Schlink Attack: The Skeleton Coast

Our route through the Skeleton Coast

While reading about traveling the Skeleton Coast in a 2012 travel guide to Namibia, I felt awed to learn that just six years ago this region was accessible only by airplane. Nowadays the trip is doable by 4x4 vehicle and licensed guide, but it is still restricted to the general public to preserve its remoteness. In fact, according to our guide Elago, only five tour companies have the concession to tour the area, and concurrent tours are prohibited. We booked with Karibu Tours and they only get 24 permits a year.

So what's the big draw about the Skeleton Coast, a 500km x 40km strip of sand located on the northwestern edge of Namibia? Isolation is definitely one factor. It's a great trip to take if you want to avoid people. For eight days, I was face to face with only Mark, the kids, and my father-in-law in one car. We were attended by Elago, and his assistant Kai in another. I worried they would all get sick of me and sick of each other. I worried the smell of us sitting in one car would ruin all sorts of family trust. The truth is, we spent incredible quality time together, and the car only really started to stink once we returned to Windhoek.

Another draw is the beautiful landscape that changes so much up here. Kilometer after kilometer we monotonously stared down two things: the grey fog and taupe sand. Then it was chocolate brown mountain peaks with green valleys and wild elephants. We passed by extinct black volcanoes, amethyst quarries, and yellow sand dunes. Just when I thought my mind would melt from boredom, I got a new landscape to entertain me. For the landscape junkie, this place is your jam.

Lastly, and perhaps my favorite reason, is that we got to step back in time. The harsh conditions of nonstop blowing wind and sand, a treacherous ocean, and millions of skeletons, both animal and machine, lay testament to this region's history and environmental power. Soon after we entered the park, we came across an abandoned oil drill. Why someone thought oil would magically appear in a place that is not known for oil is beyond me. The bank is still waiting for that multi-million dollar loan to be paid off.

We drove past remnants of many ships, all with similar stories of becoming shipwrecked in the turbulent water off the coast. Wooden planks, rusted engines, and various ship parts scattered the beaches, slowly being broken down by the elements. The most famous of all, the Dunedin Star, is barely visible now with a single slab of rusty metal buried in the sand. It's worth Googling the original image. One hundred six people were stranded on the beach for two months and endured two failed rescue attempts before success in December 1942. Even one of the Ventura Bombers sent to deliver supplies succumbed to the Skeleton Coast Fate when the engine got engulfed by sand. We drove by this one too.

Boney skeletons were all over the beach, as abundant as the washed up seashells and sea plants. They crunched easily under my feet. The bones were of all different shapes and sizes from birds to hyenas, seals to turtles to whales. It was shocking to see the number of 4-pronged, black sea purses scattered along. Who knew sharks could bear so many babies? I have to admit that I totally didn't believe the guides when they said these tough, reed like objects were shark egg pouches. Prior to this trip, the only time I ever saw sea purses was in the kids' Richard Scarry books and assumed they were odd shaped ocean plants.

Each afternoon we would set up camp. Or rather, Elago and Kai would. The back of their bakkie (truck) was a legit Beverly Hillbillies set up, everything piled high and strapped down by knotted rope. It was a spectacle, but was systematically packed for easy take down. They brought the food, stove, tents, tables, chairs, toilet, and a bunch of rescue tools for digging out sand duned cars. We had the fuel, water, booze, bags, and passengers. They'd set up tents and prepare dinner, leaving us to explore, play, and clean out the car which had knack for accumulating massive amounts of sand. When I packed, I had forgotten that the sand would be a wonderfully frustrating issue and had packed only one pair of pants, and no shorts.

Every third day we could shower, using 5 liters of water that was heated by our car's cigarette lighter. It was a nifty little gig and desperately needed for the children who started to complain about sandy butt cracks, and for the adults who otherwise had been using scented baby wipes to freshen the essentials. It all worked like a charm except for the day the waves caught me by surprise while I was taking futile pictures of sea turtles. I was drenched and sanded from the waist down, resulting in the ruin of one of my two pairs of pants. And cold. Benguela currents in the Atlantic make the water extremely cold. Conveniently it was shower day. I went to shower off the sand, but the shower's motor went on the fritz and I got to take an awkward tub bath instead, trying to slap water onto my chilled legs and stumbling off the shower platform, back onto the sand. It was awkward and I am pretty sure those wet pants were the reason for the weird car smell that started brewing about five days in.

The meals were very good. We ate a different kind of meat each night paired with a variety of starches and vegetables for dinner. Lunch was a sandwich, eaten on the go. Breakfast was either cereal with yogurt, or eggs with bacon. My only complaint of the trip was that we didn't have nearly enough coffee. That is partly our fault since we left our own French press and ground coffee sitting on the counter at home, in an enthusiastic rush to begin the trip. Therefore, we were left with one cup of coffee per person, per day. It took a bit getting used to.

We basically drove north up the coast to the Angolan border, with excursions down a few rivers that led us back to sea. It was here that we enjoyed the intense green valleys and elephants, the volcanoes, and dusty limestone formations. Once we hit Angola, we drove east along the Kunene River and across 40km of sand dunes. On the day we started the dunes, Mark and I were given a cursory lesson: when driving down the dunes, put the car in "low low" drive and don't hit the gas or brakes. When driving up, we were to "punch it" and drive as if we had stolen the car and the police were chasing us. That was it.

Ready or not, we didn't have a choice but to drive. Even though we watched our guides take every descent first, I will never forget the stomach dropping feeling when we blindly approached a 60 degree steep dune. I doubt anyone in the car will forget it either as every time (and there were A LOT) they'd hear me suck in air like my mom used when she first taught me how to drive, pushing in the imaginary brake and grabbing onto the "oh shit!" bar. It took us two days to reach the end, more than enough time to appreciate the "roads" lesser traveled.

Then we continued south to Purros, a town 200 km south of the Kunene, a town that deserves a story all its own. We set up at a community camp ground, our first interaction with other souls during that trip. We journeyed further south and through the Damaraland region, famous for many things, but notably Brandberg Mountain were we camped for the night. Finally, the last day was all about returning to Windhoek and stripping our selves, our gear, and our car of the grime, mud, and barnacles that had collected along the way.