As we crossed the border into Namibia, the counter in the car read 567km, the total distance we’d travelled since we bought the car. “Ooh, we’re in Namibia, doesn’t it look different” I quipped, but after just a few minutes it really did. The mountains we’d been driving through opened out, revealing a flat, arid land and a token ‘welcome to Namibia’ sand dune – we’d reached desert country. The sign to our destination - Ai-Ais - took us down a D-road. Roads in Namibia start from B (perhaps they’re saving A for that 5-lane super highway?), with B being the lovely tarred motorway, C being gravel roads that are graded (big trucks driven by smiling waving Namibians spread out the gravel and sand to flatten the road) frequently, and D being not quite so frequently graded (D for dodgier perhaps?). We’d been told that we were ‘probably’ ok to go on D-roads, so on we went.
Ai-Ais translates as ‘place of burning/scalding water’, due to the hot springs (around 65ºC) that are found in the area. The campsite there is one of two that allows easy access to Fish River Canyon – one of the places on the map of Southern Africa that we’d been staring at in our little Brighton flat for the last few months. We found a nice secluded, tree-shaded spot in the corner of the dusty campsite, and sweated to put the tent up. It was hot. We were used to the heat now, but this was a sweaty, dusty, breezeless hot, warmed up in a heat-trap between the mountains. But we’d seen the pool so as we hammered the pegs in to the rock-hard ground, and fixed yet another broken tent pole, we kept the image of diving into cool, refreshing water in our minds. Once the tent was securely duck taped into position, we set off for the well earned swim. I dipped a toe in the shallow end. Strangely warm, must be the sun.
I jumped in…and the heat of the pool took my breath away. I wouldn’t even have my bath that hot. Who would put a hot spring pool in Africa?! Four lengths of the pool and I collapsed panting in the sun to try and cool off.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Cape Town to Springbok – by Ellen
Cederburg Wilderness Area
Our first stop was Algeria, which is just up the road from Lebanon, where we set up camp under the shade of giant Eucalyptus trees. We managed not only succeeded in putting the tent up the right way round, but also to braai the chicken to African, not English standards (i.e. it was tasty and juicy, not burnt on the outside and frozen in the middle). We spent the evening lying back and gazing at the stars, glad that we knew what at least some of them were called.
The next morning we donned our walking shoes somewhat later than anticipated. This meant that our climb up the steep, shade-less mountain coincided perfectly with the heat of the day. After considerable more twists and turns up the mountain than were shown on the map, we scrambled over some boulders to be met with the magical sight of a waterfall cascading down into a sun-lit pool. Stripping down to undies in record time we sunk into the icy cold water. Mmm…bliss.
We then spent a wonderful lazy weekend of drinking eating and swimming in pools with some of the wonderful ‘Karongwe Krew’ who came up from Cape Town for our Tent Warming Party. It felt horribly lonely once they’d all left, and I think for the first time it dawned on us that it was just the two of us on our own now. The entire campsite emptied that night, and as we cooked Sausages and Beans for Two, the sky turned dark with storm clouds. They were actually the most amazing storm clouds we’d ever seen, great fluffy bulbous lumps of them turned bright pinks and oranges by the setting sun as they hung down below the main body of cloud. I really wouldn’t have been that surprised if an alien space ship had appeared. Scared, possibly, but not surprised. We followed the lead of the giant spider (who’s multiple eyes glinted in the torch light) that had taken shelter under the gazebo, and took cover from the storm.
Lightening….ten, eleven twelve…thunder. Lightening…one, two, three…thunder. The ground under our thin bed rolls was shaking and, yes, I may have hidden my head under my sleeping bag – but that was only because the lightening made it too bright to sleep…
Velorenvlei, Elandsbaai
We then headed to Elandsbaai on the coast for a few nights in the Vlorenvlei Wetlands. Sitting in the bird hide on the edge of the estuary we watched Darters, Flamingos and Pelicans, whilst the Sunbirds fed on the nectar pink hibiscus flowers outside our tent and an African Fish Eagle soared overhead.
A Wonderful Bird is the Pelican -
His Beak can Hold More than his Belly Can.
We tried to get Evan’s Bird List up to the century mark, but sadly bird 100 evaded identification in the failing light (and the beers probably didn’t help either). A later recount, however, revealed an admin error involving the unfortunate omission of the Little Swift so we had belated celebrations of this ornithological milestone with a nice cup of horlix.
We went to see the San Rock Art in a cave with stunning view over the bay. It is thought that at the time the cave was first used as a shelter the coast was 100km further away; as the sea encroached on the land, the diet of these cave dwellers changed from meat to fish. We strolled along the white sand beaches, dodging cray fish carcasses, and kelp curled up like giant snakes, picking up shells and watching porpoises dance in the surf.
And, of course, the storms followed us. And with the storms came the insects. We beat a hasty retreat to the tent. And the insects followed. Lying there in the dark we could hear the angry mob of mosquitoes flinging themselves against the tent, as though by sheer numbers they’d be able to break through and get to the fresh English blood they could smell. Crickets joined the army, pinging off the roof like popcorn. Poking the side of the tent raised the pitch from an ominous drone to an angry whine, and the thunder started again – now was not a good time to need to pee.
Our first stop was Algeria, which is just up the road from Lebanon, where we set up camp under the shade of giant Eucalyptus trees. We managed not only succeeded in putting the tent up the right way round, but also to braai the chicken to African, not English standards (i.e. it was tasty and juicy, not burnt on the outside and frozen in the middle). We spent the evening lying back and gazing at the stars, glad that we knew what at least some of them were called.
The next morning we donned our walking shoes somewhat later than anticipated. This meant that our climb up the steep, shade-less mountain coincided perfectly with the heat of the day. After considerable more twists and turns up the mountain than were shown on the map, we scrambled over some boulders to be met with the magical sight of a waterfall cascading down into a sun-lit pool. Stripping down to undies in record time we sunk into the icy cold water. Mmm…bliss.
We then spent a wonderful lazy weekend of drinking eating and swimming in pools with some of the wonderful ‘Karongwe Krew’ who came up from Cape Town for our Tent Warming Party. It felt horribly lonely once they’d all left, and I think for the first time it dawned on us that it was just the two of us on our own now. The entire campsite emptied that night, and as we cooked Sausages and Beans for Two, the sky turned dark with storm clouds. They were actually the most amazing storm clouds we’d ever seen, great fluffy bulbous lumps of them turned bright pinks and oranges by the setting sun as they hung down below the main body of cloud. I really wouldn’t have been that surprised if an alien space ship had appeared. Scared, possibly, but not surprised. We followed the lead of the giant spider (who’s multiple eyes glinted in the torch light) that had taken shelter under the gazebo, and took cover from the storm.
