And birds do fly

by Ilka Denker

I can barely make out the ground below me, can only see the shape of the mountains on the horizon and the soft grey light emanating behind them, first signs of a new day setting in. The air is fresh, my legs are strong and my being is thirsting for movement and physical challenge as I make my ascend to the Kronenberg.

I am climbing in the shadow of this giant, can see the first sunrays slicing beams of light onto the mountains in the West. With the arrival of the day, birdsong starts from all directions; doves are gurr-gurring, hornbill’s are repeating their trumpets, but what really stands out is the soft melodic tune of the Palewinged Starling. A sweet song in a grand landscape.

I take my first rest as I reach the saddle between Kronenberg and Kuduberg. For the first time, I can see into the crater basin and am amazed by its flatness, more plains than mountain, and so different to the southern valley of the volcano complex that I know so well. I still find myself in shade, but the West and South-West is bathed in sunlight. I can see the Spitzkoppe in the distance, protruding out of a vast sea of sand, my eyes glide over the blue jagged, wave-like lines of the mountain range in the South. I raise my binoculars to my eyes and scan the slopes and the valley below and the crater basin, but soon lose interest. My legs are itching to keep going, my restless being wants to keep on moving, to reach the top of the mountain. All the while, throwing glances back over my shoulder, stopping to let my eyes wander over a wild world below.

It doesn’t take much longer before I reach the base of the crown-like formation of this mountain, its slopes falling off in perpendicular lines to either side. I climb to the highest point – another summit conquered. I sit down in a small shadow, the heat of the day is settling in around me, and now that I have no further to climb, I glass the hills around me in perfect peace.

The Kronenberg is a breeding site for a pair of Black Eagles and I search for them, hoping to see them here. And there, a loud keeow call echoes through the valley. Excitement. Where are they? Their call flows through the landscape again and I am eagerly willing my eyes to spot them, when, out of my peripheral vision, I see two dark shapes to my right. A pair of eagles glide by, wings expanded in a triangular shape in mid-flight, the white of their backs stands out against the blue sky. They pass me closely and I hold my breath, take in their size, the undisputed command of their domain. They glide by and spread their wings to their full span, fly off into the distance, until I lose sight of them at the horizon. I breathe out, elated by what I saw, a bit taken aback by the greatness around me.

I while away time, jotting down some notes. Swifts are darting around the ‘crown’ of the Kronenberg; they look like arrows shooting through the sky and at this distance, I can hear the speed of air whizzing through their feathers. There is silence around me, but not like the silence of the morning or night that is so quiet you can hear for miles; this silence is full of noise, it is thick with heat, pregnant with the sound of a landscape breathing, with the existence of life and the promise of a tomorrow.

It is midday as I descend my climb from the Kronenberg. As usual, but every time surprising, the way down a mountain is harder than up. The loose rocks underneath my feet are put in motion, want me in their slide down, the sun is hot and unforgiving, I can feel its heat on my arms. Thorns scratch over my legs and salty sweat burns in the red marks they leave on my skin.

I spot a herd of zebras and oryx, lying together in the shade of some trees on a small sandy plateau. A couple of the zebras are grazing at the bottom of the granite plate I have to cross and they are in such bliss, that they only see me when I am some 20 metres away, and then they bolt in panic and with much uproar.

I spot some flowers in the field; yellow and purple and red. I pick them with the intention of bringing them home to my sister, but it only takes a few minutes before they are wilted, and yet I keep them in my hand.

When I am close to the natural spring at the bottom of the mountain, lost in thought, a loud commotion makes me look up. Branches are broken, hooves slamming into the dry sand; it is a big kudu bull, with beautifully swung horns which tilt back as his head is raised in flight. He had been standing underneath some trees that are shielded by a boulder and he emerges in a big leap and disappears again in the thicket. It all happens so fast and I only catch a glimpse of him, then he is gone, no sound to be heard. What a majestic animal, so in tune with this landscape, so perfectly adapted, that can emerge and disappear into this dry, barren landscape at the blink of an eye.

I walk on and there is a feeling of deep satisfaction in me; an all-consuming contentment, as if today, I have been living a god-intended life. My being soars and I think back to that flight of the Black Eagles over the vast landscape.

‘As free as a bird’ one says. It is not that I look upon the eagle and wish to be him and to experience his level of freedom. No, I know that we feel the same thing, he in flight and I in walking through this unspoiled landscape. We both need our habitat and that is why I know that when we aim to protect the habitat of wildlife, we aim to protect it as much for ‘them’ as for ‘us’.

And birds do fly.

The kudu emerges out of the thicket and is swallowed by it again. The oryx survives in the heat of the desert, and I, I am part of it all, could not be without any of it. So if we leave anything behind in this world, may it be an intact landscape that lives on in harmony, in the eternal cycle of life and death, in which we all find freedom in unspoiled landscapes without which our being would exist, but never soar.