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.

---

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.

---

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

 

Seven Days Before the World Began Again - A Solo Drakensberg Hiking Adventure

 "Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”

 

Seven Days Before the World Began Again

Solo Tales from the Berg

Some journeys begin the moment your boots hit the trail. Others start long before — in the quiet decision to walk away from noise and into yourself. This was one of those journeys.

Day One rose cool and pale, the Drakensberg still stretching its back from the night. The first climb was steady, familiar, like greeting an old friend whose moods you already understand. The world behind you shrank with every step; the world ahead opened like a long-hidden door.

By midday you were high enough to feel the silence change texture — thinner, sharper, cleaner. You stopped beside a stream, cupped your hands, drank cold water that tasted like stone and sky. And for the first time in months, the chatter in your head took a breath and sat still.

Day Two was the day of the cliffs — those massive walls that look like they could rise up and walk away if they wanted to. You crossed the ridgelines slowly, deliberately, knowing that these places demand respect, not speed. The clouds were low and fast, brushing over you like passing ghosts. You spoke to them anyway. No witnesses but the wind.

By Day Three, the wildness had properly settled into your bones. You dropped into a valley of long grass and river braids — water curling and unfolding like silver rope. You spent the morning tracing the river upstream, stepping through cold pools, watching the sun flare on every ripple. You could swear the mountains were watching you back, pleased that someone had arrived without asking them to be anything other than exactly what they were.

On Day Four, the world turned bright, brutal, magnificent. The trail climbed steeply through boulder fields where time had no meaning. Every stone carried the weight of millennia; every step carried the weight you were slowly learning to put down. That night you camped high — just you, the wind, and a sky so crowded with stars it felt like the universe had gathered close to hear your thoughts.

Day Five felt like stepping into a cathedral carved by weather. You walked through shadowed valleys, cliffs towering above you like ancient pillars. A single sunbeam broke through the mist and landed at your feet — a quiet blessing, or a warning, or maybe simply the mountain saying:
You’re exactly where you should be.

On Day Six you began the long traverse homeward. Your legs were tired, your shoulders sore, but your spirit? Lighter than it had been in years. You realized then that solitude isn’t the absence of people — it’s the presence of yourself. The version you forget when life gets loud.

Day Seven brought the final descent — grasslands giving way to paths, paths giving way to the faint suggestion of the world below. You looked back only once. The peaks stood silent, unchanged, yet somehow you knew they would never look the same again.

Out here, you didn’t escape life.
You found the part of it that still remembers how to breathe.

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