Modderfontein Reserve: Always the Default, Always an Adventure

My plans to hike with Pepper fell through at the very last minute.

I had a few trails I wanted to try solo saved for moments exactly like this, problems being, Pepper ditching me in the eleventh hour, the weather having been raining for what felt like days—weeks, maybe years (who’s counting anymore?), and when I finally glanced outside, the sky looked very indecisive.

I wasn’t about to risk being caught in a thunderstorm on a relatively unfamiliar trail while hiking solo. If I’m going to possibly get a little lost on a trail I had only done once....accompanied....the weather needed to be good, so I can dig myself out of a hole. (Metaphorically speaking. Mostly.) So, I decided to play it safe and stick with an old faithful: the 11 km Modderfontein Reserve. Reliable, familiar, and far less likely to end badly.

The first part of my drive, I’m thinking, Why are you like this? Why must you take this “hobby” and blow it up into a full-blown obsession? Could you not have just stayed home like a normal person for once?

But then, like a beacon of validation, I started to spot cyclists on the road, joggers pounding the pavement.. That’s when my mood shifted, and suddenly, I had a spring in my step (or, you know, my accelerator pedal). This is fine. This is good. You’re committed. Well done, me. All or nothing—that’s what makes you different. Or unhinged. Same thing.

So, I thought, No photos today. I mean, how many pictures of the same trail can one possibly take? No blog either, because, seriously, does the world need yet ANOTHER Modderfontein hike recap from yours truly? Oh, and let’s not forget—due to my over-excitement no pre-hike emptying of my bladder (and no, not the one in my hiking bag).

But apparently, the universe had other plans—and decided to serve me a completely unexpected, brand-new version of this trail. The rains had turned the place into some kind of magical fairyland, and honestly, I had never seen it like that.

Here’s the thing about hiking: summer and winter? Two completely different trails. Add some torrential rains, and you’ve got yourself an entirely new sport.

And don’t even get me started when the trail crew hasn’t had a chance to trim the overgrowth. Honestly? Loved it. The wild, untamed vibe added some next-level drama. Not always there for untamed drama, but on this day it so worked!

To grasp my love for hiking, picture this: a cranky, whiny toddler stomping around, complaining about life, radiating pure negativity daily. Now drop that toddler into a toy store. Boom—that’s me the second I hit a hiking trail. Suddenly, I’m all sunshine and kumbaya, marveling at every little twig, rock, and bird as if they were hand-delivered by Mother Nature herself (were they not??)

And just to showcase how utterly mind-blown I was by this hike, my music cut off when I started recording a video, and I walked for 15 whole minutes before realizing… I’d been alone with my thoughts. Alone! In silence! I mean, who even does that?

And to my guardian angel—the one who saw fit to drop hiking into my life... I see you. And when those raindrops started falling literally as I wrapped up the trail? You can bet your sweet ass I thanked you!

This blog isn’t here to bore you with yet another riveting account of a trail I’ve already blogged about (you’re welcome).

Nope. This is just me saying: if I’d listened to every overly cautious, well-meaning soul warning me not to hike—“It’s too dangerous!” they said, “Even with a buddy!”—I would’ve missed out on 80+ hikes since I started. Eighty! Let that sink in.

Hiking solo? Hiking in the rain? Both are perfectly fine—as long as you’re responsible about it.

Obviously this isn’t about throwing caution to the wind and channeling your inner Bear Grylls. Every trail, every weather pattern, every day needs its own judgment call. You don’t mess with nature; you work with it.

Today’s trail? It gave ME a rating: “Overconfident Amateur With an Unreasonably Cheerful Attitude.”

Oh, and just thought I’d (over)share: Around the 5 km mark, I found myself desperately wishing for the trail to end—not because I was tired, but because I needed to empty my bladder (no, again, not the one in my bag).

Now, while peeing on the trail is practically a hiker’s rite of passage, on this trail, it felt like I’d be risking an arrest for public indecency, so I clenched, and marched on like the bladder warrior I never knew I was.