Puros Conservancy and the Tail End of Camping

Namibia's constitution has an actual section dedicated to habitat and natural resource conservation. Few other countries have this integrated, protective backbone. In fact, in 1993, USAID (in addition to several other international organizations) assisted the newly formed Namibian government to support their priorities of guarding the land and its people on it. It was a long slog with complicated legislation and policy making. There were countless meetings with local chiefs and their communities, complicated logistics that took years to untangle, and layers of red tape to navigate even in the Namibian government's infancy. Finally, 1996 was the year of policy enactment and the launch of demarcated conservancies throughout the country, of which there are currently 82. 

A conservancy is a community that has registered with the Ministry of Environment and Tourism, dedicated to protecting the wildlife and habitats in exchange for rights over tourist operations in the area. In other words, they have a say in whether tours can pass through and some of the fees paid through these tours go back to the community. I had noticed conservancy signs posted along most roads in Namibia, but I didn't give it much thought until we exited east out of the Skeleton Coast Park, and started driving south into the Puros Conservancy. 

There are no fences dividing wildlife from livestock. The people live among them both, balancing their livelihood against hungry animals, drought, and poachers, to name a few dangers. Most conservancies derive income from either trophy hunting, a huge payoff for locals as they often reap the benefits of fresh meat (it cannot be transported outside animal disease checkpoints, let alone exported outside the country) and earn far more money from permit fees. They also derive income from tourist related activities such as game drives, local village visits, and selling of handmade crafts. 

The village of Puros is no exception. Located on the banks of the Hoarusib River, the village is a mixed Himba and Herero settlement. The river banks are thick with tall green trees and bushes that peter out to flat terrain for about one kilometer before the mountains begin again. Just before the western mountains is the Okahirongo Luxury Elephant Lodge, where if you have to ask the price, you probably shouldn't book there. I asked. Rates start at 350 USD/night per person.

Tucked on the other side of the valley to in the eastern mountains is a Himba village the relies heavily on visitors. The women demonstrate how they make their famous ochre skin protectant. Hematite, a reddish mineral is ground to a powder with a stone, and mixed with animal fat, and scented with the oils of a commiphora plant, which smells like minty camphor. The emollient is applied to their skin and hair, providing sufficient sun protection and warmth during the cool nights. Showers are not a thing, the women proudly do not bathe but use the protectant as a natural deodorant too.

No one sleeps in sheets or blankets. Instead, they use tanned hides as their bedding inside the rounded, low huts that require crawling to enter. They are made of whatever material that can be found and adhered to the existing frame: cloth, dung, tall grass, wood, plastic, sheet metal, etc.

Himba women wore tall ankle bracelets with leather straps weaved into them to indicate the number of children they produced, and head pieces if they were married. Shirtless and in skirts and jewelry, the women wore nothing else. Children wore necklaces and a tiny flap of leather to cover their front side. The sole husband of the seven women at the village wore a button down shirt with khakis. 

When my father in law asked about what they eat, the interpreter flatly said "what you eat" and proceeded to their potjie pot (poi-key,  a cast iron pot that has three legs and a lid) and showed us simmering meat but declined to tell us what kind. That meat had seen better days. The interpreter then showed off their crafts of hand carved animals, woven bowls, and dolls, quoting prices that demanded a massive amount of bargaining. When prices couldn't be agreed upon, the entrance fee was paid and we walked away empty handed. 

 "In town" Puros has one store sparsely surrounded by corrugated metal houses. Sometimes there is gas and beer available for purchase. They have a primary school, but older children go to hostel in Sesfontein, about two to three hours of untamed and very rough driving further south. Heck, the road coming from the north is wince-worthy as well. On the days we were in town, there was a meeting held outside under a giant camel-thorn tree next to the store. Government vehicles were there, and Herero women were dressed in their finest, with cow horn shaped hats and long sleeved Victorian dresses that swept the ground. I asked a man at the store who was visiting, and he said the leader of their region and a couple of government officials to check up on the conservancy.

