The Skeleton Coast :
Namibia
This story first appeared in the September 2004 issue of "TRACKS"
magazine.
Click HERE for photographs
of this trip. (opens in a new window)
When a heavy sea-fog
rests on these uncouth and rugged surfaces, wrote the Swedish
explorer Charles John Anderson, A place fitter to represent the
infernal regions could scarcely, in searching the world round, be found.
A shudder amounting almost to fear came over me when its frightful desolation
first suddenly broke upon my view. Death, I proclaimed,
would be preferable to banishment to such a country.
And it was in this bleak
country that we picked up Albert, the seventeen year old hitchhiker,
who, carrying no food, water or money, had already spent two days cheerfully
marching over this frightful desolation en-route to visit
his mother more than three hundred kilometres away. If we hadnt
stopped to pick him up he told us how he would have continued walking
for as long as it took to get there, but maybe hed never have
made it. Maybe his bones would have joined those of the twelve headless
skeletons found lying together on an empty beach. Maybe hed have
become like the crumbling remains of the young girl discovered heaped
up in the corner of an abandoned hut. Maybe his death would have become
as much a mystery as that of the skeleton found buried in a shallow
grave in a bolt upright position. Or maybe, before the thirst became
too much for him, hed have scrawled a message of help, similar
to the one found on a weather beaten slate reading, I am proceeding
to a river sixty miles north, and should anyone find this and follow
me, God will help him. And if the story of Albert hadnt
had a happy ending then its unlikely that anyone would have known,
because this coastline is full of mysterious deaths and lonely graves.
This coast of forgotten graves
is to be found in Namibia in southwest Africa and it forms the coastal
section of the formidable Namib Desert, which at eighty million years
of age is the oldest desert in the world. Its a land of great
hardship. Its a land that alternates between searing heat that
can boil you from the inside out too icy winds that chill you to the
bone. Its a land of massive horizons where mirages dance in the
distance only to be replaced moments later by heavy fogs bringing darkness
at midday. Its a land where dead plants live for two
thousand years and where scientists put the unexplainable down to fairies.
Its a land where penguins and ducks feed in the desert and lions
stalk seals on the beach. It is the Coast of Hell. It is
the Coast of Skulls. It is the Graveyard of Ships.
This is the Skeleton Coast and, despite its menacing nicknames and terrible
reputation, it is actually one of the most fragile and unique ecosystems
on earth.
So fragile in fact that the
whole place is literally glued together by fields of lichen that keep
the loose soil in place, acting as the grass of the desert and preventing
what little soil there is from blowing away on the strong winds. Off
this feed other, increasingly large plants and animals, but just one
set of car tyres can cause damage to the lichens that is still visible
nearly a century later. And if the lichens are damaged then in turn
everything else is damaged. Its a place that by its very nature
can only support a tiny number of people and animals and its an
environment that, despite its protected status, has been battered through
mining prospectors, over fishing, poaching, harbour proposals and plain
old bad management. The scars from a few of mans previous attempts to
wrest a profit from the Skeleton Coast still lie amongst the magnificence
of nature. A collapsed and rusting oil well, that sent its millionaire
entrepreneur bankrupt before construction was even completed and a disused
diamond mine that brought nothing but shattered dreams. Nowadays cormorants
have made homes on the frail remnants of both and jackals scavenge amongst
the bones for fallen birds. Rotting away out here today, these industrial
skeletons seem pathetic and of no consequence to the land, but the threats
keep coming and each new money making proposal becomes ever more dangerous.
The harbour and town mooted for remote Mãwe Bay is only the latest,
but if it succeeds then this coastal desert that has itself claimed
so many bones will have finally been sent to its own grave.
Even if it seems at the moment
that money might once again take priority over the natural world we
shouldnt give up on it, because the Skeleton Coast is no lifeless
patch of land not worth the effort of saving. Its gravel plains and
razor edged dunes contain more wildlife than any other sand desert on
the planet. And its all thanks to the frigid but nutrient rich Benguela
current that sweeps up the coast from Antarctica bringing with it life
giving moisture in the form of the near daily fogs that penetrate way
inland and provide plants and animals that are found nowhere else in
the world with a much needed drink. There are gymnastic beetles that
perform handstands at the
summit of sand dunes in order to drink and snakes that get their water
by allowing the fog to condense on their scales. Old river courses are
the veins of life on the Skeleton Coast and they act like motorways,
allowing for the free movement of plants and animals that are completely
un-associated with deserts. Elephants, rhinos, giraffes, antelopes and
occasionally even lions pace down these relatively lush highways from
the wetter and greener interior of Namibia. One resident group of elephant
have adapted so well to their sandy home that they are sometimes seen
in the early morning light surfing down the side of wine red dunes.
