Rock Shandy Safari
Tales and Tracks across Northern Namibia
7th – 23rd November, 2003
Author: Keith Martin.
55 Belmont Road, Twickenham, Middlesex TW2 5DA, U.K.
keith@borsuk.clara.co.uk keith.martin@rhul.ac.uk
Introduction
Why Namibia? I am surprised by the number of time
we have been asked that question. The bottom line for us was that we had left
our holidays until November and there are not that many parts of the world
where November is a good time to visit. We had never visited any part of Africa
before and had heard of several people making self-drive trips to Namibia. It
sounded easy to get round, likely to be quiet, and more importantly stable and
safe. We bought a guidebook, did some reading and the idea just grew and grew
until there was no other place we could possibly go.
Part I: Introduction
Planning
The October shelves of Foyles in London were not
particularly well-served with Namibian guides. We were successfully tempted
away from the ubiquitous Lonely Planet by a Bradt Travel Guide, which seemed
detailed and well written (or perhaps it was the Meerkats on the cover). This
proved an apocryphal purchase because in an unusual case of capitulation to
clever marketing, the Bradt Guide had been written by the director of a small
independent travel agent called Sunvil who operated out of Isleworth (just up
the road) and who wrote enough to convince us that they might be worth talking
to. What we eventually did was to book our rental car through Sunvil (they
offer an attractive insurance package where cars are insured in the U.K.),
booked our accommodation through Sunvil (primarily to save time – we chose the
venues and got them to arrange the booking) and booked our flights
independently (we got better fares on the Internet). Although we had to chase
them a bit to firm everything up at the start, our decision to use an agent
twice paid huge dividends later on the trip: firstly, when our bags failed to
arrive in Windhoek we immediately had a local ground representative who did all
the chasing for us and arranged to have them forwarded; secondly, when Avis
tried to rip us off at the end of the trip we were able to use Sunvil to sort
it out and get our money back. The only thing I was a little bit disappointed
in was that Sunvil seemed reluctant to provide an itemised bill that explained
all the costs – we were able to work out what the bill represented and hence
determine their fee (which was reasonable) however I don’t understand their
reluctance to be more transparent. Anyway – we’d recommend them heartily and
would use them again.
Namibia
Namibia lies in the southwest corner of the
African continent, propped up by South Africa, hemmed in by Botswana to the
east and Angola to the north. Contrary to the image portrayed by natural
history programmes, Namibia is not a country entirely made up of shifting
orange sand dunes covered in desert spiders that curl up in balls and spin down
cliffs of silica. The Namib Desert in fact only occupies a fairly narrow
coastal strip that runs the length of the country. It is a testament to the
diversity of Namibia that having been attracted to the country by the images of
said spiders, we ended up not even going to the desert, and left it for a very
certain “next time”. Instead we wanted to see a more “African” Namibia of rocky
Karoo, arid and moist savannah, and we definitely wanted to sit on a deck and
listen to hippos grunting. All our dreams were fulfilled.
People and Language
There aren’t many of the former and surprisingly
many of the latter! Namibia itself is split between the largely pastoral centre
and south, consisting of giant farms that appear to consist of nothing but bush
as you drive through them, and a northeastern corner of freehold small village
Africa. Outside of the small capital Windhoek, a spacious city set snugly in
the hills, the only other towns we passed through were small and homely. The
small white population of Namibia consist mainly of a mix of German and
Afrikaans speakers, and seem to still be the “owners” of most of the private
infrastructure that we dealt with as passing tourists. The whites were still
the bosses and the blacks formed the staff, with the notable exception of the
government- owned national parks. However everyone we met was friendly and
seemed keen that we enjoyed our trip. With a diversity of languages operating
in the background, English has become the common (and official) national tongue
and worked fine everywhere, although in fact few people that we met seemed to
use it as their first language.
Conditions
November is the tail end of the Namibian dry
season, which means that it can be hot and the landscape looks very parched.
However this makes good game viewing conditions as animals gather at permanent
waterholes. We were slightly concerned that it would be too hot in November,
but these fears proved quite unfounded. It did warm up in the middle of the
day, but never intolerably, and so we just relaxed through the hottest hours
and otherwise found the temperatures very pleasant. The other fear in November
was the rains might break. However despite a few downpours in Etosha, most days
featured swirling building clouds that had the locals staring up more in hope
than in any real expectation.
