I’m on a long dirt road somewhere deep in the Karoo, about halfway between Beaufort West and Fraserburg. The dusty ribbon disappears into a mirage on the horizon. The only movement is my shadow next to me, and the only sound is the crunch of my shoes on the gravel. I haven’t seen another hiker for at least an hour. Am I even going in the right direction?
I look at the trail map. It’s so quiet you’d hear a bird’s feather falling to earth - as if all the plants and animals are holding their breath as I approach. Then suddenly it’s as if the Karoo decides it can trust me and the veld comes to life. Cicadas sing, a fly zooms by and an African pipit calls from a kriedoring bush. Sheep shuffle over a hill and a light breeze whispers into my neck.
Footprints in the gravel assure me I’m heading the right way. I take a sip of water and push on. The afternoon sun is blinding; like a spotlight following my every move. I still have 87 km to
