Woken this morning by the ringing call of an African Fish Eagle in the Palmiet Valley. Well, a Palmiet Right Bank Undershrub Minnow Eagle really, giving a beautiful rendition of the fish eagle cry from under a bush just outside my window. Five forty four ay emm.
To claim ownership of the talented mimicry, this was followed by the Natal Robin’s signature descending preep-proop preep-proop, immediately followed by a medley of crowned eagle-fish eagle repeated three times, both calls done really well, just like the originals, but quiet and close. So you might say more a ‘Ground Eagle-Minnow Eagle’ piano diminuendo medley.
Here’s a robin recorded by Mick Jackson at Bazley doing the crowned eagle and more:
This was rudely interrupted by a squadron of nasal flautists – Westville Pterodactyls launching themselves off my roof and receding down into the valley. No piano here; this was forte crescendo. All except one with a fear of heights who was rooted to the roof apex going Ma! WHY!!?
A herd of gumbooted elephants then thumped onto the roof right above my head, leaping off the strelitzias and the Aussie camelfoots and gallumphing across as only vervets do, causing the pterodactyl straggler to lose its fear of heights and baleka.
Now all that was left was a different, ascending proop-preep proop-preep. The softer chirp of a bladder cricket or katydid in the shrubbery.
——-ooo000ooo——-
Natal Robin – Red-capped Robin-Chat
piano diminuendo – soft and getting softer
forte crescendo – loud and getting louder
Westville Pterodactyls – Hadeda Ibis
baleka – bugger off; fly away; fluck, as in ‘where’s that bird?’ ‘It flucked’
bladder cricket – bladder grasshopper really, but maybe a katydid?
The recording is from Xeno-Canto – sharing bird sounds from around the world.
When Aitch said ‘Come with me to Brasil’ in 1988 I shouted ‘Hell, yes!’ over my shoulder as I rushed off to a bookstore to buy a book on the birds of Brasil.
There wasn’t one. I asked everywhere and searched everywhere, but no luck. Then I asked Hardy Wilson, great birder, who reached up to one of the many shelves in the library in his lovely home in Hollander Crescent and brought down his only copy of Aves Brasileiras and said ‘You can use this.’ I think he said it was the only field guide to Brazilian birds that he knew of and that it was out of print. Something along those lines, anyway. Wow! Are you sure? I asked. ‘Sure. Go. Enjoy.’
In Rio de Janeiro we found another copy – a hardcover. When we got back I offered Hardy his choice of either, in case the old soft cover had sentimental value, but he preferred the new hardcover, so I still have Hardy’s soft cover book Aves Brasileiras. Whatta pleasure!
Using it made us realise how lucky we were in South Africa to have Roberts and Newmans field guides. I thought the book was probably Brasil’s first, but today I found this post by Bob Montgomerie of the American Ornithological Society’s History of Ornithology site. That’s what reminded me of Hardy’s book and his generosity thirty years ago.
Jacana from Marcgraf 1648
Bob Montgomerie: The first work of this genre (“Birds of – name of a country”) to be published was probably Georg Marcgraf’s section on birds, Qui agit de Avibus, in Piso’s Historia Naturalis Brasiliae published in 1648. Several other books about birds were published in the 16th and 17th centuries but this is the only one I could find that was specifically about the birds of a particular country or region, at least as indicated by the title. Marcgraf’s bird section is a masterpiece that was THE authority on South American birds for the next two centuries. Even the paintings are pretty good given the quality of bird art in books by his contemporaries, and each species gets a separate account. Unfortunately for most scientists today, Marcgraf’s work is in Latin and relatively inaccessible.
Well, Hardy’s book was in Portuguese, and relatively inaccessible to us! But without it we would have been way more lost.
I found a pic of Hardy on the History site with Jane Bedford and a chap dressed funny. Jane has appeared in one of my stories before, in another world, long ago.
not that I’m saying Jane’s not dressed funny . . .
R.I.P Hardy !