Lightening….ten, eleven twelve…thunder. Lightening…one, two, three…thunder. The ground under our thin bed rolls was shaking and, yes, I may have hidden my head under my sleeping bag – but that was only because the lightening made it too bright to sleep…
Velorenvlei, Elandsbaai
We then headed to Elandsbaai on the coast for a few nights in the Vlorenvlei Wetlands. Sitting in the bird hide on the edge of the estuary we watched Darters, Flamingos and Pelicans, whilst the Sunbirds fed on the nectar pink hibiscus flowers outside our tent and an African Fish Eagle soared overhead.
A Wonderful Bird is the Pelican -
His Beak can Hold More than his Belly Can.
We tried to get Evan’s Bird List up to the century mark, but sadly bird 100 evaded identification in the failing light (and the beers probably didn’t help either). A later recount, however, revealed an admin error involving the unfortunate omission of the Little Swift so we had belated celebrations of this ornithological milestone with a nice cup of horlix.
We went to see the San Rock Art in a cave with stunning view over the bay. It is thought that at the time the cave was first used as a shelter the coast was 100km further away; as the sea encroached on the land, the diet of these cave dwellers changed from meat to fish. We strolled along the white sand beaches, dodging cray fish carcasses, and kelp curled up like giant snakes, picking up shells and watching porpoises dance in the surf.
And, of course, the storms followed us. And with the storms came the insects. We beat a hasty retreat to the tent. And the insects followed. Lying there in the dark we could hear the angry mob of mosquitoes flinging themselves against the tent, as though by sheer numbers they’d be able to break through and get to the fresh English blood they could smell. Crickets joined the army, pinging off the roof like popcorn. Poking the side of the tent raised the pitch from an ominous drone to an angry whine, and the thunder started again – now was not a good time to need to pee.
We awoke to what could easily have been the height of summer in Wales; grey clouds rolling over a back drop of mountain and lake, seen through a net curtain of drizzle. We watched the remaining mozzies make groggily make their way out into the light of day. It was time to make the push north to Springbok, our final destination in ZA. After a night in a tent with concrete sides, electricity and television (I think they call it a ‘room’) we donned our ZA sticker and headed for the boarder.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Back on the Road - by Ellen
Well, we’re nearly there. We’ve bought our Potjie and our Skottle, we’ve got a canopy for Toto, replaced the table we left in the shop (oops) returned the crap folding chairs that didn’t pass the How to Camp Properly in Southern Africa test (oops) and have enough mealie meal to keep us in sadza for weeks. Just need to stock the cool box with meat and we’re ready to hit the Cederburg Wilderness Area!
From there we’ll slowly be making our way up to Namibia…and beyond…
From there we’ll slowly be making our way up to Namibia…and beyond…
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeels! – by Ellen
We’ve got a car! La la la la la! Wooyeah!
After seeing some truly shocking piles of rust on wheels, we changed tack and went to find a second hand car dealer. Voortrekker Road had an overwhelming array of dealerships, and after looking at yet more piles of rust - this time complete with extortionate dealer price mark ups - we were drawn to Mayfair Motors, for no reason other than Evan used to work in Mayfair. The motors in this Mayfair were a little different to the 158k (basic, no frills) Bentleys sold in the London Mayfair dealers, but there, hidden away right at the back, was a little white bakkie that looked scarily like it wasn’t going to fall apart. After getting them down from 48 thousand rand to 36 thousand rand, we agreed to come back the next day with Collin.
Collin looked at all the things that I’d never think of looking at, bounced it from every angle to check the suspension and took it for a test drive. Feeling much happier that we weren’t about to buy a heapocrap, we shook on the deal and settled into the long wait in the back to sort out money.
The car was to be delivered to us that evening, and there was a tense hour and a half of waiting, with Evan pacing around the house and looking out the window every 2 minutes to see if it had arrived. Finally, finally, it arrived! We had a Traditional African Christening Ceremony involving the Tipping of the Beer and the Smirnoff Spin.
OK, so it’s not quite the big growly Land Rover or Toyota Hilux I’d had in mind. It is a bit, well….girly. And yes, it’s a corsa. But it’s got air con, it’s easy on diesel and it’s small enough to push if we get stuck (once I empty all my junk out of it). And hey, it’s our car (ok, technically mine as I paid for it) and we love it.
We’re going to have plenty of fun with Toto.
Cape Town Part 2
Well, we’re back in Cape Town and once again enjoying the generous hospitality of the Field household. We’re using this time to try and get organised, to plan where we’ll be heading next, to research places to stay, to apply for jobs, to stock up on provisions and to buy a car.
We’ve also bought the tent that will be our home for the next few months, we now just need something to transport it (although, as demonstrated by the Cape Town wind which blew the tent across the garden, we could well use it as a giant kite and fly round Southern Africa – much cheaper and far more eco-friendly).
It’s still the cricket season here, so Evan’s been happily glued to the live Zimbabwean Twenty20 matches. The tournament was primarily organised by Evan’s cousin Clive’s wife Bridget (Clive being Collin’s brother, and who we stayed with in Zim last year). As if that wasn’t exciting enough, part way through one of the matches the commentator announced “and now joining me in the commentary box is Clive Field” – and there he was, on TV! Unfortunately he’d been dressed in a particularly hideous shirt which removed some of the gravitas of the situation. Despite this, he commentated well and intelligently according to the panel of experts on the sofa next to me.
The following Saturday we went to watch Collin play a friendly at his club, and I ended up being scorer for the match! Who would have thought that the combination of cricket (woo) and maths (double woo) could actually be quite fun?! Dot-dot-4-dot-wide-1-wicket, end of over 15th over, batsman out at 67 for 3...BOWLER’S NAME???!!!! Smith: 4-dot-dot-1...
Considering the fact that up until this point in time I’d never actually managed to sit through an entire cricket match - except with the help of a few beers, some cold chicken and a good book of course - I think that my scoring debut went very well. There was the slight problem that Collin’s team lost by a couple of runs...I’m sure I’d counted them all correctly...
Evan is still worryingly obsessed with bird watching, though thankfully he’s temporarily distracted by the new lantern that we’ve bought.
It is a great lantern! It is all shiny and Ellen lets me play with it and sometimes it’s dark and I want to read my comic and then – yay! – I switch on my shiny lantern and I can see the little pictures again and everything. It’s sooooo cool. I almost broke it and Ellen took it away and said I was naughty but I hope she will give it back soon as I have been good (I have).
Ellen now says that I am genuinely a worry.
Anyway, finally managed to change our flight back to Blighty after a nice chat on the phone to ‘Cleopatra’ (nice name), so we’re not coming back ‘till June. Marvellous! Better get the hunt for a car finished asap....we’ve seen only one so far, but have two more lined up to see in the next day or so – the first one, if not actually stolen, was maybe not, technically, when viewed in the harsh light of day, and if he looked at himself honestly, perhaps, a car that he actually, erm.....owned himself. Still, a nice little *bakkie* (African word for pick-up truck, used by just about everyone) it was and I’m sure we’d be very happy in it, right up until the point we are arrested for purchasing stolen goods.
