ReitSafari HorseTrails Namibia - News & Reports (January 2001)

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Enchantment of the Land God made in Anger - January 2001
by Arnold Garvey, Editor of 'Horse and Hound', England

Laying snugly in our swag bags, gazing up in wonder at hummungous Namibian skies and the brightest, clearest moon I`ve ever seen, you could easily imagine that we could have been on another planet. It takes a while to adjust to the vastness and ruggedness of Namibias moonscape environment, to rid yourself of memories of over-crowded roads, petrol shortages, rail crashes, the pressure of modern living.
So much for progress.

When you do shake off the baggage, it is like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, a feeling of release, the mind clears, your step lightens and you begin to

soak up to the sun, the space, the freedom. Namibia is 2,5 times the size of Germany, has a population of only 1,6 million and is probably the most stable and well-organised country in Africa.
In for generations, residents of Namibia have had four citizenships. Initially a German protectorate, it was taken over by Britain, then ceded to South Africa before becoming independent Namibia a decade ago. English and German are widely spoken and citizens of European stock make up a third of the population. Eleven intrepid readers joined me on this adventure holiday, making it a mass blind date of which Cilla would have approved. You tend to meet great characters on these trips, but this was the best bunch of riding companions you could wish for and the group began sizing one another up at Heathrow, where we took on Air Namibia flight to Windhoek, via Frankfurt.
Our host and hostess at Reit Safaris, Waldi and Lumpi Fritzsche, were later to say that this was the best group they had ever had, both in terms of riding ability and adaptability. And you have to be prepared to adapt yourself pretty quickly to a way of life that is much more down-to-earth and practical than we pampered Brits are used to.
What makes the Namib Desert ride so testing is the stony going and the lack of water, which imposes logistical problems on the organisers in such a vast uninhabited area. Waldi and Lumpi farm 6.300 hectares, raising beef cattle and sheep, but consistent lack of rain in recent years caused them to cut back on numbers and diversify into running Namibias only riding holiday outfit, first with horses and now with camels too. This has enabled them to continue to house and employ the seven black families who rely on the farm. Waldi, like every Namibian farmer, was born to horses and has a passion for her animals. I was warned that Waldi would lecture us mercilessly on the welfare of her horses, but later, when I saw how tough the going was for them, I began to appreciate how necessary it is for Waldi to worry about chafed mouths, sore backs and feet, ticks on a horses most private parts, etc. “My horses aren’t oil paintings,”says Waldi, but they``re though and they will keep going all day.
Although she fusses over her horses like a mother hen, Waldi expects them to work for their oats and is never afraid to crack on, even over going which would cause most Brits to take a serious pull.
Heavily-bearded Lumpi, short with even worse bandy chicken legs than mine, is more Germanic than Waldi, but his English is perfect and he is a mine of information.
Waldi, an attractive Teutonic blond with a though exterior forged by the harsh environment, has a warm, sensitive and artistic side and is a woman of many parts. She enriches the trips with her knowledge of flora and fauna and every aspect. of Namibian life.
Survival in Namibia depends on resourcefulness, independence, self-sufficiency, adaptability and perseverance- qualities which Waldi and Lumpi are already instilling in their children.
From Windhoek, which was smart and orderly, we were taken to the Farm Hilton base, where we were matched up with our mounts and went for a short “getting-to-know-you” ride. Western saddles are used with mainly snaffle bridles.
Fresh from a rest, most of the horses were sparky and ready to go. I opted to ride Braun, a big-boned horse who had been taken on by Waldi as a welfare case and nursed back to health. His ears hag been cut by local people who believe that bleeding horses in this way will get rid of African horse sickness.
Farm Hilton is a delightful oasis, thanks to a 60ft borewhole, and overlooks a dry riverbed, which, during heavy rainfall, can run for three to five days before going dry again. Several of us took the opportunity for a quick dip in a water storage tank before we set out on our desert trek.

