From the swansong of Arnold Paikin to the debut swan dive of Clive Cameron, it was a weekend of high drama as norms, precedents and etiquette were summarily ignored and cast aside. It was an object lesson of how to let one’s hair down and to hell with precedent and regulations. The only redeeming feature was that everybody enjoyed themselves without killing themselves in the process.
Quite frankly by rights Kurt Radzom should have accepted a formal leadership position in Quo Vadis on George Malan’s hasty departure from the Club after the 120km Amatola Hike in 1989. Instead I naively accepted the role. Not that it conferred a large stipend or prestige, but insofar as the duties were involved, it was more akin to that of an Executive Secretary’s role.
The next day presented the same challenge as the day before, a surging enraged river hoping to do its worst. Not enamoured with the prospect of another treacherous crossing in dubious boats with equally dubious Sea Captions, that option was quickly discarded. With insufficient rations to allow for any delays to the schedule, there was no alternative other than a long haul up river to find a suitable ford. Turning back was not an option. A second treacherous crossing with Captain Treacherous was out of the question.
Refreshed & reinvigorated, we charged off after a breakfast comprising the full enchilada – eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato & toast. The resort had even managed to wash & iron our clothes overnight. The menacing clouds had converted themselves into friendly wispy innocuous candy floss fluff balls, cute & cuddly. First we had to pass the hut where we were supposed to have stopped the day before. That made the day’s hike slightly longer but being as fit as we were, not an undue burden.
Clear blue skies welcomed in a brand new day. A steady radiant sun hidden for the past 5 days greeted all & sundry with gay abandon as if it was a long lost friend. But first things first! I had talked both Kurt & Mike into doing a quick 21km run before breakfast & prior to commencing the hike. A work colleague at Monoweld Galvanisers, Danie van Wyk, had challenged me to a duel, a 42km race from Fairy Glen in Pretoria East to the western side of Acasia Park.
An unrivalled experience awaited us, the four members of George Malan’s hiking club eponymously called George Malan’s Hiking Club, before its transmogrification into the Quo Vadis Hiking Club as we set out to hike the Wild Coast Trail in August 1988. Having only previously done the Fish River Canyon Hike & the Blydepoort Trail with the Club, I was still the novice in the Club, minding my Ps & Qs – pints & quarts – so to speak. By now the team dynamics were becoming evident but this trail would expose those that were not the team players. Unfortunately it was not the appropriate time to do so but when is it ever?