Khulu Mountain Co.

Drakensberg Grand Traverse- Dec 2025

Evadnee Le Goff — Fri, 27 Mar 2026 09:27:24 +0000

This year’s Drakensberg Grand Traverse started with much trepidation, as we had been experienced torrential rain in the region over the past few weeks. Despite this, seven intrepid hikers lined up to undertake one of the world toughest hikes. We were joined by Ralph, Ruth’s husband (he joined us for the first night) and Lana. I met Lana in the Witsies parking lot and she explained that she had travelled from Spain to complete a Northern Traverse. As it is risky to hike in the Drakensberg alone, I suggested she join my group. We started day 1 as a party of nine! Two hikers in my group had previously suffered from altitude sickness, so we took the first day easy and focused on altitude acclimation. After visiting all the lookout spots and Tugela falls, we made our way to the banks of the Elands River to make camp and make an early starts to summit the first peak of the traverse, Mont-aux-sources, the following morning. It has been a glorious first day.

Distance 9.25km Elevation 597m

Drakensberg Grand Traverse – Day 1

Distance: 16.24 km Elevation Gain: 679 m

We were spoilt with a spectacular sunrise to start the day, but it wasn’t long before the mist rolled in and rain followed. Summiting Mont-aux-Sources in wet, misty conditions became the group’s first real challenge, and an early taste of what lay ahead. On the ascent, hiker Heidi struggled with a headache and fatigue, her mountain legs clearly taking a little longer to kick in. We had to say goodbye to Ralph as he headed down the chain ladders and back to Witsieshoek.

After contouring around Icidi and tackling two substantial climbs, we finally caught sight of our campsite tucked below Madonna Pass. True to Drakensberg form, the weather then shifted dramatically. The clouds lifted, the sun broke through, and we were rewarded with breathtaking views over the Mbundini and Mnweni areas.

Day one covered a moderate distance and was intentionally paced to ease everyone into the traverse. We took plenty of breaks and settled into camp early, allowing the group to adjust to the altitude and the weight of fully loaded packs. Everyone felt the strain of both, and as a chilly wind swept through camp, we turned in early. Fast asleep by sunset. Resting up for the bigger, tougher days still to come.

Drakensberg Grand Traverse- Day 2

16.24km 679m elevation gain

One of the most iconic sunrises in the Drakensberg is from the top of Madonna Pass. It was still dark as we made our way to the top of the pass to watch the sun rise over Madonna and her worshippers. The sky was clear and visibility was perfect. We sat transfixed for what is for most, a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Once we had packed up it was clear that Hiker Heidi felt unwell and wasn’t physically able to continue with the traverse. Her companion Bruno would accompany her down Rockeries pass. I made arrangements for my porter to hike up from Mnweni to meet them. It was also the day that our last-minute addition, Lana, would also be ending her Northern Traverse journey, so she too would be leaving us. After a fond farewell at the top of Rockeries, we made camp at the Senqu River. We spend the afternoon lazing on the grass amongst the wildflower and playing cards and Rummicub.

This would be our last opportunity for relaxation as from this point our days would be long and without respite.

Drakensberg Grand Traverse – Day 3

Distance: 19.62 km Elevation Gain: 859 m

With extra ground to cover, we set off early. Our first stop was Vulture Buttress, where Cape Vultures soared above us, and I managed to call my porter to confirm that Heidi, Bruno, and Lana had safely reached Mnweni Cultural Village.We followed the escarpment towards Ntonjalane Pass, the kilometres steadily wearing on the group.I was grateful to have such a perfect summers day, as I had taken a specific route to be able to capitalise on the views of the Cathedral peak area. Fatigue set in as we climbed Elephant Gully and we experienced a brief hailstorm as we descended.

By the time we made camp at the top of Tseketseke Pass, tired but satisfied, the mountains rewarded us with a truly magnificent sunset. An unforgettable end to a demanding and exciting day.

Drakensberg Grand Traverse- Day 4

15.93km 796m elevation gain

I’ve always said that one day Cleft Peak will be the death of me, and this day was no exception. Having woken up to thick mist and drizzle, our group painstakingly made its way up to the second compulsory summit. I had to describe the view as best I could, and after a hasty summit selfie we made the long descent to organ pipes. Mist can be extremely disorientating, and while hiking over Ndumeni Dome, I took the side route to Rolands’s cave. After a few meters I realised my mistake but something else caught my eye. A botanist friend of mine had asked me to keep an eye out for a rare plant, Guthriea capensis, and on the footpath to Rolands’s cave, I literally found dozens of them.This was our second sighting of the ‘hidden flower’ plant and after marking a waypoint we continued on our way.The views from the top of Ndumeni were underwhelming to say the least, and once we descended into the next valley I suggested we take a mental health break after being out for hours in constant drizzle and fog.

We set up Ruths Durston tent and all managed to all fit inside with just the flysheet. After a warm and cosy lunch break, we continued to Yodlers Valley. About two kilometers before our intended campsite, I decided to call it a day. Chilled and soaked, everyone was grateful to dry off and have an early night.

Drakensberg Grand Traverse – Day 5

Distance: 26 km Elevation gain: 1139 m

Day five greeted us with clear skies and cool air. Sunshine has a way of making even damp socks and wet shoes feel manageable, and we welcomed it wholeheartedly. Recent flash floods in Yodler’s Valley had reshaped the landscape since my last visit in September. Familiar paths were gone and the riverbanks were steep and eroded. The shepherds were still absent from the highlands, we had the entire valley to ourselves, a rare and special tranquillity. Before tackling our first major climb, we spread out our soaked gear and tents on the grass, letting the sun work its magic while we enjoyed a relaxed breakfast surrounded by towering peaks.

This was our longest day by distance, packed with multiple climbs, including the ascent of Champagne Castle, compulsory peak number three on the Grand Traverse. The views from higher up were nothing short of spectacular. Endless ridgelines, deep valleys, and that unmistakable Drakensberg grandeur stretching in every direction.

