Another long stretch down the beach, and the new Raptor was finally finding its footing – and the driver, the gas pedal. Halfway through, we had the first fuel stop for the thirsty Raptor. When men travel together, they inevitably talk about their own and each other’s vehicles. It’s part of the fun – the horsepowers, the torques, the fuel economy… That’s when I realised my pockets aren’t deep enough to keep a beauty like that running, so I’ll happily stick to my D4D Fortuner.

We slowed down at Meob Bay, where a restored wooden hut still stands – the transport manager’s hut. Nearby, two surfboats lay as relics. It is heartening to see the effort put into preserving a deserted area like this, keeping alive the rich heritage of this beautiful country. This place marks the early days of industries like whaling and diamond mining, the start of Namibia’s growth that, over time, built the infrastructure we love and depend on today.

Just south of Meob lies the “whale cemetery”, where thousands of bones are strewn across the barren landscape. If you don’t stop to look closely, you might mistake them for pieces of driftwood, baked white and dry by the sun, salt and wind.

A little further south, we arrived at NAMAB Camp, and we couldn’t believe our eyes. Ten brand-new wooden chalets on stilts, each with warm water and electricity, comfortable enough to bring the whole family along. PW and his team drove every single shingle and nail here, hauling it all one trailer load at a time across the same stretch of desolate desert we had just travelled. Yes, with a trailer, through the same sand where most of us normies get stuck because we don’t know any better.

We unloaded everything and prepared for the main event: fishing. The rules were simple. All fish were catch-and- release, and you don’t touch the fish. The hooked fish – mostly steenbras – were guided in shallow water into a canvas hammock, where we had a split second for a photo before releasing it. This method preserves the protective slime layer on the fish’s scales, which guards against bacterial infection. Breaking that layer by handling can quickly lead to infections that might kill the fish. Some fish of the correct size were kept by the catering team for supper, but no fish were allowed out of the park.

The fresh fish kept us well-fed and fuelled for our time there. On the first day, the cooks prepared the steenbras as deep- fried crumbed fish nuggets. We couldn’t get enough. That first evening, there weren’t enough nuggets to go around, so on the second evening, they made twice as many, and it still wasn’t enough. Thankfully, there was also fish and chips to satisfy the cravings for fresh fish. Hopefully, some of those potatoes that hitched a ride with me found their way into the mix so I wouldn’t have to haul them back.

We ate like kings. On the third and fourth evenings, heaps of delicious steenbras and kabeljou sashimi were set out as hors d’oeuvres. Yet we still clamoured for those fish nuggets. Muis prepared an unrivalled lamb spit, and as we gathered around the fire under an unadulterated sky, the nights stretched on into the darkness – timeless and vast.

Breakfast was a simple but satisfying spread of coffee, rusks, yoghurt, fresh fruit, eggs and bacon. Lunch on the beach where we fished included a magnificent cheese platter one day and a lamb and pork braai the next.

The fishing expeditions were outstanding. PW would stop at a spot, and within five minutes, the first fish was hooked, with many more to follow. If one area ran dry, we would move a bit north or south, and soon the reels were spinning again. It felt like the stories of old when fish were plentiful on Namibia’s west coast.

When the last day came, we packed up and started the convoy back, PW leading and Muis making sure the coffee-Cruiser behaved at the rear. We all stopped together one last time in Walvis Bay, gathered as a group for the final time until next year. New faces will join, some familiar ones might not return. Who will it be? What new stories will unfold around the fire? And will there be enough fish nuggets?

The world out there is still wild and untouched. The jackals don’t know they’re supposed to fear humans. It’s an experience like no other. Free from cellphone reception, we get a chance to reconnect – whether with those around us or with ourselves. In these sands, you might just lose yourself, but in doing so, you might also find yourself again. TN