Fish River Canyon: Get hooked on the Fish
By
Esma le Roux
On the Fish River Trail you cover about 80km in five days. On Southern Africa's other prime trails (Otter, Amatola, Outeniqua) you sleep in wooden huts and can often take a hot shower. But on this trail there are no facilities. You drink from the river and sleep on the sand. You carry your own groundsheet, mattress, food...
High in the deep-blue sky a fish eagle dangles in the breeze. He turns and swoops across the wide open plains of southern Namibia.
Far below him the rolling Namib plains suddenly plummet into a deep ravine, formed millions of years ago by the movement of tectonic plates. This is the Fish River Canyon, a rent in the earth that cuts southwards through the plateau for 160 km in the direction of the Orange River.
Far below on the canyon floor the Fish River lies like a twisted green ribbon. Along the river a string of bright specks bobs across stones and occasionally gathers in a shady spot on the bank.
That’s us, all 20 of us, who started the hike three days ago.
We rest, and wait for the energy to flow back into our tired legs.
Keelan sits on a rock, takes off his shoes and wriggles his toes. Andrew and Janette pore over a map. Roelof takes a photograph. Chris searches for a rock-climbing spot on the cliffs. Dineke eats a packet of sour worms.
And, in an array of upturned heads and bobbing Adam’s apples, the rest of us drink water.
“Hey, look,” Louw calls and points to the sky, “a fish eagle.”
The place enchants you. Some of us are already making plans to come back. Many people hike this trail two, three, four times. Some have done it 20 times.
Louw Rabie, an audit clerk, got this group of pals from Stellenbosch and Upington together to hike the Fish River. Tackling this trail involves more than just throwing a few things in your backpack and setting off. It requires a lot of organisation. Louw says he ran up a frightening cell phone bill to get everything organised.
You have to get your passport in order, have your fitness certified by a doctor, buy a ZA sticker for you car, take polio drops, fill out all sorts of forms…
And the hike isn’t a gentle stroll down a country lane either. The Fish River doesn’t have overnight huts and you have to carry everything you need with you: camping mattress, ground-sheet, sleeping bag, food, biodegradable soap and shampoo, plus your own little spade for making a toilet. At least you don’t have to lug a tent along – you just sleep on the sand under the stars.
In short, the Fish River isn’t an ordinary hiking trail. In a way, it’s an expedition, as Fish veterans are quick to point out.
“For me it remains a personal challenge to see if I can hike the entire trail without getting my feet wet,” Leon Erwee told us beforehand. He has done the trail 30 times. “There’s a majestic silence. You’re stripped of everything artificial in our society.”
People say the most difficult part of the trail is the first leg, down to the bottom of the canyon. You drop half the height of Table Mountain, about 550 m. After that it’s more or less level for most of the time, but across stones and sandbanks and through the water. And it’s hot. Very hot. Around noon the temperature sometimes climbs to 40º C.
The river itself is your guide, and you get to the resort Ai-Ais after about 75 km, depending on how many short cuts you take to cut out the twist of the river. Most people hike the trail in five or six days. Then there are people like Johan Bakkes, writer and Fish veteran (19 times), who has done it in two days.
Should you run into trouble, you have two options: Either you struggle ahead to one of only two escape routes from the canyon, both of which are relatively close to the beginning of the trail, or you phone your medical aid and ask for an air ambulance to retrieve you.
At last, after weeks of preparation, we’re ready to become members of an élite group of hikers who’ve completed the Fish!
1 km
Day 1
“How the hell do you get down there?"
“Are you awake?” Andrew Cawood asks, way too early for a Sunday morning.
“Wow, I’m so pleased I brought Andrew along,” Louw says, and not for the last time, because Andrew, an engineering student, is our guide for the next six days. He’s hiked the trail three times.
And keeping 20 diverse people together and happy in a hot canyon is not easy.
We left Cape Town yesterday and slept at the Abiqua camp site next to the Orange River just across the border.
We pack up and leave in a dusty convoy on the gravel road to Hobas, about 200 km further in the Ai-Ais and Fish River Canyon National Park. At the tiny shop at Hobas we buy Peppermint Crisps, fill water bottles and flush a loo for the last time.
Joshua Haradoeb, the camp site’s manager, has seen thousands of hikers pass by here. “We don’t really rescue people,” he says and clicks his tongue. “The chopper fetches them.”
