I have been intrigued by the mystery of the Drakensberg mountains since the first time they stared down at me. Parts of the N3 highway get fairly adjacent to the Bergs and on these occasions it is as if those rugged mountains are calling out to me. They have filled me with a sense of wonder; sometimes as a result of the secretive mist, other times because of the snow capped peaks or the lush green slopes, but mostly because of the sheer majesty of the peaks. The Bergs are aptly named for their dragon-like appearance, for the name ‘Drakensberg’ literally means “Dragon Mountain” or “Mountain of Dragons”. The Zulu name ‘uKhahlamba’ or “Barrier of up-pointed spears” ratifies the awe that these magnificent peaks created, not only in me, but in the early settlers too. It is with this sense of fascination that I tackled my climb up to Champagne Castle.  So named because of the celebratory bottle of bubbly that was accidentally dropped on its peak by two intrepid mountaineers many years ago, thus quenching the Dragon’s thirst.

The drive down to the starting point was rather uneventful except for the obvious healing effect that the recent downpours had on the land. Rivers, that were just a month ago a pitiful stretch of stagnant pools, were raging down to the ocean and the previously scorched grasslands had been transformed into fields of green. The first tinge of excitement hit me on the R600 road toward the Monks Cowl camp. As the road wound southwest, the Bergs became an imposing yet enticing monster before me. It was as if the sky was being replaced by this rocky massif.
Upon arrival at the camp, I formally met the rest of my hiking party; two ladies in their late twenties, two young guns fresh out of university and Darren our guide. As it goes with such introductions, each one of them was carefully sussed out and my strategy to either befriend or defeat them carefully planned. I would later find that friends on such a hike are extremely valuable, if for anything else but the comfort of human contact in a vast and lonely valley.

Darren distributed the camping supplies between the six of us, which we were to add to our already burdened back packs. I had packed my hiking bag on the previous evening with careful consideration of essentials verses comforts. I soon discovered that every extra kilogram of mass was worth a tonne up on the mountain. Nonetheless, some of those luxuries turned out to be pretty useful in spite of the extra strain they imposed on me. In hindsight, I would have taken less toiletries, left the novel behind and taken more food instead. Lesson number one! Back packs packed and ready, hiking boots tight and spirits high, we departed for the hills. It felt strange leaving our vehicles behind as it was symbolic of the world of business and high pace that we were thankfully throwing off for a few days. This, however, paled in comparison to the feeling of exhilarating anticipation that we had for our journey ahead.

Darren led the way and almost immediately we were into our first ascent. There was no “easing into it”, this was no gentle upward slope on which we could warm up for the challenges ahead. Rather, it was a tough series of steps that immediately demanded high energy. In spite of that, this initial section of the route was well worn and full of day-visitor hikers. As the weekend wore on, our view of these day visitors changed from friendly, when we met them on our way up, to jealousy when we knew they were heading back down to a warm bed and hot shower and finally to insignificance when we had completed our triumph and were on our final descent. Our first stop was a small waterfall where we rested briefly, filled up our water bottles and readjusted our back packs to a more comfortable position. And so began our hiking routine for the next three days. A punishing walk followed by a brief water, rest and readjust break.

As that first afternoon wore on, the day visitors became fewer, for most of them had only made it as far as the Sphinx or had already turned back. We trudged on… Past the Sphinx, until we reached the point of no return! The point where it would not be possible to turn back and make it to camp before dark! We had only started our hike at 2pm, therefore our actual point of no return had come and gone a long time ago but, it was symbolic to stop

and acknowledge the sign board that explicitly turned back all day-visitor hikers. Passing this sign and after gaining about 500m in elevation, we unexpectedly entered a vast flat plain covered in grass. The variation of the Bergs in terms of vegetation and climate is fascinating. From these rolling grassed plains to rain forests to flower fields!  From blazing sunshine to dense cool mist to icy gusts of wind! All of which makes the experience of hiking through the Bergs dynamic and intriguing.

I encountered the first of the rain forests just after the grassed plains as we started our descent towards the emergency camp site. This was no Amazonian rain forest. Far from It! Rather this was a little micro rain forest that followed the course of a river. Tree lined rivers are the norm in most parts of the country but this was more than just a line of trees capitalizing on a rare water source. Here the perpetual moisture from the river, rains and mist supports an array of plant life that is vastly different from the bushveld woodlands that characterize large parts of South Africa.

These micro rain forests have a soft texture, both to the skin and eye. The bushveld defense mechanism, barbs and thorns, have no place up here as the relationship between flora and fauna is of a more symbiotic nature. The colors are a deep, almost iridescent shade of green. The scent of the forest is intense imparting a slightly heady feeling to visitors. The trees are covered in moss and have the appearance of a retired old man resting on his front porch in the early morning mist. I was enchanted by this first little rain forest and rather annoyed at having to rush on to get to camp before dark. A thought occurred to me after departing this micro habitat. We spend so much of time, money and effort on our home gardens. We train, limit and remove every plant at our homes to create a man-made, structured form of beauty. Yet, when nature is left to its own devices, its magnificence is far superior to anything we can produce. Lesson number two! Give nature a fair chance at my home garden!

