“Remote?  What exactly do they mean, remote?”  It was the lawyer again.  He was amusing himself on the long drive north, looking for loopholes in the welcoming letter in our Kunene River Expedition packs:  “After spending two days in the Etosha National Park, we travel to the remote Kunene River in northwest Namibia”.

That night, I thought about his words again.  Above me a Makalani palm fanned out against the African night, cutting the Milky Way into spiky quarters.  Suddenly the sky lit up in trail of starlight as a massive shooting star burst earthwards.  Yes, I thought, as my skin shrunk into gooseflesh, this was remote.  Big shooting-star, rain-of-stardust remote.  We were more than 1000 kilometres north of Windhoek and in a 100 square kilometer range around our camp, there were not more than a few hundred people.

Al, my “Croc” captain and paddling partner was calm.  “See, we'll launch in this quiet eddy here, and then climb on the ferry eddy, which will give us a free upstream ride.  And then we'll paddle as hard as we can.  ” Easy!  By the time we plunged into the foaming rapid, our “Croc” frothing at the nose, I forgot all about the eddy bit.  “Paddle, paddle!” shouted Al.  So I did and perfectly centered, we shot between two huge ugly rocks on a cauldron of white water.  Yee-ha!

By late afternoon the river had turned kind and gentle and we were on a stretch of flat, smooth water, the mighty Kunene carrying us westwards and the sun casting a long golden beam on the water.  Beyond the green fringe of Makalani Palms, the landscape turned brittle and then gave way to the cone-peaked Zebra Mountains, striking vertical cascades of dark granite interrupted by green swathes of vegetation.  A Goliath Heron perched on top of a palm tree and clouds of Queleas swarmed onto the river banks, looking like giant voice bubbles above the reeds.  On cue, a Fish Eagle swooped low over the river and its cry distilled the wild essence of the moment.
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2) At last our camping spot for the evening appeared on the river bank.  Our guides in the backup vehicle had set up an instant tent village under an enormous Wild Fig tree.  Gleaming white bowls with biltong and olives were set out on the long tartan-draped table, with seating for the 20 guests.  It seemed more film-set than camping spot.  Styling was just one of our guides' many talents.  They could save you in torrential rapids, drive a 4x4 over forbidding terrain, spot shy Cape Clawless Otters, and slow roast a leg of lamb to perfection on a bed of coals.

That night, under the fig tree, the river man took up his guitar and sang Bob Marley's “Redemption”.  Three Himba tribesmen appeared at the fire, as if silently morphed into our camp.  They sat quietly enthralled and then left again as softly as they had appeared.  We were in the heartland of the Himba.  As our “Crocs” floated down the river, little naked children ran to the banks to wave at us.  We often saw men at the top of swaying palm trees, milking the sap to make potent palm wine.  Himba women, their bodies smeared with ochre and fat that made them shimmer in the sun, would set down a pail of water or a suckling infant to stare at the spectacle of orange rubber blobs, their occupants strangely swaddled in layers (albeit flimsy) of clothing.

We spent five days on the river, shooting rapids, watching the moon, waking up to the whistling of the Rufoustailed Palm Thrush, eating picnic lunches in spots of midday shade and bathing in the silky river at dusk.

When we at last came to the Epupa Falls, a deep roar floated over the water towards us.  Across a width of 3 km, the Kunene splinters into blindingly white falls that cascade, tumble and foam down a multitude of cracks in the arid landscape, dotted by huge Baobab trees that writhe with gnarled roots into burnt-orange rocks.  One woman in our party was so moved by the scene, tears streamed down her face.  We parked our “crocs” for the last time and camped on the edge of the thundering falls.

And yet, impossible as it may seem, Epupa falls might disappear.  Not because of some natural phenomenon, but because of plans to build a dam that would flood an area much larger than the city of Johannesburg.  That area would include the Epupa Falls, about 200 Himba ancestral graves and a large chunk of Himba pastures.  In spite of widespread opposition from environmental groups and anti-dam groups, as well as international support to protect Himba interests, the Namibian government has refused to shelve plans for the dam.  They maintain it is too costly to import 80 percent of their electricity in the dry season.  At this stage the project has been postponed because Namibia and Angola – the partners in the project – can't agree on the exact site of the dam.
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3) That night I watched a full moon over the Epupa Falls.  There are many places in the world that have not been saved by their natural beauty.  But, I was convinced, as I watched the falls turn silver in the moonlight, that Epupa had an awesome power of its own that would save it from drowning and destruction