It struck me recently that we get so caught up in the maelstrom of our daily challenges – coping with life and Covid-19 – we forget the unbelievable privileges sitting right on our doorstep. Like living between the Knysna Estuary and the deep blue sea – and, just a short drive away, the rustic overnight shack on the Robberg Peninsula in Plettenberg Bay. So, recently we set off, loaded like Basotho ponies (although not as sure-footed) for a brief stay.
The thing is, you have to work for the privilege. Leaving the carpark, in a supreme position on a high cliff with 180-degree views onto the pulsing Indian Ocean, we wound our way down a wooden boardwalk that meanders across the rocky peninsula.
Walking shoes with a good grip are mandatory as, once you leave the boardwalk, there is a considerable amount of boulder-hopping (but always following a defined path). Well-balanced footwork is needed over a higgledy-piggledy sea of split boulders, especially when there are what feels like cannon balls in your pack. So, having the nimbleness of a mountain goat does help, especially when the windswept sand lightly coats the boulders, encouraging slipping and sliding. Our train of hikers climbed and descended stairs chopped into the rock, sidled through a narrow gap, gripped onto rock handholds and concentrated on careful foot-placing along cliff slopes. Always, the views onto the turquoise sea and its foaming frill were sensational. Finally all that was left was fine soft-sand walking (heavenly pristine, how could we complain?!) along the edge of the hissing sea. It’s not as hard as it sounds. It took us some 45 minutes (more with rest or photo stops) to reach our “shack”.
It is in fact a large, open, wooden-floored room with four double bunk beds to one side, a kitchenette and heavy wooden table and benches to the other. Solar panels deliver lighting and hot water, paraffin lamps provide the romance. Behind the hut, on a hill, are two compost loos (not as scary as they sound) and there is an outdoor hot shower.
Best spot was on the deck with, just metres away, the heaving, hissing, crashing sea our constant theatre. Throughout the night, giant breakers curled and boomed like bongo drums. I’m here, said the sea. And I will always be here. Whatever happens to you, to the world, I will still be here.
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