Walking the Leopard Trail — Four days of fynbos, fatigue and fierce resilience

“Cougars take on the Leopard!” we joked with each other, back when we were still laughing.

Pre-hike preparations for Go Baviaans’ Leopard Trail include blister patches (used), a fresh box of Myprodol (heavily used), tins of drink (abused) and vast quantities of the snacks one can only justify when burning the amount of calories we expected to.

For a four-day hike days, we have four hike outfits, each packed individually in its entirety – undies to outers, PJ’s, swimmers, a single sheet, sleeping bag and small cushion, the ubiquitous puffer, head torch, more snacks.

The drive from Cape Town to the Leopard Trail takes about eight hours (including a lunch stop), so you’ll need a full day for travel and a reservation for night one, such as the Cedar Falls farmhouse or a similar stay.

If you ask nicely, you can collect your boxes at Base Camp upon arrival. This gives you an immediate reality check on how much space you actually have for your gear over the next few days, allowing you to leave behind any non-essentials while you still have your car.

Day 1 dawns and we are full of cheer: we are at Base Camp with our perfectly packed boxes at 7.30am. The pre-hike briefing, we’ve been warned, is delivered exclusively in Afrikaans, but there is also lots of informative signage in English.

We are in the wilderness and the risks are real. The briefing is tight and to the point, peppered with some cautionary anecdotes involving cobras and dislocations, and one senses they have seen many a rowdy lot set off on the trail. 

Day 1: 10km — 174m elevation gain

A short, sharp hill to get the heart rate up and forewarn the knees of fun to come, and then a lovely gradual descent and wander through a wide valley floor, impossibly soft-hued and fragrant.

Bird calls in the bushes, clicky frogs in the marshy bits, two horses watch us pass, a giant tortoise munches a late spring flower, and someone braves an icy plunge at the lunch stop. The snacks are fresh and life is good.

We trundle into Camp 1 in the early afternoon feeling inspired. 

As dinner ends a low rumbling rolls down the valley, a sharp gust of wind blows and big fat drops start to fall. We are in fact in the wilderness and maybe, just maybe, day 1 has been a little too easy.

Day 2: 17km — 304m elevation gain

It rains all night but the morning is clear.

With the rising sun at our backs we set off back across the valley, a troop of baboons barking “Good morning!” and “Please leave!” at us from the red rocks above.

About 5km in we stop and fuel for the elevation – naartjies, gummies (not that kind) and biltong. We grind to the top and the braver (fitter?) among us decide to push on to the lunch stop – Reflection Pools – but our resting here is non-optional and we collapse. Turns out this was a good strategy.

For Dragon’s Ridge, one more steep climb, slumbers between us and lunch. And by the time we get to the pools, this writer is reflecting quite critically on the trail instructions for getting here.

For much of day two we criss-cross paths with Go Baviaans’ other slack-pack offering, The Canyon Trail (five days, 70kms), and late in the afternoon we encounter some canyon hikers, an enthusiastic mother and the world’s most pissed-off looking 10-year-old.

After a brief chat, they press on – they still have another ascent before reaching their camp. We, thankfully, are almost at ours: the best campsite on the trail, complete with a dip in the pool, an ice-cold tinned cocktail, and another delicious dinner under pinkening skies.

At 3am cracks of thunder rent the night again, the sky zig-zags with lightning and heavy rain falls, but again by morning it’s cleared to a gentle mist, for which we are very grateful.

Day 3: 20km — 446m elevation gain

It’s going to be a long day; we pack our head torches.

Up and down, up and down, we hike rough and stony paths through the most gorgeous mixed fynbos.

Fat Yellow Bishops cruise past like the bumblebees they could be related to, and Red-Winged Starlings live a free, clean existence here – so far removed from their street-savvy cousins we’re more accustomed to.

It’s a rough stretch: three demanding climbs of similar intensity, then a long, rocky – and now hot – descent. It takes up the whole morning, but the reward is a shady stream for a lunch break made of tinned dolmades, crackers, fruit, coffee and a skinny dip.

Much rejuvenated we press on, it’s 3pm and 14km to camp. We are in the flat, it’s hot and we are on high Snake Alert.

For the next three-and-a-half hours – my favourite part of the whole trail – we walk through corridors of sheer red rock, criss-crossing the river bed from dense shady forested spots, to hugging cliffs speckled with mysterious caves and tenacious plants.

We see majestic Cedars clinging on, rock martins flit around, and we jump as dassies scramble away above us, sending down showers of little pebbles and debris. Rounding the corner we find small fresh feline spoor on the path right there – caracal?

As the afternoon wanes, the canyon falls quiet. The band of golden light along the cliff tops narrows with every step, making the prospect of finishing the day by head torch all the less inviting.

We have been told this is the territory of Nemuh, the resident mother leopard. While we spent the last three days hoping for a sighting, we all agree that right now, in the fading light, is probably not the best time. Ignoring heavy legs and throbbing feet, we pick up the pace, eventually hobbling into camp at 6.30pm, somewhat broken.

Day 4: 13km — 381m elevation gain

I wake early and glance across at my cabinmate lying staring at the bunk bed slats above her.

“I’ve examined our options,” she says resignedly, “and I’m afraid all we can do at this point is get up and walk.”

And so we do.

A long flat section gave us a chance to ease our muscles back into the rhythm, not that it helped much, before leading into a steep, rocky ascent. At the summit came the defining moment of the hike for me: standing at the exact viewpoint featured on the cover of my dad’s exceptional Baviaanskloof map (ed’s note: Peter Slingsby, the cartographer).

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Up and up some more and then a long plateau. We stop for an early lunch on the top – my body feels like a car with unknown dashboard lights flashing, none of them good – just got to make it to the next stop.

And then, humiliation. As we laboriously heave ourselves up after lunch, three people come jogging past on the very path we’ve just slogged along. No daypacks, no trekking poles, no two litres of water – these are the lead runners of a group tackling days three and four in one go, roughly 35km. Having set off at 5am, they are essentially lapping us. We are appalled.

Over two hours later we trail into base camp, while the speedy among us have been there for some time. We ring the bell and jump in the pool, crack Baviaans Brew beers and possibly a few tears.

Before leaving, I chat with the man who briefed us at the start. He mentions that he runs the trail sometimes, too.

“Sien jy ooit die luiperd?” I ask him in Afrikaans. “Ja, baie,” he says softly, “ons ken mekaar.” DM

Booking and other information about The Leopard Trail can be found on the Go Baviaans website.