Blisters and Bliss — part three
Monday — I think it is.
Onwards, I am ready for the day.
Another day where my blisters didn’t break. Another day, just one more day.
I’ve become Bush! Everything is fixed with spit. Thorn scratches, insect bites, cuts, abrasions. Just spit on it and move on. Blisters — just rub your feet into the sand and let them dry overnight. I stink, which was apparent when I snuggled my head deep into my sleeping bag during a cold night and got a whiff of my pungent odor. Otherwise, I don’t feel dirty and caked in dust I look tanned. Our shirts are stained with the salty outlines of our sweat.
This morning started with the usual elation. My blistered soles didn’t hurt, the sand did its job. My shoulders were soft and didn’t burn. My backpack was light. I am impressed with myself and believe that I could walk the PCT in all its entirety. Then the blisters started to hint at their arrival. But they don’t hurt too bad on the long hikes and my walking stride distracts me from the pain. But when we rest and then get up again, that initial step on my feet is anguish. Four blisters are now singing along with every step I take, accompanied by the burn of my shoulders. I decided not to sit down during my next rest and rather just stand because if I keep moving the blister bite isn’t too bad. Just don’t stop. Just like Dory said, “Just keep swimming”, so I just keep walking, one foot in rhythm to the next.
Don’t stop, only a few more hours, at least today wasn’t a bush-whacking jaunt like yesterday. I don’t like bundu-bashing as it disrupts my flow when I stumble through sticky grass and get a lashing from the thorny thoroughfare.
We followed the tracks of a lone elephant bull, and then, something weird happened — we heard a car and in front of us was a tar road. We hid in the bush so that the passing car wouldn’t notice us — anxious to stay hidden like we just emerged from the wilderness after escaping a presumed apocalypse, and discover that the world did not die out. We were all a bit unruffled after this experience as it reminded us that we are not far from civilization and a week hidden in the bush wouldn’t protect us from the inevitable return to Man.
We walked perturbed for a long time after that, and when we found the elephant, so close, so big, we couldn’t shake the feeling that Man isn’t far!
I am at a blissful oasis in the Luvuvhu-something river overlooking northern Kruger, where we siesta under the cooling shade of the most magnificent Jackalberry Tree with ancient roots snaking all over the place. Elephants bath nearby, and kudu, nyala, eland, baboons, and zebra come for a drink. But I can’t find peace. I worry. About my blistering feet. The long walk to our camp for the last night. About the drive back to Johannesburg. The next 48 hours ahead of me haunt my thoughts.
I can’t snooze under my magnificent tree and barely touched my lunch. On day 5 I think I have hit a Despondency Dip.
So I just sat in thought, and pondered, in my melancholy, in silence.
A white-fronted bee-eater keeps me entranced with his elegant maneuvers in the air catching insects, full of enthusiasm as he flits here and there. I follow him on my binos for a long time, and I finally feel that peace wash over me.
The cool shade of the Jackalberry made us oblivious to the windless heat that simmered down on the world and as we face a 2-hour hike in the cauldron that afternoon, the group started to show their first signs of disgruntlement. It’s too hot — We feel dirty and smelly and sweaty and salty. Their displeasure throbs in the heat like my four blisters throb in my shoes (they didn’t pop yet, the nightly sand cure works.)
As always we don’t know how far it would be before we reach our camp, and today this uncertainty in the heat is annoying. But I don’t mind how long we walk, I just want my blisters to hold on for a little while longer. Keep on swimming, Dory, keep on walking, Birgit. I have only 1 dinner and 1 breakfast to do, and all of a sudden I didn’t want this to end. This is my last night in the bush. The return is inevitable and I just want to keep on walking, find another new spot to sleep under the stars.
Those blisters never won.
We sleep on top of sandstone boulders and had the best spring water so far. Sweet and cool. Brown-headed Parrots made a joyful racket in the trees near us.
I have first Nightwatch, and time the end of my watch by when Venus sets beyond the horizon, which is shortly before 9 pm before I finally handed over my shift. I did my shift longer as I wanted to wait for everybody to be deep asleep. I was never tired. Scops Owls were calling out to each other all night, and Spotted Hyenas laughed somewhere far.
Tuesday
And then it was over. The sun barely touched the tips of the hills when we break camp, and then our instructor tells us that this last hike will be our Walk of Silence. (his term)
Truly don’t talk, and no matter what we see, we just keep walking. Softly we walk through the bush with the only sound made by our steps crunching on the leaves. We then took a break near a small spring under an Ironwood tree. In utter silence. Even drinking a sip of water disrupted our peace so we avoided the slightest unnecessary movement, quite naturally. I note the birds mentally and didn’t dare open my diary to write in it. I am not tired and am not feeling my blisters or tight shoulders, as I sit there on the ground and look at the world around me.
Magic happened….a little steenbokkie appeared near us and didn’t seem to notice us. It cautiously took a sip of water and grazed a little, alert for predators and being aware of us, but not understanding this still group of humans. A Bambi of the bush sharing this space with us. We were elated, quietly.
This was it. The end. We arrived at the EcoTraining camp, and our guides disappeared to their tents. We stood there a little puzzled and lost, waiting at the man-made camp with cars, generators, hot showers, flush toilets and people buzzing around doing stuff. We didn’t know what to do now.
I finally found out who these travel companions were on my 40-minute ride back to my parked car. A Cinematographer, a journalist, a banker on a sabbatical, a girl on a gap year, a Climate Control researcher working with communities in Mozambique. Two guardians of the bushveld. And me, sales and marketing for a conservation travel company. These jobs are meaningless here — but they helped us find our way into the bush.
I am in Joburg in a somewhat dodgy but adequate apartment, inspecting insect bites with my headtorch. One looks concerning but I just spit on it. My pinkie toes have the worst blisters because they are so crooked. But next time I’ll wear better socks. It is strange being back. The 7 hours driving back from the bush to the city did me good. I didn’t put on the car radio for the first three hours, just riding in silence.
I was overwhelmed by Social Media. I am not ready to know what everybody else did in my absence. I am glad to spend a night anonymously in Joburg before going home, ordering room service and a beer, but leaving the TV off.
Random after-tour reflections.
I LOVED IT!
I NEEDED IT!
I shared some grim thoughts with you, diary…but it’s all coming to me now how wonderful every moment was.
I miss the silence of the bush.
I realized just how bad I stank only when I climbed into the shower — I may have to wash my T-shirt twice.
I loved the motion of walking, on foot at a time. A slow dance, naturally as humans did since all eternity. We were always meant to walk indefinitely.
The wondering wanderer has many more miles to discover on these feet and this was only the start of many more to come.