Politically Namibia was stable at the time of our
visit. The most sensitive area that we visited was the Caprivi Strip, which was
both the front in the Angolan War and more recently subject to guerrilla
activities. The Caprivi had calmed down and tourism was re-establishing itself,
with a real hope amongst the locals that there would be lasting peace.
Elsewhere the only political tensions appeared to mount from possible pressures
relating to government intervention in private land holding. This raised itself
mainly in concerns about the long-term future about some of the lodges and game
parks rather than any immediate problems.
From an environmental perspective we were
impressed by some of the initiatives in Namibia to secure wildlife, with an
apparent genuine recognition that wildlife represents a significant economic
asset. The conservation area established around the Erongo Mountains is a
recent initiative to secure habitat for Black Rhino, and there was talk at
Hobatere about the possible impact of extensions of Etosha National Park. On
the Caprivi, however, the land use pressures of an expanding poor population
has led to a denuding of forest areas and there were real fears about the
future of Mahango Game Reserve. It does not seem sustainable in the long term
for Namibia to maintain the line demarked by the Veterinary Fence, especially
as the tensions north of this fence are only going to exacerbate in the future.
Whatever happens, we wish all Namibians the best of luck – they have a country
worth working hard to protect. It is big and beautiful and there should be room
for everyone.
Irritations
None of the fears that we had beforehand actually
materialised. The biggest one was weather, and we managed to escape both
significant rains and any excessive heat. The Caprivi was largely devoid of any
mosquitoes (note that we were there at the tail end of the dry). We were not
subjected to any human hassles. We faced the usual dilemmas about getting
chased by groups of kids demanding pens, sweets etc. After taking a hard line
at the start, we melted and did give away a few pens and a few sweets to kids
on the access roads that we drove regularly – it somehow only seemed fair as we
were ploughing back and forth along their front yards. In Windhoek we did have
problems finding a pharmacy open on a Saturday afternoon – and even that was
only a hassle because people kept giving us incorrect advice about where we
could go and what would be open (including the hospital). I guess that could
happen almost anywhere…
Itinerary
We were constrained to a two-week visit and so
were keen not to try to do “too much” and to make sure that we stopped at most
locations for more than one night. There is a fairly natural first time visitor
northern loop that many people seem to follow. We deviated from this in two
ways. Firstly we decided not to visit Swakopmund and the Namib Desert, as this
area looked like it would be worth taking a further five days to cover well and
so would need a third week. Instead we chose to visit the western Caprivi,
which really needed a day of driving to access. We also extended our Etosha
visit by going to Hobatere, to the west of the park. The itinerary was thus:
7th - 8th Nov Windhoek (Daan Viljoen)
8th-10th Nov Erongo Wilderness Lodge
10th-12th Nov Hobatere Lodge
12th-16th Nov Etosha
16th-17th Nov Rundu (n’Kwazi)
17th-20th Nov Mahango (Ndhovu, Popa Falls)
20th-22nd Nov Waterberg
22nd-23rd Nov Windhoek (Avis Dam)
There were no regrets about any of these decisions
and we hope that a future visit will allow us to spend carefully rationed time
elsewhere. Our four nights in Etosha proved wise – it would be hard to imagine
spending less time there. The distances up on the Caprivi also meant that our
decision to base in Mahango for three nights and not push further into the area
was a good one. We had wondered about whether it was necessary to spend the
first and last nights in Windhoek. Our “no show” luggage made the first night
decision an exceptionally good one. Staying the last night there also made
departure day much more relaxing (as well as being surprisingly productive for
birds).
Transport and Accommodation
We arranged our car hire through Sunvil, who used
Avis. We had requested a Corolla, but ended up with a Polo, which proved to be
absolutely fine. Road conditions throughout Namibia were good and the dirt
tracks rarely corrugated. The Polo even
performed well on the short sandy access tracks to several of the lodges on the
Caprivi, although when gravel had built up on some of the dirt roads we did
have to watch our clearance – certainly not enough of a problem to have
required four-wheel drive. Driving was easy and roads were well signed. We
carried a spare jerry can of fuel, but did not need it in the end.
