Bovineiterology

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Bovineiterology [boh-vahyn-ahy-tair-ol-uh-jee] Noun: The study of paths or trails created by cows. Origin: Latin, English and Xhosa. Early 21th century: coined in English by Leo Thesen, via Xhosa mythology drawing on “Bovine” relating to cattle, “iter” relating to paths or trails and ”ology” being a subject of study.

Fred, Damo and I embarked on a fastpacking adventure through the Transkei in the back end of August. We began at Port St Johns, heading down the coast towards Kei Mouth. All in all it was truly an incredible adventure and a source for many stories. Initially I thought about writing a single long story, but I felt that it would not manage to adequately depict all the narratives and themes that we encountered along the way. Therefore I decided to pay homage to my mother and write a series of short stories; each to give you a glimpse of the journey from a different vantage point. And maybe then you can begin to better piece together the full picture.

My previous blog post titled Bovineiterology preparation provides an overview that could be considered appropriate pre-reading. It also makes a couple estimations at total distance and average pace that turned out to be slightly off. Not that it was ever going to be about the statistics though.

Was it a life changing journey? Absolutely. Am I a different person from it? Probably. What happened? Great question; listen to this set and begin reading - enjoy.

A soundtrack while you read

The play

It’s opening night. The crowd fills the auditorium with a collective murmur that seems to come from the walls. Three actors fiddle with things backstage, eager for curtain call. They are not nervous, they know that they are simply distractions for the audience. The real stars of this show are the elaborate props and sets that the expert stage hands assemble and morph over the course of the performance.

The applaud deafens. A single light source, as bright as the sun, begins its trajectory over the crowd from the back row. The three actors enter the stage, they take their positions and begin to run. Disguised treadmills mean that they remain in place, the stage hands dressed all in black begin moving the props past them and the audience see the rolling hills of the Transkei caress the three as they move through them.

The play doesn’t have any spoken word, the landscape says enough. Towering green hills with cliffs beyond vertical erupt out of an enormous ocean. The hills extend inland as far as the eye can see. Thick trees and bushes appear resembling pubic hair in the crevices between the crossed legs of the landscape.

Hills grow and shrink. Flat beaches fill the entire stage and whales blast into view and disappear just as quickly. Enormous blue pieces of fabric explode into white as they hit the rocks. And all the while the three run - their backs to the crowd. Yet whenever one of them turns around there is an enormous grin on their face.

The dense jungle and towering hills are replaced by expansive green landscapes with flowers that bounce in the wind. At this point the audience don’t even see the stage hands moving the props around, they are engrossed in the evolving landscape.

Rondavels spin on their axes with static domestic scenes surrounding them. Puppet dogs rush at the runners and are subdued by the one with a mullet. As the sun disappears in a burst of red and orange the three stop running, slip into sleeping bags and the stage hands leave the imposing green hills static in the golden light for a period of time.

Then the sun suddenly rises again behind the audience, catching a few people off guard who gasp. The sun moves quicker this time and the runners take their positions and begin to jog once again. Beaches replace hills that replace forrest that replace rivers replacing arid flat grasslands.

The sun rises and falls several more times, each time speeding up slightly. The audience with eyes locked on the three characters experience tunnel vision as the props of the landscape rush past in an ever changing display of greens, blues, yellows, browns and grey.

The sun pauses during the golden light of sunrise and sunset. The three move about and admire the scenery in these beautiful moments of limbo. Time dilates with the sun, dictating the pace of life.

Suddenly it’s done. The sun does not rise again and the cast link hands for their bow and ovation. I walk out the auditorium get into my car rather bewildered, left with a sense of wonder at the ever evolving landscape of the beautiful Transkei.

As the crow flies

I am the crow as it flies. I dictate the shortest distance between two points. I scan the coast and rule the skies. I’m interested yet aloof. I see everything.

I see three humans arrive in Port St Johns. They are noisy and spend some time making a mess of things on the ground near the car, then repacking smaller bags. They disappear inside some houses at night and I roost nearby.

