In the African Bush
May 14 Delta Airlines #1969 St. Louis to Atlanta, Georgia
May 14-15 South African Airways #212 Atlanta to Johannesburg, South Africa
After four days in St. Louis (ok Shirley, 3½ days), we are ready to fly again. We’re up at 4:30 a.m. and at the airport by 5:30 to catch a 6:30 flight to Atlanta. Thanks, Harry, for getting up so early on a Sunday morning to drive us to the airport. We arrive in Atlanta at 9:00 and leave again at 10:30. In what is billed as the longest scheduled non-stop flight in the world, the plane arrives in Johannesburg 15½ hours later. It’s a flight with two meals, two snacks, three movies and a couple hours sleep. Do grown up people really watch the movie Stuart Little at 3:00 in the morning? With flying time and time zone changes we've ran 23 hours off the clock since leaving St. Louis.
May 14-15 South African Airways #212 Atlanta to Johannesburg, South Africa
After four days in St. Louis (ok Shirley, 3½ days), we are ready to fly again. We’re up at 4:30 a.m. and at the airport by 5:30 to catch a 6:30 flight to Atlanta. Thanks, Harry, for getting up so early on a Sunday morning to drive us to the airport. We arrive in Atlanta at 9:00 and leave again at 10:30. In what is billed as the longest scheduled non-stop flight in the world, the plane arrives in Johannesburg 15½ hours later. It’s a flight with two meals, two snacks, three movies and a couple hours sleep. Do grown up people really watch the movie Stuart Little at 3:00 in the morning? With flying time and time zone changes we've ran 23 hours off the clock since leaving St. Louis.
Holy jet lag, Batman! We flew all night and now it’s almost 8:00 in the morning—1:00 a.m. St. Louis time. After being in a closed airplane for more than fifteen hours while 300 passengers breathe the same air over and over again, our throats are dry and our eyes are red and gravelly. We are glad to be in fresh air again. Soon we’re headed for our hotel only a short drive from the airport. Ms. Shirley, ever the wise and practical one, will take the day off and relax at the hotel with a good book under the palms in the garden patio.
The Type A ranger, however, is under compunction to use every minute of daylight in Africa. Selwyn is waiting for him at the hotel. And within fifteen minutes of checking into the hotel the ranger is off for a day’s birding northwest of Pretoria.
Selwyn’s car is old and it rattles as it goes down the road. This is just his temporary transportation until he can get his financing together. Last month he lost his good car to one of the infamous car-jackings that is plaguing Johannesburg these days. Selwyn had insurance for everything except this, so now he is out of luck and out of a car. Yet, he feels lucky. Some recent car-jack victims have lost their lives as well as their cars.
Crime is on the increase and reaching epidemic proportions in parts of Johannesburg but Selwyn and the ranger do not expect any crime problems today. In almost any place in the world, including the U.S., the best way to avoid crime is to avoid the more densely populated areas of town. Birders always head for rural and wilderness area, so they seldom fall victims to crime.
Still the ranger takes precautions. He and Ms. Shirley have left all their jewelry behind in a safety deposit box in the States. Shirley wears a plain gold wedding band for travels such as this. Her diamond will be saved for another time. The ranger doesn’t carry much cash; it just isn’t necessary in this age of credit cards and there are ATM machines in every large city. What cash he does have comes out of his pockets in small amounts and is never flashed around.
The ranger’s rules of crime prevention are three simple ones. 1. Always be aware of your surroundings and the people in them. This goes back to an earlier lesson that a traveler may be naïve at times but should never be ignorant. 2. If you are afraid to lose it, leave it at home. Ms. Shirley’s diamond ring and the ranger’s favorite watch that he got for Christmas don’t go these trips. 3. Never leave things around to tempt people. Most people are honest but it just isn’t fair to put temptation in their way. In parts of the world a new pair of American jeans is worth more than a month’s work and a new camera might fetch more than a year’s wages. Why provide the opportunity for temptation?
But today, Selwyn and the ranger have no problems with crime. They just have a good day birding. After nine hours in the field they tally over a hundred species including seventeen life birds for Ranger Rick. Thanks for a good day, Selwyn. For Ms. Shirley and the ranger it is soon supper and off to bed after being up for most of 34 hours.
May 16 Air Botswana #212 Johannesburg to Maun, Botswana
May 16 Small charter plane from Maun to Chitabe Camp, Botswana
The next morning we’re up for a short taxi ride to the Johannesburg airport for an 8:00 a.m. trip to Maun on a fifty-passenger, twin-engine prop plane. I never did find a discount ticket on Air Botswana! At Maun we clear customs and immigration and switch to an eight-passenger, single-engine plane for the 25-minute flight to Chitabe Camp where we land on a dirt runway.
May 16 Air Botswana #212 Johannesburg to Maun, Botswana
May 16 Small charter plane from Maun to Chitabe Camp, Botswana
The next morning we’re up for a short taxi ride to the Johannesburg airport for an 8:00 a.m. trip to Maun on a fifty-passenger, twin-engine prop plane. I never did find a discount ticket on Air Botswana! At Maun we clear customs and immigration and switch to an eight-passenger, single-engine plane for the 25-minute flight to Chitabe Camp where we land on a dirt runway.
Botswana is a fairly large country just north of the Republic of South Africa and west of Zimbabwe. Except for hills in the far west the whole country is flat. Geologically, Botswana is one huge basin, which through time filled in with several hundred feet of sand until it is level. There is very little rain—about fifteen to twenty inches per year in the north and half of that in the south. Most of the country is in the Kalahari Desert and inhabited only by a few Bushmen.
Surprisingly, in the northern part of the country, right in the middle of all this desert is a huge oasis of several hundred square miles with flowing streams and flooded sedge beds of papyrus and other reeds. The nearby dry land has numerous ponds in certain seasons of the year and the whole area is full of animals: giraffes, lions, hippos, antelope, leopards, elephants, and monkeys.
The secret of this oasis in the desert is the Okavango River. A thousand miles to the northwest, the rainforests of Angola receive an abundance of rain and this flows southward to Botswana. When the river hits the large, flat sand-filled basin that is the Kalahari Desert, the river spreads out into a wide shallow delta. This is the Okavango Delta, a wilderness of marshes, streams, and islands. But the waters of the Okavango are seasonal. For half of the year everything is green. During the rest of the year water is scarce and limited to a few permanent channels.
January, February, and March bring heavy rains in Angola and send the Okavango River into flood stage. However, it takes more than four months for the flood to work its way downstream to Botswana. Thus the rains in January causes great flooding of the Okavango Delta in late May through July. But in spite of all the floodwaters, the Okavango River never reaches the sea. Eventually the entire river sinks into the large sand-filled basin and disappears. Southern Botswana remains a desert with water several hundred feet beneath it.
January, February, and March bring heavy rains in Angola and send the Okavango River into flood stage. However, it takes more than four months for the flood to work its way downstream to Botswana. Thus the rains in January causes great flooding of the Okavango Delta in late May through July. But in spite of all the floodwaters, the Okavango River never reaches the sea. Eventually the entire river sinks into the large sand-filled basin and disappears. Southern Botswana remains a desert with water several hundred feet beneath it.
Ms. Shirley and the ranger are here at the end of the dry season just weeks before the flood will arrive. Soon the flood will nourish everything in the delta and promote plant-growth. There will be plenty of insects, including mosquitoes, and all the birds will nest. But right now the vegetation is sparse and the land is dry. This season is actually the best time to see animals in the delta. During the dry season, the large mammals are concentrated around the few waterholes and river channels. Later when the land is green and water is plentiful, the animals will disperse over wide areas and become more difficult to find.
We get a good overview of the Okavango Delta while flying to Chitabe Camp. From our plane windows we see elephants and giraffes on the dusty animal trails that stretch between distant waterholes.
With great timing we land just in time for lunch. After a welcome drink, we sit down to a wonderful meal. There is salad! There is a choice of meats and several fresh vegetables even dessert. And there is not a fried chicken in sight!! After five weeks in South America where we roughed it on the low end of the scale, we are now on safari and we are going to rough it softly for a while.
An afternoon walk around camp discovers eight guest tents among the trees at the edge of a lagoon. The tents are placed far apart for privacy. At one end of the camp is an open-air dining hall under a thatched roof. Another similar building holds a bar and a lounge with comfortable chairs and sofas for reading and relaxing during the afternoon quiet time. It is all very cozy. The camp accommodates a maximum of sixteen guests so it is never crowded.
A short distance away is a screened kitchen tent and a number of tents for staff. Except for the young couple who are the camp managers, all the staff members are black Africans from other areas of Botswana. John, who met us at the plane, was born in Northern Rhodesia, now Zambia. Jane was born in South Africa. Jane introduces us to Pinky the assistant manager who is being trained to manage the camp. Under new Botswana laws, work permits for foreigners are being phased out as native Botswanans are trained to replace them. Pinky tells me that the entire staff works every day for three months straight and then has one month off.
When our bags are carried down to our quarters, we have the chance to inspect the tent that will be our home for the next few days. Yes, we will live in a tent. But this is much more luxurious than the word “tent” implies. It is thirteen feet wide and maybe twenty-five long, made of canvas over a superstructure of logs. Eight mesh-covered windows open up the two long sides and the whole front is mesh screening. Velcro strips hold down canvas flaps to cover the side windows for privacy and block the breezes at night but the front remains open. There is no need for privacy in that direction. The front faces the marsh and lagoon with only antelope, lions and hippos to peer in at night. Since we watch animals in the daytime, I suppose it is only fair that they get to watch back at night.
Our tent has a wooden floor. There are twin beds, bed stands with lamps, an easy chair, a closet, a desk and a washstand and sink. A walled-off back section contains a hot water shower and a flush toilet. On the patio there is a private area with an outdoor shower. A wooden deck with chairs overlooking the lagoon completes the living area. Yes, we are hardly roughing it in this tent!
Southern Africa is the land of the sun and that is what powers our lamps and hot showers. Photoelectric cells and solar hot water heaters have come to the bush.
The sleeping area is separated from the dressing area by reed screens. The two beds are side by side with bed lamps and the whole area is covered by one big mosquito net that makes it look like a large canopy bed. It is all very romantic!
An important item is the large wicker basket in our tent. That’s for our laundry. The camp offers free daily laundry service, a big help for guests who have strict weight restrictions on their luggage. The kitchen staff does the laundry after breakfast and hangs it on the line. In the strong African sun everything dries quickly and laundry is returned to us folded nicely by 4:00. I think I mentioned that we are roughing it softly. Pinky tells me that they are glad to wash any clothes and personal items except “smalls.” It is against the modesty of the local culture to handle such personal items.
The last item in our tent is an aerosol can with a horn at the top. It’s a can of compressed air. When the button is pressed, air rushes through the fitting and makes a very loud siren sound. This alerts the staff, who are sleeping several hundred yards away, that we need help in the night. We were told that this is just for emergencies and that a large animal outside the tent at night does not qualify as an emergency. Hopefully we will never need our air horn.
At 3:00 Pinky introduces us to Henry, our guide for the next three days. Henry is a member of one of the local tribes who have lived in the Okavango for many generations. He is about fifty and has a short salt-and-pepper beard on a dark grizzled face. Two long scars on his arm are from an encounter somewhere.
Shirley and the ranger are in for a treat. Henry knows animals. He knows what they are thinking. He knows when to get close and when to back off. He knows when an animal is bluffing and when it is serious. So just trust him! That’s what he tells us. Later I may learn to trust but right now I am just hoping that he knows what he’s doing. We’re going out in the field in a very open-sided Land Rover.
“There are only two rules in the Land Rover. One, when we get close to animals speak softly, not loudly. Two, always stay seated. Never stand up to take a picture even when the vehicle is stopped.”
The first rule seems simple enough. If we talk loudly, we will disturb the animals and they may move away. But the second rule, never stand up even when the vehicle is stopped?
“Animals work on instinct. People know by instinct that if a bee buzzes them, they should duck or run away to keep from being stung. An animal knows by instinct to be careful going near brush, a leopard may be hiding there. If a lion suddenly appears nearby, the antelope knows by instinct to run away. If it operates on instinct, the animal can react faster than if it has to stop and analyze the situation first. In the same way the lion has an instinct that if something runs, he should chase it. That’s why no jogging is allowed in the camp.”
“Through thousands of years, animals developed instincts for survival. And one of their instincts is that the shape of man means danger. If they see the shape of a man they will move away. Or if an elephant sees the shape of a man nearby, it will charge and run him down and kill him. An elephant runs faster than a man.”
“But Land Rovers are new in the bush. Animals haven’t learned to associate the shape of a Land Rover with danger. As long as we sit down, we are part of the shape of the Land Rover and the animals are not afraid. If we stand up, we show the shape of a man and the animals will react to that.”
Off we go. We are not even half a mile outside of camp when we make our first stop. A herd of impala is grazing on the left side of the trail. These medium-sized, reddish-brown antelope are among the most common animals in the bush. The rams carry long, graceful lyre-shaped horns. Weighing only about a hundred pounds, these antelope are smaller than I expected. Why did they name a big Chevrolet car after such a small antelope?
The herd in front of us has eighteen females and one ram. He is continually moving around keeping one eye on his harem and one eye on two other rams lingering in the distance. He keeps his harem bunched up and doesn’t allow any stragglers. This ram certainly doesn’t have time to worry about three people in a Land Rover.
Two hours in the bush brings eight more species of antelope: tsessebe, hartebeest, lechwe, bushbuck, kudu, waterbuck, sitatunga and wildebeest. I never knew that antelope came in so many shapes and sizes. Most are sleek and beautiful animals. The exception is the wildebeest, the gnu of crossword puzzle fame. He is certainly not sleek and even his mother wouldn’t call him beautiful. He looks ungainly; his front half is much larger than his back half. Rather than having long sweeping horns like most antelope, the wildebeest has flat horns like a water buffalo. Wildebeests are the most common antelope on our African trip. They are seemingly everywhere.
Unlike the ram impala, the bull wildebeest does not hold a harem of females. Instead, each mating bull holds a certain amount of territory. The herds of cow wildebeests move freely through the different territories, often mating with more than one male. It’s female liberation carried to a high level. The females are free to move around and it is the males who are tied to home.
