9 Peaks Women’s Solo Challenge- part 1

What you receive by achieving your goals, is not as important as who you become in achieving them.

Sunday 5th November, 2023

10pm

I have spent a lot of time pondering if courage is the absence of fear, or if doing something despite being afraid is its true measure. I had decided that the former was the ultimate proof of self-mastery.

As I sat in my car on a remote forestry road near Haenertsburg, Limpopo, I started reevaluating my theory.

I was absolutely terrified.

Outside, the mountain was pitch black and a strong wind howled through the valley, adding to my feeling of dread. I was completely alone in a remote area, in the middle of the night, and all my reason told me climbing out of my car was a seriously bad idea.

I drove my car to a place where I could find some signal to touch base with loved ones for the last time before my challenge started and read the influx of good wishes from friends and family, as well as complete strangers. The theme was consistent. What I was doing was brave, and inspirational and everyone had no doubt I would succeed. I thought to myself, firstly, I have not done anything yet to warrant everyone’s confidence, and secondly if only everyone knew how afraid I was of the task that lay ahead.

The first time I considered doing the 9 Peaks Solo Challenge was in December 2022. Everyone I spoke to about my idea thought it was complete lunacy and not advisable for a woman on her own. The chances of injury, and the obvious criminal factor, even made me question if my lofty ambitions justified the risk… But the idea had taken root, and I reflected upon it often, always thinking of ways in which to reduce risk and accomplish my dream. I clearly remember that Monday night in mid-September when I decided quite spontaneously that it was now or never. I calculated that I had 6 weeks to prepare and hoped that the impending summer rains would hold off.

It was game on.

I have never considered myself as a super athlete. I put in intense training and maintain a high level of determination, but I’ve always felt that my strong will determines my course, and my body obligingly follows. Being completely self-reliant and spending a week alone in the mountains is a mental challenge and not something everyone wants to experience. I’ve always been really comfortable with being alone in the wilderness, and this coupled with solid navigation and survival experience led me to believe I had the correct skill set to attempt the Solo Challenge.

Often our minds make things out to be much larger than they are, and that was definitely the case on this first climb. Halfway to the summit I had already forgotten my fears and became engrossed in the multitude of red millipedes on the trail, as well as focusing on moving as fast as I could to successfully locate the summit coordinates. But the awareness of how vulnerable I was never entirely left my mind. On the second peak, De Berg, Mpumalanga, I hiked the 9km route without a headlight, using only the light of the moon to guide my steps so I could move silently and unnoticed. I was rewarded with Blesbok grazing peacefully right next to me, and the experience of walking alone in the cool morning air with just the moon to guide me was truly magical.

As the sun rose, my focus shifted to the next two peaks, Northwest and Gauteng. Neither posed any technical difficulty and it became a race against time, as I had set myself the goal to complete the first 4 provinces in under 14 hours. My mindset shifted, and I became laser-focused on the enormous distance I had to hike and drive in the upcoming week. I had entered what I can best describe as race mode. Fueled only by adrenaline and determination, all fatigue, discomfort, and emotions are pushed to the back of your mind, and you can accomplish things you never thought possible. I made it to the top of the fourth peak with just 15 minutes to spare. It was a small victory, but nonetheless a morale booster. I knew that the three Drakensberg peaks that still lay ahead would be the real test and push me to my limits.

The best-laid plans of mice and men.

Tuesday 7th November 2023

3 am

I woke to the roll of distant thunder and rain pattering gently on the roof of my car. For the purpose of the challenge, I converted my Toyota Fortuner into a cozy mobile home by removing the back seats, installing a camping mattress, and stocking up with sufficient food and water to last the week. When I had arrived the previous evening, after negotiating the infamously eroded track to the car park, the imposing Sentinel Peak was just barely visible against a thunderous sky. I had not slept in 2 days, and I immediately fell into a deep slumber under its watchful eye.

Witsieshoek Mountain Lodge car park was the start of the route I had chosen to summit Namahadi, which at 3274m is the highest peak of the Free State. As I drove along the N3 highway en route to Witsies, the Drakensberg Mountain range came into view on my right, and I noticed ominous clouds forming on the horizon. I had been keeping a keen eye on the mountain weather forecast before starting the challenge, and I immediately pulled over for a weather update on my mobile phone.

The forecast was the worst possible news.

An unexpected storm system had moved in, and high winds, a subzero chill factor, and sleet were predicted in the Namahadi area. The weather reports for mountainous areas are often incorrect so I remained hopeful.

