Many mountain ranges are defined by their summits, hikers driven by the desire to stand on a peak and marvel at the world below. The Drakensberg, however, resists this logic. While it holds several notable summits, its deeper character is revealed in its passes: the demanding routes that rise from the Little Berg to the escarpment.

Approximately 164 passes have been opened over time, 104 of which are marked on the latest Slingsby Maps. Their nature varies wildly. Some follow historic trading or smuggling routes; others trace elegant ridgelines or disappear into boulder-choked riverbeds and impenetrable vegetation where an hour might yield only a kilometre of progress. These passes are not simply ways through the mountains, they are expressions of the Berg itself.

For more than a decade, we have been drawn repeatedly to these routes. Basalt spires loom overhead, water spills endlessly through gullies, and vultures circle above summer slopes dense with flowers. At elevations between 2 300m and 3 000m, life feels distilled—focused, alive, and complete. And yet, despite this richness, these spaces are visited by remarkably few.

In 2024, after completing a 107-hour unsupported Grand Traverse, a question surfaced. What if, instead of moving fast, we moved fully? What if we attempted to walk the length of the Drakensberg while completing every marked pass? From this question, Walking Home emerged.

The idea was straightforward, the execution anything but: begin at Witsieshoek, finish at Bushman’s Nek, complete 107 passes over roughly 588 km, and gain more than 60 000 m of elevation in 40 days. Only four individuals are known to have completed more than 100 Berg passes, each over many years. We would attempt it in a single, continuous journey.

This ambition needed purpose beyond endurance. Walking Home became a vehicle for reconnecting with the Earth and drawing attention to education for environmental stewardship. Alongside the expedition, we raised funds for the Kinship Programme, supporting Community-Embedded Environmental Education in under-resourced Early Childhood Development centres in Inanda.

Into the Berg

We began on 20 March 2025 beneath the familiar skyline of the Sentinel and the Amphitheatre. Moving south, we linked passes in logical clusters, relying on friends and family to carry resupplies into the mountains. From the outset, it became clear that adaptability, not speed, would define the journey.

Just before departure, Mix (Michaela) contracted a severe chest infection, followed by an allergic reaction to antibiotics. Still, the expedition began.

The Northern Berg asserted itself immediately. Icidi Pass set the tone on day two – descending into shoulder-high vegetation at first light, progress slowed to a crawl. The river lay far below, unseen. Mix was still unwell, and soon Arno followed. We had expected difficulty, but not so early.

Gradually, a rhythm formed. Wake before dawn. Pack carefully. Move steadily. Descend, then climb again. Caves—Ifidi, Cycad, Fangs—became brief homes, each carrying traces of those who had passed through before. Friends joined us for sections, sharing encouragement and laughter, then peeled away back to their own lives.

Support in the Hills

Although much of the walking felt solitary, Walking Home was sustained by community. Resupply trips were formidable undertakings, requiring heavy loads to be hauled through dense bush and steep terrain. Cornel Shrub Camp, cut by a group of our friends, perched between Rwanqa Pass and the Black and Tan Wall, came to symbolise this generosity.

By the fifth day both of our health issues had worsened and we were escorted off the mountain for medical tests. With Mix cleared of serious complications and Arno improving, we returned three days later, resuming the journey at Cathedral Peak.

From there, the character of the Berg shifted. Late-summer rains had saturated the range. Rivers surged where trickles usually ran. Bugger Gully thundered like a waterfall, and the Bell Traverse demanded slow, careful movement through sheets of flowing water. Passes that are straightforward in dry conditions required patience and restraint.

Plans adjusted constantly. When friends were delayed by flooded rivers below, we waited. When conditions deteriorated, routes changed. Learning to listen to the mountain became a discipline in itself.

When the Journey Fractured

Not all challenges came from weather or terrain. Near Yoddlers Valley a sudden encounter with dogs forced a rapid retreat onto sodden ground. After the chaos, Mix rolled her ankle. Barking echoed through the darkness. Standing was agony, but stopping was not an option. Adrenaline carried us until we finally paused near Didima Dome for breakfast and a peek at the ankle: the swelling was unmistakable.

At the top of Gray’s Pass, we accepted the need for a new plan. Daven Stroh joined without hesitation, continuing with Arno over Cowl and Ships Pass the next day while Mix returned to Durban for scans.

Mist lingered on the escarpment, occasionally lifting to reveal snippets of the mountain. At sunrise the following morning, the cloud broke apart, peaks floating like islands above the valleys below—moments that quietly sustain long journeys.

Arno continued alone for a time, navigating in near-zero visibility. Basotho herders appeared soundlessly through the mist, moving across the high ground as they have for generations. Nights in caves brought a different rhythm—rain on rock, wandering thoughts, enforced stillness. After five days, the news arrived: Mix had torn her anterior talofibular ligament (ATFL) off the bone (for a second time). This attempt was over for her. And at this point, Arno decided to descend from the mountains. He had traversed as far as Giant’s Castle Pass.

A Journey Re-shaped

However, the journey did not end—it changed shape.

In the months that followed, passes were completed in segments, often with friends. Winter brought snow and clarity. Mnweni weekends delivered some of the Berg’s most dramatic routes—Nguza, Manxome, Pins—each demanding humility. Further south, Didima, Tlanyaku, and Xeni North offered waterfalls, wildflowers, and contrast. Katana yielded only on its third attempt, teaching patience more effectively than success ever could.

Each return felt like continuation rather than restart. The thread remained intact.

Walking Home

Walking Home was never about efficiency. It was about relationships—between people, place, and purpose. About learning to move through a landscape with attention and respect, and accepting that progress is not always linear. Some journeys deepen precisely because they resist being rushed.

We are deeply grateful to our sponsors: Salomon, Gegrond, Garmin, and Forever Fresh and the MCSA YEA! (Young Explorer Award) grant. To date, we have completed 50 passes, walked 584 kms, gained 46 724 m of elevation, and raised R307 403 for the Kinship Programme’s environmental education work.

Two trips remain in the Northern and Central Berg. Walking Home 2.0 begins in April 202, a 19-day expedition to complete all marked passes south of Giants Castle.

The project continues: a living testament to movement, attention, and stewardship in the mountain, and to the understanding that sometimes, the longest way home teaches us how to listen.

Michaela Geytenbeek and Arno Pouwels