Camped at Simanya River Lodge near Nkurunkuru. Quite an operation! Big chalets overlooking the river; Huge convention hall, a chapel, a restaurant. Smart campsites, each with own kitchen and bathroom. Phew! Seems OTT?
In the tree above my camp, a Yellow-bellied Greenbul seemed to be ‘anting’ or ‘de-lousing’ a juvenile Drongo. Even while an adult Drongo looked on. Seemed strange.
Saw a Copper Sunbird pair – LIFER- at the deck in front of Simanya Camp’s convention hall overlooking the wide blue Cubango River – some 100km west of where they’re meant to be found! I rushed to fetch my camera, but they were gone. No evidence! I’ll watch to see if other birders confirm. Mosque Swallows, Bee-eaters. Must find my birdlist (if I made one).
On to Louis’ connection Winni Metzger at Kanyikamma Rest Camp. What an operation Winni and vrou Metzger run! Shops, farming, butchery, a lodge and much more. I stayed in one of their big smart stone chalets.
A Dutch couple on a tandem bicycle arrived. They had cycled from Windhoek to Angola and were on their way to the Caprivi. Sandy roads on a tandem with skinny-ass tyres is not my idea of fun, but they were young, skinny-ass themselves, and full of spirit and can-do! They were looking forward to the tar roads ahead of them.
– malmense –
Southward now – down to Etosha, then on to Omaruru where schoolmate Louis lives on Kakombo farm.
Leaving Rainbow River Lodge after a really special time there, I drove north and west, past Divundu, to Rundu where I had a look at the riverfront places – lodges and the Rundu Beach. Further west along the Cubango River to Shankara Rest Camp. Where I could, I drove on the dirt road that runs nearer to the river than the tarred B8 road. It ran through villages and past big shady trees, quite often in sight of the big clear river on its way to forming the amazing Okavango Delta before sinking into the Kalahari sands; Namibians call it the Kavango as it crosses the Caprivi Strip, then when it enters Botswana the Motswana call it the Okavango.
Shankara Camp was lovely, right on the riverbank. Shady, affordable camping, good hot showers, cold beer available. They have a big shady deck right over the water to chill on.
Lee in Maun had recommended Rainbow River Lodge on the Kavango River near Popa Falls. It was great. Lodge owner Deon was welcoming and helpful. He took me boating to see Carmine Bee-eaters and the beautiful cataracts called Popa Falls.
Twice I drove south to Bwabwata Park, also on the right bank of the Kavango, downstream.
Back at Rainbow, I watched skeins of duck and geese fly downriver; and a mokoro paddle past, from my deckchair.
Hippo, crocs and otters in front of the riverbank campsites, plentiful birdlife. Rainbow Lodge is really worth a visit.
Next I’d be tracking the Kavango river upstream till it becomes the Cubango – the border between Namibia and Angola. I’d be getting my first-ever glimpse of Angola.
~~oo0oo~~
Bridges – I have since found out about all the new bridges that cross the two mighty rivers in the region, where before, ferries did duty.
Across the Cubango/Kavango/Okavango: In Namibia – At Rundu into Angola; At Divundu from Namibia into the Caprivi; In Botswana at Muhambo; I saw these three on my travels and got a distant pic of the Muhambo Bridge’s ‘elephant tusk’ supports looking south from Namibia’s Bwabwata park.
Across the Zambesi – At Katimo Mulilo from Namibia into Zambia; At Kazungula from Botswana into Zambia.
Just across the border I turned off into Bwabwata National Park which runs along the floodplain on the right bank of the Kavango river.
I should have posted sooner, as I have forgotten where – or if – I wrote a bird list for the drive. I do remember counting about 150 Marabou Storks mulling about on the ground while another 150 circled overhead. Fascinating birds.
I paid and moved on after posing a big challenge to Swamp Stop’s sewerage system. I’d cooked wors, pap, steak and chicken high sosaties and it took two flushes to get rid of it. Did I say cooked? I mean eaten. Cecelia had cooked it. Also potatoes in foil, butternut and a salad. Her broad beam and broad smile had convinced me immediately that her offer of supper would surpass my intended cold baked beans straight outa the tin. And it did, it was delicious. I recommend the meals on offer at Sepupa Swamp Stop! At 200P it was quite expensive, but they have to source it, fetch it, store it, cook it, serve it, so I was happy to pay. No schlep, no washing up and way more variety and quantity that I would have had. Yum!