Hardy Wilson was born in 1939 in England. He died in April 2020 in Aussie.
In South Africa he belonged to – and was very active in – The South African National Society; Round Table; Rotary; The Railway Society of Southern Africa; The S.A. Military History Society; Birding – not sure what he belonged to, but I know he he was involved and he and Astrea enjoyed birding. That’s how I met him.
Egg, bacon, toast, tomato, black coffee and binoculars. Thanks, Cecelia!
The flying ants were trying to pair up and scurry off and mate after shrugging off their wings. It’s a short life, they’ve been underground, this is their one shot at a shag! But everyone else also loves a flying ant, so their life is vrot with danger.
So the ants were nabbing them. The ants, in turn were being robbed by the birds and a skink. They’d grab the juicy termite, flick hard, separating the ant, then peck up and gobble down the termite. Termites taste like butter, ants taste like acid. That’s where antacid comes from.
westville wildlife love termite alate snacks
Indoors there was also some wildlife to be seen:
westville wildlife indoors
Made me late for work!
More this week:
The raucous Westville KookaburraDragonfly with my point-n-shoot cameraThe dreaded Westville Pterodactyl
~~oo0oo~~
vrot – fraught; or rotten
Westville Kookaburra – Brown-hooded Kingfisher
Westville Pterodactyl – Hadeda Ibis; or Mike Lello’s ‘tenor clarinet – he who never pays attention to the conductor and plays with great volume and gusto’
Aitch took me to Brasil. She had done well as usual in her sales for Scherag and so off we went. First a flight to Manaus in Amazonas province, then a long drive eastward along the Amazon River towards a lake just off the river, then by ferry to a pousada on Silves Island.
Brasil is an immensely big country! To give it scale, here’s a map showing where Amazonas province is and the tiny little portion we drove, which took four hours.
Amazonas province in Brasil
We weren’t married, but I was on my best behaviour and just watched as the bachelors (actual and temporary) in the party would trumpet every night ‘TooDooDoot TooDoo! We’re going fox-hunting!’ they would announce with glee at dinner and troop out with huge grins on their dials.
I stuck to feathered birds like oropendolas, huge toads, caymans and a fresh, beautiful, very sad ocelot skin the lodge staff had proudly recently shot! Aaargh!
– Yacht at Angra dos Reis, Brasil – Ron almost wearing a cozzie – Aitch unmarried –
Then we headed way south to the coast, to Angra dos Reis – the Cove of Kings. A booze yacht trip to the islands and beaches and swimming. One night Aitch felt ill and announced she’d go to bed early, I must go to supper alone. Yes!? I said. Sure, she said. Enjoy yourself. Ha HAAA! I was off – after dressing in my warrior fox-hunting regalia. At supper I tooted the fox-hunting horn with the best of them and announced my newfound freedom. We were off.
We found a bar with a wonderful barman. He gave you anything you wanted and all you had to do was scribble your name! It was first-class. Another round! I’d yell and we’d throw down another marvelous caipirinha and fling the glass over our shoulder. No! No! said the barman, grabbing his broom, rushing out from behind the bar and sweeping up the pieces. MORE BEER! I’d yell, getting into my stride now.
Of course, I can handle my liquor, but some of the guys were less capable. In fact, they dropped me twice on the way back to my chalet. And once there they just propped me up against the door, knocked and ran away. So Aitch found me closely inspecting the door mat and mumbling how I’d have to have a word with them about their service.
She says she dragged me into the shower and ran the cold water full blast and threw me into bed, but of course that could all be rumours – I don’t know – I wasn’t there.
I got up early and made it to breakfast, feeling sprightly. And where were all the culprits? Nowhere to be seen. All indisposed, it was said. Hung Over. That’s what drinking too much will get you. We checked out that day and I was made to pay a bill a metre long with some complete stranger’s signature on all the slips. A signature that got less and less of something until it was just a short downward line with what looked like drool on it. I just paid. Rumours were going around and I didn’t want to cause a scene. I was there as merely a spouse-of, so I had to behave.