DAY ONE: Began with a 38km ride on hot,stony tracks to Portsmut, and our first taste of delicious lamb steaks end venison sausages cooked on the camp fire. Only two couples opted for tents, for reasons best known to themselves, the rest setting their swag bags beneath the stars.

DAY TWO: A brilliant African sunrise greeted us on what is the longest day of the ride, 45 km over the Hakos Mountains unforgiving rocky going, scrambling up and down boulder screes under a relentlessly hot sun. Having left at 8.30am, we arrived at Natas at 6 pm. After nine hours in the saddle we were ready for a hot shower. After a quick meal of oxtail stew there was very little rowdiness and everyone was safely tucked up by 8.30pm – what good children we were.

DAY THREE: Ever attentive to our needs, Waldi gave us an easy morning, with a trip to an abandoned gold mine, which was fascinating. Literally tons of rock had to be moved for every once of gold. Although it was a shortish ride, the sun was hot (35oC) and riding along a main (unmade road) was hot, dusty and tiring, but with beautiful views all around. Peace, perfect peace.
Two thoughts were in our minds as we galloped into camp over the soft red sand of Rooisand – a hot shower and dinner. This was probably our cook and guide Detlefs finest meal – loin of gemsbock, sweet potatoes and squash, barbecued on hot ashes – you cannot believe how tasty this was.
Now we were living with the rhythm of nature, retiring as the sun went down, rising with the dawn. A porcupine snuffled round our tent and zebras came to the camp to drink.

DAY FOUR: We were on the road by 8.30am again, a long, hard road, dusty, and tough going for the horses. We were now settling down with our horses and Waldis trotting sessions got longer and longer. The views all around were totally unspoilt, gorgeous hills of slate, yellowed, parched grassy hills, the light changing all the time. A small bat-eared fox and some inquisitive gemsbok appear and then melt into the distance.
Georgie Moore cannot resist telling some of her appalling jokes any longer and Fiona Hamilton-Andrews and Kate Morrison-Wells make me realise what a sheltered life I have led. We finally got away from the gravel road to ride down a pretty riverbed to camp near the Namib-Naukluft Park and a life-giving shower. Barbecued chicken and potatoes and onions, washed down with a full-bodied South African red wine and we are ready for bed. Trying to sleep is difficult, though, the huge skies are so enormous and awesome. The Plough and Orion the Hunter stand out clearly on a sky that makes the IMAX cinema screen by Waterloo Station seem minute. Shooting stars were chasing their way across the heavens, while even the slow progress of satellites can be observed. Some sights will never dim in the memory and this was one of those nights never to be forgotten.

DAY FIVE: Gradually the trees and bushes disappeared and we rode an even more arid and desolate landscape. A lunch of lamb rips and garlic bread was taken by the trucks, with a 2 hours rest to avoid the midday sun. When we finally entered the Namib Park the desolation grew and the going became lava-like, unbelievably hard on our horses feet.
We were now trekking towards a green oasis in the distance which remained tantalisingly far away. Sticking to game paths worn into sharp sand by hundreds of years of game movement, we saved the horses as much as possible. All around the oasis is a dead, moonlike planet vista, virtually flat, with just small foothills in the distance.
To celebrate the halfway stage, Waldi gave an impromptu cocktail party and explained how fragile the ecology is. We could have explained how fragile we were feeling, too, but we did not.
We rested beneath the trees of the oasis, which is sadly now threatened with drought because the tourist authority turned the oasis into a stopover for car visitors and dug a long drop loo. Unfortunatly this punched a hole in what was a shallow depression which in the rains retained enough water to nourish the oasis. Such is progress. The gemsbok stew was delicious, but the fate of the oasis saddened everyone. Garvey made a fool of himself in the middle of the night by angrily demanding of a bush “What the hell do you think your doing there”?

