Schlink Attack: Damaraland Is So Badass. And hot.

Over these past few months, nighttime temperatures in Windhoek have been dropping into the low 40s, even 30s. I can't quite say it's legitimately cold (though I desperately want to) compared to Colorado and Missouri winter nights, but it has been chilly enough to warrant sleeping with socks and long pants. Even as I write this at 8:30am, I'm wrapped in fleece and Deets' firetruck sleeping bag. It's 50F. So when we booked a trip to go camping in Damaraland about 4.5 hours north of Windhoek, it seemed reasonable that the nights would be similarly cool.

I loaded up the car essentially prepared for Snowmaggedon: hats, gloves, long underwear, scarves, and down blankets. I packed a thermos and tons of hot chocolate packets to ward off frosty mornings. Mark simply smiled and said nothing. Turns out the region is a regular hot spot, rarely dropping below 60F at night. Setting up our tents, we didn't even bother with the rainflies. It was quite nice, giving us clear views of the star-packed sky when we finally crawled into bed. At 8:30pm.

We stayed at the Aabadi Mountain Lodge, a place I picked based off of two things: one, they have an elephant on their webpage and two, the place is locally owned with an emphasis on eco-tourism. Sure, it was rustic compared to Erindi which had personalized toilet paper, but this campsite came with more than what I'd consider the basics: a braai and sink area at each site, open air flushing toilets, and wood burning hot water heaters for the open air showers. It was cool. Like most campsites around the area, there was no fencing which meant wild animals could come and go freely. It was exciting to think a leopard or an elephant could randomly stop by, but I will admit there was a massive fly issue from scattered animal droppings in the area. It was an excellent lesson for the kids and myself who were tempted to bitch and moan about the incessant attacks. Mark, ever the patient one, reminded us that we were all in it together. Overall, there's so much to do in the area that we didn't spend much time hanging out when the flies were at their worst.

For example, we did a game drive one morning. Bumping along the dirt roads we passed by tiny villages with metal shacks and gardens, looking for signs of elephants like footprints, poop, and broken branches. The terrain was incredible and classically Namibian: forever changing from smooth dirt to rocky crevices, up mountains and into valleys. We drove by Burnt Mountain, a 12km extinct volcanic ridge and a mess of dolomite columns called the Organ Pipes. For all the rock nerds, the pipes are vertical molten rocks that pushed up through the earth's surface about 125 million years ago.

It took the driver three times to find what he was looking for: a herd of desert elephants that were sauntering along the dried out riverbeds. He'd drive out to the main road to get phone reception, then venture back in. We finally spotted a group of 11 elephants shading themselves in some trees. With rising temperatures, their ears were flapping to cool them down. A bull arrived a few minutes later shoving adolescents aside to get prime time shade. Babies were passed out under the protective guard of their mothers, and one was nursing. NURSING! It's "tiny" body tucked right underneath mom's armpit, its mouth latched on with its adorable trunk fidgeting like a child. I cried.

When one of the elephants woke up from her nap, she trumpeted angrily, forcing the driver to quickly back up and give more space. In unison the elephants peed and crapped all over, before moving down the riverbed further. We sat in the ever roasting sun, mesmerized. Something like 400 photos later, we wistfully called it quits and headed back to camp for beers.

Later that same day we took our own car on safari to check out rock paintings but got quickly distracted when we saw the elephants again. Along with a few other cars, we sat taking photos, turning on the engines periodically to give them space. We had a joyous time until I managed to drive over discarded fencing wire that wrapped around our drive shaft. We couldn't move the car, and with an approaching elephant herd, we had to come up with a plan. You simply don't mess with elephants. If provoked, these beasts WILL charge.

Stranded in the middle of the river bed, we half blocked the trucks behind us, essentially putting them in danger, so Mark made an executive decision. He crawled underneath the car still hot with an idling engine and began to untangle the wire by hand. Drivers from other vehicles started yelling at us, thinking he was doing sort of covert sightseeing, and Mark had no choice but to keep going. Luckily one of the drivers was our guide from earlier, and used his truck to block off our back side while another car took the front, effectively triangulating him in. While the kids were obliviously playing in the back seat, my eyes darted from the approaching and progressively rambunctious elephants to the back of Mark's legs sticking out from underneath. I kept checking and rechecking that I was in park, and anxiously waiting for a victorious fix. By the time Mark extracted the 20 feet of wire, we were surrounded by elephants, so Mark jumped in the car and we drove off just as an adolescent trumpeted and charged at our car. Even though it was probably just a threat, we had no qualms getting out of his way.

At dinner we invited the driver and guide over to our campsite to eat with us, thanking them for their support. Not everyone was amused by the situation and some people lodged complaints, so we were grateful that the Aabadi staff stood by us. Looking back, I'm not sure we should have done anything differently. Perhaps we could have waited longer in the car, but with the setting sun, we didn't have much time to waste. Maybe wire cutters would be a reasonable purchase? Who knows? I guess in the Namibian wild, anything can happen.