We reserved accommodation through Sunvil, having
reviewed information on the Internet and in the Bradt Travel Guide. Information
on the lodges are include in the narrative. Prices were extremely reasonable
from a U.K. perspective (expensive from a Namibian perspective) with most
nights at half/full board not costing us much more than a bed and breakfast
would in the U.K. (Hilltop House was an excellent (and very scenic) Windhoek
base from which to enter and leave Namibia, although cheaper accommodation can
certainly be found there. Erongo Wilderness Lodge was stunningly beautiful and
restful. Hobatere was a great adventure and very good for wildlife. We stayed
at all three Etosha lodges (all of which had their own charms). We overnighted
near Rundu at n’Kwazi, which was beautifully situated on the river. We chose
Ndhovu lodge for its proximity to Mahango, but it proved almost as good a
wildlife spot on its own. Finally, we stopped over at Waterberg, which was the
most comfortable of the government camps and a special place in its own right.
We ate most nights in the lodges and carried our own portable larder for snacks
and lunches, hiring (free for Sunvil clients) a water carrier and an eski from
a garage in Windhoek.
Relevant Reading
[1] Sasol
Birds of Southern Africa, Third edition, I. Sinclair, P. Hockey and W.
Tarbolton, Struik, 2002.
[2] Field Guide to Mammals of Southern Africa, Third edition, C. and T. Stuart, Struik,
2002.
[3] Namibia:
the Bradt Travel Guide, 2nd
edition, C. McIntyre, Bradt, 2003.
[4] Namibia
Map 2003, Namibian Roads
Authority, 2003.
[5] Road Map
of Etosha National Park, Ministry of Environment and Tourism, 2002.
[6] South African Birding: Birding Resources
for Southern Africa, http://www.sabirding.co.za
[7] C. Hines, Namibia’s Caprivi Strip,
Bulletin of the African Bird Club, Vol 3.2, September 1996.
[8]
Various trip reports (P. and C. Benstead, K. Shepherd and A. and C. Hall), http://www.birdtours.co.uk
[9] D. Hanford, Trip Report: Namibia, October-November
1996.
[10]
C. Buckton, Namibia 14-30 September 2000, http://www.homepage.virgin.net/cliff.buckton/birding/Namibia
[11]
R. White, Namibia-the Living Desert 19th December 2002 – 8
January 2003.
[12]
C. Wagner, How to find the Namibian Endemics, http://www.BirdingGermany.de
After some deliberation we decided to just take
one field guide, and have no regrets about choosing the Sasol guide [1]. It was
easy to use, was accurately illustrated and did its job of carefully navigating
us through an unfamiliar avifauna. Despite reservations about photographic
guides, we also can thoroughly recommend [2] as a guide for mammals. This is a
very informative book and we didn’t see anything better of this size, even in
the bookshops in Namibia. The book that initiated the trip was [3] and it
proved a faithful companion even if it has a rather frustrating organisation,
which left the index the most well-thumbed of the pages. There is even a
compact and useful little wildlife guide at the back. The maps [4] and [5] were
more than sufficient for our purposes – there aren’t many roads out there, so
you don’t need any more sophisticated maps unless you are going off-road. By
far the most useful Internet site was [6] as an introduction to birding areas,
and [7] is a good introduction to the Caprivi. There are a plethora of Namibia
trip reports on the web. All are worth reading, mainly to get a flavour for the
country rather than for detailed advice. The mammals in particular are quite
mobile, so where one person saw an elephant is unlikely to be where you will
see one! As always these reports vary from diehard twitch reports to the rather
more leisurely, but a few of those that we read in advance are listed [8]-[12].
Guiding and Effort
We were self-guided for most of the trip. We
concentrated on quality rather than quantity, so moved around a little less and
rested a little more than some of the trip reports that we read! At Hobatere
Lodge we used guides for a morning walk and the night drives (there is no
option) and found them to be excellent – they knew their calls and taught as
quite a few (especially Orlando). Steve Braine was very useful to chat to and
gave us quite a few tips for Etosha (most of which we blew!) Roy at Ndhovu was
also able to tell us quite a bit about the birds in his local patch. As first
time visitors to Namibia we discovered that it is one of these countries where
all you have to do is get to a few good parts of the country and let the
wildlife come to you. You don’t need to try too hard at all.
