1. Kei Mouth to Glen Gariff Beach
23 Oct 1987 - 24 Oct 1987
1. Kei River Mouth to Glen Gariff Hotel
23 Oct 1987 - 24 Oct 1987
The journey begins, though I didn’t know it
Both of my sons are now born. My eldest is soon to turn 6. Darryl and I had previously camped alone for a weekend at the Kei Mouth Caravan Park, and he absolutely loved the experience. The camping - the call of adventure. We pitched the old blue tent (which I bought for R60 through Farmers Weekly and picked up from the train station in Tarkastad). He loved the cozyness of sleeping bags, making a fire - perhaps alighting our primordial senses… burning twigs and searching for red "ladybird" seeds… this was all new to him - he was only five years old. During the day, we explored rock pools and took short walks, but he was still too young for fishing. He was excitable, full of energy, and by that I mean slightly clumsy!
One day, I bought a bright orange two-man tent from a pawn shop. When I pitched it in the garden that evening, all Darryl wanted to do was sleep in the tent. This sparked an idea for another adventure - and what an adventure it eventually became! So we took the first steps together, hiking from Kei Mouth to Gonubie. I envisioned us making a fire, sleeping in the tent under the stars, and listening to the waves until we fell asleep.
Cramming my large aluminium framed hiking backpack with my favourite green and brown sleeping bag, and also with the enthusiasm: anticipation of “the big walk dad!” With my recently acquired two man tent, and Darryl to lighten the load if only by carrying his own slaapsak [sleeping bag] in his proudly worn orange backpack. Knowing rivers might be involved I also brought along Darryl’s Bentley Belt and 50m of nylon rope.
I had asked Peter Daly to drop us at Kei Mouth. He dropped us at the caravan park and snapped a photo of us with my small Kodak camera - this had been a gift from my parents for my 18th birthday. The camera was more than 12 years old at this time. It must have meant something to me, and I am glad I have this picture. Early signs of what would later become something I might share - if only with my son. But for any traveller. The road is difficult but oh so very beautiful. We lose our way sometimes - we keep walking - if only that we may see more beauty.
Following the beach below the Whispering Waves holiday resort, we soon faced steep rocks that took us inland - with the challenge of a few crevices to make our way around. There would come more obstacles - but there was unfolding beauty and an encounter with myself that I am trying to find the words for. Further along a footpath, we encountered an elderly man who asked where we were heading. Perhaps my answer back then should have been: ”I don’t know - I really don’t have any fucking idea” but instead I talked him through the plan in my head. Upon hearing our intentions, he warned us there would be trouble ahead - a rising tide. A river to cross. Looking back on it now, this encounter, and this question - to be asked this right from the outset. That I remember it now must mean something..
We passed the Cape Morgan Lighthouse and descended to a beautiful beach leading to the Morgan Bay Hotel. Here we stopped briefly so I could take a photo of Darryl on the same swing I had sat on during a previous visit in 1978. At around 3 p.m we resumed hiking, following the path along the high cliffs of Morgan Bay toward the Double Mouth River. We entered a deserted caravan park and continued along the path until we reached the river mouth that came pre-warned.
The river was full, with the tide still rising. We searched along the bank for a safe crossing point but the path ended abruptly at a steep rock face. I told Darryl to stay on the ledge while I jumped into the river to test the current and depth. The current was strong and pushed me upstream as I swam toward a sandbank. Luckily, the deepest section of the channel was narrow, and I managed to cross the strong current quickly. However, the incoming tide made it difficult to stand in the river without being swept back. After what felt like 15 long minutes, I finally found knee-deep water and realized I was standing on a sandbank. Imagined trouble.
Positioning myself about 15 meters upstream from Darryl, I carefully tested the channel depth and distance. To my relief, I discovered that I could almost walk the entire way back to him, with only the last three meters requiring a short swim. Once reunited, we needed to cross the entire river quickly before the tide rose any further and daylight faded.
Using the rope, I tied one end to Darryl’s Bentley belt and secured the other around my waist. I guided him across the fast-flowing channel to the sandbank, where the water was shallow enough for him to stand safely. Darryl, fearless as ever, stood waist-deep in the water while I swam back to retrieve our bags. This time, I tied both rucksacks to the Bentley belt, swam back to Darryl, and floated them across with us. Together, we waded through the shallow water to the opposite bank.
Once safely across, we immediately searched for a suitable campsite. Before long, we had a fire going, drying out everything that had gotten wet during the crossing. It was a calm, warm evening with no wind, and we tucked into our snacks and drinks before settling in for the night.
The Next Morning
The sun rose early, around 5am, and by then we were already packed up and ready for another long day of walking. We were well-rested, and Darryl was still enjoying the adventure of camping. We started off from somewhere near Black Rock, heading toward Haga Haga.
By 6:30a.m we reached Haga Haga village and passed the hotel, which was still closed at that early hour. We continued along a footpath that hugged the shoreline, eventually stumbling upon a stunning private beach near Kempston Cottages. The tranquility of this spot was a highlight of the morning.
The next three kilometers were tough-going requiring us to navigate an uneven and rocky shoreline. Despite the challenge, we pressed on and by 9:00a.m we arrived at a seemingly endless beach. This stretch carried us through Bosbokstrand and then Cefani. As the day wore on, Darryl started to grow bored with the hike. For the first time, he asked when we would stop walking. Enthusiasm wanes. In common right?
By this point, he had stripped down to his tiny yellow "Speedo" costume, running ahead every now and then to jump and tumble over the small incoming waves. The vast, empty expanse of sand stretched endlessly before us, and while it kept him entertained for a while, it was clear that this was only a quick burst of positivity en-route eventual boredom. We nevertheless pushed on towards Chintsa East by about 12:30p.m.
Here we started seeing a few humans again, and both of our spirits lifted. Life really is better when we are not alone. As messy as life can be sometimes, we are all making our way towards something scary here. They asked us where we had come from, and Darryl proudly bubbled over with what might one day be a core memory for him. It is core to me, which is why I remember it..
We had originally planned to camp for two nights - one of many plans in my head that didn’t quite work out as expected. Knowing we could get a ride from someone nearby, we cast a vote and the democratically elected decision was to call it a day. And what a day it was. Looking back now - realising this was my starting point. That this memory would come to be where and how I choose to start sharing the journey so far.
“I think that we have done enough walking and camping.. for at least a year or two!” were Darryl’s first words. It was Darryl’s birthday the next day, and we headed back to Glen Gariff for his party.
This is a daunting thing I’m doing: I am not sure if I will be able to complete the final 48km. I have been struggling with swollen feet for the past few months, and it’s a concern.
But I want to connect these dots. Yes, geographically but also otherwise.
To reconsider my movement through it - and consider the things that perhaps you have been too afraid to consider before. That perhaps it’s true that you were kinda doing the best you could with what you had. Maybe I can give myself that credit. But things come together eventually, albeit haphazardly.
That things come together when we move
Somehow
They just do
