xtreme ironing - gatberg

Life is all about the little luxuries in life: hiking between towering peaks of the Drakensberg, the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the morning, pancake with lots of cinnamon and sugar (no lemon!) in rainy weather, make-up in the morning, a facial scrub before you go to bed, lycra by day and down by night, a proper supper with lots of fresh veggies, neatly pressed clothes.

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A girl must know how to organise. Especially if you love life's little luxuries.

Organising a hike in the Drakensberg is easy enough. If you happen to like pancake for breakfast, then you take someone with who knows how to bake them. If you like veggies, then you carry them up the mountain & insist that you get the first cooking-turn (to contain the weight in your backpack.) If you want to make-up & scrub in a mountain, then you keep an eye open for miniature lipsticks, creams, lotions & potions to keep the weight of your backpack within manageable proportions. If you like good coffee, then you invest in a gadget that can brew fresh Mocha Java on the top of the Drakensberg Escarpment (and carry condensed milk to drink it with, of course). If you like lycra & down, you can bend your MasterCard to your heart's content (or merely until it's maxed out) at the Capestorm-shop in Bryanston.

The neatly pressed clothes, however, proved a bigger challenge. Clothes out of a backpack just never look tidy, no matter how carefully you packed it. It seemed that there were some things, after all, that your MasterCard couldn't buy.

That was about to change, though, with the discovery of the D&D crowd, a slightly crazy writer's club constantly in search of (usually nocturnal) adventures so that they have something to write about. After some careful research, it seemed that there were people willing to carry the ironing board & iron up the mountain for you. The extreme ironing-challenge was on, and Gatberg was the ideal spot.

The Extreme Iron-team couldn't stand the idea of other people having fun & them not being part of it, so the adventure had to start with the Easter weekend's Thursday-night-ride - a 45-kay Dark & Dirty. After the ride, some of the extreme ironists showered while the rest of the team packed Weazul's car - the only car in the team that would (almost) fit four people, four backpacks and a tent. They were on their way.

Somewhere before Harrismith the SleepMonster attacked the team members, so we stopped for two hours at a Wimpy while Weazul & Daemon entertained us with stories of funnily-rigged abseils & strange rock-climbing-techniques. Great for boosting your confidence in the team's abilities.

Arrived at Monk's Cowl early on Friday morning, signed the mountain rescue register, and sat down for a long breakfast: espresso, cappuccino, bacon, eggs, scones & cream. Just before lunch we ran out of excuses, so we had to start the hike up to the contour path.

Lots of excitement & attention from fellow-hikers – what on earth were we planning to do with the ironing board in the mountain? One grumpy old girl with wrinkled clothes complaining about mountain ethics. (What? Who wants to look Dark Wrinkled & Dirty like her, if you can look Neat & Tidy like us?)

Before long we found the first ironing spot. Extreme Ironman Jacques scaled the boulder & we waited for innocent hikers & passers-by to witness the spectacle. The disbelief and surprise on their faces –something your MasterCard can't buy! The girl, not noticing your backpacks with the ironing board at the waterfall, asking Weazul if he saw the people with the ironing board, speculating what they are up to – something else your MasterCard can't buy.

The previous night's lack of sleep caught up with us, & we stopped at the first possible camping spot. Some of the team members caught a bath in the mountain stream, but most of the team members just sat around. Jacques pitched the tent. Jacques pitched the ironing board & plugged the iron into a tree. Jacques fetched water. Jacques ironed. Jacques did pretty much everything to do in and around a camp. A very handy camping tool indeed!

More innocent passers-by speculated about our intentions with the ironing board.

Saturday morning broke rainy and wet, but we were oblivious – slept until about 11 or something. Daemon complained about sleeping next to Weazul, everyone complained about sleeping in the same tent than Daemon, Weazul baked some pancakes for a late breakfast, and Jacques broke up the camp, fetched water, washed dishes, and did about everything there is to do around a camp in the morning. Then we hiked into the rain.

By the time we arrived at the campsite below Gatberg, we were soaking wet. It would be impossible to take the Gatberg ironing-pictures in that weather, so we called it a day. Some of the team members caught a bath in the mountain stream. Most of the team members just sat around. Jacques pitched the tent in the rain. Jacques pitched the ironing board & plugged the iron into a tree in the rain. Jacques fetched water in the rain. Jacques ironed in the rain. Jacques did pretty much everything to do in and around a camp in the rain.