Nomenclature and sequence
The nomenclature and sequence in the rest of the
report follows [1] and [2].
Acknowledgements
On planning, thanks are due to Chris and Chantal
at Sunvil for responding promptly to our queries and fixing our bookings. On
the ground in Windhoek our biggest thanks goes to Sabena at Wildnerness
Safaris, who as Sunvil’s local rep did all the chasing to retrieve our missing
luggage. Thanks also to Alan at Hilltop House for trying his best to help.
Steve and Louise at Hobatere were very welcoming and were our favourite hosts,
and the staff at Hobatere all deserve thanks for running such a great outfit.
Similarly Roy and Jake made us welcome as the only guests at Ndhovu, and Ceclia
and her staff absolutely excelled in the kitchen there.
Part II: Diary
Friday 7th November
Having left behind a gloriously mild autumn afternoon in London, we took our seats in a baking overbooked aircraft and were propelled into the sky for a night flight to Johannesburg. We sat next to a Puerto Rican called Manuel who bore more than a passing resemblance to Bill Clinton. Manuel was an entomologist in the business of malaria prevention, and was en route from a health conference at the United Nations in Geneva to Zambia. Anita was just recovering from a bug, and I felt I might have the beginnings of a slight fever. So the ensuing discussion of world epidemics, incurable diseases, DDT poisoning and pervasive mosquito problems was perhaps not the perfect travel conversation. Manuel cautioned the limitations of malarial treatments, but simultaneously the need to take them. He then informed us that he no longer bothered himself. Had he had malaria? Yes – twice - and it had been awful. I toyed with my airline dinner, listlessly turning it with a plastic fork…
Morning broke over Zambia and Africa finally emerged from
the low clouds above Johannesburg, a surprisingly green city from the air. And
cool on the ground at just twenty degrees, not that we had much time to
experience it as we made a mad dash across the terminal, squeezing past queues
at the x-ray machines, to make our connection to Windhoek. The connecting
flight was almost empty and had the atmosphere of a short commuter run. We
dozed above the Kalahari Desert, and woke as our plane spiralled down towards a
seemingly remote landing strip. However, the landing strip had a smart modern
terminal building, and all the trimmings of a bigger busier place. A welcoming
party stood by the aircraft to greet some burly officials in military uniforms.
Good morning Namibia.
|
A Tale of Arrival All
that ends well does not necessarily begin well. It is around 09.00 at Hosea
Kutako International Airport, the visitors’ gateway to Namibia. The sun glares
down from a perfect sky onto the concrete buildings and swinging palms, both of
which are something of a surprise amidst an arid plain speckled by low thorny
shrubs that is enclosed by a ring of low desert hills. A small man with a
severe limp is scrupulously compiling a list of tiny chips and scratches on the
otherwise immaculate paintwork of our rental car. He marks them on a detailed
line drawing of a vehicle. It seems an unlikely vocation - to spend your days
in search of such minor imperfection – and even unlikelier that there is any
point. We are tired and I am feeling a bit long-haul worn and sick. We also
have no luggage. One bag is apparently still in London; of the other there is
no trace. The computer does not know of it, therefore it no longer exists. One
bag has our clothes, the other has our medicine. Which one no longer exists?
When will the other come? Nobody knows today - but we can always call again
tomorrow. We expected a Corolla, we have a Polo. The Polo is bigger than a lion but smaller than a rhino. They are
both white and have four wheels, so this is probably the least of our current
worries. We might as well leave this frustrating place of no answers in our car
of minor imperfections, and drive the 42 kilometres to Windhoek. So we do. The
road is straight and empty. The sky is azure and vast. The hills are old and
thorny, folding back from the edge of the Kalahari, hiding a small city.
