As the van’s wheels entered the river and we fjorded ahead, the water level rose against the doors and the tension was palpable. The vehicle rocked, the river buffeting the long flat sides now perpendicular to the rushing water. We all shared an unspoken thought: maybe we should have listened to the rangers advice, maybe we should have turned around… With the Cape of Storms living up to its title, three intrepid Sealanders left on a mission to explore the interior, search for snow and test our gear in the harshest of conditions - conditions we found all too easily.
Upon seeing the gorgeous images of snow and blue skies from the nearby Matroosberg - and simultaneously sitting through torrential downpours for days on end at our Cape Town-based office - some executive decisions were taken, and the search for snow and adventure began! We packed only the essentials - coffee, snacks and yet more coffee - and some of our new gear to see how it would hold up against the wrath of the Southern Hemisphere’s winter. Leaving a grey and sodden city behind, we made our way into the mountains!
Exiting the tunnel, we were greeted by a landscape that seemed untouched by time. Waterfalls adorned every towering cliff face, and below, a boiling river demanded both awe and respect. The rain intensified, and the rivers roared louder, swelling with a strength unmatched by humankind's flimsy structures and canals. This was a landscape transformed by the deluge, and it felt as though Mother Nature herself was trying to drown out the mountains.
We had almost made it to our accommodation for the evening when we were greeted by a worrying sight: the road, disappearing from sight, below a tumultuous chaos of rushing water and flotsam. This was once a bridge, before the waters rose to cover it, and with our long vehicle presenting an easy target for the running water, we paused to consider if we could make it. The officer stationed nearby warned us against crossing, but we could find no other route to get where we needed to go - to the snow, up and up into the mountains and the wild. We had a quick deliberation and decided we had to try - after coming this far, we could hardly ignore the adventure that lay just beyond. The tyres were new, the river not yet too deep (we hoped) and our hearts set on the mountains towering behind.
With our hearts in our throats (and fingers close to the door handles should we need to make a speedy exit) we inched forward into the river and found our wheels holding. Luke and Savannah kept a wary eye upstream for floating logs as Jasper fought to make out the outline of the road below the water, rolling slowly but steadily deeper into the stream and closer to our destination. It’s unlikely that anyone took a proper breath before we realised the water level was dropping and we’d crossed the deepest section safely, and as the wheels exited the river on the other side we breathed a massive, collective sigh of relief. Only to gasp again when we saw our accommodation - a small hut, raised slightly and perched on the river’s edge…
We kept a wary eye that evening as wind and rain pummelled the sides of this little wooden structure, feeling ever more like Noah’s Ark as the waters rose around us. With marks to track the water level on the poles beneath the hut we kept an anxious record of the river’s growth, and watched as it grew to approach our “ditch mark” - a level at which the hut would no longer be safe and we’d have to leave hurriedly for higher ground… We passed the time with backgammon and good tunes, a cosy fire dissipating the nervous energy and heralding in a better day - and confirmed when we started seeing marks appear again, the river finally dropping.
We left early the next morning, hot coffee and the thrill of the snow pulling us from bed and back onto the road. Tracking up the mountain road towards the nature reserve we kept our eyes peeled for frozen ground, snow and a hint of the winter wonderland we’d been chasing. But the previous day’s rains had done a good job of washing away the white stuff - at this altitude at least. We pushed steadily on and arrived at the gate to the nature reserve, hoping to continue the climb into the clouds and find our very own untouched piste. Alas, it was not to be, confirmed when the ranger spoke the words every adventurer dreads:
“You should’ve been here earlier! The snow was knee deep..”
With snow out of the question, we felt a fleeting disappointment at the direction our adventure had turned - to be jilted after everything we’d pushed through! Our camaraderie prevailed however, and as the sun peeked from beneath the sullen clouds, for the first time in a long time, we shouldered our packs and started off up the river, determined to feel the elements on our faces and experience the midwinter mountains in all their glory. We hiked and chatted, bouncing ideas for new adventures and gear off each other and sharing in the crisp, clean air, reflecting on the previous days mission and our mixed luck.
It was never really about the snow, we decided over a hot pot of coffee. Buoyed by the knowledge that both ourselves and the gear we were here to test had stood up to the elements, we realised we’d found success in our own way. Surrounded by the ancient, imposing landscapes we love and the company we hold dear, it was hard to fault our shared adventure. We had tried, we’d discovered something new to us all and the collective highs and lows, fears and joys had brought us closer again - to each other, to the planet we share and it’s many moods and vistas, and to the spirit embodied in all of us. The spirit of exploration and discovery - the very same spirit embodied in all of our gear and the spaces it helps us explore - of adventure, and above all, friendship.
We returned with weary legs and a new perspective, with the ability to find beauty in the storm and gratitude for what we were able experience together. We felt inspired by the authentic, raw beauty of our home, and our tiny place amongst it. These are the paths we seek. The new paths we love to discover.
