Tsaranoro Reserve, Madagascar

I was buzzing with excitement as I hopped into the 4x4 for my ride to Camp Catta, nestled at the foothills of the Tsaranoro Massif within the Tsaranoro Reserve. The ride, as anticipated, was a rollercoaster, bouncing up and down along rough tracks carved deep with grooves from years of heavy traffic and potholes that could easily swallow a tyre.

I passed coastal lowlands near Taolagnaro, through the spiny forest of Berenty and into the highland savannah. The rugged ride turned into a smooth drive once on a tarmacked road. But it was short-lived as the 4x4 veered onto a dirt track for the final leg. Bracing myself against the jolt of every bump and dip, it was hard to focus on the scenery, but somehow, I still caught glimpses of small villages, neat rice paddies, and occasional clusters of lush green trees that stood out against the drier surroundings.

I rolled down my window, letting the cool highland breeze wrap around me, refreshing after the heat of the lowlands. I could feel the elevation in my bones; the temperature was dropping noticeably. Up here, in the hills, the days stay mild, but the nights can be surprising, sometimes dipping below 32°F (0°C). A reminder that even in a tropical country, altitude changes everything.

Arriving late afternoon, I settled into my hut, stretching out beneath the mosquito net, before drifting off to sleep. Waking early, I laced up my boots, grabbed my gear and met the guide leading me through a rigorous, all-day hike. 

Heading clockwise from the camp, the hike began on a narrow trail flanked by tall grasses and rice paddies. The terrain soon shifted, climbing steadily through brush and around large boulders. Then, the real work began. The steep ascent hit hard; my breathing grew laboured, my calves stung, and the sheer granite cliffs ahead made it clear we were only at the beginning. Their smooth, towering faces left me incredibly small.

At the mountain pass, I paused to take in the sweeping views of the rolling hills. The trail underfoot was uneven and scattered with loose rocks, making each step a calculated effort. Then, surprisingly, I found myself among palm trees and dense shrubbery, the trail briefly swallowed by vegetation. Luckily, my guide moved confidently through it, and before long, we’d cleared the thicket and begun another steep ascent.

This stretch was almost barren, save for some scrub clinging to the rocks. The weather was mild, but I was sweating hard, my heart pumping, my body temperature like a furnace. We detoured slightly toward a lookout point, where a jaw-dropping panorama of red, earthy terrain stained by the iron-rich laterite soil unfolded. I can see why Madagascar is often called the “Red Island.”

Nearby, Karambony, a commanding rock tower, rose sharply from the earth, its vertical face a magnetic draw for climbers. I could just make out the famous route “Tough Enough”, awaiting the next brave soul to scale it.

Eventually, the trail began to descend, and I was deeply relieved. I kept a tired but steady pace, finally returning to camp with my legs like jelly but my spirit buzzing. After scrubbing off the dust and sweat in a much-needed shower, I joined the other guests for dinner. We swapped stories over hearty plates, each of us glowing from the day's exertion. Later, I sat back and watched the sun dip behind the cliffs, feeling incredibly fortunate to have experienced the magnificence of Tsaranoro.