Emerging from my warm sleeping back I prepared to venture out into the cold, wet early morning. I carefully packed my backpack for all eventualities, donned my rain gear, and started up the blustery zigzag path to the chain ladders. When I reached the contour path the rain had stopped, but it remained incredibly windy. In the early morning light, a family of Mountain Reed Buck stood on the path in front of me, and we casually observed each other. I found that as I moved along silently through the mountains, animals seemed to be unperturbed by my presence. When I arrived at the chain ladders, it was evident that reaching the escarpment by this route was far too dangerous. The two ladders, which measured seventeen and thirteen meters respectively, swayed against the rockface and the wind howling through the gully practically blew me off my feet. I decided to backtrack to Beacon Buttress Gully and began to scramble up, taking care not to dislodge any rocks that were liable to shift after the heavy rains. I found that when hiking alone, it was crucial to make carefully calculated decisions regarding safety, and I tried to minimize risk wherever possible. When I reached the top, the weather cleared, and the sun came out. I was rewarded with one of the most spectacular views of the Amphitheatre. Overjoyed at my good fortune, I crossed the Tugela River towards Namahadi with a spring in my step.

It was not long thereafter that the skies opened, and heavy rain began to pour down. I hastily put on my waterproof layers and continued to hike the 32 km return trip to the summit. The wind speed steadily picked up and became glacial, with a wind chill factor of well below zero. Sleet rained down and the ground had become so waterlogged that I often stepped up to my ankles in icy mud. When stopping to empty gravel from my shoes I found my hands barely functioning due to being completely frozen. Even removing the clasp of my backpack was nearly impossible. I had now been exposed to the elements for several hours, and it had become increasingly difficult to stay dry which was adding to my decreasing body temperature. I was noticeably starting to shiver. All the while I hoped the weather would clear, but as I reached the saddle from where I could finally see the Namahadi peak, snow fakes began to whirl around me, and I realized I had to take shelter as there was a high probability under these conditions that I could develop hypothermia. The only option was to backtrack and head down into the valley, set up my tent, and wait out the storm. I climbed into my survival blanket, then sleeping bag so as not to wet my sleeping bag, and ate a chocolate bar with trembling hands, satisfied that taking refuge had been a good choice. In a bizarre twist of Drakensberg weather, the sky cleared at 3 pm and I was able to summit before dark. I then raced back to the hiker’s hut to take shelter in case the situation deteriorated again.

My muscles ached from the cold, and my thoughts turned inwards as I questioned why I had taken on a challenge of such epic proportions. My mind and body were resisting this self-imposed punishment and they yearned for comfort and relaxation. I knew however there would be no peace for me until I was standing on the top of Seweweekspoort Peak in the Western Cape and had finished what I had started. The reality was, that the mountains were where I felt most alive, and it was here on the margins of death, where life took on a sharpness and clarity that one could not find anywhere else. I wondered what other surprises they would have in store for me.

After a very uncomfortable night on the hut’s cold stone floor, I quickly descended the chain ladders at first light and was well on my way to the central Drakensberg.

“What if I fall?” Oh, but my darling, what if you fly”.

Wednesday 8th November 2023

11 am

I stood in front of the counter of the Windmill Country Bakery on the N3 highway just before Pietermaritzburg and hungrily eyed the selection of mouthwatering homemade pies. Consuming enough calories to fuel this challenge was a challenge in itself! Before leaving Johannesburg, I had prepared nutritious frozen meals in advance and had a well-stocked cooler box, which had kept me fed for the first four days. I then researched food stops for the remainder of the journey, knowing that going forward, my healthy eating plan would be out the window. I calculated that I would be burning approximately 60g of carbohydrates per hour, and I had prepacked Ziplock bags for each peak based on the distance, how many hours I would be hiking for, and how many calories I would need for consistent energy. Snacks that are light and calorie-dense are far from nutritious, and my packs contained mostly energy bars, salami, biltong, nuts, jellies, and rice cakes. Between peaks, I ploughed through boxes of bananas.

I wasn’t ravenous, so I knew I was ahead of the game, and after selecting what would normally feed an army, I was back on the road.

The drives between peaks became a juggling act of trying to freshen up, recharge my devices, connect with loved ones, and navigate. I spent a lot of time wondering if other soloists had found the time to brush their teeth.

