In terms of topography, forest and coast it is similar to the Otter, 40 km further up the coast, but the trail takes you through more climax forest and fewer oscillations between clifftop and beach – and of course, no major river crossings. Most of Day 1′s 14.7 km is a relatively flat walk through the forest to the coast. A steep descent to the rocky shore heralds the strenuous part of the hike. New stainless steel chains allow you to skirt some precipitous sections that could be trickier if a big sea were to be coupled with a spring high tide. An Otter Trail-like switchback path through coastal forest finally leads up to the clifftop. Sinclair hut is beautifully situated in a clearing facing east. A Google Earth track, photos and a video follow …

Day 2 starts out benignly in the fynbos. The path then snakes down a spur to the pretty Grooteilandrivier mouth where soon after the chain and ladder obstacles begin. The coast is rugged, jagged and steep from here and the clambering is more strenuous than on Day 1. After a sharp climb up to the Kranshoek viewsite, the rest of this day’s 11.5 km is a steady but slight climb through thick forest, back to the Harkerville Hut.

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Disclaimer: I am not a cyclist nor MTB rider, so take the following from whence it comes: from a hiker who found himself riding a bicycle for 7 days over 611 kms on dirt roads and tracks.

The first hint that this was not the leisurely bike tour that I had imagined it would be, occurred at Komdomo camp at the eastern entrance to the Baviaanskloof. Gleaming, carbon machines were lovingly extracted from their bike boxes and expertly assembled and tuned in the dusk. By contrast, I inexpertly re-assembled my more prosaic commuter bike in the shadows.

I had only that week succumbed to the pressure to buy cycling shorts, items of clothing that I detest. I think that middle-aged people look faintly ridiculous in them, a bit like the Michelin Man, trembling flesh shoe-horned into body-hugging lycra. On the tour I would also be introduced to the tender mercies of chamois – or bum – cream. Apparently it is a necessity, although on at least two days I did not use it, with no ill effects.

Day 1: Baviaanskloof: Komdomo to Doornkloof – 83 km

The second clue that this might be a race within a tour emerged after we entered the Baviaanskloof Nature Reserve’s eastern gate and the assault of the first of two passes, Combrinck and Grassneck, commenced. Apparently placid and friendly people adopted steely faces of determination and disappeared up the steep inclines in a cloud of dust. I decided to take my time, take photos, enjoy the breathtaking landscape and walk when it seemed quicker to do that than to try and propel a bike up the slope. By the time I reached the second summit the rest, bar a few, had long since disappeared down the winding track. I had to tackle the downhill with care because my gammy left arm – badly bruised in a fall while “training” some weeks earlier – prevented me from really bracing on it or even standing on the pedals. I was effectively cycling with one arm. Since climbing  on the bike I have fallen more times than during all my years of hiking.

The only real mishap of the whole tour occurred on this day: while negotiating one of the many river crossings the bike inadvertently ceased all forward motion against a river rock; clipped in, I tumbled in, relieved to have protected my arm from further trauma. I remounted and cycled happily on, only to realise some five k’s down the track that my ‘phone was in my (non-waterproof) waist bag. Well, apparently the Galaxy S3 is not waterproof either (I have since discovered that all the photos that I took with it on this day are no more – and the repair was not cheap either).

My eventual arrival at the lovely Doornkloof camp was met by encouraging (I think) cheers from the already-showered, relaxed party of riders. But I had enjoyed the day. It was only the second time that I had cycled such a distance in one session (the other occasion was in December). And I was relieved to have survived on one arm and not come a cropper on the steep downhills. It could only get better.

Day 2: Baviaanskloof: Doornkloof to Willowmore – 87 km

This would prove to be a warm and difficult day. The road climbed steadily over most of the distance, up Nuwekloof pass, and when it eventually levelled off a fresh, westerly headwind tested our resolve. The pattern was now set, I realised. A group of riders were out to get from A to B in the minimum possible time. It was a race, if not against each other, then against time. Tour organiser Mitzi’s plea that “this is a tour, not a race” was falling on deaf ears, I am afraid.

I was developing a theory about the essential differences between hikers and bike riders. For the former it is about the journey; for the latter about the time taken to the destination. Hikers pride themselves in being self-sufficient and self-supporting; riders travel light and fast and require significant support for re-supply, repairs and spares. The one is an outdoor adventure pastime, the other an outdoor sport, essentially competitive in nature. So shoot me.

I decided to ditch the pannier and only carry the necessary. Self-sufficiency was clearly inappropriate and actually redundant.

