Huckleberry Fin 24.10.2011

Al Gersch spoke to someone that knew someone that did the Hoerikwaggo Hike and they said: "no f**king walk in the park!"

and then i bought hiking boots.

The car alarm, it's red flashing light, the flicking red light on my laptop battery, my george forman's red light, the blazing red light on the remote control, and the buzzing red light beneath my mouse. my heart's telling me ive received a BB message, but my brain's telling me my burgers are ready.

it was the blinding red light which the Bear Hunter, growl, Marty, man machine with a heart the size of Secretariats and a taste for bbq'd meat, Big Al and his clima cools and dar-win with his hi tecs that didnt last, needed to escape.

to have sea salt caking around your nostrils, to have the scent of fyn bos swirling through your nasel passage,tickling your brain, to have the weight of canned tuna upon your shoulders and a water bladder bouncing against your back, to have the charcoaled, oranged lichened rocky outcrops, canary yellow and ice white starry eyed proteas paving your path is to experience the outdoors. our experience would take us from the southern tip of the Cape towards thee mountain. 75 kays, lets light that match.
This is the Hoerikwaggo Trail.

Day One and like an Angry Bird we were catapulted to Cape Point. our facial hair liberated and sprouting towards the sunshine, the load on our shoulders untwirling. here we took photo ops and pee'd over the edge, we laboured,then we walked. the going was tough, but we soldiered on.

we hugged the coast, one foot in the Indian, one foot in the atlantic. we got sunburnt and blistered. the hike was long the day was short. we thought we were halfway when we saw ay canon, alas the wrong one. we ran outa time.
Our tents were pitched at Slangkop, beneath the beam of the light house. we chugged beer and Crosby Stills and Noshed biltong. it was surreal.

Day Two. Noordhoek beach, 7kays of it. the ocean, the chrystaline blue sky , the white blinding sand. the brightened light creasing our eyes.
as we strolled, sticks in sand, we popped blue bottles, eyeballed mauled stranded seals, did a fashion shoot at the ship wreck. took a wrong turn. and then we hit the wall, the rock face that is chapmans. we had no where to go, but up. we were sniffing around for clues,looking lost we ate naartjies. we began the ascent up the steep chapmans peak, leaping upwards over rocks, our ankles as wobbly as warmed up twizzlers but for our sturdy boots. 

we heave ho'd-  there were no dwarfs amongst us nor a princess at the top just a weathered german in sandles with half a bott of energade. the wind whistled and blew and huffed and puffed,it became a little nervy, testing our vertigo. we never left anyone behind, just my stick.

up atop, as the clouds moved in rapidly, swirling as a cigar blower plays with the smoke, it looked ominous but we sat and we ate. tuna, peas, cheese, please. the day was not over.

we dropped down into the saddle, we rode it hard and then before we knew it we're on the ascent up noordhoek peak, we sweated as swedes in a sauna but for Al and his clima cool. silvermine was our resting spot. dry toilets and a hot shower.

Day 3, the fog hankered around us, it was icey and without google maps we were lost. from ours and the mountains vantage point, we had hout bay as a reflection in our irises. the custard yellow proteas and a pallete of greens enveloped us. we walked straight into a tv tower that had landed from nowhere. we thought we were goners. we were so off the path we were beating a new track. not even the parks board knew where we were. as the sun broke through, we bumped our heads on olives, we saw the light glistening off of the grapes in constantia. finally as our knees were about to crumble like soggy marie biscuits, orange kloof tented camp docked into the harbour. we made it with daylight minutes to spare.

Day 4 and as we started out of the blocks we were heading in the wrong direction. our compass, a bergie with all his teeth, made sure we were throwing our darts at the right board. Doryn, always in the landscape view of my camera lens held the rear, chaito in the vangaurd seeking snakes. "gsus, snaaake". we shouted "OMG" and jumped over it. it was small but in our heads and in the story we tell, it grows every day.

and then we were lost again.
the hills were gruelling and the gorges devilish. the damn huge mountain dam, chain ladders and lost english folk. we ascended the table. we heard lots of "norf", "free" and "yeahs".thought we hiked to North London.
the final descent, platteklip gorge. we gorged ourselves on dry fruit and old english mustard chicken sarms. and then like a skittled pin rolled down to the base. 

and as we dropped back into jozi, the vibration jolted my heart back to pace, and the red flashes erupted. call me