A collection of photographs from a week in the bush. The obvious highlight was seeing three cheetahs together, but we also watched two young male white rhinos 'scrumming' horn to horn. We also witnessed a failed stalk on some wildebeest by three lionesses (the element of surprize ruined by an oblivious young male). The little things stand out just as prominently though: from an oriole calling amidst coral tree flowers, a pied kingfisher perching within arms reach at Mankwe Hide, a tinker barbet calling to its mate outside our chalet, terrapins clustered in the sun and a baby crocodile resting on a rotten log. There was the bee eater that fought strong winds to catch insects on the wing, the brown hyena making short work of some old bones, elephants bathing in water and dust, a dabchick on a single prescious egg and a pack of wild dogs restless on the hunt. The bush is a place of replenishment and I am always sorry to leave...until next time (hopefully soon).
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One of my great pleasures is making my way through the gates of a national park just as it opens.
I wake up, careful to make as little sounds as possible in the hopes that my departure does not disturb my still slumbering family. I make myself a cup of coffee, rub the sleep out of my eyes and drive towards the gate. There is a crispness to the air despite the season, but I have to drive with the window open despite the cold, just in case I catch a glimpse of some fleeting animal. Besides, with the window closed, I would be deprived of the sounds and smells of the bushveld waking up. If I am lucky, as I was this particular morning in the Pilanesberg, I am the first car through. The dozy guard manhandles the wrought iron gate and I am through...into the park. I drive slowly, guessing at signs of what might have happened during the night. This is one of my favorite indulgences. As I turn onto Lengau, the dirt road, I notice the tracks from an elephant that visited the camp the previous evening. Its toe-scuffed, circular indentations in the sand show that he made his way down to the river. A few roughly-stripped branches also mark his path, their whittled bark like huge pencil shavings across the road. Later on I come to some more footprints. These follow the course of the road. I guess at them being from the brown hyena that I had seen feeding on an elephant carcass, a lone male that is known to frequent the area. I can't seem to place the smaller hind pawprint, though, and wonder if this could be from his cousin, the spotted hyena. A cautious waterbuck gracefully crosses in front of me, his backward horns curling forwards as he walks. His pelt looks grizzly and cold. A front had been through and with the temperature dropping, I guess the animals tried to stay as warm as possible in the darkness. He disappears through a thicket and is gone, a ghost in the dawn. As I round the next bend, I see the remnants of a steaming rhino midden. Its dark smell feels warm and earthy. My heartbeat quickens when I notice the shadow of another footprint closeby. As I get closer, I see the telltale three lobed pad with four neat clawmarks in front of the toes. Cheetah. I follow them, peering eagerly throw the sawdust coloured veldt in the hopes of tracking the illusive cat. The spoor disappears into the bush, but I continue scanning...full of anticipation. I come round another corner that winds around a small koppie, and there, in a small patch of sun, right next to the road, are three subadult cheetahs. I am on a downhill slope, so I turn the car off and freewheel ever-so-slowly towards them. As I get closer, it is clear that they are three males, probably the the recently independent cubs from Rain, the well-known cheetah female in the area. They each watch me intently, sitting with the tails curled around their muscular hind legs, just like a domestic cat. I eventually stop not more than four feet from them. The cheetahs lose interest in my relatively quickly, and begin to stretch in the sunlight, its warmth massaging some life into their cold limbs. Every so often they look to each other, but otherwise remain still, despite the odd yawn. Waking up seems something of a process for these beautiful animals. I am so close that I could reach out and touch them, but instead, I look at the detail of the tearmarks running from their large golden eyes. Their fur seems rougher than I expected, and their spots seem more oval than round. They move like housecats as well, somehow managing to convey a variety of expressions through their frowning, curling, happy eyes. Sometimes, the cheetch flop down onto the ground, to lie on their side and then stretch their hind and forelegs apart; their heads lolling next to them. Relaxed. I sit with the three cheetah for about an hour until another car comes along. At the sound of the intruder, they stand up, and move off into the bush becoming a blend of spots and fur and grass and leaves. Gone. I leave with a smile and a photograph. Content. The more time I spend in the bushveld, the more I feel disconnected from the city. The bush somehow seems more intimate, despite its vastness. As I warm myself by the crackling fire, I listen to the sounds of night. Amidst the constant rattle of crickets, I hear the whoop of a spotted hyena, and I know that they are probably heading towards the wildebeest carcass we found this morning. In my mind's eye, I can imagine them extracting themselves from the rocky fissures where they have made their den, arching backs in a dusky stretch before loping off on a winding track through the mopane trees. A pearl-spotted owlet makes its frenetic whistle and I know that it will be calling for its mate, my thought confirmed when I hear w reply through the darkness. I know my company by name as well, and we share stories around the fire, drinking in the wilderness, the fire, the stars and the peace of this this place.
At home, in the city, I feel removed. I feel that I have been robbed of the stars as the Milky Way has been swallowed by ambient light. I hear the sound of cars making their way home from work, but I cannot name them and who they belong to. I am disconnected, just like everyone else in the big city. There is little community, little interconnectedness. In the bushveld, I feel part of a vast ecosystem. Whatever I use is recycled back into the environment. As we walk along dusty game trails, I feel as vulnerable as the wildlife which we are searching for. I do not feel the human illusion of mastery, but instead I feel humbled. I feel an elemental connection to the world. When we came upon a plain dotted with wildebeest, zebra and impala, I return their curious stares with my own sense of wonder. Maybe I have lost something in the complexity of my urban existence. Perhaps simple pleasures are more profound. Maybe the perspective offered by the wilderness will nurture my soul. |
ContentSome thoughts about things, sometimes philosophical, sometimes just musings. The world through my eyes... Archives
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