In the vast and arid Kaokoland-Kunene Desert east of the Skeleton Coast, the green grass and waters of the Huarusib River, the first naturally flowing water we had seen since crossing into Namibia, were refreshing and stood in stark contrast to the parched surroundings.
High-pitched shrieks of Burchell's zebras and the cackling of jackals and hyenas ricocheted off the canyon walls during the night. Jackals and hyenas, the canine rats of Africa, on their nightly hunt, zebras and everything else attempting to stay beyond fang range. At about 1 a.m. we heard a ruckus coming from beneath the truck.
I called to Allen, "Is that you?"
His response was a cautionary no.
We sheepishly poked our heads out of our tents to find four baboons trashing our camp table in search of a few pieces of bread left in a box under the truck. Welcome to the real Africa.
The Huarusib River lay 80 kilometers to the north, and we were told it might have water in it. If so, it would be the first running water we had seen since the Orange River, South Africa. As we climbed out of the Hoanib riverbed and headed north across miles of savanna grasslands, we saw small groups of oryx and springbok grazing at the base of the foothills. Dropping into the canyon of the Huarusib, we found flowing water and followed it west toward the Skeleton Coast. Reaching a "private land" sign and a tour guide who didn't seem to appreciate our presence, we turned around and headed upriver.
Windswept gravel plains north of Swakopmund, Namibia, lead to one of the driest environments on the planet, the Skeleton Coast. Offshore, the cool Benguela current flows north, converging with the warmer Angola current from the north. The resulting effect is dense fog, which waylaid hundreds of early mariners. Few castaways lived to tell of the Skeleton Coast's treacherous interior.
The water of the Huarusib was cool on our feet and the green grasses nearby grew in stark contrast to the parched surroundings. Elephants and giraffes, which grazed in the shade of riverside mopani and acacia trees, kept a guarded eye on us as we passed. Picking up a local boy named Kelly, who was on foot looking for stray cattle, we received a crash course on elephant behavior and Kelly's people, the Himba.
Breaking one of our primary travel rules for the second time in as many weeks, we motored on through the African darkness. As the track turned to graded gravel, I caught some shuteye while Allen drove. I awoke when the brakes locked up and seatbelt tightened around by torso. It seems Allen was catching some shuteye too and missed a 90-degree T in the road. We shot right though with four tires locked up. To our fortune, there was only a small berm and a few bushes in our path - a very close call.
Established in 1907, when Namibia was part of German Southwest Africa, Etosha is Namibia's premier wildlife reserve. Encompassing over 22,000 square kilometers, the park is home to over 100 mammals, 300 birds, and a dozen reptiles. Pulling through the gates (we made reservations: required) and past the 10-foot game-proof fence, we were immediately aware that we were in a game preserve. Wandering through the mopani trees and dry savanna grasses were dozens of elephants, zebras, and giraffes. Acclimated to a daily stream of tourist vehicles, they took little notice of us - so much so that elephants used the roads as access routes, creating temporary roadblocks and just hanging out.