Early on in my staggering meanderings, I discovered Dirty Squirty. The Outeniqua trails have weird and wonderful names: Benji, Chernobyl, Ferntastic, AC/DC, Loamstar, Truckers Lane and so forth.
Anyway, in order to reach Dirty Squirty, I had to puff and pant my way up Bosvark, a steep steady incline that, in the beginning, was a real challenge for me (I did conquer it later). My saving grace was that it was mostly enclosed by thick indigenous forest with dappled sunlight filtering through - a saviour in summer. Armed with my trusty Black Diamond poles, I was able to thrust the sharp points into the ground, propel myself forward and make it to the top where the forest peters out abruptly and one is assaulted by the bright summer sun.
On this particular day, 24 January 2023, I was heading out to the little reward near the end of the Dirty Squirty trail - a gorgeous little pond surrounded by unfurled ferns and overarched by young trees. The trail is undulating and weaves its way along the fynbos-bedecked hills before entering a cool forest with soft pine needles underfoot - interspersed by many tripping roots! This is a magical place filled with the sharp aroma of pines and the pungent smell of decomposing leaves. Toadstools and mushrooms in hues of reds, oranges and creams abound in amongst the needles and the velvety moss.
Soon, one emerges from the cool forest into the dry fynbos again, only to be rewarded a few hundred metres down the trail. The sound of gushing water beckons you over the fairytale bridge to a bench, nestled in the bushes, where you can sit and rest, listening to the little frogs and trickling water.
I felt great! I felt privileged! Such beauty all to myself!
Feeling invigorated and convinced that life was wonderful, I jogged back to Bosvark, which (of course) was now a steady downhill. I trotted along, occasionally poking my poles at some dodgy looking rock or leaf. This was great! I felt fit! I cruised through Grand Junction with the breeze in my hair and headed down the home stretch - the Arum descent.
Confidence exuded every pore of my wieldy body. I was flying, flying, flying over every little obstacle - physically and metaphorically!
Aaargh! Thudddd! You stupid woman! What have you done? Get up!
A small stone on the rocky track had jumped up and attacked my trail shoe. The impact winded me and I had to get control of my breathing before I could get up. Once again, there was a stern scolding and talking to myself. As I gathered my wayward mobile phone and poles, I noticed the stream of blood dripping onto my legs. Ugh, what a mess. My forearm had split open. I gathered myself toward myself, washed the wound with water from my hydration flask and carried on running the last few hundred metres to my car.
When I arrived home, I snuck into the bathroom to assess the damage. Mmm… stitches? I would have to ask my husband for his opinion. Naah, he said, no stitches. The bleeding was profuse, so I decided it was time for my spectacles. I definitely disagreed with my husband. It looked pretty deep and would not stop bleeding. Messy.
So, off I went to the ER where the doctor told me I DEFINITELY needed stitches.
Once again, I was in trouble. Why are you out in the forest on your own? Why are you running up and down mountains?
Because being alone with my thoughts and emotions in the forest and on the mountain is magical! Life is great!
TIPS:
Keep your eyes on the ground.
Listen to your gut.
Don't believe your partner.
Mountain Mom
The Staggerer
Yorumlar