4. Van Staden's River Mouth to
Pollock Beach
03 May 1998 - 04 May 1998
4. Van Staden River Mouth to Pollock Beach
03 May 1998 - 04 May 1998
A Journey of
Reflection and Discovery
On January 1, 1998, I was promoted to Bankfin Industrial Branch Manager and transferred to Port Elizabeth. The announcement was sudden, and it was decided that I would relocate alone while Margie and the kids stayed behind until I had settled.
I felt some ascendency - that perhaps this might become a fond memory for me - a new chapter. I am quite the fan of the new chapter. A new chance to do better, and perhaps I offload some baggage along the way - seems like a good deal. What baggage? Perhaps only the gravity some feel for the crime of being alive.
My new role in the Eastern Cape came with a vast region to oversee: Queenstown, East London, and George, all of whom required regular visits. Initially, I made arrangements to stay with Rob and Val Wallace (Margie’s sister) for the first few months, and Margie planned to visit with the kids during the April school holidays.
It was good to see them but after their visit I was pounced on by a deep loneliness. I felt its claws. I missed my family terribly and even though the Wallaces were incredibly kind and welcoming, I felt isolated. Misunderstood. Perhaps it was from this place, or in response to this feeling, that one day soon after this.. on an impulse, I went to Game and bought a maroon rucksack and a pair of Hi-Tec hiking boots. It was time for an adventure, so I asked Val to drop me off at Van Stadens River Mouth in their white Audi 500 SLE at around 11:00 on a Saturday morning.
The hike began at the resort entrance gate, where a friendly receptionist waved me through without charging me, as I wasn’t classified as a day visitor. I followed the river’s edge to the beach, where I began walking along the shoreline toward Blue Horizon. The stretch of beach was about 4 km long, with houses perched high on the hill above. The walk felt endless, but eventually, I reached the Maitland River Mouth, a small, narrow inlet stream. The landscape was dominated by towering sand dunes, famous for sandboarding, and I saw a few children scrambling up the dunes, sliding down on pieces of cardboard.
The beach continued for another 2–3 km toward Beachview Caravan Park, a popular fishing spot dotted with anglers along the shoreline. After nearly three hours of walking, I reached the park and sat down on a bench, watching families enjoying the tidal pool as waves gently spilled over its edges.
From the caravan park, a tarred road ran parallel to the sea, never more than 100 meters from the shoreline. The rocky terrain forced me to stick to the road, where massive houses lined the opposite side. A few fishermen dotted the rocks, but the area wasn’t ideal for fishing due to the rough seas and jagged rocks. As I walked, passing motorists greeted me with waves, which lifted my spirits.
By 15:30, I reached the little village of Seaview and attempted to walk along the shoreline. However, the properties were built close to the water, with boundary walls blocking access, so I returned to the road. After crossing a small bridge on the edge of Seaview, I found a footpath that led back to the shoreline. The path, often obscured by rocks and bush, was difficult to follow, but after an hour, I stumbled upon a magnificent secluded beach. A large house nestled among the trees marked what is now known as Kini Bay.
As I crossed the beach and approached the rocky cove, a small dog began barking at me. I braced for trouble, thinking I was trespassing on private property, but no one emerged from the house. No one likes to feel caught out.
The rocky shoreline beyond the cove slowed me down significantly, and fatigue began to set in. With the sun sinking quickly, I started searching for a safe place to sleep.
By nightfall, I came across a cluster of empty cottages and some cows resting nearby. I realized I was on someone’s farm but saw no one around. The evening mist had dampened the grass, so I decided to sleep on a small wooden patio with a roof for shelter. It was a long night—the sun set around 18:00, and I lay awake listening to the waves crashing 400 meters away, waiting for the first light of dawn.
the next morning,
I began walking before sunrise, experiencing for the first time the sheer beauty of an untouched beach. The serenity was soothing as I left the only footprints on the pristine sand for the next 3 km to Sardinia Bay. The soft, wet sand at the water’s edge was easy to walk on, and little sandpipers (strandlopertjies) darted in and out of the waves. The fresh sea air, the rhythm of the waves, and the sight of the sun rising from the ocean filled me with humility and awe. Perspective.
