The weather forecasters were right, I think as I wake up to the drum roll of raindrops on the roof of the Cape Morgan Eco Centre. The weather forecast for the rest of the week isn’t looking promising: rain every day and two cold fronts. 
We were hoping for swimming weather during the next five days, when 10 of us will hike the 59 km from Kei Mouth to Gonubie, near East London.
This isn’t your average Toppers-and-Game hiking trail: On the Strandloper you follow the coast from seaside village to seaside village and shop to shop in search of food, almost like the Strandlopers of long ago. You carry a backpack, but only with your clothes, a sleeping bag and basic supplies for meals.
As we get up, the sun mercifully breaks through the clouds. Our group consists of 10 hikers – four who met on the Otter Trail, two novices, a young mother who hasn’t hiked for three years, two fit cyclists from Cape Town and Dawie the photographer.
“Don’t let the dog follow you,” says Bryan Church, the Strandloper Trail manager, when he sees
the grey Weimaraner with pale eyes and a lame hind leg loping after a few people returning from the shops. “Chase him away. He’s not allowed into the Cape Morgan Nature Reserve.” 
Bryan helps the dog onto the back of his bakkie to take him back to town. By 1 pm we hit the road to Kei Mouth. 
The first hut is only a kilometre or so from the Eco Centre as the crow flies, but first you hike in the opposite direction to the mouth of the Kei River, from where you push on to Morgan Bay along the sea. If you get away early enough, you can take a ride on the old pont into the former Transkei.
If you have less time, pop in at the shell museum, a room with rows of display chests decorated with turquoise cloth. There is even a shell from Japan. 
At the first watering point, the dog reappears shyly. We shout and wave sticks at him until Dawie and Nelius succeed in chasing him off.
Then the hike begins in earnest. Strelitzia palms crowd the dunes where we walk along a footpath winding along the shore.
We keep below the lighthouse, heading for the pump house that used to bring water to Kei Mouth’s now-defunct titanium mine. Until recently, it provided accommodation for the first night, but a storm blew off parts of the roof. The front door of the pump house is directly above a tidal pool, and the waves break a few metres away. 
What a fantastic location, I muse as I feel something wet hitting me on my back. It’s the dog. He eats a bluebottle and limps after us as we walk across the sand like the Strandlopers.
The temporary overnight hut is right next to the Morgan Bay lagoon, opposite the campsite. We drop our backpacks on the floor. Everyone heads for the hotel to have a sundowner, the Weimaraner in tow. Some stay at the hotel for a meal, while the rest of us return to the hut to braai under a floodlight.
“It’s really hard getting used to this hike,” says Michael as he, Margerét and Guido return from the hotel, ready for a hot shower. Mariëtte nods. “I don’t know of any other hikes where you can say: ‘Today I went to the shop, museum and bottle store.’”
During the evening, the dog gets a name: Jack. “As in: ‘Hit the road, Jack’,” Karin says.

It’s just after lunch and we’re still in Morgan Bay. The sun is shining brightly, but the wind has picked
up during the morning. 
The second leg isn’t very long, so we have plenty of time. This morning we were already in the water before 7 am. Then we had breakfast at the hotel and bought braai packs at the Morgan Bay Top Shop for supper. Mariëtte and I even took a canoe out onto the lagoon and were lucky enough to see two fish eagles upstream. 
Now we’re finally standing on the hotel stoep, ready to get going – without Jack; we lured him into a storeroom in the caravan park. His owners will come and pick him up after the hotel management called them to inform them of his whereabouts. (Clearly this isn’t the first time he’s joined a hiking party uninvited.) 
Terry, Mariëtte, Karin and I tackle a steep cliff.
“This must look pretty much the same it did when the first ships sailed in here,” Terry says as we get to the top of the cliff and look at the bay from above. Below us, the beach has been completely eroded, and white waves explode against the rockface. A small herd of cattle grazes on the green grass. 
Slightly out of breath, I look ahead to see if there are more uphills to come. On the Otter this would have been but the first rest stop on a seemingly endless uphill, but fortunately it’s the only climb on the Strandloper. 
It’s now blowing a gale from the sea and we carefully inch down the hill. Back at sea level we shelter in a crevice for some coffee. On the smooth rockface is a tree root that feels its way down about 20 m in search of water.
“Now it’s starting to look more like a real hiking trail,” Mariëtte says while we dig around in our
packs for camping stoves and powdered milk.
We pass through a dainty gate that looks as if it escaped from a suburban garden –it keeps the cattle out – and by 3.30 pm we’re walking down a long incline to the Double Mouth Caravan Park. The name refers to the Quko River splitting into two streams just before it mouths into the sea. The hiking hut stands off to one side of the small bay, barely 20 m from the waves. 
The night around the braai fire feels a bit empty without Jack.
Every adventure needs a dog.

