Wednesday, June 10, 2009

229: Connecticut encounter

While Bernd and Elsita scaled Namibia’s highest mountain (see Namibia Diary #228) I was in the United States. Family Health International conveniently paid for my fare and I spent two weeks at their headquarters in Arlington, Virginia, and at a nearby conference. (This was the closest I got to President Obama, but it was fun anyway.)

Afterwards I added a few days’ vacation and a visit to southwestern Ohio where my undergraduate alma mater awarded me an alumni citation for professional achievement. Returning to Wilmington College after 37 years felt both strange and wonderful: This small Quaker school now aims for similar goals as ours in Namibia – namely to provide an opportunity for first-generation college students to get a degree and build a better future(40% of their student body). Although hard-hit like everyone else in the recession, the faculty voluntarily agreed to a pay-cut and several retired professors are offering their services for free (including several of mine from way-back) -- thus ensuring that the college will pull through without sacrificing the quality of their education.

In the New York and Washington areas, I was royally treated by friends and relatives, and I marvel that our family has not yet been forgotten – if anything, the friendships have deepened over the years. Thanks to everyone for their interest and hospitality. I feel spoiled and loved and eternally grateful.

That said, I hardly thought my stories of travels in the US could compare to the nail-biting adventures of the family’s mountain-climbers, especially Elsita’s Saga of the Shredded Shoes -- until I reached Connecticut.

Heading northeast by train from New York, I looked out the window for signs of wildlife. Just to the side of the tracks, I saw a gray heron, some egrets, a few chipmunks, two deer, and a loon. Once in Connecticut, my cousin announced the daily program: We would spend the first day near a local pond to go hiking and swimming and enjoy a picnic on a grassy knoll. On the second day we should look for wild orchids, hike in a nearby state part, and have another picnic. Everything worked out perfectly: The swimming was cold but clear, the food was yummy and fresh, and the hikes provided an incentive for more of the same. Sure enough, we also got to see some blooming wild orchids (here is Bob pointing at one), walk along the Appalachian Trail (you see cousin Carol and Bob by the sign-post), and enjoy some lovely views.







If it weren’t for my cousins’ cat, however, we would have missed the highlight of my stay. While the rest of us slept, he (the cat) started pacing at 5:20 in the morning, eventually waking Carol. As she got up to let the cat out, she looked outside the back door to the tin garbage bin that stores the household supply of wild bird food. Suddenly, Carol let out a hoarse whisper that she repeated three times, each time elevated in volume and alarm: “Bear! Bear! BEAR!”

The instant these magic words reached my ears, I jumped up and grabbed my camera. I needn’t have rushed, however. The object of Carol’s call was sitting placidly, nose inside his treasure trove, seemingly oblivious to the gawking humans just inches away on the other side of the glass door.

The scene took my breath away. I had seen bears only fleetingly before, and always at a distance. This bear was huge. And powerful. And very, VERY close.

With the rising dawn, I snapped some pictures. We didn’t want to frighten him, thinking that a scared bear might be more than we could handle. On the other hand, Carol lamented that they had just bought a large sack full of bird-seed. Would the bear eat it all? Trying to save his investment, Bob opened the bathroom window, just inches from the bear’s head. The bear slowly rose, sauntered across the lawn and turned back around, only to return across the little garden bridge two minutes later in order to finish off his object-of-desire. This dance took place twice more in the next half hour, as the lure of fresh sunflower seeds always brought the bear back. Here he is, in full glory.






When he finally had his fill, the bear stood up and left. Graceful and unperturbed, he was an object of great beauty. The rest of us talked about the bear’s visit all day. This was the first time Bob and Carol had seen a bear in over a year, and they had never encountered one this close. And only two hours from downtown Manhattan! It takes my breath away, just thinking of it. I’m still smiling.

Monday, June 1, 2009

228: Brandberg, Namibia's highest mountain

When you scramble up a mountain on all fours over boulders and through bushes behind the rest of your group, there is something really nice to it: You can smell all the exquisite fragrances from the broken leaves of wild herbs and grasses. I wish someone invented “photography of smells” to convey those pleasures of the nose.








For the recent super-long weekend our daughter Elsita and I attempted to scale Namibia’s highest mountain, the Brandberg with its peak the Königstein, variously reported between 2573 and 2606 meters high (8442 - 8550 ft.) – starting at the village of Uis in Damaraland a height difference of about 1800m (5900 ft). The Brandberg is an old volcanic massive outcrop rising from the surrounding flat Namib Desert and one of the less explored areas in Namibia, so much so that only recently a new order of insect was discovered there, the Mantophasmatodea ("Gladiator") (see: http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2002/03/0328_0328_TVstickinsect.html). Moreover, there are no marked hiking paths and no tourist maps – we hired a local guide, and even he got lost on the return.







On Thursday we stayed overnight at the comfortable Brandberg Rest Camp in Uis, from where they took us and our backpacks next morning to the starting point at the Southern side of the mountain. After the most important water check (2.5 liter per person) we hiked up on the side of a gorge, carefully staying in the shade as much as possible. It’s winter in Namibia with cool air but bright sunny days.

