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The Nature Conservancy in Africa Africa Into Africa Places We Protect Message From The Director Working in Partnership Support our Efforts Expedition Namib Videos & Slideshows |
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Day 5: On a Stream with No Name
By Sanjayan
Yesterday near dusk, Lou Pethro (our filmmaker from Australia) got separated from our group and was lost.
But that unintentionally rescued the mood of the day.
Water! But It Won’t Be Here For Long
This morning I am sitting by running water. It gurgles and produces the most wonderful sound I can imagine in the desert, like a gentle garden fountain.
Water has not run here for perhaps two decades — and it won’t go very far. It will be drunk by thousands of snouts, hundreds of trunks and millions of beaks. The sun will skim a centimeter or two off the top every day. And the desert sands will drain the rest from below.
Like bribery on a grand scale, every thing and everyone in the Namib will want a cut, and not a drop will reach the sea.
But for now, replenished by record rains, this little spring appears from the rocks, and like a blind person in a strange room, feels its way through this folded little canyon towards the Atlantic Ocean for a few miles.
The Tranquility Hides a Gaping Absence: Wildlife
Tadpoles unaccustomed to such largess spin laps, while armored ground crickets bigger than my thumb cruise the banks. Occasionally I have to get up to rescue ones that have crash landed into the stream.
Above me, I hear the melodious calls of Namaqua sand grouse as they make their morning pilgrimage in small loose flocks to water. The Himba people — who mix in this area — say the bird's call sounds like “peri vi, peri vi,” which to them is a greeting (the equivalent of saying “how’s it going”). Monotonous larks call in the canyons behind.
But this green, peaceful tranquility hides an anemic land. This is not resplendent Eden: the mammals that we were expecting are missing.
Since leaving the Hobatere Conservancy, we have found game on the trail to be unexpectedly sparse. The waist-deep grasses remain uneaten like a hay field left abandoned on a foreclosed farm.
In the "Little Serengeti" — which is now more than 25 kilometers behind us, we did see a herd of 250 or more oryx as well as a dozen ostriches. But since then, and all day yesterday — nothing. Empty canyons and arid plains greet us. Historically, this territory we are now crossing would have teemed with big wildlife.
A Dead Cheetah…
Our first clue comes around midday. Investigating the sweet sickening smell of old death, we find the corpse of an adult cheetah carpeted with maggots.
The carcass is in one piece — a sign that it was not killed and split by lions or hyenas. It is in the deep shade. Clearly it sought a refuge in which to die.
Finding the body of a rare predator is unexpected, especially after not seeing anything for so long. But then no more than 200 meters away we spot an old beer bottle, our first signs of human habitation, and then a little while down the track, a herd of cattle. The correlation is circumstantial evidence enough certainly for a grand-jury conviction. We are approaching people who may have poisoned the cat.
Ranching is king in this poor community — and hundreds of cattle and sheep soon surround us. A few people greet us, but we don’t really see many. In this marginal harsh land, where there are people trying to eek out a living, the potential for conflict exists.
Whether they come to see wildlife as a benefit or as competition may determine the future of both.
…and a Very Live Springbok
Quite unexpectedly — while my head is down and I am in my own personal misery that comes from hot noon-day trudges — a springbok cuts in front of me.
It is a medium-size gazelle, roan, black and white with ballet dancer hoofs, much like a pronghorn. It is running at full tilt, no more than 20 meters in front of me — and behind Rudi Loutit, the head of Save the Rhino Trust (SRT), who is in the lead.
I am barely able to register what is going on before I realize that a pack of dogs are closing in on the springbok. I yell, and Rudi hearing me turns and runs towards the dogs, intercepting them with rocks he hurls. He is so ferocious in his rage that the lead dog turns and the springbok escapes.
When I reach him, Rudi is apoplectic. The only words of his I can write are “these” and “dogs” — everything in between is profane. He swears for a long while standing in hot sun.
Rudi has lived here all his life, working for the Namibian government's wildlife agencies before heading up Save the Rhino Trust. He remembers this place as one once filled with wildlife.
To him, our trek thus far is a reminder of the emptiness that imperils the most intact areas of this country we are yet to traverse and where his work with SRT is most crucial.
The thought of lost wildlife, the desperate people with little other choice, and the dogs all darken our mood considerably. We slog through the miles, heads down, ungrateful for the lovely campsite we eventually come to.
And Then We Lost Lou
And our mood might have remained this way had it not been for Lou, who just near dusk climbed a peak and got lost.
We had not seen him since midday, and by evening we were seriously concerned. This land is so challenging to move through — without trails or prominent landmarks — that it's easy to get lost and difficult to escape out of. The situation's urgency prompted a full-scale search that would entail aircrafts by dawn.
It was not until late at night that Gary Booth (who leads treks through the desert for tourists and SRT) and one of the rhino trackers finds Lou — atop a hill some 10 kilometers away, shining a beacon of hopeful light. He had done the exact right thing — he had climbed to the top of the tallest peak and signaled for us.
Bringing him back to camp was cause for celebration, and we open one of our precious bottles of single-malt whiskey. It breaks the mood. We enjoy the evening, the cool breeze, and a night swim.
Rudi promises more game once we enter the Palmwag Concession, now one day’s hike from here — a 6,000-square-kilometer territory managed by Wilderness Safaris (a premiere wildlife safari company and a solid friend of conservation).
The concession is the heart of rhino country. I am eager for it, as I think we all are. Leaving running water will be a pity. But this beautiful land seems incomplete without the big animals that should be here. Like Lou, their absence is alarming.
But bringing them back will not be one night’s work.
| « Expedition Namib | Day 7: Bareb River Basin…and Blisters » |
Nature picture credits (top to bottom, left to right): Photo © Sanjayan/TNC (Water!); Photo © Sanjayan/TNC (Day 5: Navigating through the Namib).
