SINCE our last visit, four months previously, at the height of summer, the Drakensberg’s glorious Champagne Valley had undergone a dramatic transformation.
The mountains had taken on their drab winter hues, with only patches of green remaining in the folds. From the verandah of the cottage where we stayed we looked out on a subdued world of browns and rusty reds. It was so very different from the summer scenery; perhaps not as pretty but much more dramatic. The winter mountains have a majesty that, in summer, is obscured by the exuberant greens.
We’d brought along all our winter woollies, expecting it to be cold, but the sunny winter days were pleasantly warm, although, oh, so dry and dusty.
It was fire season and smoke and dust often combined to obscure the views and to turn the outlines of the mountains into hazy etchings. At other times the air would suddenly grow still and clear and it seemed we could see forever.
The summer wild flowers had disappeared but, everywhere, the aloes were in flower – a real winter treat, especially for the sun birds. Their vivid blooms mimicked the flames that licked the mountains as teams of harassed, yelling men burnt the annual fire breaks.
The cooler weather was designed for walking and, in Bill’s words, we walked the mountains flat. On our first morning, I snuggled under our downy duvet with my book when Bill got up to go running. It was still early and the sun had hardly risen but the birds were calling in the pretty garden and they soon lured me out of bed.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and my binocs and went out onto the verandah. The crisp chilly air was bracing and the infinitely beautiful morning was bathed in the softest lemon light. Two little duiker made their way across the commonage below the garden and birds fluffed up their feathers as they began to sing. Could any scene be lovelier? My gentle morning reverie was interrupted by Bill’s return and his reminder that we were going to do a big hike that day.
We were planning to do a walk in the Monk’s Cowl area, to a rock formation known as the Sphinx and I remember doing a section of it that had exhausted me. With the weather much cooler on this visit, it didn’t seem nearly as difficult although there were some steep ascents and descents and some slippery rocky sections.
We stopped at the pretty Crystal Falls, which cascade down a wall of rocks into a pebbly, perfectly clear little pool. The Sphinx was not much further on and the views from there were amazing. It was a wonderful walk of about 4km and it took us about two and a half hours, with quite a few stops along the way.
It was gorgeous outside in the sunshine and we were loathe to spend the afternoon indoors so we strolled around the nearby Drakensberg Sun’s grounds admiring the gorgeous indigenous gardens. The trees, including the hundreds of yellowwoods that have been planted there, make these lovely grounds a tree-hugger’s delight.
By evening, we were more than ready to put our feet up and relax. I popped a chicken in the oven, we poured a sundowner and we sat on the verandah marvelling at the beauty of the golden evening. By five o’clock, though, a chill had descended on the valley and we scuttled indoors and lit a big fire.
The next day started early once again. After coffee and rusks we set off to do an easier Monk’s Cowl walk, the circular Sterkspruit Falls route. This gentle walk took us through a heavenly thicket of scrubby ouhout and flowering Hilaria lucida trees to an extensive grassland and a fairly gradual ascent to a viewing platform overlooking the waterfall.
For quite a while the path hugged the contour above a stream and little rock pools, then it went up and over a hill and back through the thicket to the start and a welcome picnic breakfast.
On our way back to the cottage we stopped off at the nearby bakery, one of the best we’d encountered for a long time, and stocked up some of its delicious, just-out-the-oven bread. We also stopped at a quaint little shop nearby that sells honey products, Bill being a bit of a Pooh Bear when it comes to honey. We bought a large container of golden sweetness and, because we felt we’d deserved it after all the walking, a slice of baked honey cheese cake, a renowned speciality of the house.
Still feeling fit and energetic after our morning walk – and a bit guilty about the rich cheesecake – we spent the afternoon doing the really lovely Blue Grotto walk in the Drakensburg Sun’s grounds. There were some steep inclines here and there and some tricky boulder hopping but the sheer beauty of the indigenous forest, waterfalls and pools made the hard work well worthwhile.
At times the magical forest was dark and mysterious but the sun was high in the sky and was often able to penetrate the gloom. Dappled, green-tinted sunlight filtered through the moss-covered trees, playing with the leaves. We left the sleepy forest and proceeded home along a steep gravel road, arriving back at our lovely verandah in time to enjoy another golden evening. We’d been walking for about five and a half hours and were feeling rather footsore and tired by then so, after supper in front of the fire we were off to bed for an early night.
It is supposed to be an easy walk but I find the Drakensberg Sun’s slightly shorter Fern Forest Walk quite a bit harder than the Blue Grotto trail. It is also my favourite of the two, in spite of some steep ascents and descents that keep you on your toes, and I was looking forward to doing it on our last day in the mountains.
We followed the trail as it edged its way along a rocky ravine, through a particularly enchanting patch of indigenous forest, criss-crossing a stream bed, so much boulder-hopping was required. Then the trail suddenly climbed steeply up and up and up, out of the ravine to a high ridge.
This last section, a sandy trail through the toffee-coloured grass, was absolutely spectacular with magnificent views of the surrounding mountains and valleys. We really did feel on top of the world. Then there was a rather steep descent back to the hotel and, exhilarated by the experience, we found ourselves back on fairly level ground. It was not an easy walk but, as the grand finale of our visit, it was so worth the effort.
As it was our last golden evening at the cottage and as it was so beautiful out there on the verandah we lit a braai fire, donned thick jackets and stayed outside when the temperature began to fall. A little bushbuck tiptoed in through the fence and, unfazed by our presence, spent the evening in the garden, trimming and pruning the shrubs.
After our (rather chilly) al fresco supper, we lit the indoor fire and sat by the hearth, contentedly tired. There hadn’t been a cloud in sight when we’d gone to bed so we were surprised when we woke to the sound of rain during the night. The morning dawned misty and cool but we wrapped up warmly and did a final little walk before packing up and leaving to go home.
Not being in any hurry we chose a road less travelled, via Boston, Bulwer and Ixopo to Highflats, through drab, misty, Midlands countryside. At Highflats we turned onto the incredibly scenic St Faith’s road back to Port Shepstone. For many years this potential tourist route has been under repair. Once we needed a 4X4 to travel it. Now only about 5km remains untarred and its upgrade is almost complete.
It was such a scenic route, with magnificent views of hills and valleys and deep river gorges. Slowly the countryside lost its winter bleakness as the road took us closer and closer to our evergreen and everwarm subtropical coastal home. Winter in the berg was magic but our bright coastal winters are special, too.
