on the porch. As there was no electricity we got a fairly early night. I was really looking forward to a good sleep as I hadn’t had much the previous night and we had got up at 5am that morning. Unfortunately, this was not to be. I hadn’t counted on the snoring. First the one friend started and being the light sleeper that I am, I awoke immediately. I lay there till the noise stopped and then finally fell asleep again. Until the 2nd snoring session started. I don’t know how people who snore that loudly don’t wake up from the sound. Oh well, I used that opportunity to throw a couple of logs on the fire and then gazed at the stars for a while. Sleep the 3rd time round proved to be a success and I slept fitfully (albeit for about 3 hours) till my alarm woke us up at 5am.

Day 2

Morning came before I was ready. I was stiff and incredibly sore. Both my knees were aching like somebody had injected acid beneath the patella. Stretching proved futile and so I resigned myself to the fact that I would be hobbling the next 13km.

Breakfast consisted of leftover sweetcorn from a tin, coffee and a rusk. I was pleased to see that my fire had survived the night and so I sat at absorbing its warmth as I waited for my companions to get ready.

We left camp at 6am and straight away I knew I was in trouble. The first 100m was a gradual descent and my knees complained with every step. My feet were fine, considering I had opted to go barefoot instead of wearing my rigger boots, but it was clear to me that my knees weren’t going to handle any more climbing. So I quit. I bowed out. The hut was 5.6km from the main road and there was an escape route that could be followed through the nearby pine plantation. I decided that it would be best for all as I would just slow everyone down.

Part of me was really disappointed. I thought that I would be losing out on whatever adventure lay ahead. Little did I know that by choosing the escape route I would have an adventure of my own.

After saying farewell to my friends, I set off. I walked barefoot along the gravel road searching for cellphone signal as I needed to arrange for someone to pick me up once I got to the main road. I called a good friend of mine (at 6.30am, I’d say he’s a good friend) and asked him to come and fetch me before he went in to work. Being the excellent friend that he is he agreed.

I still had 5.6km to walk and I didn’t really know where I was going but I carried on. The road followed a series of bends through the pine plantation and for the most part it was deathly quiet, the stillness only being interrupted by the odd bird call. The sun had begun it’s traversal of the blue African sky and I was feeling quite content when I heard some rustling in the undergrowth. I stopped, looked and listened. Only the day before had we seen a couple of bush pigs on the trail and many agree that the bush pig is quite formidable opponent. After a few moments the rustling ceased and convinced that I wasn’t in any danger I continued on my way, gingerly trying to avoid the sharp gravel stones. I must’ve been concentrating very hard because I was startled by a loud bark off to my right. I peered into the trees and I saw a large adult male baboon shinning down a tall pine. He took off at a rapid pace and I figured he had gone off to warn the others. Boy was I wrong. I came around the next corner and myself in the midst of a troop of baboons. They were foraging on both sides of the road in two big groups. Adults, adolescents and babies. My heart rate doubled as I appraised the situation. I was downwind so they hadn’t heard me or smelt me and so I decided to act with speed, aggression and surprise. I started yelling at the top of my lungs and banging my two walking sticks. It had the desired affect. The trooped reacted like I’d lobbed a tear-gas cannister at them. I  must’ve given them fright of their lives. Needless to say I survived my encounter and spent the next hour walking.

There is something really amazing about walking through a forest, plantation or otherwise, in the early morning. If you identified with “Into the Wild” then you’ll know what I’m getting at. It’s so peaceful and unhurried. My mind felt instantly uncluttered by the cares of the world. Makes wonder why I don’t get out there more often.

Anyway, to end this long rambling tale off, I managed to get picked up by two forestry wardens driving a flat-bed truck who kindly gave me lift (I rode on the back and had to cling on for dear life) to the Forestry Office where my most excellent friend was waiting to collect me.

The End