Copacabana Beach from our hotel roof
On to Rio! To the Copacabana! I was sure there’d be some licenced premises there too. There were! Aitch turned thirty high up on the roof of our hotel, with her colleagues giving her a huge festive bash. We had a banner made to string above the bar ‘THIRTY! AND UNMARRIED!’ it said.
– the cantagalo favela seen from our hotel roof (wikipedia pic) –
We had a roaring party that had the hotel guests below us wanting us to hush and the favela okes on the hills above us wanting to join in!
~~~oo0oo~~~
pousada – Lodge or Inn
Angra dos Reis – cove – or inlet or creek – of kings
caipirinha – wonderful cold drink; all alcohol with a splash of limes and lemoas; refreshing; then tiptoes around behind you and taps you on the shoulder
favela – informal housing; closely-packed houses and shacks on the steep hill slopes
~~~oo0oo~~~
Another pic of an oropendola, this one by blogger Eduardo Libby.
– chestnut-headed oropendola –
~~~oo0oo~~~
Here’s our great big fat 32-page Brasil photo album (paper version recycled):
A drizzly day, not much to report. I was learning about the new little Canon pocket camera. Haven’t worked it out yet. When we got home I saw it took video all the time we thought we were just focusing for still shots!
Also, I lost my tracker! Jess is normally heads-up, spotting everything and saying ‘What’s that?’ and all I have to do is ID what she’s spotted. Today her head was firmly down, eyes glued to her cellphone. ‘Dad, there’s no signal!’ and ‘Omigod! I got two bars! Oh damn, they’re gone!’
There’s a boyfriend, see.
Bummer. That’s why I made the feature pic an Impala bum.
– Mfolosi day trip Jan 2019 –
Ah! Now I see: I had the camera on Hybrid Auto mode, ‘whereby 2-4 seconds of video is captured before each still image and later combined into a 720p digest movie chronicling your day.’ That’s what I saw and wondered where it came from!
Mom was on furlough from the home – Azalea Gardens. Sheila fetched her and Barbara, Linda, Tholo and the two terrors Mary-Kate and Dawie and I joined them at 16 Ivy Road in Lincoln Meade, Pietermaritzburg.
What a lovely day – a great lunch, fun with the kids and ending with a surprise: ancient movies from our youth taken in the sixties with Dad’s 8mm movie camera. Sheila had arranged and paid for hours of old footage to be put on a memory stick! Dad says he had a small Canon movie camera first; I only remember his Eumig camera.
As we were leaving Tholo spotted a birds nest right above the car door with two little chicks begging, and showed Mary-Kate.
Linda lifted Mary-Kate up high and she took the world’s best picture for a five-year-old!
After everyone left I waited till I could spot the mother: a Cape White Eye.
——-ooo000ooo——-
See the top pic: When the old man moved out of earshot – which means six inches away – Linda murmured to me sotto voce, ‘Here’s the man always telling others to get dressed early mornings: still in his jarmies at noon.’
I
got a wifi-enabled camera! My cellphone can now operate the camera
remotely! I am going to set it up on a tripod and sit somewhere
comfortable and take pictures of unwitting birds. No, man! Feathered
ones.
I’ve long wanted this. Having it would have been handy to see what the hyenas and bushpigs were doing outside our hut late at night in Mfolosi game reserve last month.
Being a cheapskate I waited for the Canon Powershot SX620HS. It’s a tiny little compact camera so I can carry it easily in my top pocket; Advantages over the phone camera: 25X optical zoom and a bigger sensor give surprisingly good pics. Now, a bloke with a small willy could never be seen with a camera like this, but obviously I’m fine with it.
– small willy – – – – me –
So now I’ve got the camera on the tripod aiming at the birdbath waiting for the first exciting shot.
– remote camera on tripod – poised –
Hmm, problem one: Getting the camera and phone to talk to each other on wifi has taken way longer than I thought. While I was sukkeling, two spectacled weavers, a golden-rumped tinker, an olive sunbird, two brown-hooded kingfishers, a fork-tailed drongo and a speckled mousebird hopped on and grinned at me. Now that I’m rigged up, nothing so far!
