The Limpopo River is both majestic and temperamental. It relies on the seasons for sustenance and therefore is a raging thunder of water in summer but a trickle of wet sand in the winter. In April, though, I find the river somewhere in between these extremes with patches of pools that hide the shape of opportunistic crocodiles, save for their eyes.
The birdlife is astounding and one of my favourite pastimes (along with gazing off the top of Eagles's Rock) is to walk along the river's meander. As we move along, I see the silhouette of a baboon drinking, its actions completely personified. Grey herons lift from their hunting pool with a labored flapping that develops into an economical rhythm, their snakelike necks and long legs creating a balance in form. Fish eagles call with their necks thrown back in an ecstasy of warbling. It is as if someone has emptied a shotgun against the higher sandy walls such are the multitude of bee-eater nests. The birds' kite-like wings and vividly green plumage are a feast for the senses as they dart about the sky fighting drongos for an unfortunate butterfly. In amongst the thick fever trees, I glimpse a bushbuck. Its secretive movements are measured and stealthy until it sees me and vanishes elegantly leaving only a few swaying branches. I hope to see a Pell's fishing owl during the walk, but leave with only the satisfaction that they are out there somewhere. We set up two camera traps before heading out to the trails camp. There was some incredible footage of a leopard and a hyena from the camera placed in a river bed. The other camera, placed near Eagle's Rock was not so fortunate and was 'investigated' by an elephant. At night, one of the eles ripped the camera from its post, carried it down the path and then threw it into the bush...disinterested. On another night we saw evidence of a large-spotted genet that also sniffed at our human scents...
When I was in high school, I was lucky enough to be part of the Wildlife Club. We did a number of trips together all around South Africa, but my favorite was to a place called Manyeleti Game Reserve. Back then it was a little hidden gem, and we spent a number of nights in the company of Dave Rushworth in a derelict camp in the centre of the reserve. There were no fences and the only amenities at the camp was a roofed lapa with no walls and a donkey boiler onto which we managed to rig up a temporary shower. At night, we had the responsibility of sentry duty, keeping watch from the campfire should anything particularly dangerous come to satisfy their curiosity in the middle of the night. For the most part we didn't see much and the plethora of night sounds fed our imagination more than anything else, with the exception of one night. It was my turn to take watch as I was shaken awake by one of my friends. The embers of the fire were a deep orange glow with the occasional confident flicker of flame. The darkness was blinding and amidst the chatter of insects I heard a multitude of sounds that my innocence could not place as friend or foe. I watched the bushveld television that played in front of me until I was distracted by a shape that developed from the fringes of my sight. I held my breathe and shone my torch in its direction to see two glowing eyes low to the ground. The blind fingers of light from the torch could not make out more that a silhouette, but it came closer. Eventually, the shape materialized into the outline of a grey and black civet. It padded quietly towards the fire, its friendly badger face belying the fact that it was a wild animal. I kept incredibly still and she eventually stopped a meter away from me, took a sniff of the air, and then plodded back into the darkness. I think that during a night watch like this, we are able to allow ourselves to be vulnerable to nature, and because we start to operate on a wilderness code rather than a human one, we are accepted more. Unfortunately opportunities like this are few, but there is one in which I am able to indulge once a year when I head to the Tuli Block. In the late afternoon, we drive out to a secluded spot on the reserve, away from the roads and the camps. This year we arranged ourselves at the base of a long ridge that separated us from the dusty Motloutse River. To the south was about 50 meters of open veld before thickets of Mopane Trees. We arranged a circle of rocks and built a modest fire at their centre before spacing ourselves out with our sleeping bags. Each person took watch in shifts until the morning, and being somewhat older than I was when we visited Manyeleti, most of the animal sounds were more familiar. In the early hours of the morning when I took my watch, I heard the rasping breathe of a leopard, the intolerant trumpeting of elephants either disciplining their youngsters or making their anxiety about predators in the area known. There was the banshee cry of a jackal and the elongated whoop of a hyena. From the Mopane belt, a pair of black-backed jackals, probably the ones who had haunted the night with their voices earlier, trotted