Mountain pool magic

Evolution, Adam and Eve or both? 

In truth, I would have preferred silence to enjoy the vast wash of stars above us, the caressing mountain breeze and the blessing of rest after a sweltering day hiking in the Tsitsikammas. But who was I to stifle such an important conversation?

The youngsters talked on as the breeze became a wind buffeting across the deck at the Bloukrans Hut where we had stretched ourselves out.

Debate gradually dwindled and words were whisked away like spores to pollinate the night-shrouded universe. We snuggled deeper in our sleeping bags, cocooned in the eye of our story, and slept.

There’s a point on the Bloukrans Hiking Trail about 8.5km out from the Kalander Hut where the forest canopy has closed over you and roots like pythons braid the path.

Sprays of lichen stud the rotting logs, monkey ropes dangle down and funnel-shaped toadstools, crimson wildflowers and small spiders with intricate webs pattern the gloom like jewels.

Massive yellowwood trees stretch up to patches of blue sky and, on a beautiful summer’s day, the heat and humidity are intense.

The path looped lazily, the Knysna loerie rasped and chuckled in the branches and the sweat poured off us.  Had we wrongly estimated the distance?

And then as we came around a bend we heard it, a muffled drumming through the dense trees, unmistakable, wonderful, the sound of a waterfall.

On the long list of magnificent things in the world, swimming in an icy mountain pool on a boiling hot day is surely up there near the top.

After reuniting with our fellow hikers who had set out earlier than us from Kalander, we swam and drank, ate lunch and swam and drank again.

The trail looked set for a steep ascent but we were rejuvenated and ready for more.

Besides setting out later, we had also stopped on the top of Douwurmkop, immediately above Kalander, for coffee.

Ben, my oldest boy, had insisted on hauling out our gas stove and brewing a pot despite the attention of a fierce army of ants.

We jigged on the spot and admired the incredible view looking west over the Groot River estuary and Nature’s Valley to Plettenberg Bay in the distance and then took our coffee as takeaways and pressed on.

We crossed the R102 and then at about 7km passed through a culvert under the N2, less a man-made structure than a magical portal into the mountains, it seemed to me.

The traffic whooshed surreally overhead and then in no time was shushed by natural bulwarks of wood and stone and the hum of cicadas.

We had entered another realm but, like Frodo and his crew on their quest through Middle Earth, we knew good vittles were vital.

I had packed a variety of snacks and having scoffed down the chocolate Miam bars, my boys spent 45 minutes extolling their deliciousness and the fact that, as noted on the wrappers, they were produced in George.

That afternoon, with about 2km to go, we hit a squiggle of jeep track which took us up a long gradual ascent through a pine plantation into the setting sun.

It was hard going over the loose gravel and we were thinking grimly about all the things we could possibly have left behind to make our backpacks lighter when our route jinked right and then left and opened out onto a cool expanse of lawn and our fellow-hikers sitting on the steps of the lapa drinking tea.

Situated on the edge of the Bloukrans Gorge, the Bloukrans Hut has recently been renovated and is much more spacious than Kalander. 

It actually comprises a constellation of dwellings of different sizes and we had a large hut to ourselves although there were 10 other hikers besides my two boys sharing that night.

Directly below our shared deck was a necklace of waterfalls and looking east we could trace in our mind’s eye the trail through the mountains to Keurbos, Heuningbos and Sleepkloof and the end of the Tsitsikamma Hiking Trail at Storms River Bridge.

This was, unfortunately, going to be our last night and the following morning we were going to be hiking out to a pickup point, but what a privilege to be up here on the top of the world, to mull over the journey so far and consider the possibilities for a future expedition.

Our fellow-hikers had already got a fire going and when they were finished braaiing we put on the venison patties we had brought, which were a bit squashed but otherwise fine.

We ate them together with stale buns, fried green beans and a splash of Douglas Green red box wine and they were delicious.

It was a gorgeous evening and we sat together in front of the lapa and talked while the bats flitted about and the stars grew brighter.

Our group included a citrus exporter, a pastor, a soil scientist and a happy mix of family.

Conversation drifted onto SA’s problems and the lure of foreign shores, for youngsters especially.

But the grass is not greener, someone said. Look at what we have here. 

The next morning we climbed down into the gorge for a morning swim and the kids lay on the edge of the bottom waterfall and looked over the edge and wondered if it was possible to reach the pool below.

There seemed no way as the slopes were precipitous and thick with bush.

As we packed up to leave, a trail manager arrived to check the hut and he confirmed their assessment.

“Only the baboons can get down there,” he said, laughing. “They know something we don’t.”