AGRESSIVE ELEPHANTS AND FLASH FLOODS

We spent much of today crossing the plateau between the Hoarusib River and the Hoanib River.  Once again the area was totally beautiful and fascinating, but completely different from each previous day.  We came across two other traveling groups and intersections and enjoyed comparing notes and sharing experiences, with them.  For long sections the roads was not evident other than tracks that vehicles before us had left in the sand.

In other places the tracks diverged in two or more tracks.  Usually they would converge a few hundred meters further on, but sometimes they wouldn't.  In fact on a couple of occasions I found myself on a different route to my fellow travellers, trying to figure out whether I needed to turn back or whether there was an linking route, I could use to save time.  It was all part of the adventure.  Of course we had radios which allowed us the privilage.  It would not be worth the risk without them.

This was the ideal day for thinking... Wide open spaces majestic but barren scenery with only the occasional sign of game.  The perfect surroundings to clear the mind.  Unfortunately my day for thinking was yesterday.  "Sometimes, I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits!"  Well today was my day for 'sitsing' at the steering wheel, for much of the time without much cerebral activity.  I could pretend I was meditating, but that would be lying.

  By mid afternoon, I was looking forward setting up camp and the slow loss of elevation towards sea level, suggested we were getting close to our planned camp site in the Hoanib River.  Yes "in" the Hoanib River, because it was dry and it we were in the dry season, although once we got to the river the large notes on my GPS, warning of "Aggressive Elephants and Flash Floods", was food for thought.  Once I saw the height of the river banks and limited access points, I sincerely questioned the wisdom of camping in the river bed.  

But then, I guess the surrounding countryside wouldn't be as arid as it is if unseasonal rains were a regular occurance, and I resolved that everything could be left behind if worst came to the worst.  There was considerable game where we entered the rivera and we followed the river down stream for some kilometers hoping to sight those aggressive elephants, or even better some lion, but eventually we ran out of space before getting to the no-go area of the national reserve, and stopped to camp.

Ross attempted to convert us to his theory that it was unwise to eat fruit or vegetables while camping.  Reason being, that fruit and oranges in particular attract the elephants, especially the aggressive kind.  He insisted that since our escape routes were limited, that we should all through our fruit out of the river bed onto the banks.  But after attempting to lead by example in this regard the resigned himself to the fact that the banks were too high to throw anything out of and we were therefore screwed.  He treated us to his scrumptious fillet with blue cheese source after which we settled down to a fairly chilly night, probably due to the proximity of the atlantic ocean.

RIVER BEDS, GIRAFFES AND BEES

This morning was certainly slower than the rest, but we eventually left our moonscape overnight camp behind and headed out of the valley towards the Hoarusib River.

This morning I was so layed back, low range first gear, was the only one I felt comfortable and I fell steadily behind the rest of the group.  I enjoyed the isolated lonely feeling for a while, listening to the mellow tunes of my African Voices CD.

The scenery was haunting and beautiful, and I savoured every moment, by this time giving little thought to the mechanical breakdowns I had experienced or any concerns for the office.

I spent more time marveling at the rock colours and formations and trying to imagine how they were all formed.

 I eventually caught up to the group at tea on the banks of the Hoarusib River, to reports of decidedly fresh lion tracks.  They had photos of the paw prints to prove it, but alas no sighting.


We decided to follow the river bed as there would be more chance of seeing game, and the river would lead us right past the Puros camp site, our destination for overnight.


We were rewarded by more giraffe, gemsbok and elephant, and riding through the thick river sand challenging and fun in turn.


By late afternoon we arrived at the very reasonably priced community camp site at Purros.  A most pleasant place with hot water facilities which were welcome after three nights in the bush.

The only draw back was the menacing bees every where around our allocated camp site.  Presumably the area was so dry that the bees were attracted to any moisture, including beer, which Andrew found out the hard way when he gulped down a bee with his beer, and got stung on his tongue.  Fearing an allergic reaction in such a remote place we doused our fears by feeding him anti-histamine, and the poor man was forced to retire early, presumably feeling rather drowsy after the ordeal and the tablets.