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Day 3: Willowmore to De Rust, via Klaarwater and Meiringspoort – 117 km

With the promise of an even stronger head-on westerly, I resolved to try this riding-in-the-peloton thing. The first one that I joined just outside Willowmore was the really fast group which included my brother-in-law Louis – a “machine” – and Kelson (more about my amigo later) and the “young bloods” (Kelson’s term), Kevin and Johan. After 8 km I realised that the pace would kill me, on this the longest day by distance. When the next group caught me I hung in there for about 30 km and by my GPS was astonished to see that they were maintaining an average of 25+ km/h into the wind, up hill and down dale. After casting off the proverbial “tow-rope” I joined a third group and tagged along to the water point at the 75 km mark. By this time I was “gatvol” and hitched a ride on the support motorbike for some 20km to Klaarwater – the only time on the tour that I “cheated”.

What I had realised was that I prefer to cycle alone. Riding in a group requires too much concentration on the wheel in front of you with the result that you can’t enjoy the surroundings. More experienced riders seem to be able to ride in a peloton and look around – so they say.

Free-wheeling down historic and beautiful Meiringspoort, interrupted by a short walk to the waterfall, was the absolute highlight of the day. Some good footage on the GoPro.

 
The slideshow does not render on Apple stuff. Go to the photo album iOS people…

Day 4: De Rust to Uhuru, Calitzdorp – 87 km

The sky threatened rain, but the wind had abated. Once more I sought out the peloton and chased it around winding farm roads for some 12 km – only to end up where we had started! Some prankster had reversed an arrow sign. At one point the group suddenly stopped to ask directions of a bunch of farmworkers. True to form, I forgot that I was clipped in and “bought the farm” to the raucous enjoyment of “die volk”. At least I landed on the other arm ….

As we set out again, on the R62 this time, some of the more competitive personalities were exhibiting signs of sense-of-humour failure. We soon turned south to the Olifants River to follow it all the way to Uhuru. The testosterone of the peloton no longer appealed to me, so Mark and I leisurely kept each other pleasant company all the way. I was feeling stronger and cycling was becoming easier.

On this last section I was struck by the number of abandoned and derelict farms. Perhaps it was the recent avian flu scare and the collapse of the ostrich farming industry that had caused all this dereliction. But it is instructive to consider that it has only taken 150 years or less for industrial agricultural practices to wreck most dryland farms and prove to be unsustainable. The Karoo is littered with derelict farms.

We spent a rest day at Uhuru guest farm and its pleasant campsite, cropped by small herds of zebra and springbok. But the caged, exotic primates and parrots were distressing to observe.

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Day 6: Uhuru to Vanwyksdorp – 50 km

Other than the first day in the Baviaanskloof, this was probably the most beautiful day of the tour. In crystal-clear, windless conditions we climbed Rooiberg Pass, an old packed-stone wall road that zigzags up the range that separates the valleys of the Gamka and Groot rivers. The short, sharp climb was rewarded with a long, hair-raising descent to Vanwyksdorp. On some of the hairpins skid marks betrayed frantic braking by some of the racers ahead. It was a glorious day, made complete by the best campsite of the whole tour, situated on the banks of the Groot River.

As it was a relatively short day and the riders were rested, we reached it in time for lunch, a helluva plate of spaghetti bolognaise and salads. Spare time in the dorp triggered an orgy of shopping. The small shops, run by refugeers from the cities, must have wondered what had hit them.

Day 7: Vanwyksdorp to Warmwaterberg – 90 km

Another pristine day etched the blue Langeberge in sharp relief against the sky. The dirt road undulated across the drainage lines from the berg. There were a couple of fast, sweeping downhills and the breeze stayed over our right shoulders, making for pleasant cycling. I was cycling alone again, enjoying the clear air and carefree hours. I had now become conditioned to long-distance cycling and was feeling strong.

A frostie at Ronnie’s Sex Shop was followed by a languorous afternoon in the spa’s warm waters and pink light dying on the Little Karoo folds. Various ranges are visible from Warmwaterberg Spa’s stoep: Anysberg, Klein Swartberge with Towerkop standing proud, Swartberg, Rooiberg and the Langeberg.

Originally we would have cycled from Vanwyksdorp to Anysberg, but the campsites at Anysberg were unavailable because of refurbishment.

Day 8: Warmwaterberg to Montagu – 97 km

The spa waters resulted in some lazy legs that would suffer a bit later in the morning during the long climb up the back of Ouberg. Once more it was a beautiful Karoo morning. The road to Montagu passes through Sanbona Wildlife Reserve and the rangers warned of  elephant and lions along the road, so for safety’s sake we had to board the trucks and bakkies with our bikes for about 10 kms. We saw the elephant breeding herd, but not the lions.