Weazul had some mountain-mix with tadpoles for lunch.

The girl in the team had to go fetch the water needed for the evening meal & coffee because Daemon was too scared of the Drakensberg-cats that was about to attack him. He redeemed himself, though, with a scrumptious pasta-supper – the man can cook!

The man can cook, but he SO cannot make morning-coffee! By the time he found the pot, figured out how to operate the stove, found the coffee, measured the coffee, got water out of a bladder into the pot, found a spoon, found the condensed milk, and figured out how the coffee-gadget worked, everyone was wide awake – he'll just have to keep practising morning-coffee until he gets it right.

It was still raining. We climbed Gatberg sans the ironing board – extreme ironing in that weather would not be possible – and would indeed be dangerous. Visibility was so restricted that we accidentally found ourselves on TOP of Gatberg's gat, instead of INSIDE it. Thank you, Weazul, for giving me a hand when I felt slightly insecure and unstable on those loose rocks :)

On our way back to the camp, a few hikers were coming down into the campsite from the other side – their body-language showed their surprise when they saw the ironing board neatly pitched next to the tent – more stuff your MasterCard can't buy.

By the time we arrived back at the campsite, Daemon was in the mood for some serious adventure-race-training, so we decided to break up camp and walk straight out. Jacques washed dishes, made coffee, packed up the wet tent, packed just about everyone's backpacks, and did pretty much everything that needs to be done in and around a camp. Did I mention that we were wet? The gentlemen in the team graciously allowed the girl to bath and put on dry clothes at the first possible waterfall, and then we walked off into the sunset and into the night.

We spent the night in a warm dry place after Weazul baked some more pancakes, & on Monday morning we headed home via the touristy route – doing all the touristy things like shopping in touristy towns & looking at touristy Lesotho-waterscheme-pipes.

A great weekend with great people – thank you guys!

Credits:

- Jacques, the incredible camping tool

- Weazul & Daemon – an entertainment system on legs

- Mich – for lending us your tent; we would've been seriously wet in mine :)

In search of Dirt

The Vitalstatistics:

The date: 20 March 2007

The occasion: a Beeg Nite Out

The distance: 79.9 kays

Time out there: 6 hours 18 minutes

The actual riding time: 4 hours 30 minutes

The average: 17.8 km/h

The altitude gain: 680 metres

The Cast:

16 nightriders: Oupa Gert, PowerGirl (with the usual heavy AR backpack), Hardy (with the usual heavy backpack with the baseball bat sticking out to scare any potential attackers), QT, Bennie, Sybrand, Wollies, the Thug, D1, William, Con, Pieter, Ian, JP and Marius. And I

The Scene:

Each D&D outride starts the same: You arrive at the D&D centre; get your bicycle ready, check the lights, greet everyone else (this usually gets noisier the more girls there are on a particular ride), & sometimes chatting to someone who can’t ride that night but arrives in his work attire to wish you well.

Wednesday was a public holiday, offering (some) the rare opportunity to sleep in after the previous night’s ride. So Tuesday simply had to be a beeg nite out.

The riders for the night included the old-timers, the every-timers, the some-timers & even a new face.

You wait for the last cyclists to get their bicycles ready for the night’s adventure, then ride to the garage to meet Hardy & Bennie where they stocked up on jungle bars - and finally the games can begin.

Headlights, Taillights, Helmets, and … Action!

Like all other D&D rides, the ride starts by flying down king-of-the-hill, around the traffic circle & then onto the dirt track. Unlike other dirty nights, this happened in broad daylight ‘cause you (at least tried to) leave a little earlier than usual.

So it was on to the air force base, around the garage-corner, down VO2Max hill into the sunset, over the sewerage-stream, down to the SPCA, & next to the railway lines. Switch off your headlamp, because it only lights up the dust kicked up by the bicycle in front of you. The last thing that looks vaguely familiar is the area around Smuts house – and then – gone. ‘Cause as soon as you get to know the cycling routes, a new fence is erected, a new development is built, or the Hardenburgs think up a new route. Just to keep it interesting – and to keep you coming back for more 

Some shockwaves as you pass under power cables, then through a veld on fire, & on to a sweet track with a squatter camp on one side where Elsie’s wheel decided it’s enough. A quick fix, & you’re on the road again, with excited greetings & shouts from the community members – they probably don’t see 16 cyclists (at night, nogal) riding right past their camp.

