Fish River Canyon Hike

I have finally gotten around to writing about this hiking trail that I never want to forget. That may be the very reason it took me so long to go through my photos, gathering my thoughts...

After months of planning and dreaming, it eventually became days. Days in which we feverishly packed backpacks, weighing our packs – hoping, that somehow they will get lighter. They didn’t. As we drove down from Windhoek, we decided it best to overnight in Keetmanshoop – a small quiver tree town, but an excellent halfway stop.
Rising at sunrise, we realised – this is it. In a few hours, we will descend down a canyon wall, so steep, that chains assist you for the first few meters down. (Also anyone with a slight fear for height’s biggest concern) We arrived at Hobas at around noon, filling in forms, trying to gather as much information as possible while we waited for Henrico to return from Ai-Ais where he has left the car. After what seemed like an eternity, he returned and we nervously got on the shuttle to take us to the view point from where our great journey would start.

Slowly we descended into what seemed a never-ending downward spiral. Further and further we climbed away from life as we knew it. It got more beautiful around every bend and ever boulder we had to struggle over. I got to the point where I didn’t want to climb down any further. It seemed to me, that the beauty was lost on us. But the sinking sun kept us well on track. Finally, long after sunset, we reached a sandy beach, a haven for the night. We tested the water – too cold. We listened to the silence, tenderly massaging our shoulders and knowing that sleep wasn’t far off.
We had a late start the next morning – having bacon and eggs for breakfast, inhaling the freshness of it all. When we finally started walking, we realised that it was the last sleep-in for the next few days. Everyone soon assumed a role... Marius taking the lead, giving us a reasonable pace to follow. Me, following close on his heels, picking up rocks and dropping them again – too beautiful to leave, too heavy to carry. Wendy followed suite sharing food as far as we walked and Henrico at the rear – taking photos, telling jokes, before he graciously jumped over a rock to catch up – making us all look terribly old and unfit.

I think the disappoint of day 1 was when we finally reached the much talked about Vespa – the 5km marker. 5km? And we thought we were close to 12kms. The highlight of the day was when we met a veteran hiker called Chris, who was completing his 39th hike and told us to slow down – we’re walking too fast! What an immense relief!

In the days to come, we meandered along the Fish River, following fresh tracks of other hikers. Hikers that we would cross paths with many times. Hikers that would share valuable information – lending a hand where needed. It seemed that we chose a week of extreme heat in the canyon and though warned of very cold nights and mornings, we regretted every single gram of winter clothing that we had to carry with. We slept on our sleeping bags, keeping an eye on the moving constellations, counting shooting stars and wishing that the sand would get softer beneath our tired bodies. We started walking early in the morning, having breakfast somewhere along the way, making our way towards a shady spot for lunch. When the temperatures became somewhat more bearable, we moved along, on the lookout for a sandy beach on which to overnight.
From the view point at Hobas, the valley below looks dead... as if nothing can ever live there. But walking down here made us realise that we were not alone. A pair of Egyptian Geese waved the day goodbye every evening, an angry black scorpion, a Klipspringer against the mountain, wild feral horses and pale-winged starlings that followed us everywhere were the sure signs of life. Not to mention that fresh leopard foot prints we saw every day. But life down in the canyon was not easy. The shells of 2 tortoises and a couple of carcasses confirmed that.

The beating of the sun on your body, the creaks of your backpack, the barking of a baboon, the smell of dust as you struggle through yet another sandy patch, the cry of Egyptian Geese flying low over the river... resting your tired body in the cold river after a day of walking and climbing – that’s what makes it special. And that’s the very reason, we’ll return.

As we neared the end, we all had mixed feelings. We struggled to make peace with the fact that we had to leave this special place behind, but at the same time the hot water springs at Ai-Ais, the voices of loved ones over the phone, a cooked meal – they were all screaming to be heard. We stepped out – looking back on a journey we didn’t want to forget.

We returned along the same roads, thinking that only a few days before we were still untouched by the beauty that lies at the bottom of a thousand rocks - already making plans to return. But another, small surprise was waiting for us at the Canon Roadhouse, where we decided to have lunch. It was a walk into history with number plates, cars and old sentimental memories, surrounding us, while we had the best sandwiches in the south. We returned to the city with backpacks filled with sand and a dozen memories guiding us into the night.