So, onwards to the next one. It’s a cool tent though. And Ellen was really great at scoring during Saturday’s cricket match, a real result that! And we were both fairly confident that we were correct on the score, at least to within, say, 20 runs. And the fact that my cousin’s side lost by four runs, well....everyone enjoyed the game didn’t they! And we have a tent so are happy to sleep in the garden in any case, I see it as good practice for our camping trip. Besides, it just means I’m nearer the pool...
We’ve also bought the tent that will be our home for the next few months, we now just need something to transport it (although, as demonstrated by the Cape Town wind which blew the tent across the garden, we could well use it as a giant kite and fly round Southern Africa – much cheaper and far more eco-friendly).
It’s still the cricket season here, so Evan’s been happily glued to the live Zimbabwean Twenty20 matches. The tournament was primarily organised by Evan’s cousin Clive’s wife Bridget (Clive being Collin’s brother, and who we stayed with in Zim last year). As if that wasn’t exciting enough, part way through one of the matches the commentator announced “and now joining me in the commentary box is Clive Field” – and there he was, on TV! Unfortunately he’d been dressed in a particularly hideous shirt which removed some of the gravitas of the situation. Despite this, he commentated well and intelligently according to the panel of experts on the sofa next to me.
The following Saturday we went to watch Collin play a friendly at his club, and I ended up being scorer for the match! Who would have thought that the combination of cricket (woo) and maths (double woo) could actually be quite fun?! Dot-dot-4-dot-wide-1-wicket, end of over 15th over, batsman out at 67 for 3...BOWLER’S NAME???!!!! Smith: 4-dot-dot-1...
Considering the fact that up until this point in time I’d never actually managed to sit through an entire cricket match - except with the help of a few beers, some cold chicken and a good book of course - I think that my scoring debut went very well. There was the slight problem that Collin’s team lost by a couple of runs...I’m sure I’d counted them all correctly...
Evan is still worryingly obsessed with bird watching, though thankfully he’s temporarily distracted by the new lantern that we’ve bought.
It is a great lantern! It is all shiny and Ellen lets me play with it and sometimes it’s dark and I want to read my comic and then – yay! – I switch on my shiny lantern and I can see the little pictures again and everything. It’s sooooo cool. I almost broke it and Ellen took it away and said I was naughty but I hope she will give it back soon as I have been good (I have).
Ellen now says that I am genuinely a worry.
Anyway, finally managed to change our flight back to Blighty after a nice chat on the phone to ‘Cleopatra’ (nice name), so we’re not coming back ‘till June. Marvellous! Better get the hunt for a car finished asap....we’ve seen only one so far, but have two more lined up to see in the next day or so – the first one, if not actually stolen, was maybe not, technically, when viewed in the harsh light of day, and if he looked at himself honestly, perhaps, a car that he actually, erm.....owned himself. Still, a nice little *bakkie* (African word for pick-up truck, used by just about everyone) it was and I’m sure we’d be very happy in it, right up until the point we are arrested for purchasing stolen goods.
So, onwards to the next one. It’s a cool tent though. And Ellen was really great at scoring during Saturday’s cricket match, a real result that! And we were both fairly confident that we were correct on the score, at least to within, say, 20 runs. And the fact that my cousin’s side lost by four runs, well....everyone enjoyed the game didn’t they! And we have a tent so are happy to sleep in the garden in any case, I see it as good practice for our camping trip. Besides, it just means I’m nearer the pool...
From Hoedspruit to Cape Town - by Ellen
We’ve had an interesting journey down from Hoedspruit, and possibly the main thing we’ve learned is not to underestimate African distances – and times! Inevitably, just when you think you’ve calculated the correct journey distance with an ETA of sundowners and dinnertime, you encounter road works, cows, or potholes. Or, if you’re really lucky, all of the above.
Lydenburg to Durban
We decided to have a couple of heavy days travelling, and were aiming to get to the Wild Coast where we could – finally – be near the sea. We set off early from Lydenburg, after yet another wonderful fried breakfast (this is the last one, honest!) and headed to Durban, via Rourke’s Drift of Zulu fame and Ladysmith of Ladysmith Black Mombazo fame. We were familiar with this particular set of potholes as we’d passed them once before – these were the ones where, once you’d passed the worst of them, a ‘! Warning: Potholes’ sign would helpfully be erected. And this stretch of road was relatively cow-free. So yes, predictably, we hit road works. Miles and miles of &!@@$* road works.
But, to Evan’s delight, there was plenty of birdlife by the side of the road, so we got the binoculars out and watched the Southern Red Bishops and the Herons and the Yellow Headed Bishops and the Steppe Buzzards we sang our way through the Lion King soundtrack. Hakunah matata.
In Durban we stayed in the shabby-chic old-world-grandeur of Durban Manor, right on the waterfront overlooking the harbour where the evening yacht race was just finishing up. Over the sound of the traffic we could just about hear the comforting clanging of halyards against the masts; I’d missed the sea more than I realised. We popped in to the Royal Natal Yacht Club, from where Evan had called me all those years ago when he’d been there doing his Coastal Skipper, and I’d just arrived back in the UK from Fiji. Funny how things turn out.
Durban to Cintsa
After (admittedly another fried) breakfast, this time served by waiters in black suits, it was back on the road; destination Cintsa on the Wild Coast. We drove through what was once known as the Transkei. The landscape is dotted with multicoloured houses, ranging from pastel pink to luminous green. Each is beautifully and proudly kept with neat gardens and fresh paint and some of the most breathtaking views; the houses are scattered over lush rolling hills which open out into deep, dramatic valleys. A far cry from the tired shanty-town settlements that are slumped around the cities.
Our route took us through Mthatha, which I can only describe as a jumble of shops and people that accidentally got caught up in a giant roadwork. As we squeezed through the town the road was literally being dug up around us. Right next to the car window men wildly swung their pickaxes at the tarmac, or sat, exhausted, in the holes that they’d dug. Eventually we were pushed through the other side of the town, and sped on down the hill.
As usual, we were overtaken on a blind corner by a bakkie doing some phenomenal, physics-defying speed. What was different this time was that their back left wheel decided it had had enough, and parted company with the car, bouncing off a rock and soaring a good 50 feet into the air. It descended terrifying close to a man who was quietly tending his goats on the verge; though he didn’t look in the least bit phased by the rubber meteorite. About 5km later we passed the bakkie, which had finally stopped. The driver looked genuinely impressed that he’d lost his wheel, grinning down at the place where it should have been. Perhaps, however, he was simply impressed by the fact that he’d managed to send his companion sprinting back up the road to retrieve the wayward tyre...
We carried on: past Cuba, past Collywobbles, finally arriving at Buccaneers Backpackers in Cintsa. As we booked in for the night, we were told, categorically, that we’d be staying for at least two nights. We could quite happily have stayed for two weeks.
The next morning, we lay in bed and watched the sun rise over the sea. But there was no time for lazing around - it was time to saddle up our horses. Galloping on a white sandy beach is something I’ve always wanted to do, and it didn’t disappoint. Sunshine, a sparkling sea, a fresh breeze and an ex-racehorse called Pint really do wonders for the soul.
