Gift for the Holidays--Africa Inspiration

 

Are you or someone you know planning a trip to Africa? My series of three books set in Africa could be just the inspiration you need. 

 

Safari Jema, A Journey of Love and Adventure from Casablanca to Cape Town

My Life with Ndoto, Exploring Africa in a Forty Year Old Land Rover

The Dancing Bridge of Kamunjoma

 

All are available at Amazon in print and kindle version, or order from your favorite bookstore.  

Safari Jema is also available on Audible.

They Were The Best of Times, etc...

About a month ago, after more than a year apart, we were finally reunited with Ndoto, our 1973 Series III Land Rover in Africa. We worried if she would be just the way we left her, or if she would be there at all. Emails sent to her minder/mechanic had gone unanswered of late. We began to say, “What will be, will be” and “If she’s gone, I hope that she’s having another grand adventure” and we made plans to fly back to Africa anyway. Though “plans” is stretching it. The time we should have spent thinking about an itinerary, much less planning one, were mostly taken over with readying our home for lease. How did we not notice that leak in the roof before? Or the dry rot on the deck that had to be removed, repaired, and resurfaced? Or that crack in the tank on the toilet? And why did the washer and dryer have to go kaput in the same week? In fact, there were lots of kaput things on the house. If we hadn’t noticed them, our German tenant would have I’m sure. I’m sure because I’m half German. It’s my Do it Right, or Don’t Do it at All side. The other side, the Irish part, usually wants to have a beer and think about it tomorrow like that O'Hara Irishwoman. So if we had leased our home to an Irishman or if I’d been in a more Irish mood leading up to our departure, I might have used epoxy on the toilet tank and been done with it. But I knew that wouldn’t be right because our tenant is German not Irish. At least this was the excuse I used to get Scott to do things that have long been on my wish list for the house. “I’m German. Believe me, we must buy the nice Kohler toilets and a new washer and dryer too, and paint the walls….” I also lobbied for a re-do of our bedroom closet but Scott put his foot down saying, “Look Scarlet, we’ll think about doing that when we return in ten months” which means we’ll have a beer instead which is actually fine by me. “Plus, they don’t seem that picky to me,” said Scott.

“I didn’t say they were picky.” And they aren’t. They are very nice and their 2-year-old son loves elephants as much as I do.

In between trips to Home Depot or Kelly Moore Paint, we took care of business. We had the usual,"We can't really afford to be gone for ten months. But we can't afford not to go. Life is short" discussion. We also spent some time updating our wills. There’s nothing like an impending flight to Africa that spurs us on to think about the future—if not for ourselves, then for our heirs.

And then there was our wild thing, our cat Pika. We had to find a home for Pika for the ten months we planned to be away. Generous friends and neighbors offered to take her, but they had cats or dogs or both, and Pika is like Greta Garbo in that she vants to be alone. Enter my best friend since first grade Bonnie Fine Johnson (growing up, if she responded, “I’m okay” I’d always say, “No you’re not. You’re Fine! Hahaha!”) Bonnie and her husband had recently lost their cat Simba. “Can’t we take her?” she asked. This was a perfect solution. Except for one thing. Bonnie lives 6 hours away and Pika only tolerates car rides of up to 30 seconds. Suffice to say, I lost a lot of sleep worrying about how I would get Pika to Susanville. I asked friends for advice and they said, “Sedate her.” I asked the vet and she said, “Sedate her.” But Pika gets morose on sedation so I knew that wasn’t going to be any better than her yowling and barfing for 6 hours in her zebra stripped kitty carrier.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but the night before Pika and I were to make the journey to Bonnie’s I tried a different set of search terms on the Internet. It turns out “Traveling long distances in a car with a wigged out cat” elicited the answer I needed. I scrolled through the results and all answers were the same. “Kitty Calm.” “Use Kitty Calm.” “Kitty Calm saved our marriage.”

First thing next morning I was at Petco buying a spray bottle of Kitty Calm. A short but assertive blast into her carrier and onto her favorite blankie ten minutes before departure was all it took. I put her in the carrier and she assumed a position that remained unchanged for the entire journey. The stuff is magic. Or perhaps it was the soothing British accent used by the reader of Circling the Sun, the book on tape that we listened to without pause the entire way. When I pick her up in ten months I’m going to pop Circling the Sun into the CD player again, but without an assist from Kitty Calm and I will report back the results.

