RICHTERSVELD AND NAMIBIA
Sometimes you just have to go solo
Do you prefer travelling solo? Yes I know, it’s not for everyone. If something goes wrong, it’s just you. For most of us it’s good to get some ‘me’ time in, but there’s no mistaking that it’s also fun to have at least someone during the day to point stuff out to or have a conversation with now and then. Recently I had the opportunity to unplug and complete a bucket list thing with a bit of solitude and the wilderness.
PURPOSE, MEANING AND JOY Due to a happy confluence of opportunities and an unfortunate withdrawal at the last minute by some poor soul, I had found space on the last trip for the year of a Faces of the Namib tour.We’d be privileged to see the New Year in somewhere in the fabled Sperrgebiet (German for ‘Forbidden Area’). Being able to visit the world’s oldest desert, that for a very long time had been absolutely off limits, has long been right at the top of my list of things I wanted to do. My plan was simple and was sparsely formulated around leaving Cape Town on the 21st of December, include some old and new to me places on the way there and back, be in Solitaire by the 28th to do the Faces of the Namib trip; and to return on Monday the 9th of January for my first client – I’m an executive coach and team effectiveness facilitator. I also intended to use the time to reflect on the year and set some goals for 2017. I had a theme for the trip: Purpose, Meaning and Joy. The journey was both to experience and appreciate them on the trip and to create some insights for 2017 about them. What is it about deserts that are so compelling? There’s something about being able to see the massive vistas of rocks and sand under all the moods of the sun or carpets of stars. They are the oceans of the land with many mysteries and rewards.They demand some preparation and a good serviceable vehicle because they are harsh, remote and unpopulated. And without care, they are not to be trifled with. I admire anything that can make its living in them, and that includes the people as much as the flora and fauna. If they were a movie character they’d be those old trees in Lord of the Rings. Massive, ancient, ever-changing yet immovable, sensitive, mysterious and spiritual.
THE PRACTICAL SIDE
To carry me through this inner and outer journey I was going alone with my diesel ‘backpack.’ I have a 2006 Pajero 3.2 SWB. Because I came to adventure travels from a motorcycling background, where space is at an absolute premium, even though this is a SWB, it was cavernous compared to what I was used to. However, having 10 times the carrying capacity, I like the approach of simple and adequate. The list of absolute necessities was a bit short: If I had to rearrange that list to fit in with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, I think ice-cold beer should move up a ring or two? Just days before leaving I managed to find a drawer system on Gumtree, purpose built for my Pajero SWB. It is a thing of functional beauty and it’s sole role in life is to reduce stress. I’m surprised you can’t claim for it from Discovery Health!
AND SO THE JOURNEY BEGINS
For me, setting off and settling into a trip does not happen immediately. I find that it takes a few days to properly get into the scheme of things.When I set off, I am often too eager to get going and too stressed worrying about what I forgot or whether the plan was going to work. I made it to the West Coast near Lutzville as the sun was setting, just stopping at the first available sheltered spot. Not much to make mention of the place, other than I had been warned not to lose the instructions for folding up those pop-up tents. How hard could it be, I wondered? Pretty tough, it turned out. I dare anyone to do it the first time without instructions or having seen it done (It is indeed a deeply humbling experience to try and do it without the instructions. – Jaco). The West Coast Eco-Trail is a fabulous track that winds its way up this fabled coast and seldom strays far from a sea view. There are some sand sections that shouldn’t bother any 4x4, and it’s relatively easy going with the typical West Coast feeling. I always get the sense that being barefoot, speaking with a bggghey and listening to rugby on the radio is mandatory around those parts. Sadly, a few hours of winding my way up the coast with frequent stops for some bird spotting, I kept hearing what I thought was my front right shock giving notice. Crawling under to check at some point, nothing looked wrong,but over on the left side, life wasn’t very good. The left front CV boot had a small hole that was leaking all the precious grease that’s supposed to live in there and spattering it around the various bits of the wheel well and suspension! All had been checked just a few days earlier when I had mounted a new set of tyres. I doubt any damage had been done, but this was going to turn into a serious problem if left unattended.
MAKING A PLAN
Abandoning the route before the Groenrivier section was a bit of a downer, but I had no other option than to head for Springbok via Garies. Even with the car up on the lift in Springbok, the boot problem was obvious. However, the noise from the shocks couldn’t be confirmed, all seemed tight and well. Sorting out the boot problem was not going to be an issue, I would just have to stay overnight whilst parts came from Vanrhynsdorp so that I would get the boot changed in the morning and I should be off before lunch. However, if I wanted a new set of shocks, it would take a few days longer. I chose to keep what I had. Over the years I’ve had to use Springbok for various minor emergencies and spares and it has that rare quality where everyone has a “make a plan” attitude. The boot got changed in an hour or so, and so it was with a slight refill of food and beer, I was out of there by 10:00 – big ups to Autorama of Springbok! There was a bit of a dilemma, however. Up ahead was the very remote and pretty tough Richtersveld. I had wanted to follow tracks that climb into the mountains just to the north-west of Steinkopf. One can go into this world along well travelled roads, or take the jeep tracks that wind their way through the mountains that overlook the successive valleys towards the Orange River. Here it is rugged, rocky, mountainous desert that is uninhabited, except for the goat herder. I felt relieved that my CV boot was fixed, but what about the shocks? I reasoned that even if one did go, I would still be able to limp out. Also, not quite as concerning, but still one more issue to consider, was that in the madness of packing, though I had loaded my anticipated routes, I hadn’t
deleted the Botswana maps off the GPS and loaded the Namibian ones. I still have the old Garmin 60CSx that struggles with too many maps loaded. Thus, without the Tracks4Africa paths, the routing wasn’t going to work. What to do? My end of year trip wasn’t panning out the way I had intended.There were some serious potential issues and I could get horribly lost. On the one hand, playing it safe and routing around it all might have been more sensible. But on the other hand, the unknown was potentially more rewarding.
