Speed Safari - Organised Travel in Southern Africa (Pt III)

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There I was, minding my own business in the shower of our tree house that was set back from the banks of the Okavango River at Ngepi camp site in the Caprivi Strip of Namibia. The shower, like the tree house, was open fronted, granting splendid views of the river through the trees. It was as I was enjoying these views in this unique setting that those members of our group who had embarked on a mokoro trip started to return. I should point out here that a mokoro is the local form of river transport, a canoe traditionally cut out of the trunk of a tree. No matter, I thought as I stood there exposing myself to the river and all on it, they were far enough away that there was precious little to see, and I continued about my business. Now the thing about people going on trips such as these is that they’re there to see wildlife, and what is it that they carry to assist in this pursuit? It didn’t occur to me until later that binoculars and zoom lenses might at that very moment be scanning the river banks for signs of life. Happily I’m told that none were found although thanks to C there is in fact photographic evidence of this episode. I declined her kind offer of donating it for the blog and trust that it is not actually appearing elsewhere on the internet.

Caprivi Strip

The Caprivi Strip is a thin slice of Namibian territory extending eastwards for some 280 miles at the north eastern corner of Namibia. It was ceded by the British to the Germans in 1890, when Namibia was the German colony of South West Africa, in exchange for Zanzibar off the coast of Tanzania. The Germans were after access to the Zambezi River in the hope of establishing a link to their east African colony of Tanganyika (modern day Tanzania). Ha! The Victoria Falls put a stop to that little plan.

In more modern times the strip has been the scene of unrest, being of strategic military importance both during the Rhodesian Bush War of the 70’s (which ended with the establishment of the modern state of Zimbabwe in 1980) and the Angolan Civil War until that ended in 2002. Up until 1999 there was also rebel activity in support of Caprivi independence. Guide books and the Foreign Office still carry warnings about travel in the area, particularly at night.

Fortunately we were able to make our way from Victoria Falls exclusively in daylight hours which afforded us views of the several traditional African villages dotted along the way; clusters of small mud huts with wooden square-latticed frames and thatched roofs in reed palisade compounds. This was the stereotypical Africa that we’d imagined.

Loos with views

Possibly because it was the tour leader’s favourite camp site of the trip we skipped a planned stop in Katima Mulilo so that we could spend two nights in Ngepi. Ah ha! So the Itinerary wasn’t all powerful after all, though I guess her position as High Priestess of the Schedule granted her some privileges. Not that we minded, we got another two night stopover, didn’t have to put up tents again and the camp site was indeed a cool place to hang.

The tree house was something special, open fronted as I say, we left the front screen rolled up as we slept, which was quite brave considering the front porch area was just a short hippo’s hop up from ground level. On both mornings there we woke in time to turn round in bed and watch the rising sun colour the skies pink and tease a patchy mist up from the river.

During the free day whilst others opted variously for bird walks, village tours and mokoro cruises C and I hung out enjoying the tranquillity of the place. C spent some time in the swimming cage, literally a caged off part of the river where one could swim against the current without the fear of being joined by crocs or hippos. I stood watch anyway, and only as we departed the camp did we find out that a few years previously the cage had been extracted for routine maintenance only for them to discover the bottom had been corroded away.

I also took the opportunity to tour all the ablution facilities dotted around the site. This is not an activity I would normally contemplate, but these were apparently famous for their whacky designs. There was a ‘his and hers’ facility, with separate doors for each gender which led to a communal facility with two loos. On the ‘his’ side was a cement floor, basic loo with lid glued up and nothing else, whilst on ‘her’ side the loo had fluffy seat covers, tiling everywhere and a wash basin opposite. I used hers and left the seat up. Shower facilities generally looked like a natural glade with taps built into fallen tree trunks which when turned caused water to pour from a holed bucket suspended from a branch. My favourite though was the Royal Suite, a commode loo with a tin bath to one side and a shower cubicle to the side, positioned right on the bank and completely open to the river. But I’m guessing not many people have stopped by here to read about ablution facilities, so on with Africa.

Etosha National Park

Although we had already seen many zebras up to this point the reason why no pictures have appeared in these blogs yet is that they have an uncanny knack of turning their back on you. As strikingly marked as these animals are, the zebra bum is no more appealing than any other animal’s. Fortunately as we drove round Etosha National Park in northern Namibia I was finally able to get a few decent pictures of the more attractive end of this animal.

