We flew east out of Oddballs from the nearby Delta Camp airstrip, leaving the green delta behind; then across the dry Kalahari to Savuti:
The flight was a bit bumpy in the hot clear air and Aitch started to go green about the gills, but we landed before she resorted to any lumpy laughter. I’m up in front, co-piloting.
At the Savuti strip we were met by pink-cheeked Emma the Pom in an open game drive vehicle. She was the camp chef – and the airstrip fetcher that day.
– fetched from the airstrip by pink-cheeked Pommy chef Emma who drives us right up an ele’s butt . . –
Just three of us in the vehicle. The last time I had been to Savuti was in 1985 when I’d arrived in a crowded old Land Rover full of two Aussies, a Kiwi, a Zim, a Pom and a Yank on a budget overlander. We pitched our tiny tents in the public camping area and the eles bust the water tank.
Sixteen years later, luxury! Emma took us on to camp and fed us overlooking the famed Savuti channel. After Oddball’s semi-roughing it: YUM!! Fresh food, cold beer!
– . . . and then feeds us at camp –
Jenny and Lionel Song hosted us. She was a honey and a gifted artist; he was lion-obsessed. And we had Texans with us, so we did a lot of lion-chasing. ‘Myomi’s pride’ (or Maomi) was the focus. Gotta see lions; Lions gotta have names.
So first thing in the morning we’d hare off to where the lions had last been seen and at last light we’d hare back to camp – Lloyd’s Camp game drives are in Chobe, a national park, so you can’t be out after dark. Once on the way we saw two ratels or honey badgers, ambling along busily, stopping occasionally to skoffel around. At least we did slow down to watch them awhile. A very special sighting for me – my first ratels in the wild.
In Lionel’s defence he was doing his job, the Americans – two guys and a lady – were frequent repeat guests who worked for Southwest Airlines based in Dallas – world’s biggest carrier at the time. They were delighted when he gunned the Cruiser after a lioness as she started sprinting at a giraffe. She and five others brought down the giraffe and that was it, we spent the rest of the day watching lion lunch.
The good thing is a vehicle is a great hide, so I could scan around for birds too. While doing so I saw two ears above the grass some 100m off. A cub watching and waiting. It stayed right there till the pride leader looked up and made a funny high-pitched bark and they – turned out there were three of them – came running straight onto the carcass and started making a nuisance of themselves. When we left they were all fat as ticks, but had hardly made a dent in the huge female giraffe.
Next morning we drove straight back at first light and all that was left was a blood stain on the grass, a chewed head nearby and scattered bones! Two males had arrived and they were lying there the size of dirigibles. Eight round lions and three bloated cubs. They looked like the animals from Rollin’ Safari:
– find them on youtube – hilarious –– Lionel & Jenny Song –
In camp Lionel, teasing, said to a guest who asked about the Lloyd of Lloyd’s Camp: ‘You should meet him! Pity he’s not here. He’s 6ft 4in tall with long black hair tied back in a ponytail”. Yeah, right! Lloyd Wilmot’s a legend in deeds, but not in stature, and no longer in hair.
– Lloyd and his fellow safari guide sister Daphne –
It was 2001 and the Savute / Savuti channel was dry, so the only waterholes were supplied by boreholes. The Savute flows with water from the Linyanti river. It apparently flowed in Livingstone’s time, around 1845, then was dry in 1880 and remained dry for over 70 years. It flooded again in 1957, dried up again in 1982, flowed again in 2008 and the marsh flooded fully in 2010. This was documented by Dereck and Beverley Joubert in their films Stolen River and Journey to the Forgotten River.Mike Myers tells how the whole dynamic of the region changes depending on what’s happening with the water. I heard in Maun how Lloyd Wilmot had found a crocodile up under an overhang in the rocky hills above the marsh around 1982 after the channel ceased to flow.
~~~~oo0oo~~~~
skoffel – rummage; being a badger; badgering?
Some history from Lee Ouzman’s Jacana Enterprises site: The Wilmot family first came to Botswana in the early 1900’s. Grandfather Cronje Wilmot’s son Bobby Wilmot was part of the group that were involved in the early exploration and opening up of the Okavango Delta at a time when it was virtually unknown and unexplored. Bobby’s son Lloyd, once a hunter, now a conservationist, is a veritable mine of information. You name it – he’s done it. Swimming with elephants, tracking lion, leopard or cheetah on foot, building hides to view game at remote waterholes, following the amazing African migrations and more. His famous Lloyd’s Camp in Savuti was a legendary place of wonder and excitement and not surprisingly probably more credited in wildlife documentaries than any other camp in Botswana. It was here that Lloyd developed his special affinity for lions. It is not surprising that one delighted guest wrote of Lloyd Wilmot: “While Lloyd is my shepherd I Wilmot fear…”
– Lloyd and June Wilmot – early days at Savuti –
~~oo0oo~~
Lloyd has since retired and written his memoirs in a rollicking book of mischief, daring, fun and – yep, occasional recklessness! He identifies the South West Airlines people as Doug Reiser, Mike Costello and Linda Fuller. I’m going to search to see if any of them have written something about their hairy adventures with the naughtiest little boy (aged about 70 now) in the bush! ( . . . didn’t find anything, but look what happened 29 years later).
~~oo0oo~~
(Here’s Trish’s 1993 photo album on our trip – I have copied, posted here and discarded the album. Downsizing – Selling our home)
Getting into Botswana’s Okavango Delta can be awfully expensive.
A cheaper way is to fly in to Oddballs Palm Island Luxury Lodge, get on a mokoro and disappear off into the wild with a guide who – unlike you – knows where he’s going and what he’s doing. In 1993 Aitch and I did just that, spending a night at Oddballs, where you are given a little dome tent to pitch on the hard-baked earth under the palm trees.
You get visitors:
Aitch watches our visitor rearrange the furniture – near our bedroom
The name is ironic, see (“contrary to what is expected, and typically causing wry amusement because of this” – I made a quick check; don’t want to get ‘ironic’ wrong). While in camp you stock up on the meagre supplies available in their shop, like potatoes and onions; a tent, a braai grid; add it to the 10kg you’re allowed to bring in on the high-wing Cessna 206’s and you’re away! 10kg doesn’t go far when you’re a books, binocs and spotting scope junkie!
The next morning we pushed off in our gentles S-shaped tree trunk mokoro to enjoy six nights out on the water in the care of a wonderful man named Thaba Kamanakao. He rigged up the seats so they were really comfy, the backrests enabling you to fall asleep at times!
Thaba said we could choose where we wanted to camp – anywhere. Soon after lunch we saw a magnificent Jackalberry tree on an island and said ‘there!’ – my guess is he knew that! We set up camp – our tent and two deckchairs and a ready-made campfire spot which he’d likely used many times before. The rest of the day was given to lurking, loafing, listening, lazing. Thaba set his gill nets, gathered firewood, pitched his smaller tent and set his chair at the fire. We were all quiet most of the time, listening and loving as night fell. After we’d eaten we sat talking and listening some more. Then Thaba played his mbira – his ‘thumb harp’ – and sang to us; I’ll never forget his introduction as we switched on our tape recorder: ‘My name is Thaba; Thaba Kamanakao; Kamanakao is surname;‘
– shady jackalberry camp – Thaba and Aitch organise –
We chose not to move camp each day, electing to sleep three nights under a Jackalberry and three nights under an African Mangosteen, both giving welcome shade and birdlife. We had little food, but Thaba provided us with the fish he caught in his gill net each night.