In this area, the road is the river bed. It is a favorite spot for elephants, cattle, and goats, whereas ostrich and springbok prefer the vast expanses. The campsites along the river require 4x4 access due to the deep, soft sand. The community camps are well maintained with under large camel-thorn trees, each with private ablution facilities and flush toilets.  The privacy walls are made of makalani wood, a type of palm tree found readily in northern Namibia. Hot water is provided through ‘donkey’ wood-burners and fresh water from a borehole is available. The sites have large trees and are equipped with a kitchen sink and counter. Everywhere, signs are posted to put away all food. Elephants love sweet scents and won't hesitate to make themselves at home. 

Camps are part of the conservancy too, but since they are in such remote locations and typically without phone or Internet access, advertising and accepting reservations can be very tricky. Little did I know that when we "checked in" to the Puros Community Camp, we didn't have reservations at all. It was great there were campsites available, but if there weren't, we would have continued a few meters down the road to another site. The whole place had signs of elephant life marching through the camp. We got our safety 101 talk: if there is something looks like a tent and is moving in the middle of the night, just go back to sleep. 

Leaving this place was hard, especially since it had just what we needed: hot showers, elephants, and cold beer. But it was time to pack up again and head to Sesfontein, another place with its own conservancy. It was much bigger and much dustier. Here we would fill up our tanks at a normal gas station and head further south to Damaraland, a place that I love returning to again and again. This time, we would attempt to stay at another community camp without reservations made and fail miserably. The day turned into a much longer one when we tacked on another two hours to end up a the Brandberg While Lady Campsite for a final night of roughing it. For dinner, we went big with kudu steaks and red wine after taking yet another luxurious hot shower under the stars.

A functioning fridge in the middle of nowhere, outside Puros Conservancy.
 The idea is to take something cold, leave something warm.

Puros lanscape

Puros kids

Puros store

Puros fairy dust

Puros camping

Puros donkey, owned by the Himba tribe.

Puros elephants

Sesfontein

Sesfontein citizens

Skeleton Coast History

If you tell any local that you’ve taken a trip to the Skeleton Coast, they might raise an eyebrow and say “good for you” before walking away, already having forgotten the conversation. If you mention that you drove all the way to the Angolan border on this trip, and drove along the Kunene River to the east side of the park, then they will be impressed. You see, Skeleton Coast National Park has two sides: the southern half, stretching from the Ugab River to Terrace Bay, is open to the public for an entry fee: N$80 per person, plus N$10 per vehicle per day. Whereas beyond Terrace Bay, the wilderness “truly begins.” As does the end of public access.

Historically, this entire region was once part of Etosha (1906) but was reduced in size in 1967 under the idea that South Africa would make “homelands” for the existing communities, and plans to build a harbor there. The harbor didn’t happen for political reasons and the idea that it would be competing against Walvis Bay. In 1971, South Africa agreed to make the region an official National Park with limited access to a few mining and fishing corporations. This was after the corporations took them to court.

Throughout the coast, whale bones and rusted hulls from shipwrecks scatter the coast line. Fishing enthusiasts drive onto the otherwise empty stretch of beach for a day of fishing and relaxing by the sea. Popular catches along this stretch of Atlantic Ocean include pilchards, anchovy, hake, and horse mackerel. They might even catch kabeljou (aka cod), which can grow up to 2m in length. Seals, seagulls, brown hyenas, and jackals might also be seen loitering on the beach.

Not far from the beach sits spectacular stretches of color changing lichen fields, microscopic yet fabulous Namibian treasures. Depending on the time of day (though morning is the best) the lichen may be purple, orange, red, black, or green. They aren’t plants but rather an extra-combo organism of algae and fungus living together in a symbiotic relationship. The algae draws moisture and nutrients from the air while the fungus anchors them to the ground and draws moisture and nutrients from the soil. It’s a win-win! These delicate creatures can live for thousands of years, and it is not unusual to see fences around lichen fields to protect them from off-road junkies.

