21st
I think I may have to redefine my own personal idea of luxury. “Luxury” may have to shed the connotations of king-size beds in favour of a bedroll under a mosquito net. I may need to do away with haute cuisine and replace it with hot tea, vaguely smoky from the camp-fire, drunk from a tin mug with bare feet in the sand as the sun paints the sky with a palette of colour. I’ll definitely swap satellite TV for the night-time entertainment provided by leopard calling just a few hundred metres from camp, elephant moving by in the starlight and lion roaring in the distance.
Sound good? This morning I woke up after a night spent in the Luwi Riverbed in South Luangwa National Park. After setting out for a two hour walk from Nsolo Camp yesterday afternoon, we found our supplies had been neatly left for us in a broad bend of the sandy river. As the sun went down, my guide Innocent, scout Batwell, camp chef Jason and myself, unrolled our bedrolls and hung mosquito nets over sticks we found in the riverbed. The little wooden box crowned with a toilet seat was discreetly positioned behind a large hunk of driftwood…I regarded this a little dubiously…it looked like the kind of arrangement to induce stage fright.
The camp-fire was built swiftly and soon we were sitting around it and watching as Jason started to prepare chicken, foil-covered potatoes and maize meal with a tomato and onion relish. The lingering dusk gave way to wall-to-wall sky lit by a Cheshire-cat moon and masses of stars. The creatures of the night began to call all around us; a leopard sawed only a few hundred metres from camp. Somehow, simple meals become the best you’ve ever tasted when prepared and enjoyed in such a magical place. It was with deep contentment that I let my feet burrow into the soft sand and traded wildlife stories with the lads.
Feeling weary after long hours walking in the bush, I crawled between the crisp sheets and toasty blankets of my bedroll and enjoyed the view of the stars. The men sat around the fire quietly chatting and laughing. Every now and then one of them would get up and stoke one of the fires that surrounded us, letting any passing beasties know that this was a no-go area. Batwell spends much of his time on patrol and is used to waking up automatically every half hour or so. I slept in spells too, tuned in to the orchestra of night noises.
I woke as the sun rose and joined Jason by the fire as he brewed tea and toasted bread. Over breakfast, we shared stories of what we’d heard during the night. Lions had been calling in the distance and a herd of elephant crossed the river just below the camp-site. A hyena had ventured close to investigate our leftovers and Batwell and Jason had chased it away with a flaming log.
This may not be everyone’s cup of tea but it is a raw African safari experience which will put everything you thought about camping in a new light. Click here for a short video interview with my guide, Innocent, all about the sleepout.
21st
I have early memories of going to the Masai Mara for picnics. We’d step onto the hot tarmac apron at the bustling Wilson Airport, covering our ears against the roar of small aircraft lifting unsteadily into the dusty air. I remember being lifted up to walk along the narrow roughened “safe bit” that ran along the wing near the body of the little plane and the smell of over-heated plastic in the cramped cabin. In the tail-dragger you were always tilted back in your seat while on the ground, as if ready to be slung like a catapult.
As we sat at the end of the runway with the brakes on and the engine straining, Dad would conduct a series of rapid-fire communications with himself (flaps, check…rudder, check…) and then with the tower to request permission to take off. At that point, we’d be thrust back in our seats, hearts in our mouths, while the white lines raced beneath us as we shot down the runway.
Wilson borders Nairobi National Park and we would sometimes spot rhino or giraffe as we gained height above the trees. There were always little white scatterings of bones to testify to some lion’s leftovers. Then we’d be heading over the Ngong Hills across the arid floor of the Great Rift Valley towards the Mara’s grassy plains.
Since those early picnics, I’ve been privileged to travel many times in small planes across Africa and it is always just the most intense and liberating experience. Admittedly there has been the odd bumpy ride where the pilot gets more entertainment out of the rapidly greening faces behind him than the passengers but for the most part it’s just amazing.
Just imagine the Namibian Skeleton Coast from a few hundred feet up. Or the Okavango Delta fanning out green against the sands of the Kalahari. Or the turquoise archipelago off Vilanculos in Mozambique, Victoria Falls from the “Flight of Angels”…. Rather like that eerie picture of the earth taken from space, they take on a rather surreal appearance…like a giant piece of art.
