This overhang about half an hour's walk past Ngenwa Pool on day one is a good place to wait for the rain to abate.

There are several starting points to the trail, but Russell advised that we hike from the lodge along the Gxalingenwa River for 4km and then link up with the official trail. It suits us fine, because we can leave our vehicles at the lodge instead of at the ranger huts at the foot of Sani Pass. We follow the dirt road going to the pass for 2km, then turn left, up the mountain.
There’s no other mountain range in South Africa that can compare to The Berg. It feels like another country and it’s as big as one too. The uKhahlamba Drakensberg Park is a wilderness area of about 243000ha – aboutthe size of Luxembourg. And with the gorges, valleys and capricious weather, you could easily lose your way.
The path runs along the course of the river. We’re at risk of an overload of the senses. The river fizzes and babbles, the mountains are the colour of wasabi, and water cascades down the slopes in small falls. A thicket on a slope stands in a big, still pool of water. Birds, cicadas and frogs supply the soundtrack. And we’re not even on the actual trail yet!
We pass several pools straight out of a Radox ad. At Ngenwa Pool we join the trail.
One by one we walk across the unsteady bridge. Then we sit down to have lunch.
Afterwards, we walk up the side of the valley, past a cliff with a waterfall plunging down it. We reach a flat part at the top and take a breather on a rocky outcrop, looking at the Pholela valley below.
Here the trail splits in two: You can carry on straight to the overnight hut or turn right and take a detour through the valley. We hear thunder rumbling in the distance, but we decide to take our chances. We’re here to hike, after all. The tall grass is lurid green next to the clear waters of the Trout Beck, a tributary of the Pholela.
Soon raindrops plop down on our heads. We pull rain covers over our backpacks and quicken the pace. It’s still 2,5km to the overnight hut. We cross the river and cut through the campsite at Cobham Nature Reserve with the rain nipping at our heels.
We make it to the Pholela Hut just in time. The heavens open and it starts bucketing down. After a hot shower, a steak and a cup of tea I climb into my sleeping bag and lie listening to the rain drumming on the roof.

The clay on the trail is nature's remedy for sore feet.

As we make our way up a hill early morning, we see Hodgson’s Peaks, the two peaks with the Giant’s Cup outline in the middle, on the horizon. I thought the formation would look like a giant teacup, but it’s more like a smaller version of the Amphitheatre.
“The Lord of the Rings” scenery surrounds us. The tall grass is wet from the previous evening’s rain and there are puddles in the path. Soon our feet are swimming in our socks, so we take off our shoes. The mud under my feet feels soft and clayey – I feel more in tune with the mountain.
We have a coffee break on a flat outcrop with a great view of the valley. The path slopes down from here towards the Mzimkhulwana River. In the valley, next to a tributary of the river, is the Mzimkhulwana Hut.
An hour later we make our way across the wooden bridge towards the hut. Late afternoon, another storm closes in. We sit on the stoep, wrapped in our sleeping bags, and count the seconds between the lightning flashes and the booms of thunder. Fireworks on New Year’s Eve!

Pack a big steak for the first night. You can braai at Pholela Hut and it has hot-water showers.

It’s 9pm and we’re huddled around the fire, warming our shins. Our printed trail rules say you’re only allowed to make a fire at the Pholela and Swiman huts, but when we reached the Winterhoek Hut earlier this afternoon, we discovered you’re allowed to braai in summer.                                        Despite the fantastic lightning show, last night’s New Year’s celebration was a bit subdued, given the lack of a fire and bubbly.
We left a small bottle of sparkling wine in a stream to chill, but it was swept away during the storm.
But 2011 is showing a lot of promise: Aside from a spitting, we haven’t had any rain today. For the first time we saw the sun’s rays hit the green mountain peaks.
After breakfast, we hiked up Little Bamboo Mountain, stopping often to take in the views. The Mzimkhulwana River was foaming. After an hour’s climb we reached a grassy plateau and a pool called Crane Tarn. We had a swim and lay on the grass, counting clouds, before we returned to the trail and followed the river down the slope.
A good place to swim in the river is at the 6km mark, they say, in the Killiecrankie Pools, but after all the rain it was impossible to tell where the pools were. We slipped into the water. The current was so strong it felt as if I was basking in a giant Coke float.
Lying in the sun afterwards, I remembered why I hike: to swim in a place like this, surrounded by soaring mountains. I could have been in Switzerland or Scotland, and I didn’t even have to buy a plane ticket.
Slowly but surely the trail led us back to civilisation. We passed a farmyard on our way to the R317 and after 2km of tar road we turned left and went up another hill.
Garden Castle loomed ahead. At the foot of the mountain, a few rondavels stood under a clump of oak trees – the Winterhoek Hut and its promise of dinner and rest.

Thenderstorms usually break late afternoon, so try to reach the hut before 3 pm.

“Today will build character,” my friend Charles says as we trek up the side of Garden Castle – the steepest slope on the trail. The climb isn’t particularly difficult, but I’m getting fed-up. My feet are red and swollen from my exertions over the past few days, my shoes are sodden and I’m covered in midge bites.
The prospect of rain hangs over me like a looming matric exam. You can’t do anything about it. No matter how thick your poncho is, how hardcore your Capestorm jacket, how many bin bags you cover yourself in – you will get wet. You can’t stop for coffee or biltong or to admire the view. You just put one foot in front of the other, all the while wishing you were on the beach at Plett.
But I shouldn’t complain. It’s the holidays and all along the coast people are waiting in Wimpy queues. We’ve got the trail to ourselves.                                                                                                                                               We carry on up the slope of Garden Castle. Captain Allen Francis Gardiner named this peak Giant’s Castle in 1835 because it reminded him of Edinburgh Castle in Scotland. But 50 years later the same name was given to the current Giant’s Castle, a peak 50km to the north. What could Garden Castle possibly have done to lose its name?
It starts to drizzle. We put on our raincoats and rain covers. Just then it stops raining again, as if the clouds are taunting us.
When you think you’ve reached the summit the path sneaks further upwards. Finally, about 3km from the Winterhoek Hut, we make it to the proper summit. The Lake Navarone resort and the Garden Castle Hotel look like architectural scale models from up here. I feel like I could pick up a tree or two and move them around.
Have I mentioned how green everything is? We amble down the mountain, becoming a line of figurines on the scale model, and reach Swiman Hut, which looks as if it was once a ranger’s house, after about an hour.
We settle on the stoep and watch a herd of horses grazing. At 2.30pm the rain comes down in sheets, but we couldn’t care less. It’s our last night on the trail and the last night tends to be the best – if you’ve packed enough food and toilet paper, of course!

The trail crosses several waterways- from rivulets that you can jump over to rivers like the Mzimude, above, where a bridge makes it easy to cross.

“Cheers!” we toast 2011 at the Himeville Arms Hotel, even though we’ve missed the countdown by three days. After eating soya mince, two-minute noodles and couscous on the trail, I’m now tucking into a plate of ribs. It feels like Christmas.
We started the hike in a heavy fog this morning. First there was a drizzle and then the floodgates opened. My worst fears came true.
Soon my socks were soaked and my feet were swimming in my takkies. We couldn’t see a thing except for the trail directly ahead, which looked more like a stream in places.
We took cover in Langalibalele Cave for a while. From there we hiked downhill to the information office at Bushman’s Nek – where we waited, dripping wet, for our lift back to Sani Lodge Backpackers.
Now that I’m munching ribs by candlelight, I realise another thing about rain – it won’t kill you. And there’s no point stressing about it.
Will I come back again in summer to see the Drakesnberg at its best? You don’t have to ask twice!