It’s the views, Eugene said. “Come for the views! They’re awesome!”
His words kept echoing in my head as I trudged up a disturbingly steep hill, in a mist so thick that sunrise made no impact in lifting the night-time dark. We had been hiking since four that morning; it was cold and wet and scary as we tried to navigate our way through the mountains of Lady Grey. There are no features, I thought, and certainly no views to make this, the beginning of our 65-kilometre hike, justifiable.
It was at the beginning of the year that I found myself catching Eugene’s infectious enthusiasm for all things outdoors. He was trying to convince me to join his team for the Bull of Africa — an insane five-day expedition race that involves scrambling across the Eastern Cape for 600 km, with very little sleep.
This weekend’s outing, the Garmin War Trail, is seen as a warm-up leg. It matches the Bull in that you have to be “nuts” to even consider it. Over three days you run 65 km, mountain bike 135 km and finish with a “refreshing” 70-km paddle down the mighty Orange River. The views would have to be Hollywood spectacular to justify this exertion over a holiday weekend, I grumbled. And here I was on top of the world, with nothing for my efforts but a panorama of swirling grey.
The dragon’s back
But I was in good company — several of us had congregated, lost, on top of our first climb. Those who take this kind of stuff seriously had jetted off into the murk, clutching compasses and the goal of a nine-hour finish time. Our group huddled together and waited to be rescued by Adrian Saffy, the race organiser and self-appointed sweeper; his task was to pick up the stragglers and cajole and chivvy us over the trail’s mountain peaks.
Saffy is a bit of a legend in extreme sporting circles. He is a burly, muscled lawyer from Bloemfontein, the kind of guy who can break up a pub fight with a twitch of his eyebrows. He began organising the War Trail after a friend ended up in Iraq, and apparently ran the route regularly to visit friends on the other side of the mountain range.
His passionate approach (the organisation is done in his own time, enlisting friends as marshals and medics) means the race is friendly, familial and laid back; and, as a result, attracts the elite of South African racing.
Arriving at registration, I find myself hovering near Dusi champs Martin Dreyer and Graeme Pope- Ellis. Jeannie Bomford, arguably South Africa’s top female multi-sport athlete, is chatting to my team-mate. These are people who I have stereotyped as Sporting Terminators, who spend so much time competing that they have little time for us mere mortals. It’s wonderful to be proven wrong.
I was delighted to be proven wrong a second time when the mist lifted, revealing in spectacular style the sweeping views of the countryside — valleys, the Lesotho Hat koppies, and that deep sense of isolation that comes from being several valleys
from civilisation.
Our band of stragglers continued to cross the ridge, making our way from the mountains of Lady Grey across to Balloch. I laugh at the map, which reads like the mountain peaks of the UK — Skiddaw, Snowdon and Helvellyn are surrounded by Ben Nevis and Glencoe.
This is clearly an area originally settled by homesick Brits. Even the Country Club in Lady Grey, which we left before dawn this morning, has a roll of honour devoted to its members who still go stalking and grouse hunting. Except instead of McNairs and McTavishes, the champions are now Van der Merwes and Eksteens.
Pressing on, there is no path and the terrain is difficult — rocky, with uneven tussocks of grass. It’s difficult to get into a rhythm and there’s the constant cursing of those who have either twisted an ankle, or sunk one into a cowpat. As time bleeds, we realise we aren’t going to make it home in daylight. We are over 2 700 metres up, a group of 10, and we’ve been hiking virtually non-stop for 14 hours. After so long on our feet we are in pain: Jacques’ knee is so badly damaged that he’s using his walking sticks as crutches, Amanda has her eyes squeezed shut with intense altitude sickness, Laura and Karen have run out of water, and their lights have disappeared at a stop point along the mountain.
At sunset we are crossing the Dragon’s Back — a dangerously skinny run of rock with sheer drops along each side. Thunder rolls and lightning is dramatically forking into the opposite hills. I am trying to eat a sandwich and suddenly find myself in the middle of a hailstorm. A berg adder slithers by, eyed by a startlingly close bearded vulture. And so we continue. Stumbling down the mountainside, layering up as the cold sets in, fighting the frustration of getting lost, retracing steps and heading out again.