Now onto corrugated dirt road with Sybrand telling stories (and asking Bennie & Hans every now and again to confirm it) about QT’s need for speed when they scouted the route a few weeks ago.

After some mad chases up QT’s hill, you reach the first jungle-bar-stop and Hardy tells the legend of the ghost of a girl from a long time ago … with the appropriate light-effects to go with it when you signalled the ghost-girl, nogal.

After the brief spell, you’re on the road again. But Hardy discovers a flat tyre. Pump. Race down the hill. Flat. Stop. Change tubes. Pump. Race to catch up with the others. Flat again.

Starry skies. No wind. No sound, except from the 16 slightly crazy cyclists. No moon – the only light is from 16 bicycles with 15 headlamps & 15 handlebar-lights and the occasional ambulance or rattlecar (from driving on the corrugated roads too often) passing slowly to witness the spectacle. The long yellow grass & dry dust tells you that it is autumn already. There’s a chill in the air that confirms the end of summer.

Hardy pumps. Hans pumps. Hardy pumps. QT watches. QT comments. Bennie comments. Sybrand comments. Finally you’re on the road again.

The pace picks up, & then you get to the end of the corrugated road. Hardy’s magical backpack produces hot coffee for all. There’s talk of easing the pace a little, but that’s promptly forgotten as soon as you hit the road again. You try to keep up with Oupa Gert and the Tug on the dirt next to the tar road, with a few stops to regroup. Then you turn into proper dirt road again.

It’s a perfect windless starry night. No sound, except wheels turning & cyclists chirping & chatting. You want to be no-where else than on your bicycle on that moment on that road. And with these slightly crazy people 

By the time you reach the garage, everything’s closed. So Hans rigs the locked tap, you fill your bladder, you eat your jungle bar, and then you cycle off into the night again.

There are lots of warnings from Hardy (with confirmation from Bennie) about the loose rock on the next downhill, but it’s paved now. You switch off your headlight because it only lights up the dust, and then it’s downhill, regroup, more downhill, regroup. Then a magical rocky uphill single track – most attempted it, some walked it, some almost cycled it all the way to the top – wow, well done! You will have to come back one day & cycle the whole darn thing 

Oupa Gert’s wheel requires a quick pump, & then you speed off into the darkness again.

An uphill. QT picking up the pace again … and picking it up, and picking it up until you’re almost dead at the top of the hill – gee-whiz girl, where do you get all the energy? Bennie fixes your breaks, & then you’re ready again. Some tar, & then off to the right in search of single track once more.

From somewhere you join Atterbury road. You stay on the sweet downhill single track all the way. In the back of your mind there’s something vaguely familiar about where you are – and a gnawing feeling that there’s a mountain between where you are & where your car’s parked. But the current moment is the only one that exists – and oh what fun it is to ride downhill single track in the dark!

Then you hit Hans Strydom. Bennie says goodbye & cycles off home.

There’s something blissful about not knowing where you are – ignorance of the hills to come make them somehow more tolerable. But you know where you are. And there’s no getting away from it: the only way to get back to your car, is over that mini-mountain.

But the current moment is the only one that exists. So you put your head down & conjure up the energy to cycle up the hill. Those traffic lights in the distance, they are at the top. There is no other life; there is only now.

Long live Elsie-with-the-backpack, Queen of Hans Strydom hill! You go, girl!

It’s a downhill cruise to the shopping centre & the cars. Another hill conquered. Another magical night in the dark. Fifteen dirty happy slightly crazy riders, 15 dusty bicycles & 15 huge smiles. What a night!

The Credits

Coffee provided, carried & kept warm by the Hardenburgs.

Scouting of the route done by the Hardenburgs, Sybrand, Bennie, Hans, Oupa Gert.

Sweeping courtesy of Hans

The excellent company en route – provided by all the knightriders – thank you SO much everyone for keeping training fun!!

Special thanx to Clinton & QT for the enthusiasm that keeps the night-rides alive, fun, entertaining, interesting & excellent training.

St Pete & Moscow

Swan Lake. Can't be in Russia and not watch a Tchaikovsky balet.






The Russion version of Dark&Dirty - leaving from the Winter Palace!






Lemon ice cream on Red Square.





This church was rebuilt after communism fell. That's real gold on that roof.