Strange birds perch on wires. It is a new place and we almost feel like new
people, momentarily unburdened of personal things, relatively naked, driving
into Eden. We leave the car in a dirty lay-by next to a sign to Avis Dam. It is
harsh and hot, and the dusty track quickly drains us of our energy. Some women
move in the distance towards the edge of an almost empty reservoir, plastic
water containers carefully balanced on their heads. A drab brown and cream bird
makes an ugly noise from a dense acacia. It’s all too oppressive and we return
to the car. As we enter the spacious city a smart traffic policeman sweeps us
like vermin from our desired route. In the rear mirror a cavalcade of flashing
lights and black limousines sweep an anonymous dignitary (who turns out to be
the Brazilian President, or one of his cohort) into town. The back streets go
up and down, hairpin around, first gear, handbrake, turn around. A road crew
stare at us, temporarily downing pick and shovel. The steep street smell of
baking tar. A thick metal gate is scraped open. Sanctuary - a house on a hill. |
Our decision to spend the first night in Windhoek certainly paid off as we were able to employ the full facilities of telephone and local travel representative to begin the hunt for our luggage. Delayed luggage is a frustration, but missing luggage a concern, especially as we were not sure exactly what it was that we might need to replace before heading out into remoter parts. We relaxed, probably too much, once we had made contact with Sabena from Wilderness Safaris, who promised to take up the case with vigour. This allowed us to make a small shopping trip to Windhoek, buying a few emergency pieces of clothing and some basic supplies. The capital had a very laid-back atmosphere, busy with Friday shoppers and only a few tourists. It could have been almost anywhere in the world, but perhaps most likely a small country town in southern Australia. Windhoek's main sight, the Lutheran Christus Kirche, was open for viewing, but we got the distinct impression that the rotund host lost almost any interest in showing us anything as soon as he realised we were not German speakers. Instead we amused ourselves chasing yellow-headed Namibian Rock Agamas around the large Equestrian Statue, dedicated to some Germans for some acts of historic colonial heroism that it is probably not prudent to contemplate too closely.
The veranda of Hilltop House offered an impressive birds' eye view of the eastern suburbs in the late afternoon, white buildings with red roofs, nestled beneath a barren ridge, the valley pocketed by in scattered suburban greenery, the dry river bed marked by tall feral eucalyptus trees. Little Swifts, Bradfields Swifts and Rock Martins soared high above the city, occasionally sweeping low over the roof of the house, and in the case of both the former and latter, dramatically dropping in with breathtaking deceleration to feathery nests in the balcony rafters outside our room. The scene was just as interesting after dark, when lights dotted the valley below and the distant rumble of traffic was accompanied by the high pitched chirping of cicadas. With no news of the bags, we dined at the nearby Joe's Place, where all of white Windhoek appeared to have gathered under the thatched canopies of a spacious outdoor bar, drinking German style beer and eating from a menu that bore more than a passing resemblance to my field guide to the mammals of Southern Africa. It was beneath the stuffed baboons and dim lanterns of Joe's Beerhouse that Anita sampled our first Rock Shandy - an icy drink with a slightly medicinal taste, whose ingredients we had yet to pin down. Joe's Rock Shandy quenched the thirst, soothed the pains of the day and set a benchmark for the trip.
Saturday 8th November
|
Breakfast Sunlight
streams into the airy bedrooms, illuminating the frameprints of elegant
antelopes, shining the wooden floorboards, casting sharp shafts of light onto
the jars of natural soaps and reed basketware in the bathrooms. Outside by the
pool an elegant woman in the prime of middle age drinks a cup of coffee by the
small pool, etching in her diary, pulling her sunglasses disapprovingly down
her nose when some guests of lesser quality intrude briefly onto their veranda.
She returns to her writing, rising from her chair only when a tall dark man in
the uniform of a safari guide arrives in pressed shorts and flannel shirt and
requests her bags. Alan, the host, rushes between the kitchen and the rooms
with trays of muesli, yoghurt, fresh fruit, jam and coffee. Some of his kitchen
staff have not shown up again, and he's feeling slightly harassed, which is
exactly not the reason why he chose to make his living here. The mechanical
scratching of weaverbirds emanates from the dense shrubbery beneath the local
summit on which the giant house stands, gazing down on the waking city. The guests
in number two have lost their bags. It happens all the time. No doubt they'll
turn up by lunchtime, as they usually do. It's getting hot and Alan looks
disappointedly at the sky, where tiny fluffy clouds show no indication of rain.