That first afternoon wore on and while the pace was quick, the going was slow. Except for Darren, none of us were accustomed to lugging a huge bag through rugged terrain at a fast rate. So the rest stops were maybe a little longer than was good for us. We would soon pay the price for our tardiness! It was at dusk that it dawned on us that speed was now a necessity. If we were to make it to camp before dark, or even worse before the heavens opened up, then we needed to get a move on. We rearranged our Indian file march and proceeded with urgency. The descent to the river crossing helped us gain some precious minutes of sunlight but it was too little too late. We arrived at the emergency camp site at 7pm, when the last of the sun’s rays were merely reflecting off the sky. The emergency camp was small, slightly overgrown and poorly located. Setting up camp here would mean breaking up camp early in the morning before heading out to the main camp, a mere one hour hike, then resetting camp before attempting our summit. With this information and believing that the main camp, “Keith’s Bush Camp”, was just around the corner we made a quick decision to push on in the dark. The beginning of my internal physical and mental strife!

It was only a few minutes after leaving the emergency camp that the darkness encompassed us and we were forced to march in a much closer file just to keep up with the guide. We were now heading back uphill as the main camp was on higher ground than the emergency camp. To compound matters, this section of the path was rather overgrown and it seemed that with every few steps an annoyed stem or branch would lash out in anger. The dew had settled in thickly, adding to the venom of these floral beatings. My clothes became damp, then wet and finally drenched as if I had waded knee-deep through a river. The sun’s absence welcomed the cold of the night; which in spite of this being a mid Summers hike, was close to freezing. Keith’s bush camp was, contrary to our hopes, more than just merely around the corner. It was a marathon final stretch! Fatigued and tackling an uphill assaulting hike with soaked clothes in the wet and cold night… I was utterly miserable!
As a runner, capable of maintaining a four-minute-kilometer over a long distance, I pride myself on endurance and fitness. So this physical strain and sense of defeat not only surprised me but tore at my pride. It was a bodily and mental low and as with such situations, evil thoughts started to plague me. Why am I doing this? What is the point? Can I turn back? What if we get lost? Never ever again! Every step on that day’s final hour was born out of pure will power and strength of mind. The most debilitating emotion I experienced on that day was hopeless resignation. I had resigned myself to the fact that I had no other option but to soldier on. I could not stop or turn back. All I could was move forward. In hindsight, it was that state of “just get through this” that made the whole experience worthwhile. For in attempting to climb one of the highest peaks in the country, you want it to be one of the toughest things you’ve done. If it were easy, not only will everyone have done it but that sense of accomplishment would be severely diminished.

We made it to Keith’s bush camp at 8pm, after six hours and fifteen kilometers of hiking. A short rest should have been the order of the moment but there was work to be done and time was against us. The guide allocated our camp duties and in a quick and efficient manner, we were in operation. Within half an hour we had our tents pitched, sleeping mats placed, mess area setup and dinner going on the gas cooker. It was finally time to relax and soothe our beaten muscles and battered soles. My battered soul required something else. I had carried up a nip of Smirnoff vodka but due to weight constraints, I left out a mixer. I had two options; go Russian and drink it neat or use the only available mixer around… River water! Just the thought of the former made me gag, so I proceeded to fill one of my water bottles with a perfect mix of vodka and river water. It was refreshing, tasty and immediately lifted my spirit. Victoria, one of my hiking mates, and I took quite nicely to this new cocktail. And so we ended our evening with a hearty dinner, a few drinks and crazy conversation. Although the summit was still a long way up, I went to bed with a great sense of accomplishment.

A day of hard marching normally implies a late and lazy morning, however this was not only negated by the discomfort of the hard floor but also by the eagerness we, or at least I, felt for the day ahead. I was greatly rewarded for my 5:30 wake up call with the first early

rays of the sunrise against the Champagne Castle massif. As it turned out, that was my last glimpse of the mountain we were to climb for that day. For it was not more than two hours later that the mist rolled up and over our heads, shrouding the Castle in mystery for the rest of the day. That morning was lovely! A wash in the river, followed by coffee, instant oats and finally the sun making itself visible above the eastern peaks. The early Sun was a masterful artist, painting the landscape and then layering it in coats of progressively brighter colors until all shadows melted away and all that remained was a stunning canvas. The sun held on just long enough to warm our bodies and souls, before it too was blocked out by the mist. By this time, we were rigged up and ready to march with a looming 1000m ascent over a mere 7km distance. Apprehensive at the prospect but piqued by the challenge, we headed up.

In contrast to the previous day’s march, which was a series of climbs, flats and descents, this summit hike headed in one direction only… Up! However, despite this physically demanding ascent, our bodies and minds were already tougher than it had been a mere twelve hours prior. The latent stiffness in my legs had softened out and my mind, as opposed to being in a state of resignation, was sharpened so that every sense was heightened. The rolling mist became a soft cool blanket over my skin. The scent of the vegetation around me was pungent, almost as if I had tasted it. My eyes were opened to intricate details that had, until then, eluded me and even the wind rustling through the grass was a sweet melody. All the while we maintained a brutal pace and soldiered on up. We hiked up in a series of forty five minute runs followed by brief rest stops. At each stop we had the opportunity to refuel and gauge our progress. The summit remained hidden for much of the climb so our only reference was the tiny brightly colored smudges below that was our camp site. We were making great progress and our subsequent inspired minds pushed our bodies harder.