We drive 10 km farther to the starting point. But first the drivers have to take the vehicles to Ai-Ais, 80 km away, where we will hopefully arrive in five days. We’re lucky, because our expedition leader knows someone at Ai-Ais who is willing to bring them back to the starting point.
While we wait, we lean over the low stone walls and point out other hikers walking way down below like a string of bright beads disappearing further down the canyon along the footpath.
After about two hours the drivers are back. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and at last we can get going.
An exhausted guy comes stumbling up the incredibly steep path from the bottom of the canyon. “We’ve come…” he takes a swig of water. “We’ve come from Seeheim. We hiked 175 km in seven days. We are on our way to…” he stops to catch his breath, “to the Orange River mouth, but… dunno if I want to finish.”
His name is Willem Gouws, a member of the Vis330 hiking expedition, a group of 11 hikers, including one deaf man and another who is hard of hearing. Their aim is to hike along the entire length of the Fish River – 330 km from Seeheim to the Orange River – in 14 days, to raise funds for Deaf Ministries South Africa.
Three of the 11 hikers have already given up because of ankle injuries. “I think I’ll rather give up and wait at Ai-Ais with the support team,” Willem says.
He and other members of the group climbed up from the canyon floor to get food here at Hobas and plan to walk back down to the river in the afternoon to resume the hike.
We start edging down the side of the canyon in a row. The soil is loose and it’s easy to lose your footing. My heavy backpack is weighing me down; fortunately there are chains to hang on to.
Halfway down we stop for a moment and look around. Hundreds of rocks in different colours and textures are strewn around. We are in an amphitheatre of stone.
Theunis Kotzé, a farmer from Aurora in the Sandveld, did first-year geology (and a master’s in soil science) and can point out the shale, granite and sandstone. “I’m sorry I didn’t read more before the time,” he mumbles.
We linger in a stone hollow. Below us we can hear the river murmur. The smooth rock feels cool under my fingers. The cliffs turn pink in the last rays of the sun.
We descend into the chasm, finally dropping down to the canyon floor.
The sandy river bank feels like our very own beach. Each hiker picks out a sleeping spot on the sand. Then we grab our towels and biodegradable soap. In the last rays of the sun, we sit on the rocks like water sprites and wash off the day’s dust.
There’s not enough wood for a fire. Chris Venter, a software engineer, takes out his stove. I have a butternut in my bag. This heavy thing has to be eaten tonight. We chop it up and boil it.
After supper my stomach aches, but at least my backpack is 2 kg lighter.
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7 km
Day 2
Geology for beginners
Every morning you hear groundsheets and sleeping bags rustle and slap as everyone tries to shake out the sand. In vain.
We stand in a circle. Andrew talks about the day ahead. “Today we hike about 7 km. You’ve got to get used to walking and give your muscles a chance to adapt.”
He gazes across the river. “This is a nice and isolated part, and quite dangerous. But that’s what makes this trail so special for me.”
We fall into step behind Andrew. The rough cliffs surround us. I can hear water gurgling and I smell sunblock. White stones are strewn next to the river, as if a string of giant pearls broke here long ago.
In places the driftwood lies as much as three metres high on the bank – a lot of water rushed through here recently.
The guys of the Vis330 expedition are suddenly hot on our heels, but the leader is nowhere to be seen. His ankles are giving him trouble and he’s recuperating at Ai-Ais, we hear.
Twenty pairs of boots jump and grind on across the rocks. At midday, we all pile into the shade of a cliff near the river for lunch.
I dive into the cool green water. It feels as if a cold, electric current flashes through every muscle.
Later, we sit on the sun-baked rocks eating tuna and biscuits. Petra washes her hair with biodegradable soap. It doesn’t foam.
A troop of baboons shuffles past on the opposite river bank. We stare at one another intently. Now and then the alpha male’s bark echoes in the canyon.
The clouds of midges around our ears eventually become unbearable. We pack up and head downstream. We move slowly. When our feet aren’t sinking into the sand, we struggle across rocks for long distances.
I look up. The sky is bright blue.
Somewhere on the plateau people are driving heavily laden 4x4s. There’s a lookout point at Hobas, where people stop and look down into the canyon. Someone’s probably looking down at us and saying: “Eish!”