The hut at Double Mouth has a stoep that looks out over the sea. From here the four hikers, who slept outside, watched the sun rise over the small bay. Just after six, everyone is up and on the way to Haga-Haga. It’s 8 km further, more or less halfway on today’s leg. 
First you walk past Bead Beach, where a sliver of beach is sandwiched between the rocks and the grass. In 1608, the Santo Espírito, a Portuguese ship laden with Chinese porcelain and Carnelian beads from India, was wrecked nearby. The survivors managed to build a boat and sail on to Mozambique. Three of us search among the shells for something shiny and blue, but all we find are abalone shells.
By 9.30 am we’re at the wide arc of Haga-Haga’s beach. There’s a dispute over where the name of this village comes from. I have more than enough time to read the legends put up on the hotel notice board while we wait two hours for the restaurant to open. 
“I was somewhat annoyed by the explanation that the name Haga-Haga was derived from the Xhosa word for bush pig, ihagu,” writes a former resident, JT Butler from Eshowe. 
He tells how farmers moved down to the coast in summer, with ox wagons. Drivers had to help one another to cross the sandy beach at the river mouth. “The driver of number one would then tell number two: haka haka which is the Xhosa word for “hook on, hook on,” Butler explains. 
Travel writer TV Bulpin thought the name came from the “neverending murmur and movement of
the waves on the coast”.
When the bar opens we challenge one another for a round of pool. I feed the jukebox a R2 coin as Van Morrison sings “You my brown-eyed girl, Do you remember when we used to sing, Sha la la la la la la la te da”. 
“We did the Moo at Ninky Noo!” Mariëtte, Terry and Karin screech excitedly when they arrive there at 12. They’re wearing similar white T-shirts that are slightly oversized. 
They’ve been to the Ninky Noo Bar in the Haga-Haga Game and Nature Reserve. They got the T-shirts because they dared to skinny dip in the cattle dip tank outside the bar. 
Curious, I join three of the others in an uphill walk to Ninky Noo’s, after an uninspiring meal of fish and chips at the hotel. You can tell the stories are piled on thick in this rustic bar. The golf fees are displayed on the wall. “Members 50c, visitors 80c.”
We take a short cut through the veld to Pulley Bay. It’s already 3 pm and we still have 7 km to go. First we totter over round boulders and past small coves before gathering speed on the long beach up to the Cape Henderson hut.
The hut is hidden in the bush next to the Nyarha lagoon. It doesn’t have a shower, and everyone heads for the lagoon to wash off the day’s sweat in the salty water. 
There has to be at least one exceptional sunset on a hike, and tonight the heavens put on a show: gold and bronze and red and copper. We raise our enamel cups in a toast on reaching the halfway mark as we dig our toes into the sand.

