Africa & Middle East > Namibia > Namib Desert > Namib Desert > Desert > Articles > Blazing Saddles: Horseback Adventure Across the Namib Desert

“Go!” screams Waldi as our horses charge at full gallop across the Rooisand dunes at the edge of the Namib Desert. Grassy tufts, lone acacia trees and occasionally my life flash before me in a furious blur of red sand as we hurtle towards our night camp.

I am riding the desert trail from Namibia’s capital Windhoek to Swakopmund on the misty Atlantic coast. Our journey crosses the Namib Desert, one of the world’s oldest and driest. Taking just nine days to cover some 400km, this is one of the fastest and most challenging horse trails, and takes riders to a starkly beautiful and isolated wilderness few are lucky to see.

Namibian by German descent, Waldi and Lumpi Fritzsche pioneered this trail in response to being told it was impossible to cross the Namib on horseback. For 14 years, they have shared this “impossible” adventure with small groups of intrepid riders.

Starting from the Fritzsches’ cattle ranch near Windhoek, we thread our way westwards across Namibia’s central highlands. Waldi leads our group of seven riders with three young horses running loose. Bertus, an implausibly mature 16-year-old, rides at the rear as second guide and helps wrangle the loose horses. Like all our horses, my mount Brown is superbly fit and sure-footed. Even after the steepest climb or longest canter, it is the riders and not the horses that are wide-eyed and breathless.

We trot and canter extensively over rough paths and criss-crossing animal tracks across a dry, scrubby landscape. It hasn’t rained here in six months. I count two tiny clouds and even these soon yield to unbroken bright blue sky. We suffer many painful, shirt-tearing encounters with unforgiving thorns, in particular the ferocious triple-barbed “wait-awhile”. The trail isn’t supposed to be a wildlife safari, but we sight many kudu, oryx (gemsbok), baboons and mountain zebra, and a huge Kori Bustard taking to the air. In the far distance rises the elegant flat-topped mountain Gamsberg.

Travelling by a separate route, a customised lorry, truck and trailer carry all our supplies, including 3,000 litres of water and a ton each of horse feed and firewood. Riding in the backup vehicles are Frederik, Waldi’s loyal driver and riding guide, Jeanne the second driver, and three grooms/packers.

Crossing the Hakos Mountains at the edge of the Namibian escarpment is our greatest challenge. The ascent to the pass is long and arduous and the terrain makes it impossible for our vehicles to provide support. We let our horses pick their way around the boulders and thorn bushes of the parched Smoky River bed before we dismount and lead them up the long trudge to the pass. Riders and horses lose their footing frequently on the narrow, rocky path; our progress is hot and slow.

Our surroundings do their best to inspire us. Quartz, mica and other brightly coloured minerals sparkle on the ground, interspersed by leopard and hyena tracks and the occasional remains of leopard kills. A bloodstained tree marks a leopard “canteen” and the diner could be lurking in any of the many caves above us. Tawny and rock eagles soar overhead.

Finally labouring to the summit, we descend into a cavernous gorge surrounded by rounded mountains. The descent is much easier going but I still reach camp tired and dehydrated. I am so thirsty I guzzle several glasses of fruit juice, a litre of water and most of a flask of red bush tea before I even sit down.

A disused goldmine close to our camp provides a glimpse of Namibia’s mining heritage. Most of the world’s minerals and metals occur in the country and many seem to be here judging by the kaleidoscope of glittering rocks and crystals lying all around.

After the struggle over the Hakos Mountains, the next day’s riding is comfortably more enjoyable. The land is still dry and scrubby but the thorns are thankfully thinning out. As we canter over long sandy tracks, the mountains assume a pink hue and the ground rapidly turns to burning reds and golds, indicating older, oxidised sand. We soon reach the Red Dune at Rooisand where we stampede to our camp in blinding afternoon sun.

Our isolated night camps are as memorable as the exhilarating riding. Surrounded by hostile wilderness, we warm ourselves around open fires while our horses rest quietly along a picket line stretched between the two trucks. Frederik and the groomers are traditional Damara people and sing church songs and harmonic lullabies as they tend to the horses. Waldi and Frederik conjure up delicious suppers over the fire. Tonight on the Red Dune, we devour seared gemsbok steaks from Waldi’s farm as we watch shooting stars high over the reddening sunset. On other evenings, we cook with a traditional three-legged potjie pot – in which we even bake bread – and braai (barbecue) chops and chicken.

Nights in the desert can be cold although nobody uses a tent. Instead, we sleep outside on camp beds, with sleeping bag and duvet stuffed snugly inside a canvas swag. Overhead, a glittering canopy of stars shimmers around the broad sweep of the Milky Way. Scorpio and Orion dazzle impressively and are only briefly outshone by streaking shooting stars. The celestial show can make it difficult to sleep. I soon learn to estimate the time by watching Orion’s progress above me as dawn chases it across the sky. Nights are usually still and silent, although on the Red Dune we hear the broken howl of jackals on a nearby mountain.

