Namibia weblog 2005

19th October 2005

Too much excitement and of course… tears at the airport. We were early and we strained to see the blurred heads of our people through the coloured glass screen separating us from the immigration lounge. The queue was long and scarcely moving. But when our travellers emerged there was a dizzy time of hugs and kisses and relief that this day had actually come.

Nick and George arrived early in the morning on a cool, crisp, sunny day and as we sped out of the airport we saw a martial eagle swoop low in front of us...surely an omen of things to come, things to see, the exotic and different world ahead. And as if to confirm this, just moments later we came across an enormous colony of baboons on the roadside; baboons of all ages and inclinations, performing their normal activities of preening and grooming, quarrelling and wooing, suckling babies and scampering about. They stared at us coolly; we drove on.

Our destination was Waterburg. The plan was to rush out into the real Africa and let George and Nick relax and acclimatise to high altitude, hot weather, and recover from 24 hours of sleepless travelling. It was fascinating to watch them viewing the world sliding past… first through mountains and then past miles and miles of flat open plain, with the occasional solitary mountain standing aloof in the wide emptiness, and always through expanses of reds, ochres, yellows of the sand, the rock, the grasses. They gazed out of the window, sighing in pleasure.

Arriving at Waterburg is exciting. The plateau looms ahead, a long line of flat-topped mountain in strikingly red rock, and as you get closer you are uncertain if you will be ascending it, and if so, how. We turned off the tar road and took the gravel track past a herd of sables lying quietly in the middle distance. The camp lies hidden at the base of the mountain and we chose ourselves a far off campsite under some big shady trees, utterly secluded, and set up our camp. G and N were on the task, obviously going to be brisk and efficient in all such things. What they hadn’t bargained for was that camping in Africa is mostly focused on being extremely comfortable. Both faces lit up with sheer pleasure as we unloaded four large comfortable canvas camp armchairs and opened some beers.

We spent the afternoon walking and climbing up to the top of the mountain, scrambling over enormous red boulders and hoisting ourselves up with strategically positioned handholds and branches. What a spectacular view! We were like eagles on the top, able to scan miles and miles of thorny scrubland, except we couldn’t see any living prey. There were the large guinea pigs though, dassies, which were up with us on the top, watching our progress curiously. The rocks were extraordinary shapes, partly fissured, partly worn by erosion, all manner of colours, because the red stone is covered with multicoloured lichen growth. Trees and shrubs were forcing their roots through any rock splits and the mountain top was densely covered. It doesn’t look possible from this perspective, but the mountain top is in fact the edge of a large plateau with rhino and many antelope living here in a protected game park. Here you can set off for three and four day hiking trails, carrying all your food and drink. We, however, were quite satisfied with our simple afternoon adventure. On the way back, staring at us from the undergrowth, were a family of dik-diks. These tiny antelope, the size of a small dog, are so so shy, and yet stood quite still gazing at us with enormous liquid black eyes. There was a male with small antlers and his wife and their nearly grown lamb. The let us approach close enough to take photographs, perhaps thinking that they were invisible if they were statues.

George had already got her eyes fine-tuned and was the one to see a thin grey snake on a branch, almost perfect in its camouflage, but giving itself away by its rapid departure.

The afternoon quickly slid into night with the first of many spectacular sunsets for Nick and George, and in no time we were sitting around a good fire, with steak on the braai and foil parcels of butternut squash with cinnamon, and potato, yam, onion and garlic in another. We drank lots of wine, feasted, gazed up at the huge sky with the Milky Way blazing amongst a million stars. It got cold, and N and G had the bizarre luxury of a hot bath in the surprisingly luxurious ablutions block. They slept, they told us, like angels.

George emerged from her tent tousled and with the biggest smile. An Africa morning - with sunshine and the view and the different trees, and sand underfoot, and a proper camp breakfast of fruit and muesli and her people all together, and a very good sleep.she said she was a happy girl.