Aside from a few human-made rock piles and occasional footprints, we trusted our guide Angula to find the way – communicating in a mixture of Afrikaans, German, Oshivambo and very little English. He led us over boulders, through bushes and across steep rock faces. We did not have to climb seriously, but in many places hands were needed just as much as feet. But we also enjoyed watching the birds, the lizards, the dassies (rock hyrax), and even a few klipspringers (small mountain antelopes). At every one of the hourly rest breaks, we took deep breaths, shared snacks, and marveled at the view from higher and higher up. About lunchtime, it was time for another “Pause” (break) in the shade of a big rock – this time we found a surprise: beautifully preserved rock paintings, thought to be several thousand years old.








Becoming a bit tired now, walking became more and more challenging. And then another problem developed. Elsita’s hiking shoes, which had served her well in Europe’s Alps, on Africa’s Kilimanjaro, across the South American Andes, and on many hikes in Namibia, began to come apart, despite recent repairs. Some safety pins kept the soles in place for the day – to be repaired again with shoe glue and gauze from the medical emergency kit in the evening.







Late afternoon, we reached the first ridge and crossed over into several small grassy plateaus, passing by some giant aloes in bloom, and some traditional tombs of the San people who used to live here. Finally, after eight hours, we arrived at the campsite for the night, recognizable only by two important features (a) a small stream with sparkling clean water from the previous rainy season and (b) a ring of stones for a fireplace and a small wind-protected sandy area to unroll our sleeping bags. Soon our guide had lit a fire, and a hearty soup was cooking on the camping stove, all the while I was gluing Elsita’s boots and she was hobbling around in my far bigger boots. Delightfully, dinner ended with a rich cup of hot chocolate for everybody. Meanwhile the sun had set and the stars filled the beautiful Southern sky. As we crawled in for the night, I could discern the Southern Cross, the Jewel Box and Scorpio, a lonely satellite passing by, and even a few shooting stars promising good adventures.







The next day, I woke up at 4 am to a howling wind that even blew our pot off the rock on which we had left it. But by sunrise, it was calm again. Breakfast of oatmeal and tea, and off we went for the final ascent to the peak. This time we needed to carry only water, snacks, and the emergency kit as we would return to the same campsite afterwards. We still had to climb up, but in between we crossed several high plateaus, some of them even swamps from the previous rains. With much laughter, we sunk in ankle-deep several times, but the dry air and the long grasses cleaned the shoes quickly each time. Elsita discovered even a frog so high up. Mid morning, we climbed up a small incline to overhanging rocks – we thought for a break – but there we found the most exquisite rock paintings, protected only by a small sign as an archeological research site of the National Museum of Namibia. High on the mountain there are pictures of elephants, giraffes, and many more, even a giant snake. Either these animals could climb or the artists (San - bushmen) had come far to observe.







The final ascent looked daunting – it turned out to be much easier than thought.
By 1 pm we stood at the peak surveying the landscape far below in bright sunshine. It is amazing, how big the Brandberg really is and how many smaller peaks and valleys are parts of the mountain. For example, the famous “white lady”, another rock painting, is found in the North-Western valleys, however the path up from there is said to be extremely difficult. Well - our names in the book prove we were on the top – not many sign each year.








On the way back to camp we were elated: we made it – but also a bit sad: it signaled the end of this great adventure. But it was not the end yet: After another step too deep into the swamp, Elsita’s boot almost lost its sole again. More safety pins, more bandages in the evening – let’s hope we make it down the mountain all right. That afternoon some klipspringers came near, and we enjoyed observing their agility on the rocks. Later on we passed one other group of hikers, who even brought a dog, but they stayed in another place for the night. Again we enjoyed a simple meal and hot chocolate and the stars overhead at night – and talked of memories of past adventures.

Sunday – the final day, and we need to get down from the mountain. The guide estimated 5 hours from the camp, and we left at 7 am. Initially, we recognized the same path where we came up, but as we passed over the ridge, the guide took a turn – directly down and supposedly faster. No problem, we were game for another adventure. As we were nearing a ravine, the boulders become bigger, and more and more often we had to really climb over them. And then final disaster – the sole came off one of Elsita’s boots and the other one split partly. There we sat ¾ up the mountain, seeing the end of the path below, and were still bandaging shoes – luckily we had a good supply in the emergency kit. As we went on, Elsita had to walk especially careful not to slip, and my legs were just getting wobbly from the stress. Steps became shorter and shorter and increasingly we needed to hold on with our hands … and we noticed that the guide wasn’t sure anymore where he went. Straight down of course, but in a ravine the boulders are the biggest. Eventually he found the path again, but by now the 5 hours have become 7 hours.







But the driver was waiting and welcomed us with ice cold beer.

And as we sat in the old truck, we pondered what was so great? It was not the longest, but one of the roughest hikes. And we made it all the way up with great weather, great views, a big challenge, in an area little known and explored, and most of all it was a special adventure for the two of us, Elsita and me. And lastly, at the end we felt good knowing that every muscle was still in place (and aching) – better than any doctor’s diagnosis.

Bernd