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12 L i feStyle | Travel 1 9 • 0 7 • 2 0 2 0 Sunday Times

Alight breeze tugged playfully atmy hair, blowing it into my face.For the umpteenth time, I sweptit under my hat and stopped toadmire the view. We’d spent theday, our last morning on thetrail, climbing the grassy flanksof Hog 1. A chunky carpet offorest rolled away to the plainson our right. To our left we hadour first glimpse of Hogsbacktucked in among the trees.

Behind us lay the bumpy blue spine of theAmatola mountains, snaking towards thehorizon. Posing for pictures on the saddle, itlooked like we were standing over a hugemap. After six days of tough hiking we’dalmost reached the end of our familyadventure on the Amatola Trail and we werefeeling on top form.

The Amatola has something of areputation. At about 106km (averaging a hilly20km each day), it truly is the granddaddy ofSouth African hiking trails. My parents,brother and I are all avid hikers, so it was onewe ’d been itching to tackle. We love beingable to spend quality time together on thetrail, surrounded by nature and far awayfrom the demands of cellphones and e-mails.And the Amatola delivered.

Although the region was in the grip of asevere drought, there were still forestsaplenty, dripping with every sort of moss andechoing with dawn birdsong. Many of thestreams and waterfalls were sadly depletedbut there was more water the closer we gotto Hogsback. I imagine these mountains

Sarah Camp tackles the Eastern Cape’s Amatola Trail, a likely inspiration for Tolkien’s Middle Earth

The

transform into something of a fairyland aftera bit of rain.

THE NANNY STATEAs it does for most who tackle the trail, ouradventure started with a trip to the trailheadin Dan Cornick’s bakkie. Cornick runsAmatola Trails, which offers comprehensivesupport and advice for anyone attempting tocomplete the hike.

We wound our way deep into themountains, passing prettily painted villagesand cattle grazing on the rolling hills. Lumpyemerald ridges loomed dramatically in thebackground. The scene set, Cornickpeppered the landscape with soldiers,missionaries, Xhosa prophetesses, dragonsand giant earthworms.

Tolkien ’s nanny came from this region,and it’s easy to see how her stories wouldhave fired the young writer’s imagination ashe created his literary classics, The Hobbitand The Lord of the Rings.

Maden Dam signalled the turnaroundpoint for Cornick, so we took our cue, saidour goodbyes and shouldered our packs,ready to play our part in this mountaindrama. The trail skirted the polished dam-waters, lined with reeds and framed by forestand cliffs, then wound off into the trees.Sunlight filtered through the canopy anddanced on the path ahead.

A flash of royal blue transformed into akingfisher. We passed remnants of a bygonetimber trade: an old railway and rottingbridge, saw pits and a timber chute. Between

1910 and 1917, JE Howse extracted 40,000m³of wood from 16,500 trees in these parts. Atthe time it was the largest logging operationin southern Africa.

The only fallen trees we saw, however,were those felled by a mini-hurricane, lyinghaphazardly in a clearing, torn by the storm.Xhosa legend tells of a giant winged snakethat lives behind Mnyameni Peak (Hog 3)and leaves a trail of destruction in its wake —possibly the inspiration for Tolkien’s dragonSmaug. After a bit of huffing and puffing ofour own, we reached Gwili Gwili hut,perched at the fringe of the forest, whichmarked the end of day 1. The hillside behindthe hut boasted sweeping views of the plainsbelow, but the mist soon descended and wefell asleep in the clouds.

IN MORNING MISTMisty conditions made for a treacherouslyslippery path at the start of day 2. Dad andmy brother, Stuart, looked suitably wizardlystriding along with their walking staffs, withDad even sporting the beginnings of agrizzled beard. The forest might have comestraight out of Middle Earth — huge old treeselegantly dressed in snug velvet coats andwoody creepers artfully draped in mosses .

After an hour or so of steady walking, wecame across a sudden break in theimpregnable wall of green, where a krantzjutted out from the tree-line. Agapanthus andwild geranium grew among the rocks, andlayers of farmland lay like crêpe paper belowus. From there it was drier — scrub, morekrantzes and plantations of wattle and pine.