About 6:00, our Land Rover comes to a stop for a wonderful tradition on safari—the sundowner. The guides always know a good place to stop near a lake or open vista to the west. Out comes the cooler from the back of the vehicle and a portable table.
“The bar is now open. What would you like? It’s on the house.” There are cold drinks and fresh hors d’oeuvres made just this afternoon during siesta. We order a cold glass of wine and watch the sun sink in the western sky. Somehow, in Africa the setting sun looks larger than anyplace else I have ever been. This evening’s sundowner features palm trees silhouetted against the setting sun and giraffes walking in the distance.
After a few days of sundowners I realize that our stopping places are not only chosen for the view but also for the fact that there is bare open ground for several hundred yards in all directions. There will be no animals sneaking up on the guests while they are out of the vehicle. Our sundowner drinks may be most civilized but we are still in the bush and there are animals out there that would consider us to be a nice hors d’oeuvre, if not a whole dinner.
After a few days of sundowners I realize that our stopping places are not only chosen for the view but also for the fact that there is bare open ground for several hundred yards in all directions. There will be no animals sneaking up on the guests while they are out of the vehicle. Our sundowner drinks may be most civilized but we are still in the bush and there are animals out there that would consider us to be a nice hors d’oeuvre, if not a whole dinner.
After the sun is set, we do not take the short way back to camp. We will continue our game drive for the next couple hours. Many of the animals that we want to see are only active at night, particularly the predators.
Charles, our tracker, sits on the front fender of the Land Rover. There is a back-less seat cushion mounted there and he is held in place by a seat belt. While Henry drives, Charles holds a powerful search light powered by the vehicle battery. His job is to spot animal tracks in the dust of the jeep road and to spot animals off the road with his big light.
Charles finds both a serval and a genet on our first night out. These are cats that hunt in the night. Servals are a bit larger than an American bobcat and the genet is just smaller than a leopard.
Frequently, springhares are hopping through the bush. At first glance they look like a hare with a rabbit-like face and longish ears. But they have long tails and kangaroo-like hind legs. These are rodents but they move like kangaroos. Charles spots them by their eye shine in the short grass as they sit upright and watch all around between bites of grass. Then they hop quickly out of sight. Springhares have to be fast when there are servals about in the night.
About 8:00 Henry brings us back to camp and dinner by candlelight is waiting for us. Another wonderful meal! With these good native cooks I will not lose any weight here. After dinner is the time for an evening drink by the campfire. Out beyond the fire the night is black but the stars are extra bright. Stars here seem so close that I know that I could reach out and grab one. Our first day in the African bush has been everything that I hoped it would be.
May in Botswana is late autumn. The days are a delightful 75-80 degrees but the nights are decidedly cool, around 48. Our tent with its wonderful windows and open front is, of course, the same temperature as the outdoors. Ms. Shirley anticipates the cold night and wonders just how many layers of clothing are appropriate for sleeping. However, the ever-efficient camp staff has the solution.
We return from dinner to find a lump in the foot of our bed. Barney has arrived. The staff placed a very warm hot water bottle in each bed when they turned down the covers and lowered the mosquito netting for the night. The hot water bottle is big, fat and purple. What else do you call it but Barney? For Shirley, Barney saves the day (night). Every evening just like clockwork Barney arrives and keeps the bed warm all night long. Shirley so eagerly awaits the arrival of Barney each evening that I fear that I may be replaced.
The first night in our tent in the bush we are aware of all the night sounds. Somewhere in the distance a cat screams. There is a loud thump, thump, thump of something large walking past our tent and then a big chomp, chomp, chomp. Hippos are coming out of the lagoon to graze immediately around our tent. There are other sounds that we cannot identify but we are certainly attentive to every one. Every few minutes we wonder, “What else is out there?” But no matter how many strange sounds carry through the night air, the ranger and Ms. Shirley can stay awake only so long. It has been a full day and sleep soon claims the travelers.
At 1:00 a.m. I am abruptly awakened by a different noise. It’s a harsh gnawing sound. I hear something chewing inside the tent. This definitely gets my attention! Ms. Shirley is awake too but she is not about to move. Things that gnaw in the night are the ranger’s job.
At 1:00 a.m. I am abruptly awakened by a different noise. It’s a harsh gnawing sound. I hear something chewing inside the tent. This definitely gets my attention! Ms. Shirley is awake too but she is not about to move. Things that gnaw in the night are the ranger’s job.
What can be inside our tent? The guide zipped it up tight when he escorted us back to the tent and told us not to leave it in the night for any reason. It’s too soon to panic and break out the siren. I don’t want to wake up the whole camp. The ranger is typical male; he’d rather be eaten alive than wimp out and show that he can’t handle things. Me Tarzan! Me protect woman!
I grab the flashlight and walk very carefully and very quietly towards the sound. It stops. Nothing happens for five minutes. I shine the flashlight around and see nothing. I look under furniture, under the bed. Nothing. I look behind our clothes. Nothing. Obviously whatever it was wasn’t large. Maybe it left. How? The tent’s all closed up.
It’s cold here out of bed so I climb back under the covers and turn off the flashlight. Two minutes later—gnawing sounds again. It’s loud. It must be right on the other side of the reed screen at the head of our bed. Up again to look. Again the noise stops. I’ll wait it out this time.
There it is again. It is somewhere on the shelf with the clothes and Shirley’s toiletries. I shine the flashlight all around but I can find nothing unusual. Every time I turn on the light, the gnawing stops. When I turn the light off, the sound soon starts again. I can’t find it.
Finally I give up, “I’m going to bed. Just ignore it, Shirley. It can’t be big enough to hurt us. Try to get some sleep.”
With a clear conscience the ranger promptly falls asleep but Ms. Shirley keeps an ear open for some time before sleep claims her too—at least until 4:00 when a leopard or some other large predator chases antelope right past our tent nearly colliding with it in the dark. That’s the end of sleep for this night.
With the coming of daylight our nighttime mystery is solved. A mouse got into our tent and climbed up to the shelf where Shirley kept her toiletries. He ate through a zip lock bag. He ate through a hard plastic box and he ate into a sealed plastic tube of toothpaste. How did he smell it through all those layers of plastic? It must have been the gnawing of the hard plastic box that was so loud in the night.
Now what do we do? It’s the only tube of toothpaste that we have and it has to last us at least a couple weeks until we reach Victoria Falls where we can buy a replacement. There is still plenty of toothpaste but the whole bottom end of the tube is eaten away. If we squeeze, it will all come out at once.
The ever-innovative camp manager has a solution. In his meager stash of supplies is a roll of duct tape. Duct tape can fix anything!
Now what about the mouse? It turns out that the toothpaste-eating, sleep-destroying mouse trapped himself. In the early morning hours he climbed into the bathroom wastebasket following more smells and now he cannot get out. The brave ranger takes the basket outside, gently drops the mouse on the ground and watches it scurry away. Me Tarzan!
Drums mark the rhythm of our camp. Each morning drums awaken us at 6:00 a.m. That’s the camp alarm clock. It won’t be light for another hour. We have a quick breakfast of cereal or just a cup of hot coffee and then we are off before dawn for our first game drive of the day. At 11:00 we return for brunch—a big brunch. All this fresh air builds quite an appetite. Mid-day is time to relax, although some Type A is prowling the camp in search of new birds such as a Red-billed Quelea and a Coppery-tailed Coucal.
Drums mark the rhythm of our camp. Each morning drums awaken us at 6:00 a.m. That’s the camp alarm clock. It won’t be light for another hour. We have a quick breakfast of cereal or just a cup of hot coffee and then we are off before dawn for our first game drive of the day. At 11:00 we return for brunch—a big brunch. All this fresh air builds quite an appetite. Mid-day is time to relax, although some Type A is prowling the camp in search of new birds such as a Red-billed Quelea and a Coppery-tailed Coucal.
Drums sound at 4:00 for teatime with cake and cookies. Then we are off for another game drive that will last several hours including the all-important sundowner. We return to camp about 8:00 and wash up. At 9:00 the drums sound for dinner. A relaxing dinner with a glass of South African wine, followed by an evening drink at the campfire with stories from the bush, completes the day. I always love a good story. Our bedtime escort service takes us safely back to our tent where we slip into bed with Barney and await the parade of night sounds that is sure to be all around our tent again tonight. We will sleep peacefully until morning drums now that our toothpaste thief has been sent back to the bush.
At dawn we go out again looking for game. It is coldest at dawn and we are in an open vehicle but the camp provides us with wonderful, big padded ponchos to keep us warm. Soon we are back among the antelope and we watch the red lechwe, an antelope found only close to permanent water. A herd of thirty is feeding on semi-aquatic grasses near the track. The ram is stately with his strongly ridged, lyre-shaped horns. When spooked, the herd heads for the deeper marsh for protection. Lions won’t follow them there.
Away from the water we enter a dry thorn forest and soon find our first elephant. He is a solitary bull feeding on the top of a medium-sized mopane tree. The bull is not just feeding on the leaves; he is eating the tree! He grabs trunks-full of small branches and munches away. He is much bigger than our Land Rover but he just ignores us while we stop and watch, take pictures and then move on. He takes no more notice than if we were antelope walking by.
Another mile down the track, we come to a whole herd of elephants with mothers and youngsters, including tiny babies. Maybe “tiny” is the wrong word for an elephant, even the smallest one, but in comparison with all the others these seem small. This time we are not ignored. The big matriarch takes notice of us right away and she is not pleased. Immediately she comes running towards us. Her ears are flapping and her trunk is raised. She is in a hurry and it is us that she is after. She may not look fast but she covers a lot of ground quickly.
Henry says he knows animals. Ok Henry, do your thing! Henry quickly shifts into reverse and we back away fast but only for a hundred feet. Henry knows animals. He thinks this one is bluffing. How does he know?
The elephant stops, snorts and then turns her back on us. Shirley and the ranger look startled by the encounter. Henry looks amused.
“She was only bluffing,” he says. “When her ears are flapping, she is only bluffing, no matter how hard she runs. When she is serious, she pins her ears back. That’s when we put the pedal to the metal and bug out of here.”
Our next encounter is calmer. Giraffes are delicately browsing leaves from branches high in a tree. They use their lips to pull twigs into their mouth while their long 18-inch tongue curls around the small branches and strips off the leaves. An adult giraffe may spend sixteen hours a day feeding and can consume up to 100 pounds. Tree thorns do not bother giraffes. The one in front of us is munching contentedly on an acacia, one of the thorniest trees in the bush. This is the tallest mammal in the world, almost twenty feet tall and able to reach leaves unavailable to other animals. Everything about giraffes is graceful. They walk like ballet dancers, posture erect and heads held just so. Even their running is grace in motion. Giraffes are Shirley’s favorite animals.
In the late morning we find a leopard lying on a low branch of a tree growing out by itself in the grasslands. Henry parks a respectful sixty feet away and turns off the engine. Then we sit quietly and watch. This is a beautiful spotted animal, all muscle and soft fur. Henry says it is a young male only a year old. We easily watch without binoculars; he is not that far away. I am sure that if the animal wanted to, with a jump start out of the tree he could quickly bound over the short distance between us and be in the Land Rover before Henry could even start the engine. But everything is so quiet and the leopard so relaxed that we do not feel threatened in spite of our totally open vehicle.
We watch in quiet excitement for twenty minutes or more with the leopard hardly moving except to periodically turn his head to stare off in the distance in another direction. Suddenly but slowly, the leopard rises to his feet and walks down the tree trunk headfirst. Then he takes off in a slow trot towards the west. We look but see nothing in that direction. Henry starts the engine and follows the leopard, keeping fifty yards back.
After a quarter mile, we see what the leopard saw. Two porcupines are crossing the short-grasslands. These are large porcupines weighing more than fifty pounds, much larger than any I ever saw in North America. These porcupines are scurrying away on short legs. They see the leopard coming.
A more mature leopard probably would just ignore porcupines. Although porcupines would rather run to their burrow than fight, their quills will put up a formidable defense if they are cornered. A mature leopard would choose an easier meal. However, this youngster is still learning to hunt. Henry suspects that he has not eaten in several days and is ready to chase anything that looks like a potential meal.
This is a low-speed chase. The leopard is only trotting. The porcupines are scurrying as fast their short legs will go but that is still not very fast. These animals are not built for speed. The porcupines are almost to a mound of some animal’s burrows when the leopard catches up. The two porcupines stop and turn and face each other. They move in head to head, placing their vulnerable heads next to each other and hunkering down low to the ground. Two porcupines are now one mass of quills. All along the hind ends of the animals, quills are sticking straight out. All along the sides are dangerous quills. There is no spot visible that is not bristling with quills. The leopard stops and looks closely. The quills shake menacingly. Now the leopard backs off to think about this. Taking advantage of his confusion the porcupines scurry the last few yards to separate burrows and are able to squeeze halfway in. The burrows are too small for an entire large porcupine but each can get his head and front legs in. All that sticks out is quill-covered. There is no way the leopard is going to get this meal. Score one for porcupines with strong survival instincts.
It so happens that we come across this same leopard again after dark on our nighttime game drive. We follow him in our Land Rover as he hunts in an open forest and nearby grassland. It is still amazing to me that both the leopard and his prey totally ignore the vehicle following along behind. Obviously they can hear the engine; certainly they see the headlights. But their instincts tell them that we don’t matter. We are not a part of the life and death equation.
Suddenly, the cat pounces and he comes up with a mouse in his mouth. The young leopard has a start on an evening meal.
We are not the only ones following the leopard. He has wandered into the territory of a pair of jackals and they are not at all happy having him here. They know that the cat would just as soon have a jackal pup for dinner as a mouse or a springhare. The pair follows the leopard everywhere he goes, all the time barking and keening. This keening is a special sound that the jackals only use when the leopard is around. Interestingly, the jackals do not follow the leopard as closely as we do. We know that we are safe from the leopard; the jackals know that they are not.
Suddenly the leopard is gone. In the last we see of him, he runs off after a springhare that unexpectedly flushes out of the grass. We don’t know who will win this race but I’m betting on the springhare. This is, after all, a still-learning leopard.
We have yet one more leopard encounter before the night is over. During dinner we hear an impala herd nearby, snorting and racing around several times. Some predator is about in the dark. After a while, the barking and keening of the jackal announces to everyone the presence of the nearby leopard.
