TRAIL RUNNING flowers , the likes you ’ d normally expect to see along the West Coast , and running through those colours was incredibly uplifting . After a brief descent towards the ocean , we caught a glimpse of the lighthouse , but turned away before we got close . The route then turned inland once again , and this climb was more challenging then the first . We walked liberally in between running spurts , enjoying the magnificent biodiversity on show .
Backpack Problems
It was at this point that I realised I ’ d made rookie mistake number two ... I had assured Sabrina that I had a spare running pack for her , and handed it to her for the first time the night before . She did her best to make it fit , but it was obviously way too big for her . I watched as the straps sat above her shoulders , and with every step rubbed her on both sides of her neck . By the 12km mark , her neck was rubbed raw , so we folded a couple of buffs and tried to dampen the contact , but these soon fell off , so I took the pack off her , as this was going to ruin the day .
The route turned back towards the sea , and we started to descend along sandy tracks in anticipation of the only water point on route , which came substantially later than expected at just over 17km . A stone cottage on the water ’ s edge was the welcome sight of the water point , and we took time to refill our water bottles and enjoy the drinks and food on offer . The final stretch then took us along beautiful , but energy-sapping sandy dunes , with some tough climbs eventually leading to a descent past the lighthouse , where we celebrated eclipsing Sabrina ’ s previous longest distance milestone .
A left turn after the lighthouse took us onto a hardpacked dirt road running parallel to the sea and about 100m from the waves , a promenade of sorts . The finish line was most welcome at 25km , when only 23km had been expected , as those extra kilometres are always mentally challenging when you ’ re done in your head . Crossing the finish line and being handed a cold Darling Light Lager was a great treat , and we sat on the grass , drinking our beer and enjoying the moment of having finished a most satisfying day on a beautiful trail , with some milestones broken along the way .
A Fishy Tale of Running
Day two dawned to the news that there had been a cable theft and thus the entire village of Boggomsbaai was without power . Generators were fired up , candles lit , and they got us fed and ready for the day ’ s challenge ahead . Buses , large and mini , were waiting to take us to the start near the Gourits River mouth , and the sunny , cool morning promised a perfect day for running . The field was larger than the previous day , as we had been joined by the two-day event runners , and the starting instructions were straightforward : Run down this path until you come to the river , then turn left and keep the river to your right until you reach the sea . When you reach the sea , turn left , and carry on going while keeping the sea to your right . Mention was made of some pebbly stretch , but by then my attention span had faded . After all , this was a race for novices …
We headed out as instructed , and in no time at all , we were running along a glorious beach , with the sea on our right , and he tide had receded sufficiently to allow us to run on the hardpacked sand . This coastline is pristine , with tons of shells on the beach , and judging by the large number of serious-looking fishermen , all wearing shirts adorned with sponsors ’ logos and hauling kit for long distances ( by fishermen ’ s standards ), the marine life appears to be healthy , too . As an enthusiastic angler , I couldn ’ t help slowing down to check bait and rigs , and exchanged a few “ Stywe lyne ” with the ‘ manne ’ along the way . While ducking under the lines extending from the tips of their rods into the ocean , I wondered why there isn ’ t some sort of running and fishing duathlon on offer . Now there ’ s an idea !
The happy mood of angler brotherhood soon evaporated , though , as we left the hardpacked beach and turned inland towards the dunes . We were running on soft sandy tracks that filled our shoes almost instantaneously , the sand packing hard into the front of our shoes and accumulating under our toes , grating away with every step . Running on soft sand is the kind of running that inhabits our nightmares , when we are fleeing some catastrophic event or being chased by a mutant bear with horns and flaming nostrils . The harder you try , the slower you go , and the slower you go , the more anxious you grow that you ’ re not going anywhere fast . The more anxious you grow , the harder you try , and the more your calves start to burn as the soft sand stretches them and your Achilles to their maximum .
The rocky outcrops interspersed in between the sandy bits were just as challenging . This is the kind of technical terrain that is beyond my limited talent , and the best I can muster under these conditions is the pace often adopted by Roman Legions , “ festina lente ,” which translates from Latin into “ make haste slowly ” or “ proceed expeditiously but prudently .”
Beautiful , but Tough
The headland conquered , we started to descend back toward the ocean , into a beautiful series of small bays . As I saw what lay in store , I remembered the gentle
Running past the Ystervarkpunt Lighthouse on day one
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