After a long, steady walk down Lesley’s Valley, we finally reached our campsite. Twelve hours on our feet, tired but satisfied…

Drakensberg Grand Traverse- Day 6

24km 1068m elevation gain

Depending on the duration, a Drakensberg Traverse can be extremely challenging, more leisurely, or anything in-between. It’s a classic build your own adventure hike. A 12-day traverse is more suited if you want to take photos, enjoy the views, take lunchtime swims, and stop to smell the flowers.On day 6 of our traverse, we were under time constraints to reach our resupply point, summit the highest peak of South Africa (compulsory peak number 4) and cover a fair amount of distance. With our goal to reach to top of Langalibalele pass by 3pm, breaks and photos opportunities would be brief.

The route to the summit of Mafadi is a slow steady climb and soon we were literally on top of the world, with incredible 360 views of Lesotho and South Africa. After a few summit selfies we were off again, whizzing past iconic passes such as Judges and Bannerman’s. We stopped at the valley below Langalibalele, and I stationed Ruth at our intended campsite with the backpacks. The rest of us would hike up to the top of the pass and wait for the resupply team.

We arrived at the resupply point, and I was surprised to not find the resupply team. They are usually extremely punctual and reliable. Switching on my phone I received a message that one of the group had slipped in a river and was injured, luckily not too seriously and they arrived within an hour or two. The resupply packages seemed alarmingly heavy, even though we had packed them ourselves, and we knew that being back to our starting pack weight, footsore and pack weary would be challenging.

Drakensberg Grand Traverse

Day 7-Distance 11.85km elevation gain 693m

Day 8-Distance 23km elevation gain 683m

Day 7

With our packs back to their starting weight, we set off. Our first challenge was Mt Durnford, which we unanimously decided was the hardest climb of the traverse.

As the day progressed, mist rolled in and light rain followed, gradually reducing visibility. I decided to call it a day and not summit Giants Castle in low visibility weather. With Giants Castle looming above us in the clouds, we set up camp. The weather showed no sign of improving, so summiting the 5th compulsory peak would have to wait for the following morning.

The wind howled around the tents and the drizzle continued into the evening. Ruth was feeling unwell, and reaching camp early was welcome.

Day 8

We woke to an icy wind and thick cloud pressing against the tents. With the conditions still harsh, Ruth made the sensible decision to stay behind and conserve her strength.

The return trip to the summit of Giants Castle took close to three hours and was brutal. We moved slowly through thick fog and steady rain, often walking right along the edge of the escarpment with very little visibility.

Reaching the summit was a huge relief, knowing the worst was behind us. Soon after, the weather turned. The sun finally broke through, lifting spirits as we broke camp and headed inland toward Lesotho. A clear, sunny day was a welcome change. We slept that night in an abandoned kraal, the flattest campsite so far, and watched a beautiful sunset before finally getting some proper rest.

Drakensberg Grand Traverse- Day 9

Distance 25km vertical gain 1100m

We woke at first light at the abandoned homestead and made our way down into the valley, heading toward Thabana Ntlenyana. The day was warm and breezy, but it was going to be a demanding one with 25km and 1 100 m of climbing to get done.Thabana Ntlenyana rises to 3 482m, and the climb took us six long hours.At the summit, Ruth told me she was not feeling well. She was clearly struggling, with a severe headache and nausea brought on by altitude sickness.Even I had begun to feel the dull nausea of hunger that 10 days of trail snacks could no longer silence.

She kept moving, step by step, with a quiet determination.As we descended, it became clear her condition was worsening, and I’d made the call to divert to a pastor friend of mine near Sani Pass. Once again, Lesotho showed us its heart. The Basotho people have an unmatched generosity. The pastor welcomed us, offering a small bungalow, a hot shower, and food.Pastor Siphiwe is an extraordinary man, dedicating his life to educating traditional herders. By teaching them to read and write, he helps them create brighter futures. He cooked us lasagna and traditional Lesotho bread, a simple meal that felt like a gift beyond measure. After days of cold, rain, and being unable to wash properly, the hot shower was overwhelming in the best possible way. I washed my clothes in a basin, feeling the dust of the trail float away.

After Ruth had eaten and settled into bed, I hoped the night would bring relief and she would be well enough to continue in the morning. Lying there, clean and well fed, I felt immense gratitude. For Ruth’s strength, for the kindness of friends who felt like family, and for this beautiful country that continues to remind me that in the mountains we carry each other.

Drakenberg Grand Traverse

Day 10

Distance 20km elevation gain 825m

Ruth woke feeling remarkably better. I was relieved, as it really would have been a shame for her to withdraw so close to the end.We left the church with full bellies and very happy hearts, after a hearty breakfast. Getting back onto the trail took some effort, but spirits were high, and the group agreed they’d happily accept another “unscheduled rest day” if one came with food like that.Once moving, we covered ground quickly. By early afternoon the sky had other ideas, piling up dark clouds and delivering not one but two impressive electrical storms.

Once calm had returned, we called it a day and camped in the valley before the Mahai River, short of our original plan.

All in all, a pretty good day.

Drakensberg Grand Traverse

Day 11

Distance 20km elevation gain 906m

With the finish line finally in sight, excitement ran high despite two big climbs still standing between us and the finish line. The last hurdle would be up Walker’s Peak and down Isicatula pass.

From the top of Walkers peak, the familiar vastness of Lesotho stretched out in every direction. The wind however was fierce and unrelenting, and the pass was as treacherous as ever.The walk along the valley towards our campsite felt surreal after the choas of the peak. The group confessed to silently praying to get down to the valley safely.

Arriving at out final campsite, the Drakenberg had one last surprise waiting for us. Unbeknownst to us, we had pitched our tents right in the dining hall of a very large, very committed herd of cattle. At first there was a distant rumble. Then chaos. A full-on stampede of cows, calves, and several enormous bulls thundered through our campsite as if summoned by a dinner bell we didn’t know we’d rung.

