Hentiesbaai and Cape Cross

I left the bungalow early, hoping that there would be less wind the earlier I rode…. Fat chance… A strong westerly was blowing again as I left Swakopmund behind and headed north, up the Salt Road… This road handles like tar when it is dry, and decent speeds can be achieved along it, but woe betide you if a little moisture has settled onto it… It becomes as “slippery as a barrel full of eels” I had been warned about this in Windhoek, but already knew about the conditions here from the many visits I have made to this area in the past, the first being in 1974… The guy in Windhoek , a biker, (who shall remain anonymous by request!) had gone through a dip in the road where overnight dew or drizzle had gathered and seeing the shinier than normal surface, he touched the back brake, and that, as they say in the classics, “was all she wrote”…

Luckily there are few obstructions alongside this road to bring you to a sudden stop, unless you manage by sheer fluke to hit one of the half dozen road signs you will encounter over the 135km to Cape Cross, or one of the telephone poles which are set well back from the road. My biker friend hit neither, but slid a considerable distance on his side, his F650 Dakar clasped between his legs… He lay there for a few moments wondering what on earth had just happened… He told me that while the various explanations were going through his mind, a fisherman and his entire family stopped to commiserate with, and congratulate him, on what they thought had been a rather spectacular fall… He vaguely remembers them asking where the cameras were hidden, as they thought they had stumbled onto a film set!!! We had a good laugh while he related this story, but his warning stuck in my mind…

Traffic on the Salt Road to Cape Cross, was relatively light that Thursday…

With this scene in mind, I rode the first 30 kilometres to Wlotzkasbaken too carefully, and too slowly, expecting the road to rise up and bite me as it had done my friend… Eventually, I decided to open the throttle and skipped ahead at a steady 100km/h, without any hassles at all. The wind had cleared the road surface of all loose sand, and very little grit was blowing across it… I stopped somewhere along a more desolate than usual stretch, to take some photos and have a walkabout… I had seen a number of Black-backed Jackals skulking in the low dunes and scattered scrub along the roadside, and on walking a fair distance off the road, I noticed that their tracks criss-crossed the desert from every direction… Amazing that so many of these predators survive out there… While I was walking back to the bike, a smallish jackal ran across the road just in front of me with a bird clasped firmly in its mouth… I was amazed at the proximity to me that it ran, and stupidly did not think to take a photo, even though the camera was dangling from my wrist!!!

Big sky, endless desert, open road… I could feel my soul expanding…

I snapped a few photos of the “Big Fella” on my walk back to the bike, marvelling at the utter silence and the desolate beauty of my surroundings… The wind had settled down to a light breeze, low clouds hung a short distance offshore, the desert stretched out towards the Brandberg Mountains in the east… I looked back along the Salt Road, towards Swakopmund, and then north towards Hentiesbaai…nothing moved…the stillness was extraordinary… I felt bolted to the desert floor; I did not want to move… I felt that old tightness in my chest, something squeezing at my heart…felt the pinpricks begin behind my eyes… I stood in awe of my surroundings, emotion coursing through me… I sat down in the scant shade afforded by the bike, water bottle in hand, my eyes carving this scene into my brain… “God’s country” as they say… Never mind the “made in anger” bit…

I was shaken from my reverie by a passing car… I hadn’t heard it coming, not until the roar of its engine was mere metres away… By the time I lifted my head it had already passed by… The sun beat down, and my feet felt as if they were cooking in my boots. There wasn’t enough shade to cover all of me, and my feet were sticking out into the harsh sunlight… I got up slowly, dusted the sand off my jacket and pants, took a last look around, and then pressed the starter button… The growl from the engine sounded like that of a monster truck, startling me, bringing me back to the present, and the task at hand… I rode slowly away from that spot… It was like exiting a church… I waited a few minutes before opening the throttle further and getting back up to cruising speed again…

A short distance further I passed the sign to Jakkalsputz, where a number of 4 x 4’s had turned off and were setting up camp in the dunes. Judging by the sand flying off shovels, one or more of them had become stuck in the thick sand bordering the beach… On the way back later that afternoon, they were still in the same position, but no sand was flying off shovels… Instead, bottles of beer were held aloft to me as I slowed down to wave to them… It seemed as though their fishing and camping expedition had turned into a digging and drinking festival…

The “Jakkals’” was present when I passed….

I arrived at Hentiesbaai a short while later and decided to have a drink and something to eat before motoring on to Cape Cross. Land cruisers and Land rovers buzzed up and down the main street, pulling trailers on which were loaded ski-boats of all shapes and sizes… Clearly a fisherman’s paradise this. Quad bikes roared between the houses, none of the riders wearing helmets, and I assumed that the law was rather flexible here. A large development was on show out on the northern point, and I wondered how many people would be buying purely to have a place to use for a few weeks of the year… I think Hentiesbaai has very few permanent residents… Most of the car registrations were from the major centres of Namibia, and only a few were from South Africa…

It is a very long way to come to catch fish, but I am told that the cold Atlantic waters serve up great catches of Bronze Whaler sharks and other fighting fish… I idled through town, up and down the wide roads between the houses. A strong wind had got up again, picking up particles of sand which “pinged” off the bike and my helmet… I noticed a very green patch of grass in what seemed to be your ordinary “garden variety” patch of desert, but was astounded when I rode closer, to see that it was in fact a “green”… as in Golf!!! I pulled the bike over and removed my helmet to get a better view of this “course”… I was interested to see that they had actually put bunkers on the edges of the greens!! Interesting touch, considering that the whole course was one massive bunker!!!

