Swakop to St Nowhere

Ron Swilling explores Namibia’s salt road that runs along its famed Skeleton Coast between the desert and the sea . . . 

 

When I first hear about St Nowhere, my ears begin to tingle and my heart beats just that little bit faster. St Nowhere. Now, there’s a name from the edge of the Earth. Where in hell’s blazes is that, and where does the name come from? It doesn’t take long for the seed of intrigue to take root.

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Two months later I’m still romancing the name as I begin my travels along the piece of Namibian coastline that made many a seafarer tremble in his boots. And with good reason. The lonely stretch of coast between the icy Atlantic and the desolate sands of the Namib Desert, generally referred to as the Skeleton Coast (although that name is sometimes reserved for the stretch north of the Ugab River) is strewn with whale and seal bones, weather-worn pieces of flotsam and jetsam, and the remains of ships wrecked over time. The ‘Coast of Hell’, as it was dubbed by author, Lawrence Green, is known for its treacherous waters, dense sea mist, gale-force winds, currents, swell, reefs and shoals. 

 

My journey begins in Swakopmund with its wide streets, century-old German architecture – and a choice of restaurants and curio shops. The salt road, a ribbon of salt and gypsum that is kept compact by the persistent coastal mist, runs from Henties Bay, 70km north of Swakop, and continues up the coast to no-man’s land. It’s an unusual route, to say the least, unless you’re an avid fisherman trying your luck at one of the many fishing holes - and travelling northwards to the popular angling camps of Torra or Terrace Bay - or if you are on a road trip to the Kaokoland. But, this is Namibia after all, where the out-of-the-ordinary is commonplace. And, like with everything in life, if you scratch the surface, you find ample treasure underneath. 

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When I veer into Henties, Lienie Holtzhausen tells me: “Henties is vir hengel - visvang” (Henties is for angling - catching fish). The popular and rustige retirement noekie and holiday spot for Namibian and South African fishermen has ‘fishing’ etched into its brickwork, literally, with names like ‘Waar’s daai vis’ on the houses, and street names like Kreef and Sardyn streets, and an assortment of tackle shops. Lienie, who co-owns the Skubbe (Scales) tackle shop, pub and grill with her brother Nico Niemand, reminisces about her holidays as a child in Henties. “We visited every year with my family,” she tells me. “When they went to catch fish, I went along to make coffee and broodjies, read my book and listen to the sea. “En weet jy wat, dit is wat die vissermanne doen, en ek dink dis die lekkerte wat hulle elk jaar terugbring,” she says to me in Afrikaans. “And do you know, that’s what I think the fishermen return for every year.” Lienie and her husband finally came to live in Henties permanently in 2014 and bought Skubbe, its outdoor area geared towards fishing with fish-cleaning facilities and a car wash. The biggest catches are scrawled on the ‘Vangs van die dag’ (Catch of the day) board outside the restaurant - and I learn that Gerrit Swart recently caught a 16.5kg Steenbras. Inside the restaurant the walls are a collage of photographs showing fishermen posing with the catches that didn’t get away. On a post outside, well-known hengelgate (fishing holes) are signposted with the distances from Henties. Many of these have been named by locals over the years to remember a good fishing hole. ‘Sarah se gat’ for example, is where legendary fisherwoman Sarah de Jager liked to fish. “Her children still live in Henties,” Lienie tells me, “and singer Carike Keuzenkamp wrote a song about her.” I make a note to listen to the song when I have a chance and find Carike on You Tube, bright-eyed, extolling the virtues of this popular fishing area – and, of course, Sarah de Jager.

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Other names include ‘Horingbaai’, which has always been marked with horns, and ‘Bennie se rooi lorrie’, so named after young Bennie left his red toy truck on the beach. I say my farewells to Lienie, making a mental reminder to have the salt washed off my car on my return, and have a quick lunch break in the sunny courtyard at Go Fishy, before trundling northwards towards Cape Cross, 60km further on. 

 

Salt works characterise this section of the road and small wooden tables with pink salt crystals are displayed along the roadside. Set up by the workers to make an extra buck, this salt enterprise works on an honesty system as there is not a soul around. Old skin-cream and condiment containers are provided to hold the money from sales and the prices are scrawled next to the crystals. I love this unusual and charming trust-based system of trade, and pick out a shiny pink specimen, pushing my N$20 into the container and weighing it down with a stone, hoping that it will be safe from the wind. The cool coastal breeze quickly chases me back to my car and I continue to Cape Cross, a place that has always fascinated me, not only for its bustling seal colony, but for the inviting Cape Cross Lodge and the intriguing history.

