The Fish River Canyon, Part 3: And Finally… “Think positive thoughts”, an unofficial mantra of our hiking team, which largely encompassed, at least for my part, visions of relaxing in the hot spa and lukewarm pool at Ai-Ais Campsite. Sitting and allowing our tired bodies to marinate in the hot water (akin to a hot bath at home), brought to such temperatures by mother earth herself, as well as the unforgiving Namibian sunshine, is a memory to cherish. It was also one of the thoughts driving us whilst trudging around Vasbyt bend – yes that’s the actual name of the bend (vasbyt meaning: grit-your-teeth, hold tight, dig deep, suck-it-in etc…). Why do I bring this up? Well I naturally emptied my backpack as soon as I returned home, though I did leave my shoes in the bottom compartment – where my sleeping bag is usually stored. In the week though, I needed my inner soles – I use the same inners for several shoes. So as I pulled them out I discovered, low and behold, a fair amount of sand lying beneath, hiding if you will. I saved that sand as a keepsake, just as my uncle did with a bottle of water he scooped from the Dead Sea – displayed on a shelf in his house today. It says something though doesn’t it; you may leave the Canyon behind, but a part of the Canyon will always remain with you… literally. One casualty of that sand (temporarily anyway) is my camera – now the zoom lens refuses to deploy… the sand got in EVERYWHERE! It won’t budge at all, so I can’t even employ Ricky’s method of biting it out (This is not an advisable method – don’t try it at home). Nevertheless, in time, this too will turn out to be of little import… Anyway, the legacy lives on, in memory, or a million grains of sand. I shall leave you with an extract of yet another piece of fine literature, highlighted once again by the ‘Lieutenant’. It was during our final evening in the Canyon, and yes, we were all exhausted after covering nearly 30 km’s (18 miles) that day. Although, as tired as we were, everyone was in good spirits because the hard part was over – we’d left ourselves a paltry 6 km’s for the next morning, meaning we could sleep well, rest easy… because we’d shrugged off the worst. So amidst the clanging of camp side dinner dishes whilst most were cocooned in their sleeping bags, during a still night, these words subtly brought the world to our quiet riverbank campsite, in the profound glow of a roaring campfire. (>>> It's quite long so here's the first stanza of that great poem <<<) The Highwayman |
[Banner illustration by Joel Kanar]
WRITING
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