This article first appeared in THE WEEKENDER

28th March 2009

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It was a long weekend and we were in the Drakensberg. Our plans hinged around a hike up the famous Cathedral Peak which, at just over 3000 metres, is among the highest mountains in southern Africa. One of our party had reached the summit at the tender age of 12, so we assumed that a group of relatively fit adults could make the climb without too much difficulty.

How wrong we were.

The idea was to arrive on the Saturday, hike on the Sunday and relax on the Monday. It all seemed simple enough but things went awry when, after a wine-soaked dinner on Saturday night, we decided to follow the biblical injunction to make Sunday a day of rest. As temperatures soared into the 30s, we lazed by the pool under a blue sky and congratulated ourselves on a sensible decision – even when we were told that there was a 60% chance of storms the next day.

“We’ll brave it,” was the nonchalant consensus. “If it does rain, we can always turn back.”

That’s the last thing I remember with any clarity; the events of that fateful Monday are something of a blur in my conscious mind. Fortunately, however, aided by photographs and hypnotherapy, I’ve been able to reconstruct the following chronology:

3:45am – Why, God, why? We wake up, pack and start the day with an hour’s drive to the departure point at the Cathedral Peak Hotel (aiming to join a group leaving earlier than usual “to beat the weather”).

5:20am – Backpacks bouncing off our hips, we sprint to meet our guide and fellow hikers, who have been waiting cheerlessly since 5:00am. We set off.

5:50am – This may not be so bad after all. There, in the distance, is our goal: the grand silhouette of Cathedral Peak. As dawn lightens into early morning, the weather is cool but not overcast. We cross rivers, walk between shoulder-high ferns, pass through a clutch of Protea trees. Storm? Schmorm. We’ll be fine.

6:25am – As we’re ascending a gentle gradient, one of our group casually observes that there is a bank of clouds building behind us. “Yes, that’s the direction the weather comes from,” notes Absolom, our guide, who has apparently climbed the mountain over a thousand times.

7:00am – The lush green hills on the other side of the valley have disappeared behind a thin mist. Absolom walks on. We walk on.

7:20am – The sky has clouded over entirely. It’s somewhere between grey and white. “Do you think it will lift?” we ask hopefully. “Maybe,” replies the oracular Absolom.

7:35am – We stop to collect water from a stream. Visibility is only a few hundred metres, but the walk is invigorating and the air is fresh. Who needs good views to enjoy a hike?

8:00am – We hit a steep gulley known as “the orange peel” (the reason for this name never becomes apparent). Muscles and lungs start to take strain. My wife gives me a look that says, “I don’t think I can take much more.”

8:25am – We reach a saddle and stop to rest for a few minutes. It’s raining now. “What do you think, Absolom?” (“We keep going.”)

9:00am – We rise higher and higher. A light drizzle comes and goes. Absolom walks on. We walk on.

9:30am – We reach the first in a series of what, in dry weather, are rock “scrambles” but, in the rain, are more like water-slides. Absolom clips in a rope and we force our way up.

10:00am – The rain is heavy now, and one of our party wisely decides that she shouldn’t carry on. Three of us stay with her, glad that someone else voiced what we were secretly thinking. Two others are still game, and Absolom leads them on, promising to return from the hidden summit in half an hour.

10:50am – Cold. Wet. Worried: are the other three still alive? We sing songs to keep our spirits up, but falter as we start to shiver.

11:15am – The others return and confirm that there is bugger all to be seen from the summit. We head back down. Shoes go squelch. Blisters grow.

12:00pm – Someone says something about imagining the amazing views on a clear day and gets shouted at. Tempers are frayed.

1:10pm – Still going down. My wife’s left knee gives out.

2:05pm – A friend announces, “If I’d known this was going to happen, I would have told the person who suggested this hike to f*** off!” (The person who suggested the hike is his wife.)

2:45pm – My wife’s right knee gives out.

3:15pm – Still going down. We hear angel voices calling us to the pearly gates ... but Absolom walks on, so we walk on.

4:00pm – After 11 hours, 19 kilometres and millions of litres of rain, we return tired, sore and sopping to the hotel. We’re desperate for a shower but don’t have dry towels. The manager tells us to pay R100 as a deposit for each towel.

4:01pm – The manager ignores our suggestion to shove it.

4:05pm – We hit the showers. Bliss.