Addo Elephant Park
We sadly left Buccaneers behind, but the Elephants of Addo Park were calling. Compared to Karongwe, the landscape here was harsh and arid. Dust swirled in mini-tornadoes and animals clustered and jostled around the scarce watering holes. Karongwe and been lush and dense and over supplied with water; as old farming land it had a disproportionate number of dams. In Addo the animals had to travel to drink, and the bleached bones by the pools were a reminder of how fragile life is. We were also incredibly lucky to see lions, though they seemed a little miffed by the queue of cars and cameras, so soon moved off away from the road. The black backed jackals were much more relaxed than the ones in Karongwe; so we had a good sighting of a group of them.
And, of course, there were the elephants. We must have seen at least 200 of them across the park. Groups of them had congregated by each watering hole, and were swimming, splashing and rolling in the muddy water. The older ones were enjoying playing just as much as the youngsters, giant bodies glistening with wet mud. The edges of the pools were steep and slippery, making getting out very tricky. For all their impressive strength they’re not designed for leaping up muddy banks. The more experienced adults used feet, tusks and knees to lever themselves into a stable position. They would then pause, assessing the purchase they had on the tricky terrain. Then with a push of the back legs they’d heave themselves upwards and forwards. The youngsters had a more...headstrong approach: patience was no fun compared to action. They’d launch themselves at the slope of the pool, trunks waving for balance, but soon find there was nothing to grip. One little one slipped right back down, landing on his head. After another couple of failed attempts, a second baby came over, reaching his trunk out to hold behind the struggler’s ear. On the next attempt the youngster made it up the slope. I’m not sure whether this action provided any actual assistance, but nonetheless it was an incredible moment of camaraderie and care.
Storm’s River Village
Once we’d bought Evan a new bird book (Covering over 950 species in Southern Africa, of which Evan has so far seen 71) we set off for Storm’s River Village and the Tube ‘n Axe Backpackers. Sadly the food here was far from the standard to which we had grown accustomed, but the company was great so we sat by the fire until the small hours.
Storm’s River Village to Swellendam – via Monkey Land & Birds of Eden
We really weren’t in Storm’s River for long enough to do it any justice, but we had a deadline on the car so it was time to drag the hangovers out of bed and get back on the road. We stopped off at Monkey Land & Birds of Eden near Plettenburg Bay. Both places took on unwanted pets or injured/non-indigenous monkeys and birds from the wild or zoos and gave them a new home. As we waited in the cafe for the tour to begin, the squirrel monkeys started creeping closer to the lunching tourists. Being sprayed with a bottle of water is a small price to pay for half a sandwich and a handful of chips; the monkeys bounded off, victorious and shrieking. The Spectacled Monkey observed us from behind big white ‘glasses’, the Ewok-like gibbon swung through the trees, and the King Louis and the other ring-tailed lemurs performed ‘I Like to Move It Move It’ from the film Madagascar (or perhaps that bit was in my head).
After Monkey Land came Birds of Eden, the world’s biggest aviary. Armed with our check-list, we set off to see louries, cranes, parrots and water birds. Over lunch Evan was befriended by a ring necked parakeet, which sat on his shoulder whilst he ate. After lunch I was accosted by a Cockatoo, which attached itself firmly to my shoulder for much of the walk. Once it had figured out that it couldn’t undo the string on my top, it tired of me and hopped onto Evan. It then swiftly and skilfully removed one of his shirt buttons, and crunched it happily.
Then it was time to head to our last stop on this leg of the trip; Swellendam. Whilst driving we decided that in future we’d be sticking to a 200 km/day journey, and always stay more than one night, except in special circumstances. I spent much of the drive lamenting the fact that the majority of their crisps contain zillions of E-numbers and preservative, and the rest of the drive deciding that I’d like to run a B&B – feel free to pre-book now.
Swellendam is a sleepy little picturesque Afrikaans town, nestled at the foot of the impressive Langeburg mountain range. It also has an exceptionally good steak restaurant serving shome very nishe wine....hic. Be sure to go there Very Hungry as the portions are ENORMOUS. But if, like me, you can’t finish it all, they’ll pack up the remaining kilo of pasta and it’ll feed you and a friend for the next 2 days. Back at Swellendam Adventure Backpackers we went to sleep in our very comfortable shed-with-a-bed (I’m not sure the term ‘log cabin’ should really have been applied to it!), reflecting on the huge journey we’d had so far.
Swellendam to Cape Town
As well as a great steak house, Swellendam is also home to a fantastic breakfast place. Fully fortified with a (not fried!) breakfast, we were on the home straight to Cape Town. Despite the best efforts of the traffic jams, we managed to get the car back to AVIS as the clock ticked round to 12.00. Nice.
Lydenburg to Durban
We decided to have a couple of heavy days travelling, and were aiming to get to the Wild Coast where we could – finally – be near the sea. We set off early from Lydenburg, after yet another wonderful fried breakfast (this is the last one, honest!) and headed to Durban, via Rourke’s Drift of Zulu fame and Ladysmith of Ladysmith Black Mombazo fame. We were familiar with this particular set of potholes as we’d passed them once before – these were the ones where, once you’d passed the worst of them, a ‘! Warning: Potholes’ sign would helpfully be erected. And this stretch of road was relatively cow-free. So yes, predictably, we hit road works. Miles and miles of &!@@$* road works.
But, to Evan’s delight, there was plenty of birdlife by the side of the road, so we got the binoculars out and watched the Southern Red Bishops and the Herons and the Yellow Headed Bishops and the Steppe Buzzards we sang our way through the Lion King soundtrack. Hakunah matata.
In Durban we stayed in the shabby-chic old-world-grandeur of Durban Manor, right on the waterfront overlooking the harbour where the evening yacht race was just finishing up. Over the sound of the traffic we could just about hear the comforting clanging of halyards against the masts; I’d missed the sea more than I realised. We popped in to the Royal Natal Yacht Club, from where Evan had called me all those years ago when he’d been there doing his Coastal Skipper, and I’d just arrived back in the UK from Fiji. Funny how things turn out.
Durban to Cintsa
After (admittedly another fried) breakfast, this time served by waiters in black suits, it was back on the road; destination Cintsa on the Wild Coast. We drove through what was once known as the Transkei. The landscape is dotted with multicoloured houses, ranging from pastel pink to luminous green. Each is beautifully and proudly kept with neat gardens and fresh paint and some of the most breathtaking views; the houses are scattered over lush rolling hills which open out into deep, dramatic valleys. A far cry from the tired shanty-town settlements that are slumped around the cities.
Our route took us through Mthatha, which I can only describe as a jumble of shops and people that accidentally got caught up in a giant roadwork. As we squeezed through the town the road was literally being dug up around us. Right next to the car window men wildly swung their pickaxes at the tarmac, or sat, exhausted, in the holes that they’d dug. Eventually we were pushed through the other side of the town, and sped on down the hill.
