Relentless forward progression

With the lack of running that I’m going to be able to do I have promised that I will embody the motto of a 100 mile runner that I met at UTD: “Relentless forward progression”. We are heading off aiming to get quite far today.

Coffee and oats accompany a conversation about sports and broccoli. We get a second coffee for good measure at the bar and ask to fill my flask up with coffee for the road. We trek off out of Coffee Bay heading for Hole In The Wall. Unfortunately we were warned by many people about tsotsis around the area who have been mugging tourists. Fred, Damo and I act on this warning to varying degrees. Fred is the most concerned, I’m pretty concerned and Damo is absolutely unfazed.

As we leave the Coffee Bay area a group of five children tag along; they say that they know the way to Hole In The Wall. I think that they are a bit surprised by how fast we are walking on the flats and climbs, many of them having to run occasionally to catch up. They are even more confused when I have to slowly wind my way down the grassy slopes.

We get to a waterfall and they begin furiously whistling. My slight anxiety about the crime flares up and I wonder if they are letting people know that we are descending into a narrow path with jungle on either side. The children say that they are scaring dassies and getting them to run around. I guess that for tourists a dassie would be quite a novel African experience, yet for the three of us I think we regard dassies in a similar category to pigeons, so we don’t really believe their answer.

Anxiety seems to be unwarranted in this situation as we arrive at Hole In The Wall without any issues. Fred gives them a convincing half-Xhosa half-English little chat about how much we thank them for taking us here, but that we are going to carry on on our own now. They don’t leave until R20 is handed to them - to a degree its a shame, but I understand that this is how tourism affects areas sometimes.

Damo flat out refuses the offer of a quick photo and some more relentless forward progression. He is rightly resolute that this is one of those places in South Africa that many people speak about and travel to and he will sit and enjoy it here. Chafe from the previous days quell the desire to swim, but we share some Eat Some More’s and the feeling of not being safe drifts away with the sugar.

The big hills start. Each one larger than the other with sheer climbs on either side. In-between these hills are an arrangement of rivers, beaches, rocky shores and grassy plains. It’s truly incredible coastline and proves to be an incredibly enjoyable powerhike.

I have twinges of pain but I’ve really managed to find a harmony with it. I’m finding that I almost have a limited number of sore moments before I have to give it some time to for inflammation to go down again. The hills are actually really good going for me provided that they aren’t too steep, and the constant attention that I have to give to my gait - along with the beautiful scenery - mean that the hours pass in a flash.

We come across a thick wall of agave plants. It turns out to be an organic fence around the perimeter of some local farm land. Inside they are growing a variety of crops and vegetables. Two goats have beaten the system and happily much away on something.

Hills take turns with beach and the distance and time passes effortlessly. Wild Lubanzi appears on the horizon and we push through the midday heat to find some shelter. The backpackers is really beautiful - rustic with organic shapes mostly created using driftwood and stone. There are a few people staying here and I am offered the first puff of a vape in a long time.

The owner of the backpackers arrives - on a mission. She’s tall and fit, Fred observes how her skin glows with health. She runs past us with a phone to film a child driving a car down the road. When she returns she welcomes us and makes us at home. We help ourselves to drinks and snacks from the shop and put a Mama Alles Jolof rice on the boil. We bulk it up with butter beans and some tuna.

Damo settles in for a sleep, and after drifting off for about a minute the other owner of the backpackers returns with a young child and a toddler who get very involved with a squeaky toy - no sleeping is possible. The child’s name is Akira and he sets up an elaborate game of delivery man using a toy truck to deliver various possessions amongst our group.

I do the good deed of cutting my toenails, an ingrown big toe would provide a source of pain that would be less fun to live with right now. The ITB pain has been present but absolutely manageable today, I have confidence that I’m going to be able to powerhike my through the rest of the trip with ease.

We cash up with Lizanne and Adrian and say farewell to the children. Back on the CCCs Damo observes that Bovineiterology is analogous to snakes and ladders - with some paths advancing your progress and others setting you back.

Two dogs come running to greet us. They appear out of the long grass like land bound sharks, only their head and tail visible. A female brown dog with a breath of human excrement and a male of similar colouring featuring large white spots who is bristling with excitement. They run with boundless energy and are both experts in the field of Bovineiterology.

We trek through the rolling hills and sprawling beaches. The light fades into a golden hue that accentuates the natural beauty. Instagram filters cover our eyes and every glance is a viral photo of beauty.

As we draw near to our destination for tonight, Bulungula Lodge, Fred alludes to a run. I encourage him to absolutely send it, but remain resolute that my powerhike is my best mode of transport. The sun is setting and the lodge is in the distance. The dogs have followed us for over 25km at this point and we decide that it’s time to name them: Jeanine and Paul don their respective titles with grace and a smell of poo.