Ouberg Pass offers an exhilarating downhill. Although the road surface is good, braking problems could easily have you flirting with the precipice. My suspect arm and the “hard tail” meant that I had to be a little cautious on the sinuous descent, but it was a rush nevertheless.

And then it was over. By lunch time. Had I also been “racing”? No, I decided that the long Ouberg descent was the culprit.

Oh yes, about my normally laid-back Brazilian bra, Kelson … I had invited him on the tour. When I realised that my arm was not about to recover in time for the tour and was a bit apprehensive, I emailed him to check that we would help each other to “survive”, ride together (he had also had a bad fall some weeks before mine). Silence. Most unlike the man. Puzzling silence until we met to leave on the truck to Komdomo. After day 1 I realised what was up: the bugger had been training like a dervish and was super-fit. He was out to beat them all. A “challenge” he called it. So we saw each other at breakfast and after each day’s ride, seldom if ever on the road. A rather amusing ambush ….

My relatively unsophisticated commuter bike, a Momsen AL329 “twenty-niner”, never gave a moment’s trouble. There were no breakdowns and the “slick”, non-tubeless tires had no flats. There’s a message in there somewhere …

Kudos to Mitzi and Louis for organising a fantastic adventure so well. Sophie dished up tasty, filling food and Dumi worked his ass off pitching and striking our tents, plus navigating that monster truck around some tricky obstacles. The riders were a great bunch of people who all came through relatively unscathed, save for the odd boil on the bum. Mitzi owns Makadas Adventures and this tour was a dry run for the new Karoo Tour product. Highly recommended. And remember …. it’s not a race; it’s a tour!

A final plea to the organisers, Makadas: don’t turn it into an elitist tour where only the people who average 25+ km/h on the stages can participate. Keep it so that all levels of cyclists can ride, and perhaps recognise that a 15 km/h average speed and lots of sightseeing stops are acceptable.

Photos by the pros:

Moi & Kelson

Moi

Going down Rooiberg with the GoPro

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A late-afternoon start saw us hurry up the Sphinx route from Nuweberg to Landdroskop where we stayed at Shamrock hut. That evening the black south-easter commenced its assault. Day 2 saw us head out west on the track to Jonkershoek, hoping to summit Somerset-Sneeukop, but misty rain and wind made that option rather unattractive, so we continued north to the Panorama Trail. Our camp in the lee of a rock pile where the wind screams over the watershed was set up in sunny weather, but that night the south-easter raged cold and noisy outside. The next morning we set off in low cloud and at the Kurktrekker junction turned south down Boegoekloof. This was a pleasant, steady downhill walk to Nuweberg under a steadily clearing sky. Boegoekloof harbours a number of rock pools that would make for very pleasant swimming in warmer weather. The weather didn’t deter Santie, however.

The circuit is about 31.3 km in total, and gains and loses 1583m in elevation.

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An old, official Boland Trail map refers to Sterrekykerskop as Guardian Peak, but Ernst Lotz’s authoritative book, Jonkershoek en sy berge, and various club old hands maintain that Guardian Peak is actually an alternative name for Haelkop, towering further to the north-west. Maybe a reader can resolve the issue by commenting below?

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At about 3 pm as I breasted the ridge and the valley on the spongy plateau below Dwarsberg revealed itself, I spotted the row of tents strung out above the stream that drains the catchment which is the headwaters of the Riviersonderend. It had been a hot, dry climb through a 1000 m. Normally the ascent would be untertaken in the morning shadow of the Cathedral, but the late start had meant that I trudged up the trail in the midday sun.

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That afternoon we explored the pools, rimmed by the odd Disa, that cascade north-west then south to Boegoekloof. But the highlight was the climb under full moon to a windless and clear Victoria Peak, the highest peak in the range. All around the peaks were silent and massive black presences. To the north-west the golden lights of greater Cape Town winked beyond Haelkop and the Stellenbosch Mountain massif. To the east luminous low clouds settled into the valleys around Franschhoek.

Please note that you can only overnight in these mountains if you are officially on the Boland Trail – in which case you stay in the trail huts – or have special permission from the Jonkershoek reserve manager. Usually permission is only granted to mountain club groups comprising no more than 12 trailists.