Our campfire story that night is about a leopard that appeared in Chitabe Camp the previous year. It was dark and guests were in the open-air bar having a drink before dinner. Suddenly an impala raced through the bar quickly followed by a leopard. Before anyone at the bar could even spill his drink, the animals were out the other side. The leopard caught and killed the impala right beside this very campfire, not thirty feet from the bar. That is why we have a nightly escort service to our tent at bedtime.
One night our neighbors were being walked back to their tent for bedtime when they and their escort found a leopard sitting by their tent’s doorway. The leopard perceived them to be a danger and quickly ran away in the dark.
But it does not always happen that way. Last year in a camp in northern Botswana, a woman decided to change her shoes before dinner. Without telling the guides she left the bar and walked back to her tent alone in the dark. Lions attacked her but no one heard her cries over the bar-chatter. When dinner started, her husband wondered where she had gone and went to look for her. He too was attacked. The whole camp heard his screams. The guides came running and managed to drive off the lions and save him. It was too late for his wife.
Yes, this is a luxury camp with wine and candle-lit dinners and lots of pampering but it is still the African bush and the laws of the bush still apply.
May 19 Small charter plane from Chitabe Camp to Xigera Camp, Botswana
Xigera (KEE-jur-ah) Camp is on a small island in the Okavango Delta and the river has more of an influence here than at Chitabe. At Xigera we move around by boat rather than Land Rover. After landing on a dirt runway we walk only a few yards to the motorboat that takes us to camp. The open stream channel is only about ten feet wide between tall reeds that bend in from either side. We must pay attention so that we don’t get hit in the face every time the boat goes around a bend.
May 19 Small charter plane from Chitabe Camp to Xigera Camp, Botswana
Xigera (KEE-jur-ah) Camp is on a small island in the Okavango Delta and the river has more of an influence here than at Chitabe. At Xigera we move around by boat rather than Land Rover. After landing on a dirt runway we walk only a few yards to the motorboat that takes us to camp. The open stream channel is only about ten feet wide between tall reeds that bend in from either side. We must pay attention so that we don’t get hit in the face every time the boat goes around a bend.
When we pull into the dock by the thatched dining hall we see a very different camp from our previous one. Chitabe Camp sat down upon the ground. Xigera is all up on four-foot stilts. Each tent platform is up on poles and there is a raised walkway connecting all the tents with the dining structure and the bar and lounge. A footbridge connects our camp with the distant staff quarters on the other side of the stream. An unexpected consequence of the footbridge was that lions discovered this easy way to move from one stream bank to the other. Lions now came through the camp almost nightly. In the morning we can find their tracks in the soft sand. Putting the camp up on stilts keeps tourists out of the lions’ path and out of harm’s way.
Getting off the boat we head for the lounge for a cool towel to wipe off the travel wearies. Just like at Tiputini, this lounge has bats roosting in the thatch in one corner of the building. But these bats are eight inches long unlike the little ones we saw in Ecuador.
After our welcome drink, Jacob comes by to say hello. Our native guide at Xigera is short, dark and wiry. He has lived in the delta all his life but he is somewhat new to the profession of guiding. His English is good but it is obvious that it is his second language. Jacob’s speech is schoolbook correct without the colloquialisms that mark a native speaker. In Botswana English is the language of the schools, not the language of the villages.
After another great brunch (still no fried chicken, hooray!!) we set out in a mokoro, a dugout canoe. Jacob stands in the back and propels us along by poling off the bottom of the marsh. These mokoros are smaller than the Ecuadorian dugouts. They draw even less water. We can navigate in only a few inches of water if necessary and can go right through the marsh grass that is often higher than our head because we sit so low in the water. There are no seats. We sit in the bottom of the canoe so our keesters are actually below water level and our heads are little more than thirty inches above the water. Sitting so low gives us a different perspective on our surroundings.
We are now at eye level with tiny frogs that climb the stalks of marsh grass. These frogs are only one inch long when fully grown. They have a maroon and white cryptic pattern on their back and bright red feet. Their call sounds like a tiny bell. At night the swamp is full of the sound of little bells. To our left, a bright blue kingfisher sits on a small branch. From the tip of his long red bill to the tip of his bright blue tail he is less than four inches long. And his chest is a bright rufous color.
Across the wide shallow marsh Jacob poles us to an island where we can hike through the tall trees. With binoculars I am search the upper branches for one of the special birds of the Okavango Delta, Pel’s Fishing Owl. This owl sleeps by day but at night catches fish by swooping down and snagging them just below the water’s surface. It can catch fish that weigh several pounds. Pel’s Fishing Owl is large, about twenty percent larger than the largest owl in America. We search for an hour before finally spotting one thirty feet up in a tree. This owl is huge and light brown in color with large black eyes. It looks just like a big cinnamon teddy bear sitting in the tree. The owl watches intently as we maneuver around the tree trying to get a better look up through the branches.
Poling back to camp Jacob must navigate the edge of a deep pool of water. We are halfway around when suddenly there are four islands in the pool that weren’t there a moment before. Hippos have come up from the depths! It is one thing to be eye to eye with a hippo but I am sitting so low that its eyes seem higher than mine. This does not look like an even match and one is coming closer—rapidly coming closer! It’s time to retreat. Although slow on land, hippos are aggressive and agile in water. Each year hippos kill more people in Africa than any other wild animal.
These hippos are so big that I’m sure they could use mokoros for toothpicks. We don’t wait to find out! It is the only time in Africa that I’ve seen a guide look scared. Jacob quickly poles the mokoro not only to shore but onto the shore. Even then he looks back to see if the hippo is following.
Not this time. Apparently the hippos came up only to breathe for they quickly disappear again. Jacob rests a moment to catch his breath and we are glad to wait a while before proceeding. I know that the word hippopotamus is a Greek word meaning river horse. But at several tons apiece, these are surely the world’s fattest horses and I have no interest in going for a ride.
This evening we have our sundowner drink back at the bar and the drink feels especially good. The hippo encounter provided enough excitement for even my adventuring heart.
Because we are on a small island and are surrounded by water, the temperatures at Xigera are much more moderate than at Chitabe. Nights are at least ten degrees warmer here. Barney does not appear and Shirley learns that Barney is a fickle bedtime companion. There may be hope for me yet. The next day at morning brunch we hear that other guests and their guide found a pair of mating lions. Jacob says we will go find look for after our meal. He says that there is no need to hurry.
“But the lions were seen over two hours ago. How do we know they will still be there?”
“Oh don’t worry. They will be there for a couple days.”
After breakfast we head downstream by boat to a larger island where a Land Rover waits. A ten-minute drive takes us to the lions. When we park only forty feet away, they ignore us. Mating is serious business for lions. It occurs about every twenty minutes for one to two days. In between they sleep. The female then arouses, walks over to the male, nuzzles him and bites him on the ear. He awakes and they mate again. Then they take another nap. Twenty minutes later the cycle repeats again. The female becomes pregnant and won’t mate again for another two years but the male has a different mating schedule. A pride of lions has only two or three males to mate with many females.
May 22 Small charter plane from Xigera Camp to Duma Tau Camp, Botswana
This morning we flew to Duma Tau Camp in a small Cessna on a 35-minute flight. We have left the Okavango Delta behind and traveled north to the flood plain of the Linyati River that separates Botswana from Namibia. With the exquisite timing these safari camps are noted for, we arrive just in time for brunch.
May 22 Small charter plane from Xigera Camp to Duma Tau Camp, Botswana
This morning we flew to Duma Tau Camp in a small Cessna on a 35-minute flight. We have left the Okavango Delta behind and traveled north to the flood plain of the Linyati River that separates Botswana from Namibia. With the exquisite timing these safari camps are noted for, we arrive just in time for brunch.
Isaac is our new native guide. He has been doing this work for many years and his English is smooth and comfortable, sprinkled with a variety of idioms, American, English and even Australian, that he picked up from various guests. When my first questions to him are about birds, his eyes light up. It is a pleasure for him when there are guests who are interested in more than just lions and large animals. For the next three days Isaac can just let the more famous animals come surreptitiously and he can concentrate on the birds and smaller creatures in the bush. It’s a pleasant change for Isaac not having to produce large cats on demand. The lions are wonderful but there is so much more in the bush, especially for Isaac who has spent his whole life here.
As we talk, Isaac remembers that he had seen Wooly-necked Storks just four days ago at a waterhole not far from the camp. That would be a new bird for me, so of course that is where I want to go. We forgo the afternoon siesta and take off in the middle of the day. The twenty-minute drive takes us past an elephant herd, several giraffes and three different kinds of antelope: impala, greater kudu and red lechwe.
We drive up to the waterhole and with good luck immediately find the Wooly-necked Stork circling overhead. This is a real treat for me since storks are one of my favorite birds. There are only 23 species of storks in the world and most are found here in the Old World. The Americas have but three kinds.
At this small waterhole in the middle of the day, the stork is only one of many birds and animals that have here come for water. Right now on the shore of the pond are a Yellow-billed Stork, a Grey Heron, a Black-crowned Night-Heron, several Blacksmith Plovers and Three-banded Plovers, an African Spoonbill and two Egyptian Geese. All are resting in the heat of the day. In the water a bull elephant, a hippopotamus and a crocodile all seem to ignore each other as they lazily move about. The trees around the muddy pool are unmoving in the breezeless air but alive with a dozen species of doves, hornbills and smaller birds. Waterholes are certainly the place for finding animals in the dry season.
But the vision of “peaceable kingdom” that we see at the first pond does not carry over to the second. On the way back to camp, when we stop by a larger lagoon to watch the jacanas walk on the lily pads, we spot a crocodile stalking the jacana chicks. Two hippos are fighting in the middle of the pond and a big male lechwe is chasing off an impertinent young buck. Nearby baboons are squabbling in the trees and a parade of eagles is flying by—at least eight Bateleur Eagles, ten Tawny Eagles, four African Hawk-Eagles, two African Fish Eagles and a Brown Snake-Eagle. I will never cease to be astounded at the amazing variety of wildlife that can be in one small area!
The African Jacanas are fun to watch. These ten-inch birds look a little like chickens but they have long legs and very long toes. They live around waterholes and ponds. With their long, long toes they easily walk on top of the water lilies and peek under leaves looking for invertebrates to eat. Jacanas are uniquely adapted to this aquatic environment and are found around the world in the warmer climes. There are eight species of jacanas; two in Africa, two in the tropical Americas, one in Madagascar, two in Asia and one ranging from Australia and New Guinea up to southern Borneo. In some places the jacana is known as the Jesus Bird because it appears to walk on water among the lily pads.
Our Land Rover is equipped with a radio and Isaac receives information on wildlife sightings from other guides. On our afternoon game drive, he hears that a neighboring safari camp is reporting wild dogs chasing a young kudu right through the camp and among the tents. Isaac puts the Land Rover into high gear and off we roar through the bush. The kill is complete by the time we arrive but the three wild dogs are gorging themselves on the carcass. They must eat as much as they can, as fast as they can, because if hyenas or lions come along, the dogs will have to back off and leave their meal. If they tried to defend their kill against encroachment by the larger predators, the smaller dogs would be killed.
The African Jacanas are fun to watch. These ten-inch birds look a little like chickens but they have long legs and very long toes. They live around waterholes and ponds. With their long, long toes they easily walk on top of the water lilies and peek under leaves looking for invertebrates to eat. Jacanas are uniquely adapted to this aquatic environment and are found around the world in the warmer climes. There are eight species of jacanas; two in Africa, two in the tropical Americas, one in Madagascar, two in Asia and one ranging from Australia and New Guinea up to southern Borneo. In some places the jacana is known as the Jesus Bird because it appears to walk on water among the lily pads.
Our Land Rover is equipped with a radio and Isaac receives information on wildlife sightings from other guides. On our afternoon game drive, he hears that a neighboring safari camp is reporting wild dogs chasing a young kudu right through the camp and among the tents. Isaac puts the Land Rover into high gear and off we roar through the bush. The kill is complete by the time we arrive but the three wild dogs are gorging themselves on the carcass. They must eat as much as they can, as fast as they can, because if hyenas or lions come along, the dogs will have to back off and leave their meal. If they tried to defend their kill against encroachment by the larger predators, the smaller dogs would be killed.
After watching the wild dogs for an hour Isaac drives us back to camp. Just as the wildlife must eat, so must we. Tonight it is roast leg of lamb, jacket potatoes, three different cooked vegetables, garden salad, homemade bread and pears in red wine sauce for dessert. Once again I realize that it is nice to be at the top of the food chain.
May 25 Small charter plane from Duma Tau Camp to Kasane, Botswana
The plane lands in Kasane on our first paved runway in a while. This is the far northeastern part of the country where the borders of four nations come together: Botswana, Namibia, Zimbabwe and Zambia. It is too complicated to take a charter flight across international borders so we land here and will take a van into Zimbabwe.
May 25 Small charter plane from Duma Tau Camp to Kasane, Botswana
The plane lands in Kasane on our first paved runway in a while. This is the far northeastern part of the country where the borders of four nations come together: Botswana, Namibia, Zimbabwe and Zambia. It is too complicated to take a charter flight across international borders so we land here and will take a van into Zimbabwe.
We are sorry to leave Botswana. This jewel of a country is little known in much of the world. It is seldom covered by the international media except on special presentations about its famous Okavango Delta and fabulous wildlife. Yet, here is one of the very few African countries with a stable government that is democratically elected. There are several political parties and laws protect the right to political dissent. Elections are totally free. There has never been a military coup or a dictatorship in Botswana. Education is universal and the people are highly literate. The economy is now sound and the quality of life for all Botswanans is rapidly improving.
Yet, at independence less than forty years ago, Botswana was one of the most impoverished countries in Africa and in the entire world. It had little going for it except subsistence agriculture and some tourism. The British who ruled this land as a protectorate found nothing here to take out and subsequently put very little effort or money into the colony. To their credit, however, they did institute a rule of law and a concept of democracy, lessons that would be remembered even after independence.
In general this was a forgotten corner of Africa. But as it turned out, the poverty of Botswana at independence may have been a blessing in disguise. The population was homogeneous. The Kalahari Desert and the so-so farmland in the east had no known resources to entice European settlers or stronger tribes from elsewhere in Africa. The people were left alone and learned to govern themselves democratically using lessons learned from the British. Education was valued but there were few resources to support it.
