As always, Dean and I had planned the trip immaculately. I would wake up at 07:15, be at Dean by 08:00, and, after some last minute preparations, we’d be at Jarred at 09:00 and on our way. And, as always, everything would whirr and turn and execute like clockwork. But, as always, there were some unanticipated mechanical problems in our clock.

I woke at 07:15 sharp – only to find I had a pretty serious case of diarrhoea. Since I was feeling otherwise perfect, I decided not to ruin the fun and swallowed two Immodium® with a glass of orange juice. I had a small bite to eat, checked that I had everything, and was at Dean at 08:30 (as expected).

But Dean’s rucksack was not properly packed yet and it already weighed 18kg, and he remarked that the tent felt surprisingly light. In the process of packing it at my car, his dog ran out and we spent ten minutes trying to catch her before she ran back home. By the time Dean had filled up his rucksack, and put what remained into mine, and we’d checked the emergency kit, the map and the route, it was 09:30.

We arrived at Jarred at 09:40. This was his first self-contained hike (i.e. without porters) and he wasn’t sure how to pack – so he couldn’t fit everything into his rucksack. Dean and I unpacked and repacked, checking that he had everything that he needed and that he removed everything that he did not need. We stuffed him and his pack into the car and spent 15 minutes assuring his parents that we’d bring him back alive and with a greater appreciation for home-cooking.

We were busy filling up with petrol at 10:30 when it occurred to me that the thermal vest I had bought the previous day was too small. It also occurred to me that in the bunch of ten AA maps I’d brought with there was not one which would help us. Fortunately, both problems could be solved with a quick trip to Sandton City. Unfortunately, neither of the other two knew where the AA shop is. So we could not solve both problems simultaneously. While we were there we decided to get a small Frangelico (a hazelnut liqueur) to take with.

By the time 11:40 rolled around we were out of Sandton City, and at 12:02 we hit the N3 – only slightly off our planned schedule.

Everyone, especially Dean, we amazed at the performance and road-holding of my little Tazz when laden at high speed and we arrived at the Cathedral Peak Hotel at about 16:15 only to discover that the hike begins 7km’s away but ends at the hotel. We’re allowed to park at the hotel, they tell us kindly, but regret that they cannot provide us with a lift to the start of the hike. We managed to bribe a park ranger (with R30) to give us a lift with a parks board vehicle. And at 17:00 we started the first day’s walk of 6km’s.

But the sun sets early over the mountains and very soon the light intensity was dropping fast, and the temperature even faster. We donned our longs and commenced the final four kilometres in the deathly still and deathly dark Drakensberg night. One thing did work in our favour though – a brilliantly white full moon sprinkled a fine layer of silver over everything – as if the world was created from varying shades of silver.

And during this majestic display of nature we arrived at a house. This was actually a good thing since we lost the trail at that point and the house was inhabited by a park ranger. Minutes later we were presented with a river – a river about 10 meters wide which we had to cross. I suggested we remove our shoes. Dean scoffed at me and spent a half-hour plotting a hop-scotch route over rocks. Ultimately, we all fell into the river and soaked our shoes and socks.

We reached the campsite 2.5km’s further. The site was in the middle of a thicket of trees. It was protected from the wind and had a cosy kind of feel. We began pitching the tent. We laid out the fabric, pegged in the corners, and found that the supporting poles were missing – which is precisely why the tent felt ‘surprisingly light’. So we had more of a ground sheet than a tent. But, being the McGyvers that we are, we used some rope that we’d had the foresight to bring along, to string up the tent from the surrounding trees.

I hadn’t slept well the night before and the drive had exhausted me, so I stretched out on my ‘bed’ and relied on the others to provide. And they dutifully did. Dean also prepared some jelly and used the below zero outside air as a fridge.

"Kevin, wake up! It’s 08:30. Kevin!" This is a bad thing since we’d planned to be walking by 09:00. We indulged in the deliciously frozen jelly, washed up from the night’s feast, and left at about 11:00. We had no reason to expect what Murphy had planned for us that day.

In the photograph you can see the rocky cliff on top of the foothill – this is where the path leads. But we didn’t know that. So after relaxing for about 30 minutes at an exquisite water hole, we continued on a path alongside the river. This path soon faded into nothing and we realised that the actual path must be higher up the foothill. We clambered up the side of this hill, falling down crevasses and being poisoned by nettles – and you can easily see how steep it is in the next two photographs.

It was a short hour later that we arrived at a cave. We rested briefly and then picked up the trail again – only to find ourselves in what was becoming very familiar territory. When the path faded again, we were stranded halfway up an extremely steep embankment. We searched for a path for at least a half-hour. Our options were up or down. Up: a vertical rock cliff about 100 metres high (which you can see in a previous photograph). Down: a small plain with a vague outline of what could be a path. Neither option was attractive, but down was less unattractive. But down led to a precipice. Jarred was about 100 metres behind up and Dean and I called an emergency meeting. We eventually made out the path running along the top of the rock cliff about 2km’s back – about 200 metres in altitude above us.