Pika, I am happy to report, is being loved and spoiled by Bonnie and her husband Scott and is becoming more Garbo-esque by the day.

In addition to house repairs, and a long drive with Greta, something else took up the time we should have spent planning an itinerary. Scott was flying. He was doing a lot of flying. He was so close to earning a private pilot license from the FAA, something he has been trying to achieve off and on since he was sixteen, and he wanted to finish all his requirements before we left. I knew he would pass. Everyone we know had no doubts he would pass. But he exhibited an uncommon lack of confidence in the two months leading up to the examinations. Adding to the stress was that Scott didn’t want to book Africa flights until he passed the exams. “Just focus on your flying and we’ll book the tickets once you have passed your tests,” I said not really meaning it but trying to be supportive. Friends and family began offering spare beds beginning September 1^st when our tenants would move in and I thought about a road trip back to Susanville to see Pika. On August 27^th,  four days before our tenants moved in, Scott came from the airfield and said, “I’m going to go ahead and book the flights to Africa. If I don’t pass the test, I’ll just do it when we get back.”

But of course on August 31^st at 5P.M., the day before our departure to Africa, he did pass.
Let this be a lesson to you kids. Don’t ever give up on your dreams. But don't drink all the champagne in one night.

We had so much champagne (thank you Howells for the bubbly) that we forgot about all the things remaining on our punch list. The next morning, as our tenants were moving in, we were still packing our bags. Our tenant Christian was incredibly understanding and I got to show his little boy Roger the rusty live-size baby elephant named Clover that sits in the corner of the backyard.

And Ndoto?  Clarry at Bushmaster in Hoedspruit wasn’t ignoring our emails, he was busy working on Ndoto! She had been well very taken care of and was running better than ever.
"You know, you are over invested in this old Landy," Clarry said to Scott.
"Yes, I know that but my wife loves this car," and he looked over at me already sitting in the co-pilot seat. "I'm so happy I could cry," I said as we left.

Scott and I drove into Kruger Park and to Timbavati. We drove in and out of Hoedspruit. We got to meet a sweet little girl named Sanne and see some of our Southern Hemisphere friends.

The evening we picked up Ndoto I installed a brand new memory foam mattress to her rooftop tent then made the bed with soft new sheets and plush duvet. “We’re home,” I said to Scott as he poured the first Gin and Tonic of our new adventure. Ndoto sat tall on her rebuilt chassis and murmured quietly on her new pistons. The steering was tighter, but we no longer had to downshift to second to climb hills. It was all so wonderfully perfect. For two weeks everything was going so well. We couldn’t believe our luck.

                                

Then, on our way back into the Kruger Park, this happened:

Back in Hoedspruit, Clarry and his Indy 500 Pit Crew, leaning into Ndoto like a team of ER surgeons, had the engine apart faster than you can say, "How much does it cost to repair a cracked block?"

But since Clarry is a miracle worker, I think she’ll soon be as good as a 43-year-old Landy can be and get us where we want to go.

Tris

 Kruger Park, South Africa, in a Land Rover Discovery loaner.

Next: “I Will Speak Well of You Constable, on Facebook and Everywhere!”

I Kissed a Hippo

At least once a day for the past three weeks Scott has been flying patterns in the airspace over Hoedspruit South Africa. Scott’s flying lessons are the reason we are in Hoedspruit for a month, the estimated time it will take for Scott to gain the hours needed for a microlight pilot license. I know now where the term “He has his head in the clouds” comes from because Scott completely and utterly loves flying. I’ve never seen him so happy.

“Ask Bruce if you will solo today,” I said. “I don’t want to miss your first lone take off and landing in a micro light!”

At 6am Scott sent a text to his flight instructor Bruce, “Do you think I will solo today? Tris wants to be there.” Bruce texted back, “You’ll only solo when I feel it’s right for you to do so.” So off Scott went to fly his circuits as usual with Bruce in the seat next to him. Two hours later he was back. Just by the look on his face I could tell. “You soloed didn’t you.” 

“Yes. Half-way through the lesson, Bruce turned to me and said, “You’re ready.” Scott had a pained look on his face. “I’m sorry you weren’t there. It was so unexpected that I didn’t have time to think. Bruce got out of the plane while it was on the runway and I flew one circuit and landed. I was only in the air for 5 minutes. It's not a big deal.”

