September 25, 2007: Waterval Boven, South Africa

Ah, The Restaurant. Located in the surrounding area around the town of Waterval-Boven, it is one of the top sport climbing destinations in South Africa. Although it definitely lives up to its billing, I will forever have mixed emotions about the place. On one hand, I loved the quality of climbing there and shocked myself with some of the routes I completed. On the other hand, two people, Charles and Pete, were leaving the trip and it definitively marked the end of the amazing time that seven of us had shared since the beginning in Cape Town. There is also a third thing, really, which was the presence of a township downhill from Waterval-Boven.

Waterval-Boven means "above the waterfall," so, not surprisingly, the town is literally located above a waterfall. The town derived some local reknown from the presence of the waterfall, which, although not especially big by today's standards, was one of the higher falls in South Africa. Of course, taller and taller falls continued to be "discovered," so the town spent some serious effort in the earlier part of the 20th century making the fall higher (would you believe using concrete at the top and removing rocks from the bottom?), as well as concentrating the flow to make the fall fuller and more impressive. Today, vestiges of the infrastructure built for the waterfall tourist can be seen in the crumbling viewing platform off the old railroad tracks to one side of the falls.

Personally, I found it quite peaceful and pleasant to be climbing with a waterfall in the background. Until, that is, I would get up to a level about even with the top of the falls and catch site of the township directly adjacent to the falls. Talk about a disturbing disconnect. Here was a beautiful waterfall that man had foolishly tried to modify, then, once the falls were no longer important, had created a place to settle everyone that racially did not fit into the white part of town. The effect was a visual, vertical progression of failed attempts at modification: from man vs nature -- aka the waterfall -- at the base, to man vs man -- the teeming, unsightly township -- in the middle, to the ultimately empty shell of a "cleansed" white town at the top, in the throes of decay.

In order to get to some of the climbs around the waterfall, it was necessary to walk through the township. There were signs in our hostel warning people about robberies, etc at some of the climbing areas -- the implication, of course, being that people in the township were responsible. Although we had seen the occasional township from the road, this was the first one that we walked through. I'm not typically a person that is ever concerned about getting robbed and I felt totally safe walking in the township. I did, however, feel like I was intruding a bit. Kids everywhere will wave and try to talk to you, and these children were no different, but I definitely felt an undercurrent of distrust from many of the adults we passed. It was interesting to see the various establishments along the way: a bakery, a school where we could hear kids excitedly shouting their lessons, the Like Father Like Son liqour store. Some people obviously took pride in their homes, though they may have been shacks by our definition, keeping everything neat and tidy; other yards were filled with trash. It was an odd sensation walking through the township and, even now, weeks later, I'm still processing the experience.

But now for the good parts. I absolutely loved the climbing there which suited me quite well. Although I lack much exposure to climbing on real rock, Charles said that a couple of the routes he and I did were among the best, if not the best, sport routes he has ever done. Excellent quality rock, challenging, yet interesting moves, grades at all levels -- there was something for everybody. I had one stellar day where I flashed (climbed the route on my first try without falling off) both a 22 (U.S. 11a/b) and a 24 (U.S. 11d-ish) which was very exciting for me.

The climbing festival also followed us to The Restaurant from Fernkloof, but there were far more people and it featured a team climbing competition open to everybody. The competition was handicapped based upon climbing level and included a complicated scoring system so that everyone had a chance at a high placing. I originally was not going to participate, but Charles asked me to partner up with him and we became team Oompa Loompa. Although we didn't manage to put together a fun climbing outfit (never thought I would need to bring costume items with me to Africa) like many of the teams,

Dave managed to find some sweet feathers and decorate his helmet for Team Tango:

The Canadian contingent, Drew and Jase, displaying their team number with pride:
we did save some face by placing 15th out of 92 teams at the end of the first day of competition. I have no idea what happened at the end of the second day of competition because I have never seen the official results.

At the blowout bash celebrating the end of the competition. Back from L to R: Jase, Charles, Pete, Drew, Steve. Front: Henry and Emma (our trip leader):

Back L to R: Dave, me, Pete. Front L to R: George, Charles, Steve, Joe:

Drew (phenomenal guitar player) jamming with a local:

all good things come to an end and it was time for Pete and Charles to head home.

Charles and Pete sad or happy to leave the trip?? See you boys again in Turkey!!:

Pete, ever enthusiastic, had done a great stand-in job as trip leader until Emma, the leader for the majority of the trip, joined us at Everest. Charles, with his intensity and dynamic climbing style, dragged me into a world of more difficult routes and got me excited about climbing all over again. After nearly two months on the road together, I really felt like our initial group of seven had become a tight group, and it was difficult to say goodbye.