From up there the landscape looks like a dry ginger biscuit, but down here it’s green – if only they knew how beautiful the river valley is from up close. We see desert daisies, wild phlox, tiny succulents, thorn-apples, lizards and a tiny adder.
Today’s shift was tough. When we arrive at the camp site, most of us run down to the river for a bath while the sun still shines. Some of us lie in a pool with a small rapid in the stream so the cool water can soothe our sore muscles.
Afterwards, I sit on a round boulder and look down into the canyon. It’s dead quiet. The dry, rocky cliffs turn pearly in the last light.
Meanwhile, the others have collected pieces of driftwood, and a large fire is already burning. Someone braais a steak and the others eat pasta, each with his own additions – dried mince, biltong, blocks of cheese, carbonara sauce…
Some time during the night I open my eyes. Above me the stars in the Milky Way look like diamonds strewn over a black velvet cloth.
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15 km
Day 3
A river runs through it
“Okay guys, wake up!” Andrew’s voice cuts through my dream.
I squint in the cold breeze. It’s just as dark as when we went to bed. But we have to get up because today’s going to be a long slog: The trail winds over 15 km of sand and stones. And there are about six river crossings.
The sleeping bags and groundsheets slap-slap as we pack.
We set off in single file like ducks in a row. Barely a kilometre on we stop next to the river – about 10 m wide and calf-deep in places.
“Come on,” Andrew shows us where we have to cross. But a few of us have a “better” idea – 30 m further down it looks like you could jump across the stones without getting your feet wet. When we get there, we find the stones are just as far apart as in the place Andrew pointed out.
Backpacks off, boots off, sandals on, boots tied to bag…
Initially I try balancing on drier rocks with my camera in my hand, but I slip and nearly fall.
Those who’ve made it to the other side put down their packs to help the rest of us across. Andrew grabs my camera and I crawl across from one stone to the next on my hands and knees. Theunis falls first. Then Keelan, Margaux, Debbie, Francois, Andrew, Chris…
Dry feet, put on socks and shoes, tie sandals to backpack, backpack on…
We would repeat this procedure another 21 times in the next four days. It’s not that difficult to cross the river, but you have to focus, because if you fall, everything is wet – your boots, your bag, your food, your clothes, your sleeping bag and your mattress.
Before we set out, I spoke to Johan Bakkes, who has guided groups on the Fish River Canyon hike. Johan said one time when he hiked the trail there was so much water they had to form a human chain to get across the river. “A few people were swept away and we had to swim in and get them out. Other times there’s no water at all, and if you don’t know where the springs are, you’re in trouble.”
Another canyon veteran, Leon Erwee, recalls how dry it was one year: “That year Nature Conservation left drums of water in the canyon and you had to dig goras (shallow holes in the sand) for water to seep through.
“That time I had the saltiest, most brackish coffee of my life.”
We cross the river a second time. By the third time it’s become a grind, and a few of us just do it barefoot, even though it hurts more and takes longer. But at least you don’t have to take off your entire pack and undo and redo things.
Aha! Palm trees... According to the map the sulphur spring is here somewhere. We walk down the river bank.
Someone asks: “Where are the hot-water springs?” He must have the Caledon Spa in mind; here the hot water trickles in a thin stream down the bank and into the river.
It’s really hot and I can’t think of anything worse than immersing myself in hot water right now, but the others run to the water and pack themselves tightly into the hot spot where the tiny stream joins the cold river. A few smear themselves with mud. Others choose to dive into the cold river.
And the palms here in the middle of nowhere? Two German prisoners-of-war apparently hid here during World War I and planted a few date pips just before they left.
The story goes that one had skin cancer and the other one asthma, but after bathing in the hot water every day for two months, both were apparently miraculously cured.
We don’t have enough time for any afflictions to be cured, because we still have many kilometres to go.
Boots on, backpack on back. We start walking again.
Have I mentioned that it’s hot?
Like a heavily loaded camel caravan, we sway across the hot sand.
The soft, pink sheen returns to the canyon as the day winds down. Our camp is set up in the shade of the cliffs when we arrive.
Louw builds a nice big fire. We add a tot of whisky to our coffee and raise our tin mugs in a toast.