As usual, we were overtaken on a blind corner by a bakkie doing some phenomenal, physics-defying speed. What was different this time was that their back left wheel decided it had had enough, and parted company with the car, bouncing off a rock and soaring a good 50 feet into the air. It descended terrifying close to a man who was quietly tending his goats on the verge; though he didn’t look in the least bit phased by the rubber meteorite. About 5km later we passed the bakkie, which had finally stopped. The driver looked genuinely impressed that he’d lost his wheel, grinning down at the place where it should have been. Perhaps, however, he was simply impressed by the fact that he’d managed to send his companion sprinting back up the road to retrieve the wayward tyre...
We carried on: past Cuba, past Collywobbles, finally arriving at Buccaneers Backpackers in Cintsa. As we booked in for the night, we were told, categorically, that we’d be staying for at least two nights. We could quite happily have stayed for two weeks.
The next morning, we lay in bed and watched the sun rise over the sea. But there was no time for lazing around - it was time to saddle up our horses. Galloping on a white sandy beach is something I’ve always wanted to do, and it didn’t disappoint. Sunshine, a sparkling sea, a fresh breeze and an ex-racehorse called Pint really do wonders for the soul.
Addo Elephant Park
We sadly left Buccaneers behind, but the Elephants of Addo Park were calling. Compared to Karongwe, the landscape here was harsh and arid. Dust swirled in mini-tornadoes and animals clustered and jostled around the scarce watering holes. Karongwe and been lush and dense and over supplied with water; as old farming land it had a disproportionate number of dams. In Addo the animals had to travel to drink, and the bleached bones by the pools were a reminder of how fragile life is. We were also incredibly lucky to see lions, though they seemed a little miffed by the queue of cars and cameras, so soon moved off away from the road. The black backed jackals were much more relaxed than the ones in Karongwe; so we had a good sighting of a group of them.
And, of course, there were the elephants. We must have seen at least 200 of them across the park. Groups of them had congregated by each watering hole, and were swimming, splashing and rolling in the muddy water. The older ones were enjoying playing just as much as the youngsters, giant bodies glistening with wet mud. The edges of the pools were steep and slippery, making getting out very tricky. For all their impressive strength they’re not designed for leaping up muddy banks. The more experienced adults used feet, tusks and knees to lever themselves into a stable position. They would then pause, assessing the purchase they had on the tricky terrain. Then with a push of the back legs they’d heave themselves upwards and forwards. The youngsters had a more...headstrong approach: patience was no fun compared to action. They’d launch themselves at the slope of the pool, trunks waving for balance, but soon find there was nothing to grip. One little one slipped right back down, landing on his head. After another couple of failed attempts, a second baby came over, reaching his trunk out to hold behind the struggler’s ear. On the next attempt the youngster made it up the slope. I’m not sure whether this action provided any actual assistance, but nonetheless it was an incredible moment of camaraderie and care.
Storm’s River Village
Once we’d bought Evan a new bird book (Covering over 950 species in Southern Africa, of which Evan has so far seen 71) we set off for Storm’s River Village and the Tube ‘n Axe Backpackers. Sadly the food here was far from the standard to which we had grown accustomed, but the company was great so we sat by the fire until the small hours.
Storm’s River Village to Swellendam – via Monkey Land & Birds of Eden
We really weren’t in Storm’s River for long enough to do it any justice, but we had a deadline on the car so it was time to drag the hangovers out of bed and get back on the road. We stopped off at Monkey Land & Birds of Eden near Plettenburg Bay. Both places took on unwanted pets or injured/non-indigenous monkeys and birds from the wild or zoos and gave them a new home. As we waited in the cafe for the tour to begin, the squirrel monkeys started creeping closer to the lunching tourists. Being sprayed with a bottle of water is a small price to pay for half a sandwich and a handful of chips; the monkeys bounded off, victorious and shrieking. The Spectacled Monkey observed us from behind big white ‘glasses’, the Ewok-like gibbon swung through the trees, and the King Louis and the other ring-tailed lemurs performed ‘I Like to Move It Move It’ from the film Madagascar (or perhaps that bit was in my head).
After Monkey Land came Birds of Eden, the world’s biggest aviary. Armed with our check-list, we set off to see louries, cranes, parrots and water birds. Over lunch Evan was befriended by a ring necked parakeet, which sat on his shoulder whilst he ate. After lunch I was accosted by a Cockatoo, which attached itself firmly to my shoulder for much of the walk. Once it had figured out that it couldn’t undo the string on my top, it tired of me and hopped onto Evan. It then swiftly and skilfully removed one of his shirt buttons, and crunched it happily.
Then it was time to head to our last stop on this leg of the trip; Swellendam. Whilst driving we decided that in future we’d be sticking to a 200 km/day journey, and always stay more than one night, except in special circumstances. I spent much of the drive lamenting the fact that the majority of their crisps contain zillions of E-numbers and preservative, and the rest of the drive deciding that I’d like to run a B&B – feel free to pre-book now.
Swellendam is a sleepy little picturesque Afrikaans town, nestled at the foot of the impressive Langeburg mountain range. It also has an exceptionally good steak restaurant serving shome very nishe wine....hic. Be sure to go there Very Hungry as the portions are ENORMOUS. But if, like me, you can’t finish it all, they’ll pack up the remaining kilo of pasta and it’ll feed you and a friend for the next 2 days. Back at Swellendam Adventure Backpackers we went to sleep in our very comfortable shed-with-a-bed (I’m not sure the term ‘log cabin’ should really have been applied to it!), reflecting on the huge journey we’d had so far.
Swellendam to Cape Town
As well as a great steak house, Swellendam is also home to a fantastic breakfast place. Fully fortified with a (not fried!) breakfast, we were on the home straight to Cape Town. Despite the best efforts of the traffic jams, we managed to get the car back to AVIS as the clock ticked round to 12.00. Nice.
Assessment Time – by Ellen
The weeks flew by, in a blur of trees and birds and lions. And before we knew it it was time for the all important – and highly feared – final exam. Everything we’d done up until this point had counted towards the ‘in house’ EcoTraining qualification. Those students not doing FGASA took the rest of us on their assessment drives: 45 minutes where they were the guide and we were the clients. 45 minutes where they had to talk about every topic we’d covered; geology, insects, reptiles, what birds they could hear, what tracks they could see, what trees we were passing. It was an intense time, and on each drive those of us doing FGASA were wondering how on earth we were going to managed to take people on a 3 or 4 hour drive, with an external assessor, and not run out of steam/forget everything we’ve been taught.
We’d heard horror stories about the assessors. How strict they were, and how a student had failed for misidentifying an antelope that he’d never even seen before which bounded across the road faster than the speed of light. And how, anyway, the FGASA written exam was so tough that we might not even get as far as the practical test. Then Albie arrived, with his easy going nature and his big grin, wicked sense of humour and a genuine love for the wild. He did, however, tell us that, on no uncertain terms we would fail if we did not pack the coffee and scones for the morning drives and beers for evening sundowners.
