Boldly Bowled Over By Boulders - Spitzkoppe

The big smile and spring in Billy’s step when he entered the house couldn’t hide his happiness. He beamed. There was a new lightness about him. Like water cascading over smooth polished rocks, his zest bubbled and gushed, and words tumbled out excitedly. He’d just returned from a fortnight road tripping in Namibia. He told us that he’d lost weight and was tanned and fit. A niggle in my gut whispered, “he’s hiding something.” 

“We have time”,  I whispered back. “All will be revealed.”

We had to make a turn at Spitzkoppe he repeated as he scanned and reviewed his route, his forefinger retracing the way on the map spread out on the dining room table. From Swakopmund, we could do it in half a day, he assured us.

Reliable suggestions and recommendations are always welcome, so Spitzkoppe went onto the bucket list.

On many previous trips, we’d passed in the vicinity of Spitzkoppe and had seen the mountains but never ventured nearer. Their bleep on our radar, always getting fainter and fainter as we sped past.

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We returned to the desert road and kept the needle in a north-easterly direction. When the Garmin guy (yes, we’ve given up on women on the GPS; they’re so unreliable) instructed us to turn left, I jumped out and opened the farm gate. We were to approach the mountains on a seldom-used two-track farm road. Weird but exciting.

A few shrubs and wizened trees punctuated the barren landscape for miles until we finally spotted a tiny settlement. We stopped to say hello. The friendly group assured us we were on the right track, and we just had to keep going. Relieved, we pressed on.

The skyline with tiny bumps soon developed into hills, and then we could see the Spitzkoppe clearly defined on the horizon. Even from a distance, they were impressive. We stopped on the knoll crest to admire our first proper view of the russet koppies and mountains.

No matter where you are in the world, there will always be people, and here in this unrelenting harsh desert, locals lead simple lives—herders, farmers and informal traders who live a quiet, meaningful life surrounded by family and friends, sheep, the odd ostrich, and goats. Homesteads are constructed of corrugated iron, stone with a smattering of mortar between the bricks. With hardly any rain expected it's the heat that must be kept at bay.

Once again we experienced the friendliest and helpful officials at the gate. To pass the time the two besties take turns styling hair while they wait for clients to arrive!

With a map and a few recommendations, we booked a three-night visit. We could select our campsite according to our needs. There were spots favoured by photographers who seek the perfect light, romantics who enjoy sundowners on the perfect boulder or adventurers who never miss an opportunity to explore. And then you get me, who requires it all.

The campsite we chose had an unsurpassed view over the vast golden plains and veld on one side, the towering mountains to the east, while the Honey Badger lay nestled in a womb of plump boulders. At sunset, we scampered up one of the boulders encircling us. 

 

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Emotions flooded me. It is when we’re stripped of all our indulgences and sit bare feet on a rock with only the cries of a lone jackal, the mournful bleating of a lost goat, and a chorus of barking geckoes for company that one’s soul sings. Seeing the sun dipping flame red beyond the horizon and setting the sky alight shifted my shortsighted perspective, and I saw (once again) how insignificant we are. The sun will set as it did that day in again, as it does in a gazillion years time. Reminding me of a truth I carry with me.

The story/fable I've adapted goes something like this:

One day a lifetime ago, the Universe asked my spirit whether it would like to go to a little blue ball tucked away in a remote part of the solar system, just for a short while, it stressed, a nanosecond in real-time; I was assured. There, I was warned, I’d experience emotions of many kinds, and my ever-inquisitive soul said yes.

The seed was planted, and here I am, flesh and blood. As predicted, I have experienced many emotions. The majority have been good, some less remarkable, and one or two miserable ones. I celebrate and relish the good, analyse the bad and mournfully try to work through the ugly.

The promise that it’s all temporary is a comfort I rely on. Fortunately, as a Cancerian, I’ve crabbed my way along the beach of life, and the overwhelming emotion I have experienced is joyfulness. Still, I remind myself it’s only temporary when things overwhelm me.

Here we were surrounded by the magnificent Spitzkoppe. The desolation, the desert and nature constantly worked in brilliant unison, releasing emotions in me that burned in my chest. I was elated and thankful to be there, and I couldn’t stop the fat drops oozing from my eyes—very happy tears.

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We were to see the sunrise at dawn casting the mountain in golden light. During the day, as the sun moved, the changing light on the mountains cast shadows, lighting up crags, fissures and gorges that had been in the dark a few minutes before and vice versa. A continuous changing display of colour as the sun rose reached its zenith dipped and set.

On our bikes, we explored the circuitous routes spreading like veins through the various rock formations. On the hoof, we clambered and climbed some of the huge boulders and rocks to enjoy the views. We found them easy to navigate and scamper over and even ventured up some higher reaches.