I’m awake when the roosters begin to call. The three men are nowhere to be seen. I scavenge on the road and I almost miss them as they run away. Why are they running? Are they in danger I ask myself? I sore overhead, the wind behind me. Large cliffs offer drafts that carry me high. I see the Transkei expanding out underneath me. Corduroy hills come to rest in the ocean.

They move quickly and then stop for a while, oscillating between those two states. They change their colours and do something in the ocean. I’m confused by their erratic starting and stopping - they’re unlike other humans I’ve seen.

As the day draws on they climb and descend many large hills. They run down long beaches, climb hills only to run down them again. Why do they choose such a challenging way of traversing the coast? A few small houses appear and they try to break in, the one with yellow hair manages to get inside the one. A fire starts and they move around aimlessly like ants for a few hours. I find something to eat and return at dusk to find them sleeping out in the open, in the depths of a valley that will become deathly cold tonight - stupid humans.

The sun rises and the humans are no longer in the valley. I see them emerge from one of the bungalows, I screech with laughter to which one of them looks up at me with confusion. Before long they begin climbing and descending huge hills again, are they doing this for fun? The sun rises high and they begin to slow down. They hide out under some bushes in the middle of the day. Later they stop at a dead whale, don’t they know that it’s not safe to eat? That evening when they arrive at another cluster of rondavels.

These humans have no pattern - I can’t work them out. When the sun rises on the third day of following them they do not run until the sun is at its highest. I watch them closely and they don’t scavenge any food either. They walk quickly down the beach, cross a river and begin climbing hills again. They reach a rondavel with the dogs that don’t belong here then turn around and head down the cliffs, then turn around again and head off in the original direction. I lose interest for a while and then find them that evening in a small village full of people.

The sun rises and now they begin moving quickly up and down the grassy hills. Several smaller humans join them for a while until they reach the big rock with a hole in it that I love flying through. Finally a pattern! When the sun is at its highest they take refuge from the heat in a building and leave once it is cooler again.

Two dogs join them with excitement. They yell at the humans for food but the humans don’t listen. I begin to get frustrated at the selfish three. They touch the dogs a lot and the dogs tell them to continue scratching. They begin walking along beaches again and the dogs follow.

The male dog starts telling the humans that he needs to go home - they continue walking. Eventually the dog tells the female one that he’s done with these humans and runs home. The female dog follows them until they reach a house with lots of humans. Some more generous humans give the female dog some food and she then breaks her alliance with the three. At night there is a big fire that scares away all the nearby animals.

These humans with no habit leave the house long before the sun rises. I only realise this because they make a noise under the tree that I’m roosting in. They move down the beach quickly with the sun rising behind them. At the end of the beach is a river that they move up and down anxiously. They turn white, then swim across the river multiple times. On the other bank they become colourful again and continue moving down the beach.

Now they throw things to each other, running backwards and forwards for no apparent reason, wasting energy. They throw rocks into the sea too. The rocks bounce a few times. Maybe they are fishing? I anticipate their break in a building when the sun is high. I find a few things to eat near the kitchen and then spot them climbing into a car that drives incredibly fast and recklessly through the trees then abruptly stops by a river. The people bring a long yellow thing out the car and use it to cross the river, taking one over each time.

The three continue on along the beach, moving at a constant speed. The sun dips low and they stop. They pick up pieces of wood, make a pile and then set it on fire. I’m shocked that these humans are doing this, but luckily the fire does not spread. They sit around it for many hours and go to sleep next to the ashes. I pick up a scrap or two of a strange food they were eating.

The sun finally rises over them and them with it. Before long they leave again. Today I am bored, I fly ahead often and scavenge until they catch up with me. The sun is going down and I’m sitting on a pole near a house that I expect them to reach before dark, they are nowhere to be seen. Then I spot them on the other side of the river - rather than changing colours and going through the river like before they head away from the ocean on a long detour before finally arriving below me and my pole.

The sun rises for the last time and they begin acting differently. They move around franticly and get into a white box that makes a lot of noise when it moves. I follow them for some time to the village where they then don’t move for a while. They get into a silver box with loud music and head away from the ocean I decide and that this is when I leave them. I fly back to Port St Johns, as the crow flies, and it only takes me a day; why didn’t they do the same?