The assessments turned out to be more fun - and less nerve racking - than some of our practice drives had been! The time went a lot quicker than anticipated (mine was helped by the fact that I was sharing my assessment time with another girl, so I took my clients on ‘Ellen’s Speedycramalltheinformationinreallyfast Safari’ and there was so much more I could have bored my guests with. I was delighted that we came across some courting giraffes; having just done a presentation on these fascinating creatures it was fantastic to watch their courtship behaviour and luckily it meant I knew what they were doing! The male saunters up behind the female, and hits her on bottom with his front leg (now there’s romance). This stimulates her pass urine, which he tastes to assess from her pheromones whether or not she’s ready to mate. So guys, I don’t think that flowers and chocolates is too much of a hardship, hey?
Evan’s assessment drive was great. I don’t think that having me as navigator did much to ease his nerves: having your wife next to you wielding a map doesn’t do much for blood pressure at the best of times. Especially as I constantly confuse my left and right. Anyway, once his nerves had settled he became his usual entertaining self. And he happily parked up in the shade and launched himself into his favourite topic: the Macro Termese Termite. Seriously, these little guys are amazing. They build their mounds (termitaria) by vomiting up old food to be used as cement. The queen lives up to 20 years and lays the exact number of eggs required to produce the correct number of termites needed by the colony. The food their fed when they’re maturing determines whether they become a worker, a soldier, a secondary reproducer or a king or queen. They have underground fungal gardens. It goes on. Ask Evan about them next time you see him.
At the end of each assessment the ‘guests’ head back to camp and you’re given your feedback, and your all-important result. For Evan this was not a happy time. “Evan,” said Albie. “That was really good and I’d be more than happy to recommend you for work on any game lodge. Sadly, however, I’m not allowed to pass you as the FGASA rules state that you cannot have your wife as navigator during your assessment”. Evan’s heart sank: “Ok, of course, I understand Albie, thank you anyway.”
Albie laughed. Hysterically.
We’d heard horror stories about the assessors. How strict they were, and how a student had failed for misidentifying an antelope that he’d never even seen before which bounded across the road faster than the speed of light. And how, anyway, the FGASA written exam was so tough that we might not even get as far as the practical test. Then Albie arrived, with his easy going nature and his big grin, wicked sense of humour and a genuine love for the wild. He did, however, tell us that, on no uncertain terms we would fail if we did not pack the coffee and scones for the morning drives and beers for evening sundowners.
The assessments turned out to be more fun - and less nerve racking - than some of our practice drives had been! The time went a lot quicker than anticipated (mine was helped by the fact that I was sharing my assessment time with another girl, so I took my clients on ‘Ellen’s Speedycramalltheinformationinreallyfast Safari’ and there was so much more I could have bored my guests with. I was delighted that we came across some courting giraffes; having just done a presentation on these fascinating creatures it was fantastic to watch their courtship behaviour and luckily it meant I knew what they were doing! The male saunters up behind the female, and hits her on bottom with his front leg (now there’s romance). This stimulates her pass urine, which he tastes to assess from her pheromones whether or not she’s ready to mate. So guys, I don’t think that flowers and chocolates is too much of a hardship, hey?
Evan’s assessment drive was great. I don’t think that having me as navigator did much to ease his nerves: having your wife next to you wielding a map doesn’t do much for blood pressure at the best of times. Especially as I constantly confuse my left and right. Anyway, once his nerves had settled he became his usual entertaining self. And he happily parked up in the shade and launched himself into his favourite topic: the Macro Termese Termite. Seriously, these little guys are amazing. They build their mounds (termitaria) by vomiting up old food to be used as cement. The queen lives up to 20 years and lays the exact number of eggs required to produce the correct number of termites needed by the colony. The food their fed when they’re maturing determines whether they become a worker, a soldier, a secondary reproducer or a king or queen. They have underground fungal gardens. It goes on. Ask Evan about them next time you see him.
At the end of each assessment the ‘guests’ head back to camp and you’re given your feedback, and your all-important result. For Evan this was not a happy time. “Evan,” said Albie. “That was really good and I’d be more than happy to recommend you for work on any game lodge. Sadly, however, I’m not allowed to pass you as the FGASA rules state that you cannot have your wife as navigator during your assessment”. Evan’s heart sank: “Ok, of course, I understand Albie, thank you anyway.”
Albie laughed. Hysterically.
The Finer Points of Poo - by Ellen
We covered the basics of tracking, using spoor (footprints) and signs (anything else). There were some nice easy ones – giraffe and elephant! – but we also had to learn the subtle differences in shape for kudu and waterbuck, hyena and leopard. The widest point of the print and angle at the back of the heel, and whether or not the tracks are registered (on top of each other) all tell you who went where. There was also the game of ‘who flung dung’. Size, shape and contents all tell a story. If the dung is big (like, really big!) it’ll be elephant or rhino, and if it contains sticks and bark it’s from an elephant; white rhinos only eat grass.
Giraffe dung is tiny! Due to being foregut fermenters (ruminants), they have extraordinarily effective digestive systems (I could go on about this, and other interesting giraffe facts for hours), and so only little pellets come out the other end. The pellets are widely scattered, which demonstrates the great height form which they fell.
‘Aging’ dung is done by looking at the consistency (it gets drier as it ages) and colour (it gets lighter as it dries). And, despite what our lovely tutor led us to believe, you CANNOT tell the age of giraffe dung by chewing/tasting it...ha bl**dy ha.
Fascinatingly, poo is not just poo. Carnivores produce scatt, omnivores produce faeces and herbivores produce dung. So, although humans (as ominvores) produce faeces, vegans would, in fact, technically, produce dung. Therefore, if you only ate meat...anyway, that’s quite enough about poo.
Giraffe dung is tiny! Due to being foregut fermenters (ruminants), they have extraordinarily effective digestive systems (I could go on about this, and other interesting giraffe facts for hours), and so only little pellets come out the other end. The pellets are widely scattered, which demonstrates the great height form which they fell.
‘Aging’ dung is done by looking at the consistency (it gets drier as it ages) and colour (it gets lighter as it dries). And, despite what our lovely tutor led us to believe, you CANNOT tell the age of giraffe dung by chewing/tasting it...ha bl**dy ha.
Fascinatingly, poo is not just poo. Carnivores produce scatt, omnivores produce faeces and herbivores produce dung. So, although humans (as ominvores) produce faeces, vegans would, in fact, technically, produce dung. Therefore, if you only ate meat...anyway, that’s quite enough about poo.
It's not a gun, it's a rifle - by Evan
Rifle (not gun) shooting was also fun - the difference between a gun and a rifle eludes me, however (any ideas Sam?!). After a lecture on weapon handling and then some live practice at the range (field with cardboard box in the middle), we had to complete an exercise where the instructor screamed ‘CHARGE!’ in our ear – we then had to be able to chamber a round in the bolt action rifle, fire three shots at two targets – one to the right and two to the left – make the rifle safe and hand it back to the instructor – all in under 10 seconds - on the basis that any longer and the animal charging would have eaten or trampled you by that stage.
