hurrah: land’s been sighted!

19 January 2012

When morning broke after 225mm of rain it wasn’t a clear one, but at least it was dry. The river had subsided during the night and things are beginning to return to normal. Being on sloping ground (the east side of the Lebombo hills), and thanks to the storm water trenches we constructed in November, the camp wasn’t flooded and fortunately suffered no damage.

The surrounding areas weren’t so lucky, according to the news. Kruger National Park, my neighbour less than three km to the west, took a huge hit in places and Hoedspruit, where I landed four days ago, saw people being airlifted off roofs and out of trees. South of here in Mozambique the raging Olifants river is still piling into the huge Massingir dam with the level rising dangerously despite all floodgates jetting water at full volume.

I’ve also learned that the beast has a name: Dando tropical depression, wayward child of tempestuous la Nina. (Not that the SA Weather Service would know that of course, otherwise they would have issued a warning.)

Good news is that the guy who was on his way here with a supply truck managed to turn back to Massingir safely after being halted by the flooded Madonse river. Another effort will be made to get through with supplies tomorrow and the expected guests will then be shuttled in by chopper.

Through all this the bush has been strangely quiet. The resident baboon troop didn’t make a sound and even the normally raucous birds have been subdued. I suppose one doesn’t really have much inclination for singing after sitting it out in so much rain.

wet, wet, wet

18 January 2012

Rain. Lots of it. All day yesterday, throughout the night, and still it’s pouring down. More than 200mm so far, with plenty more to come by the looks of it. This is the big one that the whole Shingwedzi valley system has been thirstily waiting for. The pools are overflowing and have joined up to become a wide stream where the crocs can swim at will again and meet up with old friends and family. Hippo, fish and all things aquatic are having their world restored and now enter a new cycle of life.

On the human side things are a lot less rosy. With my fire rained out there’s no hot water and no way to cook a meal or even make coffee. Water is streaming through camp on all sides and the river is rising alarmingly. No plane can land on the swamped airstrip and I’m sure the road will be quite impassable due to flooded river crossings and miles and miles of mud.

I got my internet going again and on the news it says neighbouring Kruger Park has closed some gates (including Giriyondo where I passed through the day before yesterday) and is in the process of evacuating people in some places.

The Shingwedzi river in front of camp this morning.

Twenty minutes later.

And another twenty minutes later.

What about the group of ecologists and other guests who would have flown here from Massingir tomorrow? Communication has been difficult and erratic but last I heard, after I’d sent a warning that the runway is down and that flooding’s underway, was that they would still be arriving, presumably by road or helicopter. Well, I have a helipad cleared and marked for them (even though the ash with which I’d chalked out the big H has probably washed away by now) but the road most definitely won’t be an option.

More worrying is the short text message I received that said the advance supplies that would have been flown in yesterday were sent ahead by road this morning to reach my camp later today. If that is indeed the case it would mean that somewhere out there on that lonely track somebody with a heavily loaded vehicle may be in trouble right now.

As I sit here amongst the buckets in my leaky kitchen shack with incessant rain sheeting down and thunder booming through the gloom, I can’t help being worried about him.

View from my cooking lapa this morning.

Same scene, some time later.

back to the bush

17 January 2012

Back in the bush again! Three weeks of summer sun and shenanigans in Helen Zille’s Land of Plenty left me refreshed, but ultimately also a little bored.

At first there was the novelty of having everything so easy and aplenty. Even the little things that people probably don’t even think about, like switching on a light, pulling into a service station whenever you need petrol, or ordering a pizza, never mind having it delivered. And of course ice cream. Especially ice cream!

Music was a treat too. I don’t have any in camp, not even a radio, so guitar god Albert Frost really lit me up when I went to a blues jol to Saronsberg near Tulbagh one day. Inevitably the night ended with good wine and hard rock on a stoep back in the home valley. Led Zeppelin, the assembled afficionados decided, after giving a number of rock greats the volume button, still rules!

