From Glitching to Grounded

Anyone who once owned a Blackberry phone knows exactly what to do when it started acting up. Fixing it required a highly “advanced” technical process: take the battery out… and put it back in. That simple reset would revive your little social rectangle - BBM and all - at least until the next glitch.

Similarly, when an iPhone needs a software update, it demands a long restart while plugged in. And for us rectangle addicts (i.e., almost all of us), even half an hour without a phone can feel like a crisis. “What if someone needs to get hold of me?!”

Now, you might be wondering why I’m going on about phones in an adventure blog. The point is this: I needed a reset too. My internal software was outdated, and I was starting to glitch - not ideal.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I felt irritable, restless, and disconnected. That was until I reread a favourite quote, and it clicked: I needed to go home. The mountains were calling. Ironically, this is my solution to almost all of my problems.

Sometimes I grow weary of the days, with all their fits and starts.

I want to climb some old gray mountain, slowly, taking

the rest of my lifetime to do it, resting often, sleeping

under the pines or, above them, on the unclothed rocks.

I want to see how many stars are still in the sky

that we have smothered for years now, a century at least.

I want to look back at everything, forgiving it all,

and peaceful, knowing the last thing there is to know.

All that urgency! Not what the earth is about!

How silent the trees, their poetry being of themselves only.

I want to take slow steps, and think appropriate thoughts.

In ten thousand years, maybe, a piece of the mountain will fall.

~ Mary Oliver ~

It was decided - I would spend Saturday night at Garden Castle campsite. Once the decision was made, I couldn’t shake the excitement. On Friday night, I met friends for dinner and a catch-up (a treat in itself).

This would be the first time in three years that I wasn’t running in the Ultra Trail Drakensberg. The FOMO was real, but I figured it was a good opportunity to support friends who were racing. It was a beautiful day, and the moment I saw the mountains, the weight lifted. My restless spirit settled. I knew I was exactly where I belonged. I must have looked ridiculous to passing cars - sitting alone, grinning from ear to ear.

I headed straight to Cobham campsite, where I found my friends Shan and Cul. Cul had run the 36 km the day before and absolutely crushed it. He’s now eyeing the 100 km next year - brave man. After catching up and cheering on runners at the checkpoint, I carried on my merry way.

After a quick stop at Underberg Spar for supplies, I drove the winding road toward Drakensberg Gardens and Garden Castle campsite. It’s a familiar route, but it never loses its charm. One section, in particular, winds through rocky hills and always reminds me of Scotland - somewhere that holds a special place in my heart.

As luck would have it, the only available campsite was the one I wanted. Meant to be. I quickly set up my little orange tent and headed for the river. By then, the air had turned crisp as the sun slipped behind the mountains. Still, I embraced the cold water. There’s something about a mountain stream – it may even have magical powers in my opinion. As it rushed over me, it felt like it washed my soul clean, sending chills through my body and leaving me covered in goosebumps.

I wouldn’t call myself a particularly stressed person - at least not anymore. I used to be a bit of a stress ball in school, but over time, as I’ve learned more about myself and what I love, that part has softened. I’m fortunate: I have a job I love, my bills are paid, and I spend a lot of time outdoors and with people I care about. That’s a privilege not everyone has.

That said, no one lives without stress. What’s really changed most is my perspective. I trust in God and His plan, and I’m reminded that everything here is temporary. So, I try to enjoy each moment - you never know if you’ll get it again. I tend to be optimistic, sometimes to a fault. Give me time to process, and I’ll usually find a way to turn even difficult situations into something lighter and even crack a joke or two (not always the best solution).

Still, no one is immune to life’s weight. We all need to make time for what restores us. And for me, lying in that river was exactly the medicine I needed.

By coincidence, I had set up camp next to a woman I know from church. I joined her group for a drink around the fire before heading back to my own spot. That night, I sat quietly by the fire - no music, no conversation - just the crackle of flames and the sounds of the night. I was completely content.

Socrates once said, “Contentment is natural wealth; luxury is artificial poverty.” That truth feels more relevant than ever. We live in a world driven by more - more wealth, more achievement - yet we’re rarely satisfied. The joy of something new fades quickly, replaced by the next desire.

I’m not immune to this either. But the most meaningful moments in life aren’t born from more. They come from the simple things. Playing in the mud, laughing with friends, working in the garden, swimming in the sea, climbing a mountain - these are the moments that matter.

Too often, in chasing more, we sacrifice our most valuable resource: time. And time, once gone, never returns. This is a fact that is both beautiful and brutal.

Of course, money matters. There are real responsibilities - families to feed, lives to sustain. But beyond necessity, we often push ourselves to exhaustion over things we don’t truly need. Instead, we could seek balance. Use our free time not to disconnect in front of a screen, but to reconnect - with nature, with movement, with each other.

It might seem tiring in the moment, but it restores you. It prepares you for whatever life throws your way. Prioritize movement. Prioritize nature. Prioritize community. Prioritize joy. The world is far too beautiful to spend it in discontentment.

Back to the camping.

After a chilly but restful night in my sleeping bag, I spent the early morning reading and sipping coffee. Eventually, I geared up for a trail run. The plan was simple: run to Pillar Cave and back - a route I’ve done many times.

But just 400 meters in, I stopped to take a photo of Rhino Peak. When I glanced back toward the campsite, I saw what must have been the largest group of hikers I’ve ever encountered - at least 50 people. Probably a school group.

Now, I love people - but not when they’re packed into the small mountain pools I was hoping to enjoy in peace. So, I turned around and went off-trail instead. I ended up doing a short but steep hike up the hills across from the campsite - just enough adventure to fill my cup.

I sent a photo to my family from the top. My sister replied by asking for the Netflix password. Same family, very different lives.

I wrapped up my 24-hour escape with one last long swim in the river. I left with a heavy heart but a full soul - grateful for the experience and already knowing I’d be back.