“What a beautiful day!” Terry says. “The weather bureau got it so wrong.” 
“Today is definitely a stop-and-swim day,” Mariëtte adds.
A mere hint of a breeze is blowing as we start walking on hard sand at 7am. For the next 10 km, all the way to Cintsa East, the beach just goes on and on. Behind the waves, two whales are breaching.
After stopping for breakfast, I see a blue-and-white shard on the sand. A piece of porcelain! Perhaps one of the Santo Espírito’s cargo?
At Cintsa East, Margarét and company have a picnic under the trees next to the beach.
Today we’re having lunch at Michaela’s, high up on the dunes above the beach. We don’t have to climb hundreds of steps to get to it, because there is a small funicular to take you up to the restaurant.
After stir-fry, Greek salad, spring rolls and a plate of seafood, we walk the short distance to Cintsa West.
The temperature has dropped; it seems as if the weather has finally caught up with us. Under grey clouds we head through the coastal bush to the Beacon Valley hut, which looks as if it used to be someone’s house.
It’s great to have some variety from the beach scenery, even if it’s only for half an hour. 
At the end of the day, as we make supper, the hut starts to look like the set of the popular television series Ready, Steady, Cook. Each group is feverishly competing to make the best meal with ingredients we picked up at the shop in Cintsa East.
“I don’t know of any other overnight hiking trail where you can eat salad the last day,” Karin says as she starts nibbling on her smoked chicken salad.
Nelius and Madelyne have made hamburgers and Guido has conjured up a delicious Thai meal with soya.
“It’s Friday night. We can’t just sit here,” says Madelyne at the fire, just as I am starting to think about going to bed. She persuades most of us to go back to Cintsa West for a nightcap at the bar. 
Karin and I are wearing our pyjama pants as we head to town with the rest of the group, looking like Snow White’s dwarfs, finding our way in the small spotlights of our head lamps. 
We take a wrong turn, but by chance Graham Stanton of the Inkwenkwezi Game Reserve drives past and offers us a lift in his Mercedes. 
But the bar is closed! 
“You can’t just go back to the hut,” says Graham. 
He unlocks the restaurant at Inkwenkwezi, and soon we’re comfortably ensconced, each with a drink in hand. 
“Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d go out to a bar in my PJ pants and end up in a five-star lodge,” Karin says, laughing. But Graham isn’t satisfied yet. “Let me show you my elephants,” he says. We all get on the back of his bakkie. 
Each of us gets a chance to feed Mopani, Mtombo, Moketsi and Ramadiba, the four elephants at Inkwenkwezi. In the camp across from them are three cheetahs. Dawie and Nelius put their hands through the fence to stroke them. 
A light drizzle has started to fall. The drops are cool pricks on my skin, but it feels as if I am in the middle of a dream.

Today we have to plan our hike carefully, because two of the rivers we have to cross are apparently
quite deep, even at low tide. All the previous rivers were silted up and we could walk across the lagoon mouths on dry sand. 
By sunrise there’s light rain, but as we get going, just after six, it’s cleared up and there are only scattered clouds in the blue sky. 
Today we’re hiking at a “this-is-our-last-day” pace. We stop at the first river crossing, somewhat out of breath. Time for breakfast. 
“Watch out for the electric skates!” Michael shouts. He’s just stood on one of them and got a shock. You don’t read about these things in tourism brochures. 
We wade across in water higher than our knees, our backpacks on our heads. 
“Ouch, you bastard!” Karin screeches as she steps on another skate. She loses her balance, falls with her arms on top of the skate and gets shocked again. 
It’s the weekend, and behind the breakers five surfers are waiting for a wave. A fisherman pulls out a small shark. A poodle, sitting in the passenger seat of its owners’ car, is watching the passing parade. 
Bryan warned us that the last two hours of the hike were the worst on the trail. 
“A never-ending rockery,” Mariëtte calls the stretch of beach between us and Gonubie. We have to watch our step not to stumble and fall as we pick our way through the rocks. 
We have to cross the Gonubie River right at the end of the trail, and it’s flowing strongly. But not even the forceful current can dampen our elation at having the end in sight. Fortunately the
lifesavers are friendly enough to take a few of our packs across in a paddle ski. 
Almost automatically we slip back into the life of a modern Strandloper: You chat on your cellphone and trail your fingers down the menu to where it says “seafood special”. Then you gaze out at the view of the waves as the air conditioning blows cool air down your neck. 
But something of the magic of this stretch of coast lingers on. It’s the sound of stones milling in the waves… and the knowledge that your daily needs don’t differ all that much from those of the Strandlopers of old: to lay your hands on a tasty bit of seafood now and again and have a soft place to lay your head at night.