Then the days settled into a summer routine and before long it was time to say goodbye to my sons, my dog and all the good friends again and saddle up the jet. Civilization may have its perks but somehow the elusive meaning of life seems harder to find under fluorescent lighting.

The lowveld was kind when I landed in Hoedspruit. Cool and verdant and resounding with birdsong, unlike the parched and fire-ravaged Boland I’d left behind.

The private hilltop lodge where I stayed in the Selati reserve nestles amongst huge granite boulders.

I spent the night in the Selati reserve where my wheels were waiting and passed through Phalaborwa yesterday morning to stock up. The trip across northern Kruger National Park was the usual slow, somewhat tedious one, but for a change the border formalities where I crossed into Mozambique didn’t take forever.

Things had changed a bit while I was gone. The almost blinding

Impala lambs born in November have grown into sturdy youngsters.

green of fresh summer growth had seeded into thigh high gold but the big summer rains were still holding off. An overcast sky and a cool wind spelt promise though. The little maize fields of the villages I passed through looked decidedly strained and the children who ran up to shout at my passing were kicking up dust. I made the run along the tortuous bush track to my camp in about three and a half hours and arrived last night just as darkness was settling in.

It turned out all is not well in paradise. Christmas spirit had got the better of Man Friday and he’d not only ignored the tasks he and the other guys had been given, but he’d also taken leave at will, leaving the camp unguarded. This resulted in two of my three treasured solar panels being stolen and the landing strip, where regrowth was to have been cleared, standing knee-high in grass. And that with a supply plane due today and twelve VIP guests on their way in two days’ time!

To add to my problems the internet system is not working and it started raining this morning, with no sign of letting up soon. Through the emergency sattelite phone I manage to get word out to hold the plane while I set about trying to get everything fixed that should have been done while I was away.

About the only good news is that the stolen panels were recovered in Makandazul village by two of my guys who heard about the theft when they returned from leave and then went there in search of the culprits. They caught the two tsotsi’s, tied their wrists and then marched them one and a half hours back to camp. After keeping them captive for two days and not really knowing what to do with them, they then marched them back again! To complicate matters further, the third member of my crew had in the meantime been stabbed by a buddy of the two thieves. He arrived back at camp two days later with a hole in his back plugged with wet cow dung.

Yep, I’m back in the bush. And certainly not bored. In fact, it’s taken me less than a day to forget all about ice cream and pizza and lazy days on the beach..

from wise blue eyes into the wide blue skies

20 Dec 2011

Thirty km outside Phalaborwa lies the Selati private game reserve, 30 000ha of bluechip lowveld bush where the big beasts roam and lucky folks get to visit. My hosts there last night were acclaimed contemporary wildlife artist Keith Joubert and his wife Val, at their bushveld retreat where they live when not in Botswana.

Keith is an inspiring fireside companion. He’s passionate about wildlife and wilderness, with wisdom as much as knowledge. We talked till late and I really, really enjoyed his company. Those penetrating blue eyes see beyond, with even more than the artist’s vision, into the very soul of Africa. (Read more about him here: www.keith-joubert.com/biography_full.htm )

Now, as I’m about to climb into the belly of the silver bird at Hoedspruit’s charming little Eastgate airport where Val dropped me off, I’m leaving with a feeling of having been enriched by the low country and its people and creatures. It may be time to go and kick my feet up on the soft sofa of civilization for a while, but I’ve realized one should not grow too attached to it. Africa’s magic calabash holds many other potions to sip from.

Taking to the skies. In the background is the great Drakensberg escarpment where the inland plateau of central RSA drops off to the lowveld. As a youngster I lived on the slopes of Mariepskop, a bastion of this range.

taking a break

18 Dec 2011

Everything is packed or mothballed. After six weeks in Eden it’s time to go and see what’s on the apple tree in the ‘real’ world. I’m looking foreward to it. Summer in Africa’s sub-equatorial lowveld can be taxing.