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16 km
Day 4
The wild (south)west
I still have sleep in my eyes when we cross the river. Your toes freeze in the water this early in the morning. We march on across the sand and stones and regularly fill water bottles. It’s 11.30 am. The sun is high and we still have 16 km to go.
Late afternoon, Herkie Paquet, a physiotherapist, and I slip away from the group and walk ahead. It’s heavenly. Sometimes you just want to carry on at your own pace.
Sand, stone, water, sand, stone, water. And when you look up again, you’re several kilometres further, and it’s only then you notice how the sun beats down on you.
The canyon lies empty and dusty before us. “I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name… la la la…” I hear the band America play in my head. It looks a lot like the Wild West out here.
And then, as if straight out of a cowboy movie, two riderless (and probably nameless) horses come galloping past on the opposite bank.
There are a few theories about the origin of these horses. Louw tells us they’re believed to be descendants of the horses that belonged to Baron Captain Hans Heinrich Wolf, the original owner of Duwisib Castle. Others say they are descended from horses left here by the German Schutz troops after World War I.
The sunlight gleams on the horses’ backs. One comes down to the river and walks all along the opposite bank. We stand transfixed, enchanted.
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21 km
Day 5
Tragedy on the Fish River
Today, we take a short cut. You swing right and climb up a hill and then drop down to a plain covered in tiny succulents. For the first time we cannot see the river; there are only hills around us. It’s as if someone swept all the canyon’s leftover gravel and stones here in tidy little piles.
Hier ruht in Gott
Leutnant Thilo v. Trotha
geb. 23.11.77. in Wahlstadt
gef 14.6.1905.
It’s late afternoon and we drink water and eat energy bars at Lieutenant Thilo von Trotha’s grave.
Why would one German soldier have a headstone in the Fish River Canyon? Von Trotha’s story sounds like a Hollywood movie plot.
He loved the wide open plains of Namibia and dreamt of a farm for himself and his wife, Margarethe Lieberknecht. After a few years of faithful service during the wars against the Hereros and Namas in the early 1900s, the German government promised him a farm near Bethanie. His last assignment? To negotiate a peace treaty with a former comrade, the Nama leader Cornelius.
But during their negotiations, another German officer, unaware of Von Trotha’s presence, attacked the camp. In the chaos, Von Trotha was killed. Cornelius buried his old friend near Kochas Drift.
“Margarethe spent the rest of her life alone,” writes C N L van Huyssteen in his book Die Eensame Graf in die Visriviervallei. “She was buried in Rotenburg, Hanover, 10 000 km from her beloved Thilo.”
Ah, just imagine the closing scene – the lone figure of Margarethe fading away to a rousing symphony orchestra.
Past the grave we start seeing signs of civilisation. A gravel road snakes off into the distance. We cross a low-level bridge and pass a small building – the Kochas Drift farm stall.
Until the late ’90s a farmer sold ice-cold cooldrinks, hotdogs and sandwiches to hikers from this stall. But the farm wasn’t profitable, so they sold up and left.
I would happily pay R50 for a cold Coke right now.
The days all flow into one another. We follow the twists and turns of the canyon, across sand, stone and water. The same people. The same colours and sounds. The same food – oats and pasta, pasta and oats. In the evenings, sitting around the fire and talking about everything under the sun…
There’s a rhythm to the days that is strangely therapeutic.
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15 km
Day 6
Phew! It’s over
It’s six o’clock in the morning. Someone rolls around restlessly on a groundsheet. We didn’t progress as far as we planned yesterday, so we still have a hefty 15 km left to Ai-Ais. Why doesn’t Andrew wake us up?
Everything is full of sand. It doesn’t bother you any more. You don’t sit on your groundsheet, but on the sand. You swallow your coffee and ignore the sand grains in it. You’ve stopped giving your shirt a firm shake before putting it on.
We pack up slowly.
I wonder how the guys heading for the Orange River mouth are doing. I wish it were us.
Later on we hear only six of the original 11 hikers finished, and only three of them hiked the full 330 km.
Our backpacks are considerably lighter than at the start of the expedition, but nevertheless we lift them reluctantly. We hike quietly.
Sand, stones and water…
Above us, on a hill, two little boys are playing. "Another 10 km!" the one shouts.
"About two miles, maybe one-and-a-half," says two Americans we pass a little way further.
