Kranskloof Weekend – Officially Off The Grid: (CAROLINA EDITION)
- jeeksparties8
- May 11
- 4 min read
So. This was officially my first “off-the-grid” and allegedly communal hiking weekend — at Kranskloof in Carolina, a trip booked so long ago I’m honestly not sure if it predates COVID.
Sage joined me for the grand adventure, and in true me-fashion, I somehow managed to book a hiking weekend two weeks earlier to Wathaba in Machadodorp — basically next door to Carolina — with zero awareness I’d be returning to the same general coordinates. Shocked? You must be new here.
And just to make things interesting, there’s also a Kranskloof in Rustenburg. If not for our efficient group coordinator, Sage and I would’ve merrily landed up 300 km in the wrong direction. Anyone surprised? No? Thought not.
My biggest concern heading into this off-grid wilderness escape? Battery life. Yes, even more than snakes, communal toilets, or the tragic absence of Wi-Fi. How, pray tell, was I supposed to snap a thousand photos and keep my trusty Netflix burner alive for my nightly insomnia-fueled viewing? Priorities, people. Survival comes in many forms.
Naturally, I came armed with three power banks — because I’m nothing if not a walking worst-case scenario prepper.
One was ordered specifically from TAKEALOT for this trip. Guess which one didn’t work? That’s right. TAKEALOT. We need to talk.
We arrived on Friday via a sand road that was mostly okay, right up until it turned into a river crossing, which I had to drive across. Not to be dramatic, but I nearly pooped myself.
When we reached the entrance to Komati Gorge Lodge and Wildlife Reserve we were met with the warmest welcome courtesy of Security Guard Wellington and his offensively adorable dog, Leopard.
Honestly, Leopard alone made the whole drive and stress-induced ageing worth it.
From there, we hopped into 4x4s that took us deeper into the bush to our charming stone huts, lovingly built and maintained by the amazing trail manager Richard, who also keeps the trails in tip-top shape.
The huts were perched quite near a waterfall, which provided a soothing natural soundtrack that almost lulled us to sleep — well, those of us not still deep into a 3 am Netflix spiral.
Each hut technically sleeps eight, but by some divine intervention (or social unpopularity — who’s to say?), Sage and I scored one to ourselves. Bless the sleeping-bag gods and their mysterious ways.
Communal sleeping? It’s coming for me eventually. For now, I’m easing in with soft intros and controlled exposure — one bunk-free night at a time.
Amenities-wise: two flushing toilets, two donkey boiler showers and a kitchen with a gas stove that got the job done.
Friday night was classic: fire, braai, and bonding over shared trauma from the river crossing.
Sleep? Meh. It was me vs. sleeping bag and my bladder all night. But hey — I managed to finish a great Netflix mini-series. Because let’s be honest — who wants to walk to the bathroom in the pitch dark? Spiders. Scorpions. Snakes. Baboons. I was convinced I’d meet at least three of them.
Saturday’s 7 km trail kicked off. Was it the most scenic trail I’ve ever done? No. Was it awesome? Absolutely. Think: steep inclines, technical bits, river crossings, and streams...oh and a wildlife viewing thrown in for good measure.
Trail difficulty is, of course, a deeply personal thing. I rate based on the holy trinity: grumpy joints, a deep and spiritual hatred of inclines and misplaced confidence on rocky sections. Basically: allergic to uphill, gangsta on the scrambles, and a queen on the flats.
This was a trail built for a crew.
We stopped at a stream to breathe, re-hydrate, and admire my new wardrobe of blackjacks. Just me. No one else.
Another fire-lit night, another chance to pretend I enjoy roughing it. I also had my first-ever outdoor donkey shower. Did I feel like the lead in an adventure movie? Absolutely not. But I did it, and I didn’t moan (out loud).
Sleep? Still a myth. Around midnight, I heard Sage rustling and basically catapulted across the hut: “You going to the toilet? Take me with you.” So off we marched into the abyss, clutching headlamps and dignity. No spiders, scorpions, snakes, or baboons spotted.
Sunday morning, Richard burst in with news: the upstream river gates were being opened due to heavy rain. That bridge I’d driven across? About to be uncrossable.
Naturally, staying for the second hike was not even an option.
In a calm-but-slightly-panicked scramble and a lot of nervous laughter, we prepped for evacuation.
Some overachievers (hi) decided to get a few extra steps and started walking up the road — and were picked up by 4x4s on their way back.
Was it nerve-wracking? Slightly. Did it up the anti? 100%.
Obviously, we had to swing by the iconic Milly’s in Machadodorp for breakfast — and the chance to yell “WE SURVIVED THE RIVER”.
Signal came flooding back (hello, dopamine), and yes — my battery made it. I’d shown enormous restraint over the weekend... plus someone cleverly told me to switch to airplane mode on Friday.
RATING
AREA
Carolina
DIFFICULTY
Depends who you ask (and trust me, there was a debate). But if you're asking me? Fairly difficult — emphasis on fairly and difficult.
LENGTH
7 km
MARKINGS
Excellent (thanks, Richard, you magnificent signage wizard.!)
NOTE TO SELF
Get a bladder for your bladder.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Sure, the trail was solid — rugged, raw, and clearly maintained with actual love (thanks again, Richard).
But honestly? It’s the chaos, the chats, and the shared snacks that made it unforgettable. This wasn’t just a hike — it was a mildly unhinged group therapy session with better scenery.
(TO)SOLO or (NO)SOLO?
Absolutely NOSOLO — this one’s for the crew, the chaos, and the shared torchlight toilet missions.
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