A long day riding beside a dusty meandering road brings us to the edge of the Namib Naukluft Park, one of Africa’s largest national parks. The landscape changes dramatically. We are suddenly engulfed by expansive, barren plains, with mountains and some flat-topped mountains in the distance, beyond which peek the tops of pink dunes.

Entering the park, we ride through steep valleys surrounded by bizarre rock formations. We climb the Kuiseb Pass and plunge into the Kuiseb Canyon, where two German geologists famously hid out for much of World War Two. A long canter brings us to lunch camp where our crew awaits with a tasty braai of mutton ribs. Although we are lucky and have some clouds today to moderate the intense desert heat, we shelter in the shade of the lorry for several hours before continuing. We can’t begin to imagine how the geologists survived so long in this wild and desolate place.

Returning to the desert plain, the landscape again turns flatter and more featureless; the shrubs and mountains fewer and farther between. Riding through a homogenous ocean of petrified clay, we arrive at a remote campsite set within a cluster of trees. Waldi warns us not to set up our beds outside the camp tonight as hyenas and jackals prowl this area. Having made good progress today, we have time to stroll to the bank of an ancient dried riverbed to enjoy a pre-supper sundowner as we watch the reddening sun light up the sky.

The high of the sunset is sadly soon followed by our lowest low. As night falls, we discover that Racker, one of our experienced ponies, has developed colic, a potentially fatal disease that strikes with frightening speed. Waldi gets to work administering medicines while Frederik and the crew take turns through the night trotting the sick pony around the camp. If he lies down now and twists his gut, he will die.

I am woken early next morning by the incessant shrieking of a desert fox. Happily, a dazzling sunrise brings with it good news of Racker. The pony has responded well to treatment although he will not be ridden today, the longest and fastest day of the trail.

Waldi points to a hazy mountain on the horizon. “That is half way to lunch.” We need to cover over 70km today. More than ever, we have to ride as fast as the terrain permits to reach camp before nightfall. We don’t want to have to rely on our vehicles’ headlights to guide us home, as some previous trails have done.

We clamber up over rocks onto a barren, boulder-strewn moonscape where we pick up speed. The landscape changes all the time. In the space of a canter, we leave the moon and arrive on Mars as the landscape returns to coarse, pink-brown sand.

Fast-moving dark fluffy balls on the horizon turn out to be ostriches. Springbok shelter beneath trees and a lone hyena scurries across the open plain. Expectant vultures circle overhead as we speed towards them – we don’t want to fall off here. In the distance shimmer classic mirages of non-existent lakes. There is no doubt we have reached the heart of the Namib.

The long distance to night camp provides many opportunities for fast, thrilling canters, the highlight being a tear-streaming 5km rush to lunch beside a waterhole, where we sight more oryx, springbok and ostriches.

Still exhilarated from the previous day’s fast riding, we continue over stark, featureless plains scattered with massive boulders. Young springbok leap across our path during a canter through light sand dotted with grassy tufts. We make camp in another quintessential desert scene. Interrupted by just the squat Marble Mountains, we sit insignificantly at the hub of a huge disc of sand curving to every horizon, beneath a dome of stars and the ghostly light of a thin crescent moon.

I wake next morning to the strange sensation of some drops of rain on my face. Typical of the desert fog belt, these morning mists bring life-sustaining moisture to the Namib’s flora and fauna. With perfectly flat desert stretching before us, we fan out and gallop joyously across gravel plains. We race from the gravel desert onto the great plains of the sand desert, before carefully picking our way through the rusted hay bales and tin cans at the abandoned Van Stryk mine. Desperate men extracted copper, sulphur, zinc and tin at this bleak site between the wars and again as recently as the 1970s. Lonely graves poignantly mark the resting places of some who didn’t make the return journey.

Nearby spread the prehistoric-looking tentacles of Welwitschia plants that date from the age of the dinosaurs. We take care not to ride our horses over a pair of specimens estimated at around two thousand years old.

The terrain changes completely as we ride into the Moon Valley and onto the dry bed of the Swakop River. Folded sediments of pink-brown rock rise on either side, broken at intervals by dark basalt columns of solidified magma and occasional leopard caves. Again, we spread out and canter over a cracked carpet of clay, whose pieces curl like dried parchment, and weave between the first real vegetation we have seen in days. We camp in an enchanting riverbed clearing surrounded by trees; higher up the bank than usual as Waldi is concerned there might be flash floods. Fortunately, no floods interrupt our delicious supper of tender kudu fillets. Tonight is our final camp and we savour every last minute until the fire’s dying embers.

All too soon, a cooling breeze indicates we are nearing the coast and journey’s end. We reach Swakopmund in another blaze of joyous canters, firstly onto a characteristic red dune then finally onto the Atlantic beach itself where we drink champagne and ride bareback to celebrate joining the select band of riders who have done the “impossible” and ridden across the Namib.

The fast, seemingly endless canters etch the most vivid memories of this remarkable adventure and are a fitting way to remember forever Namibia’s vast landscapes of wild, open space. As an Austrian rider once noted after the longest canter of his life: “I have never before ridden so fast over such a great distance.”

“Yes,” explained his friend, “Austria isn’t that long.”

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