The 1st of August met my deadline for reintroducing myself into society having almost completely recovered from my neck injury. The occasion was marked by a climbing weekend in Montagu to escape the nasty Cape weather and an increasing pile of dirty dishes.
Reintroduction into society involves getting my bloated ass back into climbing. This earned me some extremely stiff shoulders, lacerated hands, blisters on my toes and fingers so useless I can't pick my nose. I would supply the customary photos only when a digital camera gets stolen, it tends to stay stolen for an indefinate period. You'll have to wait until I can scan my slides.
Absolutely love Montagu. The days are warm and fuzzy and when you get stuck deep into those kloofs you cannot see civilization for the trees. Actually I embellish a bit, it was damn cold at night. Good thing I had a -10 degree sleeping bag which helps squat when you've been grogging whiskey all night and need to go wee-wee. The sight of a frozen Argentinian popsicle doesn't do wonders for the confidence either. It was cold by African standards.
The mornings are a bit fresh too but De Bosch camp site has excellent hot showers to get you started. We also had the common sense to take flasks of hot water with us on Sunday since everyone was bleating about a "nice cuppa tea" on Saturday.
I have noticed these short climbing trips are getting more and more luxurious as we learn to optimize our backpacks. These days we are not short of tea, blue cheese and crackers, strawberries and the quintessential tuna, cream-cheese and corn-chip rolls. This is followed by oodles of photographic gear, route guides, clothes for four seasons and a pillow. There was even a teaspoon to stir the tea. We also ended up eating out (500g rump steaaaak) instead of braaing and I heard talk of "guest houses" the next time we go. Ew. But I won't complain. No, not me.
Unfortunately, my flask never made it back down. It made first-contact with a delinquent teenaged rock and I heard the tell-tale rattle of a broken inner vacuum shell.
Posted by will at August 4, 2003 02:43 PMWill, your prose is stirring. Edgar-Will Poe? :)
Posted by: Charl P. Botha on August 5, 2003 11:05 AMCharl, your bowels are stirring. Edgar-Charl Poo? :P
Posted by: Will on August 6, 2003 11:15 AMDo give books - religious or otherwise - for Christmas. They're never fattening, seldom sinful, and permanently personal.
Posted by: Cabell Hannah on January 21, 2004 12:03 AM