Best Hikes In South Africa: The Otter Trail (Part III)

The Big One

Day 4: Oakhurst Hut to Andre Hut

Do We Look Worried About Bloukrans?

The big one.

The Bloukrans River crossing.

Low tide would be at 1pm. At least we wouldn’t have to walk through the night.

In 2013 when I first did this hike we walked through the night, in the rain, to reach the river at low tide.

This time the skies were clear and blue, and I could enjoy the view.

It was still a tough climb. I marvelled out loud how I did it in the dark, in the rain…

We left at 8am, an hour later than planned. Everyone was keen to cover the 10 kms to the river.

I wasn’t anxious or worried but 2013 hovered on the edge of my thoughts… How could it not?

Today I was not hiking just for me. I was also hiking for The River Eight, wherever they may be and whatever they may be doing.

The ‘river’ in River Eight was not for the Bloukrans, but The Orange River.

It’s what we called ourselves after river rafting down The Orange River in 2008.

Auld Lang Syne etc etc…

Day 4 is the longest day on the trail, 14 kms in total.

We set off eventually, and somehow Mambi and I hill-upped our way to the front of the pack.

The views from the cliff tops are spectacular. Words are inadequate, so I hope the photographs suffice but pictures don’t really do the views justice.

I must segway into an incident on Day 4 which upset all of us, but Mambi especially.

I considered whether I should include this, and on reflection, realise it’s important and needs to be highlighted, especially in light of what we learned at the end of the hike on day 5.

Paradise Lost

3 kms from Oakhurst hut, we got to a smallish river. I don’t know the name. Bashe and I were walking together, with Mambi, The Amir and The Amatolian leading from the front.

When we got to the river, we saw Mambi with her back to us (and the ocean) staring into the distance. It was a regroup. Everyone had their bags off and were waiting for the others to catch up.

From her body language I knew Mambi was upset. She was staring toward the mountain, and it was a beautiful sight… the river, bubbling over rocks, the lush green grass and the sea behind her. I thought she may be homesick and missing her family and her village.

Mambi was born in a small village in the Kurdish part of Turkey. Sometimes she would come across parts of South Africa that remind her of home, which would make her, understandably, miss her family.

Alas! When I got closer, I saw what caused the tears.

In the long grass a dog lay curled up. One eyeball had popped completely out of its socket and there was a bloody gash on the top of its skull.

Mambi is the gentlest, kindest soul, extremely compassionate and empathetic and she loves all animals, but dogs especially.

(Except snakes!)

The sight of the bloody, battered dog will haunt me for a long time.

Someone had beaten the animal. It was deaf and not responding to sounds (probably from cranial damage), and completely cowered.

On the right side of the riverbank, we saw a makeshift shelter with a fishing rod and clothing strewn about.

Initially I assumed it was a poacher’s hideout. We sent messages to the rangers on duty to alert them of the abused dog and the poacher’s hideout.

At the end of the day, when we got to Andre hut, we were met by different rangers. I sent them the pictures of the dog and the hideout.

They promised to alert the relevant authorities, and to send help for the dog.

Warning: Graphic Content

Mambi was in a state about the dog and wouldn’t rest until she knew it had been rescued.

The following day we were informed the dog had been retrieved.

More shocking, the hideout was not a poacher’s digs, but had likely been erected by a man on the run for murdering his girlfriend on Christmas Day.

Authorities suspected he was hiding somewhere on the trail.

Was this the reason the rangers met us on Day 3 and Day 4? To make sure we got to the huts safely?

Perhaps they were not concerned about the river crossings, but the fugitive.

We will never know. The rangers were understandably tight-lipped about the fugitive situation.

He had murdered his girlfriend by bashing her head in with a brick and had probably done the same to the dog.

We never saw another human being except for the rangers at Oakhurst and Andre hut.

Not a poacher. But a murderer. Same-same. Both deserve the death penalty.

We Don't Deserve Dogs

I don’t apologise for the image of this dog.

Animals are innocent.

It wouldn’t be right to wax lyrical about the beauty of the trail, the dolphins, the birds etc, while not honouring this creature’s suffering at the hands of a human who himself deserves to be flayed.

We are awaiting an update on the dog’s fate.

We fed the dog leftover breakfast sausage which he ate and topped up his water. If we could, we would have taken him with us.

I hope the fact that he was able to eat the sausage meant he would be able to recover after seeing a vet.

The incident with the dog put a damper on our morning. It took a while for me to stop seething. I know Mambi never stopped thinking about that dog.

When we finished the hike the next day, the first thing she asked the SANparks rangers at De Vasselot, was whether they had rescued the dog.

Reminder of the beauty of the natural world… an antidote to the cruelty of some humans.

Approaching The Crossing

Mambi and I got to the river mouth first.

I won’t lie and say I was not emotional. I remembered the last time I crested that cliff to look at the mighty Bloukrans.

The similarities were eerie. It was low tide, but the sea was a lot calmer. The water was ankle deep. We stopped to take a few pics. I needed to record it.

Memory is a house of mirrors, distorting the past.

10 January 2013 remains vivid. It was also the 12th anniversary of the death of my youngest brother who passed in 2001.

I remember standing on the rocks, watching the rescue, praying that my mother not lose another child on this date. The child I was praying for was not myself.

I looked at the rocks in the middle of the ocean, where three of my family members had been stranded for several hours.

I looked at the gully where we had been swept back in and the sliver of rock we held onto for our lives, fighting the outgoing current determined to pull us back.

Memory is a house of mirrors.

All the touchstones were there as I had remembered, as I had recalled in all the retellings.

It had not been a bad dream.

The water was ankle deep (check) and we were going to cross at low tide (check). So far so same.

This time we would not need survival bags.

The Amir and The Amatolian caught up with us and went ahead.

I watched them cross at the low tide mark while keeping an eye on Mambi. She can’t swim and was understandably nervous.

Bashe caught up with us and she and I mugged for a few pics. It was a light-hearted moment which I really appreciated it.

We three would cross together. My sisters and I.

At the same time the others made their way slowly down from the cliff, Mambi, Bashe and I crossed the Mighty Bloukrans together, holding hands.

Even though the tide was low, and the river calm as can be, the currents were strong.

But our bond, our friendship, was stronger.

It was an anti-climax.

But I will take anti-climax any day. After dropping our bags, everyone went back into the water. The currents were crazy and unpredictable, and we saw a whirlpool forming right before our eyes.

This is a highly unpredictable crossing.

More than ever, I felt vindicated for 2013. I cannot stress enough how treacherous crossing this river can be, even at low tide. It looks easy. This time, for me, it was easy.

But take nothing for granted.