The reason I got thinking about this is that I recently met the luckiest man on earth whose job it is to guide and pilot flying safaris across southern Africa – from Namibia to Botswana, Mozambique, Malawi, Zimbabwe and even Angola. With his few lucky travellers, he glides across some of the most spectacular sights on this earth. In between small camps and lodges where you can explore with your feet firmly on the ground, you can get the bird’s eye view of some of the wildest and most breathtaking places in the world.
Much is written about the quality of game drives, walks and game viewing by boat but flying adds a whole new dimension to Africa. Click here to know more.
22nd
Active Volcano Ol Donyo Lengai...and a lot of happy wildebeest
Volcanic ash has had something of a bad press this last week, but, at the risk of sounding controversial, I thought I’d stand up for what seems to have become something of a pantomime baddie. This has more to do with plains than planes, but in Tanzania – and the Serengeti in particular – it’s no exaggeration to say that without volcanic ash, there’d be no wildebeest migration at all.
Now I don’t want to bore you with (my sketchy knowledge of) the detail on exactly how and when the Serengeti was formed (although you can read that here if you’re interested). Save to say that much of the area around the Southern Serengeti and Ngorongoro Conservation Area is predominantly vast sweeping plains of volcanic ash.
What’s important is that the ash has two properties in particular that explain why the wildebeest migrate. Firstly, it’s rich in nutrients like phosphates. Secondly, it’s a similar consistency to a cereal like Grape Nuts. In the same way that when you pour milk onto your cereal it all goes to the bottom of the bowl, so the plains struggle to hold much surface liquid. During the dry season there are no rivers, no lakes no water holes. These become dry, dusty and barren areas. But, once it rains there is the most dramatic transformation and the plains are carpeted in phosphorous-rich grasses as far as the eye can see.
So juicy and tempting are these grasses that wildebeest willingly throw themselves across croc-infested rivers in the Northern Serengeti and travel hundreds of miles to get there. And, if they had their way, and it didn’t turn dry and dusty once the rain stopped, then this is where they’d stay year round.
And having just come back from this exact area with my family last week (missing the Icelandic volcano by a day) I can see why. When it’s green, this is quite simply some of the most epic and staggeringly beautiful scenery I know anywhere in the world. Free from people and rules, and with limitless horizons, it’s like the Garden of Eden.
And to my mind it contains a lovely paradox that explains in part why so few people go here. If it hasn’t rained, then just like the wildebeest, you don’t want to be there. It’s a conundrum that we find difficult to explain to people sometimes – “it’s likely to be raining, but we still recommend you go”, but I guess it boils down to the fact that things aren’t always straightforward; sometimes rain isn’t a bad thing. A bit like volcanic ash.
24th
While browsing your safari itinerary, you may come across the odd reference to “sundowners” in scenic locations. The sundowner is as much part of your African experience as your game-drive and really should be elevated in status accordingly, one of the main events, rather than tagged on the end like a party bag.
Last week, on noticing the beautiful evening that the day and become, we spontaneously hauled out our cool-boxes and biltong (sundried yummy meat snacks), piled into the truck and headed for the hills. North of Harare lies a beautiful rock rising out of the ground in a big smooth hump. It looks over the sleepy villages and provides an ideal vantage point for the vast night sky. The best sundowner points always involve a bit of a clamber which somehow justifies that gin and tonic.
So, seated bare foot and relaxed on the sun-warmed rock, we watched a huge red ball of a sun make a lazy descent and the stars light up one by one along with the kerosene lamps in the houses. The last of the day’s bird calls mixed with the sounds of evening chores from the villages below and the smell of wood-smoke. One friend had come from London and this was an entirely new experience; just sitting quietly on top of a rock, with a cold drink, smelling, hearing and feeling Africa as night crept up the sky.
As a veteran of the sundowner, I remember evening game drives interrupted for a cold beer on top of the landcruiser out on the grassy plains of the Mara with the sound of the crickets loud in my ears and hyena whooping. There have been lovely times watching the light fade over Mt Kenya, as viewed from Samburu, and early evenings, feet and drinks cooling in a river, nightjars swooping overhead. The air is somehow softer at that time of day and it is as good as meditation for putting things in perspective, just sitting quietly and not thinking about very much at all.
So, instead of rushing around after the big game as the ultimate safari objective, consider when you will next have the opportunity to sit somewhere so wild at the end of a day (far away from other people, cars, towns, noise and light) and feel so content. I’ll raise a glass to that…
Image courtesy of Wilderness Safaris, Selinda, Botswana
11th
As a biology undergraduate drifting in and out of consciousness in my lectures, I have memories of the word “equilibrium” cropping up rather a lot. As I remember, it described the way in which two or more groups of things coexist in some kind of a balance. It all sounded nicely logical. Harmonious even.
