Namibia's Skeleton Coast has long been a graveyard for shipwrecked sailors. Decaying sea vessels line this battered shore, from where stranded mariners perished on treacherous journeys into the unknown and unpredictable Namib Desert. So it's no surprise that few people chose to follow in the footsteps of these unfortunates.
While daytime temperatures in the Namib can reach 50 degrees Celsius, at night fogs often cloud the stars, preventing navigation. On top of this, dunes rise to 675 metres and compasses may be sent off-course by the sand's high iron-oxide and magnetide content.
Londoner Sam McConnell knew all this when he elected to scale this tempestuous landscape alone. He also knew he risked scorpion stings, snake bites and torn ligaments, of which each could be lethal.
Bound for the foreboding destination of Dead Vlei - a saltpan preserving deceased camel-thorn trees - the journey of 53km as the crow flies would, inevitably, be about 20km longer.
Sam, who had not tramped such a distance previously, longed to discover what lay beyond the desert's most accessible dunes at Sossusvlei, close to Dead Vlei. Here dunes appear in ochre, amber and apricot, with sculpted slip-faces and curved crests, perfectly formed as if by geometry, rather than nature.
But it was not until the 36-year-old flew over the desert and was dropped off by helicopter on the Skeleton Coast that the task's enormity hit home. Carrying little more than 15 litres of water and five dehydrated meals, the khaki-clad adventurer shook.
"It was overcast and the Atlantic was a steely grey with huge breakers over the dunes. As the chopper sped off, leaving me completely sand-blasted, I heard the pilot shout, 'you're stark-raving mad'," he said. "I wondered, 'what on earth have I done?'"
Rather than remaining there trembling, Sam grabbed his map and compass, got his bearings, and headed off. Within an hour he was soaked in sweat and fog vapour.
"The dunes there are multi-cyclic - so they're all over the place - making it impossible to walk in a straight line," he said. "My map of the dunes might as well have been a blank piece of paper. I'd try to focus on a point ahead, then find I couldn't because my position would change and so would the light.
"I would try to go over the lowest dune, but this wasn't always practical. Sometimes what you thought was the lowest dune, wasn't at all."
That first day Sam trudged just 5km. He said: "It was eerie that night with no visible stars, the constant roar from the waves and no other life-forms, not even grasses or beetle tracks."
As he tussled in and out of sleep, he was disturbed by the silence that allowed him to hear the blood pumping in his ears. His thoughts turned to the man who'd inspired him.
At 17 Sam worked as a survival instructor in Scotland for John Ridgeway. In 1966 John, and his friend Chay Blythe, had become the first men to row across the Atlantic. But John's influence did not take great effect until 1997, when Sam ditched his photographic career and took up safari guiding, after a trip to Namibia that rekindled his passion for the outdoors.
He said: "I was sick of London and when I arrived in Namibia I discovered the desert of my childhood dreams." As a teenager, Sam grew obsessed with deserts after watching The Sands of the Kalahari, a film actually shot in the Namib. Driving across the Kalahari one night, he dreamed up the idea of tackling the Namib.
But cold, desolate and wet, his fears echoed those of the movie's characters, stranded in these wilds after a plane crash. His teenage fantasy had the potential to turn into a nightmare.
Sam did, however, have an emergency get-out device - an Electronic Positioning Indicating Radio Beacon - which, when triggered, would have coastguards tracing him by satellite.
Getting dressed in sodden clothes and fearing the on-set of hypothermia on day two, Sam was relieved at his last minute decision to bring a tent. Although not thirsty, because it was so chilly, he forced himself to drink some of the water weighing down his 23kg backpack.
Sam's foot had just recovered from a torn ligament, induced during a practice walk on tarmac. Concerned the injury may recur, he knew it may have been prevented had he spent longer in the gym during the 18 months he'd been planning this trip of a lifetime.
But Sam had been sure his "positive mental attitude" would get him through. Before setting out, he said: "It's a real test of my mind. I'm not thinking it's going to be a gruelling challenge of me against the elements. It's about me adBy day three his compass was playing up, and at one point he walked 10km in distance but only 3km ahead. However, sighting ostrich and oryx tracks raised his spirits, as did the small plane overhead, carrying his wife Leone who was desperately hoping to spot her wayward husband.
Sam waved an old CD he'd brought with him, creating a reflection on the plane. The pilot tipped his wings - as signal that he'd seen Sam.
At times Sam was jubilant in the solitude he feared may defeat him, strolling across dunes laid down 16 million years ago. He wrote: "I feel quite at home here; I've been lonelier in London. It seems as if I am walking around at the dawn of time." Sam spent much of his time pondering the meaning of life, studying animal tracks and taking up to 20 compass readings each day. Permitting himself three breaks only a day, he would often find himself day-dreaming on top of a dune. When he descended he sometimes started a sand-slide, and became mesmerized by the motions beneath his toes.
Temperatures soared on his fourth day. Despite this, he gathered momentum and scaled dunes close to 700m, travelling some 20km.
His water bottles emptied rapidly and Sam struggled to keep going on his pitiful food rations. He decided to divide his meals into three daily portions to give his thinning body a more even spread of calories. On one occasion a famished Sam split his dinner, and had to wolf it down, sand and all.
By day five the vegetation began to thicken and the Witberg mountain came into view, though from a side Sam hadn't seen before. When Leone flew overhead once more, Sam wrote "DV PM" in the sand.
He went without lunch and raced about 20km over some of the desert's highest dunes to reach his destination by nightfall. "I was having to walk up the slip-faces, which are really soft. But I'd decided that by hook or by crook I was going to get there," he said.
When Dead Vlei finally loomed ahead, Sam shouted with glee, only to realise there was no reception committee. Leone had been held up, so Sam watched the sun go down with the weaver birds and barking geckos.
After another lonely night in his tent, with just 500ml of water to sustain his haggard body, he was greeted by a group of tourists at sunrise. When they heard Sam's story, each thrusted brimming water bottles at him. It was not long until Leone arrived.
Sam was in tears as he cuddled his wife, reluctant to let her go. Later he wrote on a photograph of himself and Leone, taken just before he left: "A farewell picture with Leone. It could have been our last."
Sam, who has since been plotting solo treks across four other deserts, said: "I still can't believe I did it. And, after so much planning, it was over so quickly. It feels like a dream, which is weird, given that's what it started as."
