Milldaz of the North: January 2007

I saw the sea today. Not a great claim from somebody who lives in a seaside city, on an island no less. But, as I've said before, St John's is well hidden from the sea behind the back of high sea cliffs that surround its harbour. You do obviously see the harbour often and I get a brief glimpse of the sea on my walk to work, but beautiful vistas of great expanses of ocean are not seen with much regularity.

So this afternoon, when staring at my computer screen started to lose its appeal (well, about six hours after it lost its appeal), I decided to take a walk out in the woods behind NAFC (the Northwest Atlantic Fisheries Centre - where I work). It was -9C with a windchill of -20C but the sun was shining proudly and the wind didn't seem to be chilling to its full potential. It was incredibly beautiful out there. The snow had melted from the trees but still covered the road, and it glowed an upbeat white in the sun. There were no sounds except a few birds who had forgotten to fly south for the winter and the crunching, crackling noise of the snow getting compacted underfoot (and "Queens Of The Stone Age" playing through my iPod).

Just off the road behind the building there was a fairly large pond completely frozen over the top but still flowing beneath the ice, feeding a small stream that runs past NAFC. So the first thing I did was what any self-respecting curious person would do (curiousity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back), I threw various sized rocks at it to see if I could break it. That ice wasn't giving at all though (and probably won't till May), but I did only have limited firepower at my disposal (I know what you're thinking Phill, and you're probably right - if I'd had a brick I could have done it). Nevertheless, I decided against trying to walk accross it.

The road wound on for about a kilometer and a half untill the sea came into view between through the gap between the trees. Various birds of many descriptions were flying above it (though not being a twitcher I can't fill you in on the details of their taxonomy) and, as a marine biologist and sea-lover, it felt good to see the sea again. The sun, rapidly decending for the night, allowed me one more glance of the ocean before hiding away behind the clouds. So I turned to head back noticing that the wind had been at my back all the way down, which was probably why I hadn't felt that cold. Within five minutes my nose was numb and I had started to lose feeling in most of my face. It's tempting to lick your lips as the wind drys and cools them, but believe me with a windchill of -20C this is not advisable. Still, I made it back to the warmth of my office (and a steaming cup of coffee) feeling invigorated, refreshed and very happy to be working in a place where I can escape to surroundings like that whenever the feeling grabs me (and Mother Nature allows me).

Well I promised fresh posts but as of yet I have failed to deliver. Various things have got in the way but I won't bore you with the details. Instead I'll pull a trick that sitcom producers have used for years: in the absense of any new ideas or for the want of an easy week with minimal work they produce clip shows from previous episodes. Last year this time I had just returned from a great trip up the west coast and into Namibia with Steve. I sent out a trilogy of four e-mails at the time but many of you would not have got those. So with that in mind I take you back to 1 January 2005 for some highlights of an unforgettable trip through driest, hottest Africa...

(I have included a few pictures here but the complete set can be found on my flickr sight: http://www.flickr.com/photos/55214460@N00/sets/72057594049172046/)

Following a sleepless New Year’s Night, Steve and I began preparing for a camping trip we were setting off on that very afternoon. We had to be in Lambert’s Bay by six and still had to pack, shop and say goodbye to everyone before heading off. We had no confirmed plans beyond the first night. Sometimes the least organised trips can be the best and this turned out to be one of those. We timed the trip up to perfection and had arrived at Lambert’s, set up camp and got to the Melkbosskerm by 6 on the nose. For those of you who haven’t been lucky enough to go to the

Melkbosskerm, it is an outdoor all-you-can-eat seafood buffet. The boma is just off the beach and we had an amazing sunset as we ate course after course – pickled fish, bokkoms (fish biltong – not for me), smoked angel fish and snoek, fried fish, calamari, mussels, fresh farm bread and homemade jams, koeksusters and coffee. A very good meal (esp. the smoked fish) but even though we both ate till we could eat no more we went away with the feeling that we hadn’t done justice to all the food that was available.