Twenty very long hours later we stumble to camp: Bizarrely happy, 10 hours behind the race leaders, and with a few hours spare to sleep before stage two’s MTB race begins.
Biking military style
My morning doesn’t start well. I can’t get my cycling shoes on because a collection of impressive blisters has taken over my feet during the night. Vandre, the paramedic, arrives with a needle and talks me through the gruesome process of blister popping. Don’t worry, he says, we did this in the army.
These are not reassuring words, as they invoke images of medieval medicine rather than slick surgical procedures. While I’m lost in blind panic, he’s already popped and strapped them up — now I’m ready to go.
And, as always, cycling is wonderful. We cover great distances, climbing mountain passes that last saw action during the Boer War. Smuts passed this way en route to the Cape, famously surviving a shootout with the Herschel Special Police who were holed up in the local church and taking precarious aim through the stained-glass windows. Bullet casings can still be found on the opposite hill.
There’s a 10km downhill sweep to the Telle River. My contact lenses blur in the wind; the rush as we rattle over rocks and through erosion gullies is intense. Eugene is cycling with me, and chats easily as we reach the long hills, telling me of life as an intern at Joburg Gen. We stop off at the spaza shops along the way, sitting in the shade to drink cola and eat chocolate clairs. We pick up Ben, who has a puncture, and lazily spend the next few hours figuring out increasingly ingenious ways of fixing it without actually taking the wheel off. I chat to the marshals when we reach our checkpoints. They relentlessly reassure me that it’s downhill all the way to the second camp. This clearly isn’t true, but I revel in the myth and fantasise about overtaking Jeannie Bomford on the run into camp. We get quite media-savvy, answering endless questions from locals on what we’re doing — though none of us can explain exactly why we’re doing it.
We pass Olive Schreiner’s birthplace just before sunset, our final marker before crossing the banner line, finishing a 10-hour pedal through pockets of the Transkei’s Herschel district. For me this is the end. I have enough sanity not to attempt paddling down the Orange, when all I’ve done is a few laps of Emmarentia Dam as a Saturday hangover cure.
So I sit in the pub and catch up on race stories as people come in. One rider hit a sheep as he soared down the hill; Theresa twisted her ankle a week ago, yet still gave the race a go. There’s my ongoing amazement that normal deskbound people finish the trail run in 12 hours and the ride in seven.
In the car back to Jo’burg, we chat about working through those moments when we thought we wouldn’t finish. We joke that we are so lost as people that not even a Garmin GPS can find us. But back at home, nursing blisters and muscle pain, unpacking wet and radioactive socks, and fishing squashed bananas out of my bag, it’s all remarkably clear: I am quite content to stay conventionally “lost” whilst exploring this wonderful, wild new world of adventure racing..
Essential kit
Mountain bike and helmet
Good trail-running shoes
K1 or K2 canoe, life jacket and
splash cover
Warm and waterproof layers — the weather tends to be unpredictable in the mountains
Water — either bottles or a hydration system — and energy food for the day
Backpack — a 30-litre pack is the recommended volume
Sleeping bag
For bookings and more information:
Contact the race organiser, Adrian Saffy at saffyav@icon.co.za, see www.ladygreytourism.co.za or
go to www.garmin.co.za
Tips
You need to be fairly fit, but after long hours, mental stamina is even more important. Also crucial is a great love of the outdoors. There are no paths or signs along the way, so ensure you can read a map (although sponsors, Garmin, provide wonderful technical wizardry). The MTB route is on gravel road and not too technical. Paddle with someone experienced, though, if you’re not confident on the open water.
“Having someone to support you makes a difference. Not only to move cars, but also to marvel at your blisters, cheer you on and prove to your friends that you actually did the race!” says Kerryn.
Getting there
The starting point is Lady Grey — a fairly central point in SA for those travelling from the main cities. The
N6 is the link: head north if you’re coming from the Cape, or south from Gauteng. At Aliwal North, take the R58 eastwards. The road is well sign-posted
to Lady Grey and is tarred. The race ends at Aliwal North, and it’s a straightforward trip home on the N6.
Comments