Two misbehaving teenage fishermen Peter and Ken (ages 75 and 79) were camped next to me the two nights I was there. I tried to get them to behave, but would they listen? Constant gin, beer, wine and tall tales of the bream they were going to catch. Next time. They did catch some fine tigers and barbel, and they poured a good gin, it must be said. But the bream remained promises while I was there.
They told frightening tales of the terrible A35 north road after I had said the road was fine. ‘No it’s not!’ said these drivers of a new Discovery, ‘It’s a nightmare! We couldn’t even go 70 / 75 towing this Conqueror off-road trailer!’ OK, I said, I admit I usually cruise slower than that, and no trailer; So the road was fine for me. Also, I was driving a 2007 Ford Ranger! They made the obligatory groans that all envious okes seem to do when I mention this fact. Always amazes me when Landrover victims think they know about things automotive.
When I left camp after breakfast (Cecelia’s scrambled eggs on toast) I thought, Can 154 Years of Experience be wrong? so I decided to dodge the now dreaded, newly notorious A35 and get to Nxamasere off the grid, taking a sand road parallel and nearer the Okavango’s western-most channel. ‘You can’t go that way!’ they told me in Sepupa village but I read somewhere, “All Roads Lead to Nxamasere,” so I felt confident. I think that’s what it said.
And I was right. It was a magic little bush track, smooth sand mostly, and winding along merrily, scratching my pristine 15yr-old paintwork only occasionally. After an hour I stopped for a pee in the cool shade of a magnificent Knob Thorn.
– so two magnificent knobs there then –
At times the road did seem to peter swanie out a bit, but it would re-appear, and every now and then blue concrete beacons marked ‘WP’ would appear reassuringly. I thought, If this route goes to Western Province I’m sure it goes through Namibia, and Nxamasere will be en route.
At Kajaja health post two men were building a house right on the road. They gave me a smile and a big wave so I asked them (quickly trying, but failing, to ask them a question that could not be answered ‘YES’).
‘NO,’ they said, You cannot get to Nxamasere this way, you have to take the tar road.’ OK, thanks, I said, I’m sure you’re right, but I am going to try. I’ll see you back here if I fail, to admit to you: You Were Right. They thought that was helluva funny. I started to move off and one said, ‘Wait! Let me ask Our Father.’ I bowed my head and closed my eyes but he meant his earthly father who was sitting on a chair under a shady tree behind the house they were building. ‘Dad!’ he shouted in fluent seTswana, ‘Can one get to Nxamasere this way? There’s an ancient white-haired goat here who is determined not to drive on tar.’ No, said our father, There is no way to Nxamasere that way. ‘Our father says No, there is no way to Nxamasere that way,’ said my man. OK, I said, I’m sure he is right, so I will come back if I get stuck and I will say to him, I admit: You Were Right.
The road meandered on vaguely northwards, maybe a bit more overgrown and a touch less confidently, but on it meandered nevertheless, with an occasional detour and only one bit of gardening needed where a tree had fallen across and needed a bit of branch breaking, a rope and a backward tug to make a gap. It was surrounded by elephant droppings so maybe those pachyderm foresters had felled it. Still a smooth sandy track, no corrugations, hard enough to not deflate my tyres; occasionally a patch of calcrete which made me think maybe this was the old great north road before the A35? Second gear 30kmh; Third gear 40kmh at times.
Then it did peter out. I took a left detour but that turned back towards Kajaja; a right detour went downhill towards the channel and ran into some dongas where lots of sand had been extracted. They call them ‘borrow pits’ – I think that is seTswana for ‘quarry.’
Defeat.
I arrived back in Kajaja with a grin and my men grinned back. Our father waved from under the tree. You Were Right, I said, triggering laughter again, and made my way with my exhaust pipe between my legs to the tar.
And Peter and Ken were right. The A35 tar road was bladdy awful. Smooth; Straight; Wide; Boring.
Even this donkey felt my disappointment, as you can see if you zoom in on his ass. Terrible road.
Up in the northwest of Botswana a magnificent river enters the country. Called the Cubango in Angola, the Kavango in Namibia and the Okavango in Botswana, it’s in the top twelve longest and biggest rivers in Africa. Unusual in that it doesn’t reach the sea. Instead, it discharges into the Kalahari Desert and forms the famous Okavango Delta. I have been into that stunning Delta on numerous occasions, but I had never visited “the panhandle.” Till now.
