Ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow,
Till you find your dream
The Sound Of Music
I was born and grew up under the shadow of Table Mountain – a sandstone monolith swirling with moody clouds. The wild beauty of Cape Peninsula mountains, dark ominous caves, and heady trips along beach paths and cliffs set against spectacular sunsets were introduced to me in high school through the Outdoor Club. In later years, Cape Town University’s Mountain and Ski club led me to traverse hiking trails across southern Africa and to commit to jumping from waterfalls into the brown depths of Suicide Gorge.
But it was the falling in love with Michael in the awesome, gut-wrenching beauty of the Drakensberg mountains, under a firmament of a billion stars weighted on my chest, that sealed mountains as the bedrock for my life. As we gazed up into an unfathomable universe, I counted 17 shooting stars and wished the same wish on each of them. For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health Michael and I joined together. For almost three decades we have climbed and biked mountains across the globe (Everest base camp and the Anapurna Trail in Nepal; the Great Wall of China; Malawi’s Mount Malange; Mount Kenya; the Milford Track, New Zealand; coastal trails of eastern Australia; the USA’s Appalachian trail; Machu Pichu, Camina del Ora and the Cordillera Blanca in Peru and Bolivia; Torres del Pain in Argentina; a Chilean Volcano; the more docile Pembrokeshire coastal paths; Mount Snowdon in Wales, the Lake District and Ben Nevis in Scotland, Mexico, Hawaii… And many, many mountain ranges on our European adventures where we cycled in to the sunset with our lives in our panniers).
Mountains are a metaphor for my life. The 360 degree views from our Furry Creek home which overlook the Howe Sound mountains, remind me that mountains were here long before we were and will be long after we are gone. I look to mountains to remind me that my problems and my life are so insignificant in contrast to their grandeur and durability. Mountains provide immutable resilience. They will prevail where I will not.
Our children were introduced to mountains before they could walk. Cameron, at 18 months, returned with us to the Drakensberg to our relationship’s source in a hiking pack-back while Erin sojourned in my tummy. As soon as Erin could walk we forged out on easy trails and were astonished how the children embraced even the more difficult ones just by our setting the expectations that they could accomplish the challenge. Erin climbed up and down the Stawamus Chief at the age of three and a half – with no protest or whining. And every holiday, outing or weekend trip incorporated a walk – in the wilderness, along ocean paths, through gladed forests or up mountains. The fresh air, exercise and beauty were a backdrop to the cementing of our family unit - and the deep close bonds we enjoyed together. We talked about everything; we relished each other’s company; I made up wild stories of intrigue and adventure to be continued on the next outing to entice the children to keep walking, and we marveled at the grandeur of creation. Three years ago we introduced our first overnight hike with the children carrying their sleeping bags inside their own backpacks along with Cameron’s 8 Mario stuffy friends. We had visions of introducing them to the majestic mountains of the world in the years ahead.
And so is the backdrop to the 22nd December 2014. Mountains. Family. Being together. Healthy outdoor pursuits. The wispy clouds hovered low over Howe Sound and the day was beautiful. We did what we always do in the holidays on a Monday when the rain holds off – set off to walk with the Lion’s Bay walking group. Erin, initially reluctant to come, emerged clad in a polka dot skirt, polka dot tights and shoes she’d been given – two sizes too big. I never readjusted her outlandish personal style – she was allowed to be herself. As usual, the children bounded ahead with Saffron the dog, along the relatively easy Totally Unnecessary Trail. As we approached our destination, where we were to view the recently washed-away bridge in the recent storms, I called down to the children to be careful. Erin assured me that another adult was with them. Erin had lowered herself down the rope into the valley and I joined her minutes later, setting my bag on the ground and called for Cameron, Erin and my brother Christopher to group together for a photo against the pristine river backdrop. Erin moved slightly and the ground she stood on subsided, dislodging the bank above her; Christopher moved swiftly lifting her out of the boulder cavern created. Her leg was distended, a huge gouge in it, and her pulse failed – seemingly from the shock. A nurse on hand and Christopher administered CPR and her pulse and heartbeat returned strongly. She gained consciousness and her arms lifted up as if triumph and she was able to comprehend my assurances that help was on the way. A thought flashed through my mind that it would be so sad to have to be in hospital for Christmas…but within minutes her pulse had stopped again and CPR was again administered. My most urgent, compelling need once the paramedics arrived was to be with Michael who had driven from home. My rock. From the advent of the accident, it took almost 2 hours to airlift her off the mountain but we were assured that had she been located outside at the best trauma unit in the world, her internal injuries were too extreme. My perfectly healthy daughter had descended the rope on the Unnecessary Trail and had begun another journey. A journey of which we would not be part – one which she would walk alone.
The whirling, swirling of the helicopter approached as we quietly waited. There was no screaming, no anguished cries from the soul…just a quiet acceptance as Michael and I absorbed the outcome of an innocent family walk. A family altered forever. I remember my first words to Michael as the reality of a new life settled – ‘We can do this together’.
How profound are the vows: ‘For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer…in sickness and in health’. Our journey has begun.