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.

Camping at Namibgrens

The weekend there was crazy snowfall in South Africa was the same weekend that we went camping at Namibgrens, about 2.5 hours south of Windhoek. The same chill and biting wind came with it too, lucky us. I know I am weak after four years living south of the equator, but daaaaaaang it was cold!

Namibgrens is a slab of private land that farms cattle and goats. It's been passed on through four generations. Between a private house, chic chalets, farmhouse rooms, and camping, the place draws personalities and enthusiasms for all kinds of people. Several of our friends say it's their favorite place to camp, plus dogs are welcome, so we decided to see it for ourselves. This camping trip would be Jim's first one in over 8 years.  After his first and only attempt camping in Shenandoah National Park, Mark and I swore off ever taking him camping again. He was so anxious and freaked out, no one got any sleep. That jerk kept pushing me off my sleeping mat and couldn't stay in one place.

We decided he would sleep in the kid's tent.

The open spread of land and lack of other campers (there was only my group of friends) ensured that Jim could explore freely. Considering he gets tired after a 20 minute walk at home, I didn't think he would do much. In fact, he was up in the rocks with the kids for most of the day. For an 11 year old dog, he ran himself silly before curling up into a tight ball and passing out well before the kids did.

Mark had ordered 6 cm thick cut pork chops from the butcher so he set to making a fire a good three hours in advance of dinner. The rest of us attempted a 4x4 trail to catch the sunset but ran out of time, returning with chilled hands and extremely empty tummies. It's funny: the owner said it was only a short drive up and over a few rocks. It was more like up and over a few mountains that required careful tracking, through five cattle gates with baboon skulls, past farm tenements (I still can't believe how tough Namibians are!) and past one thousand goats with their several protective goat dogs. 

Dinner over the hot fire was so joyous. I ate until my pants split. Then I ate some more when someone produced legit American style marshmallows. Namibian marshmallows, which likely come from South Africa anyway are all strawberry flavored and melt weird. We also had Cadbury chocolote and breakfast cookies to make s'mores, but the mouth feel is totally different than with classic Hershey's and grahams. 

The night was frosty, but mercifully the wind died down. The stars exploded overhead and I enjoyed them as long as I could. I crawled into my tent which was inside canopy tent and went to sleep listening to my children farting and snoring in the next tent over. I followed suit. We woke early as usual and wasted no time downing cup after cup of coffee and left over magical pork chops before packing up and heading back to Windhoek still chilled and saturated in smoke and dirt. Jim got home and didn't move for another 24 hours. I guess that is a sign that he had fun?

My second flat in Namibia. Our current tire count replacement is now at 7.
But this is why we always carry two spares.

Deets showing Vincent the ropes.

Campsite with cars trying to block out the wind. 

The boys.

A pending sunset that we never got to really see. 

My mountain goats. Photo credit to Mark.

So many damn stars. SO. MANY.
Credit: Mark 

Pink Lakes of Walvis Bay

After indulging on a desert tour, swimming in the ocean, visiting the aquarium, eating at massive amounts of fatty, fine food, and going to bed in an exhausted stupor for two days, it was my turn to choose. While I was researching things to do while in Swakopmund, I found a few blogs and travel sites that preached the glory of pink salt lakes located south of Walvis Bay. 

I decided I needed to see these for myself because the photos on the blogs looked ultra filtered and super fake. We drove toward Salt Works, also known as Walvis Bay Salt Holdings. It is Africa's largest salt manufacturer, putting out 700,000 tons of salt every year. 

Fun fact: evaporated seawater, once fully processed makes up a content of 99.4% sodium chloride. Water is pumped from the Walvis Bay Lagoon and dumped on what they call pre-evaporation ponds and concentration ponds. Wind and sun essentially brine the contents of the water to the point where layers crystallization can occur. The layers of crystals get scraped off and transported to a washing plant where calcium sulfate and magnesium are removed before undergoing further washing and drying. Bulk salt then gets shipped locally and worldwide from the Walvis Bay port. 

The southbound D1986 road leads you to the entrance of Salt Works, so if you veer right into the seemingly nothingness of the salt flats, eventually you will drive past the pink salt reserves on the left. 

And, yes. They are as pink as they look on the internet. The large plots of pink, salty, water are sectioned off by grey-brown dirt moats. The water's edges are coated with what looks like sludgy sea foam, but up close are actually salt crystals. I admit, there are one or two signs along the road that say "stay on the road" but I had to get a picture or two, so we stopped just long enough that I could jump out and get some. 

Beyond the salt flats, the road eventually peters out to a beach where people can stand in the wind and watch the ocean. Or maybe they could kayak. Other than that, there is little else out there. Except for birds. Walvis Bay is stuffed with pelicans, cranes, and flamingos, and makes the whole experience twice as pink. And about fifteen times more stinky. Wildlife. What can you do? 

At Pelican Point 

The Little Five of Namibia

Deets likes to say he is a reptile, a reasonable supposition considering that he is president of Snake Town, the place where reptiles rule and pigeons wage war. Mark and I decided that a trip to the coast for a living desert tour would be a good idea. Here we would see the "Little Five" of Namibia: 4 reptiles and a spider. The trip was a surprise, so we picked up the kids from school (a rare treat for them) and headed west to the Atlantic Ocean.