We had a visit from the local ellies, and I enjoyed a hot shower and even a phone call back to my wife on the satellite phone.

MARIANFLUSS IS JUST LIKE THIS, BUT A BIT DIFFERENT

In the morning after breakfast and pumping tyres back up to pressure, we continued down the valley, which eventually opened up into a beautiful plateau called Otjiha Plains.  

We came upon the plains shortly after the turn off to Rooidrom, which leads northward on the Marianfluss and Van Zyl’s pass, the thought of which led to some pining about the loss of these landmarks from out travel itinerary.

Arthur attempted to calm the waters by suggesting that the drop from the plateau that we had navigated was similar to that of Van Zyl’s, and Andrew tried to add some healing balm by suggesting that this plateau was just like Marianfluss “but a bit different”.

Not quite satisfied by these comparison’s but acceptant of the loss, we turned south again towards Oripembe.  Road corrugations were annoying along this section, which led to Andrew and Ross deciding to continue in the river bed, while Arthur, Alan and I continued along the road.

A subtle competition developed between the river runners and the highlanders, with animal siting, road conditions and progress being broadcasted on the radios, perhaps with the aim of enticing the other clan to see the folly of their ways and to change routes.

The valley was wide and arid and stark, but not as desolate and starkly beautiful as our camp site of the evening.  We sighted many majestic gemsbok, ostrich and quite a few giraffes.

Eventually we took a left out of the river bed and followed a track to the ridge line.  On the far side of the ridge lay a stark and desolate landscape, which just had to be experienced in more detail, so we camped right next to the road and explored the area for some time before deciding it was to be the 'night of the stars'.  This meant that it was the night for dressing up (well sort of), of culinary delights and entertainment.  Natasha and Ross, boasted with their Mozambique prawns, and Alan and Ross entertained us with their knowledge of the moon and the stars, magical laser pointers and telescopic views of the moon.  It was beautiful.  Judy's reading of a Herman Charles Bosman tale was also memorable.

“THE SAND IN THE RIVER BED IS HARD, LETS CAMP ON THE OTHER SIDE”

We were woken to the sounds of crunching and munching outside our tents, followed by much 'shooing' and 'roaring' by a half dressed motor biker (Alan).  The munching goats 'Harley' noticed him, but slowly munch their way out of our campsite and on to pastures greener.

I clasped my hands around a welcome cup of coffee in the crisp morning air, and gratefully accepted one of Judy's home made rusks.  Breakfast was leisurely - catching up with old friends seemingly more important than getting going.

When we finally got going, much radio chatter signaled that everyone was in high spirits,  and we continued along the road from the day before past bottle trees, springbok and one lonely boabab.

In the vicinity of Mounts Ondjam and Okamanga, the road became very rocky and progress was slow.  We dropped sharply off the plateau through a narrow valley that posed the first technically difficult stretch of road that we were to negotiate.  The first rocky descent was followed by sharp inclines that had me checking under to hood again for overheating.  Thankfully, there was no sign of it, and I commented that the Landrover appears to be far more comfortable in this kind of terrain that on the freeways.

Passing a number of Himba villages, left me wondering how on earth they survive in such a dry arid climate.  There was no sign of water anywhere.  Perhaps they only drank goats milk?  I felt torn between stopping to make some human contact and a feeling that I was somehow contaminating their lives with mine.  Our worlds seemed too far apart to bridge.

After further rocky descending, the road invited us into a wide sandy valley that looked good enough to camp in.  The road crisscrossed the river bed, and the going was much easier that the rocky mountains.

Alan found a pleasant shady part of the valley for us to camp in, but as we didn’t want to camp right next to the road, so Arthur explored the other bank for suitable camp sites.  Having passed his quality test, he deemed far side of the river bank  accessible due to the presence of vehicle tracks in the middle of the sandy river bed.  Before we could consider the situation, Arthur set off, with trailer in tow to cross, but soon became bogged down in the thick sand and we had our first attempt at digging out, grateful that it was no longer under the hot midday sun and with the knowledge that a cold beer awaited us as soon as we were done.

