There is something very unnerving about being suspended below a large bag of hot air in a box not much more sturdy than a picnic hamper. Even more worrying is when the picnic hamper is 300 metres above terra firma, filled with about 20 people and captained by a tense looking Frenchman whispering “Merde! Beaucoup de vent ici.” at regular intervals into his two-way radio.
With a huge amount of will power I unclasp my hands from the safety rail, watch the blood rush back to my knuckles and gingerly reach for my camera as the sun breaks the eastern horizon of the Sossusvlei region of Namibia. Famed for its red sand dunes, the balloon ride seems to be the ultimate way to capture this unusual scenery photographically. I turn to the east, frame a photograph, feel my retina scream at me and start to shoot.
'Soussusvlei sunrise.' Nambia
The vertigo is forgotten and so begins a trip of mind-stunning panoramic views in the crisp and silent morning-air A sea-fog fills the plateau between the dunes, pulling back slowly like a duvet as the sun rises and the desert gets out of bed.
Namib-Nakluft Park. Namibia
A substantial amount of gigabytes later we descend and land on a scrub filled plateau where we are met with a champagne breakfast. I sit and bask in the morning sun and watch quietly as the red dunes start to light up in contrast to the now, clear blue-sky. The dried grass start to turn sliver as the light harshens and the myriad of dead, bleached trees that litter the plateau stand in silent submission, limbs outstretched, pleading with the sun. Champagne forgotten I wander off into the grass thoroughly pleased with myself that I remembered to pack all my memory cards that morning.
Returning from the balloon ride to Kulala Desert Lodge – one of the Wilderness Safari camps in the region is fast and due to the slackness of my jaw and the excited chatter of other guests around me, I conclude that the balloon ride, although expensive, is a hugely worthwhile addition to this photographic tour.
After a siesta through the heat of the day, my traveling companion and I take our hired 4×4 and drive into the park to look for wildlife in the afternoon sun. Most of the road is tar but towards the end we hit some very soft sand and enjoy ourselves as we push further into the dunes and become enveloped by this unique environment. ‘Dead Vlei’ is the end of the road and we drink a beer watching a Gemsbok antelope stroll past us, rapier like horns held aloft, its black and silver markings standing proud against the soft red dune.
‘Gemsbok.’ Namib-Nakluft Park. Namibia.
The next day we drive to Swakopmund, a town directly west from Windhoek and located on the cold-Atlantic coast. The trip takes the whole day with plenty of stops for photography. Even the rural service station necessary to maintain provisions in the car becomes an hour-long shoot.
‘Service Station.’ Namibia.
Swakopmund reached we head out into some more dunes, this time on quad bikes. The tracks are well marked and the guide knowledgeable. There is no plant matter anywhere and we spend a good three hours trying to reduce our environmental impact by traveling on two wheels rather than four.
Swakopmund. Namibia.
We stop at the top of one of the highest dunes in the area and my eye changes as I start to see shape and form in the dunes all around. Shadows form patterns and the wind picks up as the camera whirs, the dunes marching inexorably onwards beneath my feet.
Once out of the dunes we drive 30km swiftly south to Walvis Bay to try and catch the flamingos flying in the setting sun. In the lagoon next to the saltworks they exist in their hundreds, standing stiffly upright while their slender neck reaches straight down to allow their beaks to guddle the saline environment. Most are head down when we arrive; involved in some furious vacuuming, whilst some stand asleep and others stand guard. Suddenly a black backed jackal races towards the flock and they become alert and airborne in a matter of seconds, their stilt like legs pedaling frantically as they taxi for take-off.
Flamingos, Walvis Bay. Namibia.
