Epupa Falls

slopes rising steeply from the riverbanks. As the river turns to the north,
the Río dos Elefantes and two other dry streams enter on the Angola
side. According to the Portuguese these parts are frequented by elephant,
rhino and lions but we did not see any. We did, however, come on our
first hippo in the Kunene, a small group of seven with another three a
few miles further on.
Epupa Falls
For the 60 odd miles from Zwartboois Drift, the character of the
river changes little until about 12 miles above the Epupa Falls the
river enters a rock zone with rapids. Suddenly, without any warning,
we spotted a fine mist hanging above the river ahead. ‘Could it be the
Epupa already?’ I asked Gordon. We steered our canoes to the bank
and from there we beheld a fantastic sight. The mighty Kunene, which
was as smooth as a mirror a short distance back and 100 yards wide,
thunders down 200 feet into a slit that is only about 20 feet across. The
main stream enters the crest in the shape of an elongated horseshoe but
a few smaller streams enter from the side, shooting across the gorge to
hit the opposite wall before disappearing in a fine spray of mist.
We carried the canoes around the falls with the help of two
Ovahimbas who look after the rest huts of the SWA Administration.
Full of awe, they attempted to explain to us that it was impossible to
follow the river through the mountains. We were now embarking on
the most dangerous part of the trip; no one had ever been there before
us and we knew that if we had an accident in the gorges there was no
way out on foot. We would be absolutely on our own. Once we set off
on the 120 mile journey to the sea there could be no turning back; we
would he imprisoned by the Shamalindi Mountains on one side and the
Baynes Mountains on the other.
We refloated our canoes in the gorge below the falls. This was it! It
nearly was, too, for no sooner had we entered the gorge than I saw a
crocodile swimming straight for Gordon, who was ahead. My shout
of warning was drowned by the thunder of the falls. Luckily, Gordon
looked over his shoulder, saw by my actions that something was wrong
and, sighting the crocodile, swung at it with his paddle. Frantically, he
dug his paddle in the water and shot between two boulders, inches
Epupa’s main cataract is 70m high.
A long view of Epupa Falls.
ahead of the croc. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was shortlived for the
crocodile immediately turned around and came straight for me. ‘Make
for the bank!’ was my only thought; the shotgun was completely
forgotten. Shotgun in hand, I leapt out of my canoe, slipped and landed
up to my neck in the water. In record time I struggled out of the water,
scrambled up the bank and, shotgun to shoulder, gave the crocodile an
overdue shot, much too close for my liking.
Pale, we continued downstream only to be attacked shortly afterwards
by another crocodile coming out of a rapid. This time the shotgun was
ready and the blast scared him off. Every 100 yards or so the gorge
narrowed with rock jams forming rapids between the pools. We were
unable to shoot these rapids as the maelstrom at the bottom was too
rough so time and time again we had to carry the canoes and gear
around the boulders on the bank. That afternoon, February 2nd, we
were forced to leave the river and carry the canoes up the cliffs and
along the mountains for about two miles. The river curled below us
in continuous rapids. We were forced to camp high above the water,
clothes and skin torn to bits by the thorn bushes; our feet were also
blistered and cut from jumping onto the rocks. We had been forced to
fire at six crocodiles, shooting one handed at them with the other hand
holding the paddle, a nervewracking experience for they had no fear of
us and sometimes the noise of the shot did not scare them off so that we
had to hit them with buckshot before they disappeared.
On the morning of February 3rd we were forced out on the bank
again and again until, at midday, the river dropped into a gorge with
granite cliffs rising sheer from the water. We were forced to climb 700
feet up the mountainside, pulling and pushing our canoes with our
hands, hauling first the one canoe and then the other. We seemed to
become breathless at the smallest exertion and it took the whole day to
climb up and down to the river again.
Although we were exhausted we made reasonable progress the
next morning, largely owing to the river’s flowing out of the granite
area into a valley of soft sandstone where there were a few deserted
Ovahimba huts. Our relief was shortlived for about two miles further
on the Kunene flowed straight between two huge cliffs, 1,000 feet high.
CANOEIST May 2016
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