Far off on the horizon looking North East from NamibRand, illuminated nightly by silent displays of vicious lightning, lie the Nubib Mountains. They are a microcosm of rocky, rain-dipped valleys and canyons, scruffy shale slopes and a haven for wildlife unfamiliar in the desert sands on their edge. Uneasy with the arid surrounds, they shield their treasures from the open dunes and one can spend weeks walking trails across the crags.
Like many African countries, Namibia is replete with incredible National Parks. Etosha is the crown jewel of the Namibian safari tourism pull, but arguably the more influential is the Namib-Naukluft. Ill-defined, dotted across a huge swathe of the West-Central portion of the country, 'Die Naukluft' is fragmented into many smaller portions, divided by roads and private game concessions, desert mining operations and safari reserves.
Erongo and Hardap Regions share portions of the Namib-Naukluft encompassing the wild desert outside Swakopmund, the Kuiseb River and Delta and down to the stark beauty of Sossusvlei and Sesriem. A less frequented enclave, previously known as Mountain Zebra National Park, was incorporated into the Namib-Naukluft. This hiker's fantasy is a stone's throw away from the Northern portion of the huge NamibRand Game Reserve, nestled in the Nubib Mountains.
In keeping with its namesake, the park is home to the Hartmann's Mountain Zebra, common enough in the dryveld game reserves of Central Namibia, but stupendously well camouflaged in its rocky home. Leopards, vultures, hyraxes and a host of highly localised insect and reptile life make the park their home, but, as with many mountain-dwelling creatures, finding them is another story altogether.
After departing from our campground at NamibRand, we trundled north through the enormous remainder of the reserve. Winding the gravel road to a medley of Southern African musical styles, we overtook an exotic home-made off-road camping vehicle. This part of the world is chock full of ingenuity, and crafting custom hardware competent to outlast the desert roads is an art form among camping aficionados down here.
We had survived the harsh roads unscathed on our journey thus far, but exactly as we hit the hottest, remotest and most unshaded stretch of road the truck suddenly proclaimed illness in the form of multiple blinking dashboard warnings. We foolishly stopped to check the issue and, unable to find a cause, turned the key to start again. The truck ticked over, but was stuck in park, unable to be shifted out. We were stranded, though our diligence in packing sufficient water set my mind at ease.
It is a right of passage driving these roads to have some form of vehicular calamity. Mostly this is in the form of shredded tyres, shattered windscreens or a gearbox full of sand. The less fortunate strike wandering animals, doing untold damage and unleashing a torrent of bureaucracy from the local police. Some underestimate the severity of the slippy gravel roads in vehicles weighted such, and slide off the road or even roll. This is not the place for such adventure.
We had wisely elected to pack a satellite phone - out here there is no regular signal. After a speedy chat with the truck hire company we learned how to drop the car into manual with a bottle opener and we were off again, penknife at the ready. Most of the companies renting vehicles in Southern Africa will sort you out or get someone to you, but due to the roads and distances it can take days off your trip. We were grateful for this being only a minor breakdown.
Heading back through Sesriem and returning briefly to Solitaire for a second round of game pie and a review of the ground squirrels, we took a somewhat less direct route to Mountain Zebra than the map suggests. It being the rainy season, the scraggy mountain pass roads were washed out and the minor shale tracks were no place to get stuck in a vehicle with a sand-coated transmission.
After hours of driving on the bumpy roads we palpably crossed into a different weather system. Passing a bridge in disrepair and the ubiquitous rest stop stone tables beneath a single thorn tree that dot the Namibian road network in a sincerely welcome gesture to erstwhile picnickers, we were at once back in the rain. Such a shock from the completely moistureless sands of Sesriem.
Ahead the mountains loomed large, forbidding the horizon in a wall of seemingly vertical rock. Greys, greens and orange browns merged in a camouflage pattern hiding even the most careless wildlife. Eagles could be seen overhead, but we had to keep our guard up as we crossed the rolling bumps in the road, already waterlogged - each one a potential abyss. The truck was sliding unpredictably across the wet rock forcing a slow progression. Week-long hiking camps dotted the cliffs - the going is tough and hikers expect to spend days on end on the trails.