Most of the students were (theoretically) eaten and/or trampled – some more than once...Ellen...
Most of the students were (theoretically) eaten and/or trampled – some more than once...Ellen...
Walking Safaris – by Ellen
We had the incredible opportunity to approach the animals on foot. In quiet single file we left the Land Rover at the point where the marker branch had been placed across the road: the Cheetahs were sleeping somewhere close by. We walked up to where they were lying in shade of a shrub, looking regal and haughty and powerful and lazy all at the same time, as only cats can.
We were lucky to be able to approach the three cheetah groups on a number of occasions. We were alerted to the presence of one group by camp when the impala the other side of the river started snorting and coughing – their predator alarm call. Jaco quickly abandoned his paperwork, grabbed his rifle, kicked off his shoes and set off into the bush. He called us over a short while later; Savannah and her two teenage boys were just the other side of the river. The next time we saw these two cubs it was without their mother; she had finally tired of hunting for them and had kicked them out. She’d taught them well though – they were lying at the side of the road next to their freshly killed impala, their spotty bellies bulging and fat, paws in the air and blood on their faces.
Another day when walking not far from camp, we saw fresh lion spoor. We set off in the direction that the lion had taken, looking in the sand for more tracks. We followed the road round, thick bush on one side, long grass on the other. “It’ll be near impossible to see them in the bush” said Rob. “And even in the long grass they could be 5 meters away and you’d still not see them”. We looped round, but lost the tracks. “Let’s take a short cut through here” – we started following a narrow path that led straight through the long grass...
We didn’t see the lions that morning, but I have a feeling they saw us.
We were lucky to be able to approach the three cheetah groups on a number of occasions. We were alerted to the presence of one group by camp when the impala the other side of the river started snorting and coughing – their predator alarm call. Jaco quickly abandoned his paperwork, grabbed his rifle, kicked off his shoes and set off into the bush. He called us over a short while later; Savannah and her two teenage boys were just the other side of the river. The next time we saw these two cubs it was without their mother; she had finally tired of hunting for them and had kicked them out. She’d taught them well though – they were lying at the side of the road next to their freshly killed impala, their spotty bellies bulging and fat, paws in the air and blood on their faces.
Another day when walking not far from camp, we saw fresh lion spoor. We set off in the direction that the lion had taken, looking in the sand for more tracks. We followed the road round, thick bush on one side, long grass on the other. “It’ll be near impossible to see them in the bush” said Rob. “And even in the long grass they could be 5 meters away and you’d still not see them”. We looped round, but lost the tracks. “Let’s take a short cut through here” – we started following a narrow path that led straight through the long grass...
We didn’t see the lions that morning, but I have a feeling they saw us.
Up Close and Personal – by Ellen
As well as Evan ‘bonding’ with the Matebele ants, there was plenty of opportunity to get close to the wildlife. Particularly during the walks we were able to take time appreciating the little things that you’d miss as you drove past on the way to the lions. (There were also a number of creatures that we – thankfully – missed when driving: Karongwe was nearly short a few millepedes, a beautiful big chameleon and a giant African land snail to name a few.) We picked up the dung beetles, wrapped our hands around them and felt their incredible strength as they prised out fingers apart and pushed their way out. We poked grass stems down holes to tempt out the occupants – scorpions from the oval holes and big Baboon Spiders from the large round holes. We tasted the sour plums and marula fruits, and licked leaves from base to tip to determine whether or not they were hairy, and if so how hairy.
Much of the time the wildlife came to us. As we crashed through the undergrowth we de-housed ants, praying mantises, grasshoppers, kite spiders, green octopus spiders and the huge (and that’s ‘huge’ coming from someone who’s not scared of spiders, and therefore not prone to spider size exaggeration syndrome!) orb web spiders, which all relocated to the inside of the Landy. The lucky person on the tracker seat bore the brunt of the spider webs, and they were often seen doing the ‘spider dance’ – a highly choreographed series of arm flaps and head shakes, often accompanied by shrieks and squeals - as great long trails of thick sticky web trailed from their hair.
At one point while Evan was driving he became so concerned that there might by a Huge Spider somewhere near him, that suddenly steering wasn’t overly important. I may have screamed at him a little bit has he drove the front on the Land Rover, with me clinging on to the tracker seat on the front of it, off the track and into the Cork Bush. Something tells me that was revenge for the Matabele Ant incident.
Much of the time the wildlife came to us. As we crashed through the undergrowth we de-housed ants, praying mantises, grasshoppers, kite spiders, green octopus spiders and the huge (and that’s ‘huge’ coming from someone who’s not scared of spiders, and therefore not prone to spider size exaggeration syndrome!) orb web spiders, which all relocated to the inside of the Landy. The lucky person on the tracker seat bore the brunt of the spider webs, and they were often seen doing the ‘spider dance’ – a highly choreographed series of arm flaps and head shakes, often accompanied by shrieks and squeals - as great long trails of thick sticky web trailed from their hair.
At one point while Evan was driving he became so concerned that there might by a Huge Spider somewhere near him, that suddenly steering wasn’t overly important. I may have screamed at him a little bit has he drove the front on the Land Rover, with me clinging on to the tracker seat on the front of it, off the track and into the Cork Bush. Something tells me that was revenge for the Matabele Ant incident.
District 9 hands make an appearance – by Evan
After about three weeks of taking the anti-malarial tablets we were given in the UK, I started my own little allergic reaction and developed one of the weirdest rashes I’ve had (and I’ve had a lot of weird rashes) on my hands – it looked a little bit like a red puffy fungus growing on the back of my hands and fingers, and was very disconcerting. It became worse and worse and itched like b*&^%$y - pardon my French. It was finally killed off by some magical bush medicine, after I collected and crushed some leaves, under a full moon, from a Sickle Bush (and a prescription of some cream on a subsequent trip to the doctor in the town nearby when the course finished). Ellen will now eat her food near me again, which she wouldn’t do for a while as I was putting her off her pasta. The Doc was great by the way – if you’re ever near Hoedspruit and feel ill, go and see Dr Blair. Lovely man.
At war with ants... – by Evan
I had an interesting introduction to Matabele ants. These are fierce little things about the size of a grape (I know grapes vary in size – so do Matabele ants). Their diet consists entirely of termites, and they pour through the bush in densely packed columns to termite mounds, entering in every hole, stinging the little termites and taking them to the top of the mound where they collect them, paralysed, and then carry them home to feast on them alive. Gruesome.
On one of our walks through the bush the instructor, this time Jaco, asked for a volunteer – ‘Evan volunteers, Evan volunteers!’ Ellen chirped in gleefully – and so after being instructed to pick up one of the soldier ants, said soldier ant buried its little head into my finger and gave me an extraordinarily strong bite for such a little chap. My finger throbbed for about an hour, and I could still feel where it bit me three days later. Married life is bliss!
