Cruising on roads as straight as a ray of light through flat lands of nothingness, I wonder what rock climbing could possibly exist in this country. The landscape looks something like Bloemfontein, rather dry and hot conditions, with grass scrubland stretching as far as the eye can see. How wrong I was.
The Spitzkoppe mountains surge mightily out of the ground, a gargantuan island of granite that punches up to 700 meters above the earth. On arrival at the base of these ancient behemoths, you begin to realize how old the earth is from a human’s perspective. These mountains are said to be formed due to ancient volcanoes that caused the super-continent of Gondwanaland to separate itself. Originally forming underground, the granite had the surrounding soil stripped away by the elements to reveal what it is today. Left with these towering granite gods, we are reminded of how our short lives are merely a blip on this planet’s timeline.
Our main objective for the trip would be a 15-pitch mixed route called The Slab Chip Experience (25), opened by Cole Robertson from the States. This takes a central line up an impressive face known as the South West Wall, which is very much the main event for Spitzkoppe climbing. The wall soars for 500 meters uninterrupted, with some massive flake features here and there that look small from far but are generally humongous up close.
Like most of the big routes at Spitzkoppe, bolts are only placed where the climbing cannot be protected with traditional gear. This leads to very engaging and fun climbing with lots of variety. Sometimes you must slowly tiptoe up a slab clipping bolts, and the next thing you’re in a bar room brawl with an off-width crack, sweating and panting like a dog through bird shit and the odd fig tree.
The drive takes us a day and a half from Cape Town, sleeping under the stars on the side of a dirt road just off the B1 freeway, between Mariental and Windhoek. We arrive around midday at Spitzkoppe Rest camp and make our way to a cozy campsite nestled in amongst some massive egg- shaped boulders.
Rumours of Rain
My first taste of Namibian rock is on Rumours of Rain – a shallow water runnel which forms an obvious line down the middle of a massive slab called the Sugarloaf. A typical Mike Cartwright route, it is rather run out. The climbing is very thin friction slab which steepens into a crux close to the pitch 1 stance. I end up taking a big fall here, after my brain stops computing the microscopic, sloped nubbins I’m trying to stand on. Thankfully I have mastered the ‘backwards slab run’ which is crucial when whipping on slab to avoid roasties or worse, a head over heels tumble. I manage to clip the chains on my second go and move on to the water runnel on the right side of the loaf called Desert Storm.
Desert Storm
This turns out to be even more run-out than Rumours of Rain, with stomach churning distances between the bolts. The bolts on the 3rd pitch simply come to a comical end and all that’s in sight is a rather far away layback feature. Not knowing where I will find the next bolt, I head for the feature, assuming that is where the route goes. After some tenuous footwork, I arrive at the layback feature, and look up to see the chains, still 20 meters above me with no bolt in between. The climbing does ease somewhat at this point, but the airy 30-meter run-out is almost laughable. That being said, I do find the line extremely enjoyable, and I wouldn’t add a single bolt to it. The run outs on these old school climbs do add a certain character that is difficult to explain, but the route wouldn’t quite feel the same without them. They also serve to remind us of the days of old, when bolts were few and far between and Li-ion battery drills hadn’t been invented yet. A lot of these climbs were bolted ground up while on lead, with disastrous consequences for falling in some circumstances. I feel we can look at routes like these and be inspired by the sheer determination and commitment to climbing these pioneers of the sport displayed.
Goldfinger
Next, I hop on Goldfinger, which climbs the unique Rhino Horn pinnacle. This was originally bolted by Kurt Albert in 1999, climbing partner and friend of Wolfgang Güllich, the father of hard sport climbing. Superb slightly off vertical climbing on small, polished granite folds and tiny creases leads into easier slab moves with an absolutely massive, rockstar run out to the chains, where a summit book is found. You can then scuttle to the very tip of the Horn. A delectable abseil follows, going straight down the airy overhanging side of the horn, with spectacular views all around.
Desert Diamond
A 5am start has us walking from the car to the base of Pontok 4, a massive dome shaped blob of pinkish brown granite. The first pitch of Desert Diamond is 23, with a Black Diamond Camalot #3 protecting the first move onto a slightly off-vertical traverse sequence. All your willpower is required to stand on the nothing holds on this traverse, and I somehow eek it through until the end of the crux where I annoyingly find myself sitting in my harness after breaking a flake off, a few meters from the stance. After a few more long and technical slab pitches, we begin to climb a massive undercut feature, using large cams in the crack and clipping the odd bolt on the face.
After a few more pitches of fun jamming and layback moves, we arrive at a small overhang, seemingly uncharacteristic of Spitzkoppe climbing. It begins with a tentative move on polished granite to gain a large jug, with thin moves immediately above. I crank really hard again and get into a typical tall man – small box scenario. My feet are up by my ears and I’m going nowhere. I try to solve the problem with more strength, cranking down on a tiny left hand crimp. Dwaaaaah!!
Suddenly I’m falling through the air, eventually coming tight on the rope. The flake snapped off in my hand. Irritated with myself for using poor technique, I do the move again with better beta, and continue through to the chains. The rest of the route becomes easy friction slab walking, and we run the last few pitches to the peak of Pontok 4.
More shenanigans take place on the abseil back down. 10 abseils are required to reach the ground. At first everything goes smoothly, straight down to the anchors, sticking close to the large undercut feature on our right. I set off down the rope first on the next abseil, but what I don’t realize is that the guide says I need to clip a bolt on my way down to redirect the rope and reach the next set of anchors. I end up quite a distance to the left of where I should be, so I tie a knot below my prusik and go hands free, tension traversing rightwards towards the chains. I’m doing this in some very lightweight ‘made in china’ barefoot shoes that are more like socks, and my feet are sweating profusely. I’ve never missed my La Sportiva TX4’s so much! If I come unstuck here, I’ll take a decent sized pendulum towards the steeper wall on the left, ropes sawing across a sharp edge above.
Eventually I make it to the chains, and the rest of the descent goes smoothly, clipping every bolt I come across on the way down as a redirect.
Back on the ground at last, the dome of Pontok 4 looms above us, quiet and immovable in the light of the setting sun. We trudge back to the car, dreaming of a hot shower and a beer, only to be rewarded with an icy blast – the solar geyser has long been emptied by the tourists, and our beers are as warm as a forgotten Nalgene in the sun. We wolf down some 2 minute noodles and fade off to sleep to see what tomorrow holds.
Part 2 coming soon.