Elbrus - insulting the mountain gods

Elbrus. What a beautiful mountain – we saw it the first time when we were acclimatising on another mountain in the area – and what better way to acclimatise than to go up as high as the ski lifts will take you, and then walk a bit extra for a picnic on the summit. I loved the ski lifts – quiet, no-one chattering in your ears, with a great view of the mountain you came to climb on the one side, & snow-capped mountains with dark blue glaciers and a live avalanche on the other side.
Mt Elbrus itself is huge, but you only realise it once you start climbing the real mountain. We went up with cable cars and ski lifts as far as they would take us – probably the whoosie way to do it! The last ski lifts stop almost at the Pruitt of Eleven huts. The view is something out of this world: the (slightly intimidating) twin peaks of Elbrus on the one side with blue-green crevasses at the bottom, and snow-capped mountains on all three the other sides – this view alone made the trip worthwhile - you have to go see that for yourself! I had visions of the pictures I would take from the summit – but that was not to be.

My backpack weighed far over 20 kg's with the tent, cold-weather-gear, harness, ice-pick and other ice-gear, and minus-25degrees-sleeping-bag. I have an 80-litre-bag, but when the sleeping bag alone is in there (properly squashed), my backpack is half full!

We dragged the backpacks to above the barrel-huts, pitched the tents, put our crampons on the snow-boots and then went for an acclimatisation-hike up to the next day's campsite.


It was a beautiful clear sunny day. I vaguely remember someone insulting the mountain-gods, and someone else shouting an apology to them: "Mountain-gods, he was only kidding! It's a joke, please, he didn't mean that!"

But it was too late – you don't insult a mountain-god & get away with it. That evening, just as supper was almost cooked, the weather turned against us, & it only cleared up once we were off the mountain. It started with a thunderstorm & turned quickly to hail. Elsie (my tent-mate) had to go for a wee; the hailstones bruised her bum!

Somewhere during the night the storm calmed down a bit, and we woke up in a snow-covered tent that looked like an igloo, and virgin snow all around. It was beautiful! We melted some of the snow for morning-coffee & drinking-water, packed the tents & then built a snow-man while we waited for the others to pack & get ready.


If you ever want to experience a "big mountain" without having to summit, this is the one. There're huts at all the campsites, & where the ski-lifts can take you no further, you can hitch a lift with a snow-plough from one hut to the next! Or if you want to climb the mountain, but don't want to carry your backpack, you can send that up with the snowplough. The huts are comfortable enough – there's a stove that always have boiling water – just add some snow to the pot every now and again – and dormitory-beds with mattresses…climbers' non-climbing significant others can share in the whole experience without too much discomfort. Two members of our party took the snow-cat to the last day's hut - & it corrupted them totally; they decided there & then that they are not even going to attempt the summit.

Not sure exactly how many nights we spent on the mountain. Anyway, we generally dragged our backpacks to the next campsite, pitched tents, & then hiked up to the next day's campsite to acclimatise. The last night before our summit bid we camped at the blue hut. Lots of garbage lying around there :(

By this time the weather was really bad; everyone opted to sleep in the hut, except my tent-mate (who is climbing Denali in May and wanted to get used to the expedition-style camping) and I ('cause I was sharing a tent with her)!


Still think it might have been warmer in the tent than in the hut – the minimum temperature that my watch recorded the night before we attempted the summit (with a snow-storm outside) was zero. The -25°-sleepingbags a total overkill! We cooked in the hut & I got warm water from there to bath & wash my hair – heaven! It certainly was quieter in the tent than in the hut – two Italians got off the mountain in the wee hours of the morning, & apparently they made a big commotion in the hut trying to warm up again. We were oblivious of it all & at least got a good night's rest.

Summit-night just before three in the morning the weather cleared up a bit and we decided to go for it. We were so far north, I expected it to get light by 5-ish, but the time-zones are the same as Moscow's – so the sun would set very late, but rise only at 6-ish. Staying awake during those first few dark hours was very difficult – the sleep-monster attacked me big time! But there were stars & the weather was better than it had been in days. By the time we reached Pushtakov rocks (to where we hiked the previous day after pitching tents & a snowball-fight) 3 people already turned around. It was freezing cold, the biting wind picked up & you dare not take your gloves off to take a picture. A pity, because the signs of the temperature were beautiful: frost in every crease and seam of every rain-jacket & on the backpacks, eye-lashes covered in frost, frozen droplets on the bits of hair visible under the hoods, frozen breath on the outsides of the buffs that covered mouths and noses.

