Lion's Head
So what happened at Lion's Head?
Before my excursion to South Africa a few months ago I promised myself that I would hike to the top of Table Mountain while in Cape Town. I've done far more extreme day hikes in the past, but nevertheless I trained beforehand by scaling hills more frequently than normal in the weeks leading up to my departure overseas.
This trip was more business than pleasure - I landed and promptly headed into the Karoo Desert for most of the week doing actual work, but I tacked on an extra day afterward for sight seeing and hiking adventure back in Cape Town. Since there were many of us travelling as a group, I had to negotiate the schedule. Instead of just hitting Table Mountain we decided to first spend the day driving around the various bays, browsing flea markets, checking out beaches with penguins, dining in Muizenburg, and then we'll all go up hiking together up Lion's Head at sunset. Lion's Head is part of the whole Table Mountain complex - a lesser peak, but a peak nonetheless. In any case, I liked this plan.
Of course I've been battling insomnia since getting to Africa due to jet lag, unfamiliar/uncomfortable sleeping situations, travel stress, drinking way too much instant coffee, etc. Every evening I found myself barely able to communicate and rubbing my eyes like a toddler, and then I'd get my 4-ish hours of sleep, and push through the next day. And then after the ambitious itinerary earlier I found myself quite car weary and sun stroked. So by the time we got our Ubers to the base of Lion's Head I was pretty wrecked, but also jazzed to tick off this experience box. It's only 1200 feet of elevation gain. I do that every weekend back home.
The party included me and workmates Dave, Buddy, Kevin, Daniel, and Daniel's girlfriend Talia. We went up and up and up the trail spiraling toward the top of this mountain clogged with humans given the full moon on a Saturday night. Despite our quick pace the sun set halfway during our ascent. We paused and rehydrated as the ocean enveloped the giant fireball. I felt great, but we still had a ways to go, the skies dimmed, and the trail became more of a rock scramble.
Suddenly we hit a traffic jam as the route now involved actual climbing, i.e. using all four limbs instead of just two. And then one section was too steep that the park installed a basic metal ladder to clamber up about 12 feet to the next tier. The following challenge involved rungs randomly bolted into the exposed rock. Not really safe. One slip and that's that.
In the past I've done a bunch of indoor climbing, so this didn't faze me at first, but about three steps in I felt a twinge in my right quad. And panic suddenly set in. A wave of realization flooded over my body - I'm exhausted, I'm dizzy from lack of sleep, I'm old, and what the hell am I trying to prove here? Thankfully I'm self aware enough to know my limits and hastily descended back to the floor, ignoring the pressure from the queue and nearby rangers urging everybody to press onward given night was falling.
I felt pretty lame, but also proud for not getting myself in a sticky situation. Dave was behind me, and only then he mentioned that there was another option to not do any of this climbing, but continue on an alternative and far more gradual path toward the peak. In other words, take the easier, scenic route. Why didn't anybody mention this sooner? Being a mensch, he joined me as I scrambled down that ladder and we found the fork toward this more reasonable path.
Still, we had a ways to go and the earlier jolt of panic adrenaline frazzled my nerves. It took all of my focus and energy to hoist myself over boulders after boulders and the peak seemed further and steeper at every new vantage point. I'd look back occasionally, scared about having to go back this same way, which seemed more and more like a thousand foot slide. I took deep breaths, we pressed on, and eventually made it to the top, about 30 minutes later than everybody else in our entourage.
Phew! I happily sat my ass down and got my head back together while sipping the last drips from my water bottle. The last evidence of day faded behind the horizon. The various Cape Town neighborhoods twinkled below (or didn't, as some were currently in the midst of regular rolling blackouts). I'm glad I made it to the apex, but absolutely feared the return trip. My legs were noodles, I still felt a little dizzy, and maybe my heart will give out. Once the group had enough of the peak we began heading back. The younger ones went back the same dangerous way, while Dave and I once again aimed for the slower, slightly safer route.
Turns out the dark of night made it easier - instead of having sun expose the steep, sketchy, lengthy descent, I could only see the puzzles immediately before me in the weak glare of my iPhone flashlight. Slowly, carefully jumping down one boulder at a time. Some scrapes here and there, and a bruised rib cage as I didn't quite see one rock jutting out, but we got down to flatter terrain eventually which was a huge relief. Dave struck up conversation with a nearby couple. They were tourists from Minneapolis. Eavesdropping on their small talk helped keep my mind off the pains and failings of my old man body.
Eventually we got to the parking lot and met up with the others. Ubers were summoned, and then they'd all cancel on us for some reason. Daniel (who is from the area and has a car) had to shuttle our whole party in two separate trips back into town for late dinner.
A wave of relief washed over me when I learned everybody was planning to go to a bar/restaurant near our lodgings. I hoped to just splinter off upon arrival and plop into bed and begin my recovery post haste. However we ended up driving into a chaotic part of town. Way too many young people and night life. Turns out we were going to a second bar/restaurant with the same name many miles from my bed. Fuck. Fine. I felt I could use some nourishment, and I survived.
The next day we went exploring Kirstenbosch botanical gardens and I faked walking normally around the whole complex. My legs were intensely stiff and sore. I did similarly large climbs back in California, so my weakened/injured state was quite surprising. Maybe the lack of sleep, and perhaps dehydration, affects me more and more as I get ancient.
That night I hit the airport. Sitting motionless on a 16 hour flight to the U.S. didn't help - I pathetically hobbled around Dulles, achy as hell, until boarding again. During this last 5 hour leg to the west coast I started feeling queasy and restless, then pretty gross and crippled by the time I got back to SFO. And still had to drive myself back to Oakland, but not after dropping Buddy off at his place first. And once home I limped inside, flopped onto my mattress, and pretty much stayed there for 48 hours straight except for frequent trips to the bathroom to endure all kinds of toilet violence. Seems like I caught a pretty bad norovirus. When? How? Not sure. But really glad it didn't take hold full force while on the plane.
All things considered, I'm still glad I made it to the peak. I enjoyed the natural beauty and good fortune that gave me this opportunity in the first place. At some point during the travails depicted above I posted a selfie on Facebook taken during my walk up Lion's Head. Making myself look like a bad ass having a great time.