In late June 2026, just after some of the most destructive floods the area had ever seen, I walked the Leopard Trail, in the Baviaanskloof. I’ve written a logistical roundup of the trail here. That was easy to write: facts, facts, facts. But the experience of the trail cannot be reduced to logistics. That’s just the skeleton of the experience. You get given something on a silver platter: a trail, a hut, a weather system, fellow hikers. All of that is important, but the most important piece is the one that only you control: you.

I walked into the opportunity of the trail by chance. G had booked two places, and told me in passing he had done so. He had no intention of taking me, since there was nothing about me and my physical capabilites that even suggested I could climb 2,400m and walk 65km. But the seed had been planted. At that point, I was walking simple hikes around my town, and – given that the Leopard Trail was scheduled for months and months away – I meekly put my hand up and told G I wanted to do the trail with him. All I remember is he took a deep breath 🙃 He didn’t want to say no, but he also made it clear that he would only take me if he thought I was ready. Challange accepted.

I spent the next months climbing hills to train, and I thought I was doing fine. G and I went to his farm, and he took me up Lajuma, the highest mountain in the Soutpansberg range (conveniently located right on his land!). That mountain is higher than any single peak on the Leopard Trail, and given that I managed to climb up and down it (without poles!) I felt more ready than ever. (I did mildly acknowledge that although the LT peaks might be somewhat lower than Lajuma, there are sometimes 4 or 5 of them per day, every day!).

I am processing my hike, and only a couple days after returning, while my feet and hips are still stiff and walking without poles feels weird, I am beginning to understand what the hike meant to me. An experience like a 65km hike through mountains and valleys cannot leave one unchanged. Of course it can’t…it’s exactly why we do it. It’s not just about adding a badge to a collection of experiences, and we don’t, in fact, climb mountains because “they are there”. We do it to unlock small mysteries inside of us, deep-seeded wisdom we already carry, but are not yet tapping into.

The Leopard Trail was difficult. It was extremely difficult. It almost broke me. There were times that I thought I was able to make it another 20m, but no further. In fact, a big portion of the trail was me having that thought, over and over again: another 20m, and then no more. But, at no point in the trail did I actually think I couldn’t finish it. I just took it 20m at a time. (20 m is a long distance, by the way, if you are slowly dying of exhaustion). As Jeremy, my fellow hiker said… “slow and steady wins the race”. And on the (rare!) flat portions, I was in love with Mother Earth. I loved the air, the energy, the sounds, the smells, and I loved myself for putting Eve in this environment. Life was good. Eve was brave. I could do things. What other things can I do that I don’t (yet) know I am capable of?

The trail taught me two main lessons: First, the power of the mind. “Mind over matter” is a real thing, and the mind controls what the body can do. But there is a dark side to this too: if the mind is not at peace or is in distress, it can force errors that otherwise seem ridiculous. This happened to me more than once on the trail. At one point, when G had walked slightly ahead and was out of sight, I found myself alone, standing under a sign that literally pointed to Camp 2, and I considered myself lost. I had no idea where to go. While standing under a sign! I had somehow convinced myself (how?? why??) that camp was to the left, not straight ahead as the sign pointed, and despite all evidence literally staring me in the face, I refused to let go of my beliefs. I was determined to find a path “to the left”, and when there was none I felt stuck. I wanted to go where I thought I needed to go, even though the trail (the Universe?) was literally sending me signs to change my route. If that’s not a lesson about life, I don’t know what is!

The other lesson, or more of a confirmation, really, is that I do indeed know my body, and I need to just trust myself. I know what I can do, and what I cannot, and I need to be left alone and allowed to simply communicate with my whole system to figure out my limits. I’ve always known this about myself, and it was good to be reminded. For example, I know I can never hike in hot temperature, and so I will never hike in the summer. I won’t make it, or I will be very, very miserable. This is a limitation that I will not shake, and I am fine with it. Lots of winter months to adventure in!

The Leopard Trail mountains are big, and they envelop you entirely. Everywhere you look, there is more of them towering over you. You can sense their wisdom, their age, their energy – which is welcoming and accepting. I feel it is as an energy of warmth, a hug. The mountains are not trying to prove anything, not trying to protect themselves from intruders, they are confident in their might, nothing to prove. I contrast this with the energy of G’s mountain, on his farm. It’s the highest peak in the Soutpansbeg range, and it is foreboding. Every time I go, I go with trepidation. When we visit there, we visit purely on the mountain’s terms. It might look after us, it might not. We never can tell, but we keep on going back. Both the farm and the Baviaanskloof are magical, but their magic is different.

These mountains have been here for millions of years (an unfathomable time scale), and will be here for millions more. I have been here for 53 years, and am a mere transient speck of dust in their story. It would be easy to feel insignificant, but I felt the very opposite…I felt immense significance for being alive. What are the odds that the Eve that I am would walk this earth? And yet, here I am. Why? Am I here for me, or for others? What’s my responibility? What is my karmic goal? It is easier for me to feel I have a purpose while walking remote hills, than it is while fighting traffic on William Nicol Drive, that’s for sure. I read somwehere that people are loathe to take sabbaticals because they know it will be difficult to go back to work once you have glimpsed work-freedom. I so get that. It took me well over a week to get back into the groove, and to convince myself that those emails do in fact have to be answered. But at the back of my mind, not even that deep down inside, I do often ask…”but do they really??”. What would life look like if I wasn’t living in a metropolitan city with millions of people, acting all ant-like as we maintain nests and structures? It would be better, I do know.

Another lesson…The power of water is immense. We hiked just after the once-in-a hundred-years floods the area experienced and we saw evidence of what rain can do. Banks were washed away, trails destroyed, massive rocks moved downstream. It came, it conquered and chaged the landscape, and then, almost just as quickly, the water left. Streams still flow, but for the most part the only evidence of the havoc is beds and beds of scattered rock and washed away banks.

During the trail, on Day 3 to be exact, I announced to my hiking group, with grave conviction, that much as I am enjoying the hike, I would never attempt to do one like it again. They all laughed – loud! They knew, as I do now, that hiking is addictive. Once you connect to the land and the struggle, you are committed for life. It took me less than two weeks after returning home to start investigating other hikes, next challenges. I’ve chosen one…it’s the sister to the Leopard trail, the Canyon Trail. It’s slightly more challenging, just as spectacular, and it’s on my wishlist.

The mountains will wait for me. They always do.

(I’ve written two other pieces on the Leopard Trail: the logistics, and and my criteria for future hikes).

Thanks for reading