Then shortly after independence, like a miracle, diamonds were discovered in a remote area of the country. Here was the wealth to build the nation. Botswana is now the largest producer of gemstone diamonds in the world.
Had the diamonds been discovered while Botswana was a colony, it is likely that all of the diamond wealth would go to a private company with little benefit to the native people. That is what happened in South Africa a century before. But now, this remote area and its diamonds belong to the Botswana government. Money from diamonds goes to schools and roads and health clinics. The lessons in democracy, learned in the days of poverty when the government was not worth stealing, have held the country in good stead. Now in spite of tempting riches, there is a tradition of free elections and there are no dictatorships on the horizon. It could not have happened to a nicer country.
May 25 Road travel by van from Kasane to Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe
From Kasane it is only six miles to the border where we cross into Zimbabwe after paying the $30 entrance tax. As foreigners, we must pay the tax in U.S. dollars. This country is desperate for hard currency.
May 25 Road travel by van from Kasane to Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe
From Kasane it is only six miles to the border where we cross into Zimbabwe after paying the $30 entrance tax. As foreigners, we must pay the tax in U.S. dollars. This country is desperate for hard currency.
Zimbabwe is the part of our trip that almost didn’t happen. From the time we planned the trip until the time we left St. Louis the political climate in Zimbabwe worsened and violence began exploding.
During colonial days, Botswana was impoverished but Zimbabwe was at the other end of the economic scale. It was the richest area in sub-Saharan Africa with the exception of the Republic of South Africa. Formerly the British colony of Southern Rhodesia, Zimbabwe has enough natural resources to enrich any country. It has mineral wealth for export including chromium, which is rare in most of the world. It has some of the best farmlands in all of Africa. Unlike much of Africa, which has small-scale farming and hand-tilled fields, Zimbabwe has large mechanized farming and produces a prodigious amount for a small investment in labor. It is a land that can feed all of its people and have plenty to export.
Such wealth brought in thousands of European settlers in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Soon, as happened in the history of Africa at that time, most of the wonderfully fertile farmland and all of the mineral wealth came into the hands of white settlers and companies. During the hundred or more years of white rule these farm lands were handed down from one generation to another in white families who no longer thought of themselves as Europeans but rather as Africans—Africans of a white tribe.
Black Africans not only lost their land, they lost the right to govern themselves. Through government-sponsored separation of the races, blacks were relegated to second class status on land they once owned. The aim of government education for blacks was to teach them to fulfill their subservient role in “the natural order of things.” Black Rhodesians had few rights and no political freedom.
In the 1960s independence fever swept across Africa. Colonialism was out of favor in the world and self-determination was advocated to bring a new freedom and prosperity for downtrodden peoples. In a matter of months or sometimes weeks, colonies were “prepared” for self-rule and set free as independent nations. But a few months or even a few years of preparation could not create a tradition of self-governance in colonies whose people had spent generations learning subservience.
In most of the colonies there were only a few university-educated natives and oftentimes they were educated in China or the Soviet Union, certainly not places to learn about democracy. Frequently the few educated men became the leaders of popular resistance movements that pushed out the ruling European countries, often by force of guerrilla action. These resistance leaders then became the presidents of the newly independent states. Because of the lack of democratic tradition and through simple human greed, these presidents frequently became president-for-life. Any wealth previously held by whites was confiscated and redistributed to blacks, or at least to blacks in favor with the new ruling elite.
Southern Rhodesia’s turn came to be “prepared” for independence. But this colony was different from many. It had a relatively large white population, although still small in comparison with the black. The white population was well educated and had a tradition of self-rule—at least for whites.
The whites of Southern Rhodesia looked at what was happening in the rest of colonial Africa and feared for their economic future and their way of life. So they launched a pre-emptive strike and unilaterally declared independence from Britain. The white tribe would govern themselves and keep life as it had been with blacks excluded from the political process. The new country was called Rhodesia.
Only South Africa recognized the new government. The rest of the world demanded that the former colony adopt a constitution with self-government based upon the principle of majority rule. An economic boycott of Rhodesia was declared by the United Nations in an effort to force white Rhodesians to abide by the will of the world community. About the same time black Rhodesians began an armed resistance campaign under the leadership of Robert Mugabe.
For several years independent Rhodesia held out against the economic boycott. It found ways to export its crops and valuable minerals through its border with South Africa. Arms flowed into the country from South Africa to enable the Rhodesian army to hold the black rebels at bay. But eventually the tide turned. Thousands of white residents fled the country to live in England, Australia, South Africa and elsewhere in fear of majority black rule. Under strong pressure from Britain and the rest of the world, the white-ruled government of Rhodesia finally sought talks with its black opposition. In the end there was a negotiated settlement rather than a black military victory.
Under the settlement the self-declared country of Rhodesia became the new nation of Zimbabwe in 1980 with a government recognized by all countries. The new constitution called for majority (black) rule and recognized the property rights of minorities (whites). Certain seats in the country’s parliament and supreme court were reserved for minorities but the majority of seats were open for free election and obviously for majority control. Not unexpectedly, in the first election the resistance leader Robert Mugabe was elected president.
Now in the year 2000, a couple decades later, not much has changed. Robert Mugabe is still president. The whites still own most of the rich farmlands. The majority population now has the vote but its value is diluted by the fact that Zimbabwe is really a one-party state. There are other political parties but Mugabe’s iron-fist bans most rallies and political activities. Political rivals are openly harassed and sometimes jailed. Economically, much of the country is no better off now than at independence due to mismanagement and corruption in high government offices. People are unhappy and restless. There is growing opposition to Mugabe.
Mugabe is fighting back to hold onto power by appealing to the landless masses who have no foreseeable economic future. To build his power base he gives a bully pulpit to those who ask what was the point of the war for independence if the whites still control all the good land?
In early 2000 with the acquiescence and quiet blessing of the government, large numbers of black “settlers” moved onto white-owned farms and refused to leave. Although many of the takeovers occurred without violence, some white farmers were killed. Pictures of the violence made international news. Tourists fled the country and travel agencies were flooded with cancellations. All this was happening while we held reservations for safari camps in Zimbabwe.
The conflict in Zimbabwe seems without any absolute right or wrong and the ranger will not attempt to pass judgment. He can see both sides. The blacks say the land and its resources should belong to the people who owned the land over a hundred years ago before the whites arrived. The whites say that the land has been in their families for three generations or more. They claim that since they developed the land, they should be allowed to keep it. The property dispute in Zimbabwe sounds like the story of the American Indians and the white settlers in the United States. Who is right?
In addition to the white farmers who face the prospect of possibly of being evicted, there are many other casualties in this dispute between the government and the landowners. The big white farms employ large numbers of black workers who also live on the farms with their families. When the new black “settlers’ move in, the black workers on those farms lose their jobs and their homes.
Because of the conflict and its prominent place in the international news, tourism has almost completely evaporated and everyone who depends on tourism for a living from hotel owners to hotel maids to even street vendors loses their income. In addition, because the conflict involves seizing private property, international investment in Zimbabwe is completely halted. No one will loan money for any economic venture in a country when there is a danger that property will be seized without compensation.
Lastly, beyond what is good or right for individuals, what is good for the country? Now, Zimbabwe is a net exporter of food. If the experience in other former colonies in Africa is any guide, breaking up the large mechanized farms and distributing the land to small farmers will lead to drastic cuts in production resulting in the loss of exports that brings hard currency into the local economy.
In the face of the troubles, particularly the violence and killings, the ranger and Ms. Shirley had to decide what to do about their travel plans. They had scheduled seven days in Zimbabwe and they knew that other tourists were now canceling out. It would be easy for them to cancel out as well but adventures are not for the faint of heart. One does not give up at the first sign of trouble. Of course, it is not wise to buy into trouble but the true adventurer should be certain that the trouble is really serious before he turns tail.
So research was done. News sources were scoured for information. It became obvious that when all the news hype and hysteria were stripped aside, Zimbabwe was not having a full-blown civil war. There were no shootings in the streets or rebel armies in the field. The problems were centered on the white-owned farms. There had been isolated killings and the potential for violence was high on any of the farms.
But the ranger and his bride were not headed for the farmlands. They were headed for the wilderness to see the animals. There were no farms there and few people. From what he could learn on the news it appeared to the ranger that staying away from the farming country would keep them away from the troubles. “We will stay the course and pursue our adventure. Faint hearts never won fair ladies!”
Crossing the border from Botswana to Zimbabwe is uneventful. We fill out the proper forms, show our passports and pay the entrance tax. From there we drive only thirty minutes into the small town of Victoria Falls. Riding into town we see our first sign of the troubles. There are very few tourists around. This is the premier tourist destination in Zimbabwe and the stores are almost empty. At our hotel we discover the magnitude of the problem. Our hotel has sixty rooms and only twelve are occupied—some of those by traveling Zimbabwe businessmen rather than tourists. Our hotel is doing better than most. The average hotel occupancy rate in Victoria Falls is fifteen percent.
The Hotel Ilala is a clean family-run hotel that is a delightful place to stay. Airy rooms open up on a large garden with lots of birds. Signs in the garden warn to be careful of large animals. The tourist literature in the hotel gives a warning that if one goes pub-crawling late at night, one should be sure to take a taxi back to the hotel rather than walking. The warning is not for a fear of crime but rather because of the chance of an encounter with a wild animal in the dark shadows.
Later that evening at dinner we hear the story of Daniel, one of the locals, who drank too much at the bar. At 1:00 a.m. he tried to drive and forgot to turn on his headlights. He ran into the back of an elephant hitting it right behind the knees. Just like us when hit behind the knees, the elephant’s hind end sat down—right on the hood of the car. The elephant then walked away; the car did not!
A three-block walk from our hotel is the famous waterfall. As befitting one of the wonders of the world, Victoria Falls is a World Heritage Site and a national park. Here the Zambezi River drops 320 feet into a narrow, steep-walled canyon. Unlike most waterfalls, the gorge below the falls is not in a straight line with the river above it. At Victoria Falls the canyon is at right angles to the river. The Zambezi River flows across a plateau and suddenly plummets into a huge crack in the earth that stretches across the river’s path. The river actually flows over the side of the gorge rather than entering from the head.
A three-block walk from our hotel is the famous waterfall. As befitting one of the wonders of the world, Victoria Falls is a World Heritage Site and a national park. Here the Zambezi River drops 320 feet into a narrow, steep-walled canyon. Unlike most waterfalls, the gorge below the falls is not in a straight line with the river above it. At Victoria Falls the canyon is at right angles to the river. The Zambezi River flows across a plateau and suddenly plummets into a huge crack in the earth that stretches across the river’s path. The river actually flows over the side of the gorge rather than entering from the head.
Just before the falls the Zambezi spreads out wide around a number of islands and the river is over a mile wide when it plunges over the basalt lip to the canyon floor below. During the low water season, the river is divided into a series of braided channels that spill over the edge in many separate falls. But now in the flood season, Victoria Falls is a single broad waterfall, over a mile wide. This is the largest curtain of water in the world.
The national park’s footpath, which follows the edge of the gorge, leads us to a surreal experience as we come out of the forest immediately in front of the waterfall. Because the canyon is only 300 feet wide and at right angles to the falls, we are standing here on the rim staring face on at the mightiest waterfall in the world coming right towards us. The air vibrates with the concussion of the river hitting the rocks below. The roar drowns out all other sound. Conversation is impossible even with the loudest shouts.
Water rushing over and dropping into the abyss causes a huge updraft, which sends spray towering into the air—over a thousand feet. The spray rains back down again—right on us. We are soaked but the chance to be this close to the overwhelming power of natural forces cannot be missed.
The Zambezi is at record flood stage because of extremely heavy winter rains. No one in recorded history has seen Victoria Falls with more water in it than right now. I have seen large waterfalls before and have marveled at their beauty and been amazed at the noise. But nothing has prepared me for the unrelenting force of Victoria Falls in flood.
Our ears can take the pounding concussion only so long. We beat a retreat from the rim to where the waterfall’s rain has lessened to a mist. No wonder they rent umbrellas here. With all the spray in the air there are rainbows aplenty. Shirley’s camera gets a good workout.
All along the canyon’s edge the mist creates a rainforest a quarter mile wide. In contrast to the adjacent grasslands and scrub forest, the rainforest is a dark woods of ebony, acacias, palms, figs and ferns. This narrow ecosystem is totally dependent upon the spray from the falls to supply sufficient moisture and high humidity to maintain dense growth. The ranger, still soaked to the skin, is probing dark forest corners for Trumpeter Hornbills and Schalow’s Turacos. Around a bend in the trail the ranger and a bushbuck startle each other with an unexpected close encounter. Both retreat. A shiny green snake moving rapidly across wet fallen leaves causes another quick retreat to the trail. The day is warm but wet clothes are not. Finally that realization sinks in and Ms. Shirley leads the ranger into one more retreat—to the blazing African sun outside the dark rainforest.
A warm sunshine walk, a half-mile downstream from the falls, brings us to a railroad bridge that crosses the gorge. Cecil Rhodes, the namesake of Rhodesia, built a railroad from South Africa through here in 1905. He wanted his passengers to feel the spray of mighty Victoria Falls. Those trains still run.
Today, people are bungee jumping from the railroad bridge down 300 feet to just above the river, still a mass of roiling rapids and whirlpools below the falls. This is the longest bungee jump in the world. After watching a tourist jump and hearing his screams (of delight?) Shirley decides that everything considered she would rather go shopping with her husband than go bungee jumping off a bridge.
In the afternoon shops in town beckon to us. We have toothpaste to buy and Shirley needs a new safari shirt. There are lots of interesting curios and souvenirs for sale but we are not even tempted. We have a thirty-pound weight limit.
Evening brings a dinner show with Zimbabwean tribal dancing. The pounding drum rhythms excite all of us. Drums are like a heartbeat and something primitive within us responds. Everyone in the audience reacts to the beat. Some move their shoulders and heads rhythmically. Some put their whole bodies into motion while others tap their feet. None can be passive.