Ons
sal sien what comes of this! Maybe word got out in the bird world
that the binocular pervert who always stares at them while they’re
bathing now has a camera?
Thutty long minutes later I spot another small problem: My attention span! Problem two. This is not really a sport for someone who hops from twig to twig and makes frequent forays to the fridge, the whine box and/or the kettle. One olive sunbird has been photographed, small and blurry; moving fast and olive-greenish against an olive-brownish backdrop. Meantime various ostriches and vultures might have taken gulps of water while my attention was elsewhere. Even moas and dodos; I wouldn’t know.
I
can see I need auto-shoot with a movement detector so I can leave it
and go to sleep and then see what happened in my absence. And so the
drive for ever-more expensive equipment starts!
Another little challenge: Battery life! Problem three. After waiting a few hours the whole setup suddenly switches off: “Re-charge Battery” it commands. That’s when the Angola Pitta lands in full view and smiles . . .
Later I got a new phone and set it up again. While watching the pic on my camera I moseyed over to the birdbath. Suddenly someone’s knees were in the picture! Oh. Mine. I had to kneel down to get my face in picture. So that’s about 35m distance on 25X zoom.
So whenever you see a great bird picture, take your hat off to the patience and perseverance and expense required to get those shots! Also: the weirdness of the nerdy perpetrator. I luvvem.
I now remember the stories Neville Brickell used to tell me about how he got his bird pics. He would find a spot where his target bird was likely to be. He would give a big bag of the right seed or feed to someone living nearby and ask them to put a handful out every day for a few weeks. He would then go back and set up a hide. A week later he’d go back and sneak into the hide under cover of darkness; wait; wait; wait; and – if lucky – get his picture! His resident feeder would be rewarded for that ultimate success so he had a reason to keep up the feeding. A lot of planning, work and patience!
~~~oo0oo~~~
Sukkeling – battling
Ons sal sien – we’ll see; time will tell
**Neville Brickell is a prominent S.A. avicultural photographer and researcher who used to get his handsome spectacles from me at Musgrave Centre. He wrote books and articles and . . he signed his duck book for me.
Ducks, Geese and Swans of Africa and its outlying islands – book, 1988
Introduction
to Southern African cage and aviary birds – book
The recipe: Fifteen glorious people and forty glorious kilometres of wide open sandy beaches of the Zululand or Maputaland coast. Years earlier I had hiked a section of the Wild Coast, far to the south.
Ten of us were walking; two were guiding – Jabulani and DC walking up and down the dunes ahead and behind to keep an eye on us; two drivers for our vehicles to pick us up at the end of the first and third days; and then there was one Shirley Carey: She plotted and arranged, cooked and drove, organised and made it all happen – well done Shirley! It was a great start to what I hope becomes a thriving ‘slackpacking’ enterprise: Introducing people to a magic, less-traveled part of the coast in adventurous, laid-back yet laid-on and comfortable style. Put-Foot-Shirl in her optical blur Toyota sped us around to and from the hike start and end-points, and looked after us in style!
The vistas were spectacular, the weather varied from perfect to overcast and a cool stiff following breeze to a constant ‘irrelentless’ steady headwind on the last day. Thanks to a few overnight showers and spring tide the sand was hard and we didn’t get sand-blasted. We also had no scorching hot Zululand temperatures, for which I was grateful and relieved. Anyway, we pushed on irregardless under interesting skies.
Sodwana to Lala Nek – 40km of beautiful beaches and rocky shoresJabulani scouts our route from up high
The recipe also included great meals, snacks and puddings, enough alcohol and plenty ice. Come to think of it, it was quite saintly of us to leave the kitchen and hit the beach – we could easily have lurked in comfort! Another ingredient was laughter; lots of laughter; loud peals of laughter. Some ribald humour too; you wouldn’t expect that from ladies, would you? Nor snorting with laughter! But it was all there. It would be fascinating to know how many laughs-per-kilometer there were. ‘Many’ would be a conservative estimate.
