Kgaswane Camping Trip Number Two: AKA, "Why Am I Like This?"

So, one-time camper over here. Yes a soft camp-actual toilets, no need to dig a hole with a spork. But a tent was definitely involved!

Did I love it? Absolutely not. Did I mildly hate it with my whole heart? Yes. Did I wake up on the Monday morning thinking, Damn it. I’m going to do that again? Totally - because everything is different about a weekend of hiking when it involves camping. It’s gritty and weird and kind of magical.

So. To bring you up to speed — yes you... the one who didn't read my last blog post. I see you. Don’t worry, I’ll pretend not to be offended. But also, shame.

Anyway, quick recap for the attention-deficient or just plain disobedient: I was bamboozled into a last-minute camping weekend by Estie from the Saunterers . I always wanted to do one of her “sunset hikes”.

My thought process was that winter camping might actually have a leg up. At least in the cold, you can wrap yourself into a human mummy, seal every opening, and pretend you’re warm.

Compare that to summer camping: lying there in a tent, with a full bladder (my organ, not my hydration pack), having a full-blown meltdown over one rogue mosquito.

You spend the night in a state of hyper vigilance, while also praying that a snake didn’t slither in during that millisecond you unzipped the flap to get into the tent

So, we met in bits and pieces at Kgaswane’s gate. We found our campsite and I set up my tent pretending to know how tent poles work..Oh — and yes, I had help. Again. Because apparently I am not, in fact, Bear Grylls.

I’ll admit — I was already a little disappointed. (Second time that day. I really need to get my disappointment threshold recalibrated.).

You see, I’ve long fantasized about a sunset hike. This? This was not a sunset hike. This, we were told, was a “dusk” hike. I mean... what in the actual natural wonders is a dusk hike? What even is dusk? Is it just nature’s grey area? The weird in-between where it’s not quite light, not quite dark, and absolutely not what I emotionally signed up for?

But then... we set off. And there was this low-key buzz — that sense of adventure, of something’s about to happen. We were off to see the darkness roll in, like moths heading to the flame.

I had never hiked that late before. I had certainly never hiked in the dark.

But up we went, into the "twilight".

And you know what? I’ve never actually been on a sunset hike... and at this point? Don’t care. Because no sunset hike could have possibly matched this.

The boulder formations along the way were... surreal. Some looked like familiar animals, others mythical creatures.

The atmosphere? Proper mystical and magical. Like we’d wandered into some ancient world — untouched and slightly enchanted.

By the time we reached the top, I was gone. Hypnotized. Mesmerized. We all sort of drifted into our own little bubbles and onto our own boulders — some people snacked, others just melted into the landscape. As for me? I was taking photos… but, like, in a very spiritual, deeply zenny way. Less "let me fix my lighting" vibes — more "the boulders are speaking to me."

There was a moment when my soul briefly left my body to go hug a boulder and whispered, “This is home now.”

We could not tear ourselves away. Meanwhile, darkness was creeping in… proper mountain darkness. Not "twilight" darkness.

I had a small internal panic. I low-key thought Estie had gotten caught up in the magic and we were now spiritually — and physically — trapped on that mountain for the night.

I  mean… I trip over invisible rocks in broad daylight. I can’t follow a trail when it’s basically a dotted line every ten metres and there’s a friendly hiker explaining it to me. And now we were meant to descend into literal pitch blackness?

But you know what-we had phones, torches., lanterns. And — most importantly — we had Estie.

She turned into a full-blown human GPS. Just casually led us straight back to camp with zero detours. Like some kind of mountain cyborg.

The walk back? Dead quiet. Not because we were concentrating on our footing (okay, maybe I was), but mostly because we were all just... in awe. Of the silence. Of the stars.

Back at camp some braaied, some didn't, We gathered around the fire like storytelling Neanderthals, plus headlamps and camping chairs. It was warm, beautiful, and — annoyingly — kind of magical.

Did I sleep?

No. No, I did not.

RATING

Because we were with Estie (the human compass), I have no clue how far we hiked. Distance? Time? Space? Irrelevant. It just didn’t matter.

This trail isn’t for absolute beginners, but it’s not punishing either. Think: decent inclines, and "you can do this" energy.

That said — doing this in full summer daylight would be brutal. The trail is pretty exposed.

NOTE TO SELF

Stop trying to micromanage every second of your life. Let go just a little — and maybe, just maybe, what you end up with won’t be what you asked for… but it’ll be even better.

ON A FINAL NOTE

Sunset hikes are cancelled. I'm officially pivoting to dusk hikes, because somewhere between the boulders and the dusk, I left part of my soul behind

(TO)SOLO OR (NO)SOLO

NOSOLO