Swamp Stop is a well-known camp which bills itself as the gateway to the Okavango Delta. It’s up in NW Botswana near Sepupa village, about 50km south of the Namibian border.
The camp has been around since Bobby Wilmot’s days and they know exactly what is needed. They have friendly people, a long shady bar, a lovely deck overlooking the channel, a restaurant providing good grub, two cool pools, chairs and tables under cover and under the trees, and accommodation ranging from comfy chalets to great campsites. And much more, I’m sure. Boats for hire to get into the Delta, for instance.
Drotsky’s Cabins is another well-known stop a bit further north near the bigger town of Shakawe. The campsites are splendid. Huge trees and lots of birds and animals on the riverbank. Including a very horny donkey Jack complaining loudly – and for hours! – that the Jenny of his desires was being mean to him. Meantime, she was just ignoring his bleating horniness.
Bev said Hop In! so Janet and I hopped into her Prado automatic and glided off smoothly NE to Khwai village, on the border of Botswana’s Moremi Game Reserve. A much smoother ride than my old bakkie, was Bev’s Prado. We were working – we were going to check out a bridge on the river Kwai – I mean a lodge on the river Khwai called The Termite Mound Guest House. “We” meaning Bev – Janet and I were just backup crew. Happy nogschleppers.
We loved the cleverly designed lodge. Two big metal ship containers form the lower outer walls. One is the kitchen and pantry, one is an en-suite bedroom. Impressive Zanzibari doors lead into the lovely open space between them; ideal for dining and lounging al fresco. All the other walls are canvas; the roof is tin with skylights, raised up high on impressive gumpoles. Above the containers, two en-suite bedrooms with their own verandas and wonderful views. Solar power heats the water and powers the batteries that run lights and fridge. Comfortably ‘off the grid.’
Bev is an experienced and accomplished guide who knows the area well, so we drove all along the Khwai and into the fringes of Chobe Game Reserve with her telling us about the various places to stay and camp. The waters of the Okavango spilling into the Kalahari bring life abundant and I remarked in awe as we sat at one lagoon, ‘It’s like an aviary!’ Here’s a partial list I recorded: Great white Egret; Rufous-bellied Heron; Little Egret; Reed Cormorant; Darter; Black Crake; Striated Heron; Black-crowned Night Heron; White-faced Duck; Egyptian Goose; Lilac-breasted Roller; African Fish eagle; African Jacana; and some Lechwe antelope were hanging about.
When we left for home we headed into Moremi Game Reserve, crossing a bridge on the river Khwai:
Good rain had fallen, making some roads tricky, but Bev waded through with panache. We had lunch overlooking a pan. On the way out I said. ‘I’d love to see an Arnot’s Chat again,’ and Bev said ‘There’s one!’ I got a pic – will add it when I find it (done below). Meantime, talking of lunch, here’s a leopard eating an impala, crocs eating a hippo and lions chilling, probly after dinner:
Driving Mahonie (mahogany) Loop north of Punda Maria camp in June 2022, I heard parrots shrieking. Big old trees abound, including Mkuhlas – the Natal Mahogany Trichilia emetica. Scanning the trees I spotted them. Hey, they’re bigger! Those are Cape Parrots. A new species for my trip. Whoa, Wait. There’s been some splitting. These are now a new species: It’s a LIFER: Grey-headed Parrot (Poicephalus fuscicollis)!
And now I see it’s also called the Brown-necked Parrot, dunno why? The ones I saw had a grey heads and necks.
Up near Pafuri, soft rain fell in bright sunshine. A Monkey’s Wedding! This is baobab and mopane woodland country. The sunlight emphasised the ‘autumn’ colors of the mopani leaves. It was neat to see the dirt roads drizzled clean, with no vehicle tracks, making it easy to see if there were any new animal tracks.
– looking downstream from the bridge over the Luvhuvhu –
At the bridge over the Luvhuvhu, another LIFER: a Mottled Spinetail (Telacanthura ussheri). Baobab trees hint at the possibility of their presence, but I’ve tried in vain for years to see them clearly enough to identify. Today they co-operated!