Sardinia Bay was breathtaking, its flat rocks sheltering the main beach on either side. A few early risers were already out walking their dogs. I made my way across the sand and climbed an overgrown dune marked by a large sign indicating the protected Sacramento Trail. The trail was well-maintained, and along the way, I passed a rusted structure from the salvage of a shipwreck.
The trail eventually led to Schoenmakerskop Village, where a cannon salvaged from the wreck is displayed as a monument. From there, I followed the tarred road through the village and stopped at a small restaurant - Sacramento, for a sandwich and a cool drink before heading off to Willows Resort, 7 km further.
By 08:00, I was back on the road. Though the sea was always in sight, the monotony of walking along the tar road made it feel less like hiking. When I arrived at Willows, I bought more refreshments, knowing that Port Elizabeth was still 12 km away. I pressed on, passing Noordhoek Ski Boat Club and "Gate 1" before finding a parking area with a footpath leading back to the beach.
As I stepped onto the sand, I realized how much harder this section would be. The soft sand slowed me down considerably, and by noon, I felt drained. The sight of Cape Recife Lighthouse spurred me on, though I could feel my energy levels dropping rapidly after subsisting on little more than fruit and biscuits for the past 24 hours.
Reaching the lighthouse brought both relief and realization—I had taken the longer beach route instead of staying on the road. Still, I pressed on, passing the old Penguin Sanctuary and continuing along the beach past Pine Lodge. The rocky terrain carried me to Pollock Beach and eventually to Something Good car park, where I called Val Wallace to pick me up.
By 14:00, I had covered countless kilometers over two days. Exhausted but proud, I reflected on the journey. Since that hike, I’ve returned many times to explore the reserves of Cape Recife, Sacramento, and Maitland—each visit a reminder of the healing power of solitude and the perspective gained from a posture of wonder.
30 December 1998
"when things fall apart"
Christmas 1998 was my first spent alone, marking yet another chapter in my life where things felt torn apart. Earlier that year, I was transferred to Port Elizabeth, with the plan for Margie and the boys to follow soon after. However, Margie found her happiness elsewhere and chose not to relocate to PE. Unbeknownst to me, she had already made her decision, and when I was transferred back to Durban at the end of October, she informed me that I could no longer move back into the house with her and the kids.
Left with no other option, I found a small garden cottage—a granny flat—and moved straight into it from Port Elizabeth at the end of October 1998. As Christmas approached, Margie and the boys planned to spend the holiday with her parents in Tarkastad, leaving me to make my own plans. I decided to visit friends in East London and PE but ultimately accepted an invitation from our Regional Manager, François du Pisani, to spend New Year with his family at Morgan Bay. They had rented a house there for the festive season, and the thought of being around familiar faces felt comforting.
During my three-day stay with François and his family at Morgan Bay, his wife mentioned wanting to walk to Haga Haga and asked if I’d join her. She had heard me talk about my previous hikes along that coastline, especially the Strandloper Trail, and thought it would be a great way to explore.
We set off that day, following the cliffs that hugged the coastline, with the sea stretching endlessly beside us. The path led us across Double Mouth, where the dramatic landscape of rocks and seaweed-filled tidal pools made for stunning views. From there, the trail opened into rolling grasslands, a serene stretch of green leading us toward the Haga Haga Hotel.
Upon arrival, we paused for a light meal and cool drinks, soaking in the tranquil atmosphere of the small coastal village. The hotel, nestled near the shoreline, seemed almost timeless, offering a perfect spot to rest before starting our journey back.
Retracing our steps, we walked the same route back to their house at Morgan Bay. The return hike offered a different perspective as the afternoon light softened, casting warm hues over the cliffs and grassy plains. By the time we arrived back, I felt a quiet sense of accomplishment and gratitude for the day. I remember this gratitude. If I could feel grateful when so much was lost, then I had something after all.
That day’s hike was more than just a physical journey—it was a reminder of the healing power of nature and the simple pleasure of sharing moments with kindhearted people during a time when I needed it most.
