What do you do when an old friend returns from overseas, completely indoctrinated as a foreigner, and tells you he wants to see something wild, but not the usual camping or game park trip?

Just four hours north of Cape Town, it's still possible to wander the beaches of the West Coast in the footfalls of ancient Khoikhoi.

It's still possible to live off the land. In season, the kelp-filled rock pools are full of spiny kreef, split open and grilled shell down on hot coals, they're better than anything a gourmet restaurant can offer. Mussels and limpets cover the rocks and you can fish for galjoen, blacktail and kob in the gullies.

Or you could spend your time scratching for shiny stones among the washed-out pebbles at low tide and find shelter from the south-easter in a secret sea cave.

This is where I decided to take an old friend who'd been sailing yachts in the Mediterranean and off Australia for 10 years. In his own words, he's "part Saffa, part feral Aussie and part sea rat".

I thought he'd enjoy something relaxed, so I chose the Swart Tobie, a five-day slackpacking trail along the beaches, sea cliffs and farm roads of the West Coast near Koekenaap.

The first and last nights are spent at the Kliphuis Boesmansgrot, a base camp of rough wooden shacks, a stone amphitheatre built into a cave and warm showers alongside the Olifants River. The rest of the trail camps are basic, with long-drop loos and rough wind shelters, but not having to slog a full pack along a soft beach and looking forward to a braai and cold beer each night makes up for it.

"The Saffas have gone soft!" Tristan chuckled when I explained we'd have our kitbags, cold beers, braai meat, tents and comfy stretchers waiting for us at camp each night.

"So you don't carry a full hiking pack? Just water for the day?" he couldn't believe his salty ears.

"Yip. They don't do that in Oz?"

"Nah, mate, it's all about bivvy bags and billy cans down there."

Day one of the trail is about 18km and takes around six hours. It's unguided and fairly unspectacular. You simply keep the sea on your right and hug the coast as closely as possible, plodding south over long beaches, rocky headlands and jeep tracks. It might not have a lot of wow factor, but it's the perfect warm-up day to find your stride and click onto West Coast rhythms.

Tristan loved it and even remembered Brand se Baai (where the hike begins) from a South African fishing magazine he still subscribes to. "There was a photo of a guy holding a huge kob. Crazy to publish that! If I had a secret spot like this, I'd never tell anyone."

Luckily the beautiful bay has remained largely unspoilt and our tracks were the only ones we saw.

The second day is slightly shorter than the first. It's five easy-on-the-feet hours of vintage West Coast scenery - jagged, rocky bays and points, pounded by raw ground- swell, all cloaked in a misty breeze that has teeth. We spent a lot of time just up from the shore walking through a myriad succulents along a jeep track. I kept telling Trist how he should've come home a couple of months earlier, so we could've been there in flower season.

"Reckon it would've been carpeted, mate. Oranges and yellows." It was good to see he hadn't completely forgotten his homeland.

That night we fed him boerewors rolls and mieliepap to dig into his Saffa roots even more.

Days three and four feature fewer beaches and more raised sea cliffs, rocky bays and diamondiferous rock pools. Both are good seven-hour slogs, but there's so much "Wow, how hectic is that cliff?… How blue is the water in that bay?… How're those rocks?... Check out this cave?…" that you gladly risk sore calves.

As an added bonus, trail operator Wynand Wickens joined us for this section. He grew up on this coast and his knowledge of things old and West Coast is encyclopaedic. He took us through millions-of-years-old fossilised mangroves on a hill 40 metres above the surf, proving that the area was a warm-water sea in ancient times. He wove stories of mariners and strandlopers.

While the history lesson was interesting, it was the insights into the extensive diamond mining in the area that fascinated us.

Wynand explained the difference between shore- and sea-based mining operations. He pointed out where and how a diver would enter a gully, using his pipe (a giant vacuum really) to suck gravel from the seabed for sorting in a machine on shore. It was hard not to get swept up in it all - we found ourselves sifting through the pebbles below the high-water mark.

Wynand also pointed out rehabilitated mining areas, explaining the conservation philosophy of the companies with concessions in the area.

He was convincingly positive to the point where I questioned all I'd read and heard about how this stretch of coast is being ruined by mining.

The fourth night's campsite is just up from the water near the mouth of the Olifants River.

The birding is special, having spotted oystercatchers and other seashore birds on the previous days, we turned our attention to the waders. Flamingos and pelicans were promptly ticked, as were a hunting fish eagle and a large flock of African coots.

That night, campfire talk was of the warm shower back at the Klip-huis Boesmansgrot and heading home.

Five days is quite long for a traditional unsupported hiking trail, but with slackpacking, as long as the blisters are kept at bay and the weather is kind, it's easily manageable.

I think the hike got to my exiled friend. In his tent that night, I heard him mutter, "How good is this?"