Blouberg Tales – Part 1

So, a long time ago in a land far, far away (or really only in Limpopo!), I climbed Blouberg. Now, for those who don’t know, Blouberg is The Big Wall in South Africa—a massive, beautiful cliff face rising out of the African bushveld. The routes average between 8 to 12 pitches and climb up about 350m of vertical rock. It’s BIG. (Now, I know the Western Cape has some serious walls, but I don’t think they compare to the sheer bigness of Blouberg.) 

Interesting side note 1: I have heard rumors of an amazing 12-pitch climb in the Cape Fold Mountains… anyone want to confirm? 

Let me tell you the story of my first Blouberg attempt. My climbing friends and I had been doing a lot of trad climbing around Johannesburg, especially in the Magaliesberg—a lot. Almost every weekend, we’d leave after varsity / work on Friday night, drive to our chosen destination, knock out several multi pitches, and return home late on Sunday—tired, dirty, and very happy. And somehow, we’d still make it to work/varsity semi-functional on Monday morning. Honestly, I have no idea how we did it! 

Interesting side note 2: We didn’t actually climb every weekend. About once a month, we had to stay home so that the carburetor on our main trip-mobile—a little white City Golf called Snow White with Cellulite—could be reattached. It rattled loose on dirt roads regularly. 

It was a magical, adventurous time. With no real responsibilities, we were completely absorbed in climbing and the climbing tribe. Unfortunately, I didn’t keep any kind of logbook or record of my climbs. Something I regret now! 

But eventually, we felt ready for bigger things. We had done multipitches, we had been on adventures, we had even survived a few minor epics. It was time. 

Blouberg beckoned. 

I partnered up with a regular climbing buddy—let’s call him A. He was strong, experienced, quiet, dependable, and resourceful—exactly the kind of person you want in your corner (did you catch my pun there?). We found some Blouberg Big Boys (BBBs) who were willing to show these two Blouberg Beginners (BBs) the ropes. And so, at midnight, we bundled into a car, drove up the Great North Road, and arrived at Frans’ Kraal at sunrise to begin the grueling trek up the mountain. 

Interesting side note 3: There are two approaches up Blouberg that I know. Both are spectacular, both are horrible in the heat while carrying three days’ worth of supplies and a full trad rack. At a push, I’d say the Frans’ Kraal walk is slightly less horrible than the other one (which is apparently so traumatic I can’t even remember its name!). 

After a lot of uphill effort, we arrived at our overnight accommodation—the cave. 

Interesting side note 4: There are two places to sleep on top of the mountain. One is a small, dusty cave with a bouldery entrance and an incredible view. The other option is to sleep in the grassy neck, which means carrying a tent and trying to sleep on what I swear are giant, soft, benevolent hedgehogs that shift around at night. Not ideal. Besides—it’s a cave! Who doesn’t want to sleep in a cave?! 

The rest of the day was dedicated to that most overlooked bit of trad climbing—figuring out how to get to the climb and, even more importantly, how to get off the climb. Neither of which are straightforward in Blouberg. First, we explored the top of the mountain, known as The Maze—a jumbled mess of identical-looking boulders. Because, remember, this was long before cell phones and wonderful apps like CalTopo. 

After blundering through the maze, we sort of committed a route to memory. (When memorizing a route, turn around! The view looks completely different when you’re coming back. Seriously. It works!) But it was worrying. Would we be able to find our way back at night after a full day of climbing? 

Oh well. Time to check out the bottom of the climb. 

The BBBs recommended a beginner-friendly route. Of course, I have no idea what it was. (Did I mention my tragic lack of a logbook?) I do remember it was one of the easier climbs on the main face, probably around an 18 or 19, and about eight pitches. The BBBs assured us it was a solid 18 (or 19?)—except for the bits that weren’t. In fact, I think their exact words were: “The crux is… well… very crux-ey.” Not very reassuring. 

Over the neck we went, and then… we stopped. 

The view was breathtaking. It felt like standing on the edge of the world. The African bushveld stretched away endlessly, and to my left, this huge, beautiful expanse of rock soared into the sky. If a full choir had popped out from behind the boulders singing the Hallelujah chorus, I would not have been surprised. 

Anyway, we finally scrambled down the grassy slope called The Ramp to the base of the climb. 

Interesting side note 5: This was the only time I did The Ramp in daylight. Every other time was by headlamp to reach the base at first light. (And once, to get to a helicopter in time!) 

And there it was. Huge. Towering. Intimidating. Even craning my neck, I couldn’t see the top. And suddenly, our plan felt all too real. 

Back at the cave, we packed, repacked, and checked our gear a million times. It was going to be hard. Very hard. And then… something wonderful happened. 

While opening a tin of tuna with a pocket knife, I gashed my finger down to the bone. Now, it wasn’t a serious injury (and this is where being a hand therapist is very handy), but I definitely wasn’t going to be climbing hard on it anytime soon. 

“Oh dear,” I smiled at A, blood gently dripping down my arm. “I don’t think I can climb tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” A replied, looking very relieved. “That’s terrible.” 

Both of us, giggling with nervous relief, agreed that it was such a shame—but we were okay with it. 

So that is the story of the first time I didn’t climb Blouberg. 

Unfortunately, I never got to climb Blouberg with A. But for me, it was second time lucky—I finally made it to the top. 

But that’s a story for another time.