Up The Skeleton Coast: Surfing in Namibia, Part Three

Story and photos by Jon Bowen

We took a couple of diversions where we could find them to the beach, looking for a point as good as Cape Cross, but we found nothing but wind-rattled waves. A few places showed potential, but not that day.

We did find an old bottle, with "1940" stamped on the bottom. I thought it would be fun to put a localsurfer sticker in it, with my email on the back, and see if it was ever found, just lying in the desert.

For fun, I recorded its position with the GPS: if you're ever at 21deg-22mins-23.7secs south, 13deg-47mins-11.5secs east, you'll find it.

It was impossible not to wonder how the bottle had got here, in an unremarkable bit of desert miles from any habitation: it brought to mind a story Dylan had told us, how that somewhere on this bit of coast a cart was found, built from the wood of a ship’s hull. Survivors from an unknown shipwreck desperately trying to reach safety, and never making it. Dying here alone and anonymously. Messages from other unknown souls, carved into pieces of stone have also been found, decades after whoever wrote them disappeared into the dust of this harsh place.

Two huge rib bones from a whale arch over the gates, and each gate is adorned with a skull and crossbones.

Now we were aiming for the last real wilderness we were allowed into, the Skeleton Coast Park. This is a protected area, and you're not allowed in unless you have booked a place to stay at Terrace Bay, right at the north end of the park. The gates closed at 3.30, and as usual it was a race.

We made it with 15 minutes to spare.

The gates for the Skeleton Coast Park are obviously designed to impress: Two huge rib bones from a whale arch over the gates, and each gate is adorned with a skull and crossbones. It really is an "abandon hope all ye" kind of moment, and it brings again to the front of your mind the thought that is always lingering at the back of it: all the people who have died here along this desolate bit of coast.

On our search for waves we came across the wreck of the South West Sea. Not much is left of this fishing boat, but you can see her steering gear is rusted over at hard to port as the crew tried to keep her away from this coast of death. Standing on the beach next to her you can't help but imagine the initial relief of a shipwrecked sailor surviving to make it to shore here, only to realise what was to come.

Onwards north, pressing hard to get to Terrace Bay before dark, across plains covered with the weird traveling barkhan dunes, giant sandy crescents traveling along with us in the direction of the wind. A scary moment where we almost became trapped here ourselves, as we crossed the sandy bed of a dead river. Coasting across the soft sand is the best way to get over, just accelerate up and then your foot completely off the accelerator and surf over. We almost stopped, and just made solid ground again before our forward momentum gave out. Heartstopping to be nearly stuck here. In other places the barkhan dunes at begun to cross the road, forcing us to make short off-road diversions around them. We made Terrace Bay just after dark.

Terrace Bay is just a collection of small prefabbed chalets, and is a fishing "resort", although that sounds a lot grander than it is. The whine of generators and the stark lights on the Martian landscape here gives the place a very "moonbase alpha" kind of appearance, and it looks like the end of the earth. As far as we were concerned though, it was: Terrace Bay is as far north as you're allowed to go in Namibia -- the land beyond here is closed except to researchers, rich tourists who can afford to fly in to the remote camps, and a few very lonely policemen in desert outposts. We hoped to find our last waves here, but first: food and sleep after the long hot dusty drive.

Next morning we look out of the window to see the welcome sight of a rolling long lefthand point break, right in front or our chalet. We suited up, and headed over to the beach, ignoring the bemused stares of the cleaning maids who were chatting to each other in their fascinating click-clack language.

The seas of Namibia are famous for the Benguela Current -- a strong cold-water current that flows north along the coast. We hadn't really noticed it so far on this trip, but at Terrace Bay, it's very strong.

We paddled out, and suddenly found ourselves heading north. Full-bore paddling against it apparently seemed to make progress, until you looked at the shore, which gave you the impression of walking the wrong way on an escalator -- you were moving forwards, yet going backwards faster.

I managed to catch one wave, ill-judged in that it was a left, going the same way as the current. I was being swept down towards a bay which I couldn't see into, and didn't really fancy ending up with a long swim back from Angola, so caught the next white water wave back to shore. Stuart was having the same problems and followed me in.

We gave up, there was to be no more surfing for us here.

An anti-climatic end to the surfing part of our trip. Namibia is an incredible place -- so barren and apparently lifeless yet absolutely bursting with animals. No words can do the landscape justice, with sweeping plains, mountains, canyons and with an ever changing colour and texture to the land. The surf was, with the very notable exception of Cape Cross, nothing particularly special. But, with a 4x4 to explore the entire coast, or even better, an aircraft to really explore the literally unknown points and capes, there is a lot of potential. After all, every day, all day, is offshore here. And nobody to share it with, except seals and possibly some pointy teethed fish which definitely adds a certain frisson to your session.

On the way home we visited the Etosha National Park, which was incredible again --teeming with all the famous African animals, and we fired off rolls of film on lions, elephants, rhino and enough zebra to get thoroughly blasé.