NOTE: This article was originally published in Stray Outdoors, then an outdoor adventure magazine.
Following the second of a five-pitch descent, I made the mistake of being overconfident on flat land. I tripped and landed hard on a sharply-pointed rock. The pain was intense, but it was only when I sat up that I realized the extent of the damage and the true meaning of being between a rock and a hard place.
I could see a small spot of blood coming through my pant leg.
That’s not so bad, I thought to myself. Pulling the pant leg up, though, revealed that the wound was quite deep and the pants had been keeping me from bleeding. Shock set in at the sight.
My husband, the three friends we were traveling with, and our guide through South Africa‘s Nuy River Gorge, Jurgen Wohlfarter, swarmed around me. Jurgen pulled out the first aid kit from his pack and with the others’ help cleaned my leg up. Meanwhile, I looked away to steady myself.
With my leg nicely bandaged and after taking something for the nausea, I sat for a minute to recover. That’s when I noticed that my hand, swollen and turning purple, was too bruised to make a grip.
I had two choices: deal with a bit of pain for the next eight hours or climb back up and out, ruining our opportunity to canyoneer, what is known in South Africa as kloofing, through the almost-untouched landscape of Simonskloof, a family-owned property of 2,000 hectares that encompasses a beautiful canyon river and scores of wildlife.
You’re Almost There
Our rental car took a beating once we left scenic Route 62 at the town of Montagu, where we’d stocked up on the food and drink we’d need for a couple of days. We headed north towards Simonskloof, eventually turning onto a dirt road full of dips and twists. At least half a dozen signs, each pointing in a new direction, encouraged us to continue our ride “just a little farther” into the Langeberg mountain range where the Koo and the Nuy Rivers meet.
We arrived at dusk and were led the last half mile by a black and white dog who was as much a guide for us as his master, Jurgen, would be the next day. Jurgen booked us in and showed us around the cozy Orange Cottage. The propane-powered fridge, wood-burning stove, paraffin lanterns, compost and recycling bins, and gray water management – all reflective of Jurgen’s and his wife Mareletta’s desire to live simply and responsibly.
In addition to basic cooking supplies, our “self-catering” cottage was equipped with a French press and a corkscrew, nods to Jurgen’s native Swiss hospitality and the country he now calls home. We rose early the next day to take advantage of the cottage’s low-tech luxuries, drinking our fill of coffee and eating a hearty bowl of muesli.
At the main farm house, we were greeted enthusiastically by four border collies and some rather large chickens.
Jurgen heard the noise and, with the help of his dogs, corralled us into the dining room where we we divvied up food, helmets, harnesses, ropes and the other gear we had packed for our daylong trek into South Africa’s back country.
Most visitors to the out-of-the-way Simonskloof Mountain Retreat come for the peace and quiet it offers. We were one of the handful of groups each year that come to get their hands dirty.
Kloofing the Gorge
A bumpy mile and a half drive in the back of Jurgen’s bakkie, an old pickup trip, got us to our starting point. Our path was overrun with scrub that had taken over during the winter months when no groups had gone into the gorge. Bush-whacking our way through it, I was glad I’d worn nylon, zip-off pants; my friends’ bare legs did not fare well against the brambles
Leopard tracks littered the sand along the trail. It would have been thrilling to see one of these threatened creatures, but the leopards kept their distance that day, as did the more-plentiful baboons, dassies (a type of marmot) and otters that inhabit the area we explored.
One hour in, we hit the drop-off into the gorge and harnessed up. Introduced to climbing in Switzerland over 25 years before, and with additional training under his belt, Jurgen was thorough in both his instruction and his inspection of our gear. One of my friends, also a climber, volunteered to act as safety for the rest of us. She abseiled – as rappelling is known locally – down first and managed the ropes from below.
For some members of our group, this was their first time in a harness. And, despite my many years enjoying Utah’s mountains, rivers, and deserts, it had been at least 20 years since I’d last been in climbing gear. Inexperience aside, we lowered ourselves one at a time without incident, until, off rope and on foot for the brief walk to the next pitch, I took my fall on the rock.
Despite how bad my leg injury looked, it was nothing that a bandage and a couple of pain killers couldn’t solve. And my bruised hand? Well, I would just have to compensate with the other.
I didn’t want to disappoint my friends.
Once I was solidly back on my feet, we continued our descent, rappelling deep into the gorge and arriving at the canyon floor by late morning. There, we packed up our gear and made a quick change into water sandals, crisscrossing our way up the river.
Having spent a great deal of time in Utah’s San Rafael Swell and Escalante regions, I was amazed by the similarities between their topography and that of the Nuy River Gorge. But, I was also in awe of their incredible differences, like the prehistoric-looking plants that, in November, were in the midst of Southern Hemispheric spring bloom. I both felt at home in the gorge and appreciated why Jurgen loved this terrain that he and his brother had hiked and climbed for so many years.
The Journey Home
Soon, the sun was high and our stomachs were growling. A jut into the rock wall provided shade for our lunch, a make-shift picnic of salami, farm cheese, sardines, crackers, hard-boiled eggs from the chickens we’d seen in the yard that morning, and cherry tomatoes and dried peaches from Jurgen’s garden. I was struck by how such simple food could be so delicious after a morning hiking in the heat.
Over the next few hours we boulder-hopped our way through the gorge and scrambled along the canyon wall, my tender hand put to the test when I used it for balance or to find handholds among the crags. Every so often we would run across the remains of an otter’s crab dinner or hear the cries of an African fish eagle. As with the tracks and scat we’d run across throughout the day, we were witness to the evidence – but never the presence – of these creatures.
The afternoon wore on, and warm shadows emerged. We were closing in on the end of a great day.
Given the distance we’d dropped and the fairly level path along the river, we now had the task of finding our way back up. The painkillers wearing off, I struggled to climb the 100 or more steep concrete steps that took us up to the edge of a dam, just half a mile from our starting point. At the top, quads burning, hot sun on our necks, we made our way back to the cottage on foot. The poor bakkie would not start.
Hot, tired, hungry and dusty, we were greatly appreciative of the solar-heated showers, cold drinks and farm-fresh meal with old and new friends that followed. As with lunch, hard work had made these simple things all the more enjoyable.
Nine hours in the gorge had proven to be challenging, but this trip to Simonskloof was a memorable way to wrap up our journey in this beautiful country.
Visit the Simonskloof website for details on accommodations, camp sites and kloofing excursions, near Montagu.
Other Adventures Along South Africa’s Garden Route
South Africa’s Eastern and Western Capes offer numerous ways to get your heart pumping that are easily accessible by car. Contact operators in advance to ensure a reservation for the day of your trip.
- Cango Caves adventure tour, Oudtshoorn
- Face Adrenalin Bloukrans Bridge 216m bungy jump, Tsitsikamma Khoisan Village / Bungy Jumping exit, N2 highway
- Blackwater Tubing Tubing tours along the Garden Route
- Surfing, Jeffrey’s Bay
- Addo Elephant Park wild game drive, outside of Port Elizabeth
- Wine tasting, Stellenbosch and Durbanville
Stormy Sweitzer is a writer and everyday explorer based in Utah, with family ties to South Africa. Her young adult environmental spy thriller, The Drowning Shark: A Sierra Rouge Adventure, explores the shark fin trade in South Africa through the eyes of youth activists.