Leaving Deadvlei, we were quickly on the bone-shaking gravel road south from Sesriem. A couple of weeks of rain prior to our arrival - sorely needed after years of drought - had left washed out grooves in the road surface, baked and compacted in the sun. There was no give and the journey was a comical rattle from start to finish.
After an hour on the road one encounters surreal hotels in the shape of castles and fortresses, each an island miles from anywhere, out of place on the edge of the Namib. Road grading teams worked out in the extreme sun, taking refuge in mobile cabins in the worst of the midday. The obligatory waving ceremony ubiquitous to places of such rurality the world over breaks up the journey.
As the sun reached its zenith, we rounded a hill and were overlooking a huge sandy plain, patches of melting red rocks and pink stripes of miraged desert mingled, embossed at the edges with black crags. Curious roadsigns started to appear warning of the animals that might cross the road - unlikely as it seemed that anything could live out here. Giraffes, kudu, ostriches and zebras all clearly marked out.
We scanned left and right, no sign yet but a few hazy black blobs on the horizon. The binoculars confirmed they were ostriches, their image flitting about wildly in the aggressive shimmer. A closer inspection of a lone thorn tree showed the base was packed in by a team of springbok wishing for respite. Away from the tree a more independent individual paced around and kept guard.
A sign announced we were entering the NamibRand Nature Reserve. The landscape didn't change but there was a feeling we were entering something special. The brief spell of summer rain that had blessed the desert here in earlier weeks had left a rarely seen spread of green fuzz across the sand and occasional patches of yellow flowers remained in unique experience of the Namib desert.
The horizon remained constant, so long and flat was the plane we were on. A gleaming ranger building miles on the distance was the only sign of life and multitude inselbergs in all shades of brown kept the sky out of reach of the sand. We passed an airstrip where a pair of ostriches bolted parallel with the road and past a waiting private jet at complete odds with its surrounds. They sustained their panic for a good few minutes before downgrading their alert status.
Advancing over the flats, we were suddenly in among brown boulders, with modest koppies and small craggy peaks either side of the road. A ghostly white stone building betrayed life only by the fragments of washing hanging outside. A bustle of activity burst into life around the water tank and a pair of adult Plains Zebras and their young foal sprinted across the road.
Zebras are one of those animals that the whole world knows about. But seeing one in the wild, free roaming, is a surreal experience. The most pleasing thing about it is it never gets old; each time we're back in Africa the excitement of seeing this most outrageous, stripey horse is renewed. I have a lot of favourite animals, but zebras are assuredly near the top and I was overjoyed to see them again.
Cautiously looking back and, having ground the truck to halt on the road and switched off the engine, the foal decided we were no longer a threat. The rest of the family, more cautious in their wisdom, took longer but eventually followed suit and wandered back across the road to resume their mischief on the property we had stopped near.
Like giraffes and the plethora of bright reptiles that populate Namibia, zebras are astonishingly well camouflaged in a wide variety of environments. It's tempting to read their barcode as being suited to vertical grassland - and it's certainly very effective there. Amazing, then, to find the same pattern is equally effective among inselbergs and shadowy desert rocks. So much so, in fact, that the camera was switched to manual focus as the black and white stripes play havoc with the autofocus.
We sat a while with these, to quote a game ranger we met earlier, donkeys in pyjamas as they lazily stood in the heat of the day. Their slow amble, head bobbing, is certainly reminiscent of donkeys on dusty tracks, but the bursts of frenetic energy, infighting and jostling that is a feature of zebra herds is a unique trait not shared by even the wildest of horses and donkeys.
Moving off, the trio startled again and began a trot into the depression below us. We passed a variety of accommodations and farm buildings - some with the classic Southern African dust track stretching off for miles into the distance, barred with a rusting gate by the road but no accompanying fence. A short winding dust and gravel road takes you onto an enormous flat sandy plane.
The scene is, without exaggeration, not dissimilar from Serengeti vistas - towering crags on the horizon and herds of plains animals grazing on the meagre grassy remnant of the rainy season. There is not a fence in sight and the feeling of wilderness is evident. A few errant mongooses fought in the road before folding up in a crumpled ball and darting behind some low-rise dunes. We had arrived at our destination - the campground of the Family Hideout at NamibRand.
NamibRand is a vast private consortium of former game farms, safari ventures and luxury lodges and is a beacon of conservation done right in an unassuming corner of Africa. Around twenty former commercial blocks of land have merged into a colossal desert wilderness area with dropped fences and free roaming animals - a virtual private National Park in many respects.