It was into this strange
environment that three of us, Ian Kruger, Jon Bowen and myself had come
in search of surf. When you first glance at a map Namibia looks to be
a promising destination. Its southwest angled coast facing straight
into the might of the South Atlantic seems riddled with headlands sheltering
potential points and theres little doubt that Namibia does contain
obscene waves, hidden away behind miles of sand dunes, but thats
were the problems start. Almost the entire length of the Skeleton Coast
is a road-less, sand blasted wilderness with zero access. This is the
graveyard of ships, so a boat is clearly of no use to the budding surf
explorer. With a convoy of jeeps and lots of experience of desert driving
youd find something, but the best option might be a light plane
and nerves of steel when it comes to sandy landings. Not having an aeroplane
stashed away in my board bag and with our boat driving skills limited
to a gentle paddle around a boating lake we found ourselves limited
to the family saloon hire car option and the slightly more accessible
central coast which does at least have a dirt road running along its
length. This stretch of several hundred kilometres is still enough to
keep the feelings of exploration, as well as the chance of a perfect
wave, sky-high. After dropping Albert the hitchhiker off at his mothers
in the small town of Swakopmund we drove northwards through stark desolation
and on the way we found more than enough waves and more than enough
graves and bones. The Skeleton Coast is made up of long sandy
beaches, gentle cliffs with rocky points and scattered reefs sat just
offshore. On a glassy morning there are a never-ending range of peaks,
some mellow, some spitting.
With little to distinguish one section of coast from any other we just
picked sandy turn offs that in some way or other appealed to us. Mostly
we found nothing but cold onshore winds blasting across the sea and
turning the waves into an angry mess. Sometimes wed strike gold
though in the form of a hollow beach break or playful point and even
if we didnt there was always something of interest to discover.
Masses of seabirds as well as the occasional pelican and a hundred different
shells and colourful stones. It was stones and the promise of wealth
that had been the reason why Europeans came into contact with
the Skeleton Coast in the first place. Sometime back towards the turn
of the previous century someone picked a tiny sparkling crystal out
of the sand and the worlds richest diamond fields had been discovered.
As soon as news of this leaked out the rush was on and the first arrivals
to these bleak beaches spoke of diamonds in such numbers that they could
be scooped off the surface of the ground in great handfuls. For these
early explorers and opportunists the going was tough, sometimes too
tough. The Skeleton Coast is known as the Graveyard of Ships for a reason.
Little remains of the
ancient wrecks but the giant swells, strong currents, heavy fogs, shifting
sand bars and treacherous reefs continue to be a mariners nightmare
and every couple of years the torn shells of new ships are added to
the bone count of this shore. The most famous wreak of all is probably
that of the 1942 Dunedin Star and the operation to rescue its crew and
passengers that took more than two weeks and resulted in the sinking
of one of the rescue boats, an aeroplane crash and the bogging down
and loss of the truck convoy sent to bring the rapidly swelling number
of victims back to safety. It was a scenario that even a Hollywood scriptwriter
could feel proud in conjuring up.
With improvements in communication
disasters at sea are becoming rarer, but if it does all go wrong then
dont even think about what dangers are waiting for you on dry
land until youre actually standing there, because as a contrast
to the sterility of the land the ocean here truly is alive. The cold
waters of the Benguela Current contain a thick soup of plankton that
makes Namibian waters some of the richest fishing grounds in the world
and brings fishermen from near and far. Checking a shore break one afternoon
we watched as a group of fishermen hacked and tore at a small shark
that theyd caught earlier that morning. Each clump of bloody flesh
that they wrenched from the fish was tossed back into the sea. I walked
over to ask them what they were doing,
Were fishing
for sharks and this is our bait,
Any luck? I ask, despite knowing that Im not going
to like the answer.
No, not really,
A wave of relief passes through me, but it lasts only a short time before
they continue,
All morning weve been fishing and weve only taken
three of the buggers.