The next day was a scorcher. We decided to stay on one more night at Lambert’s and took a roadtrip out to Clanwilliam. The most hospitable place was in the water of the Olifants River dam.

Incredible water and a beautiful scene but by the time we had got back to the car we were hot already. That night we decided to go on a pub crawl to check out what the local establishments had to offer. The unimpressive Lambert’s Bay Grill offered good brandy but not much else. The local barfly at the Lambert’s Bay Hotel Bar tried to convince me that Australia were 16 for 8 and that Botha had taken a hattrick but not much else was happening there. Our next stop was the Bay Breeze Sports Action bar along the beachfront road. We were greeted with signs saying ‘Vuil taal word nie geaanvaar nie’ and drank beer by the quart. Before long the karaoke got into full swing – the bartender leading the way and singing almost every second song.

We were clearly the only tourists in the place and were encouraged by the friendly locals to enthral them with song. The night really got going with my rendition of ‘Robbie Williams – Real Love’ and Steve was soon to follow with a rendition of ‘Beauty and the Beast’. Ended up staying there longer than expected bringing our pub crawl to a holt. A fun night all-in-all and we finished it off sitting around a fire back at our campsite.

The next day we headed up to the Orange River. The drive up is really striking. Great expansive landscapes and constantly changing terrain – great, solid mountains changing to hills that look like piles of boulders, to great big piles of gravel. Very dry and desolate but intriguing and calming. Hot az hell of course. We were aiming for a campsite called Peace of Paradise

were the folks and the Smits had stayed a couple years back. After driving 20km or so down a pretty rough gravel road past many potential camping areas we eventually found Peace of Paradise – burnt to the ground. All that remained was the scars of where demarcated campsites once were, ruined buildings and a severely singed car. Paradise Lost. So we turned back and stopped at the next campsite – Oewendal, a spot where a lot of the canoe trip guides hang out. Got a spot right of the banks of the river and went for a quick swim to Namibia. Again the water was great and not very deep (only above our heads at one point across the river). We watched the sunset from the top of the hills at the end of the valley – another awe-inspiring sight. Dodged a scorpion on the way down – started wishing that I wasn’t just wearing my flimsy slops. Then got the life scared out of me as something shot right past my foot that I assumed to be the mother of all scorpions but was in fact a lizard. Had another good braai that night, again focussing on meat though I did have a can of sweetcorn, so vegetables were represented.

After a morning swim in the Orange we headed of to Namibia. First stop Luderitz. Another awesome drive there, especially the last 120km between Aus and Luderitz – massive expanse of stereotypical white sand desert.

Don’t think I really fully appreciated to incredible country side the first time I drove this road to Luderitz. It had been more than 15 years since we were last there but the wind hasn’t stopped blowing. Since then the railway has shut down and has become covered by dunes in part (they are in the process of getting it up and running again). The town didn’t have the same small, quaint, clean German town feel about it that I remembered. Seems more like a working, harbour town now with lots of hang-abouts on the streets. Couldn’t even find a good sausage. Had a stuffed calarmari tube at a seafood restaurant at the Luderitz waterfront though. Found a decent campsite on Shark Island, below the lighthouse. That evening we set out to find a nice place to swim and headed off in the direction of the Diaz Cross. Got to a place called Griffin Bay about 25km out of town an hour and a half before sunset. A cold wind was blowing and a thick seas mist was starting to roll in. But we swam all the same. Got back to the car, dried off and were looking forward to heading back to a warm fire and good food when I realised that the car keys were in my pocket all the time. Now immobiliser remotes don’t react well with cold seawater, so we were left stranded at Griffin Bay.