Swakopmund is a very popular tourist destination, but I can't say it is my favorite place in Namibia. The town has a weird feel, it's rarely sunny, and the pale and pipelined moonscape surrounding the town makes my soul feel withered and isolated.  But, there is something to be said about being near the water, and the restaurants here are quite good.

We booked a family room at the Delight Hotel, part of the Gondwana conglomerate chain. The second I walked in, I knew I made the right decision. The hotel is colorful and punchy. The staff were kind. The room was cozy and chic plus they had the softest towels. In a town that was cold and hazy, the hotel was, in a word: delightful. 

Around 8:00 am the next morning our group of 6 adults and 6 kids would pile into the 4x4s of Charly's Desert Tours and take off for the Dorab National Park, a short 60 second drive to edge of town. Seriously, the edge of Swakopmund city life quickly disappears into the sand dunes. Imagine the history this place has buried beneath it.

We didn't have to wait long to find out. While the guides were busy searching for signs of animal life, another guide gathered the group around a long stretch of bleached horse’s bones left over from World War II. True to its name, WWII affected far more than Europe and the Pacific. Bitter, bloody fights raged throughout Southern Africa. Fingers and guns were pointed in all directions. 

The bones show that horses were lined up and shot, perhaps due to malnutrition, perhaps for revenge on the enemy. Either way, propaganda was at a fever pitch and the stories left behind are not easily forgotten. Alas, the guide continued to weave bits and pieces of Namibia’s history, sharing details of the beautiful tribes, traditions, and languages that have shaped the country that it is today.

In the meantime, the scouts were hiking up dunes, looking for tiny indentations in the sand. A small V-shape in the sand indicated a Palmato gecko was resting about 15 cm beneath the surface. Nocturnal, translucent and 6 cm long, these geckos have internal organs that show a beautiful rainbow hue. When agitated or scared, these geckos “puff” themselves up to make them look bigger, though for humans trying to take pictures of them, they are remarkably, still tiny.

In a sloth-like fashion, aNamaqua chameleon meandered through a tangle of low succulent bushes. Its independent eyes scrolled the environment, its tail in a perfect curlicue as it made its summit. Namaqua chameleons are green-brown in color and regulate its body temperature by changing half of its body to a light grey in order to reflect heat. They lay eggs early in life (6 months) and reportedly run much faster than them, despite being sized more than four times bigger.

Fixing his the eyes to the horizon, the guide walked to a long line of broken concrete pyres from the days of inspired trans-Namibian railroad construction (late 1890’s). At the time, engineers forgot to accommodate for high and low tide changes. Since ocean tides are quite powerful and unrelenting, the result for the potential train line from Walvis Bay to Swakopmund was a disastrous one. In fact, the Martin Luther Museum, located on the outskirts of the city, houses a locomotive engine (the Martin Luther Steam Ox) that was ultimately abandoned. For train enthusiasts, it’s worth a visit. Otherwise…

Next to the blocks was a stick stuck in the sand, the next marker for dune life. No more than 4 cm down was the dancing white lady, cartwheeling spider. This venomous creature’s life is more horrifying than the praying mantis: there is a desert wasp that enjoys tracking them down to sting, paralyze, and lay eggs inside the spider so its babies can have a live and cozy food source upon hatching. The spider, when threatened, will escape by rolling up its legs and cartwheel down the dune at a rate faster than the wasp can fly.

Found only by the broken sand trail it leaves along steep dunes, the shovel snouted lizard has a fantastic dance, picking up its feet in a side to side fashion to keep its feet from burning on the hot sand. These lizards bite no matter how big the predator, but when the time comes to escape they will dive into the sand face first and shovel themselves under.

As for the creepiest of all creatures, the sidewinder is considered second smallest of the snakes, maxing out at 30cm long (after the dwarf adder). These snakes blend painfully well into the sand, and feeding on lizards and geckos. The guides have to search for faint S-markings in the sand, which are often covered up by the wind. Be aware of these creatures as their bite is cytotoxic and neurotoxic. That means there is local tissue destruction and nervous system effects. In effect, a bite from one of these will result in something much worse than an owie and a headache. 

Sadly, no sidewinders could be found. We went home snakeless, but Deets did not feel cheated since he was the glorified ringleader of all the kids who ran up and down the dunes, screaming their heads off like tea kettles in response to our lifting of the Cone of Silence when the guides were speaking. 

Wrapping up the tour with a barf worth bang, the guides took pleasure of taking us on a torture rumpus ride up and around the dunes before returning to the tar road. If given the choice to die, I might have taken it. At what point in my life did I turn into an old woman who can't handle a little bit of roller coaster action? We arrived back to the hotel where I immediately crawled into bed like a hungover, flu-ridden, miserable human being who was forced to watch her prize pig disemboweled with a machete. Forty-five minutes later, I was right as rain. 

 

Very green things.

Where I am. 

Delight Lobby

Sherry bar. 

Palmato Gecko

Memories of WWII

An unimpressed looking chameleon.

Paparazzi. 

Cartwheeling, dancing lady spider.

Bird.