Suikerboschfontein Day One: Rooikrans

If you’re new here, welcome.

If you’ve been here and haven’t been paying attention, I have questions.

To catch you up: I am a relatively new to hiking, but in the way that suggests a personality shift rather than a hobby.

Every single weekend.

Rain or shine.

Mild threat of lightning?

Character building.

Somewhere between the boots, the blogs, and my aggressive obsession with photos no one asked for, I discovered my passion.

At nearly 60. (It’s a few months away from nearly, but who’s counting besides gravity?)

The only inconvenience? I still have a job.

Honestly.

The audacity.

Dreaming of a Hiking Lifestyle (With a Pension Plan)

Throughout this spectacularly overshared journey, I may have mentioned once - or seventeen times - that my dream is to stop working, throw caution to the wind, and travel from town to town across this beautiful country hiking, writing, and most importantly, doing it fearlessly.

But despite appearances (mainly the hiking boots and dramatic trail photos), I am not especially brave.

At all.

Also, I am already a stubborn and grumpy old hag.

Will solo travel make me worse?

Is that even possible?

Or will mountain air and wide-open spaces soften my edges?

Scientists don’t know.

Mostly because no one thought to ask them.

Manifesting The Hiking Life

Until recently, I scuttled around collecting travel buddies for long distance hiking trips.

Emotional support humans, if you will.

But then I decided: if I’m manifesting a town-to-town hiking life, I cannot keep outsourcing bravery.

So recently, while driving to a trail near Kempton Park, windows down, inspirational playlist on, I told myself I could absolutely find my way around alone.

Just me 'n Waze.

Two strong, independent women navigating life’s twists and poorly marked turnoffs.

I was powerful.

I was self-sufficient.

And then I realized what I actually "was", was sitting in the parking lot of O. R. Tambo International Airport.

Not to catch a plane.

Just… there.

Was it the universe whispering, “Ma’am, perhaps start with a coffee alone first before attempting wilderness independence?”

Was it Waze gently suggesting, “Let’s not run before we can geographically walk”?

Hard to say.

All I know is that nothing humbles a woman quite like confidently manifesting solo hiking bravery and accidentally preparing for an international departure.

Please Let It Be Allergies

Fast forward to this week.

Another club hike booked.

Three hours away.

Two days.

Rated “difficult.”

Communal hut.

No electricity.

“Rustic charm,” they call it. (I call it: "Why do I continue to do this to myself?").

Thursday night, I feel flu-ish...or was it allergies?

Suddenly, the one weekend I’ve ever debated cancelling because of all the fears I invented, became the one I’m DESPERATE to attend.

My son Pepper firmly informed me I could not go if I was sick.

Adorable.

Misguided.

Friday morning: still not better....but allergies?

So there I was, uncertainly packing for a “difficult” two-day hike with a slightly tight chest (allergy adjacent, obviously).

Would I expire dramatically somewhere between “scenic overlook” and “why did I do this”?

Details.

Suikerboschfontein: Because Apparently I Needed Proof

So off I went to Suikerboschfontein Hiking Trails with the Boksburg Hiking Club.

This hike has been levitating in my orbit for ages.

Whispered about.

Revered.

Name-dropped in conversations with that tone hikers use when they want you to know they have suffered.

When I saw it listed on the WhatsApp group last year, I had only one important question:

Is. It. Slack packing?

Let me be very clear: there will be no backpacking nonsense here.

The Road to Character Building

I was pleasantly surprised - that 13 km sand road they mentioned was in better condition than some suburban roads I use daily.

Until it wasn’t.

About 1 km from the property, I was fairly certain my little car and I had accidentally joined a 4x4 expedition.

The website had very confidently stated the property was accessible by “all vehicles.”

Naturally, I assumed I’d taken a wrong turn and pulled over to wait for two club members 15 minutes behind me.

They arrived.

In a 4x4.

Driving the same road as if it were a Woolworths parking lot.

I was, in fact, on the correct road.

I was simply not emotionally prepared for it.

And if we’re being honest, neither was my car.

Rooikrans

The first night's accommodation was rustic.

And by rustic, I mean one toilet and one shower between six women.

Not separate.

Not private.

Just… one room.

Divided by one of those flimsy “suggestion” curtains.

Roughing it is one thing. But this says, “It’s about the experience,” while quietly removing your dignity.

The cabins themselves were perfectly fine.

Beds. Walls. A door that mostly closed.

But the ablution situation? Let’s just say wild camping on top of a mountain would offer more privacy and possibly better queue management.

Still, there was laughter. A fire. That smug sense of “I drove here alone and did not perish.”

Then we all went to bed.

Naturally, I watched Netflix on my fully charged burner phone for most of the night. Because nothing says “one with nature” like downloaded movies under a scratchy blanket.

Unfortunately for my roommates, I was my usual restless self - rotating like a rotisserie chicken.

Proof that even in the wilderness, surrounded by fresh air and manifesting courage, I cannot escape myself.

And perhaps that’s the real hike.