Kloofing

Kloo-fing: The “kloo” isn’t like “glue” with a “K”. This is important. It’s more like you got to sneak a really little short “i” sound in (i as in if). Kind of like clue-if-ing. But smoothed out and softened a bit—just a hint of “if”. Kloofing is the everyman’s extreme sport here. A kloof is a gorge. You pick a gorge and hike up it—or sometimes, if it’s steep enough and with enough radical waterfalls, you can only hike/jump/swim down it. (Suicide is the ultimate Kloofing experience we hear—we’ll let you know once we’ve conquered that one.) We got to go Kloofing the other day with a few experts—some South African friends we’ve met through the church we’ve been attending.

Teastale Kloof. An increadible canyon decorated with flowers of otherworldly jacaranda-ish purple, yellow, and deep reds. About 30 meters across at it’s widest, we came across lots of little waterfalls and dozens of gorgeous cascades. We stopped at 3 or 4 of the most beautiful pools—deep enough to jump off the smooth, massive boulders. As we’re just emerging from winter, the water was take-your-breath-away cold! But the sun was hot enough that it felt absolutely delicious and refreshing. These pools, and almost gaudily decorated surrounding cliff walls are tucked away behind a private wine farm. Very few know about this place. It was the third time for one of our friends and we still got lost on the tortuous dirt tracks snaking throughout the vineyards, trees, thick bush, and sandy river beds.

Kloofing the other day was another loud blast of God’s creative and beautiful genius. What a stunningly beautiful place! (Which reminds me, the picture isn’t a classic kloofing kloof or otherwise related to this post—just a cool shot a friend, Jordan or Belinda McOwen, took of the mountains right here near Stellenbosch.)