I ate the barbel and he and Aitch the bream. Lucky me, it was delicious! He also loved barbel, but his lifestyle advisor – a sangoma? a shaman? a nutritionist? – had told him he wasn’t allowed it! So a myth robbed a man of a tasty and useful source of protein. The first night we were joined by newly-qualified Pommy doctors Louise and Richard and their guide “BT.”
When we moved camp from the camp Aitch named Jackalberry Camp, to her new chosen Mangosteen or Squirrel Camp, we decided we needed a bath on the way, so Thaba took us to a stunning clear lagoon, carefully checked for big things that could bite and then stood guard on the mokoro while we swam and rinsed – no soap, please! Anyone going to this beautiful inland delta: Pack some small swimming goggles and an underwater camera if you can. The clarity of that water is awesome.
David Doubilet pic
Beautiful underwater pic by David Doubilet – to show the clarity.
Squirrel Camp nights were again spent cooking and sitting around the fire; talking and listening to Thaba playing his mbira and singing;
Days were spent birding the camp, hiking the island and an daily foray in the mokoro. Once we we were ‘moved off’ by an impatient ele, Aitch getting mildly reprimanded for turning round to get a fuzzy picture as we retreated. Another time Thaba – scouting ahead – spooked a herd of buffalo, who thundered in a tight mass towards us. We climbed the nearby termite mound – Thaba had told us to stay next to or on it – and they thundered all around us;
– our ‘buffalo hide’ termite mound –
We would sally out daily on short mokoro trips,
– colourful dragonflies, lilies and reed frogs at eye level –
Back before the sun got too high so we could loaf in our shady camp, where the squirrels and birds kept us entertained for hours. Six lazy, wonderful, awesome days.
One night a herd of eles moved in and we lay listening to their tummy rumbles. We kept dead quiet and just peered at them in the moonlight through the tent flap, as they had a little baby with them and we didn’t want to upset mama.
– still life with Sausage Tree flowers & leaves – Aitch saw the beauty at her feet –
Then we headed back reluctantly for a last night at Oddballs. Warm showers under the open sky; cold beer & gin’n’tonics on the deck, ice tinkling in the glass; watching spotted-necked otters in the lagoon, lounging in comfy chairs. Topped off that evening by a big hearty hot meal prepared for us and plonked onto a table on the deck. We ate watching the sunset turn the water red.
palm tree showers – warm water– jackalberry tree pub –
And suddenly it dawned on us that, even though we did have to pitch our own tent again, Oddballs really IS a Luxury Lodge!
– chandeliers of sausage tree flowers hang over the lagoon –
mokoro – dugout canoe; one mokoro, two mekoro, three mekoro, FOUR
sangoma – shaman? traditional healer? medicine man? says he communes with the ancestors; gives advice
mbira – thumb piano or thumb harp musical instrument
~~~oo0oo~~~
postscript 2018: This post was found by Thaba’s son, who informed me in the comments below that Thaba the legend had passed away. Damn!
R.I.P Thaba Kamanakao; You made our trip unforgettable.
~~oo0oo~~
Read an account of another 1993 trip to the Okavango Delta – Delta Camp right next to Oddballs) by Bill Keller, a US journalist for the NY Times based in Joburg.
~~~oo0oo~~~
(Here’s Trish’s 1993 photo album. I have copied, posted it here and discarded the album in my downsizing while selling our home in 2021)
‘Wakkers’ is a lovely little dorp in the high grasslands above the Drakensberg escarpment. The town has its quota of interesting mense. Early Sunday morning I was waiting to go on our drive when a sleek dark Jaguar sedan eased up the road very slowly. When he drew level with me outside the Inn the tinted window wound down and the driver peered at me intently. He looked of an age so I asked him ala 1965 Springbok Radio Squad Cars “Are you prowling the empty streets at night?” He gave me a long look and said mysteriously “I’m on a mission” and wafted off. Obviously undercover.
Maybe the mystery Celtic house was his abode?
The 16 Commandments
One of those thirteen Celtic Commandments is “Semblance Of Evil Allow Not Near Thee”. Ri-ight!
Wakkers has a large wetland area which is fairly well-preserved. These areas are scarce as they’re usually drained and ploughed, so Wakkers is a special refuge and has become a famous birding spot.
We stayed in the Country Inn, which apparently has been bought by HuntEssentials, who have a big game farm outside town. That might account for all the dead beasts on the walls.
Wakkerstroom Bird Guide David Nkosi – Mike Lello, Nigel Hemming
My highlight this weekend was a mammal, not a nyoni for once! Two otters frolicking in the water at 4pm on Friday and Saturday afternoons. I think they were spotted-necked. They were swimming and diving and baljaaring. Every now and then they would hold their heads high and shake them. Once one kept its head above water for a minute or so while it ate something. Their tails were flattened vertically like an eel’s – the main reason I thought they were spotted-necked as I think clawless’ tails are round – are they? The last time I saw otter was in the Okavango Delta at Oddballs Palm Island Luxury Lodge (which isn’t).
Wetland hide
We didn’t see the special birds, it was windy a lot of the time. Next time . . .
We saw lots of other good birds anyway. Blue korhaan was my best, as they dived under a graspol and ‘disappeared.’
We had two excellent guides. David Nkosi who knew his way around the distrik, and Mike Spain who knew the full text of Monty Python’s King Arthur sketch! We scanned the lake and the forest but no watery tart proffered us no sword . . .
word wakker – wake up; literally, ‘become awake’
dorp – village
mense – people
nyoni – bird
graspol – tuft of grass
baljaaring – frolicking
distrik – district
.
Wait!
Seeing this pic below, Jon Taylor asked: “What were we searching for?”
I suggested: “our lost youth?”
Taylor sighed: “Need a Hubble telescope to spot that phenomenon receding at the speed of light.” (Me; There’d be lots of red-shift, I guess)
The internet is full of ‘hacks’: Simple and – sometimes – effective solutions to everyday problems (or ‘problems’). Often quirky or inelegant. Sometimes satirised. Here’s a typical geek hack:
I found some camping hacks – these are a bit more real: a handy tent floor; a shoe-holder kitchen; eggs in a bottle; a toilet paper jar; pre-made sangria; etc.
But here’s what really got me going: An 1872 book on ‘hacks’ for going on a long expedition into Darkest Africa called The Art of Travel, or Shifts and Contrivances Available in Wild Countries byFrancis Galton, grandson of the famous Erasmus Darwin and cousin of the even more famous Charles Darwin.
The first edition was written in 1855. It provides detailed instructions on ‘wagons and boats, horses and oxen, tents and firearms, hunting and fishing, observing and collecting, carpentry and metal-working, camping requisites, bush cuisine, medical improvisation, the best ways to cross rivers, how to move heavy objects and how to build huts.’ Handy everyday stuff.