Beforehand
Shuttle sharp. Get information about shuttle services to and from your vehicle at the Strandloper office. You can leave vehicles at the Cape Morgan Eco Centre or the Gonubie Hotel.
Pack for four seasons. A survival bag and 30 m nylon rope are very useful when the rivers are full. It’s nice to have a snorkel and a diving mask for the pools between Haga-Haga and Cape Henderson, and at Cintsa West.
Get a permit. You need a permit if you want to fish or collect shellfish – try to get one before you leave home, as the post office at Kei Mouth sometimes runs out of forms.

On the trail
Plan your meals. During busy times, book at restaurants along the way: Morgan Bay Hotel 043 841 1062; Haga-Haga Hotel 043 841 1670; Michaela’s 043 738 5139. The Pub & Grub in Cintsa West is
open 9am to 9pm and the shop in Cintsa East 6am to 6pm.
Good hosts. Graham Stanton of Inkwenkwezi and Neil Arnold, owner of the Ninky Noo Pub, were exceptionally friendly. Neil (083 394 8864) offers a basic menu, and he’ll come and fetch you in town if you’re too lazy to walk up the hill to the bar. Graham (043 734 3234) offers a special tariff for hikers of the Strandloper Trail. By contrast, we found that Strandloper hikers weren’t as well received at some hotels and shops along the way.
Be a big braaier. Order braai packs (a chop, piece of steak and sausage) for the first two nights at the Morgan Bay Top Shop (043 841 1062). On the third night, at Cape Henderson, you’re not allowed to braai.
Show me the money. There is a mini-ATM at Kei Mouth, Morgan Bay and Cintsa. To be safe, take enough cash.

Done!
Dust off. At the end of the trail, treat yourself to a shower at Gonubie Beach or in the Gonubie Caravan Park.

Margerét Grobler, graphic designer
“Next time I’ll leave my iPod at home (it doesn’t feel right to listen to music on a beach). Pack a hard-brimmed hat, because it’s often windy. My floppy hat kept getting blown flat on my forehead.”

Karin Coetzee, accountant
“It works well if two or three people pack together, because you can make better meals. Hike in your cozzie, but make sure it’s a comfortable one that dries quickly. I liked Mariëtte’s little kettle: R99 from Cape Union Mart.”

Michael Gaylord, programmer
“A mini tripod is a good idea for group photos and times when you want to use a slow shutter speed. If you plan to eat mussels from the rocks, be there at low tide.” (Remember that you need a permit.)

Guido del Guidice, retired developer
“Two hiking poles will work well for the parts where you’re walking on the beach. Take wraparound
sunglasses for the glare. I’m glad I packed an inflatable pillow, because stuffing clothes into a pillow slip just doesn’t work.”

Nelius Pretorius, engineer
“Try bringing a 10-foot fishing rod, which you can take apart and tie to your backpack. Medium-weight fishing tackle will help you to throw the line in deeper. Pack paper plates.”

Madelyne du Plessis, farmer
“You should wear shoes that support your ankles, otherwise you’re going to suffer, especially on the rocky sections of the last day. I’ll never go hiking with a children’s sleeping bag again.”

Terry Niemack, consultant
“I wish I’d read up more on the region. There are many spots you can explore, and you have more than enough time to reach the hut. It’s a good plan to pack trousers with zip-off legs to protect your legs from the sun.”

Mariëtte Steyn, engineer
“Next time I’ll take along even less food. My ‘spork’ (a cross between a spoon and a fork) was a winner; it’ll get a permanent spot in my backpack. You should definitely pop in at the Ninky Noo pub!”