A smooth, near vertical granite slab bars the way to the top and rather obviously indicates the start of the climb. If I had any doubts about whether it was necessary to tie into a rope up until this point, these doubts are quickly replaced by a desire to be secured to the mountain by as many means as possible. Freddy leads the way, effortlessly climbing up the slab and out of sight placing protection as he goes along. Freddy is followed by Luke, then Søren, Josh and Joe, and I bring up the rear. In this way we slowly move up the mountain, each tied to the other and equally invested in the safety of all of us. The climb is broken up into five sections known as pitches and varying from 25 to 50 metres in length. At the end of each pitch there is an anchor place where everyone can tie in, have a drink of water, and discuss the next section. These little gatherings become a safe haven and are the goal of each pitch. Out on the open face you are alone with the rock, systematically placing hand over hand and foot over foot, your friends are out of sight and the wind blows their words of encouragement away before they can reach you. One rope runs up to safety and one rope runs down to the next soul coming up. At the end of the pitch your friends sit waiting, smiling nervously, there is shelter and banter and strength for the next section.

The climb continues in this fashion until you reach the last pitch. At this point the trees on the landscape below are reduced to specks and it feels like the rock you are sitting on could slide off the mountain at any moment. If in this situation you do not experience a fear of heights, I think it is safe to say that you are fearless. Regardless, for those of you who like me enjoy spending your time on ground level with two feet firmly planted, I suggest that you do not look down and simply focus on the rock in front of you and the task quite literally at hand. This last section has us squeezing up a short chimney, breathing heavily and, in the truest sense of the word, following a trail of blood where the first few of our party have wedged their bare legs against the sharp granite crystals. Emerging from the chimney you crawl out onto a slab dropping off for hundreds of metres in all directions and slowly make your way up to the summit.

Almost suddenly, after a gruelling climb, we were on top, with the desert stretching as far as the eye can see in a 360 degree panorama. The dry riverbeds lined with shrubs are scrawled across the landscape like patterns on a carpet, and in the distance you can see the Brandberg to the north and the Erongo Mountains to the east. The summit is marked by an unassuming pile of rocks and a metal box containing the summit book. We scribbled our names into it and enjoyed paging through the history. Many familiar names were found on those pages. Friends, family and the who is who of the Namibian climbing scene. Everyone writes about the challenge of getting to the top, the awe of reaching the summit and signs off with their name. They, too, thought it was simply necessary to climb the mountain and did it, all of them searching for their own taste of heaven.

As the ecstasy of reaching the top wore off, we were faced with the next challenge: getting down. Climbing down the mountain involves a series of abseils down sheer and often overhanging faces from one anchor point to the next. As each in turn stepped over the edge and into the abyss, we quickly realised that this is not for the faint-hearted and that abseiling is not as easy as Tom Cruise made it look in Mission Impossible. The first abseil has you descending nearly 60 metres onto a sheer face where you clip into an anchor and dangle off the side of the mountain while setting up the next abseil. With nowhere to stand, never mind sit, this would not be a good place to spend the night. In spite of this, after a few hair-raising moments and heated exchanges we all reached the bottom of the abseils safely and were happy to be on our feet again. From the bottom of the abseils we walked down on the same trail we had come up earlier in the day and made our way back to the car. The sun started to set when we arrived at the car, exhausted yet full of energy and relieved to be back in familiar territory. The story continues with the usual post-achievement celebrations of cold beer, meat and the excited telling and retelling of the day’s events.

Our friends and families back in Windhoek have heard the stories multiple times. Each time we tell it we seem to have missed an important detail that needs to be reiterated. I was so enthralled with the achievement that I agreed to write an article about it. I am grateful for the opportunity to have climbed the Spitzkoppe. I feel it was an excellent way to spend my time. Experiences like these, shared with friends, are what I enjoy, and I am privileged to live in a country that affords me these occasions in more ways than I can name. As for what to do with one’s time on earth, I can highly recommend visiting the Spitzkoppe. If you have the urge to climb it, then climb it. If not – then don’t. The mountain was there long before us and will be there long after we are gone.