Daybreak is already silhouetting the woodland lace when I fire up the six- cylinder just after four a.m. It’s a cool morning and for a change I actually enjoy the quirks of the ‘road’ south. Going on a 4×4 challenge is after all what some folks do for fun on a Sunday morning.

Today the bush is offering a special on mud. Lots of it, laid out in sheets and great slushy ponds. Just to make it even more interesting, they’re lined with ruts and rocks and roots, hidden under a layer of unpredictability.

It’s a beautiful morning though, almost as if the bush is laying on all its charm to make sure I come back for more. I make my way along, careful not to trip over the Tropic of Capricorn near Chimangue village, and reach the ‘main’ east/west road without serious incident.

Surprise: The road’s been graded! What used to be rock-dotted ostrich skin is now dermabraded dirt. And an even bigger surprise awaits at Giriyondo. The normally quiet border post is crowded with 4×4’s and boat- and camping trailers, part of the great exodus of South African holidaymakers who head to the beaches of Mozambique over Christmas.

Fortunately, in light of my clinical queue intolerance, I’m going against the stream, so I get through without too much hassle.

Tar!!! and it feels like silk..

In Phalaborwa I park the weary Patrol outside Buffalo Pub & Grill where the beer is blissfully cold, the food is moth-free and the air temperature’s been tweaked. Afterwards, at Beverly Hills guesthouse, I float away my weariness in cool water under the palms. Aaaaaaaahhhh.. And even watch Sewende Laan.

getting to know my local gp

16 Dec 2011

Friday, and I have to do what many people do on a Friday (although today’s a holiday in neighbouring SA): Fetch the work crew from site 20km away, pay them, and drop them off where they live, 7k’s the other way.

I set out in low range 4×4. A steady, cool drizzle has been falling since early morning after a murderous night. That’s on top of 25mm two days ago that didn’t manage to break the oppresive heat and humidity, but did pre-soak the soil.

The eight-man road crew, when I get there, already has their tarpaulin and tools on the trailer and their three fires extinguished. Eleven km of bush track has been opened up and they’re happy to be heading home after a week of camping in lion country.

Sticky stuff. The contraption on the right is my blacksmith and wire repair of a broken spring mounting.

I slip, spin and slither the Nissan and trailer all the way back again through the black mud and then tackle the rocky track to the village where I drop off the guys.

Just as I’m about to drive off again, a little girl arrives with a message. The chief would like to see me. Protocol dictates that no chef should spurn another, so I turn around and mudplough through the streambed and the track that leads to his compound.

Turns out chef is really happy to see me. All smiles and triple handshakes.

The old man in his company is even more happy. He comes charging up, correcting his course a few times along the way, brakes too late and then falls upon me like I’m his long-lost brother. I help him find his balance, do the handshakes, and then have to prop him up again by the shoulders.

Chef sends him reeling off in a new direction and then gets down to business. A lift to Mapai? OK, if I’m not going, then how about five litres of wine? It’s christmas after all. No? OK. But please, next time, four tyres for the Nissan sitting on logs over there. Fourteen inch. Big problem. No transport.

A pity I can’t help him. As a chef in these parts myself, I fully understand.

The old man, I learn, is none other than old Maquaqua, who passes himself off as a sangoma in the village. He may not do as well as the one in Machamba who is rumoured to have twelve wives and two cars, but he has a few bedside stunts of his own, including downing a nip flask of gin in one go and practising medicine under the guiding haze of the green weed.

Had I not started taking anti-biotics for my painful ear infection already I may well have considered seeking his advice. At R2 for a consultation it’s a fair enough deal I’d say.