“Twenty minutes,” says a sunburnt British woman.
At last we spot the stone wall of the Ai-Ais holiday resort. We take a last group picture and climb the stairs laboriously. The large 4x4 bakkies loaded up with gas stoves, roof tents, jerry cans and trailers look like rhinos ready to charge.
“We dump our backpacks in the dust, buy Hansa draughts and lounge on the stoep.
“To the Fish!” shouts someone, and 20 glasses clink.
Later in the afternoon I sit on a stone wall and look out across the river. You can hardly hear the water above all the noise. Children squeal. A TV cricket commentator is babbling in the background. Somewhere a hairdryer drones.
It’s surprising how little of the ordinary luxuries you miss when you’re hiking. Not your cellphone, iPod or electric toothbrush. Maybe a shower, and perhaps a hamburger.
So here you are, showered and wearing clean clothes. And now?
Now you want to continue hiking. Because in the canyon you feel the morning chill on your skin and the sun on your shoulders. And, above all, you feel yourself again.
Close These things work
Super shirt
Erlanka Malan, audit clerk
“I could wash my K-Way Explorer Lima hiking shirt every night, because it dries quickly. So you only have to pack one shirt. It protects you from the sun, and even with the three-quarter sleeves I was never too hot.”
Juicy steak
Leon Erwee, manager
Use an old papsak as a cool bag. Cut it open and turn it inside out. I vacuum-pack my steaks, freeze them, wrap them in the papsak foil and store them in my backpack. And then I can braai for the first three nights.”
The bare minimum
Sulette van Wyk, student
“You don’t have to bring many clothes; you can rinse them in the river and they dry overnight.”
Arm warmers
Hercules Paquet, physiotherapist
“My cycling arm warmers are nice and warm, and I could take them off without having to take off my entire backpack. It also protects you from the sun and, when it gets too hot, you can wet them, then they keep you cool.
“Nature’s Kiss herbal cream works very well for any abrasions and sore muscles. Most physios use it.”
Moisturising cream
Petra Treurnicht, student
"Bring cream and lip balm. The air is very dry and your skin gets chapped."
Hang them
Louw Rabie, audit clerk
"Clip your shoes, kettle and wet socks to your backback with carabiners."
Warm bedding
Ileana Smit, student
"Take a warm sleeping bag, because you sleep in the open. If possible sleep between two pals. My sleeping bag wasn't nearly warm enough, and I even had a winter sheet inside!"
Sandals
Francois du Toit, engineer
"You have to bring closed sandals, such as Rockys, for when you cross the river - they make a huge difference. It's not a good idea to go through the river barefoot."
A good stove
Chris Venter, software engineer
"My MSR Whisperlite stove boiled a litre of water in three minutes. I could cook lunch and supper for four people for five days with only 750 m benzine."
Mug/pot
Dineke van der Walt, student
"My four-litre enamel mug-and-pot in one is very versatile. I could cook in it, carry water, make coffee and use it to wash. And it's light."
Shaker
Andrew Cawood, student
"Use a tupperware shaker to make pasta sauce, instant milk and instant pudding without lumps."
Fresh meat & whisky
Johan Bakkes, writer
"I don't hike without fresh meat for a braai every night, right up to the last night. Enough whisky too (for a five-day hike you need two liters). And never without a hiking pole (not a tiny one, a massively long pole).
Wet Wipes
Lelani Pienaar, student
"Wet Wipes work brilliantly when there isn't water at hand. I wear contact lenses, and Wet Wipes are ideal for cleaning my hands, as they contain alcohol."
Aqua shoes
Margaux Snyman, occupational therapist
"I regret not bringing my Aqua shoes for the river crossings. A good hiking pole is essential for crossing the river. On day two I fell in the water with my backpack."
Close What else do I need to know?
How fit do I have to be? The trail is mostly level, except for the first day’s drop to the bottom of the canyon. But it’s not an easy hike: You walk through thick sand and over large stones, and it’s hot during the day. So you have to be fit for hiking.
Who do I walk with? Preferably friends who are all roughly equally fit. And not too large a group; you have to stay together.