The dogs

Dogs are almost as common as cows along the Wild Coast. Some domesticated and trained to protect livestock. Others sleep in the sun outside rondavels - well fed and content. Most roam the hills endlessly, scavenging and surviving off the land. Three dogs formed part of the Bovineiterology adventure: Terrence, Paul and Jeanine (pictured above).

I did not grow up with dogs, but feel calm around them. Yet the dogs of the Transkei threatened me. I had a few intimidating encounters while running alone around the Mdumbi area before the trip that led me to warn Fred and Damo of the hounds. Damo, who is “part dog” (his words), assured me that we would be absolutely fine. And fine we were.

The first notable dog that we came across was Terrence. Terrence was on the opposite river bank - howling at us - as we waited for a boat to take us across. Terrence did not have a name at this point in time, and I was slightly unsure as to whether he wanted to come to our side of the river, eat us or simply play.

Terrence - not the dog, but a human with a boat - kindly lifted us across the river. Upon arriving on the other side we decide to honour him by naming the howling dog Terrence. Terrence - the dog - was enamoured by us and only wanted love. Unfortunately he wasn’t a big fan of running and disappeared into a bush without us noticing, never to be seen again.

The odd dog or two appeared from time to time, but none stuck around. That was until we met Paul and Jeanine. They came out of nowhere like bats out of hell, or like dogs out of the Transkei hills. They jumped at me and Damo and licked us incessantly, until we realised that Jeanine had recently eaten human faeces.

They both were good natured and more than happy to run alongside us for hours on end. Each time we stopped they would play with limitless energy. I put Damo on the spot (with the camera in his face) and asked him to name the pair. From that moment on we became quite emotionally attached to them.

Jeanine had teats and probably had had puppies at some point this year. Paul seemed to really love her - we wondered if they had puppies together. Paul was definitely a bit more wild than Jeanine and often went a little bit crazy while playing. Jeanine was more of a run-next-to-you-without-trying-to-nibble-your-ankle kind of dog; contrary to Paul.

We were running down a long beach that would take us to Bulungula to spend the night when Paul started acting crazy. His normal playing with Jeanine turned slightly aggressive, and he lunged at Damo or my ankles occasionally. After a while we began to think that something might be up with Paul; at that moment he stopped dead still and his barking ceased, he looked us in the eye and sprinted away in the direction from which we had come. After running for a few hundred meters he stopped again, considered his actions for a while and then continued running away. Never to be seen again.

The pair had followed us for over 20km. Jeanine’s demeanour became more sullen after Paul had left, Damo and I felt her pain.

Jeanine arrived at Bulungula with us but did not accompany us the next day. She found some American tourists who fed and loved her. We would be leaving early in the morning the next day and after discussing it at dinner we thought that it would be best to slip out without her. A heartbreaking moment.

Paul and Jeanine seemed like such incredible additions into the Bovineiterology plot line, I just refused to believe that their story was over.

The people

Travelling is always made special by the people. Here are few notable characters that we met along the way:

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Two women living in a hut on a hill We were heading from Mdumbi to Coffee Bay. As we crested a hill the small village surrounding us continued to expand downwards towards the valley below. Then we saw probably the strangest sight that we ever laid eyes upon in the Transkei: someone hitting golf balls. As we got closer the scene became stranger. She was sinewy, heavily tattooed and had a rich East London accent. Her partner was thick set. They had two Yorkshire Terriers which could not have looked more out of place amongst the Transkei hounds.

They told us to head back to find the Mapuzi caves. As we had the time and dared not defy the universal order, we turned around and made for the caves. Unfortunately, they were inaccessible at that stage due to the tide - we headed back. When we arrive at their hut again they were busy assisting construction of their roof. We’re talking to them again when the two terriers come out, perfectly manicured, and begin humping each other at our feet. They spoke about their lives back in Gauteng and how they have moved here permanently. She told us how all their golf balls got lost in the long grass so now she just practices her swing. The two women yell “DOWN FIFI” at the humping dogs and wish us on our way.

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Zameke Zameke manages the bar at the Coffee Shack. She takes no shit. She gives a lot of it. Zameke is sassier than anyone I’ve ever met. She has wit to match her sarcasm. She teases but doesn’t hurt. Zameke is absolutely terrible at pool. She hits the white ball without aiming as hard as possible. She somehow sinks a lot of balls - usually her opponent’s.

