North Namibian Safari - Fish River Canyon
Created | Updated Oct 22, 2008
Following my encounter with the Cape Cobra, my face pale under the road-grime, Louis announced he was off to corral some Oryx or something and had arranged for his 'boy' to take me to the farm. (Boy is another widely used South African term meaning more or less 'odd-job-man'). Anyway I met Pietr at the gate to Louis's lands and jumped into an even more dilapidated bakkie1 before travelling down the bumpy track. Pieter was a Nama tribesman and as such was about 5 foot tall with a permanent grin on his blacker-than-black face, a woolly hat on his head and spoke no English. Thus it was that our conversation was pretty much limited to 'did he want one of my cigarettes' and a lot of smiling, nodding and grinning!
The Fish River Lodge itself was run by Louis' spry mother - Gertie. Gertie (or 'Ou Ma' as Pieter and his family called her) seemed to have a plethora of onomatopoeic Afrikaans phrases she would throw around at will, such as Krook en skief (bent and crooked) or Goggers en Brommers (flies and bugs). These were all similar to the Afrikaans phrase to describe an action flick Skop, Skiet en donder or... literally 'Kick, Shoot and thunder'. Gertie did most of the cooking (including fabulous breakfasts with Russian sausages and huge fresh-laid eggs!) and noted down every beer or coke consumed with meticulous efficiency.
Having dumped my stuff in one of the comfortable lodge bedrooms and been fed by one of Gertie's brunch-breakfasts, I accompanied Pieter to go and pick up some German hikers who had completed their 4-day hike along the Fish River track. In fact that's what most people came to do at the Fish River. There was a selection of tracks ranging from 1-day strolls to full-on 5-day hikes along the canyon. Louis has set up a series of water stops and even some showers/toilets for campers to use along the route. Pieter kept an eye on the hikers from his battered bakkie and made sure that the stops had water and firewood. After a bumpy, fairly uncommunicative half an hour in the bakkie with Pieter we crested the ridge and I was treated to the spectacular sights of the canyon ...
This was the magnificence that was the desolate, empty, haunting but above all beautiful Fish River Canyon. Almost immediately the grandeur and splendour of the surrounds drained out the last vestiges of London-life and I realised just how far you could 'get away from it all' and within 72 hours as well. I thoroughly recommend it - although the Fish River did have a few more surprises, and snakes, in store for me yet!
The best thing about it, and I guess what separates it from the Grand Canyon, is the vast empty loneliness of the place. There's not another human being in sight to ruin the grandiose splendour of the Fish River as it carves its way through the rugged strata of the deep gorge. You can really feel like the insignificant detail that man really is for a second.
The baboons finally woke me from my reverie as they hooted from the walls of the canyon and Pieter kicked the complaining bakkie down towards the canyon floor. After another 20 minutes we stopped at a small waterfall and got out to look at some San carvings on the rocks that Pieter seemed keen to show me (at least I think that's why we stopped – my Afrikaans had not improved). Anyway after half an hour two European figures with their ubiquitous packs came into view and by this time I had been persuaded by Pieter that the river was safe to swim in and free from crocs, mambas and other potential African aquatic hazards – if a trifle cold!
After half-an-hour or so of swimming in the river and generally cooling off the German father and daughter team seemed keen to get back to the Farm for a shower and food. Although why they didn't swim in the river I do not know. Naturally, we didn't exactly hit it off and things were further exacerbated when I threw a cigarette out of the window (as Pieter had done minutes earlier). The Germans banged on the roof and told me in their Teutonic Imperative English that I was not to do such a thing. This was fair enough and a little thoughtless of me I admit, but I usually just do what the locals do for easiest passage, so I was a bit taken aback. Anyway, I was a bit embarrassed, Pieter was a bit sheepish too, but I have to say I was piqued to animosity when I found out later that the conscientious Herr had a leopard tooth necklace that he took great pride in telling all and sundry was an unfortunate animal he had shot several years earlier on a hunt. What a hypocrite – I might have thrown my butt out the bakkie window but at least I wasn't taking out the local wildlife!
Anyway dinner was a strained affair and I was glad to get to bed and leave my taciturn fellow Europeans to an early start in the morning. In fact, I found out that they had problems starting their car, which, I rather uncharitably confess, brought a smile to my face. As morning appeared, I ventured out onto the stoop and was fed another mighty breakfast before setting out for my hike round the Canyon!