– 1855 edition – Galton book – The Art of Travel – Shifts and Contrivances – My reprint –
Now, let me tell ya: If you have traveled before reading this book you didn’t know what you were doing. You took a big chance! Read this sound advice and find out what you SHOULD have done:
Money – Travelers must be healthy, adventurous, and have ‘at least a moderate fortune.’ If your fortune isn’t quite large enough, shoot elephants for their ivory or collect insects, birds and plants and sell them to fund your travels. Galton himself had inherited enough loot from his family that he had no need to make any more. He could travel without collecting beetles, and he could leave the occasional elephant with its teeth intact!
Washing Clothes – Here’s how to wash your clothes after you have worn them night and day for six weeks: Kill an animal – any animal – take its gall bladder and add it to boiling water full of ash from the fire. Peel off your greasy clothes and soak them in this mess overnight. Next morning, take them to water and wash and beat them with a flat piece of wood. To get rid of the vermin with which you are infested by now, take half an ounce of mercury, mix it with old tea leaves reduced to pulp by mastication and add saliva (not water) to make a paste. Infuse this into a string which you hang around your neck. The lice will be sure to bite at the bait, swell, become red and die. See. Easy. And you now almost smelling of roses.
Making Soap – Save up the fat from the cooking of the animals you have killed till you have half a bucket-full. Collect as much wood as you can and wood ashes from plants whose ashes taste acrid. Correct, taste the ashes. Get a man to make two very large clay pots, ‘which is a very easy thing to do when proper clay can be obtained.’ In one pot place the ashes. In the other, under which a fire has been lit, place the fat. Now employ a Damara of sedentary disposition to supervise the process to the end, he or she simply having to keep the fire going under the grease-pot night and day, and from time to time ladle into it a spoonful of the ash-water or lye. This ash-water is sucked up by the grease and in only ten days of constant attendance the stuff is transformed into good white soap. See. Easy.
Make a Boat – If you need to cross a river with your belongings, a make-shift boat is useful: Kill two bulls – or in Africa, maybe buffaloes; (attentive readers will have noted by now that Step One is usually Kill an Animal). Skin them and sew the skins together. Cut down ten small willow trees, fourteen feet long. Lash the willow poles as shown, wrap the skins around them. Two men can make this craft in a mere two days.
Easy. Assuming, of course, that the buffaloes cooperate.
– uncooperative buffalo pic from Jock of the Bushveld –
Theory of Loads and Distances – and Women – You (well, your porters) need to schlep a lot of stuff along, so Galton works out how much you can get animals and men to carry. He does this ‘partly by theory and partly by experiment’!
“Let d be the distance the beast or man could travel daily if unburdened; Let b be the burden which would just suffice to prevent an animal from moving a step; Let b’ be some burden less than b and let d’ be the distance he could travel daily when carrying b’.”
He comes to a magic formula b’d² = b(d – d’)² which ‘proves’ the pack animal can carry 4/9 of his maximum staggering load! From this he works out that a man can carry 119lbs a distance of 11 miles a day. By this he means of course, ‘some other man,’ not himself. A bit like the definition of minor surgery: Minor surgery is surgery on someone else.
He also confidently states that – unlike many travelers – he believes taking women along is an asset, ‘for they work hard and can carry double the load men can.’ Mind you, this is the man who once used his expertise in trigonometry to discreetly measure the posterior development (her bum) of a South African woman at a distance. Ahem, proper English gentleman, he was.
Taking along the wives of the hired hands ‘gives great life to a party,’ and they can endure a long journey ‘nearly as well as a man, and certainly better than a horse or a bullock.’ Women were also ‘invaluable in picking up and retailing information and hearsay gossip’ which the traveler might otherwise miss. Plus, they are cheap to run, as Samuel Hearne of the Hudson’s Bay Company had pointed out: ‘Women were made for labor, and though they do everything, they are maintained at a trifling expense, for, as they always cook, the very licking of their fingers, in scarce times, is sufficient for their subsistence.’
Noisy Donkeys? – Just tie a heavy stone around the ass’s tail. ‘When an ass wants to bray, he elevates his tail, and, if his tail be weighted down, he has not the heart to bray.’
Solitary Travel – ‘Neither sleepy nor deaf men should think of traveling alone.’What’s that!?
On Being Held Up by Brigands – When the robber orders you to lie down, draw your own gun and yell, ‘If this were loaded, you should not treat me thus!’ Then lie on the ground as ordered. As the robber approaches to relieve you of your belongings, ‘aim quickly and shoot him dead – the pistol being really loaded all the time. It’s a trick that has been practiced in most countries, from England to Peru.’ – Right. Although one supposes that dramatic speech might work better if uttered in a local tongue understood by the brigand involved? Say, Damara if uttered in South West Africa?
Supplies – After giving long lists of necessities per day and per person and per six months, he comes to a final rough formula for ‘Stores for Individual Use’: You need 7lbs a month for every white man and 3lbs a month for every black man. – ‘Cos, you know . . .
– useful chunder feather source –
Medicine – You need to take aperient, cordial, quinine, camphor, carbolic acid, Warburg’s fever drops, glycerine, mustard paper, and emetic. Or, for an emetic you could use a charge of gunpowder in a tumblerful of warm water, then tickle your throat with a feather. A bustard feather works best.
Boots Pinching?‘A raw egg broken into the boot before putting it on, greatly softens the leather.’ – Probly also stops your toes being trodden on, as companions retreat from crowding around you?
Bedding – Your bedding must be warm and windproof, but not airtight, as ‘sleeping clothes that are absolutely impervious to the passage of the wind necessarily retain the cutaneous excretions. These poison the sleeper, acting upon his blood through his skin, and materially weaken his power of emitting vital heat: the fire of his life burns more languidly.’ He also advises you to sleep outside: ‘a tent is too much like home.’ – And anyway, how the hyenas gonna get you in that tent?
Always Keep a Diary – Keep a daily travelogue: ‘It appears impossible to a traveler, at the close of his journey, to believe he will ever forget its events, however trivial. They seem branded into his memory. But this is not the case – the crowds of new impressions during a few months of civilised life will efface the sharpness of the old ones. I have conversed with . . many men . . the greater part of whose experiences in savagedom had passed out of their memories like the events of a dream. So, like I keep telling you: Every day, write up your diary, you ous! All of you.
– Galton’s camp in Damaraland – or savagedom –
To Raise and Move a Heavy Body – When a violent hurricane had driven his eighty ton schooner several hundred yards inland, Mr Williams, a missionary in the South Sea Islands, said, ‘The method by which we raised and moved the vessel was exceedingly simple, and we accomplished the task with great ease.’ They raised her out of the 4ft hole she had worked herself into by levering her out with long levers and stone weights. Then they filled the bog that lay between her and the sea with stones and logs as rollers. Then they used a chain cable and ‘compelled her to take a short voyage upon the land before she floated in her pride on the sea once more.’ It was easy.
Oh, and then he did deign to mention, the ‘great ease with which they accomplished this task’ took ‘the united strength of about 2000 people.’ ‘Twas nothing, I did it myself,’ the missionary reverend murmured modestly .
~~oo0oo~~
What a delightful book of days gone by! I love it! Days of adventure, of knowing everything, including what other men and – especially – women thought, needed and wanted – without ever having to go through the tedious process of asking them! 366 pages of The Good Old Daze indeed.