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Nocawe It all begins with a casual toss of a machete. We enter a village after walking inland through the heat of the day for far too long. We need a swim and coffee. We spot Nocawe working in her back garden, yielding a huge machete. When we ask her for directions she looks at us with a comical grin and twinkle in the eye. ”I will show you, come with me” she says. And then, in one beautifully simple and elegant motion throws the machete over her shoulder and the garden fence without looking back. She had lived her whole life on that hill and joked that she expected to die there. She showed the spot where she wanted to build her new house. It has a million dollar view. She walks us a few kilometres to a fork in the road with confidence and ease. She may have had a soft spot for Fred. At the fork she points us in the direction we should go and they walks back home with a wave.

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A man with a both a belly and a gun We were making coffee on the banks of a beautiful river. We sat around enjoying the sun when one of us asked if that man in the distance was carrying a gun. He walked towards us with an enormous rifle over his shoulder and two small children at his knees. He had a belly to match the size of his gun. He comes up to us and with a huge smile launches into conversation. Then he stops, give the gun to one of the children with a brief Xhosa phrase in a kind voice sends them on their way, then continues talking to us about rugby He tells us about growing up here and how times have changed. He uses the gun to shoot monkeys. After a delightful ten minute conversation he wonders off to find the children with his gun.

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Howard

Howard is almost 70. He was born here in 1953. He moved to Johannesburg in 1972 to work deep underground in the gold mines. After one too many fights, he moved to Simonstown in 1980 to work for the navy. He moved back home to retire here a few years ago. He now lives here with his wife, taunts the fish and looks after the grandchildren. His body is lean and his muscles are knotted. His handsomeness radiates through a hard, lined face. There is a fatherliness to him. He didn’t go to school, but the English that he learnt from his kids is good. We joined him on his way home and he showed us across the river. I would have loved to hear more of his rich story. He is was a genuinely kind man, and hard enough inside to be soft outside. (We also learnt from him that the river at that point was not point deeper than waist height - even at high tide).

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Andrew Andrew was standing behind a large window watching Damo and I arrive at Bulungula. Fred stood next to him with three beers, welcoming our arrival. He asked questions directly and abruptly without much tact. His demeanour, way of speaking and vibe would be best equated to a pessimistic Murray Hewitt. Things are a bit off at first but we don’t really give it much thought - we’re just happy to be relaxing at the end of a long day. The backpackers is full tonight and he charges us R150 to sleep on the grass outside, we agree but know that we’re going to find a way to sleep inside for that price. He tells us how he has come out of retirement - after a long career as a hotelier - to help Bulungula recover after COVID. We see the merit in that and begin to warm up to him. My regard slowly starts to decline as I pick up on pieces of conversation that he’s having with the staff; micromanagement meets belittling. And when we sneak inside to sleep in an unused room we hear the staff talking behind his back, basically planning a sort of mutiny. Then I slip back into feeling a bit sorry for him - I do think that his heart was in the right place, but his execution a bit off.

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Lizanne Lizanne came running through Wild Lubansi in pursuit of her small child who was sitting on the lap of her husband driving a car. She flashed us a smile and said she would be back. Fred and I were blown away by how her skin seemed to radiate health. She wasn’t young but somehow seemed more youthful than most. She managed the backpackers with an energy that we had not seen anywhere else in the Transkei. Setting up a theatre for the local community and basically rebuilding the whole of Wild Lubansi during COVID all the while raising a toddler and young child. Did she have a secret skincare routine we asked. Anything with Rooibos in it was her response.

