Climbing out the Sand

Take me back to Cape Point when I hiked down to Dias Beach thinking it was the Cape of Good Hope.

Problem now was: how do I get out of the sand? Where even is the Cape of Good Hope?

All of this while being heavily blown by the most violent ocean wind. Why did I come here? Who sent me on this adventure? To what end? I could die. I needed to find my way back to humanity, to safety, to land. But first, since I was already cooked, I needed to take the best shots here.

So yeah, that’s what I did.

Now—shots done—how do I actually get back up and down to Cape of Good Hope?

The way down here was super steep, so I couldn't go back that way. I figured I better find a less steep slope, right? Wrong!

I climbed around the less steep slope I found, only to realize there was no way back to the staircase over the rocks. Also, at this point, I wasn’t even sure which way I’d come in the first place. Basically, I had to find my way back down to the beach.

Time to stop enjoying the views. No pictures. Just survival.

Lord please! I can’t die here!

Okay. I climbed back down. Luckily, I could still see my foot trail, so I followed it back up. Climbing up sand is a fool’s errand, but I clawed my way up the sandy ditch I’d put myself in for no reason. All that mattered now was survival.

Climb, boy. Just climb!

I made it to the stairs! Home and dry—well, not quite. I went up the stairs from the beach. That in itself was quite the climb, but at least now I was out of the ditch.

Now, which way to the Cape of Good Hope?

One step after the other, right next to the edge of the cliff with the heavy ocean wind trying to blow me off it. Spooky as can be, but one step after another, I kept going—just trying to keep moving and not fall off.

I walked for a while and looked left. What a view!

Scary but beautiful. Nature is amazing, but I had to get home. These views, you can’t even capture properly on a camera. You have to stop for a second to take it in because you’ve earned it—and those at home have not. It wasn’t just the view; it was the feeling of communion with Nature’s beauty, the artwork of the First Creator.

It’s why I came here. Terrified as hell, but still in awe!

I kept walking, one step after another, then I looked up. I saw a man, then two others. Finally! They were coming from the Cape of Good Hope, hiking up to Cape Point. I said hi and asked them which way to take. The man was so kind—he told me there was a path and I should get there in 15 to 20 minutes. I thanked him and kept walking.

The terrain got harsher, scarier, and more confusing. What path do I even take forward? The wooden footpath that was laid out before was no longer there. All I had were wooden sticks holding up some damaged barbed wire. Good thing I met those guys—otherwise, I might have been too terrified to continue.

It was starting to feel like way more than 15 to 20 minutes, but I kept walking, climbing over rocks, braving the wind, and vibing to Uzizwa Kanjan, uValo, and co. Amapiano was the only thing keeping me going at this point.

I ran into more people—more hope that I wasn’t lost and would make it home.

Finally, I looked down. Cars parked, people taking pictures... Cape of Good Hope! Alas!

I hiked down and found Silas, who had been waiting for me. It had been over an hour.

I found myself in a way that’s hard to explain on that hike. It feels like a reference point for so much of my future life. I came out as a new man in a weird way that’s hard to put into words. This was why I came to Cape Town: for the beauty of communing with Nature alone, in a way that’s uniquely yours.

An experience you can try to explain, but you can’t fully share—because it was meant for you alone. To sit with, to relish, to reference on the hard days.

If I got out of Dias Beach, I can get through this too.