Jarred said he felt up to a challenge, and the decision was made. We convinced Jarred to follow us at his own pace while we scouted the best route up we could. We promised to stay fairly close and that we’d be back to help him soon, and we set off. The first leg of our route required scaling an embankment as we had before. The second part was far trickier. It involved some serious rock climbing, and shuffling across a 2cm wide ledge which ended in a 70-meter vertical drop. In parts we had to lift our entire weight (including rucksacks) with just our fingers. We had to use thorny bushes as support and fragile branches as footholds. And 45 minutes later we found our path and you can see Dean going back to fetch Jarred. In all, we’d struggled from the river below, all the way up to where I am taking this photograph from with no path – 250 to 300 meters in altitude. The sun was setting and time was running out, so we picked up the pace to a brisk walk – it was 16:30 and we weren’t even half way there.

Our campsite was nearby a cave. Owing to our defective tent, the cave sounded very promising and we began searching for it in a rocky riverbed at 18:00 – the gorge was filling up with darkness. When I stumbled and hurt my leg at 19:00 (in thick darkness) we realised that we were all tired and this was becoming dangerous. So we set up camp at the designated campsite – but this time there were no trees to hang our tent from. We made do.

Luckily a wind blew down the mountain into the tent. This made it fill out into the correct shape. Unluckily the wind measured about fifteen degrees below zero. But we were well prepared and three pairs of socks, a thermal vest, a t-shirt, a Polartec sweatshirt, a windproof jacket, thermal lonjons, fleece pants, and a balaclava later I was snug as a bug in a rug. At least I would have been if my bed were not strategically positioned on top of eight large rocks. I don’t think two hours suffices as a good night’s sleep.

We were up earlier than the day before. This time no jelly awaited us and at about 10:00 we were already moving. Although only 10km’s, this day’s hike was on a continuous upward incline – and not a shallow one either. It was tiring and Dean’s developing stomach bug made progress a tad slower than ideal. The old men were beginning feel the limitations of their ageing bodies, while the youngster, in the prime of his youth, flourished. I was feeling as energetic as a hyperactive bumblebee on ecstasy. Our path led to the ridge of the foothill and then continued along the ridge all the way to the pass (a pass is a break in the cliffs below the plateau of the mountain, and it is the only way to hike to the top – it is always very steep). You can see our destination behind me to my right (your left). It is the dome right at the top. The cave we’d planned to sleep in is just below the top of this dome.

When we reached the ridge we saw that the path led straight through a controlled fire (I’m looking back down at Jarred and Dean). So much for the fresh mountain air. At one point the fire was on the edge of the path and intense enough to singe my leg hairs.

In the next photograph you can see the path snaking, fairly steeply, along the ridge towards the pass. The pass is the gap in the plateau slightly to the right of the ridge. The dome is slightly to the left of the ridge.

At our last water stop before the top our youthful athlete once again demonstrates his superior physique – leaving the rest in his wake.

We passed some awesome balancing rock formations (which resembled "God's Finger") and reached the pass in good time. Arriving on the plateau half an hour later left us 200 meters in altitude below our cave. On reaching it, Jarred collapsed, nauseous from overexertion. The cold and hunger (and maybe even altitude) made his recovery slow – but it was nothing that a superb dinner of soup, 2-minute noodles, Tortellini, and Valoid could not reverse. The setting of the cave in incredible. It tunnels about four meters into the mountain and sleeps three. The sun rises directly into it at dawn, and lifting my head out of my sleeping bag treated me to a view of mountains, hills, and rivers that I have seldom seen before. Unluckily for Jarred and I, this is precisely when Dean’s stomach ailment, combined with lactose intolerance, began to manifest itself in a spectacular display of flatulence – the likes of which I have never smelled. We dived for the open air – half dressed in far sub-zero temperatures.

During this time of the year the top of the mountain never gets above zero. We treated ourselves to natural ice-lollies before descending. Behind us you can see a frozen waterfall.

The only water on the way down was four tiring hours later. We rested at a beautiful rock pool before arriving at the Cathedral Peak Hotel – sweaty, dirty, and not smelling awfully flowery. And it was in that state that we visited the Spur in Harismith on the way back. Unfortunately, this photograph did not come out well. You can just barely see the mountain in the background and the dome above my head.

Aside from a problem with one of the straps of my rucksack (which I managed to fix easily) it performed exceptionally. The others were complaining of aching shoulders and waists a few hours into every day, but by the end of the hike mine were just barely tender. I’m still not certain why I was feeling so fit and healthy – maybe it was the Immodium.