We broke camp and drove to Etosha. First get the feel of Africa and have a small rest, then down to the serious business of enjoying the magnificent space of Etosha with all its different creatures and landscapes. I think Nick had his binoculars out before we even entered the park.

There is sheer magic in your first sightings of rare, surprising, or any wild creature roaming free in its own natural environment. We stopped the car frequently to look at a small group of zebra trotting across the road and at the springbok which later were to seem quite commonplace. It was busy at the main camp in Etosha, Okaukuejo, and we struggled to find a camping place to match the one in Waterburg. There were big groups of overlanders in their massive trucks, and many South African big family groups in smart 4x4s. Who cares, we set up camp and I rushed us off to enjoy a quick swim in the fabulous pools before it got too cold. It was already too cold, these pools don’t get a chance to heat up after the intense cold of the night. We splashed in and shot out again after doing less than a quick circle around the edge. Michael hurried over to join us and said there were elephant at the waterhole nearby and within seconds George was wrapped up in a sarong, sliding about in wet flip flops, rushing to satisfy her lifetime dream of seeing an ELEPHANT.

And there they were - every bit as perfect and remarkable and grey and wrinkled and dignified and gentle and humorous and preoccupied with the task of drinking and squirting water as one could possibly hope for. George and Nick sighed in happiness.

This waterhole was a joy for us. We returned to it after eating our pojkie (wonderful cooking pot in black cast iron for bubbling over a fire) of chicken and rice and were treated to the sight of a family of rhinos, black rhinos, at the waterhole drinking and lazing around. With the mother was a quite small rhino calf who was clearly bored with the complex etiquette of the waterhole. The calf pottered about looking at things and visiting its mother and then curled itself up in a small heap and fell asleep. How it managed to metamorphasise from being a prehistoric oddity to a helpless snuggled adorable sleeping baby was extraordinary. It was woken by its mother after a short while because another bull rhino had appeared. She greeted it very tenderly and encouraged the baby to do the same. The father? After this effort the baby wanted to suckle and had to get down on his chunky knees to wedge himself in under his mother.

We also saw lions in command of the waterhole, taking priority in the drinking queue, and a giraffe desperate for a drink but quite unable to summon the courage to take one. There were plenty of jackals slinking around the area, cautious and opportunistic and the noises of creatures nearby and far was considerable. The noises lasted well into the night, both human and animal, but we didn’t care, we had had a fine day of creature spotting.

We got up at dawn to drive out to see the morning breaking and were well rewarded. Antelopes of many kinds were busy grazing and we saw many zebra including some small foals, big groups of wildebeest, and vultures. The best treat was quite unexpected. Lying in a total heap of overfeeding lay two lions, a male and a female. They were ridiculously close to the gravel track, quite unconcerned that a car stopped only two metres away from them. Their bellies were tight with feasting. They raised sleepy faces to look at us but were not in a condition to get up and go anywhere. We took pictures and stayed for a long time enjoying their huge but catlike characteristics. George thought the small stone between them might be made of fur. No sooner said, than the small stone raised itself onto spindly legs and wobbled over to its mother, climbed on top of her head and lay over her face. It was a very small lion cub and its fur was dappled and spotted.

On our return to the camp we saw a small crowd of twitchers had gathered round one of our tents. Above it in a twiggy acacia tree there was a fluffed up small bird. I had noticed it the previous afternoon and had not known what it was. A German with an astonishingly large camera lens assured me it was a tiny owl. We all squinted up at it and a big debate ensued in several languages but finally we identified it as a pigmy falcon, small as a blackbird.

Our drive through Etosha took us past wonderful creatures and through a very varied landscape. There is savannah there with high yellowing grasses as far as the eye can see, scrubland, bush with thorn trees, low forests of mopane trees, but for me the best of the landscapes is the pan itself. Here the dried up sea stretches forever and is a bleached white expanse, out to the horizon, shivering with mirages. I long to get out and walk here forever.

More to follow...

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