Tents below Dwarsberg

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I last hiked the Otter Trail, perhaps South Africa’s most famous hiking trail, circa 1994 with some friends. It was mid-winter, fairly cold and mostly cloudy. Nevertheless, I remember that it was spectacular and never really expected to walk it again. Life is too short for reprises in my view. And then I unexpectedly received an invitation to join a group of fellow Stellenbosch mountain club members after a couple of late withdrawals (remember that one has to apply to enter a draw for reservations at  least one year prior to departure, with the trail being limited to 12 trailists per day). Why not? It is summer, I have the leave, the university is still warming up for the academic year …

So off I went on a fantastic experience. We had five days of nigh perfect weather, the water whether salty or fresh was warm, the company was great and I was relishing a good, strenuous hike. On most days I walked alone with my thoughts, the younger crowd having disappeared early down the winding coastal path while others spent leisurely days swimming in every possible swimming hole. We met up again at lunch and river crossings and at the trail’s spectacularly sited overnight huts. Additions at the huts since my last visit were the cooking lapas and the outdoor showers – otherwise they were much the same as I remembered them: basic log cabins containing six bunkbeds each. 

Spotting a Cape Clawless Otter on the Kleinbos River was a particular highlight. The animal was quite curious, bobbing its head to figure out what we were. Some of my companions found themselves within metres of it – I would like to see their photos and video.

Dusk at Oakhurst

By the GPS numbers: Distance = 43.7 km Max slope = 51.6% Elevation gain = 2849 m Elevation loss = 3049 m The elevation loss is greater than the gain because the trail now commences up near the park’s entrance gate.

This video is blocked for mobiles and in some countries (not my decision but YouTube’s). View the version without music soundtrack here…

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The week before, the local news reported on a group of hikers who had been sucked out to sea at the notorious Blaauwkrantz (Bloukrans) rivermouth crossing. They were rescued by helicopter, plucked from the reefs, but lost their packs to the sea. We elected to not leave at 2 or 3 in the morning in order to make low-tide at the river, but to keep to our normal leisurely schedule and either cross if conditions were good or wait until the late afternoon’s low. In the event, we arrived at the crossing at high tide. But it was a beautiful, windless, sun-drenched day and the feared mouth resembled an ocean world playground. After watching the conditions for about an hour I crossed after the tide had turned (watch the video above) – twice, just for fun, although I did get a slight start close to the other side as the outgoing current caused the cliffs to slide past rather rapidly. But at least I had taken the precaution to start well upstream of my intended landing. However, I later discovered that I had donated my sunglasses to the Blaauwkrantz somewhere during the three crossings. That’s about the third pair to be “lost at sea”. I can imagine some sleek sharks sporting cool shades …

Elandsbos rivermouth

Scott hut

Sunset off Robberg from Oakhurst

Blaauwkrantz at high tide

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1994

2013

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Our route started at Ladismith, headed east past Zoar and into Seweweekspoort to overnight at Aristata. Exiting Seweweekspoort north of the Klein Swartberge, we turned west on the R323, intending to stay at Tapfontein in Anysberg. Day 3 took us south over Witte Poort and then east back to Ladismith.

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I had pre-booked the bush camp at Tapfontein because it was the only night that any accommodation was available in Anysberg, but in retrospect we should have stuck to the original plan of camping wherever we happened to stop. In the end we didn’t reach Tapfontein. We had split up because I wanted to reach Anysberg in time to gain entry at the gate of the reserve, so carried on ahead while Peter rested some more. Well there isn’t a gate – or there is, but it isn’t manned. Knowing that Peter wasn’t sure of the route and unsure whether he had his headlamp (he didn’t), I decided to stop and set up camp at the “gate” – where the road crosses the Prinsrivier – and waited. Peter rolled into camp at 9 pm. It was dark, the mozzies and the ants were aggro, we were thoroughly buggered and so we decided not to try and pick our way up the mountain to Tapfontein.

As you will notice, the photos and the videos sort of … “petered out” after the morning of day 2 (if you will excuse the pun).

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I was impressed with my new bike, a “twenty-niner” that’s meant for touring, with panniers. It performed like a dream and was easy to move at a good clip. So I think there will be many more bike tours on the backroads and tracks of the Karoo, but next time I’ll pay more heed to the weather forecast.

I await Peter’s post on “the ordeal” with interest.

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Photos, a Google Earth track and a video follow …

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Up Square Tower Peak

Twin Peaks loom over Square Tower Peak

South from Square Tower Peak

North from Square Tower Peak

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The 36-hour voyage on the Yaghan, a Ro-Ro ferry that makes the trip there and back once a week, was magical. It was nigh empty of passengers, new, very clean and comfortable, like a luxury train: Pullman seats and large viewing windows. The route that threads its way down the Magellan Strait, through the Cockburn Channel, across Bahia Desolada, through the O’Brien and Darwin Channels and then east up the Beagle Channel reeks of maritime history: Magellan’s discovery of the passage to the Pacific, Darwin’s voyage on the Beagle on which he started to develop his theory of evolution and Joshua Slocum’s first solo circumnavigation of the world, where he was blown back around the tip of South America and had to risk the Magellan Strait twice in a time when the Fuegian indians were viewed as “savage” renegades and a threat to ships.