Above, Stuart Camp surveys the Schwarzwald Forest on day five. Top, a view from Mnyameni to Zingcuka hut, looking back on Geju Peak. Pictures: Sarah Camp

The writer, her brother Stuart and dad Steve Camp on day three of the trail. Picture: Sally Frost

A D V E N T U R E

LORDof the

TRAILS

13 L i feStyle | Travel 1 9 • 0 7 • 2 0 2 0 Sunday Times

BOOK FOR LATERDan Cornick of Amatola Trails inHogsback says they can take bookingsonly for overnight trails that start fromDecember 1, in accordance withdirection from the department ofenvironment, forestry & fisheries.Bookings can be made for groups ofthree to 13 (50% capacity). Theseconditions, of course, are subject tochange.● Costs: The five-night trail with twonights’ accommodation before and afterthe hike is from R1,900 pp. Discountsavailable for students and scholars.

LOCKDOWN UPDATEAs day hikes are allowed under thecurrent regulations, Eastern Capers cando a portion of the Amatola Trail fromHogsback to Zingcuka (extremelytough) or Zingcuka to Hogsback (a biteasier), a distance of 25km and 16kmrespectively. Hikers will be dropped offor picked up at Zingcuka. Booking isessential.● Costs: R250 per person includespermits, safe parking and transportto/from the start or end of the trail.● Contacts: See amatolatrails.co.za ore-mail amatolatrails@gmail.com.

ALTERNATIVESCornick points out that there are severalshorter and easier day hikes in the area,including in the Auckland NatureReserve. The main hiking trail starts atAway with the Fairies backpackers andgoes straight into the indigenous forestto the 800-year-old Big Tree, thelargest tree in the Eastern Cape at36.6m tall, and on to three big waterfalls.This hike is on donations only.● See awaywiththefairies.co.za.

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Mnyameni hut shelters below the ridge of Hog 3.

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We almost lost the path in a section of recentlogging as huge strips of forestry alternatedwith bands of indigenous bush. I spotted a pairof bushbuck, as well as a trio of horsesgalloping into the mist. On arrival at Dontsahut, we found the river too low for swimming,but a bench pulled outside allowed us to baskin the afternoon sun.

HOT AND HUNGRYDay 3 started early in the pretty glade behindthe hut. A burst of scarlet and liquid birdsongbetrayed a Knysna lourie hiding in the canopy.These birds are abundant in the indigenousforests of the Amatola, along with Samangomonkeys. The path, meanwhile, crept slylyupwards. We collapsed on a spongy mattressof pine needles halfway up, before finallyemerging onto the contour path and reachinga small waterfall that trickled down a shadykloof. Red-hot-pokers glowed in the shadows.From there it was a clamber to the lip of theridge, where we were rewarded with a view ofthe telephone tower we’d passed on day 1 inthe far distance. Not too shabby!

By this stage it was scorching hot, so wetook Cornick’s advice and skirted Doornkop,walking through a thicket of protea instead.Before our next river crossing, we rested in theshade, watching creamy swallowtailbutterflies drifting downstream. Then it was aknee-jarring descent towards a welcomingwall of green and a leafy sanctuary once more.A herd of cattle watched our progress withtheir calves, the amathole that give thesemountains their isiXhosa name (there iscertainly good grazing to be had here).

At the bottom we were faced with aconfusing three-way split. Dad went one way;his sense of humour another.

Everyone was hot and hungry, so anemergency lunch stop in Waterfall Valley wasquickly agreed upon. Rumbling thunderproduced a sunny cloudburst, fat dropletssparkling in the slanting yellow-greensunlight. Better still, the biggest of the riverswas still full enough for our first swim —definitely the highlight of my day! Just as well,because the day’s exertions ended with anexciting, near-vertical scramble to Cata hut.