Tshengi and I peeked out of the tent to find we were completely surrounded by several bulls easily weighing half a ton, clearly in mating season, and not in the mood for hikers. We froze, unsure whether to make a run for it or quietly zip ourselves back into our nylon cocoon and hope for the best.Eventually at sunset, the herd decided they’d had enough of us and wandered off back to their kraal, leaving behind two people who may never fully emotionally recover. I now have very real cow PTSD.

That night, with a mere 14km remaining to the Bushman’s nek border post, we enjoyed our final evening. Conversation turned to home. Hot showers, clean clothes, and loved ones, while a part of us was heartsore to be leaving the mountains.

Day 12

When it’s all over, there is no dramatic finish.

Just the sense that something heavy (literally and figurative), has been carried a great distance, and finally set down. Facing adversity asks a lot but gives more back.Doing something genuinely hard leaves a mark. Invisible to outsiders, it quietly reshapes your inner word. Stripped of comfort and distraction, you learn what you can tolerate, where your edges are, and how much farther they extend than you once thought possible.From the outside, it may look like a hike completed, but the real change is harder to explain. You come back steadier, less hurried, carrying a calm confidence and peace. You know, in your bones, what you are capable of.

Because this, in its simplest form, is where life makes sense.

Effort with purpose, presence without distraction, and the quiet satisfaction of moving through the world one step at a time.

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Interview with Author Malcolm Pearse

Evadnee Le Goff — Fri, 17 Oct 2025 06:54:09 +0000

Coming soon….

The post Interview with Author Malcolm Pearse first appeared on Khulu Mountain Co..

Northern Traverse and Mafadi Summit

Evadnee Le Goff — Thu, 16 Oct 2025 11:23:19 +0000

120km 6000m elevation

When Julia, an accomplished mountaineer from Dubai, contacted me, asking if it was possible to do a Northern Traverse and summit Mafadi in one trip I jumped at the opportunity to put the idea into action. A fast packing tailor made adventure piqued my interest and Julia was delighted to be able to tick off two bucket list hikes in one go.

The Drakenberg threw everything it had at us, from 70km per hour winds, ice rain, electrical storms, hail, mist and sub zero temperatures. We were forced into radical reroutes, abandoning planned paths and embracing improvisation at every turn.

This was no ordinary hike. It was a test of our endurance, a dance with the elements, and an unforgettable adventure. It offered moments of sublime beauty, and the quiet companionship that grows when two adventurers face the mountains together.

Day 1 – Chain Ladders to Icidi Valley

As we reached the chain ladders, the atmosphere of excitement was palpable. A journey of 120km across the spine of the dragon lay ahead. Tugela Falls which in summer is a thunderous wall of water, was now little more than a silver thread.

That night we camped in Icidi Valley. The cold was sharp, seeping through every layer, and snow still covered the peaks.

Day 2 – Icidi Valley to Rockeries Pass camping at the source of the Orange River.

Climbing out of Icidi Valley, our bodies protested the weight of our packs and the ascent to Mbudini was relentless. When we reached Madonna and her Worshipers, everything shifted. The view was as always vast and humbling.

That evening, we set camp near the source of the Orange River. The mountain felt untouched, remote, and utterly still. Around us, the mountains stretched empty, as the Basotho shepards had not yet returned to the Northern Berg.

Day 3 – Along the Escarpment to Organ Pipes Pass

We followed the escarpment in the morning, with every turn revealed another breathtaking view. Above Nguza Pass, vultures circled despite the strong wind.

We covered nearly 30 kilometers and climbed around 1,500 meters that day.

We finally set up camp just below organ pipes pass. Excited to contemplate what the next day would bring.

Day Four — Organ Pipes to Nkosazana Cave

We rose to a chilly morning, and began the ascent past Organ Pipes, Thuthumi Pass and skirting over Ndumeni Dome. The early morning views from the top of the dome are breathtaking. The vastness of Yodlers Valley unfolded below us, and some Shepards appeared to have returned to their homesteads. The familiar sound of bells and sheep rang through the valley. We paused at the cascades, stripping down to plunge into the icy water, laughing through chattering teeth. It felt like we washing away the fatigue of the past days.

But the climb back to the escarpment was unforgiving. The sky darkened and it soon turned to heavy rain. Lightning cracked open the heavens above us and we took shelter, waiting for the lightning to pass. When the storm finally eased, we pushed on through the mist.

That’s when they appeared. Three Basotho herders on horseback, wrapped in heavy blankets. Behind them were at least 15 horses and a pack of dogs. For a moment it felt as if we had stepped back in time, wandering into another world.

By late afternoon, drenched and weary, we sought shelter in Nkosazana Cave. The place reeked of damp, and is more of a shepherds refuge more than a hikers haven. Yet, as the storm continued outside, the cave became our sanctuary.

Day 5 – Mafadi Summit

Today was the big day and our chance to stand on Mafadi, the highest peak in South Africa. We started early, making our way toward Champagne Castle. The wind was already strong, and as we climbed higher it only gathered strength. By the time we reached the ridge it was gale force, 70km per hour, with gusts that could easily knock us off our feet. Walking became a struggle, sometimes we were forced to brace ourselves against the mountain just to stay upright. Attempting the ridge was impossible, so we dropped down into Leslie’s Valley to find shelter.

Even there the wind chased us, funnelling through the valley with surprising power. For a moment it seemed the mission might end here, with Mafadi still out of reach. I sent a satellite message to my partner, asking for an updated weather forecast. The report came back: gusts of 40–70km/h for the next 24 hours. Risky—but possible. If the gusts came in waves, there would be calmer moments when we could move.

So we went for it. The ascent was slow, punctuated by frequent breaks whenever the wind became too much. Each pause felt like a chance to reset and wait for the mountain to grant us another window. Step by step, we worked our way up.

Finally, we stood on Mafadi’s summit. It was a huge relief and a proud moment—worth every effort. But the sky was shifting fast. Cirrocumulus clouds, rippled like fish scales, hinted at incoming weather. A sudden warm wind confirmed it. Snow was on the way.

