It is taking a lot longer than I planned to complete this RR and for this delay I offer my unreserved apologies to all who have been reading.
Day 7 is in 2 parts, this is part 1.
Day 7 (Part1) Sesfontien – Camp Elephant Song (S19 13.114 E13 27.275)
“COWBOYS!!” Was a colloquialism my step dad used whenever one of us kids would moan or whine about something insignificant or petty, and was an abridged version of “cowboys don’t cry”. Some Pavlovian conditioning in my psyche triggered this long forgotten memory, probably because I have regressed to a whimpering pre-teen wallowing in the sand with donkey lying next to me, and am now anticipating somebody shouting from the grand stands “COWBOYS!!”
Interestingly ,the left temporal lobe of our brain assumes the majority of the responsibility for our everyday speech & language capabilities, but it was clearly in retard mode because “OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!!” was the limited extent of my vocabulary, muffled repeatedly into my helmet. It had just gone past 10am was 26 degree’s Celsius & it was the 6th time I had dropped donkey already this morning.The first few times I "ran out of talent" was as a result of been overly cautious; the last few times has been due to pure physical exhaustion and there was still more to come. The upside of my talent shortage is that it has forced me to develop the perfect technique for lifting a fully laden donkey, without having to remove my kit or unpack…………………..
I start by using the subtle but effective
“Put your big girl panties on and Toughen the Fuck –up” series of motivational self talk and Squat down next to Donkey, I get a firm grip with both hands on the grip of the handle bars, I shuffle my feet around to ensure I am suitably balanced, push my heels into the ground, lean back, clamp the butt cheeks closed, make sure the sphincter muscle has been notified that this is no time to be taking a morning nap, look up, take a few deep breaths & in a sudden jerk, yank donkey upwards summoning every joule of energy stored in my now burning hamstrings as I release the last few ounces of oxygen from my lungs in a deep primeval bellow, that is so loud & masculine it would have female Russian power lifters feinting. I pause to allow my lungs to re-oxygenate my blood as my heart gag’s from pure over exertion. I still have a way to go yet, Donkey is lying precariously at 45 degree angle to the ground & is only at my waist height, I move my right hip up against the fuel tank to prop him up while I slide my body down to start scrumming to get him upright, all I needed was a pair of roller-skates on my feet to really make it fun.
Gideon, a ranger at Fort Sesfontien, upon realizing my determination to follow through with my sleeping under the stars expedition directed me to an abandoned campsite called Elephant Song on the Houanib River; he made it very clear that I was ill advised to go alone as the desert Elephant & Lion frequented this neck of the woods. It would turn out to be Prophetic advice indeed.
I filled up my camel pack with water bought at the local store & took 4 litre’s extra as back up, which I was certain would not be needed.
Gideon, had said the first few kilometers of the road to elephant song was not great but thereafter it would improve, sweet Jesus, Mary & Joseph that was the understatement of the decade. I would fail hopelessly in any attempt to try & describe the path to you, to call this a road is to insult anything I have travelled upon to get here, not even the pictures I took do justice to any attempt to describe it, most of the time I was too busy trying to get through to even contemplate taking pictures, so most of the pictures I have are after I had fallen, or where I had stopped to drink my now rapidly dwindling supply of water.
I had navigated treacherous sand roads already on this trip, in fact I had become quite comfortable in most types of sand, I certainly do not profess to been an expert but did consider myself competent. But this was indescribable, no self respecting Arenologist (Study of sand) would find any pathology in this substrate to allow it’s classification as sand; this was the bastard son of sand, the black sheep of the sand family. A powder, a deep, fine, silk like powder that was more like water than sand. I imagine riding in margarine would be like this. In fact you did not ride through it, you entered it and it decided where you were going & where you would exit. Every time you fell in it, every inch of skin was polarized to attract this powder to you like iron fillings to a magnet, it got sucked up into the helmet got into your nose, eyes, mouth & ears then mixed with your sweat to form a paste that baked in the sun to form a thin crust over your body.
After far too many km’s of that I descended into a ravine about 2 meters deep, formed from torrential rains that infrequently flooded these parched lands, the raging stream’s that were its issue, eroded demi-canyon’s into the landscape that were now shepherding me towards camp Elephant song. I no longer had a choice; I could not turn around even if I wanted to as the ravine was too narrow, the only way out was forward. I was far more comfortable contending with this river sand than the powder I encountered previously.
As truly insane as I am sure it appears to most rational minds, I was loving every single exhausting moment of getting to Elephant song. I never felt at any stage that it was more than I could endure, that I was out of my depth or that I was compromising my safety. I was committed and camp Elephant song was going to happen even if it took me 2 days to get there.
And then I came out of the ravine onto the most pristine snow white sand, and for the first time I noticed the mountains in the distance. The mountains at whose base, Gideon had told me I would find camp elephant song. About 10 km’s later I entered the Houanib River. River is a perhaps a bit off an embellishment, but in Namibian terms this was a raging torrent of water.
The camp site was directly in front of me, perched high on a ridge. My relief & sense of personal victory for making it here was palpable, but my celebration was premature.