We popped out at an alpine meadowsprinkled with pink and yellow flowers, to berewarded by the welcome sight of that night’shut nestled snugly in its gently overgrowngarden. Standing on the deck that evening, weenjoyed the serenity of village lights twinklingin the darkness far below.

THE WEATHER TURNSWe left our secret valley shortly after daybreakon day 4 to follow a gurgling brook up into thequietness of the morning. The hillside wascloaked in dew-beaded grasses and brightlycoloured wildflowers. A pair of franklin tookto the sky in noisy, flapping indignation andbroke the silent spell.

As we climbed steadily to reach the saddleabove, the weather deteriorated and soon wewere engulfed in swirling mist. A needlingdrizzle and biting wind snatched at our wordsand gloveless fingers — I’d never been so cold.Hard to imagine we’d been almost su fferi ngfrom heatstroke the day before.

In the subzero temperatures, the decisionto skip Geju Peak was unanimous. Bundled upin our wet-weather gear, we stumbled throughthe icy smokescreen, following the trai lmarkers and, despite a few close calls,managed to keep to the path. Twice, wescrambled over a huge field of meteoriticboulders that had a curious metallic qualitywhen struck. There was nowhere to stop, onlyexposed, windswept scree.

At last we spotted a few scraggly pines and

ate a quick snack in their welcome shelter. Myclumsy fingers could hardly manage thepeanuts and raisins. Dad helped me put on anextra layer and we kept moving as we were allshivering from the break.

Mercifully, the worst was over and wedescended into the magnificent Malan Forestafter traversing a dramatic, gusty ridge. Thesun made a miraculous, if somewhat timid,appearance and Mum prepared Cup - a - Soup.

We stopped for lunch by a magnificentwaterfall and our good humour returned asour bodies thawed.

The rest of the day’s walk was throughpristine indigenous forest bisected by a chainof pools and cataracts. Occasional rustlinghinted at Samango monkeys in the treetops.After we’d crossed the river 11 times,Mnyameni hut came as a delightful surprise aswe emerged from the forest to find it hidden ina picturesque fork in the valley. The sun shonein earnest and Dad fired up the donkey boilerfor the ultimate luxury: buckets of deliciouslyhot water, followed by a lazy afternoonbasking on the lawn. We made a small firebehind the hut and chatted into the starlighthours .

TEMPTED BY THE RIVERDay 5 dawned clear and sunny as we steeredtowards the majestic form of Hog 3,silhouetted on the ridge above the hut in theearly-morning light. At the pass, we paused toadmire the sweeping views of Geju Peak andthe valley we’d descended the day before. Itwas beautiful walking and we were feelingparticularly light-hearted.

From the ridge, the path dropped into ahidden meadow nestled below Hog 2,complete with bubbling brook andmeandering pine trees. Tiny figures (the firstpeople we’d seen on the whole hike) movedamong peaceful cows. This was the start of theWolf River, so named for the hyenas that usedto be found here.

We lunched at a gorgeous black pool, thenhad to stop again almost immediately to swim.It was just too tempting – this section of riveris full of tumbling waterfalls and idyllicswimming spots.

A hike through a glen of silvery brackensaw us picking our way along the clifftopabove the Schwarzwald Forest. Both contourand descent had our adrenaline pumping.Luckily it was a short walk to Zingcuka hut,through charming woodland canopied bystately yellowwoods, luscious lemonwoodsand splendid ironwoods. A reed-linedboardwalk led to the hut that overlooked asmall, sun-drenched vlei in the midst of theforest. That afternoon we sat there enjoyingthe sun, the smell of crushed wild mint andthe chatter of Cape parrots. It was our lastnight on the trail.

Reaching Hogsback was bittersweet. Ourfinal day was as tough as any of the others. Wehad tackled a real adventure, and we hadmemories to share. To soak in a hot bath againwas bliss. As we sipped our rock shandies atthe Hogsback Inn that evening and watchedthe sun paint the three hogs pink, I felt proudof what we’d achieved. Who knows? Maybesomeday we’ll be back. © Sarah Camp