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The intrepid 15th century Portuguese explorers plied the coast in their caravels, with only rudimentary equipment and a heavenful of stars to guide them. Renowned Portuguese navigator, Diego Cão, erected a cross or padrão in 1486 on his second trip down the African coast in search of a route to the East, calling it Cabo do Padrão. It would take another four hundred years until the shore would attract another kind of explorer looking for the riches the desert held. Nadine Downing, manager of the Cape Cross Lodge, fills me in on the history, which put Cape Cross on the map for entirely different reasons. “In 1895, Walter Matthews was sent from Swakopmund to find out where the seals were going. He found the seals and he also found guano,” Nadine tells me, as the sun streams into the lounge and sets the sea sparkling outside. On his return, and with the help of a wealthy uncle he formed the Damaraland Guano Company and was granted a concession to look for guano deposits (considered ‘white gold’, a highly prized fertiliser in Europe) and to harvest the seals at Cape Cross. Virtually everything for the new settlement had to be brought in by ship from Britain, including potable water. By 1896, the bleak coastline had been transformed into a bustling operation comprising a hundred men, a condensation plant and a cluster of buildings. “There was a post-office, a police station and a customs office. Ships were calling regularly, and people would end up staying, mining the guano and the salt and collecting seal skins.”

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It was short-lived. By 1903, after just nine years of production, the seals had started to dwindle and the rocks had been scraped bare. A small graveyard with weather-beaten crosses at the entrance to the seal colony (now the Cape Cross Seal Reserve) is all that remains, testament to those who died from accidents at sea, shipwrecks and scurvy.

 

Nadine has studied the area extensively, scouring the sand for old buttons, buckles and porcelain from the area. She created a small museum in the lodge’s reception area with detailed information about Cape Cross’s history and has transformed a small outdoor bungalow into a whale museum with beautifully-illustrated information boards about the coast’s whales and whaling history.

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Leaving the lodge’s warm interior, I venture to the adjacent seal reserve, with its lively population of Cape Fur Seals, enduring the strong smell to experience the cacophony of the colony and to pay tribute to the intrepid Portuguese seafarers who braved the vast oceans, some, like Diego Cão, never to return.  

 

It’s mainly fishermen that I see on the road along the next stretch with a forest of fishing poles arranged in the front of their vehicles. Besides the fishing holes with their quirky names that dot the stark coastline, many of the spots still retain their original ‘Mile’ names. At Mile 108, a Namibian Wildlife Resorts (NWR) camp, Haikola Vinia explains: “This is the last Mile, following the old system used to mark the distances from Swakopmund.”

 

By the time I get to St Nowhere, about 170km from Swakop, the sun is already dipping in the sky. It’s a short drive through a series of salt pans before the rustic fishermen’s camp comes into view. I choose a campsite that’s protected from the chilly southwester. In the small reception area, which also serves as a shop, with basic groceries and the ubiquitous fishing tackle, I finally hear the origin of this great name. Liani van der Westhuizen tells me that her father-in-law, Danie, first came here to mine salt when the road was little more than a track. When a visitor told him, “This place is in the middle of nowhere,” the name St Nowhere was born. It has since become a popular fishing hangout during the school holidays when the camp is jam-packed with happy fisherfolk. “It’s a place to find yourself,” Liani says, reinforcing my belief that you can find yourself in the silence of the Namib Desert, next to a sandy beach that is frequented by strandwolwe and black-backed jackals, and little else.

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The fishermen are more certain of their quest and at first light, before the sun even has a chance to dry my tent, they’re loading up their vehicles and heading onto the beach for a morning round of fishing. I pack up, readying myself for a slow day’s drive back to Swakopmund. I decline a soak in the saltworks’ pond, leaving that Red Sea beauty-treatment for a warmer day, graciously accept the mud-pack and bottle of salt crystals still mined here for cosmetic purposes, bundle up and head out.

 

On my way, I get Liani’s take on some of the names of the colourful fishing spots, like ‘Baklei (Argument) Gat’, which I had passed the day before. “There must have been one moerse fight over there,” she tells me. Along the road, I stop the vehicle in the desolate expanse to photograph some of the signposts. The road is quiet, the sky is thankfully clear and the sun is slowly warming up the day. I have the entire desert landscape to myself, until a vehicle adorned with fishing rods careens past, going somewhere.

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Handy contact details:

The Delight Hotel, Swakopmund: www.gondwana-collection.com +264 (0)61 427 200

Cape Cross Lodge: www.capecross.org +264 (0)64 694012/7

St Nowhere Spa & Campsite: bookings@stnowhere.com +264 (0)81 252 9422

Namiba2Go packages & car hire: www.namibia2go.com +264 (0)61 427 200