Instead of descending Bannerman’s as planned, we chose Judge’s Pass, heading for Bannerman Hut and then Giants Castle Camp. On the way down, rain arrived, mixed with ice crystals that stung our faces. By the time we reached camp, we were soaked but safe.

It was a day of testing conditions, of winds strong enough to stop us in our tracks, but in the end the risks had been worth it and Mafadi was ours.

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Drakensberg Grand Traverse- Dec 2024

Evadnee Le Goff — Thu, 16 Oct 2025 09:58:11 +0000

Day 1

On the 6th of December 2024, four intrepid hikers (Brenda, Tshengi, Evadnee, and Bernard) set out to conquer the entire length of the Drakensberg Mountain range. Our goal was to complete the journey in 12 days with a resupply halfway. In the history of the Grand Traverse, I doubt one could have asked for better weather, as we had perfect sunshine days and exquisite clear views, with the exception of one afternoon of rain. Our goal was to tag the 6 FKT peaks along the way and complete a Grand Traverse in the stricter sense. Each day was a marvel to the senses.

The fields were filled with wildflowers, newborn lambs, jovial herdsmen, and the bluest skies. I’m incredibly proud of these two ladies, and what epic journey would be complete without the sibling I never asked for, St Bernard?

Distance 23km Elevations gain 1400m

Day 2

Most Grand Traverses cut across the interior from Mont-aux-sources to Mweni, but I decided to do a Northern/ full Grand Traverse hybrid and follow the escarpment to allow the group to experience the best of both routes. Despite a full first day, the group was eager to wake up early to witness sunrise at the top of Madonna Pass. The rest of the day was just spectacular, with views of Mbuduni Abbey, Pins and the Mweni area. I’d been hoping the good weather would hold so we could enjoy this section of the traverse and so far, my luck was holding.

Distance 18km Elevations gain 800m

Day 3

One thing I didn’t expect on this traverse is how hot it would be. Unseasonably clear skies led to blisteringly hot days with extreme UV. We took every opportunity to swim if we could find water deep enough, which during this drought period was also challenging. Day 2 was really tough, as our feet started to bear the load of carrying a traverse worth of food and equipment. Out campsite just above Nguze Pass was blissfully close to the river and deep enough that we could bath properly. Day 3 started with a steep climb up the Mlamhonjwa Buttress and continued to follow the Northern Traverse route south. We experienced clear blue skies and breathtaking views, as the Cathedral peak area drew closer.

Distance 17km Elevations gain 900m

Day 4

As Mweni faded from view, we summited our second peak of the Drakensberg Grand Traverse, Cleft Peak. The last time I summited this peak, it was so misty I didn’t realise we were on top until we saw the cairn. We followed the lower route around Didima Dome via Thuthumi pass, which was spectacular, and eventually made camp in the Yoddlers cascades valley. Everyone was by this point feeling rather foot sore, and a cold soak that evening in the river definitely helped to alleviate some of the suffering.

Distance: 18km Elevation gain: 1020m

Day 5

After spending the night at Yodlers Cascades, we started bright and early for the climb up to U-bend. From there, we had a decent 10km stretch along the ridge where we walked on a path and didn’t have too much elevation change. It felt good to stretch our legs and cover some distance effortlessly. Peak number 3, Champagne Castle, was on the itinerary, and as we made our way up to the summit, we were joined by a herder and his dogs. Tsengi translated his story for us, the gist of which was that he lived alone and wanted us to procure him a wife. It was a huge blessing to have T with us to be able to communicate in Sotho, and she was able to answer all of his questions about our journey. We headed down to Leslie’s valley in the afternoon with ominous rain clouds gathering, and managed to set up our tents before the first drops fell.

Day 6

Day 6 was our longest day in terms of distance and elevation. The climb from Leslie’s valley to Mafadi is far gentler from the northern approach than the southern, and before we knew it, we had summited peak number 4, Mafadi, which is also the highest peak of South Africa. I’ve summited this peak more times than I can remember, and the rock cairn marking the peak is now like returning to an old familiar friend. Popple Peak and Senquebethu Peak still had to be climbed before we made our way down to the top of Langalibalele Pass, which was the point of our resupply. Everyone was excited to unwrap the treats and additional food we had packed into our resupply, but we were less excited to be back to maximum pack weight again. After a quick catch up, the porters headed down and we set up camp to enjoy the fruits of our labours.

Distance: 22km Elevation gain: 1170m

Day 7

We were now officially halfway through the grand traverse! It’s a point where one is not close enough to the end to get your second wind, and systemic fatigue starts to set in. At this stage of the traverse, the landscape changes. Moving south away from the dramatic peaks of the north, the landscape became more open and pastoral, and we began to encounter many more of the traditional Basotho homesteads. It was magical to hike amongst the new lambs and the sounds of the goats’ bells. Dogs barked their warning as we passed, and curious eyes followed our journey. With our now full backpacks, we crawled up Mt Dunford and battled to summit our fifth peak, Giants Castle. We gratefully arrived at our camp just below The Tent and were able to bathe and do a bit of laundry. As one cannot use any kind of soap or laundry detergent in the wilderness, it’s more akin to redistributing the dirt and odours, but gives one the satisfaction that you tried.

Distance: 16km Elevation gain: 1096m

Day 8

The terrain on Day 8 still had plenty of big climbs, but interspersed were long stretches of pastoral land. One of our team members had a nasty fall and mildly sprained her hand, but we counted ourselves lucky that this was the first time anyone in the group had sustained any kind of injury. Water became scarcer and was often badly polluted with a thick brown algae, which I had never encountered before. We refrained from drinking this water and held out for better opportunities. Our interactions with the Basotho herdsmen were now constant, and we exchanged cigarettes for enormous smiles. When we set up camp a few kilometres from Thabana Ntlenyana, we had seven herders mesmerised by our gear and tents. They eagerly watched us set up camp and asked plenty of questions about how we survived with such thin clothing and meagre food supplies. A new addition to the Lesotho landscape was the frequency of portable wind-up radios, a valuable lifeline between the herders and the outside world. I’m sure someone had imported them en masse, and they were now cheaply available to the rural community. Everyone was very excited to be summiting the highest peak of Southern Africa the next day and possibly stopping at Sani Pass backpackers for a pizza.

