Birdman of Luderitz.
As you may have read, Laura and I are now in Namibia and driving ourselves round the Big Country in The Big White Tank, which will be comedy for most of you given the pathetic combined strengths of Laura's and my driving. On a recent day trip, we left our isolated mountain lodge (bbq included) near Aus in the south west of Namibia to go to Luderitz on the Atlantic coast via a former mining town (and now a ghosttown) called Kolmanskop with yours truly at the wheel.
The day started off as usual in Namibia with stunning vistas, deserted straight roads and game (including bizarre wild horses that move in slo-mo). Ten minutes into the journey, Laura and I noticed that there appeared to be a large number of small birds resting on the side of the road and, more alarmingly, in the middle of the road. Initially, Laura and I marvelled at the bravado of these birds as they flirted with the bumper, windscreen and headlights with ever greater machismo. And then I hit a bird. At 120kmph the bird was not going to get much change from The Big White Tank. The bird bounced off the car and Laura did not speak for several minutes.
To our dismay the number of birds milling on or around the road increased. As the gentle waves of birds rising from the road became a ceaseless torrent, the "hits" multiplied. Laura started screaming hysterically whilst I ducked and weaved in the cockpit. The Big White Tank kept going straight (what a car).
I was mightily relieved to reach our ghosttown destination, although wondered why the guard at the entrance gave us a weird look as we drove by him. When I looked at the front of the car, all became apparent. Laura screamed again and I was left to tidy up of the front grill. Unamusingly, following a lovely day on the coast, we had to drive the same route back. Needless to say, I inspected the grill of the car again and cursed the travel guide which did not mention at all that the road between Aus and Luderitz is actually the Road of Death.
I have openly expressed that I am not a huge fan of twitchers and take no real interest in the wellbeing of birds generally but my annihilation of tens of birds (I lost count) and my subsequent feeling of immense guilt suggests that karma can go too far. Laura and I have becalmed ourselves through the fact that the flying pattern of the birds suggested some form of coummunal suicide pact. I do now feel like a fully fledged member of the hunting fraternity, although my choice of weapon is a 3-litre 4WD Nissan, not a shotgun or pack of hounds.
As you may have read, Laura and I are now in Namibia and driving ourselves round the Big Country in The Big White Tank, which will be comedy for most of you given the pathetic combined strengths of Laura's and my driving. On a recent day trip, we left our isolated mountain lodge (bbq included) near Aus in the south west of Namibia to go to Luderitz on the Atlantic coast via a former mining town (and now a ghosttown) called Kolmanskop with yours truly at the wheel.
The day started off as usual in Namibia with stunning vistas, deserted straight roads and game (including bizarre wild horses that move in slo-mo). Ten minutes into the journey, Laura and I noticed that there appeared to be a large number of small birds resting on the side of the road and, more alarmingly, in the middle of the road. Initially, Laura and I marvelled at the bravado of these birds as they flirted with the bumper, windscreen and headlights with ever greater machismo. And then I hit a bird. At 120kmph the bird was not going to get much change from The Big White Tank. The bird bounced off the car and Laura did not speak for several minutes.
To our dismay the number of birds milling on or around the road increased. As the gentle waves of birds rising from the road became a ceaseless torrent, the "hits" multiplied. Laura started screaming hysterically whilst I ducked and weaved in the cockpit. The Big White Tank kept going straight (what a car).
I was mightily relieved to reach our ghosttown destination, although wondered why the guard at the entrance gave us a weird look as we drove by him. When I looked at the front of the car, all became apparent. Laura screamed again and I was left to tidy up of the front grill. Unamusingly, following a lovely day on the coast, we had to drive the same route back. Needless to say, I inspected the grill of the car again and cursed the travel guide which did not mention at all that the road between Aus and Luderitz is actually the Road of Death.
I have openly expressed that I am not a huge fan of twitchers and take no real interest in the wellbeing of birds generally but my annihilation of tens of birds (I lost count) and my subsequent feeling of immense guilt suggests that karma can go too far. Laura and I have becalmed ourselves through the fact that the flying pattern of the birds suggested some form of coummunal suicide pact. I do now feel like a fully fledged member of the hunting fraternity, although my choice of weapon is a 3-litre 4WD Nissan, not a shotgun or pack of hounds.
posted by Laura Smith at 6:13 AM
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