A Solo Journey Through Silence, Stone, and Self - The Drakensberg Mountains

 You will never find a wilderness hiking partner as perfect as your own spirit.

(Unknown)

 

A Solo Journey Through Silence,

Stone, and Self

There is a certain kind of quiet you only find in the Drakensberg — a silence so old it feels like it remembers you. A silence that doesn’t need to speak to be understood. That is the silence I went looking for when I set out on a seven-day solo hike through the Berg.

This is the story of those seven days — woven through cliffs older than memory, valleys that breathe like sleeping giants, and a waterfall that felt like a sanctuary meant only for me.

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Day 1 — Entering the Kingdom of Stone

The Drakensberg always greets me like an old god: towering, indifferent, testing my resolve. The basalt cliffs rose straight into the blue, jagged like broken spears. I stopped often just to stare, letting the size of the place remind me how small I truly am.

There’s no audience on a solo hike.
No expectations.
No masks.

Just you… and whatever you brought with you inside.

This time, I brought longing.

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Day 2 — Walking the Green Corridor

The next morning opened into a world of rolling green slopes and drifting cloud. It felt like walking through a great, breathing creature — alive, gentle, ancient.

This valley doesn’t make noise.
It absorbs it.

Mist curled around the hills, wrapping me in the kind of silence that turns thoughts into travelling companions. Old hurts, old hopes, and unfinished stories walked beside me. The Berg has a way of pulling them out whether you want it to or not.

So I walked slowly.
Because this place demands slowness.
And because rushing through beauty is a kind of disrespect.

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Day 3 — The Waterfall Sanctuary

Rain came during the night.
Soft at first.
Then steady.
Then absolutely committed.

I reached a hidden waterfall by late morning — a sanctuary tucked behind rock and shadow, its pool glowing a pale green under the overcast sky. Alone, soaked, and laughing, I stepped into the icy water.

It bit.
Then numbed.
Then healed.

For that brief moment, the world felt clean.
So did I.

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Day 4 — The Ridge of Quiet Fear

The wind arrived the next day — sharp, merciless, and very personal. Crossing a narrow ridge above the waterfall made every step deliberate. The Berg whispered the truth into my ear:

“You are alone.
If you slip, no one is coming.”

But this is why I hike solo.
To feel the risk.
To feel alive.
To remember that life is always a negotiation between caution and courage.

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Day 5 — The Valley of Old Thoughts

The clouds broke open on the fifth day, revealing bright grasslands stretching into forever. I followed a narrow animal track down into a valley painted in greens, golds, and soft shadow.

Here, solitude stopped being a challenge and became a companion.
Memories rose up without invitation.
Questions I’d avoided for months demanded to be heard.

But the mountains did not judge.
They simply held the silence around me like a blanket.

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Day 6 — High Above the World

Climbing toward the escarpment brought me back beneath the basalt sentinels from day one — only now they towered even higher, their shadows colder, their presence heavier.

Up there, the world narrowed into rock, sky, and breath.
I sat on a boulder near the top and watched the valleys open beneath me in layered greens.

So much of life demands noise.
But the important things — the real things — always grow in silence.

---

Day 7 — The Descent Home

My final morning was warm.
Birdsong drifted across the hills.
Mist peeled away slowly, revealing the way back to the world.

I walked the last stretch with a familiar ache: the soft sadness of a journey ending. The Drakensberg does this every time — strips me bare, then quietly puts me back together in a different shape.

At the bottom of the trail, I turned and looked back one last time.

Seven days.
Three landscapes.
A thousand thoughts.
One soul a little less tangled.

The mountains remained, unchanged and unbothered — waiting for the next time the world becomes too loud and I need to return to the silence again.

We as hikers, explorers, and adventurers have the absolute duty to respect and protect our Wildernesses.
Nobody else will do it for us. Take ownership!

 

The End.

Safe Hiking.

References and Acknowledgements

Photos – Willem Pelser

 Written and Compiled by Willem Pelser

 

IN THE SANI PASS - DRAKENSBERG

 “I AM AN EXPLORER OF MY OWN FEAR, HOPES, DREAMS, AND POSSIBILITIES. IN REALITY MY ACTIVITY IS NOTHING BUT A PASSION FOR LIMITS.”

UNKNOWN

  

IN THE SANI PASS

DRAKENSBERG

Up the valley of the Mkhomazana River, the classic pass from KZN to the summit of the basalt island finds its way. This pass, known as Sani (pass of the Bushmen), was used from early times. It climbs through singularly wild country, full of memories of rustlers, renegades, and many vicious fights when vengeance-seeking tribesman and farmers encountered bands of the wiry little Bushmen cattle thieves.

   Long files of pack mules and donkeys still make their weary way up this pass, while Sotho horseman in their blankets and straw hats ride their hardy ponies to the most improbable heights.

   South of the Sani Pass stand the twin Hodgson’s Peaks, 3257 m high, named after a farmer accidently killed there while on a punitive raid against Bushmen rustlers. They act as reminders of past days of hard riding and misadventure.

   The Drakensberg continues southwards, its unbroken line of cliffs looking down on a sweeping stretch of farming community. The foothills are a pattern of maize fields, sheep and cattle pastures, while rivers such as the Mzimkhulu and the Ngwangwana have their sources on the heights, rush down through many a gorge, fatten from their tributaries and feed deep pools where trout lurk and the mountains admire their own reflections, on surfaces like glass.

