Bulletin 69, Climbing Brandberg, 28 December 2010
The sun leaks through cracks in the cloud cover. This was the view from our first rest stop, and certainly set the tone nicely for the rest of the climb.
It’s as if I never fell asleep when the alarm on my mobile tinkles to life. Annoyingly the piano strains seem to marry quite well with the dull thudding music from the two nearby nightclubs. The LCD screen beams an emotionless digital 00:50 into the darkness. Groan!
I swing myself out of bed and into a pair of shorts, T-Shirt and light trainers. The blister on my right foot has turned into an oozing bleeding sore. At least I don’t experience a great deal of discomfort. Slightly dizzy and groggy from the inadequate 2 hours sleep, I grab the backpack and tripod. Shut the flat door and descend the three flights of stairs into the cool but noisy Swakop night. The climbing party are outside and waiting in the VW Combi. It’s 1am.
With the pack stashed and me trying to get comfortable on the back bench we set off, leaving behind the combined clamour of El Cubano, The Grunerkranz, and one “Swakopmunder Notable” making his way home with a decidedly glassy look. The long slick salt road takes us north toward the town of Henties Bay and then on to the highest mountain in Namibia. The Brandberg.
Other than the inky black darkness and the occasional springhare dashing off into the desert shrub and out of the beam of the headlights there isn’t a lot to see. The five of us are quiet as each tries as best to squeeze in a bit more sleep. Though heads loll and roll, no one really manages to grab that elusive nap. We arrive shortly after 4am and are quite surprised to find a rented camper parked at the foot of the mountain. No one stirs within the vehicle and it’s highly unlikely that they did not notice our approach. With our vehicle silent we hear a boiling, bubbling sound from the engine. The cooling system, repaired the day before, seems to have given up – again! That would have to wait until we return from the plateau in two days time. Breakfast is passed around - coffee and sandwiches - backpacks topped up with bottles of water and food. At 5 am we begin the ascent in the dark.
The night air is warm, and the terrain rough and strewn with rocks and boulders of all sizes, as we pick our way up through the Orabes valley. Within half an hour my back is wet with sweat but the walk is rather pleasant and magical when the moonlight finds a gap in the cloud. The only sounds are scuffing of soles on rough ground, the occasional roll and clank of rock and the crunch of dry grass under foot. Strangely I don’t seem to feel the effects of fatigue. I wonder to myself if the campers down in the valley have dared take a peep to see who their visitors are.
After an hours walk, the gradient gets steeper. We take our first break on a ridge as the rising sun leaks through the cracks in the cloud cover. The glowing horizon is dramatic and eerie, all at the same time. Although we have not yet gained any great altitude, the desert plains stretch below us in a seemingly endless expanse fringed by the red glow of dawn. Packs are dropped, cameras readied and the morning greeted. The temperature seems to increase noticeably now that the sun has risen and I realise with relief that the cloud cover seems here to stay.
The easy stroll up the first valley transforms into a far more demanding lug. At times, necessitating all fours to clamber up rough granite rock faces, employing the help of brittle branches for support and balancing along crumbly ledges. Though no actual path is visible, Dr Moisel (the head of this climb), with the exception of a few episodes of head scratching, knows his way around the place. With the inclination getting steeper and the temperature rising, our water consumption increases dramatically. Surely we must be close to the top by now, I hopefully wonder. Then the reality, “about a quarter of the way done!” With that bit of ‘encouraging’ news, the camera around my neck is fast becoming a burden. On we toil up the mountain, dragging our packs higher and higher.
By 11 am we reach the last steep stretch, wriggle through a gap in a rock arch known as the “Brandenburger Tor” and just like that we are on top of the Mountain. The vista 1 400m below us is breathtaking, whilst the peaks on the plateau itself form small mountains, that raise the overall height to a further 2 573m at the Koenigstein summit. By now we are drenched with sweat, exposed skin on legs and arms bleeding from scrapes, scratches and gashes obtained through encounters with rough rock and stubborn, bristly grass.
A short 5-minute walk later we are at our home for the next two nights. Dombeya Camp. It has everything that is needed to make a base camp; shelter from wind, welcome shade in the caves nearby and sand on which to bed down for the night. The midday period is used to set up camp, retrieve some water (hidden nearby) and some sleeping mats that when not in use by guests of the good doctor, are used by a leopard for claw sharpening. There are deep slashes and chunks missing, but the roll is still wedged in its hiding place. All set up, lunch is served followed by a well-earned nap. It’s the little things that bring so much joy.
Later in the afternoon we set off on a mini hike to retrieve some water from a secret stash. There is no guarantee that water is available throughout the year in natural pools so a reliable supply is vital. With temperatures often at a roasting 40 degrees (and higher) in the shade in these parts the need for water becomes evident. Whilst water bottles are being filled I am free to put my camera to good use and explore the surrounding rocks. As I sit on a slab of granite I become aware that I am being watched.
I slowly turn my head and look straight at it. The black face, twitching nose and the low sun sparkling off its eyes, crisp and clear a mere 15 meters from me. A second later it dashes off, reappears and takes one last look at me from a rock formation 50 meters further up the slab and then it melts away into the shadows of the surrounding boulders. This is the second time that I see a black mongoose. I am thrilled at the close and prolonged glimpse that I get of this little known species. The encounter alone is worth the climb.
Suitably stocked with drinking water we hurry back to camp as the sun meets the western horizon and dusk settles in. No camp is complete without a fire and this one is no exception. With the flames dancing and flickering, we have our dinner of instant soup and noodles. We talk of the day’s events and plan our excursion for tomorrow. With a hip flask of whiskey making the rounds accompanied by a small luxury of canned smoked mussels, we decide on a days hike to see some bushman paintings in some nearby caves.
With the following days activities decided, I turn in. Within minutes I drift off with a light wind tugging at my sleeping bag and dreams of leopards and black mongoose.
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