Calamity Jane Rides Again - Wild Camping While A Storm Brews

Life never runs as smoothly as we expect. While storm clouds were brewing, we went blissfully on our way, entirely unaware of our troubles simmering away.  

We left the leafy confines of Ngepi and made our way to a wild campsite in the Mudumo National Park. Now we were going to chillax, do some birding, watch the hippos and crocodiles lazily basking on a sandbank, and, if lady luck were on our side, something wildly exciting would come calling near the truck.

We passed small hamlets and farmers going about their business along the road. The first rains had fallen, and most were tilling their soil or ploughing their fields with their teams of handsome longhorn cattle, preparing to plant seeds.

The River People are maize and cattle farmers and are practically self-sufficient. They also fish for their own use, which provides an excellent source of protein in their diet. We’d seen Makoros with fishers plying the rivers at Ngepi.

We stopped to buy firewood, fresh vegetables, and fruit, grateful for the local community's support, which made our travel feel more meaningful and connected.

Our GPS was our only source of direction, and we dutifully followed the coordinates into the wilds along a sandy two-spoor track. Where the road crossed another track, we braced ourselves and followed "Han Solo" (the dreamy voice of Harrison Ford on our GPS). In the distance, we spotted a dust cloud coming ever closer. Eventually, we zipped past each other, narrowly avoiding a collision; they were heading east at a breakneck speed. We ground our way ever onwards in an easterly direction. Both drivers were convinced they were heading straight to campsite 3—the most desirable campsite in the park. We arrived, pleased as punch not to have neighbours spoiling our view, as they must not have seen us. Turns out they got campsite 3, and we had the overflow campsite. 

Four nights of sheer bliss were to follow. We did a quick recce of our site; we felt like land barons, as far as the eye could see, from horizon to horizon, with not another living soul in sight.

In the distance, we heard the grunts of hippos as they honked at pods downstream and the softer growls of those upstream. Splashes from a giant crocodile were almost silent as it glided swiftly into the stream; like driftwood, it waded closer to inspect us.

We couldn’t wait to set up our gazebo, get our cameras out and set up our tripods to take close-up shots of waterbirds in a dead tree. The call of the African fish eagle added to the excitement, and later, at sunset, a swarm of swallows or swifts arrived, which we couldn't identify properly, as they swooped in to quench their thirst.

We heard rumblings and then intermittent silver streaks of lightning in the east as storm clouds gathered. I wasn’t worried. “This too shall pass,” I thought. Butch started battening down the hatches, securing the Honey Badger. Blue water became darker as white horses appeared on the river’s surface. I, the eternal optimist, could’ve put money on us not experiencing the storm as we watched thunder and lightning intensifying in the east, spreading along the horizon away to the east.

The wind has a way of changing direction. It pirouetted, and the brooding skies darkened as it shifted within a few minutes. Heading straight for our campsite, we watched the storm approach. Rumbles became orchestral crashes, lightning staccato, ever faster, while the wind tangoed across the river, whisking frothy foam and waves towards us. The crescendo crashed down onto our gazebo, sending it flying. Steel poles, cables and netting flew like a limp rag doll, legs akimbo, arms flailing into a tree. We watched this symphony, transfixed.

Bedraggled and wet, we gathered our tablecloth, chairs and stays. Thank goodness we have an air fryer, Butch said. The storm passed, and the swollen clouds released sheets of pelting rain. We were stuck in the mud. Even the hippos quietened. While we waited for supper, Butch beat me at Rummikub twice. Worried we might have a cloudy morning, we decided to turn in early, conserving our batteries, which had dropped slightly while the air fryer was in use.

While Butch read his book, I settled with a mug of hot chocolate and a film on my iPad. This storm wasn’t going to get the better of us. We were fast asleep by 20h30.

Butch checked the batteries each morning, feeling a mix of concern and readiness, which reminded us how important it is to stay prepared for unexpected vehicle issues on the road.

Fridays aren’t a good day for mechanical failures, even at the best of times. We had to get to Katima Mulilo as soon as possible.

In times like these, you need friends in the know. We started dialling acquaintances who might know of an auto electrician in these parts. The Garmin had no clue, and Butch tried his luck on Facebook, but no one responded. Quietly, I messaged my friend Dawn. I’m sure many readers will know exactly who I mean. The pretty boss-lady who co-owned and managed the 5-star Ichingo Chobe River Lodge on Impalila Island!

Within minutes, I had a recommendation, an address, and a pin-drop on Waze. Girls rock when there’s a crisis.

At 9h15, we rolled into Zambezi Auto City. Dawn had already arranged with Mike and the mechanics that we were on our way.The long and the short of it. We had to replace three of the deep-cycle batteries we’d replaced in Upington earlier that year. (Within seven months, we'd gone through 8 batteries on the Honey Badger. I kid you not. You could say firing our girl up and keeping her hot isn't cheap.) Finding three deep-cycle batteries in Katima Mulilo is like finding hen’s teeth, but we did, from Western Trading Post – Truck & Trailer Parts. 

We decided to shift gears and booked a long weekend at the Gondwana Chobe River Lodge near the Goba border. It was still raining, and we needed sunshine on our solar panels. Given our experience, we couldn’t risk being off-grid.

The world is very small in these parts, and there, on the steps, was Matteus, who had trained at Ichingo Lodge and knew Dawn well. He was thrilled to learn that she was doing well.

We were parched and ravenous, with neither a drop of wet nor a dry one on our lips all day. We sat down to a delicious pizza and a few long, cold ones. We raised our glasses and hoped this would end our troubles. I should never have wished bad Karma on our neighbours. Payback time is slow yet relentless.