Spitzkoppe is the big mountain on the left. The Pontok spitz mountains are on the right:
We were all quite excited to climb there, although my own personal excitement was quickly tempered when I realized that most of the climbing in the area is on slabs. Turns out, I hate slab climbing. For you non-climbers reading this, slab climbing is mostly friction climbing on sloping rock. Friction climbing means that holds are basically non-existent (or super tiny) and a climber depends upon the friction from his shoes and hands to get up a route. Anything the width of a credit card (yes, I mean the thin edge) makes a great foothold.
Dave demonstrating good slab technique??:
Well, not for me -- I needed something about the size of the edge of a nickel to get my toe on. To make matters worse, for some reason slab climbs are especially runout in Spitzkoppe, meaning the distance between protection or bolts is really far apart. In some cases, more than 50 to 60 meters which is the length of a typical climbing route. Why would anyone do that, you ask? That is the exact same thing I was asking myself.
I was forced to do some bouldering when the slabs got to be too much:
The only answer that makes any sense is that the people who originally bolted the routes must have been dropped on their head repeatedly as small children. Some people are very good climbing slabs, but I never quite got used to the feeling that my feet were constantly slipping down the rock. At least the campsite was really great.
Sunset view of Spitzkoppe (on left). Rhino horn is the column on the right. Our campsite was just to the right of the big boulders far right.:
Until the flies came out, that is.
I'm used to the mosquito clouds of Alaska that buzz annoyingly around, but these Namibian Desert flies were something else. Definitely Satan's minions. The outhouse was about 1 kilometer down the road, which, for the first few days before the emergence of the flying black devils, was actually a pleasant morning experience moseying along while admiring the color of the rock in the early morning light. Once the demon spawn hatched or molted or whatever it is that flies do, however, a trip to the outhouse turned everyone into a wildly gesticulating feral being, frantically kicking while simultaneously waving arms and toilet paper around in an effort to keep the flies at bay. Any outsider would have undoubtedly recommended that the person be sent to solitary confinement in a psychiatric ward.
View of sunrise over Pontoks as we start climbing Spitzkoppe:
Cool cave on the way up Spitzkoppe:
Me on top of Spitzkoppe:
After about a week of scaring myself silly on the airy slabs, we went to Windhoek to pick up three people joining the trip.
A billboard we passed outside a small town near Spitzkoppe on our way to Windhoek. You can just make out the word "Drive," although I find it much more provocative in its current form. The funny part is that there was also a gas station within 100 meters:
Seen from the road: 
The possibilities are endless: 
Sadly, none of us particularly cared that new people were joining, we were just looking forward to gorging ourselves on food in a major city (a definite pattern has begun to emerge with regards to food). And gorge we did. One night, all 17 of us crammed into a van about the size of a small car and went to a restaurant that served local African game food. After trying some zebra and eland that was on other people's plates, my own order finally arrived. I started with an oryx carpaccio (stunning) for a starter followed by a selection of springbok and kudu cold cuts and sausages accompanied by a few cheeses with bread (outstanding), then dug into my main course, a gemsbok filet. The filet was definitely one of the top three (if not the best) steaks I have ever had in my life. It was cooked perfectly, delicate in flavor, and melted in my mouth. After that meal, I started urging our driver, Henry, to run over any game animal that happened to be in the road.
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