But old Maquaqua has done his last wild leap and holler for the day. He’s snoring peacefully when I leave, right there in the mud where he’d crashed.

a hard night’s day

14 Dec 2011

All night long it brooded. The air, me, and the bush out there. When a hyena woke me in the early hours with its mournful cry quite close by, I still hadn’t drawn even a sheet over my bare, sweaty body. With humidity way above comfort level, everything is damp to the touch. Paper sticks to your hand when you try to write and your pillow feels soggy under your neck.

Last night was also the moment chosen by the ants to invade my tent. Could it have been an instinct to seek shelter? Well, they didn’t give me any. As if the night wasn’t uncomfortable enough, their little tickles had me swatting and talking Latin for much of the night.

Late yesterday already, over the internet, I got storm warnings for the nearest towns in SA, Phalaborwa and Thohoyandou. But what about this side of the border? This empty part of Mozambique doesn’t feature on most maps, let alone the weather forecast. Will it rain? How much? In four days’ time I’m heading out of here for a break at the Fairest Cape In All The World and the flight is booked. If a hard rain’s gonna fall it may render my way out impassable.

When dawn broke it was through dark clouds, with a breeze picking up from the north. Then, just before six, the thunder started rolling in. Not angry, but still tearing a few ragged rips in the grey veil. As I rushed to get all vulnerable items under some sort of cover, the rain came. Hard for only a short while, then it mellowed out into a soft drizzle as the rumbling drifted off to the south.

Now, after a menacing night, it’s a beautiful cloudy morning. Still too hot to consider wearing a shirt, but the birds are singing joyfully to the gentle beat of raindrops rolling off refreshed leaves and all is well in paradise again.

SOME INTERESTING CRITTERS:

Jump-starting a beetle

One morning, shortly after the previous rains, the ground was littered with the silver wings of termites that had briefly taken to the air.

Tsetse. An indigenous word that means 'Ouch, dammit!'

balmy days

13 Dec 2011

 

Balmy days. Sweat-embalmed that is.

The tropical air is steadily working itself into a fever that will only break when it sheds the billions of drops of Indian ocean it’s brooding on.

The Shingwedzi river, where the pools rose briefly after the first rains, hasn’t flowed yet and is still waiting patiently for a seasonal flood that will leave its rocks shiny and its sands swept clear of spoor and elephant dumpings. Wide as it is, it must be an awesome sight when it fills.

What’s also in the air, is Christmas. I haven’t heard the woodland kingfishers sing Jingle Bells yet, but the fireflies that decorate the dark with their little flashing lamps are straight out of a Christmas fairytale. How man’s gaudy electric spectacle pales against this soft, graceful ballet! To me the dance of the fireflies remains one of nature’s most beautiful productions. So gentle, in a world so wild.

Less gentle is the elephant bull who’s been hanging around here for almost a week now. He’s taken it upon himself to trim the jungle around camp and uproot any lumber he deems unnecessary. Which explains why my breakfast cereal seems to snap, crackle and pop unduly loud in the mornings even though Mr J Daniels is not here with me. The bull is quite tolerant of human activity and -presence but I give him a respectful berth since he appears to be in musth.

Still, I think I should have a word with him. Yesterday morning he came to work in a dreadful state without even having brushed his teeth. It must have been a wild night out for him. His tusks, usually bright and unstained, were covered in black mud, as was the rest of him. Tsk, tsk. It’s hard to get reliable help in the tree-trimming business these days…

Too much nyama. Man Friday getting a jab for his gout.

 

 

 

 

 

A fallen giant. (Not the work of the elephant.)

Saddle-billed stork. The river attracts a rich birdlife.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These gals from Makandazul village spent a fun-filled Saturday by the river chasing fish with their baskets. Their shrieks escalated whenever a croc was spotted.

 

company

9 Dec 2011

 

It took Robinson Crusoe something like 26 years to discover he was not alone on his island. It happened to me much sooner.

Kris and Leah are Canadian wildlife biologists who are studying predator populations in the Limpopo Parque Nacional. They have been here for three months with backing from the University of Pretoria and a few other organizations.