Flitting through the scrub we caught our first sight in several weeks of the dark black Chacma Baboons that fill Southern African landscapes. They can be found in huge troops, always causing mischief. I was enjoying seeing them in Namibia where they are a particularly dark shade of browny grey. My previous experiences with them in Mpumalanga and on the banks of the Zambezi had been with far lighter individuals - the colour variation is intense.
These miscreants didn't hang around for long - scampering across the road and launching themselves under, through and over the low wire fence that wards off the road heading into the National Park. We would see more, I was sure of that. The track continued. Heading high up into the mountains we passed the miniature walled community of Bullspoort, a place to stop for provisions and home to a few tourism ventures and hiking guides.
A few kilometres further and we reached the fading, grandiose stone gateway into the Mountain Zebra National Park. Winding another fifteen kilometres or so we held our breath each time we dropped into a flooded dip in the road, fortunately always to emerge out the other side with our engine ticking. A steady climb up to the campground passed some of the legendarily difficult trailheads by the road, and we pulled up to the immaculately kept ranger station, eager to stretch our legs.
Oblivious to the drama engulfing the coronavirus-stricken outside world, we blissfully checked in with the park staff who gave us a clearly oft-repeated warning about the...audacity of the local baboon population. We returned to the vehicle to drive the rough road down to the campground. Rain came in fits and starts, providing the sheer brown rock a wild and washed-out appearance. We passed more trailheads as thunder clapped overhead.
The highland moisture next to the heat of the Namibian desert gives Mountain Zebra a sticky, mosquito-laden and tropically claustrophobic feel more reminiscent of the Caprivi or the maiyombe forest further north. We pitched up next to a shallow stream, noting immediately crushed reeds and piles of baboon poo on the rocks on the far side. No sign of the animals directly, but there was an oppressive sensation of being meticulously observed from afar.
A particularly rotund rock hyrax hove into view on the far side - these bizarre creatures, also known as dassies, are fluffy and unlikely relatives to elephants, and are found in craggy regions across Southern Africa. This one tired quickly of the rain and scampered off into a cave to hide out.
So absorbed I was staring at the hyrax that I nearly trod on an enormous shongololo traveling across the ground next to me. My peripheral vision convinced me it was a snake and I did a wild lurch sideways before realising the error. For all their fearsome appearance these giant, nearly half-metre long millipedes are not the slightest concern, though this doesn't stop safari guides across Africa pranking visitors with them.
Mountain Zebra is a less-visited reserve, even compared to the rest of Namibia. The only noises came from the thunder, the rain and the buzzing crickets and birds. A Red-Eyed Bulbul came to check out our selection of biscuits as we had the obligatory afternoon rooibos, and we waited out the rain. A wander over to the toilet block had me double checking over my shoulder; barred grates over every doorway, exclamatory signs everywhere alerting visitors to the peril of turning you back on your camping gear. Baboons rule this roost it seems.
Across Africa there are tales of mischievous primates interfering with camps. Guides used to recommend lobbing rocks at baboons that tried to steal things. Great advice until the baboons learned to hurl them back and worse. Primates are a different ball game altogether, and their intelligence and lack of decorum makes for oft-amusing, oft-infuriating camping.
Baboons have suffered terribly in Namibia and South Africa in the past - farmers have shot at them without a second thought, bringing them to the brink of population collapse in some local areas. Conservation efforts have restored them in places thankfully, but their very nature has made them hard to love in some circles, however thrilling and entertaining they may be for tourists.
Tired of the rain and fearing simian reprisals if we started pulling cooking equipment out in the dark, we traveled back up the road to the ranger's bar and arranged to have dinner in the dry. The classic dinner of oryx steak and sweet potatoes more flavoursome than anything you'll get out of Africa was very much appreciated, as was the ubiquitous gin and tonic so ingrained in safari culture.