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Ian, Leanne and Damien Ok, this is going to be a long one - but I can assure you that it is one of the most important stories for me. It starts about a month before in Mdumbi: I had been staying at the backpackers for quite a while when Ian, Leanne and Damien came walking in. They wear rasta pants and painted t-shirts. They are slim, but not in a healthy way. As people they are engaging and warm. Their journey is enormous; walking the entire South African coastline from the Mozambique border to Namibia promoting their cannabis infused oil named Africanna. Ian and Leanne are a couple. Damien is somewhat part of the family. Ian talks more than the others, mostly by force. He was a plumber in Johannesburg for forty years before a skin cancer scare caused him to discover the miraculous powers of cannabis oil. Hence the passion with which they promote their products. I have found little Africanna stickers on almost every backpacker fridge in the Transkei. Will this audacious marketing stunt work? Well I’m writing about it - so maybe there is something to it. After we parted ways in Mdumbi I had a hunch that their story was not finished. So when Fred, Damo and I walked into Coffee Bay on the third day of the trip I was not surprised when Damien greeted us from the door of the rather dilapidated backpackers next to Coffee Shack. He wasn’t looking - or walking - too good. He seemed to be slightly injured but his radiating happiness still shone strong. He attempted to get us to come stay with him in the half finished dorm that he was helping renovate. We politely declined with a white lie that we already had a booking at the Coffee Shack. I didn’t manage to ask why he had parted ways with Leanne and Ian - but he told me to wish them well if I saw them down the coast. Then on our last night of the journey when we walked into Tribal Retreat, tired and relieved after a long day I was relieved to see Ian and Leanne waving at me from the restaurant. During dinner we all had a few beers and the conversation managed to tie together a story far beyond anything that I could have imagined. I queued it in by mentioning that we saw Damien in Coffee Bay and that he sends his love. Ian erupted into story of how a European woman had been following their walk on social media and had decided to leave everything to and come and join. She had met them in Coffee Bay and immediately adopted a young puppy. This caused some drama as there was no way that this dog would be able to walk all the way to Namibia with them. There may or may not have been something that materialised between Damien and the European woman, but from what I could infer she decided to stay in Coffee Bay and the other three set off walking down the coast. Two dogs joined them on the walk with enthusiasm - as dogs do in the Transkei. But things turned nasty when the dogs attacked a couple of sheep, causing them to fall off a cliff to their death. Believe it or not this happens quite often. And the bush telegraph spreads the message quickly. The owner of the sheep promptly arrived to collect the R4000 that Ian, Leanne and Damien owed him for killing his sheep. They tried to argue that the dogs did not belong to them but he wasn’t having any of it. Damien wanted to go back to Coffee Bay to settle the dispute but Ian and Leanne disagreed. A rift emerged over this and caused them to go their separate ways. Damien paid the shepherd and began volunteering to help rebuild the neglected backpackers in Coffee Bay, Ian and Leanne continued their audacious walk. I had a glint in my eye and a concealed smile when I asked Leanne to describe the two dogs that had killed the sheep, I had just the slightest hunch as to who it may be. I managed to slip Damo just the slightest look of bewilderment without giving anything away when she perfectly described Paul and Jeanine.

Backgammon and adaption

The rules of backgammon are fairly simple. The strategies behind a game are limited. But the analogies that the game holds for life are abundant. Each turn yields a roll of two random dice that only allow you to focus on your current situation, hold in mind your underlying strategy and make the best two moves for that moment. It’s a game that you can lose yet still be proud of yourself for making the most of each turn. Playing life as if it were a backgammon game could be equated to living a mindful existence. You are dealt random circumstances by the infinite inputs into each moment and all you can do is make the most of each moment. Surrendering to the fact that you cannot control the roll of the dice is liberating. The roll of the dice could be utterly terrible, but you can remain proud of yourself that you played your turn as best as was possible in that moment. It’s somewhat of a philosophy I live by.

Midway through the second day of the trip my left iliotibial band (ITB) started showing signs of irritation. I had gone through quite a few months of dealing with ITB syndrome (ITBS) on my right hand side earlier that year and had learned a lot from it. I believe my reaction to the left ITBS was in line with a well played backgammon hand.

My right ITB issue was due to some rather ambitious training ahead of a truly audacious goal of running the 100km ultramarathon at UTD. It occurred only a couple of weeks before the race and I decided to change my entry to the 62km route that spanned the five day Giant’s Cup hiking trail in a single go. Ahead of the race I was still not able to run without pain so I changed tactics to see how fast I could walk; I found that I was quite adept at a “powerhike” that was fast enough to see me through the midway cutoff. I ended up having more fun than most of the runners and finishing in just over fourteen hours. It was a get out of jail free card that I held in the face of ITBS going forward.