Distance: 19km Elevation gain: 900m

Day 9

Rain had been forecast, so we made an early start, hoping not to have to summit Thabana Ntlenyana in rain and howling wind. Fortunately, there was no sign of rain as we neared the peak, but winds of about 70km per hour made hiking slow, and we were occasionally blown over. It was too dangerous for a summit selfie, so we had to make do sheltering against some rocks. The water quality continued to be poor, and when we set up camp for the night at Sani Flats, we had to boil water to make it potable. We collectively decided not to stop at Sani backpackers as the majority felt it would break our rhythm and make the traverse feel less authentic. With just 2.5 days remaining, it finally started feeling like the home stretch.

Distance: 21km Elevation gain: 900m

Day 10

Just as I was starting to think we had carried rain gear across an entire mountain range for nothing, the rain finally came. Two intense downpours with hail had us sheltering for cover and waiting for the storm to pass. We set up camp close to the Rhino and experienced a downpour that lasted 2 hours. It felt wonderfully cosy to be snug in a sleeping bag while the rain pelted down. The mountains were misty and mysterious and looked more like the landscape I was familiar with in summer months.

Distance: 17km Elevation gain: 722m

Day 11

This was the last full day of the Grand Traverse and it was a joyous moment when we reached the top of Ngwangwane and there were officially no more hills to climb! From here you have to descend a short gully, which is arguably the only really ‘technical’ section of the traverse and make your way down to Thamathu valley. The views of Garden Castle were absolutely spectacular as one was able to see the Giants Castle trail winding far below in the valley. Our final campsite was voted a 10/10. Huge pools for an afternoon swim and plenty of flat ground for a final game of Rummicup. Feeling were mixed as hikers were sad to be ending the journey, but simultaneously looking forward to returning home to loved ones. Distance:

17km Elevation gain: 722m

Final Day- Day 12

Thamathu Pass is arguably the easiest pass in the Drakensberg. A gentle path that meanders down to the Bushman’s Nek border post guides us to the finish line. Being one of only two pedestrian borders in Southern Africa, we casually amble through the no man’s land between two countries, and the reality that our journey has ended dawns on us. After almost two weeks of leading a nomadic simple life, re-entry into society is a shock to the senses. What stands out most on this traverse was the harmony and camaraderie that our small group attained. A blend of various ages, genders and cultures has merged seamlessly into an unforgettable experience. Despite its challenges, the 12 day hike has formed an unbreakable bond of shared adversity and inside jokes. I’m delighted that everyone in the group completed the challenge and deeply honoured to be able to turn the dreams of the participants into reality. Our journey back to Witsieshoek was a culinary tour of the Drakensberg as we stopped regularly to delight in beverages and meals one normally takes for granted. I can’t help but wonder what adventures my next Grand Traverse will hold

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Fish River Canyon

Evadnee Le Goff — Thu, 15 Aug 2024 06:22:51 +0000

Day 1

Your first view of the canyon is breathtaking. It’s not every day you get to stand on the edge of the second-largest canyon in the world.

Everyone talks about the 460m descent into the canyon from the rim, as this is the only technical section of the hike.

The remainder of the trail is rather flat and switches continuously between boulder beds and beach sand. As we were hiking in a drought there were no slippery river crossings. Our journey was the complete opposite. Endless kilometers with nothing but the canyon floor and cliffs on either side. The canyon devoid of water lacked any sign of life, besides the scattered skeletal remains of the occasional animal.

We each descended with 6 litres of water and aimed to reach a tiny spring called “Spring in the reeds” by the end of our first day.

Once we reached the canyon floor there was a rather green and highly mineralised pool of water. Without second thought most of us were in the salty, algae-filled pool as the temperatures were well into the low 40’s by now. We rested in the shade of scrub bush before attempting the final 4km to the spring. It is impossible to explain how torturous these final 4kms were. Although it was already 15h30 by the time we started making our way to our campsite, the rocks we crossed had been baked by the Namibian sun all day and I would estimate that the ambient temperature was easily 50 degrees. All slightly dazed from the heat we reached the spring not a minute too soon.

It was clear from that moment that the Fish River under these circumstances required a unique approach if we were going to complete it successfully.

We went to sleep that night mesmerized by the stars and the rising of an almost full moon over the rim of the canyon. The blistering temperatures and extreme water scarcity never far from our minds.

Day 2

I had planned to start hiking at 6 am, but after our experience the previous day, the group assured me that they were prepared to even start at 3 am to avoid the blistering heat! By 5 am we were ready to hit the trail, even though the first light would only be at 6h45. The full moon lit our way, and the cool morning air was a balm after the searing heat of the previous day. A few kilometers into the hike, I alerted the group we had reached the location of the old Vespa memorial. The group split up to comb the area and soon there was a shout that it had been spotted. After plenty of selfies and laughter, we were back on the trail.

We reached our destination at Palm Sulphur Springs at around 11 am. It was already incomprehensibly hot, and we all collapsed in the shade and spent the afternoon swimming in the lake. This enormous lake was fed by a sulphurous hot geyser, and the air constantly smelt of sulphur which took some getting used to. We all gingerly drank the foul-smelling water, which seemed to be less offensive when it cooled.

Having avoided the heat of the day and spent the afternoon relaxing, the mood shifted from the perils of the canyon to marvelling at the natural splendour of where we found ourselves.

Fish River is beautiful in the most surreal way, and it soon had us all under her spell.

Day 3

This was the day I had been most concerned about in terms of water availability. From Palm Sulphur Springs to the 35km Namibian Wildlife emergency tank there was not a single drop of water to be found. From day 1 we had each carried 2 litres of emergency water that was not to be touched and this was the day that we might need it. I was not prepared to let the group drink the highly mineralized swampy water, as dehydration due to diarrhea would only exacerbate our already tenuous situation. Our packs had been ultra-light from the start to compensate for the additional water we had to carry.