This would be our last meal out before the restrictions of the global pandemic hit, and it was a worthy one. A young girl, seemingly related to one of the staff, wandered in and around the restaurant wearing a fluffy pink onesie and cowprint boots, clutching a tablet and a hippo-themed cup. The anachronism of this appearance reminded me yet again that Africa is not the place imagined in Western fantasies. It is so much more fascinating - embracing of modernity in a way that simply confuses visitors expecting something else.
We settled down for the night as the rain persisted, though slowing. The sound of crickets and distant zebras was a pleasant backdrop to our slow drift into unconsciousness. Then suddenly we were jolted awake; the car alarm sounding louder than any klaxon, echoing off the nearby rock faces and shrieking repetitively into the dead still African night, where sound carries a hundred times further than anywhere else.
Mortified for the handful of other campers nearby, we scrabbled around cursing each other and the truck and eventually stopped the racket before settling back down to sleep. Surely the electrics were failing in our weary vehicle, or one of us had stupidly left the keys in our pocket to lean on in bed. No. The alarm went off again, and again and every half hour for hours on end into the night.
The cause dawned on us after the second time, confirmed as a similar issue beset other campers later in the night. Baboons silently crawling over the vehicle and yanking at door handles, latches and anything left unattended in order to steal what goods they could. So rough they were in this enterprise that the alarm went off, betraying their criminality and their tenacity through the night. Bored of our unlucrative setup, they had moved through the other camps testing every security arrangement. Presumably this is a nightly experience up in these mountains.
After a restless sleep, we rose before the severe heat set in and packed up. We were to hit the mountain road back to the capital, but we endeavoured to have a hike that morning. Mountain Zebra is chock full of elaborate rocky trails. One, the Olive Route, requires hikers to straddle a pair of high ledges over a canyon. Another is a seven day guarantee of blisters on the soles of your feet, but the scenery is definitely worth it.
We took a gentler excursion and found ourselves walking up the dry remnant of the riverbed by our camp. There were traces of zebras and antelope everywhere but spotted them against the rocks was a real challenge. A Verreaux's Eagle swooped overhead and clung to the sheer face as if trying to surreptitiously pass us by.
On a high-sided canyon floor we encountered more evidence of baboons and heard a short characteristic bark in the distance. As I moved to investigate my boot stumbled over a pile of stripped bone and a singular hoof from an unidentified antelope. We were standing in what was clearly a leopard kitchen. Our pace improved shortly after, and our vigilance increased by an order of magnitude, though we were never lucky enough to clap eyes on the erstwhile assailant.
The sun had risen further overhead and made hiking a much greater challenge. With Windhoek calling and concerns over the state of the truck having been left alone in baboon country for several hours, we about turned and headed back out the canyon. In doing so we caught sight of one of Namibia's legendary Quiver Trees poking above a ridgeline - we had missed it on the way out. These upside-down trees are an iconic feature of the desert further south and are cultivated by local healers for purported medicinal properties.
Thankfully the baboons had left our truck be and, humidity and sweat descending, we loaded up and drove out. The road back through the park was even wetter than when we had arrived, but showers of baboons clinging to fences and playing with unnatural environmental enrichment in the form of discarded water bottles stands as a reminder of the fragility of even the remotest places to human carelessness.
Shaking and sliding back along the dirt road through to Rehoboth, we encountered little in the way of wildlife but passed an increasing number of vehicles, traffic police and the numerous horse-and-cart setups traveling the roads into the bigger towns. Approaching Windhoek we stopped after a bout of torrential rain for a picnic and were treated to a surge of green butterflies emerging from the grass.
Passing the slew of game reserves to the south of the capital, we drove over a shallow ridge to look down on the surprisingly large and spread out city. A police roadblock delayed us without event, and we called into the nearest petrol station to stock up. Joke-not-jokes about German tourists spreading coronavirus and leaving the country from the station attendant struck me as odd, and was the first indicator that all was not well since we had last been in civilisation.
All photography © Chris Milligan Photo. All views are my own. Seek local recommendations before photographing or approaching any wildlife.
Comments