Waking up before sunrise to a repetitive cacophony of shrieking birds, set against the continuous rhythm of cicadas, is a morning ritual when camping in Namibia. I slid off the end of my sleeping bag - far too humid to be in it - and cracked the door of the truck ajar. A cursory check for snakes and scorpions and I put my boots on before stepping off the rear step in near-blackness, and straight into a pool of warm rainwater.
The water would be gone shortly after sunrise - the heat would burn it away in a matter of hours no matter how deep, only to be renewed later in the afternoon when the violent summer storms returned. I cracked the kitchen panel open on the outside of the truck, withdrew a mug and spooned in some granulated coffee, laced with chicory in the Southern African way.
A beam of sunlight emerged through the thorn acacia trees we were camped under. Orange-brown-green colours danced from the branches and soaked grasses. A scrub hare reared its head and bounded away a split second later, food still hanging from its mouth.
Daybreak was upon us, calling time on the dangers of the night. This first light is beautiful, but the final movements of predators overlap with the emergence of prey in the cooler morning and as such is a particularly risky time to be out and about. This is the time the luckiest photographers capture those wonderful overcast images of wild dogs and leopards, aardvarks, genets and honey badgers and everything in between.
I reached into the cab to retrieve a guide reference. There are so many birds in this part of the world even seasoned wildlife spotters are overwhelmed with identification, and the Namibian bush is home to a great many species of shrikes and cuckoos. As I leaned in I caught sight of a reflected movement in the windscreen. Behind me a tiny antelope, barely knee-height, was cautiously stepping out of the grass and onto the sand of our campground.
The miniature face, characteristic black spotting and a silvery-blue lumbar fade gave this individual away as a Damara Dik-dik - a local subspecies of Kirk's Dik-diks, one of Africa's smallest antelope; quite an accolade given the sheer range of species and distributions. Usually observed in pairs, these Dik-diks are quiet and gentle animals. Somewhat shy, they avoid being approached but despite their diminutive size they don't race off at the first sign of human presence like jittery springbok or hartebeest.
Dik-diks are quite rare regionally, but locally in Namibia they can be found in higher numbers in the areas receiving comparatively more rainfall than elsewhere in this dry land. Unusually for antelope, the females are larger than the males but the pair rarely stray far from one another and a second animal is likely to be very close by on sighting the first.
Their unusual name is though to be an Afrikaans interpretation of the click-whistle sound made when they sight danger. They have black scent gland spots on their faces to mark their environment and each other to ensure the pair remain bonded. Frequently found in the low grasses at the edges of dirt roads, they are reassuringly easier to photograph than many antelope on account of their higher tolerance for human proximity.
Despite their apparent confidence, they spend much of the midday period resting in the low grass (though they typically graze on berries and foliage) and forging narrow pathways through the vegetation and rocks to map an escape network for them to dart down if they do become threatened. This complex mapping behaviour suggests dik-diks are a particularly intelligent antelope, though similar patterns are starting to be uncovered in other species.
Admiring this undeniably cute low-rise specimen in a land of mammalian giants, it becomes a mid-morning ritual gently following them on foot at a distance and trying to snap perfectly framed shots of them in the scrub. Like many species they have a tendency to hide behind whatever they can find, so erstwhile great photos are often obscured by a few blades of grass noted at a later review!
Each morning after completing a search for the (erroneously) more exhalted African animals, I spent a good portion following them and their other related antelope cousins through the bush and around the local waterhole at our campground. Impressively deft at evading the tactically camouflaged Nile Crocodiles on the banks of the muddy pool, the dik-diks, wildebeest and wading birds made a pleasant mornings sightings each day.
A number of other micro-antelope species are prevalent across the same range. Steenbok, Duikers, Grysbok and Oribi are all found locally in portions of the dik-dik's range and can be easily mistaken by unfamiliar eyes. The Damara Dik-dik's iconic gray back is the defining visual feature, though on the odd occasion they are heard instead of seen their unique sound would be enough to give them away.
In Eastern Erongo Region, around Omaruru and across Otjozondjupa, steenbok are the most common interloper. Their perpetually-juvenile spiky vertical horns give them away but their behaviour is quite similar to the dik-dik as they pad through the grasses. They are wary, though there's little serious risk in the midday and early afternoon.