to investigate us, stopping feet away from our sleeping bags. They nervously paced back and forth, pausing for brief moments to stare at me. I guess they were scrounging for some scraps, and satisfied that there were none, they eventually edged off into the night. Later on, during one of the other shifts, we were woken to witness a lone lioness that was walking along one of the bush tracks bordering our campfire. Her strong chest and assertive eyes beamed towards us before she gathered herself and departed at a trot. Humbling is a word that doesn't cut it...this experience was something more profound. Night Sounds It is 3:00 in the morning and I am inexplicably awake. The ivory half moon has disappeared beneath the horizon for the night to be replaced by incandescent stars. They seem to be able to own their identity a bit more willingly without the moon and I can easily pick out their mythological namesakes amongst the milky way. My primitive eyes search the darkness ineffectively and I decide to lie on my back and devote myself to the night sounds instead. The rhythmic idling of insects seem to have an infinite supply of energy as they wail through the night, stopping suddenly all at once. It is as if their livelihood has been suddenly threatened and they hope that silence will hide their location. Their is a scuffling near the dry riverbed which sounds like feathers and claws, but without a shriek of defeat or a growl of victory, I cannot be sure of their source. There seems to be stoic beauty to night in the wilderness where the circuitous ecosystem of eat or be eaten is ever present. A cool breeze playfully ruffles the leaves on the top of a Nyala Berry Tree that hangs over my bed. I strain my ears as the harmonica of leaves and twigs fades to nothing. Perhaps a kilometer away I can hear the mourn of lions. A new pride is being formed in the darkness, and the negotiations of territory and boundaries are being established while I try to sleep. There is no rest here. Closer, I hear a noise that erupts from deep in the belly of what I imagine must be a powerful black-maned lion. I can picture his authoritative arrogance, as his huge padded footprints are driven into the sand with the strain of each roar. His forelegs are twisted knots of muscle and his tarnished eyes are locked in defiance as he watches over his kingdom. Confidence, it seems, counts for so much out here. His calls collect a rasp of responses, and they eclipse every other night sound. The other lions seem to force out their cries over an over, reaching a cacophony of three or four final spent pants. Closer, I hear the rumble of an elephant that challenges the lions' tirade on the night, just to make sure that they know who is really in charge. My own voice is insignificant here and I feel like a intruder to a world that I do not fully understand and at which I can only marvel. The world reverts to silence, an intermission before the next performance, and I am glad that I am awake to bear witness to it. You always hear about people starting their blog, how many followers they have and these deep, profound thoughts about life and the world. I'm not sure that this is going to be able to achieve all of that, but I'll try...
After my long leave was approved, I decided to spend some time writing. About everything and anything. I used to do this thanks to the journal that my English teacher, Mrs Worth, encouraged us to keep through our Grade 11 and Matric years. I loved writing, and somehow I have lost the time to do it. In the hopes of rekindling this spirit, I was going to start journalling anew, and my brother's comment was that I should try and upgrade to the new millennium. Which is probably a fair call. I must explain where this comment came from. I think that I was born an old soul, and if I had my choice, I should have been in my 20s during the 1930s. As a pilot. That is just about what my dream job would be - one of those pioneer aviators who flew rag and string aeroplanes to the astonishment of onlookers. I think I would have made a pretty good Barnstormer. And in many ways I unconsciously (and a lot of the time consciously) try to recreate that 1930s feel to my 2016 life. I drive around in old cars, fly old aeroplanes, search for old toys for Bella (my daughter) and listen to old music. So, with all of this in mind, I should probably stick to a pen and paper to collect my thoughts, like someone might have done in the 1930s. However, my brother had a good point, and maybe I should try and combine my love of the past with my visions for the future, and hence the pen and paper returning to my desk drawer, and my laptop or iPad taking its place. There has been a bit of a changing of the guard, and I'll see what it brings. So what I write down here is mostly for me, but you could be privy to it as well, and maybe something comes of all of this... Enjoy... |
ContentSome thoughts about things, sometimes philosophical, sometimes just musings. The world through my eyes... Archives
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