The Drakensberg animal life is astounding and abundant. Centuries of human persecution have scarred these mountain beasts into secrecy and shyness. All our contact with wildlife was met with immediate flight, but ample evidence of their presence was scattered all across the mountain. The echoes of the baboon’s screams were amplified like a speaker box against the solid rock cliffs and a multitude of birds sang a beautiful tune in celebration of the beauty around them. The massive vultures circled lazily, albeit ominously, in the Berg updrafts and the fireflies entertained us with a sparkling dance in the black of the night. We had two close encounters with the local residents. On our way up to the summit we angered a tiny puff adder that was trying to warm up in the meager morning sunshine. Contrary to popular expectations, the little guy let out his signature puff and then simply sought refuge in the long grass. And then later that evening, upon our return, we found that our camp’s mess area had been raided by a troop of monkeys. Unfortunately for them, our wise guide kept all food supplies safely barred and the monkey’s raid was fruitless. That, however, did not stop them from making a mess in the mess.

The higher we climbed, the less defined the path became and the expertise of our guide became crucial. At points, the path disappeared altogether and we had to climb some short ledge to rediscover the way. The level of danger also increased with the altitude. The road in the upper portions of the mountains is more precarious and a fall over the edge will most certainly mean death. At one point I overbalanced due to my heavy backpack and after quickly regaining my footing, realized that I had been centimeters away from a fatal fall. On another occasion I found myself sitting with my legs dangling over a ledge during a rest stop. After a close examination of the area around me, the instability of the supporting rock became more evident and I nervously tracked back to firmer ground. Being sure footed was as vital a requirement for this hike as was being fit. Nonetheless, other than a few slips on the way down and a blister here and there, the entire hike went without any incident.
We eventually made it to a narrow gorge that signaled the final stretch of Gray’s pass (the route up to Champagne Castle) and the last of the major climbs. The gorge seemed to have been formed by some ancient explosion that simply blew a channel through the rock for subsequent climbers. The gorge was filled with scattered rocks, which combined with the gradient of the climb made this last ascent tough. We were well rewarded because for the first time since leaving camp, the peak of Champagne revealed itself. We found ourselves on a flat buttress on which, along with other smaller peaks, Champagne Castle stood proud. Up here, the path all but disappeared and the flora changed to sparse grasslands dispersed by fynbos-like shrubs. The treacherous cliffs were no more so for the first time our direction was clear and the peak itself became the guide.

We were now on the final stretch before summiting. The walk was less arduous, for the path was fairly flat except for the ultimate gentle climb up to the castle. Now, mist can be either friend or foe. Friend, when it shields you from the tormenting African sun but foe when it limits visibility and complicates navigation. Initially we headed accurately towards Champagne Castle, but when the mist blotted out all the visible peaks, determining which was the correct peak to summit, became guess-work. Even our experienced guide, Darren, became uncertain and so it happened that we summited the wrong peak. Arghhh!

This only became apparent when the mist covering the castle cleared momentarily to reveal the cairn on its apex. Fortunately though, this false peak was adjacent to the correct one, however time was running out for us to make camp before dark. Three of us made the call to descend this cursed false peak and summit the correct one. Thank you Mist for protecting me from a painful sunburn but woe to you for leading me astray!

In truth, the summit of Champagne Castle was anticlimactic. I had expected to be presented with this amazing aerial view of the landscape below, with it’s serene rivulets, sparkling waterfalls, spectacular valleys and rolling hills, all clothed in resplendent green.
But, for the second time in the day, I was duped by the mist and the only view available was a solid sheet of whiteness. However, after contemplating my unique geographical position on this earth at 3377m above mean sea level, more than 30km away from the nearest civilization, a deep sense of satisfaction filled my soul. In the end this deep sense of satisfaction and accomplishment was worth even more than any expansive vista. It was as if the Bergs and I had developed a personal bond and no camera shot would ever capture that.

The successful completion of any extreme challenge is a highly fulfilling experience. Physically, this was, without exception, the toughest thing I had ever done. And I wouldn’t want to have it any other way. I love that I know how I pushed myself without giving up. I love that, in spite of that first day’s low, I powered on and overcame my own demons. I love that I am part of a tiny group of people to have summited Champagne Castle. So, our journey down was completed with a lighter step and in a state of euphoria. This was not before we made a quick detour across the river into the mountain Kingdom of Lesotho, officially making this an international hike.
We reached our camp site at dusk and proceeded to celebrate with the earth’s fermented gifts. That evening the heavens themselves blessed us with a magnificent spectacle of fire-like mirages within Cowl’s gap.  Then, a little after dark, the fireflies entertained us with their luminous mating dance. And while a grueling hike back home still awaited me the next morning, I took these displays as a fitting Drakensberg farewell. Without question, one of the most stunning paradises on earth!