A rotisserie chicken – that is how I describe my first night sleep on the Cape to Cape Trail. On an 8mm foam yoga mat, I conked out on my side, woke up with a blow-up pillow full of drool, turned onto my back and conked out again. This was the 360-degree rotation all night.
I wake to birds chattering as the sun stretches out, lighting my Kmart tent in between dappled shadows. I am alive! Crawling out from the tent to visit the long drop, I notice that I feel very little body soreness – winning! The old couple we share the ground with happily buzz around their campsite. Such lovely folks, full of information and they fill me with encouragement and loads of tips.
Amazingly, all my equipment fits back inside my backpack. There is just one thing left to do…put my boots on. With deep breaths, I tape the round blisters sported by each big toe, gently slip on my socks and boots…and stand up – Ouch! I try not to think about the two days we have left to reach the car.
The coastline is spectacular this morning and we spy a fishing boat past the cliffs bobbing in the deep blue. We walk from one headland to the next. Turning back, I can just make out the gap in the bushes where our camp was. The trail skirts down to the beach and the sun begins to turn up the thermostat. Soft sand reflects the heat and grabs at my ankles, making walking harder than it is. My blister pain is amplified. I push hard on my walking poles and affectionately name sand ‘The Suck’. I am happy to see the trail turn away from the beach but, within a few metres, the trail goes vertical!
An overweight hiker. with fourteen kilos strapped to her back. goes one step up and half a step down with each footstep. Some choice words fly out of my mouth as ‘The Suck’ kicks my backside. The view from the top is rewarding though. Regaining my breath, we carry on again. The area surrounding us changes as shrubs give way to scattered trees and I begin to let my guard down. “Oh, here are those shiny steps in the guidebook…”
The Shining Stairs of Hell – steep, twisting with high risers and narrow treads. The stuff Occ. Health and Safety people dream of. My arse is handed to me again!
From there, the trail bends and turns through a combination of rocks, pools and sand. Cheerful day hikers wave and smile greetings. I can’t help but notice how great they all smell! Day two of hiking and I can tell you I don’t smell like that. I didn’t even pack deodorant as the extra grams were not worth it. Dodging scrub and limbs I manage to find the carpark that looks over Gracetown. “Made it!” One kilometre away there is a local shop. I have my mind on the prize as I clumsily miss the trail and take a roo track down the side of the hill instead. Coke or Club Lemon? Tough decisions.
It is THE BEST I have ever tasted! I smash back some electrolytes and pack the last half of the lemon for later. Shouldering packs again, we leave the long weekend tourists behind us; the trail turns to limestone. An exposed, sun drenched trail makes for sweaty hiking. I position my buff around my neck to protect it from searing rays. I am thankful for the wide brim, dorky hat I chose that gives me protection. Kilometres of limestone give way to kilometres of white, hot sand. The suck starts again.
My feet have been painful all the way but, now it is getting beyond a joke. I find a small, shady patch of dirt, teach for my mini medical kit and take off my boot. Blood soaks my sock; the little piggy looks like it has been to market. I do my best to clean and tape it, plus another toe that is on its way out also. Then, lace up and carry on.
I’m hurting now. My friend agrees that we shall stop three kilometres up ahead, leaving three to get to camp. I see her off ahead of me in the distance; she has reached the rest spot. On seeing this goal, I am thoroughly relieved, and I talk myself into walking the final two hundred or so meters to meet her. But, on my next glance, my friend has started walking again. She walks on past, through more sand and disappears into the dunes. My heart sinks. The thought of walking through more sand without a break on these busted feet nearly breaks me. I look longingly at the weathered, wooden seat and walk on.
“And – one – and – two – and – three – and – four – and…” I am counting each two footsteps as one meter, while violently chewing on another lolly snake. I’m in a world of pain and this is the only thing I could come up with to stop me thinking about calling a taxi and getting the hell out of here. At four hundred and forty three, the sand gives way to path. At six hundred and something, I see my friend sitting on a bench under a shady tree. About bloody time!
There is something about a Snickers Bar. It really satisfies me when I am out on the trail. Not sure if it’s the nuts or the chewy part. It sure does the job and, after some hilarious YMCA dancing by my friend, we tackle the last two kilometres to camp.
It is still daylight when I crawl into my sleeping bag for the night.
Inbetween Coffees 