It's been so very dry this year and Alan needs rain. Namibia needs rain. His
prize Germans Shepherd's need fed. The dishes need to be collected. He needs to
phone the airport. Someone else has to pay their bill. Hilltop House is at its
busiest first thing in the morning. |
Of course the bags had not turned up by the morning. Everyone believed that the delayed bag would be in Windhoek by about 11.00 and that hopefully the bag that did not exist would do the same. Maybe we should have gone shopping, but instead we went to Daan Viljoen.
There is a sense in which much of Namibia is carved into a series of small zoos. These are mostly referred to as "game parks", and it is a matter of somewhat subjective judgement as to whether any animal that you encounter in these parks is truly "wild". Daan Viljoen is a state-owned game park to the west of Windhoek, and basically allows easy public access to a small tract of land that is very typical of the rocky ranges surrounding Windhoek. We arrived at the gates of Daan Viljoen at perhaps a little too late in the morning for it to be at its best. We had to complete an impressive amount of paperwork for a large and jovial woman, heavily pregnant, before being admitted to the grounds, and soon tested out the Polo on the 6.5 kilometre track marked "game drive". Still feeling slightly under the weather, and rather anxious about the fate of our luggage and indeed the rest of the trip, this rather dramatic ascent and descent of some of Daan Viljoen's rocky ridges in blinding sunshine, was probably a little more than we were expecting from our first proper outing in the Polo. We learned a few rather worrying things about the Polo's clearance on this drive, and undoubtedly added a number of new minor imperfections to the well documented list, however what we did not realise at the time was that this drive was to be by far the most challenging of our travels. The test of nerves and distinct lack of birds on the hostile ridges of the game drive rather dominated the pleasure of seeing our first southern African large mammals. Although these were generally sighted singly and at a distance on this lofty track, they were all species that we would later see closer, wilder and in greater peace of mind.
In contrast to the high adventure of the game drive, the heart of Daan Viljoen was a very civilised small dam and reservoir, with ample parking and a series of small accommodation huts and braai sites. It was here, in the shade of the trees overhanging the water, that our Namibian bird list lurched off the mark. A leisurely stroll along the reedy bank provided an excellent introduction to many of the birds that we would see throughout the later stages of the trip. Meanwhile the stream of weekend trippers steadily increased, with groups of teenagers in matching brightly coloured uniforms and hats assembling around smoking fireplaces and loud cassette recorders. The small swimming pool proved to be the main attraction, and distant screams of laughter from the large concrete tub carried across the open camping area, where a Lilac-breasted Roller swept in a flash of colour between the fence posts and a Crimson-breasted Shrike blazed above us in a tall acacia.
We returned to Hilltop House at lunchtime, in full expectation of almost any type of news, including no news at all. It was the latter. Nobody had heard anything, Alan was gone, Sabena's phone engaged. A large pile of new bags lay in the hallway, but all belonged to new guests and not to us. Eventually we reached Sabena on the telephone, who told us that she had a man in Johannesburg Airport currently searching the basement for our bags. It all sounded rather unpromising and we paced around the veranda of Hilltop House, scarcely enjoying the view or the cup of tea. Should we stay or should we go? Would they come or would they not? Why were my anti-malarials not in my hand luggage? Why had Anita opted for a prescription malaria treatment that nobody in Namibia had heard of? Did we even need these drugs at all? And then at last there was a breakthrough. My bag had been found in Jo'burg and would be delivered on Sunday. It was the bag with the clothes - not the bag with the drugs...
And so began a somewhat fraught and utterly unsuccessful attempt to find a pharmacy open in Windhoek on a Saturday afternoon. Just don't get caught the way we did with Saturday lunchtime closing. Nothing was open. Nobody knew anything that would be open. Even the hospitals didn't know if the pharmacies would open. We found a pharmacy that opened at 5pm, or maybe 6pm or maybe 7pm. Sabena urged as to go rather than to stay, which meant that we really had to leave half an hour ago, with no medicines, no bags, off into a wilderness where one bag may follow the next day and another would be increasingly beyond our abilities to search for. To stay? To go? The coin was only ever going to land one way up. So we left.