In Punda camp I got parked in by a German couple in a huge overland truck. To get out I nudged one of their huge spare tyres with my spare tyre so I could make my turn, causing the lady to rush out shouting blah blah like a Karen. I said relax, fraulein. Later they pulled into a site near mine and that was it, no door or window opened, they stayed inside. They had aircon running, and an onboard toilet, shower and kitchen. I didn’t see them stick a nose outside the whole time they were there! They must have though, as the next day there were two deck chairs outside. Touring in a hermetically sealed truck, keeping Africa at arms length! Different.
Not much accommodation north of Punda Maria. A couple of private lodges, and a camp near the Mocambique border which was full, but “Try River Camp,” the helpful fella at Pafuri gate suggested. I was glad he did. So Saturday and Sunday nights were outside the park at Pafuri Rivercamp, a lovely spot, I recommend it. It rained on the way there, ca.4pm and on & off to 7pm. The camper proved rainproof and cosy in my beautiful campsite under big shady trees. Each site has its own rustic shower and kitchen with gas geyser and paraffin lamps. As I fell asleep Eastern Olive Toad ‘ruarks’ from the nearby Mutale River filled the night. The Mutale flows into the famous-for-birders Luvhuvhu, which I finally got to see after reading about it for decades. The Luvhuvhu flows on into the more famous Limpopo where SA, Zimbabwe and Moçambique meet near ‘Crooks Corner,’ land of myths about crooks, rustlers, smugglers and fugitives.
Saddle-bill Stork
White-crowned Lapwing
Heuglins Robin-chat (white-browed)
Mosque Swallow
Magpie Shrike
Black-crowned Tchagra
Brown-crowned Tchagra
Burchells Coucal
White-crested Helmet-shrike
Tawny Eagle
Bateleur
Collared Sunbird
White-bellied Sunbird
Marico Sunbird
Terrestrial Brownbul
White-fronted Bee-eater
Fish Eagle
Red-bill Firefinch
Red-headed Weaver
Pin-tailed Whydah
Long-tailed Paradise whydah +○
Greater honeyguide calling
Wire-tailed swallow
Rock Martin
Dickinsons Kestrel
Cut-throat Finch
Red-billed Quelea
Terrestrial Brownbul
Black-headed Oriole
Red-capped Robin-chat
Yellow-bellied Greenbul
Yellow-breasted Apalis
Scimitarbill
Golden-tailed Woodpecker
Emerald-spotted Wood-dove
Verreaux’s eagle Owl heard
‘Pafuri picnic site is beautiful’ is an understatement. I have little doubt most places called ‘Eden’ are a pale shadow of Pafuri picnic site on the right bank of the Luvhuvhu. Bias, sure.
Notes for next time: Check out Kloppersfontein again. Spend a full day at Pafuri picnic site, a really a very special spot on the Luvhuvhu – see the insert pic in the collage above. Lots of birds; Big gang of Banded Mongooses; Big Nyala bulls soft-shoe stepping around each other in an elaborate polite-yet-wary macho display, vervets being chased by the camp superintendent. Nyala road nearby is beautiful.
Out on the Makalamabedi road south of Maun the Boteti river is flowing nicely. Three or four of the pipes have a swift current and the birds are loving it. And I only got two pictures, none of the lovely scene!
. . and then there’s the salubrious suburb of Tsanakona and Janet’s patch there on the right bank of the fascinating Tamalakhane River. Quite one of my favouritest places in the world!
Lee organised his umpteenth trip to the CKGR – the Central Kalahari Game Reserve – and my first! His frequent fellow-travelers Hans and Karina joined him on their annual visit from the Netherlands; as did Dwayne the pilot; he also invited Janet – and me! At last, a trip to a long-desired destination.
We headed east to Makalamabedi, then south along a long cutline to Motsware gate. On to Deception Pan. Kori campsite No.2 I think.
– water attracts all sorts of creatures to camp –
Day trips in Lee and Dwayne’s Toyotas to Owen’s camp for sundowners; Sundays Pan – water pumped; Campsite on dune for brunch – delish; Leopard Pan.
Struggling to get a deckchair back into its bag, Lee says he knows why. At the factory in Australia the worker asks, Where’s This Batch Going? Suffefrica, says the foreman. Right, make the bags 10% smaller, they all shout in unison.
Here’s how it works: Thirty-some years ago I was invited to a wonderful gathering with great friends Dave & Goldie who’d just had twins to add to their Tatum. There was good food thanks to Goldie and lots of beer which Dave may have had something to do with. Also there was something in a church, I dunno why, but hey! Did I mention the food and beer?