And it possibly is if you’re describing plants or things living in rock pools. But how is anything approaching a balance achieved if you take 3000 crocodiles, a thousand odd hippos, and millions of fish and pop them all in to a lake a couple of miles wide? What is there to prevent only one extremely fat animal remaining after a couple of weeks?
This was the thought that occurred to me a couple of weeks ago as, on a walking safari in the Selous, I spent the night out under a star-filled sky on the edge of the stunning Lake Tagalala.
The density of large cantankerous animals in this place defies belief. The relatively small patch of water is literally stiff with life. It supports everything from the aforementioned crocs, hippos and fish, to endless species of bird that have evolved ingeniously different ways of making life for anything that lives in the lake intolerable.
So sitting on the shore and watching life go by, I couldn’t help thinking that any notion of equilibrium here must be anything but calm and harmonious. Quite the opposite, it must be the net result of a horrendous cycle of violence balanced by what, given a distinctly unromantic atmosphere, is an impressive level of procreation.
And while it seems that crocs and hippos exist in their own little armed truce, with the occasional mutual indiscretion (“I’m sorry I sat on you / bit you in half /by mistake ate your grandmother” etc) the same really doesn’t seem to be the case for fish. For them life seems to involve a lot more “give” than “take”.
As I sat having breakfast by the lake shore, everything seemed to be casually snacking on fish. Pied and malachite kingfishers used dead trees in the shallows as perches from which to catch small fry. A grey heron used the back of hippo as a fishing pontoon, fish eagles casually cruised in every couple of minutes on long slow glides to effortlessly pluck a writhing fish from the water. A pair of ospreys methodically quartered the lake, plunging time after time into the water, only to emerge – albeit often fishless – and shake themselves in flight, exactly as a dog does after a bath.
And every few minutes, the long snout of a croc would break the surface with yet another poor fish doing its bit to sustain the equilibrium…
In the 20 minutes or so it took me to drink my coffee before breakfast, I must have witnessed the demise of at least as many fish. That’s just in the very small area where I was sitting and in only 20 minutes. A fish a minute biting the dust? How on earth do they sustain this hour by hour, day in day out?
I’m sure if I’d paid more attention during lectures I’d be able to explain concisely why what I was seeing is simply the manifestation of some kind of equilibrium – that broadly speaking births equal deaths and things perpetuate. But when you think about it, it’s pretty amazing that nature works in such an elegant way. And extraordinary that the net result of all this random activity is not, as you might expect, just the big greedy animals left, but spectacular diversity. An unimaginable array of different species of different sizes and ages, living their complex lives together, hugger-mugger. Now that’s what I call a balancing act.
05th
By way of a minor personal rebellion against the frenetic eating and drinking that has characterised the last couple of Christmases, we opted to spend a week away from civilisation. The Eastern Highlands run along the border of Zimbabwe and Mozambique, from Nyanga in the north to Chimanimani in the south, and seemed to fit the bill. In the 70s, the area was a no-go zone as battle raged between the incumbent white minority and black Zimbabweans fighting for majority rule. Exiled in adjacent Zambia and Mozambique, the freedom-fighters (and future leaders of the country) armed and trained their troops and the Eastern Highlands was very much frontier country. Fortunately, this is no longer the case and, a much more peaceful place these days, the range of hills is now popular with those seeking a bit of space, fresh air and nature unbounded.
We chose to re-locate to a wee cottage, owned by Parks, perched on a causeway across the Pungwe River, slightly up-river from a fairly impressive waterfall. This part of Nyanga is a bit tricky to get to and so was off the radar for other revellers. Just the fact that there was a wood-burning stove was sufficient to make us feel like we had really escaped, regardless of the fact that the efficient operation of said stove eluded us. While we did manage to produce an adequate approximation of a roast chicken, it would have been frowned upon by Nigella. In the absence of electricity, candle-light was central to creating an illusion of pampered penury. Interestingly, being stripped of the useful trappings of modern living, we felt quite refreshed, unburdened and indulgent. Although hot water was provided by a “donkey” (no, not a methane contraption, but a wood-burning stove), it seemed rude not to bathe in the river, which pooled conveniently and crystalline a few yards from the door-step. Aside from the pleasing absence of conveniences, the cottage was beautifully decorated and very comfy (so we weren’t that hard up).