They are both wilderness veterans who have spent years venturing into really remote parts of the Yukon and places like Tanzania and the jungle of Central America. Before they studied wildlife biology they also owned and ran a wilderness trail business in Canada that took clients far into the frozen north on dogsled, horseback, canoe or hiking expeditions.

Here in Mozambique they set up camp in a remote, waterless part of the park with their tenyearold daughter Eden (who’s been a bushbaby almost all her life) and their specialist scatfinder dog Asar.

It hasn’t been easy for them. Logistical challenges took up much of their time, which was already stretched through the difficulty of getting around to place and monitor the infrared cameras that they use to get an idea of the numbers and movements of lion, cheetah and wild dog. Some of their cameras have been stolen, presumably by poachers who are opposed to surveillance, and they have also suffered a road accident. The final blow came when they arrived home one day to find their camp ransacked and robbed by people from Chimangue village who had chanced upon it.

They were in quite a dejected mood when I happened to meet them on the road, and gratefully accepted my offer to move their base to the comparative safety and luxury of my riverside camp. Their tent and trailer is now pitched in a lovely shady spot on the riverbank on the perimeter of camp, much to the surprise of an elephant bull who almost walked into it last night.

Although I don’t expect to see much of them with all their coming and going, things should hopefully now be easier for them and my island a little less lonesome for me.

rhino up close

7 Dec 2011

Have you ever been close to a rhino?

The first time I had the opportunity to study these strange behemoths at really close range was some years ago, on a South African game ranch that’s home to a large herd of them. You want to take good photo’s? John had asked. Come with me at four, that’s when the whites come out of the bush for their feed.

At four John was reading his book in the truck while I sat waiting on the ground near the feeding troughs, as instructed. (Not without trepidation, I may add.)

It wasn’t long before they appeared. One moment there was nothing but bush and the next these great grey beasts were approaching me from all sides. I sat frozen as they lumbered up, sniffing the air and stopping close by to try and fathom me with their limited eyesight. Once satisfied however, they passed right by and got stuck into their dinner.

It was a huge moment for me. What struck me most was their sheer size and the prehistoric air of their form and thick skins. They looked almost mechanical in nature but from up close small movements of the eyes, ears and nostrils gave life and character to the bulldozers. I was amazed too, despite it being the second largest terrestrial mammal on earth, at how quietly a rhino can move. If anything, one hears breathing rather than footsteps.

Another time, about ten years ago, I was driving around with the legendary Jan Oelofse on his game ranch in northern Namibia when word came over the radio that a certain rhino had been spotted. Jan drove to the area, got out and started calling. Soon enough a black rhino bull came along and approached us. It was one that Jan had raised as an orphan and then released into the wilds.

‘Tame’ or not, the black rhino, although slightly smaller than the white, has a reputation as a bad-tempered customer and I was none too keen on being so close to one. Relax, Jan said. Give him your breath. Let him smell you so he can identify you.

So there I was, trying to blow into a black rhino’s nostrils while trying to hold my breath at the same time. Another huge moment.

I got a very firm idea of the bulk of these animals when the bull nudged me with its head. I tried to resist its shove but it was like trying to push a concrete wall.

And then the most amazing thing happened.

Stand back, Jan said. He moved to the rhino’s side, laid his hands on its back and flank, said something to it, and lo and behold: The great beast lay down!

Right, said Jan. Now you can take your pictures…

(Jan Oelofse of course, is an animal whisperer of note. Famous as the man who invented the method that made the mass capture and translocation of game as we know it, possible, he was also one of the early pioneers of game capture and –taming. He hails from the old East Africa days where he, amongst other things, trained wild animals for the movie Hatari in which John Wayne starred.)

Well, today I touched a rhino again.

Man Friday went to show me the scattered remains of a cow that was butchered by poachers in June. The skull, with its hideously severed nose was light when I picked it up. There was no breath, no fixating eye, no life.

But it was still a huge moment.

For all the wrong reasons.