Under Dust and Stars: A Four-Day Horse Trail Through the Klein Karoo
Riding, for the lucky cohort that call the saddle home, leaves you feeling boundless. Free.
Usually, that magical feeling is over far too quickly as the city rushes back in. That was until I did a four-day horse trail through the semi-arid Southern African region known as Klein Karoo. Eight eager, horse-loving riders congregated in De Rust for a mind-altering adventure called Stof en sterre (Dust and Stars). There were plenty of dust and stars but more than anything this trip overflowed with generosity (both human and horse-kind), freedom (to feel and to be), and abundance (of joy, fresh air, delectable food, and booze).
Six of us came from Oude Molen Stables, and I already knew three of them from years of riding together on Saturday mornings. The other four riders (two from Oude Molen and two from elsewhere in the Western Cape) were strangers at lunch on day one, but had become fast friends by the end of day two.
Our brilliant host and organisers were Klein Karoo Horse Adventures run by Celia Le Roux from her family's sixth-generation farm, Doornkraal. Over four days, we traversed roughly 60 kilometres of Swartberg and Kammanassie lower mountain paths. Our steady boer perde (farm horses) easily navigated the rocky red terrain and while our nights were spent in different settings, the atmosphere was always the same: jovial and welcoming.
Meeting the Herd
We arrived on the Thursday, just after half past twelve as instructed, kitted out in our riding gear.
Celia welcomed us, letting us know what to expect and underselling every moment of it. She introduced us to Celeste, who helps with the logistics, Michaela and Larry, who would be accompanying us on our ride, and Julia, her older sister who provided the catering. Our first taste of the generosity to come was an exquisite lunch by Julia using farm fresh ingredients and a balanced hand.
After lunch we were driven out of De Rust to meet the horses, our luggage already handed off to the back-up vehicle. Each of us had been matched to a horse based on a short description of the type of mount we'd want. I'd written that I liked a bit of speed but didn't want a horse hot in the saddle, essentially a manageable, steady but speedy steed. I got Zoeloe and instantly fell in love.
Eleven of us rode, including Celia, Larry and Michaela but we were also accompanied by a pregnant mare who mostly trotted loose alongside us and Greda the mule who carried supplies and some of our extra belongings.
What was sold to us a short and quiet 90 to 120-minute ride along farmland to tant (aunt) Maggie's place, was an exciting introduction to our ultimately too short trip. As a group, we quickly learnt that "slow canter" meant a gallop, often up hill as we darted between groves and dodged a few drops of rain on our way up to Maggie's farm.
Upon arriving and before we'd even unsaddled our, by that point, beloved steeds, we were handed a warming cup of gluwein. Once the horses were put to bed in a large paddock with hay bales, we settled into our rooms spread out across the farm. Our first evening was a gentle, long affair that started with snacks in the warm fire-lit glow of the lounge and ended with dessert, wine and laughter.
And although the clouds had been thick when we'd arrived, I ventured outside to see what I might find. I was greeted by a thick dark canvas splattered with bright twinkling stars. Darting back inside, I gathered my tripod and camera and ventured back out into the cold night air to see what I could capture and if I could do justice to the night sky's dazzling display.
Canters, Caves, and Camping
We were up early, packed, and eager to get going but not before spending time grooming our horses and enjoying a hearty breakfast. We were out the gate by half past nine, riding toward Kango Nature Reserve where we'd camp that night. Early on, we swapped farmland for rugged, untamed bush, doing slow canters past Chinese lantern trees and breathtaking rock formations.
As our route cut through a game reserve, under a fence and down a steep path, we kept our eyes peeled for what we might see. It wasn't long before we spotted some buck in the distance, quickly darting away from our approaching steps. After three hours in the saddle, and a few pitstops to tighten Greda's saddle bags and for toilet breaks, we arrived at our lunch spot: a cave.
We loosely tied our horses to the trees at the base of a small hill, unpacked our saddlebags which contained our padkos (packed lunch and snacks) and drinks. We climbed the short distance up to the cave and made ourselves comfortable as Amarula coffees and ciders were handed out. Having satisfied our hunger pangs, we were ready to explore our little cave which had a higher level that we were able to reach thanks to the nifty ladder someone had left nearby.