Dusk is a different tale. Lions, cheetahs and especially leopards, though more than competent, typically elect not to challenge the larger, fully grown antelope for fear of injury. An injured jaw, fractured limb or even an unexpected laceration from an errant hoof or horn is often fatal in an environment that invites infection and promotes it rapidly. Predators favour taking the smaller antelope species, baby warthogs and birds if possible.
Stumbling at a speed just above stalling, we crunched our way down the boulder shale running along the sides of koppies in the east of Erindi. The word road may be somewhat generous, but the ubiquitous modified Toyota Landcruisers of Southern Africa have no trouble meandering across this daunting terrain.
We arrived at an overflowing dam surrounded by White-backed Vultures. These birds are an essential local resident, but their numbers have crashed precipitously in recent years. Other vulture species elsewhere in the world, particularly India, have suffered from collateral poisoning from the discard of veterinary medicines and agro-toxins in contaminated foods. The same is suspected to be the cause in the Sub-Saharan region.
Springbok would occasionally make their presence known, only to jump with a start at the slightest camera or vehicle noise and bolt to a safe distance hundreds of metres away. Frustrating as this can be photographically, this behaviour often includes the simultaneously majestic and ridiculous pronking movement as they bounce on all four legs at the same time.
Periodically out of the bushes a dik-dik or steenbok would rear up from its grazing, stare back and then slowly edge away. The late summer rainy season is also the time when newborns are roaming the landscape. Animals are cautiously protective but the green vegetation affords a considerable opportunity to hide the vulnerable young.
This late evening puts all antelope on edge. A huge herd of impala joined us on the trail, roaming down the rocky path in front of us as we marveled at their young. The black M seared onto their backsides was replicated a hundred times as they slowly made progress, and every so often a juvenile individual would charge off to the side only to be brought back into line with the rest of the herd.
Sunset is an arresting site. The obligatory ceremony of finding a beautiful overlook from which to observe it, beverage in hand, was one we strictly adhered to each and every day in honour of our host country. Namibia is home to many excellent beers, lagers and spirits, but the Tafel and Windhoek brews are by far the most prevalent and most appreciated.
Carrying ourselves back to camp in the half light, I could just make out, clustered around our gas canister, the same pair of dik-diks sidling up against the back of the truck. Doubtless they were using it to hide against until much larger nyala broke cover by our camp and replaced them in an amicable handover. In time we lost sight of the antelope and hordes of the huge Armoured Ground Crickets so prevalent in the Namibian rainy season descended onto anything and anyone.
Not for those averse to creepy crawlies, travelers with a more open mind will find the Namibian insect diversity fascinating. There are seemingly endless beetles, spiders, scorpions and caterpillars roaming the landscape, and this early evening, especially around the appealing light of a campfire, is the time to spot them. Mantises hang around on the edge of the heat, yet another casualty in the morning when the shrikes and babblers descend for their breakfast banquet.
There is something extremely primitive and timeless about a bush campfire, especially if one cooks dinner on it. Namibia is host to an impressive array of poisonous trees that contaminate cooking food and create blinding smoke, so it isn't wise to just build one out of any old wood if you're not sure. As we watched the embers of our fire die down, and the smoke had finally settled, a curious and all encompassing sound of multiple car alarms broke the silence.
Furious with the noise breaking such a perfect night in the bush, we went on the hunt, torch in hand, to hand the offending campground a piece of mind. We searched in vain out in the bush - it can be some distance between camps - until we got closer and closer to the repetitive, ear splitting noise. As we approached the waterhole (with caution - the crocodiles are still there at night) it dawned on us that the irritating sound was in fact an entire choir of African Bullfrogs.
Amused and somehow less annoyed by the sound knowing its animal origins, we made our way back to the vehicle just as the thunder and lighting resumed its familiar summer pattern. Our morning cycle of low-light breakfast and a visit from the dik-diks and nyala resumed and the familiarity of our new environment grew so quickly that it was hard to remember that there had ever been a time when we didn't wake up here. Namibia is a land with an ancient hold on memory.
All photography © Chris Milligan Photo. All views are my own. Seek local recommendations before photographing or approaching any wildlife.
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