The sun rose shortly after, but visibility was restricted to a few metres due to snow blowing all over the place. The only way we knew we were making progress, was the guide telling us every now and again where we were (according to his GPS), and our watches that told us that we were gaining altitude fast. We had to be at the summit by 2 o'clock if we wanted to be off the mountain before dark, and we were making good progress in spite of the howling wind.

We seldom stopped – it just is too cold! So we never realised that the wind blowing into the backs of our rain jackets & hoods was already gale-force. At about 1-o'clock we were about 200 metres (horizontally) from the summit – according to our guide, it would have taken half an hour at the speed we were going. A group of people with National Geographic-branded clothing came from the front, saying that it was really dangerous up there; they almost blew away & the wind is still picking up. When we stopped, we realised that we could hardly hear each other above the wind, & visibility was about 1 metre.

We had to make a call – going for the summit, or going down. We were SO close. But there was one particularly dangerous climbing-spot between us andthe summit about which both Lance and the Russian guide were worried. Tanya was very tired, & I knew that once she would turn around, I would be the weakest link. Anyway – we could not leave one person there to wait for us, and turning around on your own with no-visibility would have been a no-brainer. If you get lost there, you might end up in the crevasses … & if you wait the storm out, the night might catch you & you might – no, you will - die of exposure. We decided to turn around – it was heartbreaking! But we opted to live – so that we can try again, or so that we at least could tell the tale.

The going down was the hardest part of the whole day. The gale force wind was now in our faces (& I got some frostbite to show for it!). The scarpas (the plastic snow-boots) were eating into my shins & I couldn't take any painkillers because I hadn't eaten anything since that morning 3-ish. (My shins are still sensitive at those spots & it's now almost six months after that day!) As we went lower, the snow became slushy & the crampons (even with anti-snow-collecting-plates beneath them) collected snow underneath, so that it became a balancing act to stay on top of them. Every five steps you had to stop to remove the snow. Later we removed the crampons & tried to slide-ski down, but that made the boots eat even more into my shins. It might be a design-thing: Tanya had the same boots and the same problem, but none of the guys with those boots had any problems at all. Elsie used Scarpas on Aconcagua and arranged other boots for this mountain; she was fine. I'll definitely get different shoes if I do something similar again.



We arrived back at the blue hut by 5-ish. Lower down visibility was much better –just as well, 'cause you can easily miss the hut. Erik (who turned around early that morning) missed the hut & only realised it once he was far below it. That last 100 metres to the hut was the longest 100 metres I've EVER done. And tea never tasted so good!! That evening we discussed if we were gonna try again the next day – we had an extra day on the mountain available. But I just couldn't face coming down with those boots again, and I guess everyone was tired – so the next day we went down to the ski lifts & back to our hotel for a hot shower, chilli vodka & Russian beer. Bliss! The next day was a beautiful clear sunny day; the summit clearly visible.

There are more stories – about the flight from Moscow to Mineralyevode-airport, the airport itself, the bus-trip to and from the mountain, St Pete, Moscow … will write them later!

Kilimanjaro

t'was cloudy for days. The first time we saw the mountain, was one night after supper on a moonlit night.



the most beautiful part of the mountain is that you're in a totally different landscape every day. You walk through Rainforest, Fynbos, Grassland and desert.




these slate rocks on the way to 'base camp' are musical - you can put up a whole orchestra by hitting these with trekking poles.


the glaciers at the top are melting fast: better get there before all is gone :(




my cousin sanelle & I on top of the world :)

Zanzibar

Spent a few days on the spice island after climbing the mountain. Didn't have my mountainbike with me - but felt a lot more at home when i saw that you could rent them. I haven't investigated, there was too much else to do and too little time - but i'll remember for next time :)

Die toerfiets, die baviaanskloof en 'n paar buddies

Die toerfiets, die baviaanskloof en 'n paar pelle

Jou pelle (wat die wêreld kén) voorspel erge warmte en groot droogte vir die Baviaanskloof vir Desember.

Maar dis al wanneer jy en jou pelle (wat nié die Baviaanskloof ken nie)‘n behoorlike vakansie kan inpas, en julle besluit om tóg maar (teen alle waarskuwings in) met julle fietse van Willowmore af Patensie toe te ry.

