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A step of faith... |
| 19/10/2012 |
Step of Faith
“What’s wrong with you?” This is a question I often have to answer, not so much to others as to myself. “Seriously dude, what’s wrong with you?” I look down about fifteen meters to where the waves are crashing up against the sharp rocks of the cliff I find myself on. I have a 25 kilogram backpack strapped to myself and a 7 kilogram surfboard under my arm, and right now I am stuck on a cliff, by myself, thinking; “what’s wrong with you?”
How do you find yourself in such a situation? Why are you here? What the heck do you think you are doing and most importantly; how do you plan on getting yourself out of this shall we say ‘predicament’ (in an attempt to not aggravate the situation). Okay, stay calm, enjoy the scenery, take a moment to relax and you know allow it to be – this too will pass. Ah, screw this, now is not the time to get all philosophical and think about the meaning of the whole greater scheme of things. No, now is a time to act.
What’s wrong with you? - like a kick in the face to scratch your head about.
I look back at the way I’ve come; sheer cliff. I look up ahead; sheer cliff. I scan above and below; sheer, sharp, charcoal cliff – shit, I am screwed! The ledge I am currently on is about 20cm wide, and is a slight improvement from the one I was previously on and spacious foothold luxury compared to anything I can see ahead of me. Because of said heavy board and bag it is impossible for me to turn around. It’s either forwards or downwards; life or death.
What started as a half baked scheme, grew into an unorganized non-plan then hatched into a fully developed disaster attempt to hike from Port Edward (or the Casino rather) to Port St Johns with a backpack, a surfboard and a school boy fishing rod. This has now all culminated in me being stuck on a cliff in the middle of the bloody Wild Coast, by myself with nowhere to go. Great.
The thing about traveling these parts alone on foot, without a map or guide is that one rather tends to get lost. Or not so much lost as just not knowing where the hell you are or where to go next. Sure, there is an element of freedom and adventure involved as everything feels new, exciting and unexplored, but… then there is also the possible drawback of getting stuck on a cliff.
When walking along the coast this way there are so many paths to follow that half the challenge is just having to choose which way the go.
Apparently there is an existing hiking trail evidenced by spaced out white on black arrow markings guiding the hiker on which way to go – but I only ever saw these at the most obvious of places, usually at a river bank pointing towards the only path leading out.
There are also cow tracks, which are quite nice to follow as they are usually wide enough to walk with both your feet side by side and also they tend to find the ‘easy’ paths going for the flatter options, unlike those damned goats and their tricky, trapezing trails that ultimately lead nowhere, when suddenly they decide to just jump from rock to rock.
And then there are the fisherman tracks. These are paths that lead onto the rocks. Sometimes they go all the way around the base of the cliff or, the much bleaker option, they lead to some high up, obscure edge of the cliff secret fishing spot. In which case you are forced to turn around, go back and try another route.
Now as I’ve said; half the challenge is just deciding which path to follow. Especially when approaching a looming hill. On the one side you have a path leading onto the rocks. On the other you have the cow tracks going all the way around, while straight ahead you see the goats and their lies everywhere. Up and over, the course of the goat is not an option. The grass banks are just too steep. The cow paths going inland seem too long and hot (there’s no cool ocean breeze blowing between the valleys.) that leaves us with the rocks – and a small pocket of hope; the path of believing. A step of faith.
For we walk by faith and not by sight
At first the going is not that tough; mostly big round boulders with waves crashing on the ocean side and a big black cliff on the other. But then the rocks become more square and triangular as the distance between the cliff and crashing waves gets smaller and narrower. But still you carry on in the face of possibly impending failure. Because truth is you’re actually enjoying the whole trip, navigating each step by step. The intense concentration required makes it possible to forget about the pain in your back, legs, neck and shoulders. Forget about the cutting weight of the back pack and the lethal discomfort of chafe. Forget about the imbalance caused by carrying a surfboard. Forget about what you will eat or where you will sleep, forget about absolutely everything as you just concentrate on where to put your foot next, jumping from rock to rock – all of the above just adding to the intensity of the moment.
Next thing you know though, there are no more rocks. Only a cliff and a bit of a ledge leading up, over and above the froth and foam of the turbulent and crashing sea. But you’ve come this far, there’s no way you’re going to turn around now and go back, it’s just to damned far to do that now. And besides just around the corner there’ll probably be rocks again or hope beyond hope, perhaps even a nice, long beach. So you step onto that ledge that leads around the corner and carry on clambering around the base of the cliff until you find yourself…Stuck.