Pieter dropped me off at a point along the road, and armed with a much folded and photocopied map/instructions sheet and about 2 litres of water (which Ou Ma had insisted on me taking) I then set off across the rocky plains. Within about 10 minutes I realised my vital piece of survival gear – my Leatherman – had already been lost as I'd fastened it to my belt upside down. Cursing under my breath I hoped that it was somewhere in Pieter's bakkie but thought that it would be just typical that during the first few minutes of a hike across the ancient African plains I would lose the bloody thing. (It turned out to be in Pieter's bakkie and I did get it back in the end!).
To be honest that wasn't the only thing I lost – within half an hour I'd managed to lose my way with the instructions a bit and found myself desperately looking for the spray-can painted direction arrows (which were to be found on some of the rock walls) in a creek that I was convinced was full of snakes! Luckily I managed to get a grip and find my way out of the creek ... and within another half an hour was rewarded by a view second to none into a box canyon where a herd of kudu was grazing. I gazed around my surroundings and realised that I was probably the only human for miles and miles around and could only but gaze out over the vista of canyons and geological strata that comprised the landscape.
In fact, in my reverie I was suddenly startled by a huge Kudu that had been grazing on a bush much closer to me, and, when it noticed me, took off across the canyon. This started my heart racing and I suddenly realised I had misplaced the map! I was about 2 hours into the walk and would probably find it a tough call to head back to the main path – I started to panic. Maybe I would be lost out here in the Fish River forever. Luckily I checked my side pockets of my shorts before I totally gave in to fear and found that I had just put the damn map in a different pocket. I took a deep breath, relaxed, took in the vista one more time and edged round a perilous path on the edge of another box canyon (all the time looking out for black mambas, cape cobras and any other potentially lethal snakes!).
I started to relax into the amazing scenery a bit and look out over the wind-etched igneous rocks and some of the interesting pools and lakes caused by the land-upheaval and the displacements caused by the Fish River. I passed an old baboon skeleton carcass (well I think it was a baboon!) and a small lake inhabited by colourful Egyptian Ibis. I could have been on another planet, so little evidence of human existence was there to see. It was fabulous.
After another hour or so my feet had started to blister in the relatively new desert boots and another small pool looked very inviting to paddle my hot, sore feet in for a moment. I sat down by the water's edge and began to unlace my boots and took off the plaster from my heel and put my feet in the water. I looked up at a water pump I could see on the horizon of the next bluff and thought I was pretty close to being at the end of the 17Km trek by now ... the heat was sweltering and I was glad of the second litre of water that Ou Ma had insisted I take with me. I glanced down at my bag and saw a fairly large cat-like or dog-like paw-print. Hmm, jackal I thought... but then I remembered that Louis had told me that there was an old leopard that had been seen on this part of the hike. I gulped and saw that the paw-print was more cat-like and bigger than the smaller dog-like hyena or jackal prints I had seen. I couldn't be sure of course, but I laced my boots back up pronto and headed off to the water pump and civilisation. I didn't fancy my chances with the old leopard, to be honest, and the heat and 17km had been enough.
Needless to say I made it back to the Stoop and was treated to some original Boetjie music as Louis had now returned from corralling the Oryx and was in fine fettle. He also cooked his world famous lasagne – a variant where he uses spaghetti instead of lasagne sheets, and with some liberal dashes of the local 'Bushman Fire' sauce, it is quite delicious. He also insisted that I leave a comment on his dining room wall – as countless others had done – and I did a cartoon of myself and Louis dancing with our Cape Cobra.
Actually, the next day, as Louis was taking me back to Keetmanshoop, we found another Black Spitting Cobra and he excitedly got out of his bakkie ready for some more snake dancing, but this fellow had had enough and shot off into the bush as soon as it heard us – thankfully!
I caught the train back to Windhoek and once more travelled through the dark heart of the night and the Namib desert. The journey was fairly uneventful - well except for a stop in Mariental where I'm sure I received that offer of marriage, now that I think about it I think that actually happened on the return journey - but after another 12 hours or so at 6am I was picked up at Windhoek station; bleary eyed and prepared for my next Namibian Safari to the lands of the Himba.
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