Following two couples we got as far as the well-known “window”. I did the last stretch solo so that Butch could do the capturing on film! There we saw how huge fallen boulders had rolled, or through erosion had weathered away and now balance precariously on a sliver or held in place by smaller rocks, stones or pebbles it seems. Their sheer weight keeps  them firmly anchored. I did give one big one a little shove but it didn't budge. Thank goodness. An avalanche could've been  our undoing.

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Here one needs to engage all one’s senses to get the maximum reward. Our eyes feasted on the views, the summer rains hadn’t started yet, and the air was infused with the wheaty smell of dry, ripe grass. Keeping one’s ears to the ground made us aware of small critters running or scratching in the grasses and scrub or on the rocks as the Dassies ran for cover as we approached. To see a ghecko was a bonus, they're so fast and are perfectly camoflaged.

With their smooth or cracked barks, the stunted trees were an invitation to touch, smell and feel their years of growth.

It is impossible to keep your hands to yourself while you sit in the shade of a huge rock or boulder; to see it, one has to feel its smooth or gravelly surface. I picked up sticks and stones, filling my pockets with perfect little discs for ducks and drakes. I had to return them to the Spitzkoppe, their place was there.

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Our simple meals and drinks tasted better in the cool shade of our protective circle of rocks. The smoke from our acacia hardwood braai fire seasoned our chops and chicken. Tendrils of other campers’ evening fires drifted in the warm air, reminding us that we weren’t alone.

Except for the occasional puffy ball of red dust rolling across the veld as vehicles approached, we were unaware of other visitors. The feeling of being isolated and alone in this special place made the experience even more special. How often do we have an opportunity to explore vast areas undisturbed? While sitting quietly at our fire, the occasional word or laugh could be heard during the evening. I found it comforting, a reminder of a happy childhood when grownups chatted late into the night.

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On one of our rides, we discovered a group of guides who take guests out on a guided walk to see some well-preserved Khoisan paintings etched on a large rock with a protective overhang.

While we were contemplating the situation, a large, bearded man approached us and forcefully encouraged us to join him on an excursion to see, learn, and support the guide. With his blue eyes and winning smile, I agreed and joined Georg (he was German) and George, our guide and Butch, also George (William George), to see a panel of rock art.

George, a proud member of the Khoisan tribe, explained how the depictions were interpreted, how old they were according to carbon dating, why they were necessary, and for whom they were important.

The San were nomadic hunter-gatherers with a specific migratory route, much like the antelope, following food sources and water supplies. The paintings were a way of communicating with other groups following in their footsteps. The red, grey and black ochres were from finely ground stone and charcoal mixed with animal fat. Blood was also used, and quills and feathers were used to apply the paints.

I  found the height of the paintings particularly interesting; they are inscribed low down on the rock face. After some thought, it made perfect sense. The San people were slightly built, lean and well-toned. True athletes and marksmen who, armed with a bow and poison arrow, stalked their prey and shot them. They had to be light-footed and fast.

George told us about the poisons used and the types of wood used to fashion the bows. Sinews and gut were cured for the strings. He said the same methods are often used by hunters today. Never change a good recipe!

I spent a delightful hour with the three Georges before we all went our separate ways. Georg was off to Johannesburg to visit friends before returning to Munich, and my George had to saddle up to peddle further. Number one George would join his colleagues as they waited for tourists to arrive. It was a day like any other. He said, grinning.

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Although we had an opportunity to spend three nights in this magical place, I found my time there too short. I could’ve done a lot more exploring or just sitting in contemplation. I loved the simplicity of the large campsites. The long-drop toilet was clean and comfortable. We enjoyed our outdoor shower under the stars with the moon lighting the way.

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To get some connectivity, we tried the neighbouring lodge but the cost was ridiculous. We didn’t fall for it and returned to the park’s restaurant for a toasted sandwich and coffee. Unfortunately, their modem was out of order for the day. In retrospect, it didn’t really matter; we survived without it.

Here your soul can rest in the simple magnificence all around you. I believe ancient civilisations like the Khoisan experienced the power and magnitude of the Universe far more acutely than we do. Our pleasures and displeasures are often superficial and based on our current affairs, peer pressure, unrealistic expectations not met and the disappointments that follow.  I think E.T might've looked up and said "E.T. wants to go home!"

There were times, while we were bent poring over a platoon of ants marching. carrying their loads; we'd zoom in closer and closer to see the paths they've made, moving gravel to smooth the way. To them the gravel and rocks huge obstacles and the seeds they carry weighty yet they forge ahead. At night the stars knocked  our breath away, in the clear air they multiplied by millions.  Imagine for a moment trying to survive being a tree. On the ground the lifespan of an ant a few days, us a few years and above us billions of light years and more.

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On reflection, I think Billy lost his heart here and gained a lightness about himself. Who could resist the magic of this extraordinary place? Thank you, Billy, for pointing us in the right direction. Your recommendation was spot on.