At the heart of the park is a former lake that dried up when the river that fed it changed course, leaving a huge salt pan some 130km long and up to 50km wide in places. The main tourist trail runs along the southern edge of the pan and we followed this, entering at the eastern gate and departing through the southern gate a couple of days later. In between it was all wildlife and the hatch in the truck cab’s roof was put to good use, pairs of us taking it in turns to perch up there for the best all round views. The rest of us fought it out in the back whenever we came across anything interesting. At times it was a war zone back there.

Each of the three main camp sites in the park has an artificial water hole to attract, on one side of a wall tourists seeking out night time wildlife encounters and on the other, said wildlife looking for water. At Namutoni camp, the site of a former German fort dating back to 1907, the hole pretty much succeeded only in the former. We stuck it out for a while anyway, having seen a few zebras drinking there as we arrived, but at the end of the evening we had pretty much spent an hour staring at a floodlit pond. I’ve since learned that the reason for the scarcity of wildlife is that there are too many natural sources of water nearby, though I think that those spectators who seemed to think that the rest of us would be interested in their loud conversation might have had something to do with encouraging the wildlife to drink elsewhere.

Is that a lion?

When we set off the next day, C had volunteered to share the first slot hanging out the cab roof as we set off on our HGV game drive. I thought she was mad. The morning temperatures were bad enough without the wind chill caused by the moving vehicle. The cab of the truck is physically separate from the passenger area in the back and despite what must have been bone chilling cold she entertained us all in the back with the various hand signals and mimes identifying what creatures she had spotted from her superior vantage point. Suddenly the signal came back for lion.

Another driver had alerted them that a pride of lions were ahead, and off we raced. We got there just in time to see the last of the young lionesses slink away, doing a zebra on us. All was not lost however as the more eagle eyed in the group spotted another lying down next to the small artificial water hole. It was the most amazing thing. Giraffes, leopards and zebras might have superbly intricate camouflage painted all over their bodies but that lioness was just the perfect shade of brown to disappear against the dusty earth as she lay there. I didn’t spot her until she got up to begin her hunt of the springbok that were standing near the truck, and I had been pretty much looking directly where she lay. It was captivating to watch her prowl down towards her prey, circle round towards us as the springbok started to make good their escape and then start to trot after them when she came back along the side of the truck, joined by the other lioness as they chased their quarry into the trees.

Inspired by our previous travels to take more of an interest in photography I was now lugging round nearly two grand’s worth of camera equipment; the latest Nikon ‘prosumer’ digital camera, three different lenses and a whole host of accessories. In the entire trip I didn’t get a single picture that comes even close to the one C took with her compact camera of that lioness as it trotted past the truck. Too busy fiddling with F stops you see. She just put hers on auto and snapped away. There’s a lesson there.

The extremely rare Orange Rhinoceros

Any reference on the rhinoceros will tell you that there are two species to be found in Africa; the white and the black, of which the former is the more common. The most distinguishable feature between the two is the face, the white having a wider mouth, for grazing on grass, compared to the black’s bush eating pointed one (‘white’ is apparently an English misinterpretation of the Afrikaans word ‘wyd’, meaning wide).

As we drove through the park some admirably sharp observation located a white rhino about 50 yards into the bush, and for the next 20 minutes we sat there staring at it whilst it stood there listening to us (they have poor eyesight apparently). It only moved off when we scared it off with the noise of the truck starting up, for which act I would like to take this opportunity to humbly apologise to the other spectators who had arrived after us and waited patiently for us to stop blocking their view.

We camped the night at Okaukeujo (pronounced Ock-a-koo-yo), a place where the wildlife had less liquid refreshment opportunities around than Namutoni and where the water hole spectators were a good deal more respectful of the need not to scare them off with loud conversation. Apart from breaks for showers and dinner C and I spent the whole evening there, not getting back to the tent until a significant hit on the duty free spirits later in the early hours of the morning. We were entertained in our increasingly intoxicated vigil by a couple of elephants silently tussling in slow motion over drinking rights, a gentle pushing argument that lasted an hour or two. At one stage an adolescent elephant demonstrated his inexperience of the bush pecking order when it gave a wide berth to a jackal on his way off into the dark. Other animals putting in appearances included zebra, oryx, impala, giraffe and rhino, the rarer black version I think, though it is hard to tell in the artificial lighting which coloured everything orange and lent the scene a surreal glow. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

The only slight disappointment was that the lions roaring regularly throughout the evening never put in an appearance. We discovered why the next morning when we sighted of a lone pair of lions, male and female. Apparently they had been occupying themselves with an activity designed to support survival of the species rather than the individual. It was my turn that afternoon to ride half out of the cab. I was lucky enough to be there when we came across a pair of male lions lounging under a tree. We watched fascinated as one of them spotted a springbok wandering along about 100 yards away and tracked it with obvious intent. The springbok, fully aware of the lion’s presence kept just out of range as it sneaked hesitantly and warily on by.