The bunker on the left front of the green makes club selection very important on this particular hole…

I motored on through town, taking in the sights… (There were one or two!!) A hangman’s noose, attached to a huge piece of driftwood erected in the centre of town drew my attention and resulted in a few photos. It was apparently erected by the first two gentlemen to settle here in 1969 and 1971 respectively… Frank Atkinson and Willie Cilliers decided to erect “The Gallows” in 1978, as an appeal to keep the town and beach free of litter… Frank and Willie were either ardent environmentalists, or just bored out of their skulls!!!   

I stopped at the “De Duine Bar” on the beachfront to have a bite to eat. A young couple and their daughter were already seated when I arrived, and within minutes, the little girl had moved her plate of chips to my table and was chatting away to me as if we had known each other for ever… She asked why I was alone, where my children were, how many did I have, what were there names…. Her parents tried in vain to coax her back to their table, but she was having none of it… I didn’t mind at all, and answered all her questions, satisfying her curiosity as best I could…

Eventually, her parents moved to my table as well, and we sat chatting about our respective trips. They had driven up from Windhoek where they had lived for over ten years. They used to reside in Johannesburg, but had moved to Namibia to “get away from it all” and had chosen Windhoek to settle in… They chose wisely, rather than join the exodus to the UK or Australia… We agreed that people born in Africa would find it difficult to settle on any other continent… Mother Africa would always pull at our heart strings…

The scene of the most recent “Biker-Hanging” lures another curious one to his fate…

The relieved author having discovered that hangings now take place on Wednesdays only….

Having enjoyed a cold Windhoek Lager and a plate of chips, I left town to continue on my way to the seal colony at Cape Cross, bidding my young friend goodbye… She seemed genuinely sorry to see me go… Strange how complete strangers can have a lasting affect on each other… I thought about this little girl for a number of days after out meeting… Her openness and talkative nature had made a lasting impression on me for reasons I couldn’t quite understand…

As I took the photo below, the battery in my camera gave up the ghost and I began the search for my spare which I had charged earlier that morning, before leaving Swakopmund. I was sure that I had packed it into my Top Box, but having emptied everything that I had brought with me out onto the road, I still failed to locate the battery. I was more than a little annoyed with myself, as I would now have no record of my trip to the seal colony…. I had been looking forward to taking a photo in front of the cross erected by the Portuguese seafarer and explorer, Diego Cao, in the Year of our Lord, 1486, (arriving here without the aid of a GPS I might add !!) just to hear my friend Guy More’s comments…. Alas it was not to be…

The last photo of the day… My battery had given up, and I could not find my spare…

The 40kms to Cape Cross went by at a relaxed pace, I stopped once again to gaze out at the desolation of this coastline… I encountered only one car on the way there. There was a brief discussion held with the officer at the gate to the Colony, who did not want to allow me to take the bike into the area, as “it would make too much noise”. Just then an old bakkie rolled up, with more than just a few holes in its exhaust, making an almighty racket… I raised an eyebrow at the guard, who rolled his eyes and let me in…..

I have been to this colony on three previous occasions. The smell has not improved with time… I parked the bike between two other cars, the only other visitors there at the time, and walked across to the rock sea-wall to spy on the 150 000 seals gathered there. The noise coming form them far exceeded that made by my bike or any other vehicle for that matter, and I think the guards at the gate should get off their backsides and come down to the seals and hear this for themselves! I watched a Jackal prowling amongst the adult seals, hoping to snatch a calf while its mother was either asleep or distracted by other seals which clamber over each other in an effort to find the best place to snooze away the day…. I drank the rest of my water, ate a few energy bars and then made for the parking area and my bike…  

After a last look around and having read the information boards in the parking area to remind myself again how my ancestors discovered the world, (Comments by Guy to follow!!) I mounted up and headed home to Swakopmund, riding much better now that I knew what to expect from the surface of the road.

Just before I entered town, I received a text message from Sherry Cromhout, advising me of their GPS co-ordinates, just north of Swakopmund. I plugged them into my trusty machine and we set off to find her. I am still amazed at the accuracy of the Garmin. I followed all the pointers and got to within 11 metres of where Errol’s land Rover was parked. It was great to see someone from “home” so far away from the Lowveld! I had known Sherry and her husband Errol for almost twenty years… We had a quick lunch of cold Snoek sandwiches, and then I left, promising to return for supper later that evening to meet Conrad, Jo-Jo, and their two sons, (family of the Cromhout’s) from Kwambonambi, with whom they were sharing the house for the week…

That night we ate Mussels (liberally coated with Garlic!!), which Conrad had taken from the rocks right outside their complex, and we barbequed a few “Sea Kokerotte” for starters, before getting down to the “meat” of the matter with huge T-bone steaks, a potato dish, and Jo-Jo’s speciality, a mean mielie bake… Tafel beer and Red Wine were served as “digestive assistance” by Conrad. It was a great evening, shared with great people…

Crayfish on the braai… A tasty meal in the offing…

Watching them, I thought of home, of my family who had not bothered to advise me of their safe return from England earlier that morning… I felt my throat tighten… Bridges were burning…Vanessa and I were both letting our pride get in the way again… Pride and the advice of the ill-informed… But those are the breaks I suppose… I had to play the cards I’d been dealt with, and get the hell on with it… Tough advice to swallow, even when it was coming from yourself…

I left Sherry and Errol at a little before 11.00 pm and made my way back to the southern end of town, where my bungalow was located. Minutes after I arrived, Sherry sent me a text message enquiring if the Garmin Girl had got me home safely… I replied in the affirmative, thanking her again for the hospitality they had afforded me… Special lady, Sherry Cromhout…