YUMMY NUM-NUM
Slack-packer Kate Sidley has a delicious experience on a threeday Mpumalanga walking trail
A H, the romance of the rail. I wake up in an antique train compartment, amid gleaming wood, and pull up the blinds to view the rolling hills of Mpumalanga. These are the same rolling hills, in fact, that we saw on retiring for the night, for this is not a train on tracks, but a 1934 carriage perched on a farm 20km from Machadodorp. Alongside the carriage is a wide, covered verandah and a kitchen. This is the “camp” hikers sleep in before setting off on the first day of the Num-Num trail, a circular five-day hike through three privately owned estates in a glorious part of Mpumalanga.
My husband, children (12 and 15 years old) and another family of good friends have gamely agreed to do the three-day version of this hike, which promises to be challenging but not overwhelming. For a start, we opt to “slack-pack”. We carry day packs with snacks, water and raincoats and decant our sleeping bags, clothes and food into crates, which are delivered from camp to camp on the sturdy shoulders of a Nissan bakkie. At R180 a crate, this is well worth it. Truth is, we are just not “dehydrated vegetable and sachet tuna” people. More “nice glass of sav blanc and a braai after a day’s walk” kind of people.
The first day’s 7.5km distance is a doddle but, even with lightweight packs, it’s no walk in the park. Unless your park happens to include a narrow path through gorgeous indigenous forest, a trail up a red shale cliff and a knee-straining downhill. It’s a fairly challenging up-and-down route but the kids — who have been known to refer to my lovely mountain walks as “Mom’s Death March” — cope well and barely complain, except when we add another kilometre or so by wandering accidentally off the path.
Our unplanned detour is definitely a reflection on us, not the makers of the trail. The trail is in excellent condition, well maintained and clearly sign-posted at very regular intervals. Idiot-proof — almost. It winds its way through diverse scenery — grassland dotted with a fascinating variety of little flowers; gorges that run through mysterious forests of yellowwoods,
knobthorns and ferns; bizarre moonscapes of sandstone rock formations; red shale cliffs, at least one of which features ancient rock paintings.
It’s tough going and we entertain ourselves by listing the ways in which the hike is a clichéd metaphor for life: there are signs, but you don’t always see them. Sometimes, you take the wrong route but it’s never too late to turn back. Getting snippy with your family doesn’t usually help. Always take a snack. Be comfortable and stay well hydrated. It’s not about the destination, so don’t forget to admire the scenery. And so on.
Even this amusing activity runs out of entertainment value eventually and we are delighted to arrive at the second camp, Aloe Kaya, just as exhaustion is setting in and good humour running low. Our crates await us and, after giving thanks for the cool drinks and cold beers in the honesty fridge, we free our feet from the heavy hiking boots and take to our huts — double-storey bunkrooms with views over the surrounding sandstone formations — to nap and read. Revived, we explore the camp further and discover the “loos with a view”, built on the edge of the mountain. You sit on the throne in total privacy and contemplate the valley below. There’s also a lovely open-air shower area, built in among the rocks. These additions give the camp quirky charm — we’ll all remember those loos!
A fire is made, meat singed, roosterbrood kneaded, smores melted, the glittering array of stars admired. Cellphone signal being very patchy, we have the full attention of the teens and we chat around the fire and play card games before we turn in for another early night. We wake to find that a herd of Nguni cows has paid us a visit and we venture outside to admire them, each animal unique in its arrangement of spots and blotches.
The second day of hiking is a little easier. After a steep walk along the escarpment, from which we spot blesbok and baboon, the path takes us down into the indigenous forest, where the air is cool and we can fill our water bottles from little streams and pools along the way. Having left early to avoid the heat, we make good progress and arrive at our third and final camp, Waterbessie, by midday.
Waterbessie is one large open-plan room on the banks of the Schoonspruit River. Beds are against the waist-high wooden walls, which are open above and covered by roll-down blinds if you want to keep the cool night air out. In the centre of the room are large dining tables, where you can eat or play poker. A separate kitchen is simply and thoughtfully equipped with everything you need to cook and serve. There is no electricity but we are more than happy with softly glowing lanterns, a gas stove, a braai and a wood-fired geyser for hot showers.
We all enjoy the communal feel of sleeping and eating in one big space and the camp has stylish little touches — mosaics around the mirrors in the wash area, large zinc basins plumbed in as kitchen sinks. But the great joy of Waterbessie (which got our Best Camp Ever vote) is its proximity to Wathaba Rainbow Falls, a marvellous waterfall and river pool three minutes’ walk upriver. There are few things in life as invigorating and delicious as swimming in a cold mountain pool, feeling the pounding of a waterfall on your shoulders. We swim for ages and dip in again the next morning before leaving for the final day’s hike.
The next day, the trail leads down the river. Each bend presents a new delight — a trickling tributary passing the unfurling fist of a fern; a fat-leafed succulent bravely growing from a crack in a rock; a thundering stream or river falling into a pool; an orange and neon blue butterfly alighting on a creeping vine. It’s a landscape for hobbits, or faeries, or nymphs. Or maybe just happy hikers making their way back to an antique train, stationed forever on a mountain in Mpumalanga, from where their adventure began. — ©