At this stage of the hike, the Fish River Canyon started to widen and we were able to cover distances quickly. We had set our sights on the Namibian Wildlife tank at the 35km mark, but as I suspected would be the case, when we arrived it was bone dry.

The heat was again becoming unbearable, so we took shelter at Vasbyt Bend under a copse of Acacia trees and planned to hike to the 40km tank in the late afternoon. Our water was down to the last 2-litre reserve, and we prayed there would be water at the tank. Suddenly as if seeing a mirage, two Namibian Wildlife rangers walking towards us carrying water to the 35km tank. The group was overjoyed, and we were able to receive 1 liter each. The rest of the afternoon was spent napping, chatting, and moving our ground sheets to make the most of the available shade. Hikers debated what was the highest price they would be prepared to pay for a cold coke with plenty of ice.

At 4 pm we set off for the next tank, despite it still being mind-numbingly hot. Arriving at the 40km tank we were relieved to find there was about 50 litres of water remaining. We each took 2 litres, mindful to leave enough water for any hikers behind us. We then set up camp in a sandy riverbed and watched the moon rise over the canyon rim. We felt we had triumphed in an episode of Survivor- The Fish River Canyon Edition.

Day 4

Again, we started bright and early with the moon lighting our way. We reached the 45km tank at Bushy Corner to find it empty, but I knew at 50km there was 1500 litre tank which was guaranteed to have ample water.

We took the shortcut over the pass just as it was becoming light. When we reached the top, we watched the sunrise and the moon set simultaneously. Knowing this was a privilege that few ever get to experience we took some time to savour the moment.

After filling our bottles at the 50km tank we spend the rest of the day at Barbell pools, swimming and relaxing. The earth around the pool was made up of hard-baked clay, and soon several of the group were taking mud advantage of the mineral-rich earth and indulging in mud baths.

Climbing our final pass in the late afternoon, the canyon widened even further, and majestic rock formations such as four-fingered rock towered over us. We continued to hike to the Pink Palace, the abandoned façade of an old general store, which would be our destination for the day. We would be completing the hike the following morning and the mood was buoyant, as we contemplated a shower and icy cold beverages.

Day 5

The final 12 kilometers to Ai-Ais passed quickly and by mid-morning, we proudly strode into the camp. As was tradition the staff rang the bell, clapped, and cheered as they did for every returning group. Not only had we successfully tackled a challenging situation, but we had also maximized the fun factor, and everyone felt a huge sense of accomplishment. I felt incredibly proud of each individual and marvelled of the sense of cohesion and comradery we had established. It has been an honour to have spent the week with an amazing group of people. Following a day soaking in the hot spring and several burgers we planned the return trip to Johannesburg, tired but immensely satisfied.

The post Fish River Canyon first appeared on Khulu Mountain Co..

9 Peaks Women’s Solo Challenge- part 2

Evadnee Le Goff — Mon, 04 Dec 2023 20:13:55 +0000

Never hesitate to trade your cow for a handful of magic beans.

Thursday 9 November 2023

8 pm

The drop-off to my right looked very dramatic in the pitch darkness.

Although the wind speed wasn’t that high, I had to brace myself when it gusted. Digging my trekking poles into the earth, I deliberately waited for the wind to subside before making my way across the exposed rock of the contour path. I was exhausted and could not remember when I had ever felt so drained. My pack, with all my hiking equipment, added additional strain to my already fatigued legs, and I wondered where I would find the strength to hike the 30-kilometer return trip to the summit. Earlier in the evening, I had downloaded the in-reach weather report for Kwaduma, and had discovered that the wind speed would progressively pick up through the night. By 9 a.m. the next morning, it would reach up to 70 km per hour. With dread, I realized I had to be off the mountain before 9 a.m. or I would be unable to safely descend the contour path.

I had no other option but to continue hiking until I reached the summit’s base, set up camp there, and try to get a few hours of sleep. If I could then make it to the peak by daybreak, and descend to the foothills by nine the next morning, I would have won the battle. Despite my fatigue, I knew this was the only option, and I would have to dig deep into my remaining mental and physical reserves. As I continued to hike, the wind began to howl, and gusts pushed against me with increasing force. The thought of navigating the contour path in such extreme conditions filled me with a sense of urgency. I knew that reaching the peak before dawn was my only chance to make it down safely before the winds became too dangerous.

The ability to be calm, present-focused, and organize your thoughts quickly, is invaluable during a challenge of this nature. Adapting to changing circumstances and managing countless variables is key to survival. I found that I was so preoccupied with the task at hand, that there wasn’t much time for self-reflection. I knew that would occur in the following weeks and months.

The drive from Mafadi to Kwaduma had taken 8 hours and followed along the base of the Drakensberg Mountains. My mind wandered as I reminisced about the simple rural life of my childhood. Lush rolling hills intermingled with traditional huts and all manner of livestock flanked the long dirt road to the base of Kwaduma. Bare-backed horsemen, decked out in the traditional gumboots and Basotho blankets, galloped past, gazing at me with curiosity. I parked my car at the base of the highest peak of the Eastern Cape, which towered above me at 3019m. To my left, a young woman stood in the yard outside of her hut. Chickens scratched in the dirt and bashful children peeked out from behind her skirts. I walked over to her and between broken Afrikaans, English, and a lot of hand gestures, I managed to convey to her that I wished to leave my car there under her protection. She visibly swelled with pride at this request, and I realized what a noble and generous community I had found myself in. I clambered into the back of my car and gathered any remaining food I could find. I presented her with bananas, biscuits, and chocolate bars. It gave me great satisfaction knowing they would be enjoyed by this deserving family. With my vehicle security resolved, I started climbing towards the escarpment as the sun began to set. Below I could see the herdsmen lighting the evening’s fires and gathering their sheep into kraals for the night.

Steadily I climbed the contour path as night enveloped the mountain. After a short scramble up a rocky gully, I found myself on the Drakensberg escarpment. Before me, I could see the outline of the summit against the star-lit sky.