A whiff of sulphur as the breakfast eggs are unveiled leads to gales of laughter
Now one would think if you went to a remote Maputaland beach, sallied forth in a 4X4 then walked fourteen km without seeing another soul on a deserted beach, that Retail Black Friday would have been escaped and no – zero, none – purchases would have been made. But one would be wrong. These ladies set off after a sweet potato and bought a dress! It’s a mysterious and powerful force, retail.
– Shopping Sodwana, complete with photo-bombing shop assistant, plus prêt-à-porter frocks –Panoramas, some with peopleBeach Walk Small Stuff, plus cows, which are larger
I find beaches fierce and exposed; trudge, trudge; I find forests peaceful and protective; peer here, peer there. On the Zululand Beach Waddle you get both: Wide vistas of sand and water with moving clouds, trudge trudge; balanced by the green peace of the forests and all the little things hiding in them; even a Jan’s Shovel-snout, a seldom-seen nocturnal burrowing snake who lives just below the loose sandy surface, eating gecko eggs; he was dead; we wouldn’t have seen him alive, he’s shy like me; and also polite. Unlike some ladies I could mention; who were not only irrelentless irregardless, but also irreverent, christening me ‘Hef’ for the duration! (Geddit? Nine ladies and me, hence ‘hugh hefner’)
Forest small stuff– Fascinating flies at Mabibi Bromophila caffra – read about ’em –
This expedition was supremely relaxing, but there was one very tough part of the trip: Driving out on the last day with four outspoken, astute, well-read and opinionated ladies as ballast in my non-4X4. I made the mistake of telling them we were going to drive on the Most Beautiful Road in Africa. When we finally got onto it and it was a little bit bumpy, swervy, twisty, sandy and their ballast started shifting, they twisted the story to say I had said “The Best Road in Africa”! So with every spin and rock and roll and wobble it was “Oof! So this is the best road in Africa? I’d hate to see the worst!” and other helpful comments.
That Beautiful Road along Lake Sibaya shoreline – pity the lake was so low
There’s Put-Foot-Lizelle in the bottom pic disappearing into the distance in her Landrover which – amazingly – didn’t get stuck. Oh, hang on, it did once. We had to dispatch Musa to find her.
And here’s that demanding committee in my poor Ford Ranger, discussing tactics:
Usually I’d end with a sunset pic, but we were drinking Cactus Jack, Six Dogs Blue Gin, Bubbly, Red, White and Rose wine, genuine Italian-made Limoncello Ramaccio Pace and other stuff by then, so the sun had to set all by its own self. Here’s a rock pool pic instead: Oh! I’ll follow that with a blurry bird pic by Lou. You’d think with my binocs, telescope and bird book that we would have seen more than a few Sanderlings and a handful of Kittlitz’s plovers! – BTW, the pics are from everyone – thanks!
Di Fabricius, Lizelle Ramaccio Calvino, Mal Bell, Michelle Pace, Shirley Vorster, Joni Kirkland, Lou Kelly, Michelle Graven, Koos Swanepoel, Sheila Swanepoel – pic by Shirley CareyAnother Lou pic with internet-borrowed pics of Sanderling and Kittlitz’s plover
Mfolosi again. Just one night with three twenty year old lasses, Jess, Tarryn & Jordie.
– Kill Site! –
On the way up north one of my pet theories got a bit of backing evidence! When birding by car, I say, ‘Stop anywhere: There will almost always be some birds around’. Busting for a leak I stopped under a bridge on the N2 North. While sighing with relief, I spotted what looked like a black plastic bag flapping in the breeze in a small tree about 30m back; but my binocs revealed it to be a long-crested eagle staring intently at the ground a mere metre below it; then it pounced and fossicked around in the grass; when it flew up it had a plump grey rat with a shortish tail in its beak – a vlei rat, I’d guess. What a lovely sighting at a chance stop.
