It started with a training run...
The Hout Bay Triple Trouble began in 2005 — conjured up during an afternoon run up Suikerbossie.
There was a need for a long training run ahead of the upcoming Three Peaks Challenge, a view up the road towards Judas Peak, and somewhere along the way a decision was made: why not link three of Hout Bay's peaks together in a single run?
As it turned out, the journey was rather longer than predicted — but enjoyed by all. Numerous stops were made along the way to celebrate each beacon reached, and the Hout Bay Triple Trouble was born.
More than twenty years later, the run is still held in much the same spirit in which it began.
Start at Chapman’s Peak Hotel early on the first Saturday morning in October. Reach the beacons on Suther Peak, Judas Peak and Chapman’s Peak, returning to the start between each one.
Then, hopefully, return one final time with three mountains and roughly 41 kilometres behind you.
There are no checkpoints at the beacons, no marshals, no passport control and no visas. We rely entirely on the honour system — just you and your conscience.
And your sense of direction.
More about that later.
Mountains, weather and everything in between
The Triple Trouble was always intended to be a healthy mixture of tar and trail, uphill and downhill, mountains and valleys, and just about everything in between.
Over the years we've been treated to some of the finest displays Mother Nature has to offer, brilliant sunshine and thick mist, clear blue skies and looming clouds, spectacular springtime fynbos and whales splashing in the waters of the bay far below.
There isn't an officially prescribed line that you have to follow between the start and the three summit beacons. Over the years, those who know the mountains well have refined their routes remarkably close to the minimum possible distance.
Others have been considerably more... adventurous.
More than a finishing time
The Triple Trouble has never been strictly about records and times.
For some, there is an aesthetic to it — much like a rock climber finding beauty in a particular route or line, there is something deeply satisfying about finding the purest, most elegant line across the mountains.
For others, simply reaching that wooden table again after three peaks and 41 kilometres is achievement enough.
It's a personal challenge — one long day in the mountains, undertaken in the company of people who understand why voluntarily running up three of them seemed like a perfectly reasonable way to spend a Saturday.
And sometimes the best stories don't belong to the people who got there fastest.
THE PIKKER & WASHKANSKY CLUB
Celebrating excellence in geographical confusion since 2005.
With the advent of GPS watches and smartphones, things have frankly become quite boring in recent years. Fewer people disappear inexplicably over distant ridgelines and the race office has had far fewer stories to add to the folklore map.
Fortunately, we will always have the legends of Pikker and Washkansky to aspire to.
Every village has its heroes, its villains and, of course, its village idiot.
Luckily, ours has two.
I’m not one for dishing out unfounded abuse but after years of proving themselves worthy challengers to any GPS device, these two have deservedly earned their places in the history and legacy of the run. The fables and stories abound. True to any story passed down through the years their misadventures have grown beyond mythical proportions to praiseworthy status.
Rumour has it Washer almost ended up at the 12 Apostles hotel for Saturday afternoon tea, and Pikker repeatedly managed to get himself lost in the village streets, year after year. It’s a spectacle worth witnessing and a fine achievement considering the streets lie in a grid-like formation.
And that’s before he even reached the mountain trails.
More recently, Ralphs launched a spirited challenge for membership to this elite club after missing a turn, crossing a river considerably further upstream than anyone had anticipated (or even knew existed), running in the opposite direction down the opposite side of the river in an attempt to recover his route, and eventually negotiating horse jumps and farmers' fences to find his way back. His GPS track made for fascinating reading.
The lesson in all of this is actually quite important: there are no arrows or signboards showing you the way.
You are responsible for knowing where you're going (or not going). If you're unfamiliar with the mountains — or suspect you may possess the navigational instincts of one of our distinguished club members — study the route, download the GPS file and preferably do a few recce runs beforehand.
And whatever you do, should you find yourself in close proximity to Pikker, Washkansky or Wreck-It-Ralphs on the day:
Do not follow them.