– just get me to the river and I’ll make a boat of your hide – OK? –
~~oo0oo~~
Another Book Of Advice
Sixteen years later, in 1871 Thomas Baines decided he too, had advice for travelers:
– Shifts and Expedients of Camp Life –
Thomas Baines 1871 book: Shifts and Expedients of Camp Life, Travel & Exploration, written with William Barry Lord, a soldier with the Royal Artillery, built on Galton – and offered even more detail.
Your clothes – have them made. Firstly, shirts: – Have them made to measure from flannel which has been previously well shrunk, of thoroughly good quality, of medium substance, and unobtrusive pattern or colour. It will be well to order them of extra length, both of sleeve and body, so as to allow for the shrinkage which is certain to take place after a few washings, in spite of all precautions. Two breast pockets should be made in each. These are very convenient for holding a variety of small matters when no waistcoat is worn. For outer clothing nothing can surpass good heather-coloured tweed, or Waterford frieze, for ordinary wear; jackets of shooting-coat pattern, made with plenty of pockets, formed from much stronger materials than are usually made use of by tailors for that purpose, will be found most useful for knocking about in.
Your coat: – Take a blue cloth pilot coat, cut long enough to reach just below the knees; have it lined throughout with woollen material; let the pockets be made extra strong, and order the buttons to be large, of black horn, and sewn on with double-waxed thread. The left hand breast pocket should be deep and lined with leather, as it not unfrequently becomes a resting-place for the revolver when you do not wish to make an ostentatious display of it.
Boots and shoes: – For real work these are in no part of the world equal to those made at home, and a thoroughly good stock should be laid in before quitting England; ‘Butcher boots,’ so made as to fit the leg compactly just below the bend of the knee, with low heels, and broad heel seats; several pairs of shooting boots of the regular ankle-jack gamekeeper’s pattern, tipped at toe and heel; A pair or two of high shoes made from soft undressed russet leather will be found very useful to wear instead of slippers, or for camp use when the ground is dry; A pair of Cording’s wading boots will be found invaluable. They occupy little space, are comparatively light, and keep the legs and feet dry and warm when nothing else will; It will be well also to provide two or three pairs of brown leather shooting boots without heels and with single soles, free from nails, and flexible enough to admit of the wearer walking softly and with perfect freedom.
– a velschoen –
Making your own shoes: – Most countries have some form of shoe easily made from materials obtainable upon the spot, and ‘in Africa’ the ‘velschoen’ of untanned leather is the general wear. Sometimes these are very clumsily made, the naked foot is planted on the piece of leather intended for the sole, and the outline is marked out with the point of a knife, the blade being held so far clear as to obviate all danger of cutting the foot, a plan which certainly has the merit of making the shoe sufficiently roomy.
First, you kill a giraffe, eland or buffalo for the soles. Or purchase pieces of their hides large enough for a pair – generally about eighteenpence. These are simply dried, and a native must be hired to beat and soften them, working grease into them as he does so, till they become so soft and supple that, though they are not waterproof in the sense of absolutely repelling the liquid, they may be wetted through and dried again without becoming hard. Sometimes a native will do this for a knife (value ninepence or a shilling) and the grease; but a sharp look-out must be kept upon the latter, or he will rub it into his own skin instead of that which he is employed to soften. An African can no more be trusted with fat than many of our own countrymen with ardent spirits.
What? Only one gun? – To the traveler whose means of transport confine him to the possession of only one gun, we say without hesitation, purchase a plain, strong, muzzle-loading, double-barrelled smooth bore of 11 or 12 gauge. Length of barrel, 2ft. 6in, weight 8½lb. without the ramrod, a front action bar, side locks, and ramrod pipes large enough to carry a rod of extra large size and power. Two pairs of spare nipples, and one pair of fitted main springs, in addition to those in the locks.
Bullets – A bell-metal or iron spherical bullet mould must be selected with the greatest care, as it by no means follows that because the figure 12 or 11 is stamped on it, that, like a wadding punch, it is calculated for a gun of the same gauge.
And so on and on – I have given here only 130 words of Baines’ 4628 words on guns!
To know what you’re doing, get the book!
Sketching – For persons wishing to employ their leisure in pleasing mementoes of the scenes they visit, perhaps the following brief list—amplified, should they desire it—will afford sufficient guidance; and they will also do well to choose one or more of the shilling handbooks published by Rowney and Co., or Winsor and Newton.
A sketching portfolio, with folding tin frame to
confine the paper while in use, and pocket for spare paper—quarto
size.
A good strong havresac of canvas, with leather
slings for each folio. Stout canvas is almost waterproof. This should
have pockets for colour box, water bottle, pencils, and penknife.
Half quire Whatman’s drawing paper (white). Some
of it should be cut to the size of the folio.
Half quire sketching cartridge for less finished
work.
Half quire tinted drawing paper (pearl, light
drab, cool and warm greys).
A proportion of all these papers should be cut to
the size of the sketch book when purchased; but a few sheets should
be kept whole, as a larger drawing may be required.
Two dozen drawing pencils—eight HH, twelve H and four HB. In practice, it will be found HB is black enough, and it should be used sparingly, as, unless a drawing is fixed immediately, the deep shades are very apt to smear when the backs of other sketches are packed against them.
Two single bladed penknives.
Very compact sketching boxes with assorted colours
in cakes, in porcelain pans, or in collapsible tubes, are provided;
and the amateur can hardly do better than select one of these with
any number of colours.
One tube of sepia and a cake
of Chinese white. With these we should advise three brown sable
pencils in flat German silver ferrules—Nos. 1, 3, and 6. With the
addition to these of the three primitive colours—red, blue, and
yellow—a considerable range of subjects may be painted; indeed
could we obtain these in perfect purity, we should require no other.
But, as this is impossible, we subjoin a list of colours, placing
first in order those that we have found most useful:—
Indian yellow, Carmine, French blue, Yellow ochre, Light red, Prussian blue, Gamboge, Rose madder (perhaps in cake), Cobalt, Raw sienna (cake), burnt sienna, Indigo, Yellow lake, Mars orange, Payne’s grey, Vermilion (cake), Vandyke brown, Emerald green, Scarlet lake (cake), Crimson lake, Purple lake, Cadmium yellow (cake), Brown madder (cake), Purple madder (cake).
With these, the whole set from 1 to 6 of the sables in flat albata will be needed, and we advise two each of 1, 2, and 3, as well as one or two large swans’ quills for washing in the sky or flat tints. A tripod sketching stool folding to the size of a special’s staff would be useful, but the rivet should be strong and well clinched. Let the watercolour box have divisions on the edge of the palette for every colour it contains. If you take an easel, let the joint be brass. – (Note: Here I give you 516 of Baines’ 1677words. Being an artist, this subject would have been close to his heart).
The Traveler’s Library:
I used to schlep along rather a lot of books, but of course far less now that my phone and laptop and the internet have the rest, not to mention maps and GPS, wikipedia, etc! Baines suggested these 32 books, handily giving their price in shillings and pence:
Astronomy: – Outlines of Astronomy. Sir J. Herschel, Bart (Longman and Co. 1858) 11s. – Astronomy and General Physics. W. Whewell (W. Pickering. 1857) 4s. – Illustrated London Astronomy. J. R. Hind (Ingram and Co. 1853) 1s. 6d. – Handbook—Descriptive and Practical Astronomy. G. F. Chambers (J. Murray. 1861) 10s. – Elements of Plane Astronomy. J. Brinkley, D.D (Hodges and Smith. 1845) 6s. – Orbs of Heaven; Planetary and Stellar Worlds. O. M. Mitchell (N. Cooke. 1856) 2s. 3d.
