Sunday 1 May: Terrace Bay; 112 km

Breakfast in the canteen is equally unimpressive, but filling. The morning is foggy, we take the turn-off to Dekka Bay, leading us into a confusing set of tracks with no visible option to get to the sea other than to follow the morons who left their cross-country tracks to mar so much of this coast - which we refuse to do. As we reach the Northernmost arm of the Uniab, we can see some Springbok and highly skittish Oryx in the distance, and in the small pond there's a lone Egyptian Goose. At the next arm, we decide to follow the track that leads upriver to what looks to be a pump-house similar to the one standing next to the road, supplying Terrace Bay (nearly 40 km to the North) with drinking water. The track becomes extremely sandy, but no problem at all for the V6 in low gear and the Duellers.

Turning back to the road, we park at the pump-house and follow the river to get to the Uniab waterfall. Springbok and Oryx stand grazing on a large patch of grass in the riverbed, the grass apparently so tasty that they hesitate to run away, and with more obvious reluctance move only a short distance away when we continue along the river. After little more than a couple of km we reach the waterfall, actually little more than a trickle, where the Uniab has cut a gorge of some 6-8 m deep into the red sandstone of the pre-Namib.

As we proceed along the edge of the canyon, a grand view opens up: to the left and right the steep, barren banks of the former glory of the Uniab, in front of us the thin green line of the river winding down to a small coastal lagoon, the sun glistening in the high surf. We turn back, and South of the third arm follow a track winding down to the coast. The surf is spectacular, brightly lit but slowly fading in the foam and fog in the distance. All around are small dunes formed by sand collecting in the wind-shade of bushes, fresh tracks of Jackal and Strandwolf can be seen everywhere. On the main road again, we turn around back North when we get in sight of Tora Bay, and stop at the third arm from the North, where the guidebook says a hide is to be found. We wonder why the parking space seems to be closed off with rocks, and find out as we approach the hide: it's no longer in use, and in fact stands right in the middle of a dense stand of reeds and doesn't look out over anything. Obviously, the pattern of the river's flow has changed, and as the tracks and droppings on the swampy soil and grass indicate, it's now on the way to the hide that the best sightings should be possible. However, there's nothing around at the moment.

We get back to Terrace Bay around 1330, have a look at the Cormorants perched on the attempt made here at building a pier, then drive to the Northernmost point where you're allowed to go. Although the road proceeds even further up to Möwe Bay, a 'strictly no entry' sign marks where normal visitors are to stop their foray along the Skeleton Coast. On our way back to the bungalows I measure the length of the airstrip: 1400 m, indeed more than long enough for the presidential aeroplane to deposit (former) president Sam Nujoma for his annual angling retreat here. Still, Sam never had any exclusive rights at the resort: the Presidential bungalow can be booked at NWR just like any of the others.

After a small rest, Marike and I go for another walk along the beach, the wind is much fiercer than yesterday, as are the breakers. Flocks of Cormorants come back in to their shit-covered roost on the roof of one of the former machine-sheds, enjoying the warmth of the resort's generator placed here. The rays of the low sun every now and then manage to pierce through the fog and spray, lighting up the pebbles being pounded and grinded by the surf. The restaurant is almost filled to capacity this night, the atmosphere is cheery, different groups of Afrikaners share out their most tasty morsels of today's catch prepared by the cooks, bringing one's own wine (as we also did this evening) is apparently so common that the corkage fee listed on the menu isn't even charged. Back at the bungalow the Maglite sweeps don't even show up a Jackal - the Strandwolf thus remains as elusive as before.

Monday 2 May: Terrace Bay - Palmwag; 191 km

The morning is cold and foggy, after another unassuming breakfast we drop our keys at the reception at 0730, adding a more praising remark to the guestbook than some of the bitter complaints found therein. Those people probably didn't know what to expect, and even though Terrace Bay is not a place we would see ourselves return to in the very near future, its sheer remoteness does have a definite appeal.

There's only a brief glimpse of Springbok around the arms of the Uniab, we turn left at Tora Bay on the C39. To our left are the high sand dunes again, we proceed on a slowly rising plain of brown gravel. Slowly and hesitatingly, vegetation starts to re-appear again, and around the base of the impressive Groot Tafelberg we spot the first Welwitschia's. We stop for photo's of them on the low pass that leads down into the valley of the Koichas, its streambed a line of Acacia's down in the distance. A thin grass cover becomes more lush, lone Ostriches run off in the distance of the valley. At 1030 we check out of the Skeleton Coast park at the Springbokwater checkpoint, the official kindly allows me to keep the entry permit for the scrapbook. From the barren brown of the Groot Tafelberg behind us, and continuing along the Koichas Valley, the landscape now subtly changes into the typical rounded red hills of Damaraland, still surprisingly green: the rains seem to have been really good in these parts.

And indeed, they must have been, for as we leave the Koichab and climb onto the plateau of Damaraland, single Springboks now turn into groups, dozens, hundreds, a hillside and then an entire valley filled with them. This year's youngsters band together, bunching up on the road with such clear unconcern for our presence that they have obviously seen very little traffic thusfar in their young lives. There must be thousands of them, and there are even more as the valley continues, now interspersed with Zebra and Oryx. One gets the impression that it must have rained here quite recently, for we're hardly throwing up any dust.

We rejoin the valley of the Koichab at Wereldsend (it needn't surprise anyone that more than one place in Namibia bears this name, and it certainly does seem to apply ) and turn left on the C43 at 1130. To our delight, work is being carried on the C43 and it's smooth going, quite a pleasant surprise after last year's bad corrugation. We then spot Elephant droppings on the road, fairly fresh ones, and can also clearly smell pachyderm. An SA Landrover has pulled over by the side of the road, so we too stop and the SA’s point them out to us. A bit far off, and well-hidden among the valley's trees, a small group of Namibia's famous desert Elephants! The C43 remains excellent, and the unmistakable contour of the Grootberg tells us that we're now coming close to our destination. We turn left, continuing on the C43, at 1245, cross the veterinary fence and fill up at the Palmwag fuel station. I now also fill up the 'bomb', our extra 20 L fuel container, and place it behind my seat, a snug fit, and having it there will allow us to smell it if it should start to leak. Palmwag  is now only a few km away, their odd policy of segregation between campers and lodge guests has now resulted in campers having their own entrance road (it used to be that campers weren't even allowed into the lodge's restaurant).

We check in at the poolside bar, the facility shared by both campers and lodge guests. We're on the list of reservations, and have been marked for site nr. 2. It turns out to be the most spacious and shady site at the camping, and shade is just what we need. It's hot, very hot, with the lingering moisture of the recent rains. Setting up the tents is a sweaty business, we do some odd jobs, a bit of laundry, spot a few birds and check on tomorrow's excursion on the Palmwag concession area at the main reception. It looks like we'll be the only guests to do the full-day Damaraland Wildlife excursion - which suits us just fine.

The Hansa draught at the bar tastes great, and we get to talking about potjiekos with the mixed SA and ZIM company gathered there. It never fails: just mention the word 'potjie' to any of these folks and you've got a lively conversation right there. In fact, I'm even asked to show them the 'Super Potjie', and it receives admiring comments. We return for another Hansa after the potjie has produced another wholesome meal, and turn in for a lovely fresh night.