Turns out childless, clueless me had said something in church that was actually a lifelong commitment! I had joined the Mafia become a Godfather! I immediately set about neglecting my duties, but when the twins started performing terrifically in the famous Dusi Canoe Marathon I mumbled Them’s My Godsons and got told to shurrup.
But now! NOW! Googs has just run the famous Comrades Marathon in the insanely quick time of 7hrs 14mins – over 15mins inside silver medal time! So once again I step forward out of the shadows. Although claiming some influence on his good performance, I did mention that I hadn’t won my Comrades when I ‘did it’ back when we wore heavy hobnailed boots and hand-knitted vests.
Being the gentleman he is, Googs sms’d me back: Chuffed you are back to claim godfathership! Glad I could lure you back from retirement.
Less than a week later I became a Granpa for the first time. Ziggy had a baby boy on Saturday!
– still no-name Ngcobo – maybe he’ll be named after me?! –
Tom is claiming godfathership! Knowing Zig she probly did confer the honour on him! He’s super-chuffed. Will prolly walk around with his chest out and do nothing, just like his father before him. **Some people!**
Zigs asked urgently for name suggestions. It seems if you name the child they can give you his birth certificate there-and-then in maternity. If you dither, you have to queue at home affairs later.
I know! I know! It’s obvious: Peter Frank Ngcobo, I suggested helpfully. Ziggy fell about laughing. I don’t know why. OK, Koos Ngcobo I cried desperately. She actually considered that for half a second. But nah. And he became Melokuhle, Melo for short.
~~oo0oo~~
Now – Sept 2023 – he has turned one, and he’s walking! All of a sudden. Time flew. My grandson Melokuhle:
Mopani camp was full. How about Letaba? I asked. Sorry, its also full. Sometimes getting into the Kruger National Park can be challenging. Let’s look outside the Park, Jessie; say within an hour of this Phalaborwa gate. Aha! She found Tingala Lodge on booking.com within our budget – set at R900 for the both of us sharing. And what a happy diversion it turned out to be. About 15km north of the Phalaborwa gate into Kruger Park, Tingala Lodge is terrific.
While we chilled on the big patio overlooking a waterhole, a lady arrived in a double-cab bakkie and I noticed a couple of cases of Painted Wolf wine being carried into her room. When she joined us on the patio where I was nursing a G&T, I said, ‘Lovely Wine, that Painted Wolf. My sister sells it in Durban.’
Oh, she said, Your sister must be Sheila!It’s my wine. My husband is the winemaker. I’m visiting lodges promoting it, asking them to include it on their wine lists. All sales help with Wild Dog conservation. I’ve just stayed at Lion Sands.
‘Yep, Sheila’s my sister. I love the labels,’ I said, ‘Who does your artwork?’
Originally, an artist who worked on a game lodge in Botswana.
‘Which lodge?’
Lloyds Camp on the Savute channel.
‘I knew an artist at Lloyds Camp,’ I said, ‘Jenny Song, she was there when we visited way back when.’
It was Jenny! She did our original artwork.
‘What a lovely person, we got on so well with her. My wife Trish bought something she painted. We had such a special time there,’ I said. ‘When we flew in from the Delta, back in the day, we were picked up at the landing strip by Emma, a young pink-cheeked Pom who said she was the chef, and she was on guest-fetching duty that day. She loaded us into the open Landrover and drove us right up an elephant’s bum at the waterhole on the way to camp. When we got to camp Emma had prepared a delicious lunch for us overlooking the camp waterhole in the channel, and we ate and drank ice-cold beers looking down on eles heads as they drank freshly-pumped water.’
I’m that Emma! said this Emma! I worked with Lionel and Jenny Song in Lloyds Camp in 1993. I loved driving new arrivals to Pump Pan to watch the eles.
In 2022 we had bumped into Emma the pink-cheeked Pom from our 1993 trip to Lloyds Camp! You sadly just have to behave wherever you go – someone, somewhere will know you – even 29 years later!
I carried on reminiscing about our time in Savute: ‘Our fellow guests were cabin crew from SouthWest Airlines in Texas, the world’s biggest airline at the time. We had to chase lions because of them and Lionel.’
That would be Doug and Linda, said Emma, and you won’t believe it, I was in contact with Linda just yesterday. We have kept in touch ever since! She’ll be amazed when I tell her who I met today.
I’ve since read Lloyd Wilmot’s book and he mentions Doug and Linda.