For those who desire to see what’s beyond Terrace Bay, an additional permit must be obtained and only through the limited number of tour companies (Karibu, Omalweendo, Skeleton Coast Safaris to name a few) who have earned the concession to travel the Skeleton Coast. The companies that have access get only 24 permits per year to drive and none of them can travel at the same time. Why? To reduce the risk of mass tourism in this area, says Elago, a tour guide with Karibu. They (tour operators and the Ministry of Environment and Tourism) are also concerned with park preservation, so 100% of the trash needs to be driven out as well. It makes sense considering there are literally no trash cans hanging about.

Obviously, more skeletons, shipwrecks, and evolving landscapes continue beyond Terrace Bay for another 334 kilometers. There are explorable riverbeds containing animals and the wildest greenery beyond your imagination, especially after seeing nothing but hours of grey and tan. There are remnants of life from hundreds of years ago when nomads trekked to and from the ocean: 1-2 meter wide circles of granite slabs are scattered across hill crests where animal skins were stretched and dried. More recently, are abandoned domes and equipment once used for amethyst and (hopeful) diamond miners. At the leftover rock beds, close inspection reveals thousands of brilliantly colored geodes, an 8 year old’s excavation dream come true. Even the non-gem rocks are of breathtaking colors, scattered among the barren landscapes that rise and fall beyond the horizon.

After rocks, rivers, and oceans, lie the massive and pure sand dunes. Some of the surfaces are hard packed and easy to drive through. Others, not so much. Driving the dunes means navigating steep angles, soft sand, and rocks that might be buried beneath the surface. It takes a good dose of Dramamine, careful listening to the very experienced guides, and patience. It takes preparation such as extra water, extra tires and wheels, extra tools, rescue equipment, and more miscellaneous items to deal with unforeseen complications. And it takes at least two 4x4 vehicles, as no one can travel alone up here.

At the end of the day, after hours spent driving and exploring, there is time to rest under the Milky Way and the sky’s millions of stars. There’s a fire to build and cozy up to, while drinking a gin & tonic after a delicious, hot meal. And there’s time to soak up the freedom one feels while out on the Skeleton Coast. Lastly, there’s time to sleep (or pass out) from the sheer amount of energy burned while on this massive adventure. On this trip you are guaranteed to sleep like a baby. So, ask yourself: is this trip up north really worth it? The answer: absolutely.

Skeleton Coast National Park
Ugab River entrance

The guide truck

Shipwreck

Ventura Bomber plane wreck

Skeleton Coast

Shelter remnants made by marooned passengers on the Dunedin Star.
The man who erected the Memorial was an infant on the ship that crashed in 1942. 

Sea turtles at Bosluis Bay, 15km south of Angola

Ready for a fight

Khumib Riverbed

Leftover rock formations used to stretch and dry animal skins.

Dunes

Mountains

Family

Taking in the view

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. 

View the Kunene River below,  the natural border between Namibia and Angola

Abandoned oil rig, just north of the Skeleton Coast National Park entrance. 

Ugab River crossing: beware of lions.  

Shipwreck

Sliding down dunes.

Boiling the water.

Ventura Bomber plane crash

The first practice descent.

Hoarusib River Bed

Beyond the tall, reedy grass of the Hoarusib River bed
are the Limestone Castles that crumble with each rainfall.

Signs here and there to remind people not to come here.
Just outside the Khumib Riverbed. 

Khumib Valley.

Agate Mountain, an extinct volcano with 
cryptocrystalline silica remnants.

Curious jackal on the coast near a cape seal colony.

Crabbing out at Angra Fria, a weather station.

Resting in a whale skull. Bosluis Bay, 15 km south of Angolan border.

Kunene river.

Scouting the route.

Fueling the car.

Purros Community Camp Site.
Hot showers, flush toilets.

Desert elephant driving on the other end of the Hoarusib River.

Purros, Namibia
Wearing my second set of pants.

Sesfontein, another town that fully supports Manchester United. 

Sunset at Brandberg Mountain.