LIFE BY LEXUS 30
ALL IT HAD MADE ME DO – TWO YEARS LATER – WAS PULL ON MY BOOTS, HOIST MY PACK ONTO MY BACK, CURSE MY STUPIDITY, GLOW AT MY GOOD FORTUNE AND START ALL OVER AGAIN.
unattainable hiker’s Eldorado. Thankfully, it more than lives up to its promise. Like every good pilgrimage, the Otter’s physical demands force you to be in the moment, every sublime one of them, every step of the way. Hugging the shoreline as we went, the days settled into a happy, comfortable rhythm: climbing steeply and then descending to the beach or a river crossing. Breaks were punctuated with dips in the surf or rock pools, naps under trees, or snatched moments to gawp at the fynbos and abundant wildflowers, and being mesmerised by the sea’s beauty and power. But then off we went again, because we had no choice: always pushing our mental and physical boundaries. Steep, winding paths, lung-bursting climbs, boot-shod feet crunching over the forest floors and unparalleled views of the Atlantic. Hiking blends natural glory with that unique sense of one’s own physicality. Five days of heaven, really. Our hearts, full.
SA: INTO THE WILD Tracy Melass explores the mighty Otter Hiking
Trail – the jewel in our local crown, with its heavenly waterfalls, rock pools, river crossings, jagged cliffs, verdant forests and views that last forever
A
s we reached the bend in the path, I felt the thud-thud-thud in my chest. I stepped into the clearing. My stomach churned, legs turned to jelly. I closed my eyes tightly,
opened them again and looked down: the mighty Bloukrans River was in flood. There was no way any of our group was willing
to chance it. Even from that height, I could see the powerful pull of the current and the sea lapping hungrily at the shore’s edge. The river mouth was a mass of swirling water and the advance hiking group’s red waterproof survivor bags – bobbing around like corks – looked close to being washed out to sea. Actually, so did the hikers. There’d be no Bloukrans crossing for me
today. Second time unlucky. I felt a twinge of disappointment… I hadn’t been able to cross the turgid river on my first Otter outing either. All it had made me do – two years later – was pull on my boots, hoist my pack onto my back, curse my stupidity, glow at my good fortune and start all over again. Because that’s what the Otter does to you. Spoken of in hushed tones, marvelled at in hyperbole, it bewitches you with its impossible beauty and its many challenges. It’s the first big multi-day trail most serious South African hikers hear about and the one where you’re most likely to meet a foreign hiker. Of course, not being able to get a booking, ever (or so it seems) adds to its mystique. It’s the
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