When the dancers appear, the arena is a whirl of motion and exotic costumes. There are dancers portraying lions and crocodiles and masked demons. Stylized battles are fought with spears and zebra shields. Strange gods a dozen feet tall glide into the area on stilts beneath long grass raiments. All dancers obsequiously yield to their passage. The drums beat faster and faster in a frenzy of agitation.
Just when the activities peak at a level that cannot be sustained, a chorus of young women enter singing the a capella tribal music that Africa is known for. The effect is dramatic as our emotions cascade down from a frenetic level of rapids to the smooth but fast flowing water of an African stream. Through several more songs of strong women’s voices and powerful rhythms, I can hear the genesis of the old Negro spirituals I knew as a boy.
With such a powerful performance it is hard to switch gears to think about eating. But then the ranger is always hungry! Dinner tonight is wild game. We select ostrich burgers and warthog steak. Others choose kudu or wildebeest with wild greens.
After dinner it is time to check our email. People question why with only thirty pounds to carry, we take a lap top computer. It is actually one of the most valuable things we have on the trip. First of all, this is a very lightweight computer, less than 2½ pounds. It is only an inch thick and not much larger than a file folder. It doesn’t take up much room in a daypack. This computer is our lifeline to the outside world and our storehouse of information and memories.
In planning the trip we considered several logistical questions. If we are going to charge trip expenses on a credit card whenever possible, how do we pay the monthly credit card bill? On a 7½-month trip how are we going to stay in touch with family when international telephone service is very iffy and often expensive in many places around the world? How can our family get in touch with us if they need to? How can we take enough film for months of traveling? How do we get the film developed? With all the air travel our bags will be x-rayed frequently. Film, particularly unprocessed film, can be ruined if airports do not have their x-ray machines tuned properly. How do we keep our pictures safe?
The answer to these dilemmas, and more, turned out to be a lightweight computer. We signed up for AOL internet service and now have access to the internet with just a local telephone call from most any large city in the world and even some smaller ones like Victoria Falls. We also signed up with an online bill-paying service. Our few bills including the credit card bill are mailed directly to the bill-paying service, which then scans the bills and sends them to us over the internet. We review the bills for accuracy and notify the service to mail a check. All of our bills will be paid and we will never have a late charge no matter where we are. Also with the internet we have email. We can exchange messages with family and friends. Throughout the entire trip we are able to make contact at least every two weeks.
The answer to the film dilemma is a digital camera. Shirley takes all the pictures she wants and then downloads them into the computer. By the time we are done she will have over nine hundred pictures in the laptop.
The computer has other uses too. I use it to keep track of all my bird sightings. At night, when I am not too tired, I write vignettes and stories about our travels that I can share with friends. These are my postcards. The computer is also our storehouse of knowledge. Before we left home I preloaded it with names, places and all the information I would need later. It replaces guidebooks and notebooks that we cannot take because of weight limits. And finally the internet lets me stay abreast of changing world situations so that I know the latest about Zimbabwe or any other potential trouble spot before I get there.
So whenever we’re in “civilization,” one of our chores is to get on the internet, send and receive messages, pay bills and check out the state of the world. We carry a telephone cord and adapters so we merely unplug the telephone in our hotel room and plug the computer into the wall jack. However, in Victoria Falls we are stymied because the room telephone is hardwired and cannot be unplugged.
The hotel manager says to come and use her computer. The office is hooked up to the internet by a phone line that is actually a radio circuit that beams across town to a central telephone office. There it connects by landline to Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, and dials an internet service provider. However, because the number of circuits is limited, it is next to impossible to connect during the day. The manager recommends that we come back at night after our dinner. Then we should be able to get our call through. Never mind that the office will be closed; the desk clerk will let us in and we can stay as long as we like. So, at 11:00 at night we have free rein of the office and its computer with no one around. She has even given us her password so that we can connect to the internet. That is true service in a small family-run business.
Soon, everything works and we hear that familiar static sound of the computer mating up with a server over the telephone lines. Now we are in contact with the outside world again.
“More people are killed each year by hippos than by any other wild animal in Africa.” Thus begins our safety talk before we board the canoes.
“Hippos frequently sleep under water during the day and automatically come up to breathe every five to eight minutes. So if a hippo suddenly comes up beside your canoe, don’t panic, there is a 90% chance that he’s asleep and will go back down without waking. That leaves a 10% chance that he’s awake.”
“Don’t worry, hippos are vegetarians and they will not try to eat you. However, they are very territorial and can be very aggressive, in which case they will try to drive the canoe out of their territory. They do this either by charging the canoe or by swimming underwater and coming up under the canoe. This is not good! The canoe will upset and you will certainly be upset in all definitions of the word. If this happens, do not try to get back to the canoe because the hippo may attack the canoe again and you don’t want to be near it. So if you end up in the water, quickly and quietly swim away from the canoe and hopefully to shore.”
“Now swimming quickly and quietly may sound like a contradiction but it is important. You need to be quick to escape the hippo but you need to be quiet so that you do not attract the attention of the crocodiles. Remember that crocodiles are not vegetarians and they are always on the look out for a good meal. So swim quickly but don’t kick your legs because the splashing water attracts crocks.”
Now who in their right mind would get into a canoe after this safety talk? It is certainly not what we expected. This is not what we thought we were getting into when the travel agent at the Ilala Hotel sold us the half-day canoeing package.
The travel agent told us, “They will pick you up at your hotel, drive an hour upstream on the Zambezi and you will have a leisurely canoe ride down the river in the quiet stretches. There will be a guide in each canoe and you can paddle if you want to or you can just relax and watch the scenery go by.”
This sounds a little tame after lions and leopards and wild buffaloes and things that go roar in the night just outside our tent but hey, we’re up for a quiet day and I can watch water birds as we float by.
“Let’s do it. After all, I’ve canoed Ozark streams three or four times. Quiet stretches of the Zambezi should be a piece of cake.”
They do pick us up at the hotel and drive us an hour to the drop-off point. The travel agent got that much right. It is quickly obvious that there is not a guide for each canoe to do the paddling. There is one guide and four canoes! He is going to paddle his own canoe and obviously we will paddle ours. Surprise!
Then comes the hippo and crocodile safety talk. Well, at this point we’re committed so we might as well go through with it. After all how bad can it be? If they lost too many tourists, it would be bad for business and the word would get out, right? So it must be safe, right? Right?? But there is more.
We are going to use an inflatable canoe, which seems like a strange choice for canoeing down a quiet stretch of river. An aluminum canoe would be easier to handle in slow moving water. I am just beginning to get suspicious when the guide launches into the rapids safety talk. Rapids!! Where is that travel agent now?
Off we go and we do fine. At least if you ask me, you’ll hear that we do fine. Shirley may have a slightly different opinion. She’s probably thinking that the ranger is spending too much time peering in riverbank trees with binoculars and not watching the river ahead.
The first hour is indeed quiet water and I watch kingfishers, sunbirds and fish eagles. I even find two life birds. There are some hippos and crocks but they are a hundred yards away and leaving us alone. We see elephants on the shore and impala and a kudu antelope. “This is great. I knew they were exaggerating about rapids.”
Then the river gets noisy up ahead and there are small waves. We bounce easily through this small “rapid” and our confidence level goes up. At the next bend in the river the guide suggests that we turn our baseball caps backwards so that they don’t blow off when we speed up in the next rapid. Hmm, this sounds more serious. But we shoot right through using my brief Ozark canoeing expertise.
Of course there is another river bend. There is always another river bend! Now the guide says, “You’re on your own this time. On this set of double rapids I can’t stay close to you because the water’s going too fast but just follow me and do what I do.”
How can I do what he is doing when his boat is going left and mine is going right? But basically we try to follow along. We are number two in line and there are two more canoes behind us. Swish, swish, we zip along. This is great. We’re getting wet from the waves but hey, we’re experienced canoeists.
Whoops! Nobody mentioned whirlpools. We go into a 360-degree turn in the middle of the river so that we get a full circle view of the scenery! The whirlpool throws us off our course; so naturally, we have extra rapids to get back on track. The ranger is having a great time while Ms. Shirley’s eyes are getting wider and wider. What does a land-loving ranger know about canoeing in rapids? Maybe not much!
We swiftly glide down the river for another thirty minutes with only “minor” bumps and misdirections and it’s soon time to get off the river. We can see the huge cloud of spray from Victoria Falls in the near distance. Did I mention that Victoria Falls is one of the largest waterfalls in the world and that this year the Zambezi River is at its highest recorded level ever because of the torrential rains in February and March? I certainly don’t want to miss the take-out point. If I am going to see Victoria Falls up close, I want to do it from land not from a canoe.
We come to the last rapids when the guide decides that since “everyone is doing so well,” he won’t take the easiest way through. “Let’s get some extra excitement,” he says. “At these rapids go down into the water slot and then make an immediate right turn and shoot out the other side.”
Well, this canoe does go into the water slot but it cannot make an immediate right turn, at least not with this navigator. So we hit the last rapid head on and Ms. Shirley, who is in the front, is looking at a wall of water higher that her head and wishing that she was back looking at lions. Momentum carries us part way up the wall and then the rest of the wall breaks over the canoe. “Soaked” seems like too mild a word.
All four canoes go sideways and all end up full of water. But we’ve held on with white knuckles and we’re still here. Now, that the “leisurely” canoe ride is over, Shirley has less confidence in her husband’s canoe steering ability than she had before. But I maintain that none of this is my fault. I wasn’t steering; the river was.
Later when we cross the lobby of the Hotel Ilala, water is still dripping off jeans that may never dry. The travel agent waves to us from her office and looks surprised at Ms. Shirley’s new drowned-rat hairstyle. Obviously, this travel agent has never canoed the Zambezi. Come to think of it, she was of a size that would probably sink a canoe if she ever tried.
May 28 Small charter plane from Victoria Falls to Makalolo Camp, Zimbabwe
We’ve left the green riverside forests of the Zambezi behind and flown to Makalolo Safari Camp in the semi-desert of Hwange National Park in western Zimbabwe. It is near the end of the dry season and the only open water anywhere around is in isolated waterholes. One of these waterholes is 200 yards from our camp and there is a parade of animals going by most of the day.
Less than an hour after we arrive, a cape buffalo runs through the camp between our sleeping tent and the open-air dining tent. Cape buffalo are the southern Africa cousin of the water buffalo of Asia. These are massive animals with wide flat horns and a nasty temperament. Everyone gives buffalos a wide berth because they are unpredictable and dangerous. It is true that hippos kill more people every year than any other African animal but hippos stay close to the water. Out in the bush it is the buffalo that everyone fears the most. Four hours later, a bull elephant walks between the tents. Obviously an elephant can walk anywhere he wants. Like many bachelor bulls, this one is out by himself. This bull is also a dangerous animal, so we stay back, but the staff is less concerned about him because elephants are somewhat more predictable than buffalo.
May 28 Small charter plane from Victoria Falls to Makalolo Camp, Zimbabwe
We’ve left the green riverside forests of the Zambezi behind and flown to Makalolo Safari Camp in the semi-desert of Hwange National Park in western Zimbabwe. It is near the end of the dry season and the only open water anywhere around is in isolated waterholes. One of these waterholes is 200 yards from our camp and there is a parade of animals going by most of the day.
Less than an hour after we arrive, a cape buffalo runs through the camp between our sleeping tent and the open-air dining tent. Cape buffalo are the southern Africa cousin of the water buffalo of Asia. These are massive animals with wide flat horns and a nasty temperament. Everyone gives buffalos a wide berth because they are unpredictable and dangerous. It is true that hippos kill more people every year than any other African animal but hippos stay close to the water. Out in the bush it is the buffalo that everyone fears the most. Four hours later, a bull elephant walks between the tents. Obviously an elephant can walk anywhere he wants. Like many bachelor bulls, this one is out by himself. This bull is also a dangerous animal, so we stay back, but the staff is less concerned about him because elephants are somewhat more predictable than buffalo.
We are the first visitors in eight days at this camp built for ten guests. When we leave there are no guests booked for at least another two weeks. Makalolo Camp had been totally booked but all the tourists cancelled out due to the “troubles.” Our camp is down to a skeleton staff; the rest have lost their jobs. I have to worry about these Zimbabwe workers. I fear there is a long, bleak economic future ahead for them.
Indirectly, we reap a benefit from the current troubles. Because we are the only guests in camp, we get lots of attention. Water, the cook with the unusual name, makes special desserts since he is cooking for so few of us. Benson, the camp manager, has only a mostly empty camp to administer so he decides to be our personal guide during our stay. Because he has guests that want to see more than just the big cats, he takes us to all the special places that he enjoys far from where tourists usually go. Like a child let out of school, Benson wants to go to all the hidden corners of Hwange. That suits us just fine!
Out in the grasslands Benson knows where to find a nest of the Secretarybird. This may be the most unusual bird of our African trip. Imagine a cross between a falcon and a stork—that’s a Secretarybird. In fact, DNA evidence shows a close relationship with both hawks and storks. It captures and kills live game as a falcon does, yet it walks like a stork on long legs. The bird stands four feet tall. It hunts not by flying but by walking through the grasslands and scrub, usually in pairs. When it spots a possible meal, it runs down the prey and dispatches it with sharp kicks. Although most noted for catching snakes, including poisonous cobras, the Secretarybird will also capture ground birds, rabbits, and mongooses.
Most books say that the name Secretarybird refers to the several long feathers that stick out from the back of the crest. It was thought that the feathers looked like the quill pens stuck behind the ears of a secretary in the days before more modern writing implements. Some ornithologists however suggest that the name comes from the Arabic saqr-et tair meaning hunter bird.
The nest that Benson knew about is still active. It’s a huge conglomerate of twigs and grass in a bush about five feet off the ground. Two young birds are standing in the nest. They have almost outgrown the nest and will fledge soon. While we watch, the adult flies in with a young rabbit in its beak. “Dinner is served.”
We’re having a great time finding the birds we want to see and coming across cape buffalo and sable antelope in unexpected places. Benson is having a wonderful time away from his normal responsibilities. Benson is learning the same thing that the park ranger learned on his job: being the boss and doing manager kinds of jobs is rewarding and necessary but the real fun in the career is leaving the managerial things behind and getting out in the bush with the tourists and the wildlife.