The two dogs haven’t shown the slightest hint of weakness yet. They refuse our water, opting only to drink from stagnant puddles mostly consisting of cow shit. They run without stop, I imagine that they have easily covered 35km at this point with all of their exploratory detours.

A rocky cliff requires some climbing to descend to a long beach that leads us to the lodge. Damo and I get down, Jeanine follows us with some difficulty and the three of us watch as Paul begins to get anxious about being left behind. We slowly walk away and he decides to throw caution to the wind and clumsily fall down the rocks to join us.

I’ve known that we were going to pick up some dogs at some point. Many people have told me that it is a bad idea as the roaming dogs of the Transkei are known to occasionally kill sheep to which the Shepard’s reclaim their lost livestock with a currency of R1000 per sheep. Paul and Jeanine have been docile and friendly - I don’t have too many concerns.

On the beach Paul’s demeanour suddenly changes. He’s noticeably agitated and begins showing signs of aggression towards Jeanine. He nips at our ankles and barks incessantly. Damo and I find it rather strange and comedic. Then suddenly he looks us right in the eye, growls slightly, then turns and sprints back in the direction that he came from.

A few hundred meters away he stops, barks and circles incessantly. His mind is once again made up - he sprints off into the golden light, not to be seen again. Jeanine is relatively unfazed by this and follows at our side. I wonder how often these dogs roam the coast, using hikers as busses from backpackers to backpackers.

At the foot of the lodge is a small river. Shoes come off and we cross. Jeanine is unsure for a while then follows us. We see Fred up in the lodge with another man by his side, standing behind a large window.

The lodge sits on the bank of a beautiful river and grassy headland. It’s truly beautiful and isolated. Fred welcomes us with two beers and while the figure watches ominously behind the glass. As we enter he introduces himself as Andrew and asks questions directly without much emotion or concern. He says that the lodge is full tonight but we can camp outside for R150 each.

We order dinner at the lodge and go for a shower. Fred is so excited to show us how it works. Follow me he says:

Grab a small bottle of paraffin

Unroll a toilet roll five times

Pour the paraffin in this vessel and place it at the bottom of this large metal cylinder

Place the toilet paper on top

Light the paraffine

Open the tap that sends water through the jet of flames

Enjoy

It’s a pretty incredible system and offers a warm shower for nearly ten minutes. Apparently it’s a mission to clean though…

Jeanine sits patiently outside and as a tour bus pulls in. Around fifteen American tourists throng around us - talking intently in groups. The three of us sit outside and reflect on the day, we play rose (a highlight), rose, thorn (a lowlight) and bud (something that you’re excited for):

Roses:

The last beautiful river crossing

Walking over an enormous hill and getting our first glimpse of a magical bay called “Secret Beach”

Walking into the sunset with Paul and Jeanine

The beautiful coastline dotted with fishermen and children

Thorns:

Being slightly on guard and anxious at hole in the wall. The rumours of crime had prevented us completely relaxing and enjoying the space.

Buds:

Looking forward to tomorrow’s nicotine withdrawal as our tobacco has run out

The sunrise start that we’ve decided to do seeing that tomorrow is going to be really hot.

A bon fire is started and the Americans begin to show interest in us. A girl named Elly sits with us and just begins talking absolute nonsense. She makes up quite a few elaborate lies that we’re from the states and and convinces a few other more gullible travellers that we know each other.

Andrew tells us how he’s here to consult and help the backpackers recover after the pandemic. He’s like a pessimistic Murray Hewitt but definitely makes us feel quite uncomfortable. Damo has picked up on the way that he’s treating the staff and has heard some disgruntled comments coming from the kitchen.

Dinner is served - mutton curry - we dish up gigantic portions and it’s delicious. Andrew asks some of the staff to being drumming. The Americans add flavour to it with some drinking games. After eating a few kilograms of food we decide to set up camp. Surveying the cold wind and grass outside does not bode well for camping so we decide to occupy the inside common room, pulling a partition closed as a sort of door.

The drumming and drinking continues outside for many ours. We drift in and our of sleep. I hear the staff conspiring some sort of mutiny against Andrew in angry tones. I begin to feel sorry for him - he definitely has his heart in the right place, it’s just that his execution was performed without much tact or regard for the way that the local staff have been running the place up to now.

Suddenly Andrew wakes us - rather perturbed that we’re sleeping in the common room. We justify it with the fact that it’s simply too cold and windy outside. Damo comments on the fact that we would be paying R150 to wild camp and Andrew is immediately defensive and rather rude. The feeling of sympathy for Andrew fades quite quickly.

The drum circle continues long into the night. Someone begins either washing dishes or throwing them around at 1am. Fred politely asks him to stop. All in all we have had an incredibly strange, uncomfortable and rather abrasive experience at Bulungula.