When my left ITB threatened to turn the Bovineiterology run into a UTD-esque powerhike I definitely observed a few thoughts of frustration, anger and regret - but there truly was nothing else to do but to observe them and let them pass away. I was not sure how bad the ITB pain would get, so we decided to take it easy the following day; only walking from Mdumbi to Coffee Bay. During this walk I moved as quickly as I could, knowing that if I could maintain 12 minutes/km while moving it would be roughly equivalent to a slow run with many stops - which would be enough. I didn’t tell the others that I had reconciled to tap out at Coffee Bay if the walk didn’t go well to allow them to run the remainder of the coast without me. Luckily the trusty UTD powerhike worked like a charm.

Pain is almost always associated with negative connotations for most people. Pain is pain, and it is bad - this is somewhat of the general consensus. Weirdly enough the ITB issue and the UTD powerhike began building a new appreciation for pain and how to use it.

I see pain as being the language of the body. It is a source of information from parts of your being. The simple act of self propelled movement through space with a perfectly able body usually yields no pain. When issues in your body arise they have the remarkable ability to let us know what is wrong.

There is a spectrum of pain, of which listening to and understanding it is lost art. I had four and a half days of studying the pain during the run that I truly believe will change my relationship with my body for life. I wouldn’t call myself an expert in any way, but maybe one day there will be a painology article published.

It started with a sharp, precise, slightly electric tingle on the outside of my left knee. I had learned that this was a sign of inflammation in the fluid filled sack over which the iliotibial band should freely slide. Scientifically speaking it’s caused by two muscles on the hip contracting under stress, pulling the ITB tighter and hence the increased friction on the sack. Counterintuitively these stressed muscles are caused by my inner thigh and glutes being weak.

As the inflammation worsened the pain became too much to continue running. Now stop and regard this; it is analogous to your body changing from a gentle voice of “there is an issue on the outside of your left knee” to all the warning lights coming on and a scream of “THERE IS AN ISSUE ON THE OUTSIDE OF YOUR LEFT KNEE”. It’s information that allows you to adapt. Simply changing from a run to fast walk ceases the alarm and only a dull sense of discomfort emerges from the affected area.

Adaption can draw comparisons to evolution within a lifetime, or even within a few seconds. A potential root of the ITB issue was sloped beaches over which we were running; the left food slightly lower than the right, elongating the left ITB. Adaption is the key to life, it is one of humanity’s greatest tools. Throughout the rest of the run I subtly adapted my walking gait and technique in searching for that perfect balance that yielded the least distress signals from the body over the ever changing terrain.

Western civilisation is terrified of adaption. They condemn the body once it loses its youthful blueprint. It’s something to question. I met a man in Indonesia that fell out of a coconut tree, and to make it all worse, his machete did the same - landing on his leg. If I tell you that he was climbing up that coconut tree later that day using only one leg would you call him a fool? Granted he couldn’t afford to stop collecting coconuts, but he adapted to his circumstances; playing his backgammon hand as best he could.

All theory no practice Leo. True. If I were to do the run again I would not just train the running muscles but rather be holistically strong, with the knowledge that I would never be able to keep up perfect form the entire way. Train such that you have options when you need to adapt.

On the last day I was walking down an enormous hill; having to zigzag to minimise the amount of bending that was required by my left knee. I saw a dog chasing something - with an injured leg suspended below it. I doubt that the dog was filled with anxiety about losing its quadrupedal status, it was simply adapting to the random dice that life had rolled. I smiled and hobbled my way to the finish.

Tans-Transkei

The following are excerpts from Fred’s journal.

Right now we’re lying by a fire. We are in a slight valley, covered in green, on the beach at shark point. The sky is deep blue. The stars shine and cluster. This is a great way to touch that primal self - that status in which we lived for most of mankind’s existence. And to feel the sea breeze.

We had long slog today. The most notable thing was the incredibly kind and interesting people of the Transkei. One couple came from Johannesburg with their daughter. Their other daughter couldn’t make it because she was on hockey tour. A beautiful family.