Navigation: – Navigation and Nautical Astronomy. Rev. J. Inman (Rivingtons. 1862) 6s. 3d. – Complete Epitome of Practical Navigation (J. W. Norie. 1864) 14s. [N.B. The latest edition should be asked for.] – Lunar Time Tables. J. Gordon (Imray. 1853) 7s. – Handbook for the Stars. H. W. Jeans (Levey, Robson, and Co. 1848) 3s. 6d.
Mathematics, Trigonometry, and Spherics: – Manual of Mathematical Tables. Galbraith and Houghton (Longman and Co. 1860) 2s. – Mathematical Tracts. G. B. Airy (J. W. Parker. 1842) 9s. 6d. – Treatise on Practical Mensuration. A. Nesbit (Longman and Co. 1864) 5s. 4d. – Practical Introduction to Spherics and Nautical Astronomy. P. Kelly, LL.D (Baldwin and Co. 1822) 7s. – Treatise on Trigonometry. G. B. Airy (Griffin and Co. 1855) 2s. 3d.
For Travellers: – What to Observe; or, Travelling Remembrancer. Col. Jackson. Revised by Dr. Norton Shaw (Houlston and Wright. 1861) 9s. 6d. – Geodesy and Surveying, Military, Nautical, and Land Surveying. – Treatise on Military Surveying. Lieut. Col. Jackson (Allen and Co. 1860) 12s. – Outline of Method of conducting a Trigonometrical Survey. Col. Frome (Weale. 1862) 10s. 6d. – Practical Geodesy. J. W. Williams (Parker and Son. 1835) 7s. 6d. – Trigonometrical Surveying, Levelling, and Engineering. W. Galbraith (Blackwood and Son. 1842) 6s. 9d. – Engineering Field Notes on Parish and Railway Surveying and Levelling. H. J. Castle (Simpkin and Co. 1847) 8s. – Practice of Engineering Field Work. W. D. Haskoll (Atchley and Co. 1858) 17s. 6d. – Treatise on Nautical Surveyings. Com. Belcher (Richardson. 1835) 12s.
Weights and Measures: – Weights and Measures of All Nations. W. Woolhouse (Virtue Bros. 1863) 1s. 6d. – Foreign Measures and their English Values. R. C. Carrington (Potter. 1864)
Construction of Maps: – Manual of Map-making. A. Jamieson (Fullarton. 1846) 2s. – Manual of Topographical Drawing. Lieut. R. Smith (J. Wiley. 1854) 5s. – Projection of the Sphere. – Projection and Calculation of the Sphere. S. M. Saxby (Longman and Co. 1861) 4s. 3d.
Use of Instruments: – Treatise on Principal Mathematical and Drawing Instruments. F. Williams (Weale. 1857) 3s. 2d. – The Sextant and its Applications. Simms (Troughton and Simms. 1858) 4s. 6d. – Treatise on Mathematical Instruments. J. Heather (Virtue Bros. 1863) 1s.
Geography: – Geography Generalised. R. Sullivan (Longman and Co. 1863) 2s.
In addition to these, every one ought to possess the Admiralty Manual of Scientific Enquiry, which is a series of papers written for the direction of explorers by men of the highest standing in various sciences; and no better general work can be recommended.
– my book box for a trip to Botswana – mammals missing! –
Off we go then: – Let’s twenty one of us decide on an eighteen month expedition. C’mon! We would need – among other stuff – the following:
The Commander (that would be me!), an Assistant (you), a Geologist, an Artist and Storekeeper, a Surgeon and Naturalist (me too), a Botanist, a Collector, Natural History, &c., an Overseer, a Farrier and Smith; a Harness-maker; Stockmen and Shepherds (you could be one of these too).
As we won’t be popping in to any Boxer or Choppies stores, load up! Provisions, &c. for 18 months —17,000lb. flour, 5000lb. salt pork, 2000lb. bacon, 2000lb. preserved fresh meat in 6lb. tins, 2800lb. rice, 2500lb. sugar, 400lb. tea, 350lb. tobacco, 350lb. soap, 50lb. pepper, 500lb. salt, 100 galls. vinegar, 300 sheep, 200lb. sago, 640 pints peas, 2 cwt. coffee, 500lb. lime juice, 6 galls. lamp oil, 1lb. cotton wick, 3 cwt. preserved potatoes.
Arms and Ammunition —16 double guns, 4 rifles, 10 revolvers, 10 pistols, 200lb. gunpowder, 1000lb. shot and lead, 30,000 percussion caps, 20 belts and pouches, 15 gun buckets, straps, locks, spare nipples, moulds, punches, 4 ladles, powder flasks, shot pouches, &c., for each gun.
Camp Furniture —5 tents 8ft. square calico, 150 yds. calico, 12 camp kettles (½ to 3 galls.), 6 doz. pannikins, 4 doz. tin dishes (small), 1 doz. large, 4 doz. knives and forks, 4 doz. iron spoons, 6 frying pans, 6 leather buckets, 6 water kegs (6, 4, and 2 galls.), 6 spades, 4 socket shovels, 4 pickaxes, 2 spring balances (25 and 50lb.), 1 steelyard (150lb.), 1 sheep net (150 yds.). And I’d also need a deckchair, Mr Baines – one of those that tilt back, with a footrest.
Instruments —2 sextants (5in. and 6in.), 2 box do., 2 artificial horizons, 10lb. mercury in 2 iron bottles, 4 prismatic compasses, 11 pocket compasses, spare cards and glasses for compasses, 3 aneroid barometers, 4 thermometers to 180°, 2 telescopes, 1 duplex watch, 1 lever watch, 1 case drawing instruments; 2 pocket cases, pillar compass, and protractor; surveying chain and arrows, 2 measuring tapes, 1 drawing board (30 × 40 inches), 2 pocket lenses.
Stationery and Nautical Tables.
Tools —1 portable forge, 1 anvil (½ cwt.), 2 hammers and set of tongs, 10lb. cast steel, 11lb. blister steel, 100lb. bar and rod iron, 3 smiths’ files, 3 large axes (American), 6 small do.; 1 large tool chest.
Clothing —120 pair moleskin trowsers, 120 serge shirts, 120 cotton shirts, 60 pair boots, 40 oiled calico capes, 40 hats (Manilla), 40 blankets. And I’d take a pair of shorts.
Artists’ Materials – See Baines’ needs above. Can’t improve on that!
Miscellaneous —5 yds. mosquito net, green; 500 fish-hooks, 25 fishing-lines, 2 gross matches, 1 gross tobacco-pipes; 2 strong cases, or instruments, stationery, &c.; 8 doz. pocket-knives, 8 doz. pocket-combs, 20 yds. red serge for presents to blacks, 20lb. iron wire, 5lb. brass ditto, grindstone and spindle, coffee-mill, 3 iron saucepans, 2 iron kettles, 6 galls. linseed oil, 6 pints olive oil, 2lb. red lead, 23lb. alum, 1lb. borax. Sure 144 tobacco-pipes will be enough for 21 of us for eighteen months?
