Our Honey Badger Always Has The Last Word

May 31, 2022 Posted in The Honey Badger Diaries / Musings

As we all know, Honey Badgers do not take kindly to being ignored. They’re feisty, resilient, and crafty. Only she knows why her nose was put out of joint. It could’ve been the Khoudom corrugations, the tall trees, the narrow roads, or a field mouse that might’ve done the trick. We’ll never know.

Shortly after our trip through the rugged terrain, when our batteries failed, we had them replaced in Katima Mulilo at great expense. Keep in mind, this wasn’t our first rodeo. They’d all been replaced five months earlier, after our trip to the Kgalagadi. Call us naïve. We always think our problems are solved once we've done the work.

Ever the sceptic, Butch started keeping a close eye on our power gauge and noticed we weren't generating enough power on our road trips. Fortunately, our solar panels were doing their fair share, but it was the rainy season, and we couldn’t be caught with our lights out and our pants down.

There would be no more wild camping, and we would camp only where we could plug in and charge. Fortunately, that’s not a problem in Namibia, where facilities are generally top-notch.

---oOo---

Alas, our holiday in Namibia was grinding to a halt, and it was time to head homewards. Gloomily, we sipped our drinks on the banks of the Kavango, envious of other overlanders who were embarking on journeys to Botswana, Angola and Zambia. The border post’s lights twinkled suggestively just a few kilometres away. So near yet so far has never been more apt.

In Rundu, my beloved once again had to wriggle under the truck to reach the tyres’ valves so we could make sure they were at the correct pressure. With them checked and inflated, we were ready to roll. Thousands of kilometres back to our Boland home and other adventures. Highlighting this routine maintenance underscores the value of being prepared for unexpected challenges.

We called it a day when we spotted the sign for Roy’s Rest Camp a few kilometres from Grootfontein.

This rustic, eclectic, shabby-chic camp offers guests a unique Dorsland experience, a fabulous pool, and a thatched communal Lapa where they can meet up, relax, put their feet up and quench their thirst. We dipped in the pool until we complained of goosebumps. On the veranda, a young couple from the Netherlands perused their maps. Butch soon got acquainted and recommended places to camp, sightsee and go game viewing.

We stretched our legs in the hope of finding the real Honey Badger; unfortunately, he was still holed up for the day, but we did see a rabbit, some interesting birds, and two bushbuck. The unexpected cloudburst brought us some relief, but our neighbours had to put their tents out to dry.

The thing about making every minute count on a road trip is that it extends the holiday, letting you enjoy attractions along the way. And so it was that we had the chance to stop over and see a meteorite!

---oOo---

After a proper 30 km goose chase by our SatNav, we found the Hoba Meteorite.

"The experts all agree that the Hoba Meteorite is the largest meteorite found today.”

The meteorite fell about 20 km west of Grootfontein about 80,000 years ago and has remained in the same place, which is not surprising given its estimated weight of 60 tons.

The boulder, which measures 2.95 x 2.84 m in area and has a height of between 122 and 75 cm, is estimated to be between 200 and 400 million years old (Vogt, p. 3).

It consists mainly of iron (82,4%) and nickel (16,4%), with some trace elements such as cobalt. Its name is derived from the Hoba Farm in the Otavi Mountains.

I was impressed! But humans never fail to astound me. Over the years, tourists have chiselled off a few kilograms of iron as souvenirs. Mind-boggling. Butch tried to pick up the meteor. If we’re going to thieve, we may as well go the whole hog, he reasoned.

---oOo---

We soon pressed on to our next destination in Gobabis, the Goba campsite and Rest camp, on the outskirts of the small town. I was delighted to find we’d be able to dine “out” at the resort’s restaurant that evening—a lovely meal on the veranda. The new barista assured us he’d been sufficiently trained, and the iced coffee he served would be worth the wait!

We set off bright and early the following day, hoping to make good time and perhaps even get close to the border post. But first, we needed to fill our tanks with fuel and our fridge with beautiful Namibian droëwors, biltong and a few bits and bobs before turning our backs on this beautiful country.

The most common mode of transport along the way was mule-drawn carts. Our route was often very quiet, with the road dead straight and frequently very dull. Spotting a cart (Karretjie) immediately piqued my interest. Fortunately, I captured a few in motion! They would pick up a good clip when the mules were on a quick trot. Though, the driver struggled to get his beasts going (steeksdonkie). That’s when he’d be forced to crack the whip. Ponies are very popular too!

We realised we wouldn't make it to our planned overnight stay at the White House near Grunau that afternoon. We decided to spend the night at the highly recommended Kalahari Game Lodge in the Koës district.

We pulled up in a cloud of dust at the gate, only to realise we’d not pass under the height restriction. Fortunately, we’d seen the service entrance 500 m before the main gate. I told Butch I'd walk, open the gate, and stretch my legs.

As he turned around and headed that way, I trudged through the thick red Kalahari sand. The sun was still high, and once we’d settled, I thought excitedly, we could go for a long walk exploring the place.

