This one time in Swaziland, I climbed a mountain.
On our last full day before leaving for the Johannesburg airport; myself, and a bunch of the girls decided to go to a place called Nyonyane Mountain. Now this particular mountain has quite the gruesome history. Back in the tribal days criminals and those suspected of witchcraft would be forced to jump off the summit to their deaths, giving the mountain its common name of Execution Rock. Recently the mountain and its surrounding area has been turned into a game reserve for those who wish to interact with famous African wildlife, or those who wish to climb the famous summit.
The plan was quite simple; get up early in morning and drive to the park, have our hired driver take us right to the base of the mountain, find the trail and have a pleasant walk up the mountain. It was a very good plan that had been in the making for weeks; however, this is the World Race and nothing ever really goes according to plan.
When we got to the game park that Saturday morning everything was going smoothly. Everyone had been awake an ready when the van arrived at our homestead (a small miracle right there), nobody had gotten car sick on the way there, and the entrance fee was less than we had prepared for. We were all in the van ready to proceed to phase three, our driver had taken people to the mountain many times before so we were confident in his ability to take us directly to the trail head. Unfortunately for us, he had not been to the park in about four years and they had changed the road through the park since then. When we came across a river and a dead end to the road we were following it was apparent he didn’t really know where the trail head was anymore.
As a group of responsible young adults we decided to do the reasonable thing and make our own trail up the mountain. We set off following animal trails through a river valley and then to the base of the mountain. Then we learned that animals are quite lazy because when we reached the base of the mountain the animal trails dissipated. Naturally we once again decided to so the reasonable thing, meaning we simply started climbing through the waist high grass up the mountain. It was tough going, we couldn’t see where our feet were landing because of the grass that hide rocks, scorpions, snakes, and thorns. At one point when I was leading the group a warthog jumped up about five feet from me, Pumba and I had a stare down for a second before he ran away.
After a couple of hours we found ourselves standing on the summit looking out over one of the most beautiful sights I have ever experienced. The climb had been rough, my arms and legs were covered in multiple cuts and bruises; not to mention the fact that I had run out of water about half way up and was dehydrated. But in spite of all of that the climb was defiantly worth it and will go down as one of my favorite Race memories.
Sometimes in our Christian walk we find ourselves at the base of a mountain and there are no path in sight. Climbing is dangerous and we get scratched up, we might step on a scorpion or two and get stung by sin. On those slopes, reaching the summit seems like an impossibility and the danger of the present often overcomes the hope of the future. But if we continue on up the mountain we will find ourselves standing on a summit of grace, peace, love, and rest. The view from the top is more than worth the climb. And think about it; then we can say, “this one time, I climbed a mountain.”