3 eles, 4 buff, 1 rhino + impalas on those sandbanks
– the tree that Jess hit! – or almost hit! –
In the reserve Jess took the wheel of the mighty Ford Ranger awhile on a quiet road on the far side, near the western gate; she hadn’t driven for a while, so I was pleased when she asked to. She did real well until – Murphy’s Law! – an open-top Land Cruiser came around the corner right in front of her, full of tourists and driven by a handsome tour guide, his tiny tight khaki shorts visible cos no door;
Distracted, and having to suddenly remember foot off the accelerator, clutch in, steer left and gently brake was a bit too much; so she just drove into a little thorn tree, slammed on brakes and stalled. I pretended to be peering into the thorns, some of which were inside my open window, through my binocs with keen interest!
. . were delightful. But they were all chaperoned by big ugly ancient males:
– 6 centuries of old toppies (at least) guarding these lovely cherries in Lesotho –
Oh well, I made the most of it by looking for Vrystaat poppies. At least some of them were unaccompanied:
And the local birds were also obliging:
Saturday Supper was delicious. Cafe Chocolat hidden in a massive pile of priceless collectibles: or stuff someone threw out with relief:
– Barbara’s pic of the treasure –
We had a hilarious mixed message, crossed wire and different-planets outcome when I enquired about birders who might know where to watch birds around Ficksburg. The only ‘bird guy’ they knew was Johan and he replied to my sms asking where we could watch birds in the Ficksburg district thusly (translated):
Hey! Jong, in Ficksburg it’s only me and Martin and Willie. But its breeding season now and I don’t take people through my cages now, only end-January again.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Meanwhile, back at home some life lessons were being learned by my young adults:
Our two walks in the wilderness with the Taylors, Foggs, Janice Hallot and Gayle Adlam blur into one and I have got the photos all mixed up, so here are some more memories from 1999 and 2005.
On the drier of our two walks there was very little surface water about, so around the campfire one night . .
. . when my companions were suitably lubricated, I put one of my (many) pet theories to them: Tomorrow, instead of walking about scaring the animals, let’s go to that waterhole we saw where a dry streambed joins the Mfolosi river and get comfortable and simply lurk there till lunchtime, like crocodiles! Let the animals come to us. Who’s in favour?
To my surprise and delight they were all so mellow and agreeable – dronk – they voted in favour, and we did just that. It was wonderful! We got comfortable a nice distance from the water, leaning against tree trunks, and watched as all sorts of birds and animals came to drink. My idea of heaven: Lurking with telescope, binoculars, books and food!
These were slackpacking walks, so our kit was carried to the outlying camp by these handy bongolos. Here you can see Dizzi looking for her luggage, muttering “Where’s my bongolo? Why don’t they have number plates, cos all bongolos look the same?”
On the wetter walk it got hot one day and we asked our Rangers if we could swim. They said they knew just the spot. Miles later we got to the river at their swimming hole. But it was occupied:
Aw! Two buffs, an ele and a lioness had all had the same idea. We didn’t argue with them, we trudged on. Miles later we crossed the river again, and had a swim. Sort of. Luckily no pictures were taken. These were of a shoes-off river crossing, footwear and footprints:
These wilderness walks end with a last night back at base camp. We had left celebration supplies there in anticipation.
Then a champagne breakfast kombi drive before we left the park.
– at last our photographer Trish is in a photo – behind Jon’s champagne glass –
~~oo0oo~~
imbongolo – donkey; two donkeys: izimbongolo
Denyse took the kudu, zebra and vultures-on-kill photos in the feature collage
Kids – six of them! – driving me crazy so I pack a flask of coffee, some buttermilk rusks, grab my binocs and waai. Three minutes away to the Palmiet Nature Reserve on my doorstep. Just me.
