Cape Town - A year or two back I took the trail from Llandudno around the coast as far as the Boss 400 wreck and had always intended to do the other part, which goes all the way around the coast to Hout Bay.
So on a gorgeously clear and sunny winter’s day I headed from the Hout Bay harbour to take in the southern end of this treacherous trail.
The tide was due to be low in an hour or two, which is an important consideration – the trail is inaccessible otherwise, at least in those parts where one is bound to skirt the cliffs at the base and dodge the waves.
Setting out along the rocks you pass the seaward-most houses and shacks around East Fort. The disparity between the poverty and hardship there compared to the opulence of the view across the bay, with its white luxury yachts and the hotels along Chapman’s Peak drive, is rather incongruous, upsetting even.
The trail is mostly a scramble across rock at this point, but I far prefer such terrain to the comfort of hiking level jeep tracks. I was excited by the prospect – it was indeed a lovely day to be out and the views were already unfolding around me as I jumped from boulder to boulder.
It is an oddity of the trail that, despite my familiarity with the bay, everything was back to front. All the classic images reflect views from Chapman’s Peak drive but now all was reversed.
There was little sound but for the pounding of the surf against the rocky beach and I delighted in the images of the sailing yachts and tourist boats that were plying the relatively smooth waters of the protected natural harbour.
Around the corner things became all the more interesting. With a short detour I was able to get within a 100m or so of Seal Island.
It was quite the oddest thing to be in such close proximity to this seething colony of Cape fur seals without a boat.
In fact, as one of the tourist charters held station in the channel, I had the sense that I could with two good bounds be on the charter and off again on to the island.
This part of the hike is well worth it if only to see the seal colony so closely. I was feeling inspired.
Even the sight of the abandoned, or perhaps hidden, crayfish bakkies of the perlemoen poachers left lying on the beach didn’t detract from my enjoyment.
The next part of the walk proved more taxing, requiring some dodging of the waves as I rounded the coastline and clambering across sections of cliff face which proved to be more than a little treacherous.
I still wasn’t overly concerned. I grew up performing similar athletic feats around the coast of my native Cornwall, where escaping the incoming tides was all part of a day’s adventure.
Feeling strong and sure that I had sufficient time to complete what was expected to be a six- or seven-hour scramble, I decided to carry on and complete the entire trail.
Also, having completed the more northerly section of the walk in the past, I was confident that I knew what lay ahead.
However, I had to consider that there was no turning back – the tide was closing the door to my exit as it pushed up against the cliffs once again.
This section of the coastline really is unspoilt. There is virtually no sign of human intervention but for the shipwrecks and the fishing boats out to sea and it would be all too easy to imagine yourself the only person left alive on a remote shoreline.
It was at this point that things really started to go badly wrong. I started to experience severe pains in my chest but in such a remote location there was little to be done about it but to press on.
By now, however, I was only just past the halfway mark of the hike, although I took some comfort in knowing what lay ahead and was still confident that I would be able to negotiate the trail despite my considerable discomfort.
Little did I realise that the path has been virtually abandoned, I suspect closed to traffic, and I was forced to struggle on hands and knees under the rooikrans bushes, pushing through holes in the bush.
It really was turning into a life or death struggle and I briefly considered phoning for assistance. A good idea, but for the fact that unknown to me my cellphone had got damp during the rock hopping and wave dodging earlier in the day.
The final stages are something of a vague memory. I crawled on hands and knees for much of the way and was very thankful for some assistance from passing cyclists when I finally reached the trail above Sandy Bay.
It was some four or five hours after the initial chest pains that I reached my car, exhausted and still wet. Medical intervention confirmed that I had indeed had a heart attack and am lucky to be alive.
This trail, even without the potential hazards of a medical emergency, simply cannot be recommended.
The path is littered with deadfall trees and virtually impassable, and the scrambling on loose rock and the threat of the tides all make it too risky.
It’s a pity, since the views are remarkable but even then, probably not worth dying for. - Sunday Argus