Benson, with his enthusiasm and his great knowledge of the bush, gives us some of the best educational game drives of our trip. We end the day tired but exhilarated. Water’s great meal and an after-dinner glass of wine help us relax for the evening. But Africa and Benson are not finished with us yet. This evening we have guests. Elephants have come to the waterhole near our camp and we can hear splashing sounds in the darkness……but that is a story that has already been told.
Nights are cold in Hwange National Park. In this near-desert, temperatures drop rapidly after sunset and rise quickly with the sun. On our second morning it is down to 38 degrees yet by ten o’clock we are in short sleeves. At night the tent is certainly cold. Barney returns to open arms and cold feet. He is a welcome friend.
After dinner we hear the story of an earlier guest who had a visit from Barney’s brother. She was an older woman traveling alone. No one told her that on cold nights while guests ate their evening meal the staff placed hot water bottles in the bottom of the beds to warm them up. This grandmother had spent an exciting day seeing lots of wild animals and that night she went to bed, probably nervous about the animals she could hear grazing in the camp right outside her tent. When she slid into bed, her feet touched something warm, soft and round. Terrified, she jumped out of bed, grabbed a pocketknife out of her pack and bravely attacked the wild animal in her bed. She repeatedly stabbed it through the bed covers and warm liquid (blood?) spurted everywhere. She sounded her emergency air horn and the staff came running as they were trained to do. The poor woman was in tears after this attack by a wild animal in her bed. Needless to say, Barney’s brother did not survive.
May 31 Small charter plane from Makalolo Camp to Lake Kariba, Zimbabwe
Today we froze in the middle of the day in tropical Africa. Of all of our small plane flights this was the only one that was uncomfortable and we were really cold.
May 31 Small charter plane from Makalolo Camp to Lake Kariba, Zimbabwe
Today we froze in the middle of the day in tropical Africa. Of all of our small plane flights this was the only one that was uncomfortable and we were really cold.
Every day there are a number of small planes flying over the African bush. Some are carrying tourists like us and others transport doctors, nurses, or supplies to various villages. There are no air traffic controllers so the pilots must fend for themselves. To avoid congestion there is an agreement among pilots to spread these airplanes out over a number of different altitudes. The length of the trip determines the altitude that a plane flies. A plane making a twenty-minute flight between two camps may only fly a thousand feet off the ground. A forty-minute flight will fly higher and an hour flight higher still.
Today we have a three-hour flight and this is the highest yet on our charter flights. Formerly we could watch elephants from our window but today there are only dots on the ground. The higher we go, the colder it gets and today it is quite cold. Unfortunately the engine is so loud, we can’t talk to the pilot to turn on the heat, if this plane even has any. We are dressed for mid-day in Africa and have only short sleeves. By the time we land we’ve turned blue.
Malinda, the camp manager who meets us at the airstrip offers us a cold welcoming drink as is customary on such a hot day. She is surprised when we turn it down and hurry to go stand in the hot sun. This is Africa and we very quickly warm up.
Soon after leaving the airstrip, we stop at a crocodile farm and go in for a look. Hundreds and hundreds of crocodiles eye us warily from concrete pools as we tour the facility. This really is a farm, like a chicken farm or a cattle farm. They are just raising crocodiles instead.
The most important product is the hide. Crocodile leather is valuable for fashionable shoes and women’s handbags in Europe and America. However, nothing is wasted. There is also a market for the meat. One can buy crocodile meat in the local stores and crocodile is on the menu in tourist hotels. In Victoria Falls we had a Crock Tail Cocktail.
At first I find the idea of using wild game for commercial products unsettling but, as is usually the case, there is more to the story than meets the eye. The government regulates this farm. When the farm first started, it was permitted to take a certain number of crocodiles from the wild for breeding stock. After that, the farm was required to produce its own young crocodiles to increase its reptile herd.
A female crocodile lays many eggs but in the wild the young have a very high mortality rate. Most die in the first few weeks or months of life, frequently by being eaten by other crocodiles. Here at the farm the young are separated from the adults and almost all young survive. So very quickly the farm had hundreds of crocks. Now, as required by the government, the farm not only raises enough for its commercial needs, it releases a number of crocodiles back into the wild each year. Since it started, the farm has released many more crocks than it took out of the wild in the first place.
This farm is huge. It employs over fifty African workers. It is good to see a business that provides employment in an area with few jobs and helps the natural ecosystem by restoring crocodiles to the wild in places where they had been extirpated in the past.
From the crocodile farm to the lake is only a short drive. Here the Zambezi River that separates Zimbabwe from Zambia is dammed to form Lake Kariba and provide enough hydroelectric power for the two countries with some left over to export. For the next few days our home will be on this lake, literally on the lake.
Instead of a safari tent we live in a small houseboat, one of six in a sheltered bay of Lake Kariba. We have a wonderful room with big comforters on the bed, nice comfortable chairs for reading, a desk for writing, lots of windows looking out at the lake and, most incongruously, life jackets hanging on the wall. This is a boat, although without a motor, and we are anchored 200 yards offshore. In the late afternoon we enjoy sitting on our front porch and watching elephants, impala and warthogs come down to the lakeshore to drink. At night we use flashlights on the water to see the red eye shine of crocodiles cruising in our bay. The dining room, bar and lounge are on a larger houseboat and we commute back and forth in canoes and motorboats. It is great to go to sleep bobbing in a boat. We find that the moonlight on the water is most romantic too.
Here on Lake Kariba our primary game drives are not in a Land Rover but in a canoe. Since there are no rapids in sight, Ms. Shirley agrees to go canoeing again with the ranger—and we do just fine. On quiet waters in a back bay we glide through a ghost forest of dead trees sticking out of the water, the remains of the forest that was here before the lake flooded into this cove. Egrets, herons and cormorants look down on us as we paddle beneath the branches. Twice we discover groups of feeding hippos and paddle a detour around. We’ve had enough close encounters with hippos to last us a while. Yes, we’re dodging crocodiles too but this aluminum canoe is much easier to steer than our earlier inflatable canoe.
Here on Lake Kariba our primary game drives are not in a Land Rover but in a canoe. Since there are no rapids in sight, Ms. Shirley agrees to go canoeing again with the ranger—and we do just fine. On quiet waters in a back bay we glide through a ghost forest of dead trees sticking out of the water, the remains of the forest that was here before the lake flooded into this cove. Egrets, herons and cormorants look down on us as we paddle beneath the branches. Twice we discover groups of feeding hippos and paddle a detour around. We’ve had enough close encounters with hippos to last us a while. Yes, we’re dodging crocodiles too but this aluminum canoe is much easier to steer than our earlier inflatable canoe.
This is a great opportunity to get good looks at kingfishers and other water birds. The canoe is so quiet that we do not disturb them until we are almost on top of them. A sand bar where a small creek empties into the lake is a great place to have a sundowner drink and sit back to watch the sun disappear into the water. After the fast pace of some of the safari camps it is great to slow down. We are having the time of our lives.
Shirley and I were married in 1985. For the next fifteen years we both spent more waking hours on our jobs that we did with each other. Now, we can enjoy each other 24 hours a day. We fall in love all over again.
On the next evening our sundowner drink is aboard a motorized houseboat. We, and other guests, take it out on a sunset cruise to an area on the water where fish eagles gather. Here George, the senior guide on the staff, ties small pieces of raw fish to short reeds and tosses them into the water near the boat. The reeds keep the fish pieces from sinking. The fish eagles learned that this is free food. They swoop down right next to the boat and grab the fish pieces. Shirley is thrilled to get close up pictures and I thoroughly enjoy seeing these great eagles so close. This is the only time in Africa where there was any feeding of wild animals and this one seems harmless enough.
There are others passengers on this tour besides us. Earlier in the day while walking near the boat, I spotted a nest on board. A pair of Wire-tailed Swallows built a nest on the houseboat while it sat at the dock. That nest now contains three young and the adults are busy bringing food. The houseboat is only used every second day so the swallows and their babies are generally undisturbed. However, on each second evening the houseboat leaves the dock for a couple hours for a sundowner cruise. The adult swallows come back, find that their nest has left town and fly around in confusion. Imagine their relief when the nest reappears two hours later and the family is reunited.
Throughout Botswana and Zimbabwe we saw all the common animals: lions, leopards, jackals, hyenas, hippos, giraffes, warthogs, zebras, baboons, and antelope. We even found some of the unusual ones such as bushbaby, honey badger and river otter. But we never had even a glimpse of a rhinoceros.
Although once widespread in much of southern and eastern Africa, the black rhino is on the verge of extinction in much of its former range due to poaching over the past thirty years. In parts of Asia ground rhino horn is believed to have medicinal properties or even be a powerful aphrodisiac. In some Arab countries great value and status is placed upon wearing a dagger with a handle made of rhino horn. As a result, horn is now so valuable that a poacher can make more money from selling one illegal rhino horn than from working for many, many years. African countries are trying to protect rhinos but so far it is a losing battle. Game wardens are often poorly paid and equipped. All too frequently they are out-gunned by the poachers who carry AK-47s. In several countries game wardens have been shot and killed.
On the shores of Lake Kariba the Zimbabwe Wildlife Service is trying to protect some of its last remaining rhinos. Six young black rhinos, that were orphaned by hunters, were brought here to join two older rhinos who teach them survival skills for the wild, including such basics as which plants to eat.
With Charles, our native guide here at Lake Kariba, we set out in the morning to try and find a rhino. Soon, seeing distinctive rhinoceros tracks in the dusty road, we get out of the Land Rover and set off on foot to follow the tracks through the forest. We can see where rhinos have been, both by the tracks and by bushes that have the tips neatly eaten off. Black rhinos eat twigs and shoots not grass.
We walk further and then I can hear them. I will admit I am nervous. Rhinos have a reputation for being bad tempered, nearsighted and likely to charge at a person. Finally I spot them in the forest and stop to watch through binoculars. I am not inclined to get too close. But then I also spot a man in the forest, a man getting close to the rhinos. Could this be a poacher? Is the rhinoceros in danger? Are we in danger?
No, it turns out that this is a rhino watcher. He is paid by the wildlife service to follow this small group of rhinoceros around and watch them all day, every day. He carries a radio in case of trouble. At night he herds them into a park corral made of heavy railroad ties. The animals eagerly return to the corral because they associate it with food treats that are waiting for them each evening. Armed guards watch the corral every night.
These rhinos are safe for us to approach because they are now accustomed to people. Later the young rhinos will be taught to fear humans for their own protection. Then they will be released in a national park far from any villages in hope that they will survive. To protect the black rhinos from extinction, portions of this park are declared off limits to anyone. Armed park wardens patrol the area and have orders to shoot any person on sight.
These rhinos are safe for us to approach because they are now accustomed to people. Later the young rhinos will be taught to fear humans for their own protection. Then they will be released in a national park far from any villages in hope that they will survive. To protect the black rhinos from extinction, portions of this park are declared off limits to anyone. Armed park wardens patrol the area and have orders to shoot any person on sight.
The next morning Charles and I go birding in the forest on another side of the lake, just the two of us. Charles, who used to be a park warden, doesn’t usually go here with a guest because this area has a few wild rhinos, the truly bad-tempered, nearsighted, likely-to-charge kind. In several hours of hiking we do find the birds that I am looking for and we also find rhinoceros tracks. Charles is carrying a rifle but that is only for protection from buffalo or lions. He warns me that he is not allowed to shoot a rhino even if our life is in danger. He could go to prison for more than twenty years regardless of the reason for shooting one.
“When we see a rhino, pay close attention to me.”
“If I say stop, stand perfectly still.”
“If I say run, then run like mad!”
“If I say climb, then climb the nearest tree like your mother was a monkey!”
Gee, I’m glad that birding is such a safe, rational activity! As we hike through the forest I see lots of fresh tracks. At one point I even hear the noise of something large running in the thorn brush but I never have the need to stand still like a petrified tree, run like the banshees of hell are after me, or climb like a baboon’s brother. Still, an essential part of having a good adventure is knowing that there are dangers out there.
June 3 Small charter plane from Lake Kariba to Harare, Zimbabwe
June 3 Air Zimbabwe #23 Harare to Johannesburg, South Africa
Landing at the airport in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, our little plane feels like a toy on the long concrete runway designed for commercial jetliners. As we carry our bags into the terminal to check in at Air Zimbabwe, we dodge construction scaffolding on the way in. Is there any airport terminal anywhere in the world that is not undergoing continual construction, remodeling, or additions? If so, I haven’t found it in the last fifteen years of traveling.
June 3 Small charter plane from Lake Kariba to Harare, Zimbabwe
June 3 Air Zimbabwe #23 Harare to Johannesburg, South Africa
Landing at the airport in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, our little plane feels like a toy on the long concrete runway designed for commercial jetliners. As we carry our bags into the terminal to check in at Air Zimbabwe, we dodge construction scaffolding on the way in. Is there any airport terminal anywhere in the world that is not undergoing continual construction, remodeling, or additions? If so, I haven’t found it in the last fifteen years of traveling.
Soon we are in the air again leaving Zimbabwe behind. While relaxing in the plane, I check my tickets and baggage tags. Something does not look right! I normally check all my papers before leaving the airline counter but this time I did not in the confusion of paying airport taxes and retrieving my passport for immigration. The tickets are fine but the baggage tags do not say JNB (Johannesburg) which is today’s destination. They say HDS (Hoedspruit) which is tomorrow’s destination.
The clerk obviously made a mistake and it is too late to correct it. But that should not be a real problem. Because we are flying across an international border, we must clear customs and immigration in South Africa regardless of our final destination. So in spite of what the baggage tags say, the luggage should come out on the carousel at Johannesburg airport for us to take through customs and then recheck tomorrow for Hoedspruit.
Once in Johannesburg, we wait at the luggage carousel for our duffle bags to appear. We wait and we wait until all the luggage is unloaded but there is nothing for us. Both of our bags are missing. We have nothing but our daypacks, which we always carry on the plane. Our daypacks have all the really important things like camera, computer, binoculars, bird books and toiletries but the duffle bags have all our clothes. I head for the Lost Luggage counter to straighten things out. Here I find that South African bureaucracy is no different from bureaucracy everywhere.
“Here are my luggage tags. I think that my bags may be in the transfer luggage locker and were not put on the carousel.”