Forage for Horses and Sheep from Moreton Bay to Victoria River, 2200 miles, at 14lb. per diem —13 tons pressed hay, 9 tons bran, 200 bushels maize or barley, 500 bushels corn for horses after landing.
Medical Chest for 2 years and 20 men. One oke better stay healthy.
Naturalists’ Stores – a long list
I can’t help noticing – who else noticed? – he has forgotten the fridge and the beer!! This puts the rest of the book’s authority in some doubt, no?
I have given here about ten pages of information. The book is 831 pages! Just on Boats, Rafts and Make-Shift Floats, Baines and Lord write 36 786 words! And I’ve not even got to communication in the days before satellite phones. This incomplete snippet will have to suffice: To leave a message, you build a stone cairn; you dig a deep hole ten feet north of it; in the hole you leave instructions written on a lead sheet made from three melted bullets . . .
~~oo0oo~~
You can read it online at gutenberg.org – After the 831 pages, there are useful advertisements for shops that can supply your needs, including gun shops where you can buy your muzzle loader; In a general store you’ll find ladies waterproofs and portable boats are in the same department . . .
In the Cairo bazaar Dad watched an Armenian man making coffee cups.
He worked on a wooden lathe that his father had hand-made, he said. He was spinning silver – thin sheets of silver – a wheel presses the silver onto a wooden cup-shaped form as it rotates, spreading and shaping the metal.
I’ll check with the ole man what the lathe looked like – maybe like this?
He said he imported his porcelain inserts or inlays from Czechoslovakia and added them to his silver tea and coffee cups for his signature look.
Dad bought two sets from him, and paid him 5 Egyptian pounds, “worth way less than English pounds” he says.**
That was back in 1943. Nowadays Saad of Egypt are Cairo’s best-known silversmiths. Saad was born in 1939. He says he still forges his own silver “in the tradition of Zorayan the Armenian, which his children unfortunately discontinued”. You won’t watch his skilled craftsmen spinning silver on a wooden lathe, though. He regards them as a rare commodity and takes precautions against losing them, concealing them, as he explains, “in our workshop away from the Khan, in the Cairene district of Ghamra. After all, a competitor could come in and lure them away”.
Saad’s advice on the best way to polish silver is a combination of “soap, warm water and a toothbrush — forget all the polishes promoted on the market; they just aim at making money . . .”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
So where does this story suddenly come from? It started on LindiLou’s rose farm this weekend. She had her big annual Tarr Roses Open Day, selling roses and teas and all sorts on the farm, but especially roses.
A previous Tarr Roses Open Day. There’s the old thorn among the roses.
An old Harrismith friend was there and she said Dad had sold her mother his Egyptian (Armenian) coffee cups! This brought back memories of buying them in a market in Cairo 74 years ago!
Now he wants to buy them back from her! He’ll pay ‘any price’ he says.
~~oo0oo~~
Later: Yesterday I heard more from Dad. The lady does not want to sell her coffee set as they were a gift from her late mother, who got them from her late father, who bought them from Dad for two heifers. They thus have sentimental value to her. Dad is indignant: “They have no sentimental value to her, they have sentimental value to ME!” he huffs self-centredly. She had them valued at R3500 each (apparently there are two sets) and Dad says no way he can afford R7000 but its not right! He now wants to ask her to put a note on them: In case of her death they must be sold to one of his three children. None of whom want them!
The kicker: He actually has no recollection of buying four sets. The two he remembers he gave to his daughters Barbara and Sheila, who still have them. He remembers nothing about the sale nor anything about two heifers. The bloody things PROBABLY AREN’T EVEN HIS! The ‘sale’ probably never happened. But he has his piddle in a froth about them.
Bloody hell!
~~oo0oo~~
Sheila tells me what she has is a tea set in a wooden box the old man made for her to display them in. Here it is with ancient pics of Dad and us:
At an antique fair in Umhlanga years ago she was told by the evaluator that they were not worth very much, as ‘every second soldier brought one home’.
~~oo0oo~~
The thlot pickens. Another of Dad’s stories Sheila remembers from the past, is that he did indeed buy those coffee cups he now can’t remember, but he couldn’t bring them home from Italy, he simply had too much loot to carry. So he gave them to a comrade to bring home for him. Once back in SA he lost touch with the man. He enlisted the help of his brother-in-law Solly Solomon, a colonel in the police, who did find the man, but advised Dad to forget about getting his stuff back. The man was a down-and-out on the bones of his arse, and had long since sold anything he possessed.
~~oo0oo~~
Note: **The official rate at the time though, was £1 = E£0.975 – ‘from 1885 to 1949’ according to my source – so maybe Dad got a special soldier’s rate? Maybe the English pound was strong in wartime? Maybe – *gasp!* – he was mistaken!?
Moral of the story? Try not to be dogmatic about your memory. Take it with a pinch of salt. It flatters to deceive, and it deceives to flatter.
It looked like a standoff. At a small pool of water in the dry sandy riverbed of the Black Mfolosi river a male Bateleur and a Tawny Eagle contested the scarce resource. Both stood on the sand at the water’s edge and hunched their shoulders at each other.
I watched a while then scanned all around. Suddenly I heard a cry above me. Two birds circled each other in the air just above our vantage point on a bluff overlooking the river. I looked back at the waterhole. They were gone, this must be them. It was. The eagle was dive-bombing the Bateleur shouting a hoarse kraak kraak. The Bateleur screamed defiantly, dodging the move.
The eagle circled to gain height and folded its wings and took aim again, the agile Bateleur dodging with a sideways roll.
The Bateleur then landed in a tall dead tree while the eagle was climbing again. Soon the Tawny was on his way down again, zooming straight at him and knocking him off his perch. They banked and circled and strained to gain height again, the Bateleur’s wingflaps surprisingly noisy. Once again the Tawny won the climb and launched a dive.
The Bateleur folded his wings and flew away low over the tree tops away from the river.
The Tawny landed back at the pool where it all started, victorious.
High above a white-backed vulture and a Yellow-billed Kite, witnesses to the dogfight, still circled in the thermals.
Wow! Who needs a lion kill?
Oh, Jessica. Yes, dear. I didn’t realise how long we’d been here. We’ll drive now and look for lions, honey.
Stayed at Oxbow Lodge one cold winter night. Can’t remember if we were childful yet or child-free. The whole lodge is tightly squeezed in a narrow space between the road and the river. Our little rondawel was icy: Concrete walls, thin iron windows with flimsy curtains, a slate floor. The bed looked and felt like an ice cream tub. We fired up the gas heater and went off to find supper.
The bar / dining room / lounge area was big and bleak but warmer than our room. Supper was delicious: a big hot filling stew. Maybe oxbone? With sherry.
Plus we had one more great reason to settle down and stay: Lovely jazz music was playing over the speakers perched on the cornices. After a while I went to enquire at the pub. The lovely lady at reception showed me the CD cover below. We have listened to it ever since. *Click Play* and hear it y’self:
Back in the rondawel it was still cold but Oxbow back then was an oasis in the frigid winter Lesotho highlands. There was nowhere else to go for miles. Anyway, we were young and soon heated up the bed knowhatimean.