As you can imagine, it did prove tricky to galvanise ourselves into activity of any sort. Hours spent reading books in the shade or wallowing in the shallows seemed like a very good use of time. However, the craggy gorges, flowing grassy hills and pine forests do make an exceptional playground. We explored on foot, by car and bike, swimming in the river wherever possible and loving every new expansive view, and seeing very few other people. This is not somewhere you should go seeking big game but if you are looking for birdlife, space and safety to walk, enjoy quiet and simply experience nature, this is it. The once-smart hotels in this neck of the woods are now a little dated, and other self-catering accommodation appears to keep a low-profile; it’s not easy to find out where to stay around here. However, as confidence and demand returns, this little gem will become popular with outdoor enthusiasts looking for more than the big-game experience.
26th
What determines whether we eat? Well, in the western world, we rely on a steady flow of cash to determine whether we are able to shop at M&S or Tesco. Often if it happens to be raining, it will be downright inconvenient and we’ll have to take the car to the shops but we won’t often need to personally consider how that same rain may affect the contents of the fridge. Likewise, the news reports of drought-stricken states are happily distant from our daily lives.
Don’t worry, this isn’t going to become a guilt-inducing spiel on the plight of sub-Saharan Africa. It has struck me, though, how contradictory the seasons are in Africa. Did you know, for example, that the rainy season is typically when many rural families are at their hungriest? Think about it – the harvest from the previous year is dwindling and the seeds sown early at the onset of the rain are yet to mature. The larder’s empty. To add insult to injury, the pesky rain brings mosquitoes bearing malaria, and a myriad of other illnesses that affect both people and cattle (which are vital for ploughing and carting stuff around). AND to make matters worse, this is the time when the whole family really need to be at their physical peak as the daily chores ratchet up considerably. But, even with all that hardship and misery, everyone prays for the rain, dances to the rain gods, observe fasts and ceremonies in order to coax that rain to come. Because it is indeed a lifeline.
Now, on the other side of the coin, rain is the most incredible party livener in some of Africa’s wildest places. Take the Okavango Delta, the largest inland delta in the world. Every year between December and late March, the banks of the Kavango River are swollen by the drenching storms in Angola. No one tells nature’s intricate tales better than David Attenborough and in his recent series Earth’s Great Events, he catalogues the awakening of the Delta in all its magic. It’s impossible not to be reluctantly heart-warmed by images of elephant calves experiencing such a water-fest for the first time. The slick catfish emerging from months of hibernation encased in the earth are slightly less cute, but no less extraordinary.
After the rains in June – July, the deserts of Namaqualand (northwest corner of South Africa) wild plants lying dormant under the sands explode into a dazzling floral display that your grandmother’s curtains would be proud of. I still vividly remember witnessing a rich grassy pasture spring up overnight in the red rock mountain desert of Damaraland, Namibia and how extremely out of place it looked.
I guess what I am pontificating on is that when you visit a continent like Africa, nothing can be taken for granted. It’s really very cool to let your curiosity wander further than the “postcard” image of the continent because there really are some very surprising things to be found.
And by the way, don’t forget the milk.
26th
Well, okay, not just a digging stick. The San (also impolitely known as the Bushmen) are additionally equipped with the most incredible mental agility. Alright, alright. They also habitually carry a bow and arrow but really very little else. Diminutive in stature and with distinctive narrow eyes and open friendly faces, the San have perfected the art of being at home in the bush. Seriously, Bear Grylls need not apply. Although their ancient way of life is perpetually under siege by encroaching “civilisation”, there is much to be learned from their approach to the environment.
For one, the San do not traditionally have possessions. They use natural resources if they need them for food, clothing and housing but not for profit. Don’t get me wrong, they are not bunny-hugging vegetarians and like their rare steak, but they are profoundly grateful to any animal that gives up its life so that they can eat and are careful to give thanks to the ancestors if they are lucky enough to score. They are nomadic; they never stay very long in one place thus reducing the impact on their locale and always moving where there is food aplenty. In the course of moving they will often get a tad thirsty (remember that they live in a pretty hostile desert where there is not so much as a cold coke in sight). So they habitually bury ostrich eggs filled with water so they can be sure of a quick sip on the fly. Fortunately, not only do they know the indistinguishable landscape like the back of their hands, but they possess memories like elephants and will always recognise that tell-tale stick marker poking out of the ground.