Two hours later off to Pigeon Valley in town for another two hours. Palmiet is only 90ha in size and Pigeon Valley a tiny 10ha, but they’re rich in plant and birdlife. These collages are just some of the birds I saw and heard today in the two reserves:
I spotted an old landsnail shell in a tree hollow. New life sprouting out of it.
– thanks Derek Keats –
I tried to get a good picture of a Mountain Wagtail from above; As it flew the pattern was so beautiful. I didn’t get one, and I haven’t found a good one on the internet so far, that shows it as well as I remember it. Here’s the best so far, from Derek Keats at stellenboschbirds.com :
I pinched the pics from all over the internet, and some from Friends of Pigeon Valley‘s Crispin Hemson and Sheryl Halstead. Thank you!
It has gone wimpish! Actually Oddballs Palm Island Luxury Lodge is still a wonderful, more affordable way to see the Okavango Delta and this post must be taken with a pinch of salt; My tongue is in my cheek;
This is classic “The Good Old Days Was Better” bulldust. As my friend Greg Bennett says, ‘The older we get the better we were.’
When WE went in 1993 (‘the olden daze’) we had to take our own food! And that ain’t easy when there’s a 10kg limit on the Cessna 206’s; because one naturally has to take binoculars, a spotting scope, a tripod, a camera and books:
I exaggerate, these were Jessie’s books for her field guide course last year, but still: weight. So we took very little food. At Oddballs we bought their last potatoes and onions in the supply store, and then we pitched our tent. Not like these wimpish days when the tent is semi-permanent, pitched for you on a wooden deck with shower en-suite!! Here’s THEN and NOW:
– re-arranging the furniture outside our bedroom –
en-suite bathroom!!? -No-o!!
– me in the wonderful communal showers –
Here’s Aitch snoozing inside an old Oddballs Palm Island Luxury Lodge bedroom. And the wimpish new arrangement! Aargh!
Luckily, the rest is still the same! You head out on a mokoro with a guide who really knows his patch: Our guide was Thaba Kamanakao – Delta legend.
You pitch your own tent on an island without anyone else in sight:
And you enjoy true wilderness. When you get back, Oddballs really does seem like a Palm Island Luxury Lodge:
There’s a bar, there’s cold beer, gin and tonic and ice. You can order a meal! And – NOWADAYS! – a double bed is made up for you, ya bleedin’ wimps!
When I left Specsavers in 2000 the lovely team I worked with gave me a perfect farewell gift: A book by Chris and Tilde Stuart: ‘Africa’s Great Wild Places.’ Right up my alley. If the Stuarts think these places are special you can bet they are. They have been all over Africa and they don’t flit in and out; when they go somewhere, they stay a while!
I had been to seven of the fifteen places they chose for the book and immediately set about getting to the eighth:
My eighth of the Great Wild Places – Luangwa in Zambia
– We watched eles crossing the Luangwa as we ate. Little ones submerged except for their trunks! –
We had this book at home growing up and I loved it. It describes the Okavango in 1958; Moremi and Chobe weren’t parks yet, but the story about two crazy loons driving a great lumbering gas-guzzling, wartime D.U.K.W amphibious monstrosity led to a fascination and – years later – many trips there starting in 1985.
The latest trip was in March 2018. While there I read her new book Starlings Laughing, under her new name June Vendall Clark. While there are challenges, I’m pleased to report that exactly sixty years later, the Okavango is still the amazing paradise June Kay loved so much.
This was one area I thought it unlikely we’d get to visit. Then friend Mike Lello got to go! His son Chris worked in wildlife safaris in Tanzania and arranged a fly-in trip. And lately, wonderful news: My bro-in-law Jeff and nephew Robbie have bought a farm near Iringa. I may not get all the way west, but I’d love to go to the Selous and Ruaha National Park! Time will tell!
More to see:
Uganda, the Serengeti, the Soda Lakes, the Great Selous. One day . . .
![Ficksburg_Hysterical_Tour_2018[1].jpg](https://i0.wp.com/bewilderbeast.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/ficksburg_hysterical_tour_20181.jpg?resize=620%2C465&ssl=1)