Sixty-six kilometres north, sixty-four kilometres west, seventy-three kilometres north-west. The first two legs on fast bitumen roads, passing a few trucks and a bright blue pickup carrying about 20 laughing men, then nothing but the occasional car speeding past us on its way to the coast at Swakopmund. First the ridge of Windhoek hills to the east, and then increasingly a flat landscape, just miles of thorn bush. Baboons by the side of the road, hornbills and Purple Rollers perched on the tops of taller trees. The third leg was on a smooth dirt track, broad and only slightly ribbed, requiring occasional careful negotiation of ridges of sand, but otherwise easy but relatively slow driving. However, looking ahead was an ominously darkening sky, dusky streaks indicating scattered showers ahead on either side. Then occasional flashes over the distant Waterberg plateau, while a creamy light shafted divinely between a descending sky and the boulders of the approaching Erongo Mountains. We briefly rejoined a bitumen road before tracking west for the last few kilometres, enjoying the increasingly dramatic cloudscapes. A line of motorcycles sped past us, headlights penetrating both the dusk and dust. Finally we crossed a manned conservancy checkpoint and immediately turned off into a small car park, disturbing a huge Black-chested Buzzard-eagle from its perch, and were met by a smiling guide in an open truck. He delivered us the final half kilometre, driving improbably up, and over, a steep granite boulder that formed the entrance to a narrow pass into a little gorge, which cut between two massive granite outliers. The gorge was only two hundred metres long and opened out into a broad bowl surrounded by rocky hills, at the front of which nestled the discreet village of huts that formed Erongo Wilderness Lodge. We reached it just in time, as heavy droplets spattered from the sky and smashed onto the wooden boardwalk that weaved between the huts and the road.
The shower did not last long, but its passing marked a change in our fortune. When we climbed up the narrow path to Erongo's panoramic restaurant we were greeted with great tidings from the south. Our bags had both now been located. One was in Jo'burg, the other in Windhoek, and they would be delivered the next day. The lone spotlight illuminating a distant drinking pool (an eye into the Namibian night) never looked brighter, the wild whooping of the nightjars never sounded purer (whup whip), the Rock Shandies from the bar never tasted fresher (one part lemonade, one part soda water, several ice cubes and a dash of Angostura). Relief is the sweetest of emotions.
Sunday 9th November
We awoke to an astonishing roar, echoing two, three, maybe four times around the walls of the gorge. Baboons, acknowledging the light of another day. At first light everything was ochre. The massive granite cliffs of the gorge glowed early orange only at the summit. The bush at the mouth of the gorge was gently touched by shafts of morning spreading steadily over the land. Strange jerky bird calls squeaked from the thorny acacias, lovebirds rattled from trees high up the gorge wall and a tiny Klipspringer antelope bounded across the entrance track and vanished amongst the boulders. Damara and Monteiro's Hornbills were amongst the early risers, as were the sprightly Rockrunners, sprinting between grassy thickets across the stonework of the gorge entrance.
At 7.00 we joined a number of other guests for a morning coffee and early walk. From the commanding viewpoint of the restaurant veranda, the bushveld seemed alive with hundreds of birds pouring to and from a tiny waterhole, some one hundred metres distant. The bulk of these were drab Larklike Buntings, which seemed to gather in significant flocks wherever there was water. A Dwarf Python was spotted, coiled around a dead tree. It quickly vanished into a thicket, but was later relocated beneath the surface of the waterhole, hiding, waiting for the right bunting to come in to drink. Our guide regaled various anecdotes (some bordering on the unpleasant) concerning the laxative powers of native plants, while he took us along a series of indistinct tracks. These lead first around the back of the lodge buildings, then through the scrub and up onto the spine of one of the granite ridges, steadily ascending for increasingly impressive views over a moonscape of rock and thornveld. Dassies were the main mammal highlight, rather amusing rabbit sized animals who mostly basked on exposed rock ledges, occasionally scampering across the rocks or even clambering amongst the branches of the larger bushes. Higher up the ridge we came across several solitary rounded boulders, with tiny fig trees protruding improbably from seams in the rock. A small cairn stood on the summit. There was little evidence of human settlement in any direction, save for the straight lines of bush roads and the distant iron rooftops of Omaruru township. Alpine Swifts reeled overhead and Rock Kestrels hunted over the lodge beneath us. Breakfast was in the end a late meal, but one exceedingly well earned.