A thick chain and a huge lock secured the colossal steel gates. There was no way through, and we had no mobile reception either. Butch, who had also alighted from the truck, got back in while I retraced my steps. I’d meet him at the guests’ gate where he’d dropped me. We’d have to search for alternative accommodation.

I heard the door clang as I walked back, and nothing else. Butch called, “The truck won’t start,” a few seconds later! What? Impossible! I scuttled back. Yes, the madam was going nowhere. The only sound was the stubborn click of the turning key. Click. That’s it. There was no oing-oing, no grate, only a deafening silence.

Remember: We were in the Kalahari. Thick red sand, flat. In front of us were massive, locked steel gates and an incline leading to the gravel road behind the badger. By the looks of things, we were boxed in. The chances of me pushing a six-tonne truck were zero.

Butch, in a last-resort attempt, put the truck in reverse gear while keeping his foot on the clutch, released the handbrake, and a miracle happened. The truck lurched backwards, spluttered, and started. We were dumbfounded. That should not have happened!

The Garmin Overlander GPS directed us to the nearest campsite, a farm just ten kilometres away. We had to keep our wits about us and not switch off the engine until we were 100% certain we could start it again. There was no doubt we had severe problems; we had more than just an electrical or battery failure.

The Kalahari Farm Stall was our next stop. The owner, a farmer, assured us he could help if needed. The Farm Stall is no longer operational because of Covid lockdowns and travel bans, but the campsites are kept in good condition, and visitors are welcome to stay overnight.

We unpacked our table and chairs and set off to explore the dunes before sunset. It was an exhilarating hike into the desert. We spotted some lovely birds and tracked antelope spoor, but we didn’t find any signs of life. Although we didn’t say it, we were both exhausted and stressed, especially because we didn’t know what the problem with the Badger was.

Back at the camp, we lit a fire, relaxed with a drink and settled to listen to the night sounds of the Kalahari. The neurotic cry of a jackal, the bleating of some Dorper sheep and the mournful moos of the cattle soon quietened as they settled for the night. The barn owl called a few times before swooping past us on his nocturnal hunt.

The campsite had an electrical point, so we could plug in and connect. Our batteries went up from 75% (they hadn’t charged during the day.)

We woke before the birds the next day, packed up quickly, and, with trepidation, turned the key in the ignition. The Honey Badger fired up without a hitch. The kindly farmer told us he had phoned ahead to his auto electrician, who would be waiting for us in Keetmanshoop. He suggested we get to him as soon as possible.

Within half an hour of leaving Kalahari Farm Stall, the radio died, and all dials (speedometer, odometer, fuel gauge, you name it) froze. We had the ultimate electrical failure. The rest of the journey would be on a wing and a prayer. Engine failure would be disastrous.

In Koës, a small farming community, we stopped to refuel, check our tyres and enquire about replacing the truck’s engine battery. Fortunately, they were out of stock, and we agreed we needed a diagnosis, not another plaster. The truck was the talk of the town as bemused onlookers speculated about our troubles.

The auto-electricians were waiting for us, the current meter in hand, when we stopped in Keetmanshoop. After a thorough examination of our batteries, the technician looked beneath the vehicle to check whether he could spot the alternator. Sure enough, he saw an electrical cable’s wire hanging by a thread.

In a jiffy, the cable was repaired. Our batteries charged immediately, and the engine fired up without a hitch.

To get out from under all the expert’s feet, I took a stroll down to the museum, where I perused the artefacts.

We made it back to the White House campsite at a leisurely pace. Our journey had come full circle, and we were back at our overnight starting point in Namibia from a few weeks ago.

Before the Noordoewer border post, we filled both our tanks (Namibian fuel is much cheaper than ours). Border control went smoothly, and I survived my fourth PCR test. We were on our way home, or so we thought.

Have you ever felt like telling a stranger to mind their own business? When Butch turned to address the truck driver next to us, I counted to ten. “Sir, your back tyre’s flat.” Why? you may ask. Because he was the third person to tell us.

We limped to the nearest filling station to check the damage—a slow leak. In Springbok, Butch replaced the valve. Like my feet on a hike, our tyre woes are the bane of our lives. Fortunately, New Knee is equipped to handle these shenanigans.

Finally. “You may never hear these words again,” I told Butch after my shopping spree in Springbok. “The new Checkers in the Springbok Mall is on a par with any Woolies.” What a surprisingly delightful experience it was to shop there. Next time I travel in that direction, I’ll do all my shopping there.

The Honey Badger had a check-up, and all her vitals were checked. They replaced and secured the alternator cable. We were told we’d narrowly avoided a calamity by the skin of our teeth.

Right now, she’s getting a few cosmetic enhancements, and she’s being patched up and checked from bumper to bumper, from her solar panels to her undercarriage. We’re sure our girl will be back to her old self with all this attention, and she’ll be right as rain, ready to roll in a few weeks when new, exciting chapters open for us.