“Oh no, they wouldn’t do that. Everything must go through customs. It seems more likely that your luggage never got loaded on the plane in Harare. It is best that you fill out a lost luggage form.”
“Can’t someone at least look in the transfer luggage locker?”
“Oh no, that would never do. Please fill out the lost luggage form.”
“May I talk to a supervisor to see I can straighten this out?”
“I’m sorry sir, it’s Sunday. There are no supervisors. All I can do is give you a form.”
Obviously I fill out the form. But what good will that do? We are leaving town first thing in the morning and will be back in the bush. We head for the hotel with only our daypacks and the clothes on our backs. What do we do now? This is an unexpected event. But one of the realities of adventures is that not all are happy ones.
We now have two choices. In the next two hours before stores close on a Sunday we can rush out and try to buy new clothes and duffle bags to get by in the bush or we can just proceed on our original schedule and hope that our bags really do show up in Hoedspruit. We know that if we guess wrong, we will be wearing these same clothes for at least a week before we will have another chance to buy anything in Durban. Since this is an adventure, the ranger relies on an earlier rule: One has to have faith. That sounds better than today’s rule: Not all adventures work out well. “We’ll just wait until Hoedspruit and see what happens.”
June 4 South African Airways #1223 Johannesburg to Hoedspruit, S. Africa
Once again the airplane feels like a small toy when we land at Hoedspruit. The airport here uses the runways of a South African Air Force base. Our plane is a twin-engine prop with seats for twenty-four. When it lands on just a small piece of a runway almost two miles long, we taxi forever just to get to the other end of the base. Certainly this place is built for much larger planes than ours.
June 4 South African Airways #1223 Johannesburg to Hoedspruit, S. Africa
Once again the airplane feels like a small toy when we land at Hoedspruit. The airport here uses the runways of a South African Air Force base. Our plane is a twin-engine prop with seats for twenty-four. When it lands on just a small piece of a runway almost two miles long, we taxi forever just to get to the other end of the base. Certainly this place is built for much larger planes than ours.
At the small terminal we anxiously await the unloading of the baggage. Will our faith be rewarded or will I wear the same shirt for a week?
Hooray, there they are! The prodigal bags have returned. I am convinced that in Johannesburg I was standing less than a hundred feet from our bags, secured in a transfer luggage locker, but an ineffectual bureaucracy and a clerk who couldn’t bend the rules made us spend the night in uncertainty.
June 4 Small charter plane from Hoedspruit to D’Juma Camp, South Africa
D’Juma is where we first see a truly wild rhinoceros but there is no need to run like the wind or climb the nearest tree. Ms. Shirley and the ranger are safe in a Land Rover. Besides, there are no trees here large enough to climb. This is grasslands country with only thickets of small scrubby trees. Here is the home of the white rhino, which grazes on short grasses unlike the black rhino which browses on twigs and shoots. Due to strong protective measures, the white rhino is still plentiful on game reserves in South Africa but is almost extinct throughout the rest of Africa because of illegal hunting.
June 4 Small charter plane from Hoedspruit to D’Juma Camp, South Africa
D’Juma is where we first see a truly wild rhinoceros but there is no need to run like the wind or climb the nearest tree. Ms. Shirley and the ranger are safe in a Land Rover. Besides, there are no trees here large enough to climb. This is grasslands country with only thickets of small scrubby trees. Here is the home of the white rhino, which grazes on short grasses unlike the black rhino which browses on twigs and shoots. Due to strong protective measures, the white rhino is still plentiful on game reserves in South Africa but is almost extinct throughout the rest of Africa because of illegal hunting.
The white rhinoceros is not as dangerous an animal as the black rhino, which is well known for its unpredictable nature and its propensity for charging towards any perceived danger. Nonetheless, any animal that weighs over two tons is going to get my respect. Up close this animal is huge. It’s like a sturdy tank with a battering ram on the end of its nose. Nobody is going to push this animal around.
Our final game drive at D’Juma comes with a new experience on our African trip—our first day of rain. And it’s a cold rain. It is early June, the beginning of winter, and we are hundreds of miles south of where we had been in Botswana and Zimbabwe. In the southern hemisphere being further south means being colder. We have waterproof, padded ponchos with hoods, so with our sweaters we are warm enough as we start the game drive in a light rain.
Soon new animals appear that we have not seen before. This area of southern Africa has a different mixture of antelope than further north. Certainly seeing white rhinos for only the second time is still a big treat. However, after a couple hours in the drizzle in an open Land Rover, the cold begins to seep in under the edges of the poncho and the fun begins to seep out. The ranger looks at Ms. Shirley and sees cold rain dripping off her chin and wisely decides that there may be a better way to spend the rest of the day. We head back to camp and find a roaring fire in the camp lounge. Yes, that’s a good way to spend a cold afternoon in the African bush.
June 7 Small charter plane from D’Juma Camp to Hluhluwe, South Africa
The cold front and rain lasted only one day and blew out leaving warm weather and clear skies again—a perfect day for flying. After noisy, cramped, single-engine Cessnas for most of our charter flights, this twin-engine, six-passenger plane is luxury. The pilot even brought snacks. Unlike our last long charter flight this one is warm enough for us to take a nap.
June 7 Small charter plane from D’Juma Camp to Hluhluwe, South Africa
The cold front and rain lasted only one day and blew out leaving warm weather and clear skies again—a perfect day for flying. After noisy, cramped, single-engine Cessnas for most of our charter flights, this twin-engine, six-passenger plane is luxury. The pilot even brought snacks. Unlike our last long charter flight this one is warm enough for us to take a nap.
After three hours we leave the interior of Africa behind, cross over the mountains and land on the coastal plain near the Indian Ocean at the small town of Hluhluwe. Hluhluwe was not on our original itinerary. We were supposed to go to N’dumo National Park on the border with Mozambique but we had to make a mid-course correction.
The early months of 2000 brought huge rains—record-setting rains—to southeastern Africa, especially to Mozambique. In March before we left the States, I watched the floods on television news. I saw entire villages being evacuated by helicopter. I heard the story of the woman who gave birth high in a tree in the middle of the night while she and her family were stranded.
Now in June the floods are long gone but some of the aftermath remains. The safari camp in N’dumo National Park was partially washed away and the rest left uninhabitable. I heard that the flood came in so high and so suddenly that the managers of that camp barely escaped with their lives. Now the camp is still under reconstruction and not yet ready to accommodate us.
Three weeks earlier while at Xigera, we received a message from Wilderness Safaris, Ltd., that N’dumo would be unavailable for our visit. Would we accept a substitute at the Hluhluwe River Lodge if they made all the arrangements? Well, the absolute primary rule of traveling is: One must be flexible. So of course we said yes, sight unseen.
Being flexible often leads to new opportunities. Serendipity can be fun. Back in June of 1991 the ranger decided on a Wednesday that he really wanted to take a week off and go birding sometime that summer. The ranger had more vacation time each year than Ms. Shirley, so he occasionally took a week off by himself. It was, he decided, time to do that again. The ranger looked at his work calendar and discovered that he was fully booked with meetings and assignments for the entire summer except next week—and this was Wednesday already. So Wednesday evening after work he went to a new travel agency close to home.
Being flexible often leads to new opportunities. Serendipity can be fun. Back in June of 1991 the ranger decided on a Wednesday that he really wanted to take a week off and go birding sometime that summer. The ranger had more vacation time each year than Ms. Shirley, so he occasionally took a week off by himself. It was, he decided, time to do that again. The ranger looked at his work calendar and discovered that he was fully booked with meetings and assignments for the entire summer except next week—and this was Wednesday already. So Wednesday evening after work he went to a new travel agency close to home.
“I want to go somewhere I’ve never been. It has to be overseas. It has to have a chance to see some new birds. It has to have cheap airfare. And it has to be this weekend!”
The ranger heard peals of laughter from the travel agent who eventually quieted and related, “In June there are no cheap airfares overseas, especially when you buy tickets only two days before flying.”
“Well, at least look. There might be something.”
There was something. United Airlines was trying something new—a cheap ticket to London available no more than 48 hours in advance. The flight left at 5:00 p.m. on Friday, which was exactly 47 hours away. It was perfect. Being flexible about where to go meant the ranger got a cheap ticket. And being flexible is the first rule of adventures.
The ranger had never been to Great Britain so he had 47 hours to read up on the country, get an appropriate bird book on Europe, pack and, oh yes, tell Shirley he was going.
Friday came and Ms. Shirley dropped the ranger off at Dulles Airport with his daypack and duffle bag. She would pick him up again a week later when he returned from London. As always the ranger arrived at the airport early even though he already had his boarding pass. There wasn’t any need to check luggage. A small duffle bag qualified as a carryon. The ranger was all set to go when serendipity happened.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our flight today to London is overbooked. If anyone is willing to give up his seat, United Airlines will give that passenger a credit of $600 good on a future flight and will fly him or her to London on this same flight tomorrow.” Here was a chance to fly free. The ranger had only paid $600 for the flight in the first place. But he hated to give up a day of his vacation. This was only a one-week trip after all.
“I’ll take your $600 but I don’t want to lose a day of my trip. Can you just fly me somewhere else?”
“Well maybe, where would you like to go?”
“What do you have? I can be flexible.”
“Hmm, there is a plane leaving for Madrid right now if you would be interested in that but we wouldn’t be able to transfer your luggage in time.”
“I’ll take Madrid. All of my luggage is carryon. I have nothing checked.”
“Well then, you better hurry. The plane is leaving right now. I’ll send a message ahead to Madrid to give you the $600 credit.”
So the ranger ran down three gates to the Madrid flight and the attendants literally closed the door right behind him. He had just made the flight. He found an empty seat and sat down. He now had six hours to decide what he would do when the plane landed in Madrid.
With the good luck that often goes with serendipity, the ranger had picked a seat beside a college student who had spent the previous summer in Spain and had enjoyed it so much that she was returning for a second summer.
This was just the person to ask, “Ok, if you were going to Spain for one week and could only see one thing, what would it be?”
She thought a minute, “I’d go to Granada to see the Alhambra.”
A plan was born. Six hours later the plane landed in Madrid and the ranger rented a car and bought a map. Just where is Granada? He also noted national parks, swamps and mountains on the map. These are often good places for birding.
It was a wonderful week. The Alhambra was spectacular; the birding was great. In the middle of week, the ranger called Shirley, “Don’t pick me up on the plane from London. I won’t be on it. I’m in Spain.” Somehow Ms. Shirley was not surprised.
Upon arriving back home, the ranger found another surprise from his unexpected trip to Spain. United Airlines had just started service from Dulles Airport to Madrid three weeks before his journey. To promote this new flight, United was giving triple mileage on its frequent flyer program. The ranger suddenly had 15,000 miles just from this one trip.
The following summer the ranger used his $600 credit to fly to Alaska to see puffins and other seabirds at an Eskimo village on St. Lawrence Island thirty miles off the coast of Russia. That Alaska flight gave him several thousand more frequent flyer miles that, when added to the miles from the Madrid flight, was enough for a free ticket anywhere in the United States. He then used that free ticket to go to Alaska again the next summer. So for one original $600 purchase, the ranger went to Spain once and Alaska twice. Yes, it does pay to be flexible.
Serendipity and flexibility now bring us to Hluhluwe—and the ranger can’t even pronounce the name. It turns out to be a Zulu word and one should just ignore the spelling and say, “slush-SLOO-wee.” Hluhluwe River Lodge is not a safari camp like N’dumo but a nice lodge for fishermen and tourists close by the St. Lucia Wetlands Park and the Mkuzi Game Reserve. We have a large comfortable cabin and the cook makes great use of the braai, which our guidebook describes as “a barbeque featuring tons of grilled meat and beer (‘and a small salad for the ladies.’)”
The lodge has a naturalist whose hobby turns out to be birding. For four days the ranger and the naturalist are off birding everywhere: in boats in the wetlands, in Land Rovers in the game reserve and on foot in marshes over their boot tops. At Mkuzi Game Reserve we can freely hike without a gun because there are no lions or buffalo.
We even get to see N’dumo National Park. As consolation for not being able to accommodate us at their flooded camp in the park, Wilderness Safaris, Ltd., arranged a driver to take us on a long day trip to see the park. Between that trip and all of our other day trips from Hluhluwe Lodge, we find a number of birds we would have missed had we only gone to N’dumo. Flexibility has won out again.
But the biggest treat is the Hluhluwe Weavers Guild. We are in Zulu country and the Zulus make great baskets. We have stumbled into the heart of Zulu weaving and the guild’s sales outlet is only five miles down the road from our lodge. Ms. Shirley is in her element. She loves baskets. In fact baskets are almost the only souvenirs we buy during the entire 7½-month journey.
Hundreds of brightly colored baskets await us when we walk through the door, everything from small woven plaques and jars to huge beer baskets. Zulus make homemade beer and they store it in baskets. Beer baskets are large, hold almost a bushel and are woven so tightly that beer cannot seep out. The baskets we see here are made by the best of the Zulu weavers and are truly works of art. Ms. Shirley wants one; the ranger says why not several? But how do we get them home?
The answer is simple; mail them. The guild can mail anywhere in the world. We pick out three large baskets and a dozen small ones and put faith in the South African postal system. Sure enough, while we are gone, boxes begin arriving at Harry and Marie’s house in St. Louis—one box at a time. One just has to have faith.
Later in Scottsdale, Arizona, we see one of these beer baskets from the same Hluhluwe Weavers Guild for sale in an upscale shop. The price tag is $400, much more than we paid for an entire collection of baskets. Our unexpected substitute stop in Hluhluwe turns out to be one of the highlights of the journey.
June 11 Road travel by van from Hluhluwe to Rocktail Bay, South Africa
A thatched roof cabin hidden among forested sand dunes. Long walks on deserted beaches. Cold wine by a warm campfire. No time spent in a vehicle of any kind. A good time to enjoy each other’s company. Maybe a little birding. Rocktail Bay is a most relaxing three days.
June 11 Road travel by van from Hluhluwe to Rocktail Bay, South Africa
A thatched roof cabin hidden among forested sand dunes. Long walks on deserted beaches. Cold wine by a warm campfire. No time spent in a vehicle of any kind. A good time to enjoy each other’s company. Maybe a little birding. Rocktail Bay is a most relaxing three days.
