To See The Seals

A few weeks ago, my fella and I drove north to a place called Cape Cross, on the coast of Namibia, to see the famous Cape Seal colony that I kept hearing about. I was very excited, as I had never seen a seal before, except for the dead ones that wash up on the shore of Swakopmund. Which is sad and smelly. So I wanted to witness these interesting critters for myself, and possibly fulfill my childhood dream of riding a giant seal through the ocean like an aquatic Rainbow Brite.

On the way out of town, we pulled off onto a part of the beach where, a few years ago, a ship wrecked itself in the shallow reefs along the coast. They don't call this the Skeleton Coast for nothing--many ships have lost the same battle. This particular ship is now home to a crew of sea gulls whom have made the ship's poop deck quite literal and no longer able to be swabbed.

Back on the road, the drive to Cape Cross was relaxed and almost completely devoid of any other cars. Along the the road, scores of abandoned tables, which normally display the local's traditional and horribly overpriced crafts for tourists, were scattered exclusively with deteriorating bundles of raw salt crystals. The road slithered through a dry landscape of undulating structures of geological wonderment, the earth marbled with the sun-bleached white and burnt-red sand that is characteristic of the Namibian landscape.
There's something about driving through the desert that makes you feel like you are at the (oh so cliche) ends of the earth, a stretch of land between Old Blue and some other planet.

However, I get the same feeling when I've had entirely too much coffee and my nervous system is on the fritz. So take that sentiment with a grain or two of salt.

After making a pit stop at a salt table to investigate and see whether someone would by chance pop out from behind a shrubbery to guard their salty souvenirs (they did not), we arrived at Cape Cross to be immediately greeted by a tour bus, quickly bringing me back down to the sandy earth.

Oh my god, we are going to see seals in like 5 seconds.

What do I do, what do I do...

We rounded a corner and heard what sounded like a bunch of belching old men and crying donkeys. What Hell is this? And then there was a smell happening. The Boy and I looked at each other with concern for each other's digestive tracts. But it was not us, thank you, it was the brown lumpy sausage-shaped beings covering the rocky coastline.

Noses covered, we got out of the bakkie and walked onto a slightly raised boardwalk where seals were so close to you that you could hug them if you wanted. Because of the smell, I decided not to.

Seals. Everywhere. Lounging on the rocks, surfing the waves, lying under the shade of the boardwalk.

Let me explain what a dormant seal looks like. Have you ever seen a cat get stuck in shirt sleeve or some other tubular object with only its head poking out of the end?

Now you have. And the similarity is uncanny.

Upright, they look like dogs that have shoved their back end into a fish costume. More specifically, they look and move like my old dog Max, sadly no longer with us, but who for sure is happily noshing on the cheesecake and dove soap bars in Heaven's garbage bin. Seals sort of budge themselves along in a loping diagonal waddle until they build up enough momentum from their front half that their butt eventually catches up with it.

The sounds they make run the gamut of a terribly asthmatic honking cough to the sound of a low octave B flat emanating from a tuba full of water.

Better still, there were little baby seals all over the place, frolicking together, having baby seal races.

I love them.

We moved on to look at the monuments that had been erected centuries ago at the discovery of Cape Cross and read about the history of its foundation. I would love to tell you about it, but frankly I don't remember any of it because I was so enthralled by my little sea dogs, and also I have been turned off history lessons since my elderly sophomore year history teacher made a joke about FDR's gentleman parts.

This sealy experience left me with me with a smile, and has since encouraged me to cook more fish for dinner in homage to my belly-sliding pals. It has also nearly cured me of my desire to raise one as a pet.

Point is, if you are an animal-lover and find yourself traveling the coast of Namibia, pop by Cape Cross Seal Reserve for a looksy.

Just remember to bring nose plugs.

(Note: Seal photos [hopefully] to come.)