Those who have had the privilege to track an animal with the San hunters tell how they can lope at a steady pace for hours and hours, beating a rhythm with their sticks. Their understanding of the animal enables them to anticipate its movements and follow footprints over rocky ground even when none are visible. Impressive endurance athletes, they have the capacity to run their prey to exhaustion, whereupon they employ a well-aimed poison-tipped arrow to swiftly finish the job.
The San are still seeking to pursue their peaceful existence in the eastern part of Namibia and the Kalahari in Botswana.
03rd
A small news item caught my eye this week, and as a result, I hope you’ll forgive a brief detour into the thrilling world of garden vegetables…
After almost 20 years, the EU apparently came to its senses this week and decreed that, contrary to their long held belief, knobbly carrots, misshapen cucumbers and other imperfect fruit and veg are not in fact the devil’s work, but legal and…well…actually quite good to eat.
As a company that identifies strongly with the knobbly carrot, we’ll raise a glass to that, but what, you may ask, has this got to do with safaris?
Well it’s just that when we all grew up, carrots used to be all shapes and sizes; big ones, little ones, knobbly ones, bent ones. Straight one’s were something of a rarity – like a double-yolker. But not any more. For the last 20 years supermarkets have only sold carrots that are straight as a snooker cue and identical in size. They’re easy to package, they’re also easy to peel and so they’re sort of convenient. The problem is that they just don’t taste like carrots.
Curiously we believe there’s a similar process at work in Africa’s safari camps. A move to make things uniform, easier to package, and a focus on things that don’t actually add up to something special. What’s more, it’s happening at the expense of some of the more creative and unusual experiences that you’re likely to find anywhere in the world.
Some of the best experiences we know are those where the physical ingredients are pretty basic. A camp in Zambia made entirely of sticks and straw, that offers some of the best walking in Africa, or a wildly luxurious camp on Lake Tanganyika made entirely out of old lake dhows that occupies one of the most beautiful locations in Africa.
We believe that African safaris are about Africa, its wilderness, its wildlife and its people. We feel the best camps are defined by individuality, passion and creativity and these are the places we’d most like to suggest to you.
So maybe the EU’s decision marks a change in people’s attitude to what defines quality…and we hope you’ll understand when we say we’d like to offer you a few carrots that may be slightly wonky and maybe a bit harder to peel, but in doing so, make absolutely sure your safari has plenty of flavour.
Oh..and don’t forget, we’re here to take care of the packaging for you.
12th
Last Thursday (4th June 2009) – 8pm.
It’s dark and I’m sitting under canvas in a wilderness area in the northern Serengeti. Game driving isn’t allowed here, in fact there’s not so much as a track, let alone any roads for almost 1000 square kilometres.
What’s more, I can virtually guarantee that there are no people other than myself, my guide Jean and the three camp members who are here with us on this safari.
Until now it’s been virtually impossible to walk in the Serengeti, but this is exactly what I’ve come here to do. For the next 3 days as we slowly explore this virgin area, the only way we’ll be getting anywhere is on our own two feet.
As I write, it’s night, the moon is a sliver of light in an inky, star-filled sky and I’m contemplating the African night soundscape. 21st century noise pollution is conspicuous by its absence, but despite this, it is far from quiet.
Interestingly there is an unmistakable structure to the noises of the bush. It’s composed of layers; at the top a high-pitched orchestra of crickets; soft but clear, and seemingly omnipresent. This layer is punctuated by another; the intermittent calls of birds – night jars, the crescendo of a pearl spotted owl and the chirp of a scops owl.
Behind my tent and not too far away, is the insistent call of a cicada or maybe it’s a ground cricket. The call is so loud that it almost sounds like someone blowing a football whistle.
Suddenly to the south is the unmistakable roar of a lion, and it’s answered almost immediately, by another to the north. They aren’t particularly close, but they’ll be on the move now, so they’ll likely get louder in the night. This could get exciting.
But beneath all the layers of sound is one that makes my hair stand on end; a low rumble, a very large sound, but so low and continuous that after a while your ears become habituated to it and tune it out. It sounds a little like the noise an oil fired boiler makes, or a far away jet engine.
But this is no machine, this is the sound of 10’s of thousands of wildebeest massing in the rolling plains around our camp, and beginning their migration north.
Not everyone would enjoy the simplicity of these little camps, but there are few ways in which you can immerse yourself in the wild to such a degree. If you’re interested in these camps, you can take a look at a few short videos which explain what the camp is like, where the Serengeti Wilderness Area is and why the camp is so lightweight.
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