The excitement of having witnessed this dangerous game (at least for the springbok) soon wore off however when the Schedule started demanding its due recognition and the game drive turned into something more akin to a cross country rally drive. Hanging out the hatch the experience might best be described as barrel-like, as in “going over the falls in a…” rather than “…of laughs”.

Some patchy history

Formerly the German colony of South West Africa since the late 19th century, the future Namibia had been occupied by South Africa during World War I and was administered by that country under a post war League of Nations mandate. When the United Nations tried to implement closer monitoring of the administration after World War II South Africa refused to surrender its original mandate, effectively annexing the territory and administering it as a fifth province. In the 1960’s the apartheid regime moved the Damara people, originally a group of semi-nomadic gardeners, pastoralists and hunter-gatherers to an area in the north west of the territory and named the area Damaraland. Since Namibia gained independence in 1990 the name Damaraland is used only in tourist circles, the area being officially part of the Kunene and Erongo regions.

It was in this area between 1,000 and 3,000 years ago that a group of San people lived, leaving a rudimentary record of their presence in the form of petroglyphs. Weathered over the years, the rock faces on which they etched and drew simple drawings of animals, people and even maps of water hole locations, lie scattered in huge chunks about the slopes of the valley they once hunted.

Some 200 million years before, when the southern hemisphere land masses were just the single super continent called Gondwana, trees were washed away by floodwaters and buried under accumulations of deposits not too far from where the San once settled. Under the increasing weight of the deposits the trees gradually became petrified, turned to stone. Now exposed by erosion, the transformation is so perfectly true to the original that touching it for the first time is startling, so fooled is the brain into expecting the texture of wood and bark. The rings that can be seen in the broken sections count years that passed during the development of the dinosaurs and stubs on the trunks once supported branches sporting foliage that must have fed those creatures.

As we wandered amongst these moments in time it was exactly m-m-m years (it would be rude reveal the actual figure) to the day since time, in a way, began for one of our group. The staff at the Petrified Forest did a grand job of plaiting the fake African hair extensions we all gave her as a birthday present into her own hair during lunch. I did feel a tad guilty though that she didn’t get to enjoy her meal in peace as a result, and more so when she emerged with fake hair still attached the next morning. It can’t have been all that comfortable.

Speed Tourism

A whistle stop run through the Atlantic coast attractions we saw on our way through the Namib Desert (hey, if we had to conduct the tour at a gallop it’s only fair you should get a taste of it)…

Cape Cross Seal Colony. Location of the first European landing, by Bartholemew Diaz of Portugal, in 1486 (and apparently 6,685 years after the creation of the world according to the inscription on the cross he left there). Lots of sea lions. Very smelly place.

Swakopmund. Coastal town heavily influenced by German origins. Lots of overlanders like us. Lively nightlife. Scarey deserted streets after dark. Windows of every home have security grills installed. Cinema (“Premonition”, starring Sandra Bullock, not too bad once we changed seats to get away from the noisy brats behind us). Gift shops could have been financially ruinous if iron self control had not been exercised. Two Schedule free nights here in a chalet. Still bloody cold though - forgot to get blankets out of the truck.

Walvis Bay. Very foggy. Lots of flamingos which flew off if we got too close.

Namib Desert

Our tour notes advised us that in the morning at Sossusvlei, in the great sea of sand that is the Namib Desert around here, “…the first rays of the sun light up the dunes with a deep orange glow - a photographer’s delight”. What it failed to add was “Meanwhile the gale force winds will drive you to distraction and sand blast your camera to destruction”.

At one point half way up a dune I got so angry with the constant battering that I childishly stomped my feet and promptly descended half the distance I’d spent the last 5 minutes trying to climb. If you tried to kneel down at the crest of a dune for an arty photograph, orange where the low sun lit it and black in shadow, you entered the zone of maximum abrasion extending a foot or two off the ground, where most of the sand was being whipped around. It’s fine stuff and it gets everywhere. I even found some lodged in the seal between camera body and lens when I later swapped lenses, though thankfully the camera survived this ordeal.

