211 - Dune 45, Sossusvlei, & Carmy (Namib-Naukluft National Park, Namibia)
THE NAMIB DESERT IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS. It just is. If the place doesn’t impress you, I submit you suck… hard. It really is that simple. Judgmental? Sure, but say that after visiting. I will concede that if your experience is nothing more than a shuttle bus spectacular during the busy season, then, perhaps, a jaded reaction might be understandable. Maybe. But then again, you’ve visited one of the most dazzling sights on the planet in a shuttle bus with folks as exciting as bubble-gum-flavored bubble gum. Sorry to inform you that you do, in fact, suck. Don’t like my conclusion? “Tough titty,” said the kitty to the big brown cow.
Dune 45, a one-hundred-fifty-meter-high pile of sand, sits forty-five kilometers from Sesriem en route to Sossusvlei. It’s close to the road, so just pull up and go for a slog—emphasis on “slog.” (Trudging uphill through deep sand will leave you winded, ya heard?) We had a go on the evening of our arrival hoping to catch the sunset. No dice. Clouds foiled our aspirations, but the view was anything but disappointing.
We arose the next morning before the sun, brewed up some lifeblood (i.e. Nescafé Gold Espresso), mounted Sparky, and jetted off to meet the day atop Dune 45. I deemed it necessary to repeatedly scream, “Dune Forty-FIVE, AH!” Why? Dunno. It just felt right. I’m sure it wasn’t annoying at all.
We plowed upward, then waited for the rising sun. This time we weren’t alone, but the “crowd” was manageable. In this rare instance, it was nice to have fellow travelers with whom to savor the moment and provide photographic perspective.
Leslie and I loitered on the pile for the better part of three hours… The shadows. The colors. The wind. The air. All conspired to beguile, to captivate. I explored the far side, careful not to disturb the perfection that defined the dune’s wind-swept razor edge. I also did my best not to pass out from forging through all that goddamned sand.
The best way to conclude your Dune 45 experience? By tearing ass down the side without going ass over teakettle. Psychological regression is unavoidable. I estimate my maturity level bottomed out somewhere between five and six years of age. Dune 45 is also a time machine. Yes, it is.
After 45, we continued on for a peek at Sossusvlei. I’d neglected to read carefully before arriving, figuring you drive you in, take a few pics, and then exit shortly thereafter. Au contraire mon frère. The pavement ends before entering, requiring a 4WD, so we parked Sparky and hitched a ride with the park service. (For a modest fee, of course.)
Photo by Leslie Peralta
It, too, is the stuff of desert fantasy, comprising a substantial area begging to be surveyed. We’d erred by arriving so late, missing the sunrise color bonanza we’d experienced on Dune 45. Still, I could see the potential. To punctuate the surrealistic vision before us, significant reservoirs of water covered the area beneath the dunes, again confounding my expectations. We shall return!
On our way back to Sesriem, I photographed three ostriches crossing a grass field in the shadow of a large dune. It felt as apropos as a polar bear in my backyard, but research revealed a wide variety of fauna populate the area. Huh.
“Fauna in the Sossusvlei area is surprisingly rich in variety. It mostly comprises small animals that can survive with little water, including a number of arthropods, small reptiles and small mammals such as rodents or jackals). Bigger animals include antelopes (mainly oryxes and springboks) and ostriches. On the rear occasion that the pans flood, several migrant bird species might be found at the water. Much of the Sossusvlei and Namib fauna is endemic and highly adapted to the specific conditions of the Namib, for instance, the Namib Desert Beetle which have developed a technique for collecting water from the early morning fog with the help of the specially adapted bumps on its back.” Wikipedia.
Sossusvlei—it looks and sounds like a nonsense word. The more you say it, the more ridiculous it becomes. (The “-vlei” rhymes with “way.” Need remedial help? Go here. I did.) It’s a name worthy of Dr. Seuss and would blend seamlessly into one of his books. Hooray! Hooray! It’s Sossusvlei! In cartoon dunes with defunct lagoons, we bounced amid the desert blooms. I danced and danced, then shit pants, spellbound by a wasteland trance… or something.
Roughly translated, “Sossusvlei” means “dead-end marsh.” Rarely does the Tsauchab River accumulate sufficient capacity and thrust to inundate the region, but it happens. Well, it happened.
Another early rise. Another cup of Nescafé. I can almost smell the instant coffee now. The park staffers were late arrivals, so we missed the sunrise but still made it for the color spectacle. I was hoping we’d have the place to ourselves, but, alas, those with their own 4WDs beat us to the punch. No matter, it was a sight to behold and worth every moment spent absorbing it.
After negotiating lagoons, I scaled the nearest dune, perchance I was in tune with a universal boon. The most visually appealing route turned out to be the least expedient, sapping my qi. Dune slogging might be the perfect cardio workout, although the apparatus may be a bit difficult to come by. Once atop my sandy perch, I soon forgot the effort it took to arrive. What a fucking view! My awe soon turned to laughter when I noticed some unfortunates following my footsteps. They must’ve assumed I’d taken the easiest route. You know what happens when you assume. They never made it… poor bastards.
I savored my last opportunity to for dune skipping. With video camera in hand, I bounced downward with childish exuberance, all the while singing my adaptation of Tom Petty’s “Running Down a Dream (Dune).” There are worse ways to spend a morning.
Courtesy of EXPLORING NAMIBIA TV
Courtesy of Drone Cat Cinematic
Courtesy of World Wild Hearts
Courtesy of Rhino Africa Safaris
After we’d garnered our fill of Sossusvlei, it was time to leave the Namib behind… sigh. This was a mistake. There was more to see and do. We should’ve lingered. Never have I seen such a place. I doubt I shall ever see another like it. It’s the desert of Hollywood imagination. Life is all about timing. Who knows, had I arrived at a different time, perhaps the aura surrounding it would’ve been less enchanting. Then again…
From Sesriem, we headed northwest to Swakopmund via Walvis Bay through the northern sector of Namib-Naukluft National Park. As we floated once again through the endless expanse of desolation, a sudden violent jerk of the wheel on my part spared the life of a familiar friend. Carmy the Chameleon sported a bright yellow coat of arms at a most opportune moment, catching my eye and saving his shape-shifting little ass. (Maybe this was his Don Quixote impression, facing down a couple of thousand pounds of metal and plastic.) We turned around for a closer look and gawked at our mystical little friend for about fifteen minutes. He was an ornery little fucker, but a short camera molestation was the least he could endure in exchange for my split-second reflexes.
Not far from Walvis Bay, the scenery morphed again and became even more nothing than nothing was before. Such a variety. So many shades of nothing…