Oh, right, I reply in a stunned voice, How big?
Biggest was about three metres,
Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible I continue with my questioning,
So where exactly are you fishing for these sharks then?
Well you see where the waves just start to break?
Erm, yes,
Just there. They really like it there because the water gets deep
very quickly. Id say its swarming with sharks around here.
After such an unsettling
conversation we made it a rule never to speak with fishermen before
going in the water, but then everything about surfing the Skeleton Coast
is designed to scare you, the icy waters, the strong winds, the eerie
fogs, the snooping hyenas, the thick kelp, the numerous sharks and the
shifty, heavy line-ups. Even camping is not something that youd
want to do alone because when the cold wind sends the fog seeping in
over the bone-strewn beaches this coast becomes as chilling in spirit
as in heat. Though of all the fears of the Skeleton Coast it was maybe
our fellow surfers of the wildlife type who set our hearts racing the
most.
Cape Cross is Namibias
best-known wave and it draws in the crowds by the thousand. This high
quality set up consists of three separate left point breaks scattered
over a couple of kilometres. The angle of the coast here means, with
the predominate
southerly wind, that all day, every day is offshore. The wave breaking
furthest out on the point predictably picks up the most swell and is
a long, though quite fat ride that sections a little. The middle point
is shorter, but racy fast and full of hollow moments. The third point,
though the most sheltered of the three still has waves pretty much every
single day of the year and alternates day by day between a walled up,
pushy kind of cutback wave and a screaming barrel as good as youll
find anywhere. It is of course no surprise to learn that the line ups
here are busy and drop ins are par for the course, but these surfers
arent riding thrusters, longboards or even bodyboards. These surfers
are seals, up to quarter of a million of them, making Cape Cross home
to the biggest seal colony in the southern hemisphere. They prefer the
outside point and hundreds upon
hundreds of them clog the waves like a living oil slick. It didnt
even cross our minds to attempt to paddle out and surf this wave, we
doubted if it was even possible, but Cape Cross lies inside a National
Park and the park authorities told us the somewhat staggering news that
one group of surfers had come here and attempted to surf in amongst
the heart of the seals. Their ignorance has cost all of the rest of
us the chance to surf the middle point, which prior to this act of stupidity
and selfishness used to be allowed by the National Parks Board. Now
all that remains for us is the inside point, but this is no real hardship
as we found on our first evening when we had a phenomenal session here.
The wave began with an easy and mellow take off and bottom turn
before it found the reef properly and turned into a speed barrel. The
first section was high and tight, the second, wider, faster and heavier.
Underneath us, as we rode, darted dark shadows, twisting and turning
with the waves and mimicking our every turn. Other seals sat in the
channel, faces above the water watching us surf. At times such as this
the Skeleton Coast had a friendly face, but where there are seals there
are others who feed on seals. We didnt encounter any of their
water born predators, but the Skeleton Coast threw plenty of land locked
death at the seals. Humans used to take a huge toll, the luxury Cape
Cross Lodge run by Cape Townian surfer and all round cool guy, Dillon,
might now be a beacon of calm on this otherwise devastating coast, but
it sits on the site where for many years thousands of seals were annually
clubbed to death for the fashion needs of man. And when were not
engaged in senseless slaughter nature has her needs. Shaggy Brown Hyenas
and fox like Jackals scour the beaches every day for vulnerable young
seal pups whose bones they add to those already so liberally scattered
across this graveyard of men, animals and ships.
As we left Cape Cross and
drove northwards to lesser-known waves, we saw, in the distance, an
object on the roadside. It was a grave, its form melting and reappearing
in the desert haze. As we approached I stopped the car and got out to
walk over to it. Under my feet crunched a hundred bones of the men and
animals that have died here
before, their spirits torn from the flesh and blown away by the wind
across the Coast of Hell. The grave was new and at the centre of the
solid wooden cross was a picture of a kind and friendly looking man
smiling out at me. It was the face of a man who had never returned to
his family. It was the face of a man who had died in Hell. It was the
face of the Skeleton Coast and it scared me like nothing else ever has.
Many thanks to Oceansurf Publications, www.oceansurfpublications.co.uk
and Local Surfer, www.localsurfer.co.uk
for providing support and Dillon at the Cape Cross Lodge, www.capecross.org.
For the best accommodation and food on the Skeleton Coast.
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