dancingthroughchaos

‘The radiance in some places is so great as to be fairly dazzling… every flower a window opening into heaven, a mirror reflecting the Creator.’ John Muir – Scottish-American naturalist

We’ve all said that there are things we’d never do again: sign up for a marathon; sing karaoke; take a short cut through a different neighbourhood; wear our PJs to buy groceries; substitute one possibly similar ingredient for another in a trusted recipe; use a particular airline (can you guess which one?) etc.

Actually, I haven’t attempted all of these, but in 2004 I did make the decision that I would not voluntarily spend another night under canvas.  Ever.  I felt I’d had my fill of that type of basic trip and would henceforth aspire to a more five-star kind of lifestyle.

Ha! And indeed, whatever.

Luxury not withstanding, no one was more surprised than me to discover that I’d signed up for an overnight hike here in South Africa a couple of weeks ago. 

Spring is supposed to have sprung this side of the equator, which means that the west coast blooms with a proliferation of colourful flowers which look as though they have fallen straight out of the pages of a story book.  People travel for miles, book into local B & Bs and drive to see the kaleidoscope of nature’s palette strewn across the landscape.  The National Park opens a section for just two months of the year so that this phenomena can be viewed by the paying public.

Some friends of mine had booked a protected hiking trail, which navigates part of this space, over two days.  Only twelve people are allowed to walk on it on any given day in order to preserve the integrity and condition of the ecosystem.  Our group of four had anticipated this trip for some time and, happily for me, a space opened up when someone else was forced to drop out.  Her loss was my gain.  I figured that just one night would be much like the overnight plane journeys I take to get here in terms of hours of sleep: minimal, but bearable; and worth it in the end.

I wasn’t disappointed, and along the way, I made two discoveries.

Thanks to the generosity of multiple friends, I was able to borrow a back pack, sleeping bag and mat, torch and other paraphernalia required for such a venture.  We set off with a spring in our step and rejoiced in the sunshine which provided such great walking weather.

That first day, we scrambled up a small mountain, twisted and turned through the bush, breathed in the unique fragrance of fynbos vegetation, walked a raised path above the Langebaan lagoon and turned south from the sheltered inland walkway to the ocean-side,  breathing in the salty air and grateful for the coastal breeze.  We saw zebra, eland and blesbok; watched a pelican fly in an azure sky and birds of prey ride the thermals with enviable ease.  We saw evidence of tortoises and one saw a snake slither off the path in front of us, where it had doubtless been enjoying the warm sun.  Of course, we had to stop from time to time, not just for swigs of water and provisions, but to admire the views and the flowers along the way.

My first revelation was simply the variety and shades we encountered, which were quite mesmerising.  My absolute favourite were the show-stopping pink ones which bloom in incongruous explosions of vivid colour, across the rocky landscape.  Equally enthralling were the palest of pink daisy-type blooms and the tiny, delicate, cream-coloured ones, reminiscent of delicate doilies from the drawing-rooms of another era.  At times, we almost tip-toed through the clumps, treading carefully, reluctant to crush such beauty.  Orange, yellow, red, purple, blue, white: the colours presented themselves with perfection in their darkest and lightest forms.

How amazing, I found myself thinking, that the Creator should lavish such beauty in hidden places over thousands of years, much of which is never seen by any people at all.  With what delight He must have ignited this process; strewing colours with the abandonment of a toddler with a paintbox and providing such invigorating and inspiring places in nature.  It’s amazing how much hope the sight of a single flower can bring to a weary heart.

The second discovery came courtesy of the other eight hikers on the trail that day.  They had set out before us, so reached the overnight spot ahead of us.  Six of these were older ladies: one was celebrating her 70th birthday, another was one of her 80-year-old relatives.  Two ladies were heading off for a dip in the ocean as we arrived to pitch our tents, mindful that when night comes here it comes fast.  We were invited to join them around their fire, made American-type s’mores with marshmallows and chocolate, and laughed a lot.  The next morning, they shared their home-made crunchies with us as we warmed up with welcome hot coffee after considerably less sleep than we would have preferred.

This was the day when my blisters decided to make a return visit.  You may recall that two months ago, my Isle of Wight adventure was marred by their persistence [https://dancingthroughchaos.wordpress.com/2022/07/11/the-week-after-the-week-before/]. 

We soldiered on, and once again were rewarded with stunning vistas, beautiful weather and a host of cheerful rainbow-hues at our feet as we reluctantly approached the finish.

Our doughty fellow-hikers had passed us as we stopped for snacks, so by the time we emerged from thorn bushes and plants we’d never seen before, let-alone had names for, they were already enjoying the deserted and sun-kissed beach.  

Two were already dripping from the waves and before we knew it, others had picked their way down the sand only to emerge from behind a handy rock in nothing but their birthday suits.  With squeals and laughter, they waded out confidently and plunged into the icy water, unhindered and clearly invigorated but the experience.  As we struggled with straps and costumes on the shoreline, these fabulous oldsters, threw caution to the wind and cavorted in the waves with unrestrained delight.

‘Wow;’ I remarked to my friends, ‘let’s be them when we’re that age.’  

Not necessarily committed to swimming sans maillot de bain (although, heck, why not?), but I want to have the same exuberance for living life to the full, for taking opportunities for adventure, for new things and, most of all, for fun.  Some people call this enjoying the journey.

The days are undeniably dark right now; there’s war in Europe, rumours of more conflict, economic downturns, financial strain, political mayhem and social upheaval, rampant obsession with self, and huge shifts in every sphere of life – more than we’ve seen for many a long year – but where there is life and light, there is hope and truth, colour and delight.  

The flowers and their Maker taught me that.