The path to the camp was about 2km’s of thick desert sand, which was determined in its attempts to get me bogged down, but I managed to float over the top by keeping momentum & then I lost the path, slowed down to get a bearing on which direction to head & felt the sand sucking me down, I gave it a big handful to get some speed up again, but it was too late the sunamabitch got me, & was not letting go. I was seriously stuck. After about an hour & numerous failed attempts & after exhausting the limits of my expertise, I made the decision to unpack donkey, I took the tank bag & Smaller bag containing my luggage, kept my helmet & neck brace on as it freed up my hands & began the last approx 1km trek to the camp site. I was now dangerously low on water and I could feel the signs my body was also reaching the limits of its endurance, the first signs of which are a mild cramping I get in my left calf muscle.
Elephant song exceeded my expectations, it was perched high on a ridge that was nestled at the foot of a majestic wall of rock, that created a natural amphitheatre around the camp site, a large boma held pride of place on this ridge from where there were sweeping views all the way up & down the river bed. The Boma provided shaded respite from the relentless heat, this was winter, I could just imagine how torturous the heat was in summer.
I rested briefly, trekked back to Donkey who was held upright by the sand, the image of which reminded me of those pictures I have seen of prehistoric mammoths bogged down in tar pits. Two hours was spent attempting to unshackle donkey to no avail, I had made no more than a few meters progress. The firmer sand was a mere 15 meters away but that could have been 100km’s as it remained completely unreachable with the bike. I had started becoming progressively more anxious as the reality of my situation started to dawn on me. I was stuck & there was no way possible I could think of getting donkey out alone, it was unlikely I could expect anybody to pass this way in the next few days & I had about 250ml of water left!!! I was in a slight spot of bother.
I retired back to the Boma, put some shorts on, inflated the air mattress & typed a sms to Think Mike that read as follows
“Hi Mike, hoping this sms goes out trying to find some signal. Need some assistance plse. Am seriously stuck in thick sand spent most of day trying to get out. Don’t want to contact the wife otherwise they will panic. I am fine just need some hands to help push please contact fort sesfontien lodge in sesfontien(sure their details will be on web somewhere) ask for Jan or Gideon tell them craig the guy who slept their last night (Saturday night) is stuck at elephant song campsite (approx 30km’s from town) they know where it is. Can they plse send someone to help get me out. Tell them I will pay & they must plse bring water thanks. Today is Sunday approx 3pm “ my intention was to climb to the top of the mountain when it cooled down & with a bit of luck would get enough of a signal for an sms to go out.
I then decided that I would defer reality till later & would remain confident a solution would present itself to me, for now I would relax , enjoy the environment, I spotted the Desert Elephants in the river bed with my binoculars, but they were very far & moving away from me.
During an afternoon nap, I had a moment of divine brilliance, above the rock wall of the Boma, was a screen made of small branches (see photo), much like a ladder, I could drag a few back to donkey, place them on top of the sand, lift the bike onto them & presto I had a sand ladder I could ride out on. I was supremely confident it would work, I lost all anxiety & concern, part 1 of my challenge solved, now I just needed some water.
Elephant song was an enigma, it all seemed so new & unused yet it had an eerily abandoned ghost town feel about it. I was puzzled by the fact that a place of such exquisite natural beauty did not have tourists swarming to it?
While collecting firewood, I heard the distinctive drone of a diesel engine ploughing through thick sand, I ran back to the boma, grabbed the bike key, & ran to the edge of the ridge overlooking the river & started whistling & waving my arms like a man possessed. It was a local Ovambo game ranger taking a group of 4 elderly British tourists on a game drive in the area. There was some dismay as to what I was doing at Elephant song. After helping me get Donkey unstuck, the ranger with a fair amount of anxiety & agitation explained that I should leave immediately & not stay overnight, he said he knew Gideon from Fort sesfontien & that they should not have sent me here. He explained that Elephant song was “Getoor” (umm closest English translation is possibly haunted) and that shortly after the camp was opened to the public a group of German tourists spotted the Desert Elephants passing in the river bed & ran down to get some pics, they were charged by a young bull & one of the Germans was killed. He then really rattled my cage, by telling me that the caretaker of the camp was attacked, killed & eaten by lion not more than a month back. He started becoming increasingly more agitated so I agreed I would leave; the British Tourists told me they had spotted the Lion about 7-10 km’s from here and suggested to him that they go back with me to the camp in the 4x4 & help me bring all the stuff down to the bike. He categorically refused insisting it was not safe for him to go there. In Afrikaans he explained he was scared & apologized he needed to leave. He was extremely melodramatic about the whole thing. I insisted that I would be fine & assured them I would leave immediately. They filled an empty 2,5 liter juice bottle with water for me & they watched me for a while as I walked back to camp & then sped off in the direction they had come.
Although my ranger friend had no motive to tell me an untruth, I did find his whole story a tad too farfetched to be believable. On my walk back I decided I was going nowhere, this was the highlight of my trip so far. I loved that this place was wild and untamed, I loved that I was exposed to raw, untainted AFRICA. All my senses were firing at a heightened state of alertness that made my skin tingle in a way that only happens when you move out of mundane city life and place yourself slap bang in the middle of the food chain. There is just something different about the intensity and validity of your mortality when you are the food.