Another example of interactive learning was being in the tracker seat of the Landy, and being slowly driven further into the branches of a tree until you correctly identified it – a good way of learning tree types quickly (especially if it has thorns).
Learning the 30 trees we had to be able to identify for the exam, and their various uses and traditional beliefs was in fact one of the toughest parts of the course – I never imagined I would spend 50 hours of my life learning to identify various types of acacia, but it was strangely rewarding when you find you can pick out a Buffalo Thorn, and give a little lecture on its uses and the beliefs associated with it. Did you know, for example, that it’s called a Buffalo Thorn because buffalos are supposed to back into them for protection when attacked by lions? Or that, when you put the spikes on the seat so they prick Ellen she won’t talk to you for two days? Or did you know that the Flaky Bark Thorn tree can also be used to stitch up a wound? Or further, that if you put the spikes of a Flaky Bark Thorn tree on a seat two days later, so they prick Ellen again, then she won’t talk to you for another three days? Interesting, hey?
On one of our walks through the bush the instructor, this time Jaco, asked for a volunteer – ‘Evan volunteers, Evan volunteers!’ Ellen chirped in gleefully – and so after being instructed to pick up one of the soldier ants, said soldier ant buried its little head into my finger and gave me an extraordinarily strong bite for such a little chap. My finger throbbed for about an hour, and I could still feel where it bit me three days later. Married life is bliss!
Another example of interactive learning was being in the tracker seat of the Landy, and being slowly driven further into the branches of a tree until you correctly identified it – a good way of learning tree types quickly (especially if it has thorns).
Learning the 30 trees we had to be able to identify for the exam, and their various uses and traditional beliefs was in fact one of the toughest parts of the course – I never imagined I would spend 50 hours of my life learning to identify various types of acacia, but it was strangely rewarding when you find you can pick out a Buffalo Thorn, and give a little lecture on its uses and the beliefs associated with it. Did you know, for example, that it’s called a Buffalo Thorn because buffalos are supposed to back into them for protection when attacked by lions? Or that, when you put the spikes on the seat so they prick Ellen she won’t talk to you for two days? Or did you know that the Flaky Bark Thorn tree can also be used to stitch up a wound? Or further, that if you put the spikes of a Flaky Bark Thorn tree on a seat two days later, so they prick Ellen again, then she won’t talk to you for another three days? Interesting, hey?
Sleep Out - by Evan
This was another highlight – a night spent sleeping under the stars, with nothing between us and the lions except for two students on duty armed with torches.
After a lecture on bush camping, ending with the advice ‘Never, ever camp in a dry river bed’ – off we trundled with our packs to the nearest dried river bed to set up camp. I would point out that this was an exception as it was controlled by a man-made dam – but we were given an illustration of how quickly these fill up when the volley-ball court (in a previously dried river bed) by the camp disappeared in a matter of minutes after the heavy rains a few days later. My job when we arrived at the site was to dig the toilet – I actually volunteered on the grounds that I needed the exercise. After an hour spent digging a hole to crap in, I have to say that I was left with an unaccustomed feeling of great achievement. This is perhaps best put in context by mentioning (to those that don’t know) that I spent the last four years working for an investment bank, so to actually achieve something practical with a tangible result was, for me, awesome! I would also point out that Lucy helped greatly, when my weak little arms tired.
Who knew that digging toilets could bring such inner peace. Perhaps I should start an executive training company, taking high-flying corporate types on team building days, toilet digging in the countryside. They’d love it. I could sell it to them by using the tagline: “Learn how to bury your crap so others can’t find it!” Shame Enron went bust, they’d have been the first to sign up.
After a lecture on bush camping, ending with the advice ‘Never, ever camp in a dry river bed’ – off we trundled with our packs to the nearest dried river bed to set up camp. I would point out that this was an exception as it was controlled by a man-made dam – but we were given an illustration of how quickly these fill up when the volley-ball court (in a previously dried river bed) by the camp disappeared in a matter of minutes after the heavy rains a few days later. My job when we arrived at the site was to dig the toilet – I actually volunteered on the grounds that I needed the exercise. After an hour spent digging a hole to crap in, I have to say that I was left with an unaccustomed feeling of great achievement. This is perhaps best put in context by mentioning (to those that don’t know) that I spent the last four years working for an investment bank, so to actually achieve something practical with a tangible result was, for me, awesome! I would also point out that Lucy helped greatly, when my weak little arms tired.
Who knew that digging toilets could bring such inner peace. Perhaps I should start an executive training company, taking high-flying corporate types on team building days, toilet digging in the countryside. They’d love it. I could sell it to them by using the tagline: “Learn how to bury your crap so others can’t find it!” Shame Enron went bust, they’d have been the first to sign up.
A new husband gets to know the bush - by Evan
Let me start by saying that the whole experience of living in the bush at Karongwe was simply fantastic, and a better month I have never had. Learning about wildlife, botany, astronomy, ecology and all sorts of ologies in such a natural environment was wonderful: and after initially being indifferent about the whole ‘qualifying as a FGASA Guide thing’, by the end I was desperate to pass and relieved – elated even - when I finally achieved a comfortable pass in the final theory exam – 75.06% for an exam with a pass mark of 75%.
Slightly tragically it has even got me interested in birds, for which I am being continually ribbed by my new wife. Still, she’s probably just upset that I saw an uber-rare Taita Falcon, and she didn’t....
But I digress.
One of the highlights nature-wise for me (apart from the, ahem, disputed Taita Falcon) was on one of my practice drives, when I crashed elegantly round a corner in the Land Rover - sorry, ‘Landy’ - to be confronted by a lovely little baby elephant in the middle of the road, looking at me sheepishly (or more correctly, elephantish-ly). I brought the Landy stylishly to a halt with only the minimum of screeching by E and the brakes, and we all settled in to observe the little fella. After only a few seconds however, mummy elephant appeared, and looked slightly annoyed at our presence, and trumpeted to her other half – who then appeared right behind us. I switched quickly with Jaco as he knew what to do in these situations – drive asap away from the area! Before he could however, a further friend of the ellie appeared out of the bush just to our right, and then in an instant about a dozen other elephants materialised – it is oft remarked upon, but still extraordinary, how such enormous and loud animals, that leave such a trail of destruction, can move almost completely silently when they want to. We were left totally surrounded by these magnificent beasts, and there was nothing to do but sit quietly and let them move on – despite Jaco’s instructions to absolutely, on no occasion, to EVER get this close! Especially as one of the males was clearly in musth (or ‘wanting for some sexy time’ as one guide put it) and thus not a happy camper - and prone to charging at any moment. But move on they finally did after a lot of munching and mooching around us, leaving me with a firmly imprinted impression of their power, having watched them, from a very close distance, uproot very hefty trees with the effort of a child swatting the top off a dandelion with a stick.
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