Russell, Roger, and I were heading to Bainskloof for a camping weekend in the mountains. The journey was already a triumph; we were in such high spirits that when "What the World Needs Now Is Love" came on the radio, we blasted the volume, pulled over to the side of the road, and performed a full-throttle celebratory dance in the dust.
After a glorious, lingering swim in the river, we finally reached the campsite entrance. It was well after 8:00 PM—the strict cutoff time when the wilderness gates are closed and locked for the night.
We stood before the towering fence, miles from any other civilization, and faced a grim reality: we were stranded. Refusing to let the night end in the car, we resolved to "infiltrate" our own campsite. What followed was a precarious, sweating, multi-stage operation. We hoisted heavy coolers, tangled tents, and sleeping bags over the high wire, clambering up and over like a very poorly coordinated SWAT team.
It took a considerable amount of time and effort to get the gear and the first two of us over. Finally, it was Roger’s turn. He made the climb, navigated the drop, and landed heavily on the "inner" side of the fence. As he stumbled back to regain his footing, his shoulder thudded against the massive gate.
With a slow, effortless creak, the gate swung wide open.
It hadn't been locked. It was just... closed. We had spent forty-five minutes risking our necks and our gear to scale a mountain fortress that was, in reality, welcoming us in with an unlocked door. I suppose the world does need love, but that night, what we really needed was to just try the handle.
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