DAY 1 (18 KM)

At ease

The Chokka Trail is a four-day slackpacking hike that covers 62 km between the coastal villages of Oyster Bay and St Francis Bay. Our journey began yesterday. My wife Ronel and I met Esti Stewart and her husband Eric – the couple that heads up the hike – at the Cape St Francis Resort on a sunny autumn Thursday. We also met the six other hikers doing the trail. We parked our cars at the resort for the next four days, loaded our luggage into a Venter trailer and jumped into a minibus for the 45-minute journey to Oyster Bay, about 20 km west. “Are you ready for the big walk this afternoon? I hope you’ve trained and you’re fit,” Eric said sternly from behind the wheel. I saw some nervous glances on the bus. “I thought you said this was a slackpacking trail?” Ronel whispered to me. “Just teasing!” Eric said with a chuckle. “Day one is a breeze.” On the second day we’ll go east through the Sand River dune field to Dune Ridge Country House near St Francis Bay. On the third day we’ll head south to the coast and hike along the sea to Cape St Francis. And on the final morning we’ll walk back to St Francis Bay along the eastern side of the peninsula. You need to keep track of all St Francises in this part of the world! There are the neighbouring towns of Cape St Francis and St Francis Bay, and a harbour called Port St Francis. In 1575, the Portuguese explorer Manuel de Perestrelo named the bay after St Francis of Paola, the patron saint of sailors. In the evenings on this trail, you can have a warm shower and fall asleep under white linen in a guesthouse or a lodge, after a meal of local fish, venison and calamari. This is the way to do it!

We bump and shake our way along a gravel road through pastures the colour of Creme Soda where dairy cows munch the hours away, past the slow-spinning turbines of wind farms, and arrive in Oyster Bay where we’ll be staying at the homely Oyster Kaya ( oysterkaya.co.za). The afternoon hike is just a leg warmer. You can do the whole 9 km to Thyspunt (and the 9 km back again) or you can walk as far as you want and spend more time on the deck at Oyster Kaya. “Try and be back around 5 pm for tonight’s potjie,” Esti says, giving us our lunch packs (sandwiches, fruit, lozenges and an Energade). We’re on the beach in 10 minutes. After another 20 minutes, the last of Oyster Bay’s houses are behind us. Every now and then we see a solitary fisherman. Look out towards the ocean and you might see a gaggle of chokka boats bobbing at anchor. Chokka – calamari or squid – is the economic engine of this area. Most of the catch is exported to Italy and Spain. We head away from the beach, up a cliff and along a footpath through fynbos, besemriet, thatching reed and ericas. The air is salty with a dash of kelp and every now and then I get a lemon-and-garlic whiff of buchu. The waves crash constantly and I have to listen hard to hear the chat-chat-chat and chee-chee of greater and southern double-collared sunbirds. We eat our sandwiches in a secluded bay and watch African black oystercatchers and little stints combing the beach for food above the low-water mark. It’s hard to believe that until last year, the government had serious plans to build a nuclear power station at Thyspunt. The plans for the plant have since been canned, thanks largely to stiff opposition from environmentalists. It’s late afternoon and the hikers return to Oyster Kaya in groups of two. After a shower to get rid of the sand and salt, we gather under a big milkwood tree for a glass of wine, some local cheese (remember those dairy cows?), olives and preserved figs. Then it’s time for the potjie, which has been simmering for hours.

Lost in the dunes

After breakfast, we set off through the quiet streets of Oyster Bay until we get to a security gate, for which Esti has the key. She waves us through and we walk onto a jeep track that will lead us to the dune field. Today we have this whole “desert” to ourselves. A good portion of the area belongs to Eskom and although the threat of a nuclear plant was very real until recently, the landscape has so far been left untouched. Esti leads the way. She tells us how, when she began the route in 2013, she got special permission from Eskom to lead groups through the reserve. “There’s no fixed route because the dunes are constantly moving and changing shape,” she says. “It’s one of my favourite places on earth.” The sea is invisible to the south. Ahead is an undulating ocean of sand that will take about six hours to cross, with lots of ups and downs in between. At the top of some of the tallest dunes, you can look north and see the Baviaanskloof Mountains in the distance. Listen, and you’ll hear the muted whoop-