Back on the trail afterward, not far past the cave, we came around a bend and there they were – a herd of giraffes. About eleven, with a couple of calves, watched us as we watched them from a distance. We spent a few minutes observing them, manoeuvring our horses for a better view. Had we lingered at our cave a bit longer, or left slightly earlier, we may not have come face to face with these beautiful, slender giants.
A couple of hours and a few layers of red dust later, we trotted into our Kango reserve camp site, a tot of sherry and our fully kitted-out tents awaiting us. We settled in quickly, enjoying snacks in the main house and stokbrood (bread on a stick cooked by campfire) outside. Grabbing my camera, I spent some time basking in the glow of the setting sun and enjoying a quiet moment with the herd.
Another wine-filled feast ensued. And before the night was up, most of us ended up in the steaming hot tub that had been brought over from Doornkraal and set up just for us. Any aches and pains from six hours in the saddle melted away as we soaked in the tub, staring up at the splatter of stars above us.
De Rustica to Doornkraal
Day three is the one I keep going back to.
Saturday started the same way as Friday: we packed, groomed our horses and then enjoyed a lavish breakfast and coffee before setting out around 9am.
Before leaving the reserve, we wound our way to a nearby natural amphitheatre where the echoes of baboon calls could be heard around us. From there, we headed back towards the farmlands, taking a more direct path but not before going vertically down an extremely steep path. We leaned back as far as we could almost standing straight, legs bracing against the saddle, while our sure-footed friends picked their way down. One by one we made our way down, except for Zoeloe who instead of waiting his turn patiently decided to skid down the smooth rocky surface – a new extreme sport I've since dubbed Equine Rock Surfing.
Not far out of Oudemuragie, we galloped through olive groves to De Rustica olive farm. Zoeloe raced flat out against another horse, Diener, as the wind, trees and ground whipped by under their steady footfall down the length of groves. The other rider and I let out exhilarated laughs, the exuberance of a moment that lingers with us as surely as it bonded us.
We paused at De Rustica for a quick olive oil tasting. Swirl first, nose right down into the glass to catch that fresh-cut-grass smell, then a sip, a bit of air drawn in through the mouth, a little swirl around the palate, and finally swallowing and waiting for the bitterness to land at the back of the throat. From there we rode into De Rust itself, stopped in at a small art studio before lunch at Ray's where we once again were handed a flute of bubbly before sitting down to our meal.
Back on the horses and after a few glasses of wine, we made our way back to Doornkraal but not before calling in on a tobacco farmer who talked us through his crop. The route back took us past the Karoo Donkey Sanctuary and a nearby field of goats that looked more like fluffy lambs, followed by a breathtaking gallop before the last stretch into Doornkraal.
Back on the farm where our adventure started, we settled into our rooms, had a few hours to shower, change, and relax before Julia treated us to the most delectable glazed pork belly with all the trimmings. We felt our merriment and sheer contentment of days spent on horseback deep in our bones. None of us were ready for our final day which loomed all too quickly.
The Last Ride
Sunday reared its head far too soon. Sombrely we packed our bags, readying to depart our own kind of paradise.
We walked the short distance to our meeting point, the same spot we'd gathered the first day for lunch and introductions. There, we jumped into the back of a bakkie (pickup truck) where we sat on camping chairs, wrapped up in blankets and hoodies as we sped through the mountain pass to Meiringspoort Waterfall. One by one, we peeled off our warm, insulating layers, donned our costumes and plunged into the icy water. We emerged from our refreshing dip to the warming powers of Amarula coffee, biscuits and rusks.
After our snacks, we rushed back to Doornkraal for one final ride out to a viewpoint and back. We were all more subdued, spending that final hour whispering our gratitude and fondness for our four-legged guardians who held, protected, and healed us.
By eleven we were sitting down to the most scrumptious brunch. We were given the space to give our highlight and lowlight for the trip. Unsurprisingly, everyone's lowlight was that it was over far too quickly while highlights ranged from the generosity to the giraffes. Mine, as you may have guessed, was Zoeloe's race through the olive grove and meals that surpassed most restaurants in flavour.
I've heard people say that there are some saddles that feel like coming home. That's not quite true, at least not for me. There are horses that feel like home. I was lucky enough to find another home out there, under the dust and stars of the Klein Karoo.