Leaving Swakopmund is a bit of a leap of faith. We head north up the aptly named Skeleton Coast. It is one of the more desolate places I have been on the planet and gets its name from the whale skeletons and shipwrecks that litter the beach. We decide to risk it and drive on the salt road that runs parallel to the coast. It is the type of place where it would be good not to break down, due to the lack of water and the distance to civilization. As we cruise along the road in our air-conditioned cab being buffeted by gale-force winds and sand being blown horizontally like shrapnel at the vehicle’s exterior, I think of the sailors who were wrecked on this coast. It must have been one of the worst types of irony to survive the shipwreck only to find yourself consigned to perish in an environment from which there was simply no escape.
Skeleton Coast National Park. Namibia.
And yet, even here, there is life. Life in the form of plants – not only are they alive in this environment but they are thousands of years old. Welwitchia plants litter the crystal plains on either side of the road, leaves slumped against the ground, totally resigned to their lot as one might expect after a period of a few millennia sitting in the same place.
‘Waiting Welwitchia’. Skeleton coast, Namibia.
The road turns inland and 20kms from the coast we cross a mountain range and the scenery changes beyond recognition. Golden grasslands melt into harsh granite mountains, acacia trees cluster the riverbeds and wildlife starts to populate the open spaces. We stop at Palmwag, ‘braai’ (BBQ) our food and watch a family of giraffe move off into the evening light.
The next day we dump our vehicle and jump in a small plane to enter the concession currently run by Wilderness Safaris in the northern part of the skeleton coast park. If yesterday’s environment was desolate then this is taking it to another level. No vehicles are allowed in the 300,000ha concession apart from their three land rovers. Coupled with a maximum guest number of 8 the remoteness feels crushing. I love it and set myself the task of trying to convey the feeling in photos.
The plane deposits us in the middle of this wilderness, set to return in 4 days time. Each of the following days is spent following a different cardinal point of the compass and reveling in the different genres of photography. Landscape, Wildlife, People and Macro are catered for with ease and the subject matter is, at worst, inspiring.
‘The Himba.’ Damaraland, Namibia.
Each of the nights is spent enjoying 5 star accommodation with three course meals and a free bar. At times it feels discordant with the environment I am in but then I realise that Wilderness Safaris pride themselves as a conservation company above a tourist company. Their attitude to conservation of the local areas through, low impact, high revenue tourism allows the safeguard of not only the flora and fauna but the local Himba tribe as well. I start to see it as another very viable option in the overall conservation of the natural environment with better benefit to the ecosystem than any other. The fact that the system relies on the exclusion of people and the craziness of the situation that we, as humans, have got to a stage in our ‘evolution’ that we now actively pay to return to areas that are deemed ‘natural’ is perhaps the subject of another conversation.
It is a place that instills thought, and reflection simply by the solitude brought. Being the only humans in the area engenders a feeling of tribe and the evenings are full of good conversation around a campfire with the stars looking on.
‘Stars.’ Skeleton Coast, Namibia.
Four days pass quickly and all too soon we are reacquainted with our vehicle and strike out for Etosha National Park in the central, north of the country. Due to it being the end of the dry season the pressure on the waterholes is intense and it is not uncommon to count between ten and twenty different species of animal present. The light coupled with the dust makes for a photographer’s Valhalla as the behaviour between the species is played out.
‘Family.’ Etosha, Namibia.
‘Love and Protection.’ Etosha, Namibia.
Here, again water is the most important commodity and the drive to drink brings the animals in their droves. Even lions sitting in the bushes next to the waterholes only deter the prey for so long. Watching an animal weighing up water as more important than a very real threat to its own life gives a rare perspective on life itself and one that is hard to capture. It is the fear of death juxtaposed next to the glory of life and in some of the animals, if I waited a while; I was lucky enough to glimpse that glory.
‘Water.’ Etosha, Namibia.
Leaving Etosha is a hard thing to do. There is a sense of belonging in a place like that but in truth Namibia promotes that feeling in every way. With one of the lowest population densities on the planet the majority of it feels completely untouched – the feeling of an open road and a blank canvas.
‘Namibian Highway’