Where most people head for the famous dune 45 (so called because it is 45km into the Tsauchab Valley that cuts into the dune fields) we had kept going to reach Sossuvlei and the nearby Deadvlei dunes. At the time it seemed an odd decision, one that risked missing the best light, but in hindsight I think the tour leader’s decision did us proud. As we raced past Dune 45 it was crawling with people. The scenery was significantly less populated when we did finally arrive at our destination.

We called in at Dune 45 on our way back and were rewarded with photographic opportunities that were a good deal less congested than if we had followed the crowds. I still had to wait for one of our group to chase his errant hat halfway around the dune, which had a certain comedy value in itself. Unfortunately I never did manage to get a couple that subsequently climbed it to receive my telepathic pleadings to please get out of my shot, having to resort to clever positioning to obscure them with the branches of a dead tree. We were eventually hussled away from dune 45 and back to our camp site at Sesriem because the Schedule called for a couple of hours of free time, which seemed to me to be taking things a bit too far.

Apparently the name Sesriem is Afrikaans for ‘six belts’, this being the number of belts that had to be tied together in order to successfully lower a bucket into the nearby canyon for water. Given this comparatively diminutive scale it’s not all that surprising I suppose that the walk through the canyon later in that afternoon was a little underwhelming, a feeling that was not helped by a certain amount of overcrowding. The day ended with us all sat on the closest dune to the camp site, a few beers to sustain us, watching the setting sun paint the distant mountains various shades of red. Now that was not too shoddy at all.

My canyon is bigger than your canyon

Before we leave Namibia and therefore finish this chapter in the Speed Safari epic, I need to turn a question that I’m finding increasingly perplexing; just how many biggest/second biggest canyons are there in the world? Having been told that Peru is the location of the two deepest canyons in the world (Cotahuasi and Colca), we now find out that Fish River Canyon in southern Namibia is the second biggest canyon system in the world. Does this mean that the Grand Canyon is now relegated to fourth place, or is someone playing games with semantics here? Maybe the Grand Canyon is the widest canyon in the world. Is there some sort of geological rivalry going on between canyons? Perhaps they check the National Geographic every now and then to see if one of them has been doing a bit more erosion lately. If so, I don’t think the others have to worry too much about this one. Except for temporary flooding in the rainy season and a bit of standing water otherwise, it’s dry. Perhaps it’s pinning its hopes on climate change. Whatever its relative size, the Fish River Canyon was certainly impressive, more comparable with the Grand Canyon in its immediate visual impact than Colca (which has, let me add before I start receiving outraged comments, charms all of its own). Anyway, they all beat the pants off Sesriem Canyon which, quite frankly needs to step it up a good many notches with the erosion efforts if it is to join the big fellas.

Next (and you’ll no doubt be pleased to hear, final) chapter: South Africa. The end, and back to the beginning.

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Photos

Lioness Hunting
Just about to break into a trot after the springbok. C has a much better shot of this.

Fish River Canyon
I was a bit peeved that the sunset made the canyon interior too dark for a good shot, but was pleasantly surprised when this oblique image popped up. Polarising filter on a wide angle lens does funny things to the colour of the sky, but I like the effect.

Dune 45
Carefully positioned so that branches obscure people on the dune.

Treehouse at Ngepi
Note open front porch. Open shower is to the right, obscured by the tree (side screen just visible).

Three Amigos
Rare shot of the right end of a zebra

Giraffe Drinking
Just after arrival in Etosha

White Rhino
Steadfastly refusing to come forward to pose for a less obstructed picture.

Lioness
Just starting to make its move on the springbok that were drinking near the truck

Scavenger
Startlingly blue, these things are like starlings. They plagued us during lunch in Etosha.

Extremely rare Orange Rhino
And extremely dark as well. All sorts of problems trying to get the camera to focus when there wasn't enough light for the auto focus mechanism. Really need to go on a photography course.

The elephant tussle
Obligingly still for this long exposure. Note the rhino in the background to the left.

Elephants...
...at play, or fighting?

Just another tough day in the bush
The lion in front just stood up, turned round, and flopped down again. That was the sum total of action we saw from these two.

C...
...pretending to be Tuareg, getting sand blasted and nearly blown over the edge at Deadvlei.