With or without a guide? A guide is not compulsory. As long as you stick to the river and take a map, you will eventually get to Ai-Ais. (If you arrive at Oranjemund five weeks later, you’ve taken the wrong branch of the river – Ed.) Ask Namibia Wildlife Resorts (NWR) to e-mail you the map beforehand, or buy a comprehensive brochure at Hobas for R50. For peace of mind, though, put someone in charge who’s done the trail before and who was at least a library prefect.
Living water. Find out from NWR how much water is in the canyon before deciding how many water bottles to take along.
Waterproofing. If you don’t trust your ability to balance on wet stones, get a waterproof pocket for your camera. First pack everything in a black bag and then in your backpack. Take a survival bag for your backpack if the river is full.
No bins. Everything you take in that can’t be burnt has to come out with you. Take extra plastic bags for rubbish.
Close How, what and where?
When can I hike? The trail is open from 1 May to 15 September. Book at least a year in advance, especially if you want to hike during school holidays.
Paperwork before you go. You need a medical certificate from your doctor to prove you’re fit enough to complete the hike, and you have to sign a form in which you undertake to respect nature. Get all the forms from NWR, and make sure your passport is valid for another six months.
What about my vehicle? Pack the vehicle’s registration papers and, if you are driving your dad’s bakkie, an authorisation letter. Stick a ZA sticker on the back of the vehicle.
How do I book? Contact NWR on 021 422 3761 or ct.bookings@nwr.com.na.
How much? R150 per person. A minimum of three and maximum of 30 can go.
Where do I camp?
• Hobas, 10 km from the starting point. R170 for a maximum of eight people per stand.
• Abiqua Camp, Noordoewer for R50 per person. Call 0926 63 297 255.
• Sleep in Ai-Ais the night before the start of the hike and leave vehicles there. Camping costs R150 for a maximum of eight people. Contact NWR.
(Note: Prices accurate in May 2009)
Close Fish River 101
How to pack for the Fish River expedition
There are no facilities on the trail – no overnight huts, braais or even long-drops. You carry everything with you.
All your documents. Passport, medical certificate (signed by your doctor), conservation form
(they e-mail this to you when you book), ZA-sticker for your vehicle and your vehicle’s registration papers.
Backpack. 65 litres for women; 80 litres for men. The rule of thumb is not to carry more than a quarter of your body weight.
Hiking pole. Very handy for crossing the river.
Mattress. You sleep on the sand, so a normal sponge camping mattress works well.
Sleeping bag. It gets cold at night; make sure your sleeping bag is up to the job.
Groundsheet. Helps to prevent your sleeping bag from getting full of sand. A survival bag works well too.
Hiking shoes. Boots or “ordinary” hiking shoes.
Sandals. Not slip-slops, but ones that can be fastened.
Socks. Gaiters aren’t essential.
Pants. One pair is enough, as long as it’s made of a fabric that dries quickly.
Shirt. At least two – one to sleep in.
Warm jacket. Fleece should be sufficient, as wind and rain are rare.
Pyjamas. It gets chilly at night; long johns work well.
Cozzie. Even if you don’t like cold water, you’ll want to swim at the hot-water spring.
Small towel. A hiking towel (not much bigger than a face cloth when folded).
Beanie. This is the desert; it gets cold after sunset.
Hat. Preferably with a wide brim, so your ears and neck are covered.
Head torch. Which frees your hands for cooking.
Sunglasses. It’s sunny!
Toothbrush & toothpaste. You’ll want to retain some semblance of civilisation.
Biodegradable soap and shampoo. It’s the right thing to do.
First-aid kit. For blisters and aching muscles.
Suntan lotion. The higher the SPF, the better.
Moisturiser & lip balm. Otherwise you’ll be able to write the word “dry” on your arm.
Water bottle. Even if there’s water in the river, take at least 2 litres of water.
Sherry. For cold nights around the fire.
Dried fruit & nuts. Nibble while you walk.
Mug. For coffee in the morning & something stronger at night.
Cutlery. Buy an all-in-one set with knife, fork and spoon.
Leatherman. You can fix just about anything with this.
Plate and/or pot. Just eat from your pot if you don’t like washing dishes.
Stove. Four people can easily share one stove. Remember to pack an extra gas canister, and matches, of course.
Waste removal gadgets. A spade and refuse bags.
Tip: Team up with someone and share the load: One carries the stove and the Leatherman, the other one the first-aid kit, spade and sherry.
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Published 1 October 2006
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