After a few days in Windhoek, we headed south in Greg-the-Toyota towards the dunes of Sossusvlei in the Namib Desert. These enormous red dunes, some of the highest in the world, are synonymous with Namibia in many peoples’ minds. Mike and I were excited to see them for ourselves. We were also (naively, perhaps) excited to try our hand at desert camping, despite temperatures that reached mid to high 30s.
As the crow flies, it doesn’t look like it should take more than a couple of hours to drive from Windhoek to the Sesriem campsite inside the gates of Sossusvlei. WRONG. After adjusting tire pressure in the tiny town of Rehoboth, we continued on our way. Within a few minutes, we said goodbye to tarred roads and helloooo washboard. My back will never be the same. Like, NEVER.
Goodbye tarred roads. Hello, Chiropractor.
It was an exciting, bumpy drive to Sesriem, passing gemsbok and springbok and ostrich. We also passed more than few abandoned vehicles and tourists changing punctures in the scorching midday heat. By the time we pulled into the tiny settlement of Solitaire for a slice of their ‘world famous’ apple pie, it was closed, we were tired, hot, sandy and we still had miles to go.
Pulling into the Sesriem campsite was a big relief. Run by NWR (Namibia Wilderness Resorts or “Never Wear Robes” if you listen to the boys), it’s perfectly basic but perfectly situated within the park gates. We took a while to set up camp the first time, but we did it and toasted ourselves with lukewarm beer and Fantas. Then we accidentally lit the propane tank on fire while trying to make dinner. And I’m not talking about a tiny flame – the entire tank was engulfed. I had to enlist the help of a overland driver nearby because we couldn’t put it out. The kids were so helpful, hopping around and screaming, “back up, back up, it’s gonna BLOW”. Needless to say, dinner plans were scrapped. Under a bazillion stars, we ate crackers and cheese and called it a night. Bats flew overhead, gemsbok circled and beetles the size of my headlamp crawled underfoot. Solid gold Africa magic, baby!
We crawled into our tents with the alarm set for 4:30am so that we could get to the dunes in time for sunrise. I was dreading the early morning debacle of folding up the roof-top tents, getting everyone sorted and on the road for the 66kms remaining, but it was worth every groan and moan and coffee-deprived moment. And then some.
We made it to Dune 45 in time for sunrise. The light was spectacular and the air was still blessedly cool. We climbed barefoot along with a handful of other tourists and watched the sun rise over the salt pans. It was one of those moments that takes your breath away (and I’m not just talking about the climb – though that definitely took my breath away). Shocking, mind-blowing beauty and stillness. The colours. The light. One of my favourite moments of our trip, without a doubt.
We lingered a while, climbing as high as we could. After that, it was all about jumping down the powdery soft sand as quickly as possible and soaking up the magical light. We knew we had to get to the biggest dune in the area, Big Daddy, sooner rather than later because it was 30 degrees by 8am and rising fast.
We opted to have an NWR safari vehicle take us the remaining 20km to Big Daddy because the tracks became increasingly sandy. The kids loved the maniacal driving (it felt like an amusement ride without the safety straps). We made it to Big Daddy and began the arduous climb, no longer cool enough to brave barefoot. It was hard and hot and rewarding. We jumped down the sides of the dunes while visions of desert snakes and scorpions danced in my head. It was crazy hot, but we spent a bit of time wandering around the otherworldly Deadvlei, a former oasis now punctuated by dead acacia trees in a bleached salt pan.
By this time, Tom was being uncharacteristically whiny and emotional, telling us that his feet were ‘burning off’ and wanting to go back to camp. I gave him a pretty hard time and tried to impress upon him how lucky he was to be there, but he was having none of it. We dragged him and his relatively uncomplaining siblings to a few more dunes, but as temperatures were close to 40 degrees by mid-morning, we headed back to our campsite by noon.
We spent the afternoon in the campsite’s pool and met a nice couple and their son from Yellowknife – the only other child in the entire camp. He was Tom’s age and a hockey player, but strangely Tom wasn’t interested in playing with him at all. Another red flag.
By the time late afternoon rolled around, Tom was trying to convince us to let him go to bed. When I first took his temperature, it was hovering around 103 degrees. We tried cooling him off (hard to do in the desert when you’re camping), plied him with meds, put him under a battery-powered fan, etc, but the mercury kept rising. After another epic camping dinner fail (spaghetti soup, anyone?), we kept an eye on Tom and then turned in early.
At 3am, Tom woke us wheezing and crying. His temp had risen to 106.5 degrees – more than I’m comfortable dealing with in the bush. It didn’t help that our digital thermometer flashes red and starts beeping frantically after 104 degrees. And yes, it’s possible that I started to panic just a wee, tiny bit. We were, literally, hours from medical help, out of cell service and locked inside a national park without means of getting out. We tried putting him into the shower to cool him off, but the water was so hot that it didn’t help. By 3:30am, Mike forced him into the campground pool where they shivered together for a while. It helped a bit and, as soon as the gates opened at 6am, we were on our way to Swakopmund (4 hrs away).
We owe big props to Henry, best brother ever, for jumping out of bed without complaint at 4:45am to single-handedly dismantle both roof-tops tents and pack the truck, all the while stealing concerned glances at his clearly concerned parents and brother. We stopped briefly for breakfast and coffee at a swanky lodge, so clearly any sense of urgency had dulled a bit.
The ride to Swakop felt endless, but Tom’s temp had cooled a couple of degrees and he was okay. To Mike’s (eternal?) dismay, I refused to let him stop for more than a couple of seconds as we passed the Tropic of Capricorn because I couldn’t relax with our little sicky in the backseat. In the meantime, the scenery was stunning, yet so vastly desolate. We spotted our first desert zebras and marvelled at the enormity of the sky and space. It’s so dry – some spots in the Namib Desert haven’t seen rain since 2011.
In the end, we made it to Swakopmund on the Atlantic coast with no problems, no flat tires and a tired, but stoic little 9 year old in tow. So, don’t worry, Nanas, it all worked out fine. A dramatic end to an otherwise stunning couple of days that we won’t soon forget.