The second part of our recollections from survivors who stepped into the unknown in 1989
Photo : Grobbie Grobler (Snowflake No 34)
“Flat ground from here” announced an official “just follow the road”. His arm pointed upward to the surrounding hills. The horizontal plain had shifted. Else the inner ear was no longer what it might have been.
A few steps later and the white earth gave way. The snow was at least a foot deep. One had to stay within the tracks left by the 4-wheel drive vehicles that had so kindly provided us with nourishment at the top of the climb. But the tracks were wide enough for one foot only. And the compacted snow was more like ice. So; run carefully, one foot at a time, one foot behind the other. Don't laugh, try it - one runner, who shall remain anonymous, fell flat on his face at least 5 times. And he had left the pub reasonably early.
Here and there was relief from the snow - it had been churned up into the most yucchie, slippery muck imaginable. It was often easier to wade through foot-deep drifts than to stay on the straight and narrow. Purgatory could never have been imagined as being set in such magnificent surroundings. The mountain-tops were not far above and Ben McDhui - the highest point in the Cape - was almost within spitting distance (for those that still could). Slipping and sliding through the pitch-black muck we proceeded along next to the perfectly white untouched beauty, in a world remote and silent.
At last an area was reached where the ground seemed to be firmer. The descent had begun. The race pamphlet had stated that "a steep decent (sic) drops the runner from the mountain plateau into the valley (dropping several hundred feet per kilometer)". Decent? Hardly. Believable? Never. Grossly exaggerated of course. Not at all - not exactly decent, but quite true. An understatement, if anything. The "road" had been concreted on the steepest section and it was difficult to walk down, let alone run. The fear of falling over forwards caused one to brake all the way down. Cambered corners were negotiated with care, lest one overran them. The hills among which we had been ru..sliding a few minutes earlier were suddenly changed into mountains towering high above.
And the beauty of the valley was breathtaking.
Seventy starters, seventy finishers (the last one dead on 9 hours). Every one a wi..survivor. The prize-giving was attended by all the participants; runners, helpers, townsfolk - even the organisers were there.