It was pleasantly warm as I crossed the plateau, and I playfully removed my shoes and waded barefoot across a wide river to spare them from getting wet. At 11 pm I eventually reached the base of the summit, and found a reasonably flat patch of ground on which to erect my tent. I pointed the smallest end towards the oncoming wind and fastened each section securely as the tent was liable to be blown away. I instantly fell into a deep sleep and was only occasionally aware of the flapping of the tent’s fly sheet. I had only managed to get a few hours of sleep when my alarm woke me. I hastily dressed, and began hiking the 10km return trip to the summit, hoping that my tent would not blow away in my absence. When I reached Kwaduma’s final rise, I found that the area around the summit was a tangle of rusty barbed wire fencing, a remnant of the former physical border between South Africa and Lesotho. I carefully navigated the terrain, and when the rock cairn of the summit came into view, a feeling of elation washed over me. Each summit signified a victory, knowing that one more peak had been conquered. I slumped against the rocks, as it was becoming extremely windy, and spent a few minutes appreciating the view. When I returned to my tent, which was now completely flattened by the wind, I removed my left sock to take a closer look at a toe that had been bothering me. I realized that my feet were starting to take strain and that my sock was full of dried blood. I cleaned my feet and applied plasters and strapping where necessary.

The wind was picking up by the minute, so I quickly packed up my tent and headed down the mountain. With danger now behind me, my mind started to calculate exactly what time the next day I would arrive at the final Peak. I estimated that if all went well, I would get to Seweweekspoort by 3 pm on Saturday and would be able to make the summit before dark. If I reached the top before 10 pm I would still be within my 6-day schedule, despite all the delays caused by bad weather on Namahadi. Spurred on by the prospect of achieving my goal, I felt full of renewed energy and determination.

The longest journey is the journey inward.

Friday 10 November 2023

13h00

A tall, red-headed woman must have been an uncommon sight to begin with, but that wasn’t what had the attention of the little girl next to me. Her gaze was firmly fixed on my filthy, bandaged feet. I smiled at her through my altitude-blistered lips and had to laugh at how comical I must have looked. How could I even begin to explain to her where I was going and where I had been? I had stopped at a pizzeria in Maclear, as this was the last town where I had any hope of getting a hot meal before driving the enormous distance to the northern cape.

Ten hours of non-stop driving now stood between me and Murch Point in the Northern Cape. I felt revitalized and excited that if my calculations went according to plan, I would complete the challenge by the following evening. All my fatigue melted away, and I relished the thought that I would be resting and not hiking for the remainder of the day. I sent a message to Lynette, the farm manager of Murch Point, to notify her that I was on my way.

For the first hundred kilometers of the drive, mountains stood proudly against the horizon to my right. Cows casually crossed the road at the cattle crossings, giving me time to stop and appreciate the scenery. As I passed through small karoo towns along the way, locals sat chatting on the pavement, enjoying each other’s company, their world a place where people still had time for each other.

The long, straight road stretched out endlessly before me, inviting me to venture further into the heart of one of South Africa’s most remote regions. As evening approached, the setting sun cast a glow upon the road ahead. I pulled over to fully appreciate the sun disappearing behind the flat-topped Karoo mountains and take a couple of photos.

Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, I was having the time of my life. The combination of time pressure, pushing myself to my absolute limits, and the satisfaction of knowing that all my careful planning had come together like a well-orchestrated symphony, was everything I had hoped for and more. Without the distraction of companionship, I felt completely immersed and present in each moment.

What a privilege it was to spend this time doing something I loved so much.

I realized that deciding to do 9 Peaks solo was one of the greatest gifts I could have ever given myself. I loved the complete freedom I experienced and valued being completely, and singularly accountable for my actions. Strangely I never felt lonely and looked forward to sharing my stories with friends and family when I returned home. I elaborately recounted my adventure to myself and took as many photos as I could. I felt so fortunate to experience traveling the entirety of South Africa and seeing so many beautiful things within a week. I found it gratifying that I was achieving something that had never been done before and in turn, showing others what was possible if they dared to believe in themselves. By embracing the unknown, I experienced a solo adventure that few people ever get the chance to, and felt a deeper understanding of who I was.

Eventually, I found myself on the dirt road that led to the farm on which Murch Point is located. In the darkness rabbits, antelope, and even a porcupine scurried across my headlights. I found this part of the country so intriguing. What would it be like to live in such a harsh and unforgiving environment? When I arrived on the farm, I managed to get myself completely lost in the maze of dirt roads and endless farm gates. In my exhausted state, I started to panic, imagining myself losing precious hours driving in circles. There was no signal in this area and I was so relieved when I stumbled upon Lynette’s house. When I knocked on the door, I was greeted by the farm dogs and Lynette’s welcoming smile. She was shocked to discover that I’d been hiking and driving endlessly for days and offered me a bed and a shower, but I explained that I was regretfully under time constraints. Despite the hour, she jumped into her vehicle and guided me through the labyrinth of farm roads to the correct road that would lead me to the base of Murch Point. When I reached the designated start point, I climbed into the back of my car to snuggle down for the night, as cattle grazed nonchalantly around the vehicle.

By 3 am I was awake and strapping on my knee-high gaiters as protection against puff adders, which were endemic in this region. As I began to follow the winding dirt track, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. The dry riverbeds painted a picture of isolation and resilience as if they had witnessed countless seasons come and go. The ruins of a farmhouse stood as a silent testament to a bygone era, its weathered walls telling tales of days gone by. Yet even in this harsh environment, nature found a way to adapt to its surroundings and persevere against all odds. As the sun rose on the horizon, casting a glow over the land, I couldn’t help but feel humbled by the beauty and resilience of the Northern Cape.

Now that it was daylight, I put in my earphones and switched to race mode. Pushing all fatigue to the back of my mind, I raced the 16km return hike to the summit.

Four hours later I arrived back at my car, and was greeted by Lynette waiting for me with hot coffee and rusks. Her kindness and camaraderie were so welcome at this point of my solo journey, and I hoped that in return our meeting could inspire her in some way.

