Abel, the bard, on Wartrail

(With apologies to Bob Dylan whose prophetic protest song “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall”, written almost 50 years ago, reacts to the much more important issue of nuclear holocaust around the time of the Cuban missile crisis)

Oh, where have you been, my brown-eyed son?
And where have you been my darling old one ?

I’ve stumbled over twelve wind-swept mountains on the Witteberg

I’ve walked and crawled, no human or homestead in sight, on non-existent pathways of jumbled stone

I’ve sweated blood and tears pedalling up never ending mountain passes and rolling hills

I’ve paddled the Orange river gorge where it breaks, youthful and brown with topsoil, out the Lesotho highlands

I’ve towed a kayak, knee deep in sucking mud, where the river slows, wide and sluggish

I’ve dropped a packet of custard, only partly consumed and kept as a reward for the last hour, in the mud and sucked it dry, mud and all

I’ve slept fitfully with blood-bruised feet, aching buttocks and brutalised body

And I’ve been on the Wartrail, seeking new challenges, pleasures and memories.

And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard …
It’s a hard day’s journey that’s to be done

Oh, what have you seen, my worry-eyed son?
And what have you seen my irresponsible old one ?

I’ve seen mountain upon mountain separated by deep blue valleys under a timeless, mortality mocking, sky

I’ve seen a myriad of mountain hugging plants, intricate and adorned with the finest of flowers, there only for the pleasure of the wind and God

I’ve seen the wind gently wipe footprints and untangle grasses bent by those travelling ahead

I’ve seen storm clouds cut off the sun and dwarf the peaks, as they gather ominously, blue-green as wet soapstone,

I’ve seen spent hailstones swept against plants and stones, testament to the quick fury of nature

I’ve seen rutted roads rise up, demanding, over hill and dale, or settle effortlessly along river valleys

I’ve seen a metallic blue dawn streaked with India black clouds, and kayaks lined up on a river bank

I’ve seen the smooth black rocks and dark, rain drenched dunes of a meandering river engraving ever deeper into the olive-green Karoo

I’ve seen the sun sparkle like diamonds off water flicked up by paddlers seeking channels in the far distance

And I’ve seen a steel bridge around a river bend and known that I have survived and shall soon be pampered.

And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard …
It’s a hard day’s journey that’s to be done

Oh, what have you heard, my weary-eyed son?
And what have you heard my tired old one ?

I’ve heard five gliding lammergeiers leaving only a soft silence in the wake of wings stretched to the horizon

I’ve heard small insects calling from the mountain grasses with voices as sharp as razor blade on mirror

I’ve heard my thoughts tumbling freely as I clambered along dragon backed ridgelines

I’ve heard thunder and lightning in the distance come ever closer, and known that onward is the only option

I’ve heard the wind roar like river rapids around the peaks, tugging my walking stick aside

I’ve heard cows in the far valleys lamenting their taken away calves as I came home off the high mountains

I’ve heard bike and bones clatter without breaking while hurtling recklessly down rocky descents

And I’ve heard a million cicadas screaming my madness on the hot river banks.

And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard …
It’s a hard day’s journey that’s to be done

Oh, who did you meet, my bleary-eyed son?
And who did you meet my haggard old one ?

I’ve met a bounding berg ribbok and twisting bergadder, too frightened to recognise another frightened fellow creature

I’ve met my soul as I walked in splendid isolation and wished that, when the time comes, I can wrap my thoughts up as a gift to those I love

I’ve met children in their Sunday best running alongside my bike shouting sweets, sweets or faster, faster

I’ve met three ladies a-walking, who laughed with delight when they returned my “môre môre” with “môre môre my liefie”

I’ve met excellent companions that have allowed me to share parts of their journey though the wilderness

I’ve met passionate folk of all ages and sizes camping peacefully under a vast, open sided cave

I’ve met athletes, some of them wondrously fast, all of them resolute, finding deep satisfaction in pushing personal limits

I’ve met supporters and marshals and medics sacrificing time and comfort for our pleasure and safety

And above all, I have met new friends who shall surely forgive me if I forget their names and faces – but never the emotion.

And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard …
It’s a hard day’s journey that’s to be done

Oh, what’ll you do now, my sunken-eyed son?
And what’ll you do now my satisfied old one ?

I shall sit on soft cushions and reflect on my experiences, turning them over like smooth pebbles in my mind

I shall wait for the bodily aches and pains to subside and a deep sub-terrainean blister to cease oozing its pink plasma

I shall wonder about the how and, above all, the why of the barbed wire fences leaning, rusted in the high mountains

And I shall reflect on the privilege of having been on the Wartrail, deeply grateful to those who have shared their special place.

And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard …
It’s a hard day’s journey that’s been done

(Dylan himself used the structure of an old English ballad, “Lord Randall”.

Dylan said about his version that, “Every line in it is actually the start of a whole new song. But when I wrote it, I thought I wouldn’t have enough time alive to write all those songs so I put all I could into this one.”

I too feel that way sometimes.)

Author: Abel ‘Bloed’ van der Merwe | Garmin Wartrail, 20-22 March 2010. Photo by Mandy Morgan