Robertsport to Nimba – Liberia

The Ivory Coast visa situation really was quite the situation. We couldn’t bypass it on our way to Ghana as that would mean driving into Mali and Burkina Faso which, would be an incredible adventure apart from the significantly increased risk of being kidnapped by extremists. We couldn’t go back to Freetown to get the visas because the truck didn’t have the necessary paperwork, although there was an option to spend three days straight on the road to Conakry in Guinea to apply for visas. In the end a plan was thrashed out that involved our tour leader jumping in a taxi with all our passports and visa application fees, driving to Freetown, hopefully being allowed to apply for visas at the Ivory Coast embassy without us all present, and then meet us back somewhere in Liberia. Meanwhile, we departed our classy beach resort, crossed Monrovia, and rocked up at Robertsport much to the delight of some, and the complete disgust of others. Apparently, upgrades were too expensive nor of any quality, and one of the communal toilets was a biological hazard despite a perfectly adequate bathroom block in the other direction. Ultimately, this is the problem when staying somewhere very nice for a few days and then having to get back to the reality of overlanding in West Africa. I put my tent up on the beach and went to bed happy; search for Robertsport and you’ll understand why.  

I woke at sunrise for our first day in Robertsport after an incredible night’s sleep and to the sound of locals hauling in a colossal fishing net from the surf. In truth, arriving at dusk the day before, having to cook dinner, and hearing a lot of negativity about the campsite, I too held poor first impressions of the place. A walk along the beach after breakfast threatened to not help the matter with plastic litter everywhere and the odd dollop of human poo on the beach for good measure, but here we need some perspective. The beach is miles long, miles and mile of golden sand constantly beaten by a wicked surf so good that even the locals take to surfboards. This is noteworthy because the small village appears to rely almost exclusively on fishing and a little income from tourists, yet the locals have time to play. In fact, they appeared extremely chilled out and relaxed despite the apparent poverty of the village. And if you don’t have a toilet and live by the sea, where else is one going to go? The plastic? The majority had washed up from elsewhere. This was a part of the country that judging by the dilapidated colonial buildings had once been a thriving seaside getaway, one that could return to such days with investment and education in the right kind of tourism. There are signs that this is already happening with a new path being put in through the forest and along the stunning coastline that drops walkers at another spectacular beach complete with an impressive shipwreck that lies upright getting continually pummelled by the surf. When we arrived, the sun was starting to set behind the ship that provided unlimited photo opportunities for anyone gifted with photographic skills. 

Due to logistical reasons and a bit of applied pressure we had to leave Robertsport, drive back through Monrovia, and spend one more night at the fancy beach resort. I was annoyed at this, but four bottles of questionable wine with the Blonde Squad banished my mardiness and to add to the occasion, Annabel, our tour leader had returned from Freetown with a full complement of Ivory Coast visas. Finally, we had clarity, and the following day we left the coast and headed up into the hills. Our first stop would be a bush camp at the highly rated Kpatawee Falls however, ironically considering the previous observation, an eco-resort had sprung up with fancy thatched lodges, flushing toilets, WIFI, a bar, and a loudspeaker blaring out the tunes. The waterfalls themselves were alright, but I suspect their appeal and majesty would have been far greater if we had been the only ones there and a swim had been the only means of washing. Either way, it was obviously a relaxing enough spot as I apparently slept through a birthday celebration right outside my tent in the middle of the night, despite the fact I was on a night off from the grog myself. Leaving the falls, we continued northeast towards Nimba where the brand-new roads finally came to an end and were replaced with half-decent dirt roads cutting through endless rubber and palm plantations. Every now and then we would pass through a patch of remaining primary forest, one of which we pulled up alongside for lunch. In a moment of desperation, the Blonde Squad were quick off the truck to take full advantage of the privacy the forest is able to provide when busting for a pee. Little did they realise the forest contained creatures that probably took us all by surprise, chimpanzees. We couldn’t spot them, but their howls were incredibly close and came from the very patch of forest that the girls had visited, confirmed by their looks of concern when hastily reappearing on the road. There’s a time and a place for chimps, after seeing them angry and restless in captivity in Freetown it’s safe to say that having a pee behind a tree is neither the place, nor the time. 

Around 3.30pm we arrived at the Yekepa mine which was beyond anything I could have imagined. In my head we would be staying at some irrelevant abandoned mine with little trollies lying on their side next to buckled narrow gauge railway track protruding from tunnels that long ago collapsed or, wait for their next victim before doing so. Instead, we were greeted with the remains of a mountain, just think about that for a moment, we were looking at spot where a significantly sized mountain once stood. I’ve seen a lot of big holes in my time, most created by volcanoes going pop, but the human ability to make such a dent in the earth never fails to both astonish and terrify me. All that remained here was a large lake, sat in a hollowed-out shell that broke the undulating rhythm of the mountain chain that marks the borders of Liberia, Guinea, and Ivory Coast. We set up our bush camp by the side of the lake and I took off to explore possible bathroom facilities that appeared scarce in the immediate area with little cover other than that of long, dry grass. As always, the further you go the better as I learnt a couple of mornings later when returning from my private spot and accidentally but unavoidably made eye-contact with our apparently braver Finnish comrade who was just easing into his morning routine only a few steps off the well-beaten track. 

Despite the lack of bush, it was a wonderful spot to camp, made even more so by the novelty of having to climb into a sleeping bag during the latter hours of the night. It was the first time in two weeks that the uncontrollable sweating had finally been brought to heel, where one could sit in shade comfortably, sleep at night without slipping off a sweat-soaked plasticky air mattress and, wear a clean t-shirt that stayed fresh for longer than 30 minutes After such a comfortable night’s sleep I was more than ready to take on the guided walk up and around the abandoned mine. The mountain had disappeared because of its generous quantity of iron ore and on closer inspection among the tall grass or the bushes and trees that had begun to re-appear as we moved away from camp, we would come across cavernous spaces dug into the rock where colossal heaps of rusting machinery lay abandoned since I don’t know when. One such hole must have been 15-metres deep, full of old processing machinery and now fully occupied by bats; there was nothing to stop you falling in should you lean over the edge too enthusiastically. We turned upwards, slowly working our way up the edge of the mine until our path was blocked by a landslide that was continuing to leave a scare of its own on the mountain. In the West we would have had to turn back for safety reasons, but in the West we were not, and the remaining hikers that were brave and/or stupid enough to follow the guides across the landslide under its threatening shadow, hopped, skipped, jumped, scrambled, and climbed as quickly as possible until reaching the safety of the path on the other side. One hour later we rounded a corner to be met by one of the finest views I have ever seen. We had arrived at the far side of the mountain ridge which revealed a great expanse of African plain, flat, and far reaching into the depths of the Ivory Coast, it looked like untouched wilderness except for the odd trail of smoke reaching into the cloudless sky. From there we scrambled up to the highest peak during which I experienced one of those sensations where my heart felt like it was about to explode through over-exertion, but my legs and brain were too proud and stubborn to shown any weakness. Thankfully, the heart played ball once again and upon reaching the top we were greeted with almost 360-degree views, but even more impressively, the scale of the mine became fully apparent. The lake looked more like a pond from the height we were at, the truck and tents mere specks in the shadow of the old trucking roads that had been carved out of the side of the mountain. Five hours after setting off, we had returned to camp and instantly jumped in the lake to cool off before the sun made its retreat behind the peaks. Liberia will not go down as one of the greats, not yet at least, but despite missing that special spark there is no denying I warmed to her, she treated us well, and she will always be known as the country where I have experienced some of the most beautiful bush camps.

17th December 2023