Hiking the Puddings route

Waking on Saturday morning, on the veranda of Agtertafelberg hut with Elandspad below and surrounded by mountains, I wondered why I don’t come here more often. And then I remembered the walk the previous night, 2½ hours on a jeep track, uphill and downhill, a slog – boring! But Agtertafelberg Hut is definitely the jewel in the crown of the Cape Town section of the Mountain Club.

The plan is to climb the Puddings Route, that’s the buttress that runs perpendicular to the road, across from the hut. On reaching the top, we then cross vlaktes, skirt a few peaklets before climbing Du Toit’s Peak before returning the same way. The weather report is good - not too hot and not too windy. With no water en route, we definitely don’t want hot weather.

Having persuaded Peter (Puffer - so named because, as a runner he has almost run the Puffer, a run from Cape Point to the Waterfront) to switch off the irritating beep peep of his watch (Big Ben), from going off every hour and asking him not to even think of getting up before 6am, we were up and ready at 7h15.

After retracing our steps to the jeep track and crossing it, we bundu-bashed up, around and over, the three ‘puddings’. The most exciting section is on the uppermost ‘pudding’, where we had to traverse left and scramble up a pitch – nothing difficult but better than the rest of the slog.

A tea/breakfast pause just over halfway up the ridge and then the final onslaught, with numerous false summits and finally we were there, well, not quite, we still had three kilometres to the Du Toit’s beacon.

Crossing magnificent vlaktes, now dry, brought back memories of happy days spent in the hills with Dave Pettifarr and Neville Fuggle, and a time when we traversed these mountains.

How does Sandy find his way I asked myself? But he’s been on this range of mountains with his co-mountaineer friend Robin Brown many times before. Every peak looked the same, every vlakte looked the same, the only distinguishing rock formation was a Maltese Cross-type pinnacle.

Puffer as usual just kept on going, Behr-type on Sandy’s backside, Maré also kept up, but for some reason I was having an off day (we all have them now and then).

Suddenly Worcester below and the fantastic Hex River mountain range in the distance – a good place for lunch.

We then retraced our steps and agonised over the long, hot, dry descent with the sun’s glare to contend with. Why are mountains steeper to descend than ascend?

All that kept me going was the thought of soaking my sweaty, aching body in the stream below the bridge, followed by wine and eventually supper. The guys had decided to take a line to the road instead of skirting the lowest, smaller pudding. This turned out to be a wrong move as we soon found that the beautiful pink carpet of ericas is one that grows in marshy conditions.

The guys swam in the pool before us. Maré and I arrived just as the sun set, but the water wasn’t as cold as it looked.

The hut was warm and with the doors open we had a pleasant evening talking, drinking and going through the visitor book wondering where many of the people had gone. Later as it grew dark we had a visitor - Rastus, a tasty morsel for the beautiful little cat who’s adopted me! Good food, good company, a little alcohol and not such an early night, despite weary bodies.

Another day in paradise but we have to retrace our steps down that awful jeep track, and it’s hot! But the swimming pool at Du Toit’s Hut was waiting for us, and boy was it good. Oh yes, after a little guilt trip (from someone with superior notions, according to Rob K, or was the pleading bleats from a frog in the stream), Puffer and Sandy had skinny-dipped the day before - and Puffer even went kaalgat on Sunday in the swimming pool.

Thanks Sandy for doing something tough and demanding. And thanks to Puffer and Maré for coming along.