Schlink Attack: Hiking Spitzkoppe

Saturday, April 20, 2019

Hiking Spitzkoppe

Spitzkoppe

The granite slopes of the Spitzkoppe Mountain Range begin with a confidence building gentleness. Texturized footing and its wide, low-grade incline allows even the most unstable toddler to easily ascend up the rock faces. I didn't worry when we pitched our tents at campsite #14, nestled among the mountain base. The ease of exploration meant all of the kids and dogs could explore relatively unsupervised, save they kept an eye out for snakes and could see the parked cars at all times. Margo went one way with Jim at her heels, David the other. He was determined to teach his two-year-old camping buddy how to "climb the basics" which he did all weekend with an impressive amount of confidence and patience.

We explored the famous rock bridge that perfectly framed views of Spitzkoppe Peak (1,728m/5,669ft) on one side, or the Pontok Mountains on the other. No one who visits Spitzkoppe can resist taking a photo of this quintessential Namibian highlight. We hiked to the rock pool that collected enough rain water that allowed for the dogs to hydrate and cool themselves off. No matter where or when we hiked, the views of surrounding peaks were spectacular and always seemed to be changing. Even more, the views were addicting. I couldn't get enough.

So when it came to take our traditional Schlink family hike, I enthusiastically geared up. Margo and Jim led the group during the initial phase. I followed, thrilled that my normally reticent hiking daughter, was in charge. Unfortunately, David's normal amiability disappeared and was replaced with anxiety. After about 45 minutes of hiking, he and Mark decided hike to the bottom and walk around the mountain instead. In retrospect, we should have all descended together, but I couldn't believe my daughter's goodwill so she, Jim, and I continued our traverse.

It took only one misstep. Forever the leader of the pack, Jim ended up sliding down a portion of the mountain that I couldn't get to without endangering myself, and more importantly, Margo. We were separated by no more than 2 feet of impassible rock face. I parked Margo onto a flat, safe, surface where a few sun-drenched plants lived, tossed off my backpack, and attempted to crab walk downish and sideways to the invisible edge that Jim went over. He peered up at me, waiting for me to do something. Anything. Earlier, I didn't think there could ever be a bad view of Spitzkoppe, but I quickly changed my mind. This view sucked.

As an accident prone individual, I am very familiar with falling, sliding, and getting banged up as a result. Because of my many practices in carelessness, I am also intimate with the sensation of instability. This was one of those moments. Jim was so close. I could feel my stomach drop and my shoes brace unwillingly to the rock, daring me to even take a breath. I had nothing to grab onto and no way to slide down. Even if I did, there was no way I would be able to climb back up. I nearly threw up at the thought of leaving Jim, but in order to get him to safety at all, Margo and I had to find another way down. It meant going back from whence we came.

My brave girl did everything I said without question. I promised her (and Jim, though how do you communicate that to a dog?!) that no one was getting left up here, and that we needed to hurry. Jim had shade on his side, but anyone who knows Namibian desert knows water is always the bigger issue. It's not like I could just leave him a water bottle. We hiked back to where we could see Mark and David impatiently pacing at the bottom, wondering where the hell we were. Luckily, my voice carried well, and the two of them were able to run around the base and up another slope where they could see Jim, perched about two hundred feet above them. At first, he tried to scramble straight down to get to his people, but always a good boy, Jim stayed when Mark commanded him to do so. Once they were safely reunited, rested, and watered, they met me and Margo just as we finished coming down.

I learned a few lessons on this trip: I learned that Jim still loves hiking despite the danger he got himself into. Even as an experienced hiker, I will think twice about splitting up the group from now on. I learned that I can power through anxiety (though I needed to deal with that after we got Jim back). I leaned I can make important, informed decisions even in emergencies. I learned that I can and should trust my instincts. I learned, or rather reinforced the idea, that Mark and the kids (and hopefully Jim) will always have my back. And I, theirs.