I was aware of how concerned people had been during the previous day’s ordeal, and I updated my social media pages to assure friends and followers that I was still on track. I then called my family to reassure them that I was both mentally and physically ready to tackle the next climb.

Before starting 9 Peaks, I had devised an elaborate strategy of map sharing, scheduled check-ins, and messaging from my satellite GPS, to ensure my safety. I was beyond grateful to my two closest hiking friends for the care and consideration they were taking to monitor me, ensure my safety remotely, and be ready to take the necessary steps should things take a turn for the worst.

Giants Castle Camp was breathtakingly beautiful, and on arrival, I hastily checked in and repacked my equipment. As Nine Peaks is a self-navigated challenge, I had to decide how best to approach Mafadi Peak and I had chosen the route via Bannerman’s pass. My pack would be heavy, as the hike would involve an overnight stop at the hiker’s refuge, and also needed to contain all my survival gear. Mafadi is the highest peak in South Africa and the longest hike that I would have to complete, with a daunting distance of 46km and an elevation gain of 3100m.

I arrived at the hut in the late afternoon, after a winding climb through the lower berg, and was grateful to find it unoccupied. I had anticipated having the opportunity to sleep solidly for a few hours, but I tossed and turned restlessly, as my mind continually replayed what lay before me.

By 4 am I was packed and ready to start the climb up the steep rocky pass, planning to reach the more technical upper sections by first light. Halfway up the pass, I stopped to appreciate a magnificent sunrise, and what followed was the most picture-perfect summer’s day. The mountain had an otherworldly beauty and between wild horses, the bluest skies, and drifting clouds, the air was sweet with the scent of flowers.

It is difficult to explain the elation I felt when I reached the summit, and I knew that besides the final slog over Popple Peak on the return route, the rest was all downhill. The hardest part was now behind me. I calculated that I was right on schedule and would be down the rocky pass before nightfall.

In a buoyant mood, I started heading down the hill when suddenly to my left in the distance, I spotted the unmistakable outline of a Basotho herdsman and what looked like several dogs. I veered off course towards a rocky ledge on my right to see if he would follow me. As surely as I predicted, he was making a beeline straight for me. I hurriedly removed my pack and reached for my pepper spray, as the herder’s three dogs approached me and playfully started sniffing around. I had biltong in my pack which was probably creating quite a stir. In a state of panic, I desperately started shouting to him that I was okay, showing him a thumbs up, all the while keeping my finger on the trigger of my pepper spray. As he approached me, he started rubbing his stomach and shouting “Hungry!! I’m hungry!!”. In my urgency to part ways, I panicked and replied “No food!! I don’t have food!!” This wasn’t true and I’m sure neither he nor the dogs believed me. I then thought he could become aggressive, as I hadn’t given him what he wanted, but honestly, I was reluctant to get close enough to hand him something. He nodded and casually strolled off with his three dogs in tow. When I reached the valley, I stopped for the first time that day to eat a quick meal. Guess who reappeared with the same lament? “I’m hungry!!!”. I had by now calmed down and realized that he meant me no harm and was honestly just a poor herder hoping for a couple of treats. After handing him a snack bar and a few sticks of droe wors he turned on his heels and peacefully carried on his way. The three dogs milled around him, hoping for some crumbs.

Having been part of teams and experienced group hikes, I found the solo hiking experience remarkably different. Interactions with strangers turned from a casual ‘Dumela,’ to a nerve-wracking experience, and I found myself solely responsible for assessing and diffusing situations. Each mile required self-propulsion and demanded unwavering determination and mental stamina to stay focused on my objective.

By the time I reached the top of Bannerman’s pass, the weather had changed, and heavy mist now shrouded the escarpment. The Dragon Mountains pointed peaks protruded like the spines of a dragon’s back, and its breath streamed upwards against the cliff edges. I still had plenty of daylight and decided to proceed cautiously down the rocky gully as it began to rain softly.

I was aware my legs had too many kilometers in them for me to have complete confidence in them down the slippery rocks, and each step was extremely deliberate. My mind kept looping over the risks in the mountains; rain, cold, wind, darkness, mist, and how there always seemed to be one or more to contend with.

The descent was painfully slow and required intense concentration to navigate the terrain, and by the time I reached the end of the trail, I was practically staggering with exhaustion. I’d now been hiking for a total of 18 hours but was thrilled that I had taken 7 hours off my total moving time compared to the previous time I had climbed Mafadi in one day! I was absolutely finished, but immensely satisfied.