A day to myself. No one to rush to meet.
Putting on my hiking boots. In the black laptop bag, I pack a vest, jacket, 500 liter of water, sunscreen, hat, muffler and gloves, I drive off to Table Mountain. Escaping the Lion’s Head crowd. Seeking a different terrain.
I find myself at the foot of the mountains. It is 1:11pm. Up the first set of stairs, I pass an Indian family and a solo woman hiker who reminds me of a friend.
Trasversing the mountain, walking on a narrow path with the rock face to my right, I find self feeling free. To be here, out and unrushed.
These days, I like hiking up and riding the cable car down. Taking advantage of the season pass from two weeks ago.
I turn right, to follow the signs up Indian Venster. Loose and dry rocks, zig-zag paths up the mountain, I pass a group of Europeans. Thereafter, a group of locals. A hot winter’s day, with my two thermal layers, one more than summer more than enough to keep me warm.
As I get higher, the path becomes less clear. I don’t know anyone else, and this trail, that I did once before with an expert group of hikers is not familiar.
I look for yellow footprints that mark the spot, and I am surprised to find a high boulder with the mark. I am not tall enough to cimb up with one hoist. There is a little depression on the third way up, and I hoise myself, using my entire body, leaning into the depression, before pulling myself up. Ahead of me is a group of three young men, climbing the staples and chains on a 90 degree rock faces. They ask me if I want to pass them, and I politely decline. It is comforting to have others humans around and before me on this technical section. On top is a collection of big rocks that reminds me of an open sculpture of oval rocks. Towards the top, I must step up two elliptically shaped rocks before setting foot on a wider surface.
Here, I pass the three men, passing the mountain to the right, the other side of the Cable Car. The path here is even more unclear. I haven’t been to this side of the mountain and I feel elated which turns spooky. Above me, a wisp of clouds pass the top of the mountain at warp speed, and it feels surreal to be here. I am afraid to hike down, the treacherous set of rocks and boulders that are too tall for me. I know there is a path up to the cable car, and I try few paths that lead me to dead ends. Until I find another yellow foot on a rock surface. I go up the first rock, and hoist myself to the second foot hold. The next climb will require me to trust my upper body. I climb up to the left, resting my body on the roks’ edge, lifting my left foot up. Except, I can’t. I must first pull myself across the rock, before the foot can move. I am frozen like this for 10 seconds, until logic kicks in. I need to move. Now. Carefully, methodically. Trusting my intuition but also where the rocks are. With no one to pull me up or tell me where to put my foot.
Adrenaline rushes in. I must descend. Climbing up this terrain will get me in more trouble.
Breath becomes hoarse and ragged, and noise escapes my mouth, as if I’m doing my own haka before a rugby match. I am still on my belly, with my arms holding me up. I frantically search for the left foothold, not finding it and panicking. “You’ve stood here before. Just find it. It’s right here.” I tell myself. And just like that, the foot finds the little step. My arms can let go, as I balance. I want to throw my backpack down, as it swings left to right, as I attempt to turn my body, to have the back against the rocks. So that I can hoise down. But I don’t, because… what if I need my phone? What if I need my jacket? What if I get stuck on this rock? So, I keep the pack on, and turn myself around. Facing down, I investigate the rock surface and find a safe way down. And I go back down, the same way I came up. Passing the thee men and a group of locals, with elderly woman struggling up a path. I try to step away to the left, hitting my head on the rock surface. A loud noise, and I am surprised. I turn on the selfie mode to see if I am bleeding. The wide brimmed hat that I wore to protect my face against the sun, blocking the view. I always do this. When I try to make way for other people, getting too engrossed in being efficient. I see a red mark between my eyes, smack in the middle. My right side of the forehead throbs. My poor brain. I am grateful for my skin and skull for keeping things in.
“What did you find up there?” asks the woman as she climbs up.
“Nothing”.
As I descend, i find myself lost. Intuition kicking in, telling me to go back and remember the trail. I do, and I see a pair of men asking me how far they have to go. 20 minutes.
As I pass the two boulders that are too tall for me, that takes more time getting down, the last of the dangerous bits.
I am grateful to have come down this far safely. I go back the way I come from, passing a man jogging with his dog. In the car, I drink my water, relieved to be sitting and in the familiar territory.
Today, I came across walls that challenged me. Paths and walls that marked the edges of safety. Places I cannot go alone, without a group of experienced hikers.
When friends and family worry about me traveling and hiking alone, I tell them I must do what I need to do. Otherwise, I would never go anywhere.
Except today, I know this path will require the path away from the aloneness. I acknolewledge my limitations. This path is not for the sole traveler.
I am grateful for the experience. To push against boundaries (safely) and come across rock surfaces and paths too dangerous for me (at least for now).
It is humbling while empowering to have experienced this day on my own. Thanks to my abled and strong body that carries me wherever I wish to go. For the mind and adrenaline kicking in, to super power instant decision making to keep myself alive. For the logic in me telling me to find the path of safety.
I spent three hours on the mountain, on my own. Walking, climbing, freaking out and banging my head.
Thinking vs. doing. The latter builds muscles of the mind and body. Testing limitations, capabilities and creating aspirations of where I would like to go next. Reasons for getting stronger and smarter to climb the next peak.
To the art of living well, by not only seeing things as they are. But living by going outside and doing the things that make me happy.
I thank my body and my mind for keeping me safe. Keeping me alive. And feeling alive and grateful to be here.