When your body gives in, let your mind take over.

Saturday 12 November 2023

13h58

As my call went to voicemail, my eyes drank in the fields of yellow flowers stretching between myself and the Swartberg mountains. I had pulled over about 30km before the picturesque Klein Karoo town of De Rust, and I knew that the only person who could assist me in making this decision was Kobus Bresler, the creator of the 9 Peaks challenge and fellow soloist. Over the past few hours, my rational mind had reminded me that I had vowed to myself never to come down off the formidable Seweweekspoort Peak at night. In my original schedule, it was non-negotiable. At my current rate, I was on course to reach the summit and descend at night, and I knew that being fatigued, I was even more at risk of injury. Up to this point, I had rationalized that I could summit and make it down in the dark if I was careful. Anyone who has ever taken on this mountain would know that wasn’t realistic. I had let myself become blinded by my determination to achieve the goal I had set of completing the challenge in 6 days.

How could I reconcile my self-defeat and put my safety first?

In my world nothing was impossible, and making dreams a reality was something I was really good at. I favoured not asking too many questions and just getting things done, finding it almost impossible to quit or change direction once I had an objective. This could be considered both a strength and an Achilles heel.

This entire challenge had been a race against myself, and winning to me would mean I had done the absolute best I could. I needed a different perspective from someone who had been through what I had. The solo challenge was such an internal experience, and it was hard to explain to others what I was going through, so I knew that talking to Kobus would serve as a voice of reason.

My phone rang, and pulled me out of contemplation. Some conversations remain etched in one’s memory forever, and this would be one of them…

I explained to Kobus that I was torn between putting the final climb on hold until the following morning or pushing on into the night. He assured me that my mental fatigue and burnt-out state were completely normal. The strain of driving such an enormous distance and hiking alone had put me under immense pressure, and I should not be too hard on myself.

With great insight and serenity, Kobus asked me to consider if it was worth the risk, and that no one including myself in years to come, would care about how many days it had taken to complete. This solo challenge was far greater than that, it was a journey within, and you had to make it your own, whatever you chose that to be. (As I write this, I struggle to remember how long it took me to complete the challenge, as I have taken so much more from the experience, that it now seems strangely irrelevant).

His impassioned description of his hometown of Uniondale and the immense beauty of the Klein Karoo, made me feel like I was an honoured guest in one of the most beautiful regions on earth. He invited me to consider taking a slow drive through the Seweweekspoort pass and savouring the journey, and I imagined myself driving the route as if I were on holiday.

This was exactly what I needed to hear. He had given me permission to be kind to myself and enjoy my trip to the fullest. Suddenly I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders and I knew that postponing the climb until the next day was the safest decision.

I stopped in Oudtshoorn, picked up a couple of meals from a local restaurant, and slowly meandered my way to a guesthouse just up the road from the final peak.

At the base of Seweweekspoort Peak, I stopped my car, climbed out, and gazed up at its all too familiar rock-strewn slopes. It looked deceptively straightforward from this distance, and as always breathtakingly beautiful. The next day’s meeting felt like a scene from an old Cowboy movie, with the inevitable showdown at dawn. It felt surreal to finally be facing peak number nine and I acknowledged that the personal cost to reach this point had been extensive.

Before sunrise the following morning, I found myself standing in front of a locked farm gate and realized this hike would start with a climb over a shiny, new barbed wire fence. It somehow seemed in keeping with the harsh yet magnificent beauty of the mountain. Every step was a careful one, as I negotiated jagged, rocky terrain and found that almost every plant was covered in some kind of thorny defence. Although it was only 4km to the summit from the base of the mountain, the elevation gain was 1100m over that distance, which made for a long steep climb, that involved careful navigation to avoid any impasses.

After several hours of hiking, I gazed up at the stratified sedimentary rock cliffs and realised I was only a few hundred meters from the beacon that marked the summit. It was an exhilarating moment as I stepped onto the final stretch of boulders, and I knew that victory was within my reach.

As I took the final step toward the beacon, my legs collapsed under me, and I felt a wave of relief. I had never experienced a greater sense of achievement in my life. The completion of this goal was not just the end of an arduous journey, but a testament to my perseverance and determination. Now, as I stood at the pinnacle of the final peak, all the hardship had been worth it. The view was breathtaking, and it mirrored the triumph within me.

It was incredibly gratifying to know that I had done my absolute best, and left every part of myself out there on those mountains.

Many people have asked what motivated me to climb these peaks, and willingly endure such hardship, especially alone. The answer is simply that I considered this to be one of the greatest hiking achievements of my life. I never wanted to look back, and feel dissatisfied that I hadn’t given my absolute all to this sport and to the mountains which I love so dearly. I needed to know what it meant to give everything. The only way I could be in complete control of the outcome and have no regrets was doing it alone. And of course, the opportunity of being the first woman to ever achieve 9 Peaks Solo captured my imagination.

I have realised that we are all much stronger than we think, and largely underestimate our capabilities. The fear of the unknown should never limit your dreams and understand that there is magic in self-belief.

This experience has changed me, and I feel that I have been freed from the past, and stepped into the next chapter of my life. I have found peace, and this door can finally be closed.

Ultimately, we all go in search of ourselves, hope to face our fears, gain self-knowledge, and experience the pure joy of being alive.

Distance hiked: 178km

Elevation climbed: 8606m

Distance Driven: 4300km

Duration: 7 Days, 12 hours and 19 minutes

The post 9 Peaks Women’s Solo Challenge- part 2 first appeared on Khulu Mountain Co..

9 Peaks Women’s Solo Challenge- part 1

Evadnee Le Goff — Fri, 01 Dec 2023 17:21:36 +0000

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.

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Green Fields for Biking

Evadnee Le Goff — Fri, 24 Dec 2021 10:55:19 +0000

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Summer in New Zealand

Evadnee Le Goff — Fri, 24 Dec 2021 10:54:02 +0000

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River Activities

Evadnee Le Goff — Fri, 24 Dec 2021 10:50:40 +0000

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