34. The Haven Hotel (Bashee River) to Dwesa Point

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​leaving safe havens ​

Tuesday, 29 April 2025​

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Two days ago I was forced to abandon a full 3-day hike from Kob Inn to The Haven Hotel (Bashee River Mouth) when I reached a flooding Shixini River and had to backtrack and return to Kob Inn again. After a good night’s rest and a very slow drive on treacherous roads, where I got stuck twice in the mud with my little Magnite, I reached The Haven Hotel at about 15:30.

I had decided not to return home (Port Elizabeth) as the weather forecast was positive, with sunny skies and temperatures of around 28°C for the next three days. As I was already in the Transkei, and knowing that the rivers were still in flood, I decided to walk part of the abandoned hike, but with smaller rivers.

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Although the Bashee River is the 2nd largest river in the Transkei (after the Umzimvubu at Port St Johns) and was still in flood, the hotel offered a ferry service across the river at the cost of R100 for its guests. I booked accommodation for two nights and arranged to be ferried across at 07:30 the next day (29 April). I was fortunate enough to secure a self-catering unit, as I still had most of my provisions in my rucksack and did not need food or be subject to the restrictions on “dining room” times.

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My new plan was to cross the Bashee River in a ferry, walk the beach about 6 km to Mendu Point, continue another 5 km to Dwesa Point, then return and be ferried across the river again. I would then have covered at least 21 km over the two-day period (originally planned as a three-day one-way hike of 45 km), achieving roughly 50% of the original plan.

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At 06:45 I set off across the mashie golf course, past the tennis court towards the beach. The pathway was washed away and suddenly I realized that I had forgotten my walking stick. I hung my rucksack on a branch and walked back while the sun rose from the sea on the horizon.

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The entrance to the beach was stunning, with a small lagoon, rising sun, smell of the ocean and kilometers of flat, undisturbed sand (I was first on the beach). My feet felt good (I had a full emergency gout kit of eight tablets after supper last night) and with the sun on my back, I set off towards the big Bashee River mouth to meet the ferry guys.

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Within minutes the footprints of two cows appeared, and I followed them all the way to the river mouth to join the rest of the herd. The river was dark brown, wide and fast-flowing, and I walked about 500 metres upstream before spotting the bright orange paddle-ski ferry boat.

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A man named Chris put on the only life jacket while I battled to get into the flat paddle-ski, slowly moving myself into place. My rucksack was placed between my knees and I held onto the handles for balance while Chris took long pulls with the paddle. The outgoing tide was strong, but the crossing was smooth and well managed. Once across, he removed my rucksack and helped me out of the canoe.

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Accepting help had always been like accepting suggestions - difficult. But something was softening.

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“Nothing teaches like water — it always takes the shape of the truth.” The memories of the last walk were with me.

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I set off along the sandy riverbank toward the river mouth again. At 08:15 I reached it and took a photo of the herd of cattle now far in the distance across the river. There were at least three sightings of big white birds but every time I stopped and lifted my phone to take a photo, they would fly off.

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Two Magpie Crows also took flight whenever I approached, and this brought back memories of my mom and the childhood rhyme she used to recite:

“One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy…”

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This meant joy — and my spirit lifted.

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It was a beautiful, windless morning. Blue sky, slight mist, and a low tide that made walking easy. Mendu Point came slowly into view. I reached a section of beach where the reflection was so bright it looked painted. Natural artworks appeared everywhere — the tide carving shapes around rocks, slow-moving ripples forming patterns in the sand. A herd of cows walked lazily in the shallows, and together we crossed the Mendwana River before parting ways near Mendu Point at 09:15.

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I could see immediately that the rocks around Mendu Point were impassable. Waves smashed against them, sending spray high into the air. So I climbed the blind dune instead. Once on top, I saw another long beach ahead, stretching toward Dwesa Point.

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“A path is not the same path twice—not after rain, not after courage.” At least I get to walk this - it's not what I planned. But it's something.

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The sun grew hotter, the mist lifted, and sweat began to run down my legs. The beach ahead was untouched — no footprint of human or animal. Only the pulse of the waves kept me company.

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At 09:50 I reached the end of the long beach and followed a stream toward a grassy hill. A large rock provided the perfect shady rest spot. I soaked a towel in the stream and cooled my head while drinking from my water bladder.

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After a short rest I climbed a muddy slope. My shoes were swallowed up to the ankle with every step. Dwesa Point was now clearly in view. Locals were searching the rocks below for shellfish. I met a young fellow with his dog and asked whether a shoreline path existed. He said yes — but dangerously high, narrow, and slippery. He suggested the safer dune-side route, joining a jeep track toward the Dwesa lookout.

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Guidance.

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At 10:30 I found the narrow path up the grassy slope. The tide was pushing in quickly now, and the heat was intense, so I took a longer rest beneath a tree. I opened a tin of bully beef, another of baked beans, downed a Coke, and lay on my back looking up at the treetops. A tall man from the rocks approached, offering two large perlemoen. I declined politely and explained I was only passing through.​

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At 11:00 I began my return walk. The rising tide had already washed away some of my earlier footprints. This reminded me of one of my mom’s lessons:

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“You must always be prepared to walk back on your own footsteps in your journey through life.” And within this I heard the echo of the thoughts from my past hike:

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“Some journeys are finished by turning back.”

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Soon after, a man appeared on the grassland and walked just behind me and I started to feel watched - even followed. It was an uncomfortable kilometre. I didn’t want to enter the high dunes of Mendu Point with him behind me, so I stopped and let him go ahead until he joined two other men. Threats of nature two days ago, threats of human nature today.​

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Once over the dunes, I walked the last long stretch of beach toward the Bashee River. At 13:25 I finally saw Chris waiting with the canoe. A man stood on the bank watching us but did not approach. As we crossed, I saw a couple filming the moment — friends of Chris — and the lady later sent me the footage for R50.

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I walked the final jeep track back to the hotel with exhausted legs but a grateful heart. At 14:05 I unpacked my rucksack outside my room and finally let this all land where it needed to within me.

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The last few days have been teaching me that some parts of the coastline can only be walked by respecting it's rhythms, not my plans. Two days ago the tide turned before I could, and perhaps that was the lesson. In the old myths, it is blindness that brings ruin; and on that hike seeing clearly brought me safely home - and brought me to another day like today. Not perfect. Not my plan. But something. Some days the victory is simply this: letting the land and the water teach you how to walk it. And that I am not as fragile as I fear, nor as invincible as I once believed.​​​

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