Text and pictures: Ron Swilling. Article from the October 2012 issue of Country Life.
There used to be only one gruelling way to hike the second largest gash on the world’s crust, but that’s since changed
Our descent into the Fish River Canyon in southern Namibia left us lost for words, feeling miniscule next to giant rocks swirled into shapes over millions of years.
It’s not a place for the faint-hearted, this second largest canyon in the world, and many folk have discarded the idea of hiking here because of its steep cliffs, long distances, river crossings, and having to haul all their gear and food themselves. But now, in the northern reaches of the canyon, there’s an easier route. A team of sure-footed mules does the carrying, accommodation is provided in tents or cabins, three-course meals are laid on and a friendly guide leads the way, leaving you free to enjoy the scenery.
Of the trails in the 127 000ha Gondwana Canon Park I chose the four-day Fish Eagle Trail that begins at Mule Station, a 1950s farmhouse in the rolling hills above the canyon. Here we were briefed on what lay ahead, before packing our stuff into the pannier bags carried by mules. That evening, a braai at long tables with lanterns set the scene for this homely trail.
There’s something about being out in nature that brings out the child in me, when I want to climb sand dunes, walk barefoot, jump into a river in the middle of winter, watch shooting stars and sit by a sizzling fire.
After a comfortable night’s sleep, we were dropped off for the descent to Löwen River, a tributary of the Fish and so named for the lions that once roamed the region. Even at the coldest time of year, a swim where the Fish and Löwen meet is highly recommended. So is skipping stones on the water. There’s something about being out in nature that brings out the child in me, when I want to climb sand dunes, walk barefoot, jump into a river in the middle of winter, watch shooting stars and sit by a sizzling fire. Or maybe it’s just the joy at being given a rare opportunity to enjoy the natural elements at their best.
At Löwen Camp, bright yellow tents below a cliff beckoned from the riverbank, where snacks had been laid out for us. Several of us had spotted a steep sand dune on the way and returned to climb it, absorbing the magnificent views from the top.
Back at camp the mules munched contentedly on the opposite bank while our mule-handlers-turned-chefs prepared dinner, and we took turns at a hot shower in the roofless rock cubicle. Sundowners have never tasted as they did on that late afternoon, when the Fish Eagles called, and Rock Martins seemed intent on joining us in celebration.
“Mora! Moro!” guide Manilow shouted down to the tents next morning, alerting us to delicious coffee and sweetcorn fritters. To the sound of baboons barking in the hills, we set off for our overnight stop at Koelkrans Camp. It was a spectacular but easy morning of following the tracks of a Cape clawless otter, forging the river, lazing on rocks, and finding fascinating Bushman engravings.
That afternoon, it was with some consternation that we stared at the large expanse of water in the way of us and our camp. No worries, Manilow disappeared around a bend and returned, smiling broadly, in a small boat to row us across four by four. There was just enough time to climb up to a spectacular viewpoint to enjoy the sunset before supper was served in our cosy cabin.
A kudu bull on a far-off hill kept watch next morning as we set off along the beaches with their pools like mirrors and rocks like elephant hide. Our destination, Horseshoe Camp, which could be seen from some distance, perched on a ridge.
We followed a circuitous route, crossing a wondrous field of yellow flowers before starting the less demanding climb to camp via a Hartmann’s mountain zebra path. At the top our prize was a 360° view of the ancient and unspoilt wilderness. At the camp, our comfortable tents were set up, a large fire was crackling and the crew was cooking a delicious lamb potjie.
From a rustic wooden table outside, we took in the last of the light. In all directions there was nothing but unspoilt wilderness.
Above us, a pair of Verreaux’s Eagles twisted and turned in the thermals.
Below in the valley, shadows deepened on the mighty Fish, as it eased into a horseshoe bend and went on its way.
