Tsitsikamma National Park

I am a self-confessed armchair survival geek. I do get my hands dirty from time to time during untamed adventures into the wilderness, but for the most part I get my fix of bushcraft from television shows like Bear Grylls’ Born Survivor and all the books on the subject, from the wonderfully entertaining Call of the Wild: My Escape to Alaska by Guy Grieve to the rather more macho SAS Survival Guide by John ‘Lofty’ Wiseman. Though admittedly, I am more Paddington Bear than Bear Grylls, more Timorous than Lofty.

With this fascination of man’s relationship with nature – or perhaps, my own relationship with it – my overseas journeys often feature a caper of wilderness exploration. During my most recent sojourn, I was back on my favourite continent, the Motherland of Africa, exploring the dominion of the Southern countries in order to give our readers something to do this year besides attending the World Cup.

Tsitsikamma is a coastal nature reserve on the Garden Route of South Africa. It’s a popular section of the Garden Route National Park (amalgamated in 2009), offering hiking trails of varying difficulty in addition to seafront chalets for those wanting a more enduring experience. They also provide five-day camping trails where one can walk from one end of the park to the other, with a guide and a porter to carry your bags if you’re that way inclined (e.g. lazy).

Content on walking the day trail, we arrived mid-morning and being the start of the summer season (November to February), the heat was already intense. We abandoned the vehicle at the first car park and sought out the popular Otter Trail. After ten minutes we were none the wiser. One sign pointed left, one pointed right. Neither direction took us to the beginning of the trail.

What would Bear Grylls do, I wondered? I suggested that I climb a tree to get a better view of the surrounding area. Mrs Jonesy overruled me, opting instead to ask a ranger for directions, seeing as we were right next to the reception building. He pointed towards a conferencing hut. We thought he’d misunderstood us but decided to investigate and we eventually found the start of the trail cunningly hidden behind some undergrowth.

Within minutes we were deep in beautiful coastal forest, the thick scent of woody vegetation, dried leaves and flaky bark was cosseting and aromatic, like the satisfying feeling one gets when sniffing fresh roasted coffee beans or a fine Havana cigar. A striking green Knysna Loerie fluttered overhead, a handsome bird that emits the most un-birdlike, guttural “arf arf arf”, similar to that of a baboon.

The trail quickly steepened as we neared the boulder-strewn coast below, the crashing waves just visible through the thinning undergrowth, the bracing sea breeze kissing our sweat-beaded skin. Rounding a corner and descending steps crudely dug into the hillside, we found ourselves staring out over the Southern Ocean with nothing between us and the mighty Antarctica some 3,800 miles away.

We made our way over large boulders and small rock pools, scrambling along the undulating coastal path, hopping over fallen trees and floundering on loose rockery. The majestic ocean expanded endlessly to our left, a tangled wall of vegetation towered over us to the right, the plants clinging to the quartzite-sandstone cliffs, an extension of Ordovician rock formation known as the Table Mountain Group.

Stopping for a picnic lunch on a rock ledge overlooking the sea, a pod of dolphins swam past, jumping in semi-circular dives, presumably fishing for their own lunch. It was as if they had been organised to swim past at that very moment. Or perhaps they’d caught wind of my tuna sandwich.

A while later we approached the waterfall and the accompanying rock pool that marked the turnaround point in our journey; only the overnight hikers are permitted to continue. A young gentleman was demonstrating his masculinity to a female audience by swimming across the pool and climbing onto a slippery ledge. Now 8ft above the water, he realised that the only way to get back down was to jump into what was a shallow pool for the activity, strewn with submerged boulders eager to crack bones. He stood there sheepishly, waiting for his friend to join him, perhaps hoping that his friend would jump in first and he could use the mangled body as some kind of landing pad. We decided to leave before the young men discovered their unpleasant fates.

I was starting to feel sunburned and wind-chaffed, so in the spirit of Bear Grylls I broke off a spiked leaf of wild African aloe that lined much of the trail, peeled the outer skin to reveal the clear gel-like flesh inside and wiped it all over my face and neck. Aloe is a natural coolant, just the trick for treating rough and irritated skin. I then started to wonder, with a sinking feeling, if I had correctly identified the plant. I asked Mrs Jonesy to report if my face suddenly swelled to twice its size or turned a strange colour. If I happened to drop dead, she should tell everyone that I actually died after wrestling a Great White Shark, as death-by-misidentified-aloe doesn’t sound quite as impressive.

Rather than walking back the way we came, we followed a different route that took us through even denser vegetation. The light was already starting to fade as it was mid-afternoon, we had been walking almost non-stop for four hours and now found ourselves in what felt like jungle – in fact coastal forest is remarkably similar to jungle terrain – large vines twisted around gnarled trunks, small bushes and towering trees block as much light as they can, underfoot the soft squelch of a mulching leaf-littered pathway. Mosquitoes whined above gargling streams, birds chirped, unseen snakes slithered and the cicadas started to zizz for good measure.

I was just starting to envisage having to camp in the park overnight and was thankful for packing my Fire Steel and some extra energy bars, when the tarmac park road appeared. My thanks quickly turned to stoic deflation as I realised it was now an uphill march all the way back and we were out of water too.

I thought of the SAS soldier Chris Ryan who’d walked 100 miles across the Iraqi desert to evade capture. This put me in my place, in fact it spurred me on to reach the car park where I’d be able to drink water and sit down to recover from what had become a relentless trek to get home before nightfall.

Back in our comfortable hotel room that night in Plettenberg Bay, I lay on the bed and was glad to be under soft cotton sheets rather than sleeping on a mattress of branches. Yet I couldn’t help but feel the call of the wild, the smallest urge to leap from the balcony onto the sandy beach below, to build a shack out of driftwood and roast speared fish over hot coals, eating them with my hands under the twinkling night sky. I fell asleep, happy, and dreamt of marmalade.

Summary: a great day out and a must-do for anyone who likes a good hike in addition to a spot of bouldering. The trail can be busy during the high season but that didn’t detract from its beauty. While we managed in walking shoes as opposed to boots, a higher ankle-supporting boot would help to avoid twists and sprains – something I managed to do twice.

More information can be found on the South African National Parks website: www.sanparks.org