September 16, 2007: Magaliesburg, South Africa

In contrast to the vast climbing spaces with sweeping views that we had become accustomed to, Fernkloof was claustrophobic. A narrow slot of a canyon with a stream running through jumbles of boulders and trees, the canyon squeezes down to 12 feet across in some places and, at one point, it is necessary to swim through one pool in order to continue up the headwaters.


Charles swimming across the pool with a rope so that we could set up a Tyrolean traverse in order to get our gear across:

As a bonus, Fernkloof features incredibly difficult, short sport climbing routes on its orange-pink walls.

Other than being really cool, Fernkloof was notable for two things: 1) our stay coincided with the first stop of a climbing festival and 2) I discovered I was capable of climbing more difficult routes than I had previously imagined. I guess I should also add 3) I decided to shave my mohawk off. The climbing festival featured a few top South African climbers and was designed to give some exposure to climbing areas that are not well-known. Although Fernkloof is not ideal from a spectator perspective, it was really interesting to watch the men and women crank on mind-blowingly hard routes.


A cameraperson filming one of the women climbers:




And inspiring. Charles had started working a climb rated South African 25 (around 12.a or so on the U.S. scale) that I decided to try, as well. To my surprise, I was able to pull many of the moves, although I lacked the endurance to complete the entire thing. We had both gotten stumped at the crux of the climb,


Me trying the slightly overhanging (hard to tell from pic) crux the hard way by slapping for a desperate sloper with my left while trying to hold on to a desperate sloper with my right. Note my shaved head:

but, as luck would have it, the women climbers were competing on that particular route and we were able to watch the preferred sequence of moves (which was completely different from what either Charles or I had imagined). The next day, Charles almost completed the route, while I was just happy to put the crux moves together. Regardless, it put me in a good place psychologically, and I finally felt like I was making the transition from a climbing gym to real rock.

September 12, 2007: Drakensbergs, South Africa

The Drakensbergs are a rugged mountain range in eastern South Africa jammed against the east border of Lesotho.
Although there is not much in the way of quality, developed rock climbing, the peaks are spectacular and we stopped by so that we could do a 30 kilometer (just over 18.5 miles) day hike

Hiking Drakensberg style:to the top of Cathedral Peak, which stands somewhere over 10,000 feet.

Cathedral Peak:A decent day out, to say the least.

Typical view on the hike up:
Dave surveying the scene:
By the time we finished, it was possible for me to scratch my name in the dirt that covered my legs. Steve, Dave, and I were so ravenous that we decided to split from the group at the end of the hike and walk to the one and only hotel in the area. This was not just any hotel, mind you, but a full-on posh, resort style hotel. We stomped into reception with our grime encrusted backpacks and Steve inquired about directions to the hotel bar. Without blinking (though clearly somewhat unsettled based upon the pained look on his face) the reception gentleman directed us through some doors to a courtyard and a set of stairs. I spotted a restroom and decided to take a look at myself, having noted the concern on the well-trained reception fellow's face. So the three of us trooped into the bathroom and...immediately busted out laughing. We looked like we had covered ourselves in syrup and then rolled around in the dirt for awhile. It was awesome. We spent the next 30 minutes trying to wash up in the sinks and toilets while giggling hysterically. I scrubbed and scrubbed myself with wet toilet paper (bad idea) trying to make myself presentable, but only succeeded in covering the floor around the sink with a black mixture of dirt, water, and bits of toilet paper.

We finally decided nothing was going to make our situation any better and took off for the bar in hopes of finding some food and a cold drink. It turned out to be absolutely fantastic. The food was scrumptious and shockingly cheap given the setting, so we sat on the balcony overlooking a courtyard and ordered food and drinks for at least 2 1/2 hours, while watching the sun set over the rocky peaks. The waitstaff was highly amused by the amount of food we (Dave in particular) were eating, and would shake their heads in disbelief as we continued to order.

After gorging ourselves, we reluctantly decided it was time to walk the 3 miles or so back to our campground. But not before checking out the pool area. Dave jokingly suggested jumping in, and I thought "Why not?" The water was cleaner than anything I had seen the entire trip and the secondary pool with the waterfall looked particularly enticing. So I stripped down to my boxers and hopped in for a little evening dip. Dave and Steve quickly followed suit and we spent the next 20 minutes trying to muffle our chuckling while we splashed around like the emotional juvenile delinquents that we are.