Terrence is a recycler from Pietermaritzburg. His wife (a cross-fit professional) and extended family are all there. He gave us a lift over the river when our ferryman was away on a drunken escapade - we met him later, stumbling down the hill as we climbed out the valley, rather confused as to how we had crossed the river without him.

We met three young French hikers at the Kraal backpackers. ‘Well done’ I thought as I admired their adventurous spirit in a foreign country.

And then, of course, the animals. Glazey eyed goats; stoic, sinewy dogs; imperturbable cattle; and innocent new-born calves.

That evening we sat down for an amazing meal of vegetables and mince. A Swiss couple, especially the girl, made quite an impression. She is a doctor, and he is a geographer and they travel frequently. The mixture of adding so much value to the world, while filling their lives with rich personal experience was an inspiration.

Our morning in Mdumbi was beautiful. The backpackers has an air of total relaxation. Bring your own watercolours, books and surf board. We ate TWO breakfast wraps each!

Coffee bay was lovey. I had the best soup I have ever tasted. I also ran into a very rare vein of form in our pool game and whipped all challengers who dared to oppose my righteous cue.

Coffee bay to hole-in-the-wall stands out for its steep hills. We arrived at Wild Lubanzi backpackers in good spirits at midday. The place has a unique look which I tried to capture in a watercolour - frugal but expansive architecture. It’s run by a beautiful couple and their young son. They struck me as a family looking for and finding purpose in the Transkei. Industrious lot that.

We started our second leg in the golden afternoon glow and came across what we all agreed was the most beautiful part of coast we had experienced. Large grassy hills turned into shear stony cliffs and tumbled into secret hidden beaches. Beautiful running.

Margo is a ex-Londoner who came back to live in her favourite place. Louis is older - an ex Stellies student and a bio farmer way before his time. He tells stories, she makes jokes. They have found each other.

Trips like this don’t change you. You remain the person you were before. The same habits, the same things that worry you. But it does create a break in the system. A little bit of time to stop doing things you always do.

This trip wasn’t about speed or running or suffering. It was about long strolls entangled between thought and empty brains. It was about rollies at beautiful spots; not knowing what was round the next hill; and the curiosity of knowing you were about to learn what had brought you and this new stranger together.

Words of the day:

Umlambo (river).

Unxaniwe (thirsty).

Ihlengesi (dolphin).

Umnenga (whale).

Nceda (help)

The end

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Go around rather than over, Choose hard rather than soft. I am risk averse. But the grass is best on a precarious cliff. You see my tracks; follow me. You’re learning Bovineiterology.

“Why did we do this?” A question that quite a few people asked us. There are many answers to this simple question. The final entries from Fred’s journal are a beautiful summation of the human experience factors that make a long journey like this so special. I didn’t really embark on answering prior questions that I had, rather thrived in finding answers to questions that had not yet appeared. The one question that I did have was “what is the coastline like in between the few areas that I knew in the Transkei”. Filling in the blanks along this truly spectacular stretch of coast was one of the most enjoyable elements of this adventure.

Entering a state of mind free of the usual thoughts characterising human existence is joy of mine. There is nothing like a very long run through nature to allow you to slowly slip into an existence where watching the landscape evolve around you and listing to the language of your body is all that occupies your mind; It’s primal.

And finally it’s about people. The people you meet along the way, the small insights into their lives and the questions that they ask that bring new perspectives into yours. And the people who come along with you; Damo, Fred and I shared an experience that will last - and in some way, define - a lifetime. Friendships were magnified and a deep appreciation for the Transkei was shared by all.

And finally, here is some footage that can help you piece together the full story.

Expand this to view the stats for all you Strava-holics

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Total distance: 158.43 km Total ascent: 2982 m Moving time: 49 hours Average pace: 18.6 minutes/km Total farts: ♾️

Bovineiterology will live on. The Wild Coast has a firm grasp on my heart and I will return there many times without a second thought for the rest of my days. Will we do this adventure again? Maybe. A new adventure is in the pipeline though, a run from between Port St Johns and Port Edward. The last section of this special coastline that the cows have lovingly been walking for centuries. Maybe next year though - have a rest.

With love,

Leo