Matroosberg – A mile in my shoes

 When someone tells me a hike is "easy", Im always suspicious. I ask questions...lots of questions.

After a few unpleasant hiking experiences over the years, I've learned that everyone's definition of "easy" is very different. I wanted a relaxing weekend in the mountains, not a survival story. So before booking the Matroosberg weekend away, I did my homework.

"Is it suitable for someone who's unfit and doesn't hike?" "Absolutely."

The plan sounded perfect. A relaxed pace, about 250 metres of elevation and roughly four hours there and back.  Exactly the kind of day I was looking forward to.

The weekend itself started exactly as I had imagined. Good company, plenty of laughs around the fire, where complete strangers quickly started feeling like friends.

The next morning I woke before sunrise, quietly slipped out of the cottage with my first cup of coffee and wandered through the orchards with the resident farm dog and cat faithfully following behind me. The crisp mountain air, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the fruit trees and the dawn chorus echoing across the valley made for the most peaceful start to the day. There was nowhere to rush to. Just coffee, fresh air and a reminder of how calming nature can be when you slow down long enough to notice it.

Later that morning, boots were laced, backpacks packed and everyone was looking forward to the hike. What none of us knew was that somewhere along the way, our "easy" hike had  been changed to something very different.

The trail quickly changed from a gentle mountain walk to an obstacle course of loose rocks and uneven terrain. Every step became a careful calculation. I found myself nervously teetering from one rock to the next, never quite sure whether the rock beneath my foot would stay put or send me sliding down the slope. It wasn't the sort of hiking where you lose yourself in the beauty of nature. Instead, I spent every moment watching my feet, constantly alert, knowing that one twisted ankle out here could quickly turn into a serious situation.

The route was longer, steeper and far more demanding than expected. I was already working harder than I ever had on a hike, trying my best to keep moving, when our hike leader walked away from us.

He had also taken the only map with him...

A while later he returned, not to check on us, but wanting to take the sweeper with him too.

That was the moment panic set in.
It wasn't really the mountain that frightened me.
It was the familiarity of the moment.
In an instant, memories of other hikes where I'd been left behind came rushing back. My body wasn't only standing on Matroosberg anymore, it was reliving every time I'd learnt that the slowest person was often left to find their own way.

The group that stayed behind reassured me and never left me. They slowed their pace, checked in on me, shared their electrolytes when I was running on empty and constantly made sure I was okay. Always offering a helping hand when I needed one.

As someone who has always tried to make sure no one gets left behind on my own easy nature walks, I never realised how difficult it would be to become the person who needed looking after.

Encouraged by the group's support, I was slowly able to enjoy the small rewards the mountain gave us. We crossed shallow riverbeds where crystal-clear water trickled over the rocks. After the relentless climb, cupping my hands into that ice-cold mountain water was pure bliss. It was the sweetest drink I could have imagined and, for a brief moment, the exhaustion melted away before it was time to tackle the next rocky climb.

As the afternoon wore on we were concerned about where we were. Luckily we had cellphone reception and was able to contact the office with our location and after assessing our pace, it became clear that continuing would mean reaching the end of the hike in the dark. We made the decision to turn back.

The purple marker is where turned back

With renewed spirit that we were heading back, my mind eventually found somewhere else to go.
While everyone else was probably concentrating on getting back down the mountain as fast as possible, I became fascinated by the incredible variety of lichens clinging to the rocks beneath my feet. Every boulder seemed to tell a different story through its colours, textures and patterns. Without even realising it, my thoughts drifted away from the mountain and into my art. A pleasant distraction.

By the time we stopped for a breather, I had already started feeling inspired with a new cyanotype series in my head.

I can say with all honesty, this hike challenged me physically, mentally and emotionally. Every difficult step up that mountain reinforced a belief I'd carried for years, that when things became hard, I'd be left behind to face them alone.

That evening, as we lay beneath a sky filled with billions of stars, wrapped in blankets and watching the Milky Way stretch across the heavens, and wishing on a shooting star, I found myself reflecting on the day.

Perhaps the greatest gift Matroosberg gave me was not the mountain. Not the views. Not even the adventure...well maybe some adventure.
But rather the reminder that sometimes the people walking beside you become the most memorable part of the journey.

People often say, "Go find yourself in the mountains." I used to think they meant finding your strength, conquering a summit or pushing your physical limits. 

Matroosberg taught me something completely different.
I didn't find myself at the summit of a mountain.
I found old fears I thought I'd buried.
I found a part of myself that had sadly learned not to rely on anyone because past experience had taught me that being the slowest person often meant being abandoned.

But somewhere between the mountainous adventure and magical night sky I found something else too. Hope.

Hope that not every person walks away.

Hope that kindness still exists in unexpected places.

And hope that perhaps it's okay to let people walk beside me every once in a while.