Gearing Up! Ready To Take A Hike

A few decades ago, I celebrated my 40th birthday in Namibia. That night, the rotund chef at the Waterberg Reserve’s restaurant made an entrance and, in true operatic style, serenaded me in a booming baritone, singing “Happy birthday to you” beautifully. It’s something I’ll never forget. I have a collage of memories, beautiful photographs, books, and cards that commemorate that highlight.

Always one with a bucket list as long as a chimpanzee’s arm, steadily growing, I had hiked the Fish River Canyon high on the list until I looked down from the viewpoint just north of Ais-Ais. My stomach flopped, my legs jellied, and I had to use all my willpower to stop myself from toppling over the edge under the G-forces. I have a fear of heights. The descent is steep, and chains are provided to assist hikers over the first 100 metres. Despite my fears, I am committed to facing them head-on during this hike, knowing it will be a personal victory.

“Jitte ekke bang!” I’m scared. I had to accept that I would never have the courage to descend that vertical sheet of bedrock and walk the 85 km along the riverbed to experience the Fish River Canyon. Until now, that is.

2016 is the penultimate year before I reach another milestone. I’m conquering my fears. The first was horrifying, but I stared down that Boomslang at Mana Pools. I still hate the buggers, though. Next week I’ll descend into Hobas and do a four-day hike along the Fish River.

Not only did my G.P. think it was time to get fit, but my spinning coach did too and had been on my case for months. With the hike looming, I had no time to waste and got into a serious exercise regime. Every square inch of my body hurt on the second day. Since then, my pain has fluctuated from excruciating to manageable. I had pain in muscles I’d never known I had. I feel my age. Yesterday I seriously wondered whether I’d had an undetected stroke. Nothing really works as it should; my legs have got shorter, my balance has degraded, my fingers don’t grip as well, and my mind wanders. I’m slower, and my strides are shorter. I huff and puff and wheeze.

This confession certainly won’t inspire confidence in my abilities. I know that. Do not fear. By next Monday, I’ll be up and running. Why? Because I've set a simple goal to complete the Fish River hike and I'm determined to succeed. Bloody-mindedness is my middle name.

Going on this hike meant I had to expand my wardrobe. Of course, and a CHECKLIST. The experience has been interesting, as once again I was confronted with the different categories of sales assistants. I can describe them as indifferent, uninterested, rude, uninformed, and intellectually challenged. Some were enthusiastic, helpful, friendly and polite. None knew anything about the Fish River Canyon, and I doubt whether any have a desire to hike.

I’ve been wearing my new Hi-Tech hiking boots non-stop for three weeks. The cold weather has been a bonus, and my winter toes have been snug as bugs in my thick woollen socks. I’ve had concerned friends send me YouTube clips on just about everything, but I found the “How to tie hiking boot laces” video very informative and helpful. I’ve improved my footing; my ankles are secure, dropped arches and all. My apologies to everyone who has had to move their furniture to accommodate my huge clodhoppers. Dad, you were right; they are my new best friends, and I couldn’t live without them.

Supporting local businesses is something I do, so I trotted down to our local outdoor equipment store to buy a new backpack. The friendly sales assistant gave me the once-over and recommended the super-light Osprey Ariel 65, specifically designed for women. I was measured for the perfect fit.

In February, I went on a two-night hike with my son. He wasn’t impressed with my kit at all and called me the weakest link. My new Osprey has impressed him with its excellent reviews.

With the new boots and backpack, I thought I was ready to go. Not so fast. On Thursday, I’m expecting my new Osprey Hydraulics reservoir—cold tap water.

That should settle it, then. Most unlikely. Wherever we go, counsel pours in: don’t forget this, you can’t go without that. Are you taking this or that? And if not, I get the look that says, “you’re making a big mistake; I’ve done the hike, and you’re going to be sorry”.

On most days, I get a YouTube clip about packing my backpack, what to pack, what to avoid, and what I won’t survive without. My Precious has brought home maps and printed pamphlets on the history, weather conditions, current water levels, and expected weather. I’ve read about the history, dating back a gazillion years, the German occupation of Namibia, who’s died there, and who’s buried there. I’ve heard horror stories about injuries and broken ankles.

The training has been fun. From Monday to Friday, I join the Aqua Queens, a lively group of retirees who take strength, Pilates, and aerobics classes. On Fridays, I reward myself by stretching my aching muscles in the stretch class. My beloved watches me three mornings a week, strapping up and cycling to an ensemble of tunes blaring in my ears in the Spinning Class. I do the circuit, walk/run on the treadmill, and instead of sauntering to the washing line, I now gallop with a full washing basket under my arm. I flatly refuse to swim. It’s winter.

On two occasions I’ve hiked up the mountains at Fernkloof to get accustomed to wearing a heavy backpack, to test the new boots, and to negotiate rocks, slippery paths, downhills, and too many uphills to count. What a delight it’s been. I’ve met some of my fellow Canyon hikers; I’ve enjoyed the grand vistas around every corner.

We’ve had the most fabulous weather: clear skies, sunny days, and cool winds through the gullies. When I’ve almost caught my breath, mist blankets the upper reaches, and there have been a few drops of rain at the end of the walk. I’ve slipped, missed my footing, and bruised and scraped my knees.

I’ve been thankful my son can’t see me tripping up, but I wish they were here to see the spectacular fynbos coming into bloom; spotting a whale blowing would certainly make their day. Armed with a stick, a bag, water to fill the ocean, a snack pack, beanies and gloves, I make my way steadily to the finish line. This week the G.P will declare me fit as a fiddle.

Tomorrow I’ll hike along the beach, just to Sopiesklip; that should work my ankles. It’s time to pack my bag, replacing the water bottles with a sleeping bag, bedroll, a pair of socks, some thermal long Johns, my headlamp and toothpaste, never for a moment forgetting that my maximum weight should not exceed 10kg. Going to take some doing. I’ve had to forfeit my beloved Canon for a smaller, lighter point-and-shoot; the purist in me balks. I hope I'm not the weakest link. Hold thumbs.

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STORES I SUPPORTED - These were Top of the Pops.

Quenet’s Jag en Hengel
Q Square,
High Str
Worcester

Trappers' Trading
Mountain Mill Mall
Worcester

Outdoor Warehouse Sports Store
34 Klipfontein Rd, Rondebosch
+27 21 686 3922

Drifters Adventure Centre
Shop L337
Sandton city
011 783 9200

http://driftersadventurecentre.co.za/onlineshop/packs-hiking/osprey-ariel-65-lds-pack/