SARAH MARSHALL explores a land of vast lonely landscapes, where ancient animals roam free
COILED and twisted like pieces of warped metal, the fronds of welwitschia plants barely display any signs of life. Survivors in a harsh environment, this hardy species can survive for more than a thousand years – briefly waking from their slumber when Damaraland’s parched rust-red soils receive a few drops of rain.
Covering 25,000 square kilometres of land, right up to the Angolan border, Namibia’s Kunene region is a vast, barren landscape where time loses all meaning. It’s a fitting habitat for one of the oldest animal species in the world.
“You won’t see this anywhere else,” says Simson Uri-Khob, as we tip-toe single file towards a desertadapted black rhino.
As CEO for Save The
Rhino Trust (SRT), Simson is responsible for protecting the world’s largest population of free-roaming black rhinos. By training community rangers to monitor the animals and lead tourists on treks, his efforts have lifted the region out of a poaching crisis: between 20172020 not one animal was lost.
Thirty years of dedication were recently rewarded with a Tusk Award For Conservation In Africa, presented by the Duke of Cambridge – who Simson guided here in 2019.
Our own sighting is fleeting. Sensing the animal is nervous, we back away. But Simson is right – there’s something thrilling about seeing the endangered creature in this vast natural environment.
This sense of freedom sums up Namibia. Vast, empty and remote, it’s the place so many people were craving in lockdown. You can fly for hours and see no development – only mountains, dunes and snaking, dry riverbeds.
The base for rhino tracking is Desert Rhino Camp – a joint initiative between SRT and several conservancies, managed by Wilderness
Safaris. Although a renovation means activities have temporarily been shifted to Damaraland Camp.
Several elevated tents are tucked into a narrow valley, with a pool and a winding path leading to a boma, where traditional meals are served beneath the stars. Aside from rhinos, you may see desertadapted elephants and giraffes.
As we drive across an open plain, we stop to watch elephants rear up on their hind legs to reach seed pods. Set against a backdrop of soaring mountains, they shrink to nothing more than a dot. Heading south, I visit the dunes of Namib-Naukluft – the country’s biggest national park.
Also part of the Wilderness portfolio, Little Kulala is set in a former farm nearby. Renovated during lockdown, the camp features stone buildings connected by a walkway. Private plunge pools give some relief from the searing heat.
Efforts to rewild the area have attracted animals to gradually trickle back: giraffes and even a reclusive brown hyena were recently spotted.
Now fully solar powered, the camp blends sensitively into its surroundings. But perhaps one of the biggest attractions is its private gate access to the park. In the early morning light, colours shine brightly, shadows are pronounced.
The most scenic and shapely masses have been named with regimented numbers. One of the two exceptions is Big Daddy – and what an exception it is.
Sidewinders slither between rocks and beetles scuttle in the blistering heat. Ahead of us lies a graveyard of mummified trees.
Change happens slowly in Namibia – largely accounting for its timeless appeal. But in a world where space matters more than ever, this ancient landscape of enduring plants and hardy animals is having a bit of a moment right now.