Back at our hut we found one bag! (And not the one we had expected either.) Anita's bag had shown up, ending the medical crisis (if not the clothing crisis). All sorts of useful treasure appeared, including camera lenses, contact lenses, anti-malarial drugs. Feeling a bit more comfortable, we relaxed on the veranda. The huts at Erongo were beautifully designed: a combination of thatch, mesh and cane, attached to stone bathrooms built into the slope of the gorge. A shower with a view, even a scenic sink, and a veranda to die on. If we were better at relaxing we could have spent the whole day sitting in the cane chairs, watching the clouds build up above the canyon...
At midday we foolishly attempted a walk. It was hot, but not impossibly so. The sand was dazzlingly bright, shadows were short and cicadas piped louder than any birds. Two Grey Hornbills perched close to the trunk of a small tree, eyes lolling and beaks panting apart. If they couldn't hack it, what were we doing out there? We supped our water regularly, but this was an astonishingly saturating atmosphere, which sucked the moisture rapidly from our bodies. We beat a retreat to the shady security of the main lodge, and watched animals better equipped than us struggle equally. Bright orange and navy agamas hid under the rocks and made selective darts between protective crevices. A strangely cute Dassie Rat also boldly crept out from cover and reached up on its rear legs to nibble delicate shoots. Meanwhile Laughing Doves, Cinnamon-breasted Rock Buntings and Rosy-faced Lovebirds briefly drank from the salty lick that overflowed from the main lodge building. Supping a cup of tea we let the main heat pass.
|
The
Tail End of the Day It
is late afternoon when we all pile into a bizarre three-tier truck and set off
to explore the back roads of Erongo Wilderness Lodge. First stop is a fairly
freshly deceased Kudu, but the tracker cannot make up a sufficiently exotic
tale of predation (it had a disease apparently) and so we move on. Now we are
hurtling through open scrub at a speed somewhat in excess of ideal game
viewing. A small party of warthog scatter to the right, a group of Kudu gallop
to the left. We stop for some Ostrich, although the large German at the rear is
somewhat scathing and suggests that anyone who has been to Etosha could not
possibly find the birds worth stopping for. We pass waterholes full of pigeons.
A startling cackle at the edge of the road is a colourful Black Korhaan, tiny
proud bustard. A francolin runs across the road, a Steenbok stares out our
passing, nervously. Is this what some call "safari" or just a drive
in the bush? The sky is almost black, yet the sun shines on, a golden, wild, end-of-day
sun. The track crosses a broad sandy river bed and ends. We continue on foot,
winding between rocks to a small cave where ancient rock art featuring
recognisable animals can clearly be seen. Frank claims two people are having
sex in one sketch, but we are less than convinced. Someone has etched a German
name deep into the rock - not so ancient, and not so art. Low light catches the
boulder-clad hills to the north as a pair of Verreaux's Eagles soar away from a
fiery sunset to the west. Cameras try to capture the last rays of light. Frank
produces a bowl of peanuts and cold drinks. Beer, rocks, sunset, sky, breeze,
silence, breathe in... It is hard to absorb, this magnificently fragile moment.
We know we will remember. But we know we will forget. |
Back at the lodge was bag number two. The luggage trouble had been sorted (thank you, Sabena). The clothes were here, as was tripod, diary, several books, insect repellent, sun hat, travelling stuff. Did we really need all this? And strangely so was an unfamiliar camping mat - strapped to the backpack. From having almost no possessions, we now had more than we had left with...
The evening atmosphere at Erongo was strangely affected by the arrival of four British birders on a commercial Birdquest tour. They arrived in a combat unit, quickly taking out a Freckled Nightjar with their tape recorder and then marching up to dinner, capturing and occupying the restaurant without as much as a passing greeting to any of the other guests. They talked loudly and ad nauseum over dinner about the state of farming in Britain, the world fuel crisis, South American birding locations and albatrosses. Their conversation could have been interesting had it not filled the entire lodge, percolating all other conversations, saturating the still evening, frighteningly devoid of passion or joy. It was clear that they were not on a holiday, but on a campaign. Namibia would be conquered and the Hartlaub's Francolin would fall. When they retired, the other guests audibly breathed with relief and shared some serene minutes on the veranda overlooking the bush. The cicadas took over the rhythm of the night, and peace was restored as the birders slept.