Ezemvelo Nature Reserve-Day 3: Buffalo, Schmuffalo And Sloshing On

Anyhoo… before I get to Day 3’s hike—a little life lesson that absolutely no one asked for (but you’re getting anyway):

Next time you get nervous about stepping outside your comfort zone, remind yourself—you’re scared because it’s new, not because you can’t do it.

Revolutionary, I know. Feel free to cross-stitch it on a pillow.

But hear me out. Earlier in the morning I was thinking - If you’re new here—hi, welcome—I’m always thinking. It’s exhausting. I haven’t known peace since 2003.

Anyway, I was thinking about how nervous the newbies were the day before—just to walk, essentially. Something they do literally every day.

Recently, my trail buddy, Cinnamon and I had come across a few meters of what was more algae spa than babbling brook. Nature, ever the minimalist, had provided a DIY crossing: a few suspiciously slippery rocks and a twig or two doing their best impression of a branch.

So I began—shakily.

Step one: fine.

Step two: slosh.

Step three: oh screw it (already convinced I was doomed)... full foot-dunk into the slime pool of regret.

I recovered. Physically. My dignity? Still floating somewhere in that green goop, holding hands with my self-respect and softly weeping.

But on the way back, I had decided it was time for a pep talk—the kind usually reserved for Olympic athletes moments before they hurl themselves off a platform. Except... I was just trying to cross a glorified puddle.

And wouldn’t you know it—armed with nothing but the revolutionary idea that maybe I could actually do it—I made it across. Easily. Dry. Untraumatized.

I’d failed the first time purely because I’d already decided I couldn’t do it.

We let those completely irrational, overly dramatic fears hold us back. Constantly.

Like crossing a puddle suddenly requires divine intervention and a team of emotional support camels.

So when that swampy little voice in your head whispers, “You can’t...”, what do you do?

Ignore it.

Step forward.

Slosh on.

Anyway...back to the hike of the day!! A more streamlined group than the previous day hit the trail for a shorter hike before heading home. We set off early again—love that for us!

I was still recovering from the mild trauma of the night before, when I thought my roommate (and ride home) said she wanted to leave before the hike. My heart rate spiked and a missed hike flashed before my eyes.

But what she actually meant was that she wanted to leave directly after the hike. And as we all know, the blog fairy doesn’t magically appear just because you frolicked in nature for five minutes. So yes, with content to draft, I was obviously totally fine with that.

How was the trail? There was just way too much picture-perfect magic happening with the early morning sun.

I kept muttering “put the damn camera away” while simultaneously whipping it out again because the universe just kept hurling beauty at me. (It worked, okay? I’m only human... mostly.)

This time, we took a different route, and the wildlife clearly got the memo. There were no distant, blurry blobs on the horizon—the wildebeest were much closer.

Now, personally, I wanted to call them buffalo, because, well… drama. But one of the hikers (bless her factual little heart) pointed out that if they were buffalo, we’d be sprinting in the opposite direction. Screaming. So fine. Wildebeest. But for the narrative? We walked with the buffalo.

As we reached the final stretch back, a whole herd of these “not-buffalo” were just... waiting for us. Like our own personal, dusty farewell committee. As we got closer, they casually sauntered in front of us and literally walked us to the finish line.

It was one the most surreal experiences I’ve ever had on a game hike.

Strangely, I seemed way more excited than anyone else. Everyone else just kept walking, like a slow-motion wildlife escort from a herd of "not-buffalo" is some casual Tuesday occurrence. Not for me it isn't!! I mean I was mentally narrating it like a nature documentary voiced by David Attenborough.

And then—as if they had completed their contractual obligation—they all suddenly took off, galloping dramatically into the distance. Curtain closed. Mic dropped. Wildebeest out.

“How was the trail?” you ask yet again, like I haven’t already crafted a feature-length dramatic retelling.

But fine. Since you’re clearly desperate for closure: It was mostly flat, 5.4 km, two hours of leisurely chaos with bonus wildlife  (possibly buffalo), and a few mild emotional breakthroughs. Happy now?

When we got back, Peter—one of Ezemvelo’s employees—gave us the lowdown on all the exciting things they’re planning for the reserve. And, judging by the amount of building going on, something big is clearly brewing. Construction everywhere. Vibes of “watch this space.” I’m intrigued.

The "not buffalo" escort

On that note, a massive thank you to this stunning group of amazing hikers. You were magic.

Peter

Here’s to dusty trails, not-buffalo, and the unexpected joy of just stepping forward—even when your socks are wet.

Slosh on, my friends, slosh on.