YES TO THE UNKNOWN
The unknown won. If it all worked, I’d pop out at the Orange River just downstream from Noordoewer. Then travel downstream for a bit before heading back up a very remote dry riverbed to get my next dose of civilisation at Eksteenfontein. I’ve been through there on a bike and in a 4x4 before, so it wasn’t too hard to find my way. Though I will admit to having to return to a goat herder twice to get directions after I’d messed up and ended in a blind canyon. It was a stunning 3 days, free camping under the carpet of stars and for the first time ever doing the three days over Christmas utterly alone, (well apart from bumping into a group of paddlers on the river who stopped to say hello). It was quite novel not to have a GPS. There is no debate that they are wonderful devices, however going back to the “old” ways of figuring out where to go was fun. If the trip had started a few days before, it was only here that I really started to settle in.There were still limitations and worries, but they had become companions to be worked with rather than burdens to carry. As someone very wise and far further travelled than I once said: “The interruptions and tribulations are the journey.”
NO THOROUGHFARE? NO PROBLEM!
My shocks were holding, but I could swear they were getting marginally worse by the day. It’s a funny thing what some solitude and desert can do. I’d made peace with the fact that if I didn’t find a solution by Solitaire – and in consultation with the trip guides – I’d bail on the trip and find some routes back home that were less adventurous, but still worthwhile. Before I left this would have been a disaster, now with some sand under my feet, I really was okay with that. The Orange River had been experiencing exceptionally low water levels. This caused a happy dent in the plans as I aimed for Sendlingdrift, but was turned around by the park official because it was too low for the pont to work. I would have to go and cross at Alexander Bay. I say happy accident because, previously when I’d been there, I found the place to be depressing and the roads terrible. However, there is now a new tar road between Alexander Bay and Rosh Pina that is a work of art.The road goes through the Orange River section of the Sperrgebiet where there are a myriad of mines still operating. But, apart from this stunning highway, there has been a serious effort to make the eyesores that once were tailings from the mines back into something that looks a lot more natural. Coupled with that, there was plenty of game alongside the road. The next few days was a slow meander to Solitaire via Lüderitz.
AMAZING DISCOVERY
One of my biggest surprises came after being flagged down by a donkey cart with five or six young men making drinking motions as I drove past.They were about 10 km outside of Aus on a desolate gravel road in the blazing sun. I had nearly 70 litres in the back.They said that they’d had a terrible day with two punctures and had run out of water. Could I spare any? Not only could I give them water, but their donkeys sucked down a good few litres too.Whilst they were watering their animals and I was hearing of their misfortunes, I noticed that the wheel nuts on the cart were loose.They didn’t have the tools to repair it, so I lent them some spanners. For some reason, whilst standing there, I felt if the roof rack was still okay and would you know, all the nuts on the driver’s side where loose or coming loose. I had just found my ‘shock absorber’ problem! That afternoon I turned into Tirool campsite (www.tirool.com) just north of Aus on a whim. A nesting pair of Spotted Eagle Owls woke me the next mor--
ning sitting right above my bed with their gentle hooting.
THE NAMIB BECKONS
The Sperrgebiet is a stretch of land running parallel to the coast for nearly 400 kilometres, and at times nearly 200 km wide. It’s in a part of the Namib, a desert that has been around longer than any other and because of this, has ecosystems with endemic fauna and flora of a diversity like no other. For many years, ever since I’ve heard of the place, the Sperrgebiet seemed well out of reach. Successive governments – German, South African and now Namibian – saw fit to keep the rabble out and stamp a not-so-subtle foot onto the global supply and demand scales for diamonds. But, luckily for us, the Namibian government has allowed a very small, highly regulated and closely supervised trickle of tourists through this magnificent area. It is only available to lowrange 4x4 vehicles with fuel for about 600km of sand.They give you a fairly comprehensive list of what to bring.The one thing that caught my eye was the requirement to provide proof that your insurer knows where you are going – and that if you do something stupid or break something, they are going to have an astronomical recovery bill. Anyway, the trip started at the camp in Solitaire. As most guided trips that have groups of strangers meeting for the first time, there is that awkward “Hi, I’m Andrew, and you are?” ritual that has to be repeated numerous times over the next few days to top up the memory banks. With high anticipation, we listened eagerly to the guide Paul lay out the trip and answer the deluge of questions. They have this practiced, good natured, respectful informative patter that is very funny. It was impressive that even before they had met us, they had walked around the camp and taken stock of all the vehicles in the group, even down to noting that one of the cars was a month away from its license expiring!
