Rocklands, June 2025 — Part 1

Arrival, Belonging, and the Start of the Fracture

This is a retrospective entry about a trip that began as an adventure and slowly transformed into something far heavier. It’s a story I’m still unpacking, and one that will likely span multiple entries. This first part focuses on how the trip came to be, the people involved, and the early days that carried both warmth and the first quiet signs of fracture.

The Idea and the People

The idea for this trip formed sometime between March and April. A small group of us—my regular climbing circle—decided to plan a ten-day bouldering trip to Rocklands in the Cederberg. The group consisted of Dan, Caitlyn, Nick Kuroga, Beth, Rachel, and myself.

Rocklands is something of a global mecca for bouldering. Climbers travel from all over the world to spend time there, drawn by world-class rock, short and beautiful walk-ins, crisp winter conditions, and a uniquely communal atmosphere. It’s one of those rare places where effort and reward feel perfectly balanced.

Several of us had been before. I had visited Rocklands the year prior on a shorter work-adjacent trip. Dan, Nick, and Rachel were also familiar with it. For Caitlyn and Beth, however, this would be their first experience of the place. That alone gave the trip a sense of anticipation and importance.

More than the climbing, though, this trip mattered because of the people.

Climbing is an inherently vulnerable sport. You fail publicly. You rely on others for encouragement, safety, and perspective. When you find a group where you feel emotionally safe—where you can be frustrated, excited, quiet, or expressive without judgement—it’s rare. Planning a long trip with that kind of group feels special.

At the time, Caitlyn and I were extremely close. In many ways, she was my best friend. That closeness brought depth and meaning to my life, but it also carried complexity—some of which had already begun surfacing before the trip even started.

Tension Before Departure

My previous visit to Rocklands in 2024 had, in hindsight, introduced some friction between Caitlyn and myself. It wasn’t about the climbing or the place itself, but rather about closeness, shared experiences, and feelings of missing out. The tension wasn’t dramatic, but it lingered quietly beneath the surface.

Looking back, it feels less like a problem that appeared suddenly and more like something that had been slowly building, waiting for the right conditions to surface fully.

Still, as the trip approached, excitement outweighed doubt. Flights were booked, accommodation chosen, logistics aligned. We were all looking forward to spending extended time together, away from the noise of daily life.

Arrival in Cape Town and the Journey North

We stayed over in Cape Town before heading north. Dan and I stayed at his flat, Caitlyn stayed with Nick, and Beth drove through from Stellenbosch.

This trip was my first time meeting Beth. She was immediately easy to be around—laid back, funny, and full of stories. I really enjoyed listening to her talk on the drive up to Rocklands, and it quickly became obvious why everyone held her in such high esteem. She’s a blast, and her presence added a lot to the dynamic of the group from the start.

The next morning we packed the cars and set off toward the Cederberg.

Arriving in Rocklands always feels like crossing into a different rhythm of life. We checked into the backpackers—simple dorm rooms, shared kitchen, communal dining space, and a central braai and fireplace area furnished with couches. It was the kind of place designed for conversation and connection.

Nick, Dan, and I shared one dorm. Beth and Caitlyn shared another. The setup felt easy and familiar.

The First Days on the Rock

The early days followed a comfortable routine. Wake up slowly. Pack pads. Hike into the boulder fields. Climb until tired. Hike out. Cook together. Light a fire. Talk late into the night.

From a climbing perspective, the first few days were exactly what Rocklands is known for. The easier climbs—around 6A to 6B+—were fun, manageable, and a great way to get used to the style of the rock. But the real excitement lay in the 7A range we started trying.

Caitlyn was an absolute beast on the rock—something that has always been true. She moved through climbs with confidence and power, often making quick work of problems that felt imposing to the rest of us. This has always been the case, even on our sport climbing trips, and it’s something I’ve long admired and aspired toward as a climber. Her movement, body awareness, and strength are genuinely impressive.

I struggled quite a bit on the 7A problems. And as Caitlyn began sending climbs relatively quickly, the group’s momentum often shifted forward. The psych to all sit and work through a problem with me tended to disappear, and we’d move on before I’d had the chance to really give some of those climbs proper attempts.

Strangely, at the time, I was okay with this.

It was more her group of friends than mine, and I was genuinely just happy to be there—happy to be part of the trip, part of the environment, and part of the experience. I didn’t resent the dynamic, even if it quietly reinforced a sense of being slightly on the periphery.

One evening we discovered a wood-fired jacuzzi—the “Tickle Tub”—hosted by the owners at a nearby residence. We spent hours filling it, waiting for it to heat up, overshooting the temperature, letting it cool again, laughing the entire time. It was chaotic, silly, and joyful. One of those evenings that feels suspended in time.

On the surface, everything looked right. Good climbing. Good weather. Good people.