The rocky, waterfall-strewn river right outside was frozen solid the next morning, miles of ice and beauty in bright sunshine. Still freezing though.
I hardly ever carried a camera back when I was beautiful and had just the one chin. “I’m video’ing it in my head” I would say.
Of course now I’m really grateful other people carried cameras and I could get pics from them. Even in the days when you loaded a roll of film in the dark and wound it on by hand frame-by-frame some people carried cameras. I salute them!
And I admit I would grumble when they said “Stand closer together” “Smile” “Hang on! Just one more!”. Of course some people would think they had put in the roll of film when they hadn’t and all our posing (“poeseer!” remember SanMarie the game ranger’s joke?) was in vain. Yes, I’m thinking of you Taylor. He posed us in various ways on a buffalo carcase and when we eagerly asked for the photies weeks later (they’d had to go off “for development” of course) he had to sheepishly admit he hadn’t had a roll of film in his steam-driven camera. Luckily Trish had been there and took this:
Anyway, my memory of that moment was much better than his pic would have been: I remember a bloody carcase with glistening red meat still on the bone and lion prints around the sandy scene. We were posing looking over our shoulder, worried the lions might chase us off their prey at any minute. When later we did get a pic from someone better organised than Taylor – Trish – the truth was far more mundane. The photo spoilt a good story! Here we were, not one of us looking over a shoulder:
Intrepid non-photographer on the left with impressive camera bag, no fillum
So although I do have some slight regrets I still think I was generally more “in the moment” than many camera-occupied companions over the years – and I saw more birds. Anyway, my memories of what happened are usually far better than boring reality. Usually I play the starring role in them.
Once I met Aitch things changed of course and we had a fulltime photographer in the house. The years from 1986 are well documented. Then the kids arrived and the number of pics went through the roof. Thank goodness for digital! Even now when we drive through a game reserve Jess will say “Mom would have said ‘Stop! Go back!’ and you would have to reverse and she’d take a picture of a flower, remember?”
With cameras as ubiquitous as they now are all this smacks of days gone by. I was prompted to write this post when I read this yesterday: ‘If a millennial goes to a beautiful place but doesn’t get a photo, did they ever really go?’…
To end, some advice for Taylor:
Here’s a graph showing camera sales in 1000’s since 1933:
Our first dog TC was the product of a romantic liaison – a match made in heaven. Staffordshire Terrier Stan Hill jumped Jack Russel Terrier Mouse Hill and she produced a litter. Dave and Goldie’s Sir Stanley Staffordshire of Melrose Farm in Mid-Illovo was a semi-handsome, tuxedo-clad, white-gloved, almost-pedigree Staffie who’d lost his papers, but we were assured he was in the country legitimately. And they knew who his Mom was. Who were we to argue, anyway: The pup was coming as a gift!
The Hills once took Stan on holiday to hoity-toity Plettenberg Bay where they met people with a very stressful holiday job: To look after a fine pedigree Afghan bitch on heat. Big responsibility to keep it away from all lesser dogs and avoid an unwanted pregnancy.
Well, good luck with that with Stan the Man around. When they looked again, there was Stan on the beach, publicly locked in holy matrimony with the long-haired beauty. Something like this (Staffies are known more for their enthusiasm than their class):
A legend in his own lunchtime was Stan.
~~~oo000oo~~~
Now read just how faulty memory can be! Here’s the details from someone who was there, on that licentious beach: Stan’s owner, Dave Hill:
Nice. It was actually at Mbotyi on the Wild Coast and the femme fatale was a nubile young Spaniel sent there with the owners’ mother because she was on heat! Bad idea!
Stan would leave our cottage after supper every evening, only coming home late late late. One morning we couldn’t find him………..so we went a-searching. Lo and behold! right on the main beach, in front of quite a crowd was young Stan the Man in flagrante delicto with this young virgin Spaniel.
In flagrante delicto in dogs, as you know, means dog-knotted. When Stan saw us, he belted up the beach with the damsel stuck fast around his underbelly! My solution of course was to pick ’em up hurl them both into the water which caused great mirth and unknotted them.
We often wonder about that liaison and the end result . . . . .
New Year in Ponta Milibangalala. We joined the Hills at their traditional campsite. It’s a magnificent beach in the Maputo Elephant Reserve. Back in 1990 it was uncrowded and perfect. They’ve been going there for a couple of decades and are very well known and liked by the Ele Reserve staff.
– The Padre d’água surveys his domain –
One day we need supplies. Dave says come along to ‘Ponta’, which means Ponta de Ouro – there are a lot of Pontas but Saffers call de Ouro just ‘Ponta’. We head south along the beach you’re not allowed to drive on. It’s much quicker than taking the road inland. At one rocky point you have to leave the beach, up over the dune and then back onto the beach around the point.
We roar up the dune, crest the rise and . . . there’s a boom across the track. A security guard in uniform stands up to stop us, raising his hand in the universal language of ‘halt!’.
I start rehearsing an acquiescent speech: Yes, its true we were on the beach and no, we aren’t actually allowed on the beach, but it was an emergency (fetching beer) and . . . . . . Dave’s foot doesn’t budge a millimetre on the accelerator. He waves his arm imperiously in an upward motion, signalling in that same universal language ‘open up!’ He leans out the window and shouts “Oy! Vul’isango! Padre d’água!” as he roars straight at the boom with undiminished speed.
Now, never mind that Oy! is Irish or Yiddish, Vulisango! is isiZulu and only Padre d’água! would have been understood (I understand it’s Portuguese for “His Excellency David Hurle Hill, Acting Minister of Water Affairs for all Mocambique”), Dave gets his message across via international sign language, and the suitably impressed security guard flings the boom up with alacrity, barely managing to stop himself from saluting as we roar through without a backward glance.
Gotta admire the pirate in Hill. His swash isn’t easily buckled.
~~~oo0oo~~~
I often put myself in another man’s moccasins, so I’m imagining being a guard at a boom gate on a remote Mocambican beach, sitting in the hot African sun, dozing off, wishing I had something cold to drink and that I could find a better job, when a roar awakes me and I jump up to stop a 4X4 roaring up the dune.
Ha! I think, South African numberplate! I’ll nail this fella. It’s illegal to drive on the beach here, I’ll stop him, give him a piece of my mind and tell him about the fine. Maybe he has a cold drink on board. What? Something, Something, Padre d’água! Oh, shit, he looks important and he has a very authoritarian way about him. And he’s not stopping! I’ll just open the boom and then when he stops I’ll ask him what the . .
Oh. He’s gone . . . the first vehicle in over a month and he didn’t even stop.
I sit back down in the hot African sun wishing I had something cold to drink and could find a better job.
~~~oo0oo~~~
This reminds me of a tale Dave tells of his time working in California. Bachelor days. Once again he is driving a pickup with a mate sitting next to him; This time he did stop, however. At a red light.
He’s telling a story, an animated story like Hill can tell a story and the mate is listening, but he can also see that the light has turned green and Dave is so deep into the telling he hasn’t noticed.
He interrupts the flow of words, nods at the lights and pronounces: “Ain’t gonna get any greener.”