ALMOST OVERWHELMING
So what is this little five day meander through a forbidden desert like?
Well, I simply felt like the most privileged human being allowed to be there. The indescribable vistas were almost too much. I’ve been in many places where the words ‘pristine’ or ‘untouched’ have been used. In this case they were apt. But for all its hugeness and harshness, it’s very apparent just how fragile it is too.Tracks from fifty years ago are still plainly visible on some of the fossilised gravel plains. I used every opportunity to wander up a mountain or dune during the stops and camps. Because of the utter remoteness, the variable routes that the guides have to take to navigate the ever changing dunes and the restrictions that have been in place, the sense that you may have been the only one to have ever stood on that spot is strong. One evening I walked out about 10 meters from where I had pitched my tent
and there, lying on the open ground, were shards of near fossilised ostrich egg shells.They were brittle and rang like glass. I left them there, it didn’t feel right to take them. Except for one single jeep trail through the non-moving desert parts, the rest remained undisturbed. Towards the end, we passed through the rusted remains of old mining villages. Being a visitor with great company and looking forward to sizzling steaks in the evening, it’s difficult to imagine what living here must have been like. Paul the guide gave some context and vivid detail. It wasn’t a place of much fun. I know the incessant wind would make me mad whilst lying on my stomach for years on end filtering through glaring white sands, all in search of those gleaming little stones. It’s a bit irritating to know that right under ones wheels are literally buckets of diamonds. Not that I’d know what to look for, but I could feel that tingling pull they exert.
NOTES ON THE DUNE DRIVES
There’s another magical quality to this trip: the driving. Generally there is a leisurely start after a light cereal breakfast, then on to the days rolling through a vast sea of sand with a lunch break in the middle for a snack and a cool drink. The tour is laid out in such a way that even for novice drivers the degrees of difficulty are slowly ratcheted up until by the end of the trip, coming down 100-meter high slip faces is almost a non-event. I know a bit about sand, mostly only from a motorbikes saddle, but the knowledge of the guides is magical to watch. Finding a route through is not a case of follow-the-GPS, but actually probing each monster dune for the safest way through (which still provides quite an adrenaline rush). Or, when one of us wasn’t concentrating or committed enough, untangling the resultant mess from the clutches of the sand. Then there’s the conservation considerations. Nothing that goes into the area doesn’t also then come out. No burning of loo paper or refuse, even the nights coals get swept up and carted out again.There are two semi-permanent camps in the park that consist of a toilet structure, wind shield and a fireplace. It’s very encouraging to witness to what great lenghts the guides go to preserve the wilderness around here. Each vehicle is also supplied with a radio and it is very reassuring to have the guides calmly talk one through each obstacle, or to give instant info about whatever anyone had a question for. Happily, I got to spend New Year’s Eve around a roaring fire with my newfound friends in the fabled land of diamonds. I was so content that for a few hours before the champagne appeared, I dozed off in my camp chair. The last day was mostly along the coast, slipping back into the dunes when the impassable mud flats or rocks made it impossible. There was also an opportunity to do a bit of playing in enormous sand bowls or trying to climb massive slip faces, all under the watchful eye of Paul, who coaches everyone who wants to try. Then, just like that we were spat out of the forbidden desert and back into the world we’d had refuge from for 5 magical days. Towards the end of trips, especially ones that I have dreamt about for many years, there is often a slowing and regret that it’s ending. Somehow this wasn’t the case. I had been recharged and inspired. Also, I had one more box to tick off on the way back home – the Road to Hell.
A FINAL ADVENTURE
The Road to Hell is in the Richtersveld, on the eastern side of the N7. It’s the remnants of an old mining road , a oneway-in-and-out track that climbs off the Richtersveld Mountains to the Orange River. It has a fearsome reputation and is a bit like those carnivorous pitcher plants: It’s much easier in than out. I’ve driven and ridden past on a few occasions but never had the time. Today, I had plenty. On the way back down, free camping mostly, I had come through some unexpected Richtersveld rain that had deeply eroded the hardest section of trail. Large rocks had slid onto the trail that only a lot of road building was going to correct. Bucket lists, I found out, do have limits, and it would have been great folly to try it, especially on my own. It was enough to walk down and get an idea of just how dangerous attempting that would have been. That evening’s camp was on the plains back towards the N7 beside some beautiful boulders that must have been used as a goat herd camp many years ago. But all that was left were some bones and an old shoe. In some ways the perfect place to start resurfacing. And so I symbolically marked the end of my inner journey with a small tribute of quartz stones I’d collected into a small sculpture. I had reaffirmed Purpose, Meaning and Joy.