Een ou moet kos koop, ‘n ander het iets by die hotel vergeet en nog een moet iets aan sy fiets regmaak. Dis laterig Saterdagoggend as julle uiteindelik uit Willomore uit wegkom. Dis reeds lekker warm, die omgewing is Karoo-erig, en die swaargepakte fietse maak die bulte nie makliker nie.

Teen middagete begin julle ‘n koeltetjie soek, en na vele kilometers sien jy die eerste skaduwee. Die plaasbewoners is van Gauteng; hul het middel Desember daar ingetrek, reg om te begin boer. Baie vriendelik, gee koeldrank en piesangs en dan gaan parkeer julle die fietse onder hul enorme blokombome en maak middagete, slaap, lees en wag vir die ergste hitte om verby te gaan. Teen 4-uur is dit nog snikwarm, maar teen 5-uur kan jul nie langer wag nie en ry maar verder. Ná die oggend se bulte is die ses kilometer afdraend van die Nuwekloofpas heerlik! Die pragtige klippe, baie stroompies wat die pad kruis en skielike groenigheid laat jou gou besef jy’s nie meer in die Karoo nie.


Dis donker as julle by die Makedaatgrot se mense kom. Julle moet opsluit eers kuier en tuisgemaakte appelkoossap drink. Ná ‘n welverdiende braaivleisie gaan slaap julle maar so vuil-vuil: niemand is lus om die 2 km na die swemgat in die donker te stap/ry nie. Die Sondagoggend moet almal toe eers swemgat toe om darem te sien hoe dit lyk.

Die pad is redelik gelyk en word al hoe mooier. Die rivierkruisings is gewoonlik maklik, maar een of twee verskaf opwinding omdat hulle so diep is dat die ‘panniers’ (met jou droë klere, tent en slaapsak in) wil-wil natword.

Middagete onder bome: slaap, lees en swem in die rivier tot die temperature rybaar is. Koeldrank en vars skons met aarbeikonfyt en room by 'n teetuin 2 km (en nog 'n rivierkruising) van die pad af, en donker-aand (en ‘n lekker diep rivierkruising later) kom julle by Geelhoutbos aan.

Die Maandagoggend donker staan julle op om die Grasnekpas te ry voor dit te warm word. Bo-op die pas ontmoet julle ‘n fietsryer (sonder ‘n pakkaas op sy fiets) wat op Doodsklip kampeer. Hy draai om en ry saam met julle tot by Rooihoek, waar julle middagete eet en in die pragtige poel baljaar tot dit koel genoeg is om verder te ry. Die asemrowende afdraend van die pad af is nou ‘n steil bult terug, en die fiets se voorwiel wil-wil oplig. Terug op die R331 gaan dit nie veel beter nie: Die bult tussen Rooihoek en Doodsklip is steil en dis moeilik om ‘n fiets te beheer teen 3 km/h. ‘n Fiets met ‘n pakkaas op stoot nie maklik nie.

By Doodsklip aangekom, is daar nog genoeg daglig oor om die poele te verken. 'n Lieflike kampeerterrein.
Die res van die aand kuier julle by Hoffie (die oggend se fietsryer) se kampgeselskap en luister na stories oor die Kloof. Jy sal beslis later moet terugkom om die klowe en poele in die berge te verken.



Dinsdagoggend vroeg-vroeg pak julle Combrinck se berg. Dis gelukkig nie heeltemal so steil soos gisteraand se mense jou vertel het nie, en jy kry dit uitgetrap tot bo. Die afdraend maak die bult die moeite werd. Onder by die Kas eet julle ‘n laterige ontbyt, slaap en ry na middagete verder.

Die pad Patensie toe is bulterig en langerig, maar gelukkig is dit bewolk en nie so erg warm nie. Op Patensie aangekom, gaan koop julle tjips en koeldrank vir die Nuwejaar. Na ‘n baddery en etery is almal te vaak, en teen ½ 12 kan niemand meer hul oë oophou nie. Teen 12-uur gaan ‘n wekker of twee af en die Nuwe Jaar word gegroet en Nuwejaarsvoornemens gemaak: Om beslis weer na die Baviaanskloof terug te keer, om in die klowe te stap en in die bergpoele te swem, of sommer net rond te lê langs, of te roei op Doodsklip se water.