   Beyond the Cape border, the Drakensberg swings south-westwards again. For another 300 km the wall of cliffs continues without a break. There are no holiday resorts and little development. Farms make a patchwork of the downlands, but the foothills and the main wall of the basalt island remain inviolate. It was in this part of the range that the legend of the dragon had its origin. It must have been easy to believe such tales in such an area. The wall of mountain seems remote and aloof. To the Zulu tribespeople they were uluNdi (the heights), another world of snow and rains, while they lived in the warm and fertile lowlands. What manner of creatures – mammal or reptile – lived beyond the edge of the escarpment only legend could describe. Even today there are dark valleys, caves, and rustler’s hideaways where few men ever walk.

   As the mountain wall continues southwards it slowly loses height. Farmlands crowd closer to the foothills. The highest road pass in Southern Africa, Naudes Nek, climbs to the 2500 m level and then manages, with a last wriggle, to clear the summit. The route is dramatic and spectacular, with heavy snow in winter, masses of red-hot-poker flowers staining the slopes like pools of blood in March, and nearby, the bulky peak of Makhollo (great mother), looming up to an altitude of 3000 m.

   Still further south there is another pass, Barkly Pass, which penetrates the Drakensberg through a red colored sandstone valley. The range, by this point, has lost both height and bulk. Its sandstone foundation is more apparent, and the giant cliffs of basalt have vanished. Sheep by the hundreds of thousands graze along the slopes; but the Drakensberg still retains its beauty and its wildness, with farmers and rustlers waging an interminable war.

   Then, abruptly and fittingly, this noble range comes to its southern end at a last towering mass of cliffs known as Xalanga (place of the vultures). From the Sentinel in the north to Xalanga in the south, the wall of basalt has provided South Africa with a mountain backbone 450 km in length. North of the Sentinel, the name of the Drakensberg is applied to the escarpment of the central South African plateau, and this continues for another 600 km with, especially in north-eastern Mpumalanga, some majestic scenery.

   But, the ‘mountains of the dragon, proper, are the eastern edge of the basalt island, the rainy roof and the greatest heights of Southern Africa.

We as hikers, explorers, and
adventurers have the absolute duty to respect and protect our Wildernesses.
Nobody else will do it for us. Take ownership!

The End.

Safe Hiking.

 References and Acknowledgements

From the book: Southern Africa – Land of Beauty and Splendour – Readers Digest

Photos:  ©Willem Pelser

Compiled by:  Willem Pelser

Seven Days Alone in the Drakensberg (A Survival Guide for People With Poor Impulse Control)

 Stop being afraid of what could go wrong and start being excited about what could go right.

 (Unknown)

 

Seven Days Alone in the Drakensberg

(A Survival Guide for People With Poor Impulse Control)

Because sometimes the mountain trip you planned becomes the mountain lesson you survive.

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Day One: “How Hard Can It Be?”

Spoiler: harder than your ex, harder than your job, harder than pretending you’re fine at family gatherings.
I started the hike like a hero.
The mountain looked at me and said: “Cute.”

By the first ridge I was breathing like a buffalo giving birth.
But hey — the views were stunning and so was my denial.

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Day Two: “I’m Not Lost, I’m Locationally Creative.”

Fog dropped so thick I could’ve been inside a Tupperware container.
Map said one thing.
GPS said another.
My brain said: “Panic.”

I followed the river like a good little survival manual reader — until I realised rivers meander like drunk toddlers.
Spent two hours arguing with myself.
Lost. Won. Lost again.

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Day Three: “Gravity Wants Me Dead.”

Walking on wet rocks:
Step… slide… spin…
I performed ballet no human should ever attempt.

One rock betrayed me so badly I considered suing it.

Safety tip: If the rock is shiny, step elsewhere unless you're emotionally ready to die.

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Day Four: “Wind Advisory: Everything Is Now a Kite.”

Winds reached what I can only describe as “unholy.”
Tent almost left for Lesotho without me.
Sleeping bag nearly became airborne.
My dignity? Already gone.

I anchored my tent with the desperation of a man who has known fear.

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Day Five: “The Wildlife Union Has Filed a Complaint.”

Saw a troop of baboons.
They looked at me with the judgment of twelve angry mothers-in-law.
One big male grunted as if to say,
“Run your little blog, human. We run this valley.”

I nodded respectfully and left their kingdom with all due humility.

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Day Six: “End-of-Hike Brain Rot.”

By now I was sunburnt, half-feral, and speaking in accents.
Every rock looked like a potential chair.
Every cloud looked like a message from God.

Then came the cliff — the one that appears right when your brain decides to stop working.
One wrong step and it’s helicopter time.
(If they can even find your body. Which they won’t. Because you didn’t tell anyone your exact route.)
Tell. Someone. Your. Route.

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Day Seven: “The Final Humbling.”

Descending… dreaming of hot showers, cold Coke, and human civilization…
Then I tripped on a root and nearly rolled 200m like a loose tyre.

I survived only because I grabbed a tuft of grass
— which may now legally be my emotional support plant.

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The Moral of the Story

The Drakensberg is extraordinary.
Sacred.
Wild.
Indifferent.

It will give you peace if you respect it,
and give you hell if you don’t.

So:

• Plan properly
• Pack properly
• Don’t hike alone unless you actually know what you’re doing
• Don’t trust weather apps
• Don’t trust rocks
• Don’t trust your fitness
• And definitely don’t trust “it’s just a short climb.”

Go humble.
Return grateful.
Live to hike another day.

We as hikers, explorers, and adventurers have the absolute duty to respect and protect our Wildernesses.
Nobody else will do it for us. Take ownership!

 

The End.

Safe Hiking.

References and Acknowledgements

Photos – Willem Pelser

 Written and Compiled by Willem Pelser