Eventually we decided it was really time to get back to camp and set off, squishing along in our shoes. For a while we continued to laugh about our evening while we walked back in the direction of camp, but then, after we had been shuffling along the pitch dark road for some time, we realized we weren't really sure how many miles away camp was and that it might be possible for us to miss the dirt track turnoff in the moonless night. Plus there were weird noises coming from the bushes. Suddenly, we were feeling a little vulnerable. Stumbling along in the pitch black in Africa can have that effect on people. It seemed a real possibility that we might find ourselves in the enormous township in which we had gotten lost for two hours on the drive up to our campsite the previous day. Although not such an issue during the day, the chances of three white guys disappearing without a trace in that township were greatly multiplied at night. After much nervous laughter and some heart-stopping moments like when an eerie voice called out to us and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being followed, we lucked upon our campsite, much to our relief.

September 10, 2007: Everest, South Africa

Located on a small game park, the ridges that comprise the Everest climbing area (not "the" famed Everest) rise up abruptly from the flat surrounding farmland in a row of mesa-like formations. Various species of antelope roamed around, flicking their tails in a futile attempt to ward off flies, while the occasional lone wildebeest shuffled by on its way to the nearest watering hole. The rains had not come yet and a single spark could have sent the entire area up in flames.


In fact, that almost happened. One night a large fire raged off in the distance and we thought that we might have to leave the area. If, that is, the truck would have been around. Henry, our driver, had taken the truck off for a few days so he could visit family, as well as make some repairs to the truck, and we had no way to quickly vacate the area other than on foot (the camping area was essentially deserted and reception was closed). Unfortunately, a human is not going to be able to outrun a grass fire fueled by a steady wind. So we did the only logical thing we could in that situation -- drink some beer, then go to bed hoping for the best. As luck would have it, the fire did die out -- basically across the road from reception -- and we escaped yet another possible disasterous end to the trip, allowing us to get in some more climbing.

George, in particular, had unfinished business at Everest. He had been part of the first Hot Rock expedition back in 1999, and a few weeks into that trip they, too, went to Everest. He subsequently had an accident on a feature called the Eagle's Head

The Eagle's Head:
which resulted in a torn hamstring and a medevac out. Torn, actually, does not quite accurately describe what happened. It was more like his hamstring was ripped off from where it attaches in the, ahem, gluteus maximus area. Doctors did not reattach it. Instead, it reattached itself about halfway down the back of his thigh. George now has a big lump there, but it does not prevent him from doing any activity and it looks really cool (I'm a sucker for interesting injuries). In fact, he is in better shape than most people half his age and powers up mountain approaches with less effort than a mountain goat. When we go running, he can almost outdistance me on the hills, which is quite impressive given that I spent the summer running up mountains back home in Kodiak. Basically, he's a 60-year old athletic mutant and an inspiration for people like me that would like to maintain fitness for a lifetime.

Anyway, he really wanted to complete the same route and asked me if I would climb it with him.

Walking to Eagle's Head: How could I say no? I felt a bit of pressure because he wanted me to lead the hardest pitch and I had not tried to lead anything that difficult before, but I decided to give it a go. It turned out to be a great climb and, although I did not lead the crux pitch cleanly, we made it up to the top without injury and George was able to put a personal demon to rest.

George coiling rope at the top of Eagle's Head:
The climbing was so good and the campsite had such a nice vibe that we voted to stay an extra day.

Sam gritting his way up a route:

Charles on the Ostrich Egg:

Charles reaching for a hold on an overhanging arete:

Unfortunately, that meant we would be out of food so we called Henry and asked him to bring food with him when he arrived. Seemed like a good plan, but we started drinking beer on empty stomachs and when Henry didn't arrive we were forced to come up with some way of passing the time. Being as we had the luxury of electricity at the campsite, Steve said he wanted a haircut with a set of clippers he had bought earlier in the trip. We were trying to talk him into shaving lines or shapes into his head and he finally agreed on the condition that someone else did it. I, of course, volunteered (you can see where this is going...). Six inebriated men, a few dares, and a set of electric clippers makes for some rather interesting haircuts.

Steve is first up and gets the double landing strip:

Me doing my best Last of the Mohicans yell trying to do my motley mohawk justice:

George having way too much fun as he works on Charles' forelock look:

George saved his finest work for last and transforms Pete into Friar Tuck:

Happy Campers from L to R: Pete, Steve, Dave, Sam, me, Charles:

Although Pete and Steve ultimately cut the remainder of their hair off before we left the next morning, Charles and I sported our new looks to our following destination: The Drakensbergs.