Fortunately we had cellphone signal and were able to call emergency services who wouldn’t help us because we weren’t members of the Namibian AA. They gave us a few numbers to call though. Eventually we got through to a friendly German/Afrikaner named Heinz who got out to us fairly quickly. He couldn’t sort out the remote but wasted no time in taking apart the dashboard and sniping wires with gay abandon until he had bypassed the immobiliser (“Stole a lot of cars in my youth” he said). Went back to his workshop the next day and got the immobiliser and remote sorted again – all for R225, would have been worse in SA I think.

To brake up the trip to Windhoek we decided to spend a night somewhere in the vicinity of Keetmanshoop (not IN Keetmanshoop, being the dump that it is). So we chose an extinct volcano about 60km north. We had to drive about 40km off the main drag along a gravel road. We crossed the Fish River, trickling along below an over-sized bridge, and many other dips in the road over dry river beds. The volcano was very impressive, not particularly massive, but dominating the flat, expansive countryside in which it stood. Storms were brewing on the horizon and we could count about four belting down rain around us. We set up camp at a small campsite on the side of the volcano. There were more sites further up but these required a 4 by 4 to get to. Still we had a great view and were the only ones there (later another family arrived). We went for a walk up the side of the volcano and the wind started picking up. Steve hadn’t pegged in his tent because of the hard rocky ground and it promptly blew down the side of the hill with the first big gust – our fellow campers could be seen charging after it, saving us a lot of hassle. We saw another incredible sunset from the top of the hill but a few drops of rain were falling by the time we got back. We finished off another great braai (marinated pork chops, onions, potatoes, chocolate bananas) just as it was getting dark. The storms on the horizon weren’t so distant any more and as the lighting flashed we could see a huge sheet of rain moving steadily towards us.

As it got closer you could hear it falling sounding a bit like wind in the trees. Then it hit. The zip for the outside waterproof section of my tent hadn’t worked all holiday but as I ran for shelter in my tent it worked for the first time! Good thing too, because it was raining in buckets. There were huge bolts of unfeasibly bright lightning (even through the tent and my closed eyelids it hurt my eyes like a camera flash), roaring thunder (lasting 30 seconds and more) and great bowels of winds. My “Summer Sun” bubble tent didn’t know what had hit it. A light mist was falling through the “waterproof” outer section and my feet and head were getting wet. This carried on almost the whole night. We must have been hit by at least five storms with a few lulls inbetween. The beers I had had with supper were speaking to me but I couldn’t risk going out of the tent in case the zip chose not to work again. At one stage I woke up with the roof of the tent hovering just above my face. The wind was beating it completely out of shape and I had to spend a good 10 minutes lying on my back holding up the tent with my legs to stop it from breaking. At this point I seriously considered jumping ship and sleeping in the car but then I thought I would never see the tent again. It was a very exciting night. Didn’t sleep much though.

The next morning peace was restored. Things were a bit damp but the sun was out and the clouds had passed. Our troubles were just starting though. Remember those dry riverbeds we crossed?

Mammoth dessert rains have a way of turning those into flowing rivers. The first one we came across was about 30m wide and around knee-deep (MY knees) and flowing fairly steadily. Not a problem for your average offroad vehicle, but we were in a Citi Golf. We got out and walked across to find the best route then Steve took the car through. Almost immediately our number plate came off and was washed away in a wave from the wake of the car. Spent half an hour trying to find it to no avail. The second river was a bit wider and the car almost cut out right in the middle but spluttered its way through in the end. Fortunately the rains must have been confined to fairly close to where we had camped because as we got further the rivers got smaller and they were all dry for the last 20km. The Fish River was flowing proudly though, justifying its big bridge. We got a new number plate at Mariental and then carried on to Windhoek (this section of road is far less inspiring than the Luderitz road). That night was the farewell for one of the VSO volunteers Steve worked with so we went for sundowners and then to an Argentinean Steakhouse for dinner with a group of volunteers (nice bunch of people) who were in town. The next day after a sad farewell to Steve, I flew out to Joburg. And so 2006 began…