Roodeplaat Dam : Hiking Without a Clue (And Loving It, Sort Of)

So one thing I’ve learned during my relatively long residency on this planet: the law of attraction? Oh, it’s very real. That emo thundercloud you insist on wearing like a tragic accessory? It’s basically a flashing billboard that screams, “Yes, Universe, I would like more misery in my life!”

I wish I’d learned this 50 years ago, but actually—I’ve known it for at least 40 of them. Hasn’t made me any wiser, more enlightened, or remotely less of a disaster.

Anyway, not to get into the specifics (and no, your ears aren’t broken—I'm actually not oversharing for once), but let’s just say I’ve been dragging around my own personal thundercloud lately.

Naturally, by Friday, the universe sent a matching one. Because apparently, emotional weather is contagious.

Before you whip out your sympathy emojis: relax. These are strictly first-world problems. Self-inflicted, at that.

Well… except for the bee.

But.....Saturday morning, my time to shine - the day I hop and skip my way to a trail like some weird forest creature, and I was hiking with Cinnamon for the first time in a while. All the ingredients of a great day were there.

Granted, I was still dragging my emotional rain cloud behind me —but, you know, details.

So I Googled Roodeplaat Dam Provincial Nature Reserve. It looked awesome—close by, not too tough (Cinnamon needed a gentle re-entry), and hopefully with a post-hike coffee spot. Perfect.

I sent the details to Cinnamon and—despite years of betrayal—used Waze for navigation. I keep swearing I’ll switch to Google, and yet, like a toxic ex, I always go back.

Anyway, I arrived and the gate looked locked, which felt metaphorical.

A kind human appeared, and asked if I wanted the north or south hike, the west portal, or the magical stairway to Narnia. I just stared into the distance.

Realizing I was in no position to make geographical decisions, I called Cinnamon. Turns out…I was at the other gate, which was literally half an hour away.

I drove there with my usual emotional cocktail of rage and shame. Cinnamon—sweet, Cinnamon—waited over 30 minutes without a single complaint, zen as ever in her hiking boots. Meanwhile, I was mentally fighting Waze, the universe, and probably myself.

Another friendly guard handed me a map and launched into a full TED Talk on the trail layout. Adorable, really.

Naturally, Cinnamon and I left the maps in the car. We don’t do maps. Also, how lost could we possibly get? (Insert haunting laughter here.)

The trail itself? Fine. Bushy. Scratchy. Earthy. Not exactly my vibe, but very much Cinnamon's.

Okay, credit where it’s due: the trees were fabulous. Tall, twisted, quietly judging us.

Honestly, they were serving ancient wisdom.

As for the dam: we saw it... kind of. It was a whole emotional experience. We were near it. Next to it. Spiritually aligned with it. But actually at it? Only once - when we were spectacularly, undeniably lost.

One section had slimy mud. Cinnamon gracefully rock-hopped around it. I, on the other hand, started strong… then lost all patience and stomped straight through like a toddler in hiking boots. Full squelch.

At one point, we encountered water on the trail. Shin-deep and just... there. We were this close to wading in like soggy pioneers when, by some miracle, we spotted a sneaky detour off to the road.

Cinnamon and I somehow added at least three kilometers to our hike. It was around this time that the spiders arrived. A whole ambush of them. One posed beautifully, and while we admired her, the rest launched a web-based coup d'état. I swear, it was coordinated. Hostile. Unprovoked.

By the time we found our way back, we were starving. And guess what? No cute coffee shop in the reserve. Not even a sad vending machine. I don’t know what I googled when I picked this spot, but there was definite confusion (mine, as always).

We found a delightful little restaurant not far from the hiking trail. Honestly, it almost made up for the Waze war, the accidental marathon, and my spiraling mood.

And then, just as I was having a deeply reflective chat with Cinnamon about releasing the metaphorical cloud above my head, the actual universe sent a bee. It stung me mid-sentence. On the finger. Just—bam. No warning.

There’s nothing quite like sudden stinging pain to interrupt your pseudo-spiritual breakthrough.

But in that moment, I just laughed. Because really, out of all the things that could’ve gone wrong on my many hikes, a bee sting was… fine.

Annoying, yes. But on the spectrum of hiking-related tragedies? Practically wholesome.

Maybe that was the final sting. The last bit of gloom zapped out of my system. Or maybe it was just a bee being a jerk.

So, back home, I did what I should have done from the start: I Googled the reserve properly.

Turns out, there are multiple sections. North side: water sports. South side: hiking. East side: a hotel with actual food and in-house chefs. Where did we end up? Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. Somewhere west of logic, east of regret.

I saw photos online of game sightings. We saw game poop.

So now, things are even less clear—except for one thing: this whole misadventure needs a redo. Preferably when there’s a rainbow over my head instead of a thundercloud.

But hey, if you're into a bush hike with character, confusion, and a chance of accidental cardio—Roodeplaat delivers.

RATING

AREA - Roodeplaat Pretoria

COST - R 80

DIFFICULTY - Easy

LENGTH 

7.5 km… or more than 10 km if you follow Cinnamon and me

MARKERS 

Technically present, emotionally confusing

ABLUTIONS - Long drop, but clean enough

SAFE FREE PARKING

AMENITIES 

Well none if you follow us. A whole array apparently if you read the info on google

NOTE TO SELF

Read the info on google BEFORE the hike. Wild concept.

ON A FINAL NOTE

No hike is ever a total fail. This one wasn’t what I expected (entirely my fault), nor was it peak scenic by my standards (again: me). But it did what hikes always do—shook the mood, made memories, gave me fresh spider trauma and a bee sting I’ll be milking for at least another week.

(TO)SOLO OR (NO)SOLO

For me NOSOLO, but SOLO if your internal GPS is stronger than your external one. Or bring a Cinnamon.