Abruptly you snap out of the trance you’ve been in, and for the first time realize and consider the situation you find yourself in. That’s when you start becoming strangely philosophical and start asking questions like: “What wrong with you?” as all the rest of life’s unsolved mysteries suddenly flood your mind demanding explanation.
When you find yourself stuck on a cliff, alone in the middle of the Transkei with 20 kilos of crap on your back and a hunk of foam and fiberglass under your arm you discover a whole new dimension to ‘being in the moment’. You discover that being in the moment is not about losing your self but absolutely about finding yourself.
Because as I’m standing here on the ledge hugging the cliff, 15 meters above the crashing waves and jagged rocks, I think to myself; “Drop the bag, drop the bag now! It’s not worth dieing over a tent, some toiletries, clothes and a couple-a tins of food. Drop the bag, turn around, go back and Live! At least you’ll still have your board, your life and a cool story to tell. Rather that than washing up on some remote beach with all my possessions still firmly attached to my back. Fit as a freighter, yet dead as a dog.
Then I look ahead and around me, surveying the (ob)scene once more, considering my options again. Up in front, almost out of reach I see it; another slightly smaller ledge, from where I’ll be able to see around the next corner. If I can get there, I’ll be able to see and know for sure what to do next. To get to that little ledge though, I am going to have to take a leap of faith – literally, because as I’ve mentioned it is almost out of reach and really, really small.
Desired (or final) destination; 2nd Beach, Port St Johns
I look back; it’s no longer an option. I look down; ‘Oh Lord, please no.’ I look ahead and breathe a silent prayer; ‘from the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I, amen.’ Open my eyes and jump.
Suddenly twelve legions of angels (or possibly more) come charging to my defense as I feel my feet land securely on the next ledge, my chest against the hot stone face accompanied by the sound of my board hitting against the rock.
Sudden sensory overload floods my mind as the constant flow of adrenaline now bursts open the gates. I can smell the heat coming off the fiberglass board, and the melting wax, my own sweat and fear mingled with the salty sea wind. The sound of breathing, the beating of blood through my ears. The crash of waves and wind, a distant bird call. And high up, somewhere above me, the bleating of a demonic bloody goat, mocking me.
Alive, I’ve arrived and landed. Classic. I peer around the corner and my heart sinks. It’s no better; nothing but sheer cliff with small randomly spaced and size ledges. I look out across the ocean thinking; ‘Lord, now what? Drop the bag and go back, lesson learnt, is that it?’ I shift my weight and lean with my side against the cliff to free my hand so I can unclip the belt of my bag and drop that burden of bereavement straight in to the sea. But then, just as I’m about to unclip my belt; that’s when I see him. Far up ahead, way out at sea, I see a fisherman sitting on a rock, completely surrounded by water.
A rush of excitement fills my soul as I realize; at least now if I fall and die they’ll find my body and let my mother know I died of ‘natural causes’ and was not the victim of some rural African muti-murder.
I whistle and try to wave, nearly losing my balance in the process. The fisherman looks back and up at me struggling on the cliff. Waves casually as if nothing is wrong, and continues to fish. I whistle again, louder this time, making sure my footing is secure. He again looks up at me. I use my free hand, pointing and indicating around the corner of the cliff and raise my palm, flat and upwards and then indicate again, this time followed by a thumb’s up. He nods, understanding, points around the corner and gives a thumb’s up.
“Yes, there’s hope!”
But this is no time to get excited. No, now is a time to act. I look back at the way I’ve come; sheer cliff. Look at the way I need to go; sheer cliff. I scan above and below; sheer, sharp cliff – Yes, there’s hope!
This brings us back to the question I first asked at the beginning; “What’s wrong with you?” Well, if I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be stuck on a cliff in the middle of the Transkei now would I?
Mzanzi fo sho – cross stepping coffee bay
But like I said, half the challenge is just having to choose; “Which way should I go, what path should I follow? And furthermore, should I really trust the pointing finger of some potentially crazy old fisherman, who himself is sitting stranded on a random rock, way out at sea? Shit man, I don’t know – I just want to be stoked.
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| Posted by Pete Britz on the 22/10/2012 10:01 |
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| Posted by Domestos on the 22/10/2012 10:19 |
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| Posted by Neil on the 22/10/2012 10:31 |
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| Posted by Crankcase on the 23/10/2012 06:01 |
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| Posted by Special M on the 06/11/2012 14:02 |
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| Posted by Tebogo on the 23/12/2012 13:30 |
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