Botswana Part 2
We had a routine at Jwala, we got up at sunrise packed the cool-boxes and set off into the bush. At about 08:00, we’d find a spot and like witless colonials stop for a picnic. We’d unpack the chairs and set a table with ham, cheese, pate, bread, salad, plates, cups and flasks of hot water for coffee and rooibos tea. Then, in the majesty of untamed Africa, we’d have breakfast. What I enjoyed best was sitting in the morning sun eating brittle buttermilk rusks and biltong dry-cured beef with a coffee. It may seem a frugal meal, but the combination is delicious. The simplicity made me feel like a hardy old Boer trekking in the wilderness. A bit incongruous with the Toyota parked behind us, but I have a good imagination.
One morning while taking our repast by a dry river bed, a line of zebra came along the far bank, when they were almost opposite us, they stopped. The lead zebra ambled across the rocky bed and came near. At some imperceptible signal, the other animals crossed over. For a captivating moment, ten zebra stood in a row, silently studying us. Curiosity satisfied they filed off back to the other bank and continued on their journey. Moments later a baboon crossing upstream stopped, gave us a cursory inspection then disappeared into the undergrowth. It was like being the inmates in a zoo, and I wondered what other unseen eyes were watching us.
After breakfast, we continued on our travels, occasionally stopping to observe groups of zebra, giraffe, kudu, springbok, and warthogs with their young. We found huge tortoises and great white empty snail’s shells as big as saucers. Occasionally we came across elephants that were surprisingly hard to find and could disappear behind only a few feet of bush.
At one point, I threatened to abandon Sandy if she didn’t get back in the vehicle. She was waiting for an elephant to emerge from the vegetation so she could snap a photo.
We never encountered another lioness or any other big cats. Still, while walking a damp riverbed, we found the tracks of a leopard that had recently crossed ahead of us. It’s an uneasy feeling knowing there is probably a large predator concealed nearby watching you closely.
One day we passed a band of about a hundred brown mongeese that rolled by like an undulating wave in the opposite direction, out looking for trouble.
We never saw snakes on our travels. Peter said snakes were shy creatures and bites were rare as they only attacked if they were threatened or stepped on by mistake. They even controlled the amount of venom they injected depending on how threatened they felt. Never-the-less, I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about coming face-to-face with a pissed off twelve-foot black mamba.
Sometimes, we’d have lunch in the bush or return to Jwala for a snack and a snooze, especially if we intended going out at night to find nocturnals. However, each evening we would drive out into the bush with the cool-boxes, find a scenic spot and park up for sun-downers. We’d sit chatting, sipping drinks watching a great red ball slip below the horizon at the close of another day in Africa.
On night expeditions we took a powerful spotlight, and we chanced upon animals we couldn’t easily find in the day. As we drove down tracks with bushes on each side, a shout would go up as someone spotted eyes reflecting from the darkness. We’d then reverse up and peer into the foliage with the light. We found bush-babies, bush-pigs, night-jars, owls and the small rodents they hunted. On one occasion, I called out, and we reversed to find a giant grey moth hanging from a branch. I got ragged about that one, but personally, I saw it as a great feat of observation. We left these poor creatures blinking, their night vision impaired for hours. In more open country we shone the light into the trees. We occasionally saw bright yellow eyes shining out from the darkness, probably leopard, peering at us, but by the time we reached the site, the animal was gone.
One night driving beside the dry riverbed that ran behind Jwala, we came across a pack of spotted hyena on a hunt. In the dark, they raced easily in two disciplined lines along opposite sides of the tree-lined river. It was surreal driving just metres from the cackle closest to us that were totally focused and undistracted by our presence. At a break in the trees the group nearest us, by some unheard signal, peeled off to the other bank and in an instinctive manoeuvre fanned out and disappeared into the darkness undoubtedly close to bringing down their unseen prey.
Another night at Jwala while we were all down at the briar barbecuing a large lump of meat, I heard a ‘clack’ sound from the lappa, the thatched eating area. I walk back to investigate. As I came out of the darkness into the candlelight, I was confronted by the top half of a yellow-brown head with large ears on the other side of the dining table that was set for dinner. I didn’t know what to do, I stood transfixed being evaluated by the dark eyes behind the table. After a moment in this stand-off, the animal took a step backwards revealing itself to be an adult spotted hyena. I’d always understood that a lone hyena was a cowardly animal. To test this theory, for some stupid, inexplicable reason I took one step forward, the animal took another step back. We stood motionless, looking at each other for some time. The hyena blinked first, turned and loped off into the shadows between the huts. The large slab of butter on the table had disappeared.
When the others came with the meat, I took my usual place on the other side of the table with my back to the huts. Occasionaly, I turned and shone a torch into the gloom, each time a pair of eyes, from a patient hyena, glowed back from the darkness. The lodge managers Keith and Angie, were eating with us. Keith was a Rhodesian in his seventies who’s idea of tranquillity had been to camp in the Kruger National Park with his wife and children. I took the opportunity to get the benefit of his experience.
“Keith, if I’m alone and confronted by five hyenas, what’s the survival technique?”
Kieth mulled the problem over for a few moments, then pragmatically replied:
“Your alone and confronted by five hyenas” he paused “Then, I guess your time is up”.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it!”
That wasn’t our last brush with a hyena.
Another Peter, a shareholder from Johannesburg, came to meet us, and the six of us went to stay a night at a second lodge on the reserve. Dopotta, was in a beautiful setting. It had a communal area with a kitchen, recreation/dining room, an outside briar, and a thatched, teak floored eating-area supported on poles over a river bed under a canopy of trees. A path from this area ran down to a slatted wooden footbridge leading to small, semidetached stone cottages.
The enfolding trees were full of hanging basket nests of yellow, black-faced weaver birds.
That night after dinner, a few bottles of wine and brandies, someone had the bright idea of going on a night drive to look for leopard. Sandy declined and went across the bridge to our cottage.
Me, being the only one who hadn’t been drinking, said I should do a vehicle and equipment check before setting off into the night. After repairing a faulty spotlight, checking the medical kit and toolbox, I pronounced us ready to go. We bumped and rattled around in the dark ruling out any encounter with a night predator. After disturbing a group of dozing elephants, we thought it best to return to base without a hint of a leopard.
Safe in Dopotta, we all went to the kitchen.
“Oh no, we must have left the door open” we congregated around Peter from Johannesburg looking down at an enormous chalk-white hyena turd. Five would be trackers followed the dusty paw prints out onto the covered eating area, across the footbridge to the door of Sandy’s cottage. I quietly opened the unlocked door and peered in, Sandy was fast asleep. I pulled the door shut.
“Good job, she didn’t open the door to that” someone remarked.