Our Environment Minister Valli Moosa had at last grasped the nettle and was closing the beaches to hooligans! We approved, and time and research has shown it was the right decision. It has had a positive impact on the ecology of the coastal zone, with a recovery of resident reef fish species and breeding birds.
Regulations for the control of use of vehicles in the coastal zone (Government Notice 1399 of 21 December 2001) published in terms of section 44 of the National Environmental Management Act (No. 107 of 1998).
But! We admit: We do love driving on the beach! So Bruce Soutar was quick to spot the opportunity for a Last Drive before the regulations came in to force, so he gathered a bunch of people to both celebrate and mourn the closure.
We had the Soutar VW Kombi, Kemp Jeep, Gail Pajero, Duncan __ and Swanie Ford and one other –?
Young David was a casual birder back then. Under the tutelage of his fine wife Goldie he has since come on in leaps and bounds. He was also a driller back then. He would drill boreholes for water in Malawi, Mocambique and other beautiful places, boring deep into the earth searching for the nectar of life.
His drilling company’s motto was “On The Hole Our Work Is Boring”.
One fine day in Mocambique he got caught short and had to pull over on the way to a drilling site for an emergency evacuation in a lovely patch of forest. He would have noisily scratched a nest (Dave is not a tiptoe-er) and got rid of his voluminous shorts so as not to cause any stains and settled himself comfortably for the job at hand, probably with some grunting and sighing.
Suddenly, this beauty hopped into view in a patch of sunlight in the gloomy forest interior and gazed in fascination at the amazing and unusual sight squatting in the clearing:
A bloody Pitta! Many serious birders search for these things for decades, spending time and money and only getting heartache. Hill saw one while having a ‘veldie”.
Talk about unfair. This is birding a la (com)mode. I’ve always said “Don’t chase them. Sit and they’ll come to you”. But this . . !!
Jess took to ziplining like a duck to water. Calm and unfazed, she’d inspect the gear, make sure all was hooked up and away she’d go without a blink.
She’d been a little nervous before, so I had sat her down and said, ‘Jess, it’s a very strong cable, well attached on both ends and has a breaking strain of three tons. You weigh less than one tenth of one ton, so you’ll be fine. The extra cable also has a three ton breaking strain. Your harness and safety cable can each hold a ton. So you’re fine, kid.’ She nodded.
So how did she do? Check her out! My brave girl. Nonchalant even.
Sad that we think that’s a bad thing? Lions escaped from Kruger twice this year, one lot was recaptured, one lot was shot. Then three lionesses and five cubs ran free in KwaZulu and were captured. Today there’s talk of a lion meandering around Mtonjaneni near Ulundi, munching on cows – which I suppose is the reason we won’t tolerate them running free: their manners.
I saw a lion on the loose outside Mapungubwe in 2013. (note: I see I duplicated this story – more or less – here). I had left the reserve, heading west for Botswana when an old grey-haired codger in short pants hopped out of his bakkie and flagged me down, hopping up and down with excitement. “Oom, Oom!” he shouted. “Hier’s n leeu, ek sweer. ‘n Leeumannetjie, Oom!”
I thought “Who’s Your Fokkin ‘Oom’, you Old Goat? You look Sixty in the Shade and Rather Weather-beaten and Ancient to me!” But I’m polite, so I just said “Waar?” and he said “Volg my. Sommer hier naby” and he got back into his bakkie to show me.
Just then a big male lion sprinted across the road toward the Mapungubwe side. On both sides of the road high ‘game-proof’ fences keep animals in, inside the Oppenheimers’ private reserve on the southern side and Mapungubwe National Park on the northern side, so he was trapped in an unfriendly corridor and he was not happy, poor thing.
He was a lovely specimen but he looked anxious as hell and panicky and ran as though he was trying to make himself invisible. When he saw us he dived under a little green bush in the dry grass, laughably small, but Hey! He disappeared under it! He lay motionless and nothing would entice him out.
This bush. Look carefully, he’s in there!
Then he finally did dart out, running eastwards, to the right in picture, along this fence and I left him. A gate to the De Beers Venetia Limpopo reserve said Duncan MacFadyen gate and had a phone number, so I phoned to let them know one of their lions was running free.
Then on a sudden hunch, I turned the rearview mirror to look at myself. OMG! I saw now what the old codger had seen. No wonder he ‘Oom’d’ me.
~~oo0oo~~
It’s a beautiful area:
~~oo0oo~~
“Oom! Hier’s n leeu, ek sweer. ‘n Leeumannetjie, Oom!” – Uncle! A male lion, I swear, Uncle!
“Volg my, sommer hier naby” – Follow me; it’s close-by
Jess and I spent two nights at Mkhuze. It’s looking very dry and animals were few and far between. Still, we saw lots of the usual dependables: giraffe, zebra, impala, hippo, nyala, wildebeest and – at last! – one elephant. A young bull right next to the road. Jess, who watches too much youtube of eles goring and flipping cars, and had a scare in Tembe Elephant Park ‘thanks’ to bad behaviour by a senior ranger, did not want to hang around, so we drove past him.
Also one band of Banded and two individual Slender Mongooses.
But lots of birds. I won’t give the boring – to me exciting – list (78 species) but I will tell this story. In Mantuma camp – here:
I went looking for pinkspots (pink-throated twinspots). Like this:
– oops! dont know where I got this image to credit – I see it’s all over the web now – whoever took it: beautiful and thank you –
I followed their high-pitched trilling cricket-like sound and found them and more! There they were, in a bird party in the grass! Blue waxbills, green-winged pytilias, grey-headed sparrows, yellow-throated petronias, yellow-fronted canaries, red-billed firefinches pecked alongside the pinkspots on the sandy soil. And in the tree directly above them a small flock of red-billed wood hoopoes, a dark-backed weaver and a golden-tailed woodpecker. Just that one bird party made the whole trip worthwhile. I stood twenty metres from them and watched through my Zeiss’ for ages. ‘Saturation Views’!
On my way back to the chalet I watched a black cuckoo-shrike give a full, relaxed display all round me. I didn’t know this jet-black bird could be so BLUE! In the sunlight his ‘black’ shone a beautiful cobalt blue. This picture I found on ethiobirds is the only one that captures it well. See the difference!
We spent a few hours in Hluhluwe Game Reserve on my first visit to Jess on her field rangers course. We got in for free using our new Rhino Card. For ages now we have battled to see eles in KZN parks. In fact in Mkhuze last year I offered the kids a reward if they spotted fresh ele poo!! Not even the live animals themselves! Nothing.
As always Jess was the spotter: “Dad! Elephants! Stop!” She does NOT want to get close, so we stopped a good 200m away and watched as 30 eles of all sizes sauntered past on a road across a streambed from where we were parked. In another first, I was without my binocs! The last time that happened was 2003. I only had my spares that live in the car, not my proper Zeiss’. Can’t believe what getting ancient does to one.
Then “Dad, there are more” – and then more. And more. They were all headed for the Hluhluwe river so we found an overlook on a bend and watched and counted.
We counted 150 eles! Our ele drought has been broken. One teenage ele took exception to the presence of the warthogs, rushing them, shaking his ears. They basically ignored him, scampering away at the last minute and trotting straight back to their positions in defiance of him.
On the way out a lone ele ran out of the bush across the road right in front of us, making it 151.