DAY SIX: We had breakfast at 6.30am to saddle up at 7am for the other really long day of the ride across the lonely desert to Gonab and Hotsas. Luckily the desert was shadowed by clouds and it was perfect riding weather. Vultures were plentifull and then I rode right over a single Nahib Korhaan egg which my horses off fore missed by centimetres.
Ostriches were on the move, together with springbok and gemsbok, then suddenly the tough going gave way to sand, glorious sand and we allowed the horses to race away into a gallop. After nine hours in the saddle never did pork sausages and pork chops taste better, nor wine more sweeter.

DAY SEVEN: Took us from Hotsas to the Marble Mountains and was, for me, the best days riding of the trip. It included a superb gallop over a long, flat sandy plain watched by two groups of Mountain zebras. Soon the glistening Marble Mountains, which are actually quartz, came into view to complete a beautifully scenic day. Perfect end to the day: hake, rice and sauerkraut, washed down by wine, but Fiona cruelly tied up Johnny Moores swag bag and our tired, slightly drunk and emotional “Mr Cool” called plaintively through the night to his ever-supportive wife, Georgie: ”I can't get in the bloody thing. Help me Georgie.” - “Of course, you can you silly man, keep trying,” replied ever-supportive Georgie.
Bemused, befuddled and totally baffled, Jonny struggled manfully until the penny dropped. “Bloody children”, he roared, and the camp erupted into laughter.

DAY EIGHT: Provided us with a hot breakfast to warm everyone up after a cold night, made damp by the mist which provides the Namib Desert with its only source of moisture. Huge excitement followed when a sidewinder snake was found near Georgie Moores camp bed.
“The only thing that bothers me is that its mother may be in my hold-all”, quipped the irrepressible champion of Arab horse racing. Spectacular views and coulors greeted us as we rode across Welwitschia Plain, enjoying long canters on superb going. Eventually we reached the dramatic, eerie Moon Valley lunar landscape, then continued on to the Swakop river bed, which was in flood last April for a fews days and actually reached the sea for the first time in 66 years.
The river runs in a gorgeous canyon, with spectacular rock formations with ribbons of iron ore embedded in them. The floor of the canyon is baked silt in numerous layers, cracked like a crazy paving and in some places peeled up like upturned roof tiles.
We camped beneath canyon walls occupied by baboons shrieking their annoyance at our presence. Five huge slaps of kudu were produced for dinner, washed down by yet more Nederburg Barone red wine. Having been regaled by Waldi with lurid tales of what baboons do to unsuspecting tourists, Jane, Kate and Fiona, who were getting ready for bed, admitted they nearly wet themselves with fright when Detlef crept up on them and did his imitation of a baboon roaring.

DAY NINE: Ride saw the river bed widen until we encountered numerous small sand dunes, followed by a dune which rose up like the walls of a castle. 30 min later we stood on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean with glasses of champagne an our hands and a huge sense of achievement, tinged with sadness at being in the civilised world. We had crossed the “land God made in anger” and we had grown nearer to our God.
That evening we had a celebration dinner of delicious kabeljau fish, with baked potatoes. It was strange to be back in civilisation and when some of our desert-hardened groups, sunburnt, and dusty from head to foot, checked in at the Hotel Schweizerhaus, there were giggles from the other guests. Georgie Moore could not resist an imperious: "Well, you would look bloody rough, too, if you had just spent 10 days in a sweaty desert."

DAY TEN: Traditionally, Waldi ends the trip with a bareback canter among the dunes and along the sea shore, but several of us doubted the wisdom of tempting. providence. Our fears were groundless and we all found the experience of being Pony Club kids for the morning absolutely exhilarating. So much so that we rode up and down the dunes for three hours. It really was the perfect way to end our equestrian adventure and that evening we entertained our four guides to dinner at a superb restaurant and dined on crocodile stew, kudu steaks, oysters and crayfish, reliving our Namibian experience.

Thank you Waldi, Lumpi, Detlef, Hanneliese and Christoph, also Frederick, Willen klein, Willem ou, Johannes, but a special thanks to our wonderful, tough horses, who looked after us so well and carried us so willingly!

(first published January 2001 in Horse and Hound magazine, UK)

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