In the cool part of the evening, just after dark, Shirley watches the ranger rummaging through his duffle bag. The bag isn’t that large; you can’t hide much in it. At least that what Ms. Shirley thinks. But the ranger keeps digging in the bag, not really pulling things out but just moving clothes around. After all these weeks, you’d think he’d have everything memorized in there. Down at the bottom the ranger finds what he is looking for, a square of tissue paper and some scotch tape. The ranger pulls it out and presents it to his wife, along with a ranger smile.
“What is this?” It’s a package, a foot square and half as thick as a T-shirt. It is obviously well pressed from being in the bottom of the duffle for weeks. There is virtually no weight to it. Whatever it is, Ms. Shirley can tell that the ranger wrapped it himself—by the amount of scotch tape holding it together.
“What secret have you been keeping all this time?”
“Well, open it and see. Wouldn’t that be the practical thing to do?” says the ranger with a big smile. It isn’t often that he can keep a secret for a month.
Shirley picks off the scotch tape, one piece at a time. What has the ranger done now? The answer is something blue. It’s blue and it’s silky and almost diaphanous. Shirley holds it up with a smile of her own. Ms. Shirley has worn khaki for every day of the last two months. She has slept in warm flannel on cold nights in the African bush. Now with the tent days behind us, Ms. Shirley will have something to wear as soft as her own skin. That’s worth a kiss and a hug.
A month ago in St. Louis the ranger ran errands. He went to the bank for cash, to the pharmacy to refill prescriptions and to the store for new water bottles. But his most important errand was at the mall at a shop called Victoria’s. With a thirty pound weight limit the ranger couldn’t take much but Victoria had a secret and it weighed virtually nothing—and it was blue, the ranger’s favorite color.
There is no need for Barney tonight. Ms. Shirley will sleep warm next to her ranger. All is well.
June 14 Road travel by van from Rocktail Bay to Durbin, South Africa
After a month in the bush, we find ourselves in a large city, a metropolis really. Durban is a beautiful city with its harbor on the Indian Ocean. Except for the cars driving on the wrong side of the street, it feels very much like an American city. We have a nice B & B with a telephone to check up on email. There is a pizza parlor just down the street!! Guiltily, I indulge to a huge degree—a total pig out. Junk food is a real treat after all the good healthy meals at the camps.
June 14 Road travel by van from Rocktail Bay to Durbin, South Africa
After a month in the bush, we find ourselves in a large city, a metropolis really. Durban is a beautiful city with its harbor on the Indian Ocean. Except for the cars driving on the wrong side of the street, it feels very much like an American city. We have a nice B & B with a telephone to check up on email. There is a pizza parlor just down the street!! Guiltily, I indulge to a huge degree—a total pig out. Junk food is a real treat after all the good healthy meals at the camps.
Jonathan arrives, our guide for the next six days. He is a delightful chap, a thirty-something who completed medical school and residency and then decided that what he really wanted to do was be a birding guide and travel all over the world. We’ve caught him between trips and now he will show us his back yard, the southeast corner of South Africa.
Jonathan turns out to be a wonderful companion. He certainly knows his birds, which is why he was hired, but beyond that he is knowledgeable about all the dynamic things happening in South Africa at present with the recent transition to majority rule. Over beer Jonathan and the ranger discuss politics into the evening. He is proud of his country. He doesn’t gloss over the racial problems of the past or of the present but he is optimistic for the future.
Over the weekend his wife, Sharon, joins us for a three-day trip east towards the mountain kingdom of Lesotho. She and Shirley hit it off immediately and there are more things to talk about than just birds and politics.
After traveling all day, we spend the night in Himeville, a small town in KwaZulu Natal province. Since leaving the coast at Durban, we have driven up into the foothills and are now at 6,000 feet elevation, the highest we since leaving Ecuador. It is June 18th, only three days before the winter solstice, and the weather feels like it.
This is Freedom Day in South Africa, a national holiday and the beginning of a three-day weekend. Our little hotel is full to overflowing. The bar and the lounge areas are completely packed. It looks as if everyone staying in the hotel is here in the lounge, seated in front of the TV set, along with half of Himeville and anyone else who happens to be driving by on the highway. The attraction is rugby, a huge sport here in South Africa. The national team, the Springboks, is playing the national team of England with all the political overtones that a match between these two countries can have.
Rugby is a much rougher sport than American football and the players wear fewer pads. I remember a bumper sticker in Virginia on the car of a rugby enthusiast, “Give Blood. Play Rugby!”
On the television I see a lot of running around on the field. Both teams are scoring points and I am desperately trying to learn the complex rules of the game. However, the rules of the TV lounge are much easier to learn. When “our” team scores, everyone cheers, holds their beer mug up high and then has a drink. When the other team steals the ball and strives for a goal, everyone moans so loud that it can be heard outside on the street, but then we still have a drink. With all the cheers and moans there is a constant din.
The waitresses are moving double time to keep the beer and chips coming. Everyone is having a good time. Outside it is cold so the fireplace in the lounge is burning high but the chimney draws poorly and pumps smoke into the large room. There is a haze in front of the TV set but no one seems to notice. Our team is winning! “Raise your mug high.”
The game is finally won and we have another beer. The crowd disperses and an open door finally lets out the smoke. We celebrate “our” victory and some successful birding earlier in the day with a glass of wine and a fresh trout dinner. There are good trout ponds nearby and South Africa is noted for its wine.
After dinner the night air is already cold. It is only three nights before the longest night of the year. The heater in our cabin does not work well so it is chilly inside. There isn’t much heat but warm blankets and comforters work just fine. Shirley looks for Barney but finds her husband’s warm feet instead. All is well with the world.
At dawn our breath blows white. We’ve had cold mornings before but this is the first time that we find frost. We’re out before breakfast searching trees at the edge of town for a strange little woodpecker-like bird that can turn its head 180 degrees backward. No wonder that its name is Wryneck. We don’t find it this morning but I’m sure we will before we leave South Africa.
When the restaurant opens, we jump at the chance for hot coffee and eggs and sausages just off the grill. These are just the ticket for bone-chilled birdwatchers. Afterwards, we can still make an early start for Sani Pass just outside of town.
Up until only a few months ago, this rocky mountain road was restricted to four-wheel drive only but some creative road grading has “improved” it just enough that we can make the drive in a van if we are careful about high-centers, rocky stream crossings, tight turns and one-way stretches of road where the ascending vehicle has the right-of-way.
It is a dark day and clouds loom ominously as we climb into the Drakensberg Mountains. At a level spot before the road makes its last steep climb, we stop at a South African border post to have our passports checked and stamped for exit. Then we chug up the final eight kilometers of South Africa. The dry mountains look stark in the gloomy light but there are White-necked Ravens soaring overhead and Cape Griffons, huge vultures—much larger than American vultures. Periodically the sun breaks through the clouds and the slanting winter light brightens the cliffs against the dark sky. It’s a scene that begs for a camera and Shirley is quickly to work.
It is a dark day and clouds loom ominously as we climb into the Drakensberg Mountains. At a level spot before the road makes its last steep climb, we stop at a South African border post to have our passports checked and stamped for exit. Then we chug up the final eight kilometers of South Africa. The dry mountains look stark in the gloomy light but there are White-necked Ravens soaring overhead and Cape Griffons, huge vultures—much larger than American vultures. Periodically the sun breaks through the clouds and the slanting winter light brightens the cliffs against the dark sky. It’s a scene that begs for a camera and Shirley is quickly to work.
We reach the top of the road at 2874 meters above sea level. This is not a mountain pass where one goes to the top and then down the other side. Here we drive up the steep mountainside and then reach a plateau that stretches on for miles at nearly 10,000 feet above sea level. Right where the steep road reaches the plateau, we cross the international boundary.
We are now in the independent kingdom of Lesotho (lay-SOO-too). This small, poor country lies mostly above 9,000 feet and its people exist by herding cattle on the dry plateau. Lesotho is a land-locked nation, completely surrounded by South Africa. Since the days of Queen Victoria, it has been separate from its larger neighbor and thus did not suffer the consequences of apartheid. This arid land was deemed too poor for the British colonists to covet.
For us on Sani Pass, Lesotho seems a step back in time. The local people live in round stone buildings with thatched roofs. Smoke from cattle dung fires seeps through the thatch because there is no chimney. It is wintery cold outside with the temperature now in the thirties, so a fire is necessary. The men wear no coats. We see them in shirts and pants with a single blanket wrapped around them as they walk. The blanket is pinned at one corner so that they can stick one arm out to hold the reins of their horses.
The primary mode of transportation is walking or riding horseback on longhaired, small-statured horses. These people heard cattle and a few goats and sheep. They do little farming because of the poor soil and the short growing season at this altitude. They sell wool to buy basic necessities, which must be trucked up the same dirt road that we just traveled.
A one-room customs post at the border, a school and about thirty houses make up the village of Sani Top, Lesotho. Nearby is a hostel with a cold dormitory room for backpackers and a bar with a fireplace right on the edge of the plateau. It bills itself as the highest pub in Africa. In this temperature we opt to skip the cold beer and choose a hot chocolate instead for energy in the cold.
As we drive a little ways into Lesotho, the ranger is looking this way and that for birds—any birds. The ranger keeps a birdlist for each country he visits in addition to his millennial goal list. Since he has never been in Lesotho before, he wants to make a good start. In half a day along twelve miles of dirt road and the rocky slopes beyond, Jonathan and the ranger tally 21 species of birds, three of which are life birds for Ranger Rick. Twenty-one kinds of birds is not a large number when compared to some days in Ecuador that counted over a hundred but in wind-swept Lesotho in early winter, 21 seems like a lot.
As we drive a little ways into Lesotho, the ranger is looking this way and that for birds—any birds. The ranger keeps a birdlist for each country he visits in addition to his millennial goal list. Since he has never been in Lesotho before, he wants to make a good start. In half a day along twelve miles of dirt road and the rocky slopes beyond, Jonathan and the ranger tally 21 species of birds, three of which are life birds for Ranger Rick. Twenty-one kinds of birds is not a large number when compared to some days in Ecuador that counted over a hundred but in wind-swept Lesotho in early winter, 21 seems like a lot.
The treeless rocky ground at the top of Sani Pass looks to be a most unlikely place to find a woodpecker. Yet that is exactly what we find. The Ground Woodpecker lives here and finds insects on the boulder-strewn grassy slopes. Tiny Drakensberg Siskins hide among the rocks to escape the wind. These small birdbrains may be smarter than the two humans who are out in the wind trying to find them.
Did I mention that it is cold? It is in the 30s but the wind chill is below freezing and now it is snowing!! It is not a blizzard but there is enough snow that the ground turns white. About ten miles from the border the road climbs another 600 feet and the road is completely snow covered. It is not deep but it is slippery, particularly for Jonathan who lives and drives where it never snows.
At the top of the hill we all get out where several four-wheel vehicles from South Africa are already parked. This is a holiday weekend and South Africans are out enjoying the mountains like we are. As we get out of the van, snowballs fly at us and we hurry to return the volley with gusto. Most South Africans do not see snow, except on very rare occasions, so everyone here is behaving like a child on his first day of snow. Everyone throws snowballs at everyone else, whether they know them or not. It is all in good fun.
Hiking rocky slopes looking for Sentinel Rock-Thrush and Orange-breasted Rockjumper gives me a big appetite. Thankfully, Jonathan and Sharon brought lots of food for a picnic. Just like little kids, we want to eat outside while the snow is still coming down. It’s the kind of day where it is great to be alive. It is exhilarating to be in the mountains with the stark scenery, the low dark clouds and the snow.
All four of us are totally turned on with the excitement of the day in wind-swept Lesotho, an out-of-this-world kind of place. We even forget to be cold until nearly sundown when the wind finally bores through our jackets and chills us to the bone.
The warm, though smoky, fire at the hotel back in Himeville is welcome after a chilly day in the mountains. “I want some more of that good trout.”
June 21 South African Airways #510 Durban to Johannesburg, South Africa
We are up at 5:00. There is plenty of time before we have to go to the airport. “The flight is not until 11:00, so let’s not waste the whole morning. There is still time to make one last try for the Zebra Waxbill.”
June 21 South African Airways #510 Durban to Johannesburg, South Africa
We are up at 5:00. There is plenty of time before we have to go to the airport. “The flight is not until 11:00, so let’s not waste the whole morning. There is still time to make one last try for the Zebra Waxbill.”
Jonathan and I are off again to a rural park on the edge of Durban. This waxbill is a common bird but it has proved elusive so far. Today’s chilly morning is our last chance to find it. There are good birds about. A Southern Tchagra pops up to salute the early morning sun followed by a Forest Canary. There’s a Purple Heron by the stream and two African Black Ducks fly by but by 7:30 still no waxbill. Sometimes common birds are the most difficult to find.
“It’s 9:00! We’ve got to RUN! We’re going to miss the plane!” The time slipped by and we have missed our self-imposed deadline for leaving the park. We are literally running for the car from a half-mile away. I can run faster because I’m not carrying the spotting scope. Thirty yards from the car, whoa!—a sudden stop. There on the ground are four Zebra Waxbills, not twenty feet from the car. We hiked all over this park and the birds we want are twenty feet from the car. It is the shortest victory celebration ever for a life bird, “Hooray. There they are. Let’s drive!”
Forty minutes to the B & B to scoop up Shirley and the bags. Thirty minutes to the airport. Whatever gods control traffic lights are kind to us today. We roar into the Durban airport at 10:15 for an 11:00 flight. If we miss this flight, we’ll miss the connection on to Singapore. This is not the way the well-organized ranger normally travels but we make it, just a little more frazzled than we like. “Sorry about that Shirley.”
On the flight to Johannesburg there is time to get out the laptop and enter the last bird sightings from Durban and tally up the year’s list.
Tally for 2000
Eastern United States 136
Cayman Islands 49
Ecuador 669
Missouri 16
Botswana 141
Zimbabwe 54
South Africa 195
Lesotho 9
Total 1269
On the flight to Johannesburg there is time to get out the laptop and enter the last bird sightings from Durban and tally up the year’s list.
Tally for 2000
Eastern United States 136
Cayman Islands 49
Ecuador 669
Missouri 16
Botswana 141
Zimbabwe 54
South Africa 195
Lesotho 9
Total 1269
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