~~oo0oo~~
The next day we were due at Mopani Camp in Kruger, so we only stayed one night at Tingala Lodge. I’d love to go back. The birding was terrific, and on the way out we saw an African civet in broad daylight.
~~oo0oo~~
Birds at Tingala Lodge
Dark chanting goshawk - Brubru - Pearl-spotted owlet
Zena said We must go to Kruger, my man Martin is a fabulous guide. I said Let’s Go!, and when August rolled round there we were, chilling in the mopane woodlands around Mopani Rest Camp in the famous Kruger National Park, drinking gin and tonic, gazing out over Pioneer dam from our under-thatch bird-watching stoep.
– seek out chalet 43 in Mopani Camp –
Martin Brasg is an honorary ranger and runs Laughing Hyena Safaris. His experienced Kruger Park nose soon led us to great sightings – big ones, feathered ones and little ones too.
Suddenly! We spotted some spots in the mopane shadows! With great skill we tracked the shadowy spots through the dappled sun and shade of the mopane woodland. What could it be?
Hey, it was! It was a . . a . . leopard! Kruger’s holy grail. With great tracking skill, we had found it:
– Martin showed us how to tell that it was a boy leopard –
. . . ‘course, we actually found it the traditional Kruger Park way:
– check the Sharkie going offroad to shove in front of us – tut tut – most un-Natal-like –
To celebrate we had lots more gin & tonic, which improved our sightings even more:
A keen photographer and Canon ambassador, Martin aimed his long lens out the window and later let us have some of his pics:
. . and he made us a video:
and he taught us a new bird species: the Burchell’s Poupol
Bloody hell, me shoulders! All of a sudden, really painful shoulders lying in bed one night a month ago (written June 2021). Not an ache – actual pain. I couldn’t roll over, I couldn’t get up without flopping like a jellyfish. I was amazed, then I thought, Aha! I Know What Did It. Two days prior I had done a lot of tree branch trimming high overhead.
Using a pruning saw on the end of my aluminium swimming pool net pole, I was sawing off branches that obscured my gates. I’d been meaning to trim for a while as the jungle took over but . . procrastination. Then I got cameras on my gates so I can see who is there and now I had to actually do it.
So, I thought, I’ll be stiff for a day and all will be well. But it was pain, not stiffness, so I hoped: Maybe I’ve pulled a muscle! Luckily the Bennett brothers weren’t here this time to chorus in rude unison: ‘Ha Ha! Swanie, you couldn’t have pulled a muscle. You must have pulled a fat!’
Well, it’s a month later and I have really painful shoulders at night. Daytime they’re fine, nights are torture.
Bloody hell.
~~oo0oo~~
A few months later: It’s gone, fank ve pope.
Confession: The only thing I changed was prompted by a clickbait ad which I did NOT click on. It shouted: “Here’s what not to eat if you have arthritis! CLICK HERE!” with a pic of a panful of tasty-looking fried eggs.
I thought, I have eaten two fried eggs every single day of lockdown. I have breakfast down pat. I fry two eggs, make two slices of toast and scarf it down, salt and black pepper, washed down with sugarless black coffee, breakfast done.
So I stopped. The pain disappeared. Please note this anecdotal evidence is not research. The pain may have disappeared if I’d twirled around three times and farted facing north that day. But I’m too scared to chance it, it was seriously a kak spell, so it’s no more gardening for a long while now. Can’t take chances. Maybe less eggs too.
Lovely accommodation, such friendly and helpful people. I decided to go full-on loafing and arrived expecting dinner, bed and breakfast. They had us as self-catering and the chef had taken leave. We said No Problem; They said No Problem; and between us we pooled what food we had. The delightful Nana who welcomed us and whose face fell when I asked what time dinner was, ended up cooking breakfast for us all three mornings. She was teased by the other staff in her new role and as I listened to them bantering in isiZulu, she ended off her reply with this American English: “There’s a new chef in the building!” to warm laughter. For our dinners she hauled venison out of the deep freeze and we cooked for ourselves as she goes home at 4pm. Today she said “I’ll make you a proper breakfast tomorrow, we have been shopping!” – the shops are about 27km away in Pongola.
Great birding for me, and Jess saw another special predator: A pack of seven African Painted Dogs.
At night a leopard (the resident female, said Adrian) could be heard ‘sawing logs’ while walking in or near the camp, while a lone lion oom oom’d at various distances all three nights.