Forewarned the rest of us crossed the river at a far brisker pace, although Andrew who appeared unconvinced it was safe, gave a demonstration of how Rambo would have done it.  Having all made it across we set about setting up camp, but only after a few ales to quench the thirst buds.

The chosen spot to camp was most pleasant and completely isolated from the rest of the world.  This was exactly what i signed up for!


I attempted a kassler and red cabbage potjie and decided it was well worth another try.

LET THE GAMES BEGIN

After some fruitless searching for rubber pipes to replace the ones that I melted, we made a plan with some plastic pipes that Andrew produces the night before and headed out into the Koakaveld.

It was oppressively hot, and I was continually monitoring my dials and gauges for signs of overheating.  I never managed to relax and enjoy the drive despite their absence.  I hoped that the next day would be easier with the confidence of the first day without mechanical problems under my belt.

We followed an eastward heading route d3703 towards Van Zyl’s, but veered South about 13km after Etanga Village, which was the end of a very dusty gravel road.  From here the driving was on rocky single track at a far more sedate pace.  I was beginning to really relax enjoying the unusual tree and plant species along the route. 

We enacted the "sun at four fingers above the horison" rule and camped at the most suitable clump of shade a short distance off the road in site of Mounts Ondjamu and Okamanga.  This was our first evening in the wild, and it was curative.  I could feel the stress sliding off me as the evening progressed. Nothing better than the night sounds in the bush, a camp fire, good friends and a good red wine for company.

Ross cooked up an delicious mussel broth, in a dry river bed and we got into our sleeping bags satisfied after making it this far, but far more looking forward to the days ahead.

A HEATED DEBATE ABOUT VAN ZYL

Ross and I set of at a civilised hour, with little incident throughout the day.  Straight roads and summer style heat accompanied us on the road north.

I was just beginning to get sleepy and about to suggest a stop, when the darned black box complained about a lack of water again.  I wasn’t too concerned until we opened the bonnet and saw the rubber diesel return pipes completely melted.  After topping up with water and bleeding the system again, we inched towards Kamanjab, a town that according to my GPS promised the services of a mechanic.

We found only the mechanics assistant and the assistant’s assistant.  Something like a wheel tappers mate, I thought.  They were both adamant that the gasket was gone again and they could only order the parts five days time at best.  Or we could just get a tow truck to take the car back.

After telephonic consultations with my Eendekuil mechanic and Ross’ Windhoek mechanic we decided that to test Kamanjab’s theory by driving up the hill out of town.  If the gasket was once again damaged, I should not be able to get up to 100km/h.

She passed the test with flying colors and we turned to head north again towards Opuwo, with regular checks under to hood.

I stopped after 15min to see the water pouring out of the water reservoir once again, but this time it occurred to me that the reservoir capped may have been damaged and that I had a spare.

We swapped out the cap and lone behold - no more problems.  But now it was getting dark and we had plenty cattle on the roads to contend with.  So we slowed once again to 70km/h to ensure we could at least blink before hitting something.

Of course while Ross and I endured these trials in blistering heat, unbeknownst to us, the rest of the crew were cavorting in hotel swilling pools, enjoying the local brews, and chatting up foreign tourist talent.  No respect!

30km from Opuwo, we heard the welcome voices of Arthur and Andrew trying to raise us on the radios.  Following Andrew’s directions was a touch challenging for Ross, due to their lack of brevity (probably because it was late and drinking started early), but we arrived to a fabulous welcome by everyone with meat already maturing on the fire.

After the Khowareb Schlucht

We sat down to a welcome meal and drinks and listened to their excursions in the Khowareb Schlucht.  It sounded fabulous and seriously dusty and left me itching to get going.

But after dinner a touchy debate ensued about the various route options and the time and risks involved.  At one stage it appeared that it made no sense to push on with two uncertain vehicles as the risk was too great.  Ross in particular wanted to stick his toe into the Kunene and tick of the legendary Van Zyl’s pass of his list.  Others believed there was insufficient time left and too risky to attempt it.  I even considered heading back home again to allow everyone to push ahead on the route they wanted without the concern of a breakdown.

We decided to sleep on it, and decide in the morning.