The result has been scores of protected species endemic to the Namib doing well and a trial of low-impact tourism that has been phenomenally successful in boosting Namibia's image in the wildlife conservation tourism scene. In an age of commercial demand, it is gratifying to hear stories of former cattle ranching operations turn their land back to nature, allow wildlife to thrive and promote scientific and conservation programs in full view of visitors.
Fifteen kilometres later and we came across the hideout's warden Cornelius crossing the sandy road on a fat-tyred bike. He introduced himself and took us up to our home for the next few days - Camp Orion. This small corner of the larger reserve is home to three of the most perfect camping spots I have ever visited - access to water and a bathroom, a local waterhole and unimpeded views across the enormity of the NamibRand flats.
Each campsite is far distant and out of sight of the others so every vista is completely isolated. After our time in Namibia exposure to too many other people would have been a shock to the system - not least, in hindsight, considering the coronavirus crisis had chosen this exact day to change the world and we have been grateful ever since to have remained ignorant for a few more days and not had this extremely special time at NamibRand sullied by such unpleasantness.
No sooner had we made camp and got the kettle on than a pair of gemsbok silently wandered over the dune behind our vehicle and helped themselves to a generous drink from the nearby waterhole. Stubbornly possessive, it wasn't long before ostriches fringed the horizon followed by a small group of Plains Zebras chancing their proximity for a go at the water. Gemsbok are evidently running the show and are intolerant of the other animals trying to muscle in, and so the zebras nervously pace up and down at a safe distance hoping for something left.
Eventually the gemsbok yielded and slumped off to a nearby thorn tree. The zebras moved in. Nervous and skittish in ways I had not expected, they watch for every tiny little movement. Every fly, every tail swish, every bending grass blade or branch startles them into a flurry of rearing, kicking and half-bolting before returning to the water.
After a time the youngsters earn their impatience and a fight breaks out - a bucking kick to the shoulder or chin, a vicious bite to the neck or lip; all part of the experience of getting a drink it seems though these wildest of horses behave like the worst of drunks at a crowded wild west bar. Eventually the adults bore of this and finally, desperately, the graceless fluffy black and white foals come in to get their water, an ultra-nervous mother following not far behind.
The reserve has several thousand zebras roaming free, and of course the inevitable visiting predators. Leopards and hyenas are a reliable threat anywhere in Namibia, but chancing wild cats, jackals, cheetahs and a multitude of birds of prey rove the region. Few of these pose a serious threat to zebras, but the aridity and wildly fluctuant Southern African climate of late definitely does. This whole region has received sub-optimal rain for years, having experienced a severe drought up until just before we arrived. Wildlife does the only thing it can in such conditions - cope or perish.
Night comes quick in Africa and the astonishing spectacle of sunset grazing the mountains behind our camp gave rise to the sort of orange and purple banded sky that evokes the continent's image elsewhere in the world. Sleep was better than elsewhere as the desert heat mercifully subsides in the dead of night, but it was still punctuated by the hyenas shrieking and another, likely zebra-related, commotion at the nearby waterhole.
Before first light we were up and Cornelius graciously drove us some twenty kilometres through the reserve and the mountains to the west of our camp in search of wildlife. We sighted in the far distance a family of Bat-eared Foxes, a high priority on the list of photographic targets for this trip to Africa, though a little too far out of range for the camera. The solid red of the sunrise dunes and huge herds of racing gemsbok produced some of the most Namibian imagery one could have hoped for on the trip.
An indescribably beautiful sunrise, factoring in all the colours of the rainbow, ensued and was made all the more precious by the moving pastiche of zebras grazing the green grass amidst red sand, grey mountains and an blue and yellow tinted sky. For me peace is easiest to find in an African landscape, perhaps none more so than this morning. The insanity of the world outside was firmly locked out by such beauty. The final joy was sighting a secretary bird, another first for us, wading cautiously by the treadmarks on the sandy track.
Every blade of grass and patch of dust is sacred at NamibRand - wardens monitor off-road activity with great attention to detail. This sort of care for the land is essential if wild places are to be protected and we were very impressed with the knowledge and consideration placed across the reserve entire. Finally we hobbled back over the dune behind our camp and hid away beneath the shade we could fashion for the brutal heat of summer's midday, remembering that in reality we were really not far at all from the similarly vicious Sossusvlei and the Namib's searing dune sea.
Drifting in and out of sleep we repeatedly awoke to zebras returning to the waterhole periodically throughout the day, particularly in the late portion of the afternoon. A Gopro captured zebras and gemsbok drinking, though a review of the video at home revealed that the zebras had no qualms standing full force on the camera (a portion can be viewed here) - a testimony to the resilience of the camera's casing. We remained agog for hours watching the zebras standing in the water, splashing and generally winding each other up.