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The southern fjords, islands, glaciers, ice fields and mountains of Chile’s Magallanes and Antártica Chilena region have almost all been declared national parks. It is a beautiful, harsh, almost peopleless wilderness. Fin del mundo – the end of the world. Here I spotted my first albatross, a massive, graceful bird.

As the Yaghan nosed onto the slipway at Puerto Williams around midnight on Thursday 3 May 2012, we as yet had no place to stay. Luckily a German couple had booked a refugio and suggested that we should tag along. The refugio, an unmissable blue cottage run by a large, jolly lady called Cecilia happened to be located at the end of the slipway – and yes, there was place at the inn. Things were looking up.

On the voyage there had been growing unease about our flight arrangements from Ushuaia to Buenos Aires on the coming Sunday. While in Punta Arenas, an email from the online agency urging me to check my booking prompted me to look – our flight  had been cancelled and it appeared as if we were bumped to a later flight, which would cause us to miss the return flight from Buenos Aires to SA. That was problem #1 – all attempts to deal with it online and via email were abortive.

Problem #2 seemed to be that we unable to change flights from our outpost in Chile, nor were we able to cross the channel to Ushuaia to fix the problem – or to simply understand its extent. Jolly Cecilia informed us with a grin that there were no boat services across the channel and told us to “relaaaax”. Then the possibility of a charter flight on Saturday was dangled in front of us. The promised Saturday departure rapidly became Monday as 48 hours’ preparation is required, but the airstrip is closed on Sundays. We started to visualise large amounts of money disappearing into changed and missed flights and charters. I began to develop two (not quite serious) complementary theories: 1) the Beagle conflict between Argentina and Chile had developed into a sort of lingering cold war making any sensible communications and travel across a few kilometres of water impossible, and 2) the hospitable locals exploit the ‘hostilities’ to keep you and your dollars captured in Williams for as long as possible. The upshot of all this, unfortunately, was that we were unable to enjoy the hiking attractions of Isla Navarino at all (the kayaking possibility had long since been discounted).

On Saturday morning, while we were considering the wisdom of taking a hike up the peaks behind Williams over breakfast, Cecilia stormed in and breathlessly informed us that a yacht was leaving for Ushuaia ‘now’. Now? Si NOW! No more “relaaax”. Frantic packing and grabbing of bags followed, hurried goodbyes and we headed down to Micalvi, the southernmost yacht club on the planet. There we bundled aboard a steel, French-built yacht piloted by Mariano, an Ushuaian, and Antonio, a Spaniard with the air of a sea gypsey. Cost of charter: USD 145 per person. “Ok, we’ll pay when we get to the other side.”

The crossing took about eight hours. It was cold and the ‘williwaws’, Slocum’s curious term for the icy squalls that career off the surrounding peaks, regularly forced the yacht onto its beam ends. Soon after dark we motored into a flat-calm Ushuaia. On the Sunday we confirmed that problem #1 had come to pass and resigned ourselves to an unplanned three-day stay in Buenos Aires to wait for the next flight home. Those three days were very enjoyable and served to cement my fondness for the city.

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The tree where the leopards sharpen their claws

Katedraal is the Afrikaans name for the Second Ridge Peak, one of the thin, serrated ridges that line the eastern rim of the Jonkershoek valley south of the Pieke(Twin Peaks). The Mountain Club’s Stellenbosch section tackled it as yet another cold front made ready to pounce.   We hiked up to Bergriviersnek from the white bridge, and then turned north up the Rifberg, bagged the Third and Second Ridge peaks and then slipped and slid down the slick Slab Route. The approach to Third Reach peak features a slightly exposed ledge (as you will see in the video clip below) and a precarious scramble up a grassy gully, known to the locals as The Green Mamba. As the last of us summited Katedraal the mist enveloped the peak and the temperature started to fall. It was time to leave. The hike is about 17 km’s in total.  My GPS failed to get enough fixes down the Slab Route to accurately plot the track, so this section of the Google Earth track below is unreliable and patchy.

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Tea on Bergriviersnek

From Third Ridge Peak down Banghoekkloof

Mountain Club mob

Katedraal

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