TRAVEL Kloofing in Suicide Gorge
Back in the early ’90s, the phrase ‘bucket list’ did not exist, or if it did, I was certainly unaware of it. These days, every man and his dog seem to have such a list, which makes them a little less… exotic, I feel. But back then, when I stumbled across a sidebar of an article in a Getaway magazine mentioning Suicide Gorge with a cool photograph, all I knew was that one day, I had to do it. I tore out that page and stuffed it in a book somewhere, a sort of ‘to do… one day’ list.
Then life happened, and suddenly it was decades later, and I again stumbled across that article clipping. We don't like featuring the same place too often in Getaway, but I figure 20-odd years is long enough between mentions.
Suicide Gorge – what a great name. It conveys both danger and mystery while asking, ‘Are you brave enough?’
A quick bit of research seemed to indicate it would combine some of my great loves: wilderness, hiking, fresh water and an adrenaline rush. Adrenaline rush? Yes, you see, after a few hours of hiking through the reserve, you make your way to the top of the gorge and begin to make your way down. By jumping. Off cliffs.
Strava-geeks like to know their elevation metres, but here, it would be more interesting to know how far you've descended because you follow the path of the water, and there are some pretty serious waterfalls along the way.
Once you've begun the descent, the only way down and