Plains Zebras (Equus quagga) are one of three currently recognised species. The Mountain Zebra, formerly in Cape and Hartmann's subspecies, is widely distributed across Southern Africa with considerable overlap with the Plains. East Africa's desperately rare Grevy's Zebra is largely confined to zoos globally but a few individuals remain and are the focus of intense conservation efforts across their range. The Plains and Mountain Zebras are, for now, more numerous though are no less a joy to behold.
As they moved away from the waterhole again, a small group of seven young males banded together on a dusty road and started a rearing display beloved of fine art wildlife painters and sepia-tinted photographers. What is missing from their work is the sound of scuffing sand, whining vocalisations and the dull thud of a kick to the chest that gives true weight to the spectacle.
The wind picked up that evening. Despite our desert locale one is never terribly far from the wild Atlantic in the Namib and the gusts can catch speed across these flats. Clutching a cold bottle of Windhoek Lager, we headed up a nearby dune for the sunset and the ritual safari tradition of sundowner drinks in beautiful places.
It would be hard to find a more precious venue than this unassuming heap of sand; a three hundred and sixty degree vista of an artist's impression of all things African greeted us. Craggy peaks behind us with the sun bouncing off the ridgeline, off to the left sandy dunes and short grey-green grasses sprinkled with far-off zebras grazing. Ahead an immense plain rolled out to the Nubib mountains and off the right a greener view of bushy wet-season vegetation punctuated with red dunes. This is what heaven looks like.
Picking sand out of our teeth after an unexpected surge in the breeze, we slept another stuttered night of wild noises and thunderclaps. The morning brought exercise; Cornelius had dropped off a pair of 'fat bikes' - thick-tyred monstrosities capable of riding on the shifting sand. We saddled up and rode out as soon as the sun announced its arrival - this was going to be a hot day and we wanted to make the most of our cycle-safari.
Tracing the soft sand track across the reserve, we caught sight of an early morning African Wild Cat - the original tabby-striped and pale furred precursor to the domestic cat - and a repeat encounter with the striding secretary bird. Springbok nervously observed from a great distance, spooked easily by any form of proximity.
Over the first line of dunes we encountered a huge herd of zebra belting across the grass, a thrilling encounter when riding a bike, and marveled at the thunderous pace they could pick up despite the heat. Their race and skittishness is frequently short-lived, and they were soon back to grazing in no time at all. Pied crows watched on and we encountered iconic gemsbok knee-deep in the steep red dunes of the early morning.
We made it back to camp just as the suncream had turned to sweat and the sunburn was setting in. Cue the long hazy midday exhaustion where sleeping under a thorn tree is practically mandatory. The motley crew of weavers gemsbok and zebras returned in their hierarchical drinking pattern to the waterhole. The zebras returned in a much larger number this time and spent a good couple of hours spooking one another, water dripping wastefully from their chins.
In the late evening they drifted away again to the desert as the wind picked up and a vicious yellow-tinted series of storm clouds rolled across the horizon, probably fifty kilometres in the distance. Silent bursts of lightning lit up the sky, pausing any chance to see Namibia's legendary night skies, but creating a spectacular display of its own accord. A sense of forbidding, perhaps. After all, we were in a brave new world and didn't even know it.
NamibRand is noted by astronomers for having some of the finest dark skies on the planet. The rainy season and distant mountains make for occasional cloudy skies, chaotically scattered with lightning bursts and the gorgeously turbulent African summer thunder that accompanies it. Periodically we sighted vast star fields simply not visible with any background light. The Milky Way spanned, as it does, across the sky far more prominently than in the Northern hemisphere and the Magellanic clouds were not just visible but luminescent. Small wonder astronomers flock to Namibia.
Our final morning was spent lazing as much as possible, though we did head off around the reserve in our vehicle once packed for a final zebra-infused scan of the landscape. Of course they didn't disappointed, and a train of adults with a solitary foal keeping pace at the pack was our final, beautiful, view of this very special protected part of Namibia's natural heritage, promising as we do in all wonderful places, to return.
The road ahead beckoned, and, like book-ends to a quiet interlude, the mongooses fought one another across the road in a final attempt to slow our departure for one more photo. Quietly we slipped onto the gravel track into the Nubib mountains on the road to Bullspoort and the Mountain Zebra enclave of the Namib-Naukluft National Park, still oblivious to the chaos unfolding elsewhere in the world.
All photography © Chris Milligan Photo. All views are my own. Seek local recommendations before photographing or approaching any wildlife.
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