I felt so many emotions all at once. I was so proud of him. I was happy and sad at the same time. How could I have missed such an important event.... More important for me than for Scott it seemed. Scott had started and stopped flying lessons since he was 14 years old. Many of his friends are or have been pilots, some have flown honorably for the military. As far as Scott was concerned this was just an opportunity to obtain a license once and for all, just for fun. But for me, it was a big deal. How often does one get to see their spouse flying a little plane, solo, over Africa? Only once!

Blerg!

I hugged and kissed him. “Congratulations Scott. I’m very proud of you.  I so wanted to be there… Did they give you champagne (as is customary at Hoedspruit Civil Airfield upon completion of a first solo flight) when you landed?…”. Then, “I can’t believe you went solo with out me!” which sounds funny now that I think about it. But those who know us know we do practically everything together. If there were any couple who would solo together, if would be us. We rarely celebrate individual victories or accomplishments without the other present for the champagne toast. Now, after 35 years, we had become like so many other couples who “do their own thing”. 

It seemed I should do something solo too. But it had to be something equally adventurous and risky and fun and death defying. I decided to confront my biggest fear in the biggest way possible. I drove 18 kilometers out of town and kissed a hippo.

The path to Jessica The World Famous Hippo is not easy. The heavily corrugated, potholed, intestine-jostling gravel road made me regret the entire bag of Doritos I ate when I stopped at The Giant Baobab on the way.

When I finally arrived at the farm where Jessica lives, Rein met me at the gate with, “You drove out here by yourself?”

“Yes.” I paused trying not to think about what would happen to all those Doritos if Jessica gave me a sudden fright. “My husband will be so sorry he missed this.” Then I asked, “Do you have champagne?”

Rein gave me a funny look. “Uh, Jessica drinks tea,” he answered.

“Okay whatever. My husband will still be sorry he missed this!”

Rein led me down to a fence made of logs and asked me to climb over it. Only it was a little taller than crotch height so my attempt at a slow motion hurdle was not very successful. Walking like Tex Ritter, I followed Rein to a wooden bench. “Sorry about that," he said. "I don’t know why the owners won’t install a gate for guests.” Then, “I’ll be right back. I think I hear another visitor.” Soon, short newlyweds from New York were seated next to me on the bench. I wondered how they got over the fence. Their stocky built guide stood a distance away enjoying a Coke. Maybe he lifted them over. We chatted about the animals they have seen so far on their trip, how long they are in Africa etc.

“Did you drive here by yourself?” they asked. “Weren’t you scared? What if something happened to your car?”

People often express surprise when they see me out and about by myself. Just the other day I decided to walk the 4 kilometers from Lisl’s house where we are staying in Raptors View to the main gate. Every time a vehicle came into view the driver slowed down and asked if I wanted a lift. I spent more time turning down rides than walking. I began to worry that I would miss my appointment for a desperately needed full body scrub (feet included which is a good value for me) at the Hoedspruit Day Spa so I ultimately accepted a ride from a contractor. 

“Are you walking alone?” he asked in his lilting born-in-Zimbabwe accent. “You aren’t afraid? Don’t you know that there are reptiles? And leopards?” and we talked about the recent leopard sightings all the way to the gate. There wasn’t enough time to discuss the snakes. Funny enough, I saw one yesterday while walking on the Aardvark Trail.                                                                     

I turned to the couple from New York “Sure I drove here alone! My husband and I used to do everything together but these days, not so much." I paused and watched as they comfortably swung their legs to and fro above the concrete patio floor. "How did you get over the fence?”

We watched a short video about Jessica. Jessica was only a few days old when she washed up on the bank of the Blyde River during the epic flood of 2000. If retired game ranger Tonie Roubert had not spotted Jessica trapped in some debris, she would have died. She spent the first five years of her life living in Tonie and Shirley’s home before being re-introduced to the river. For the last 13 years, the Rouberts swim with her, cuddle her, give her massages, and hand feed her sweet potatoes, corn, and warm rooibos tea from a bottle. Every night Jessica beds down on the veranda outside the house. She is never caged and she is free to roam the river with wilder hippos anytime she desires. Jessica sometimes joins a raft of hippos along the river for a day or two but she always comes back to the Joubert’s. She has a strong bond with their 5 dogs; one even sleeps on top of her at night and she has been featured in over 80 documentaries and movies.

Rein led us down a ramp to where Jessica was waiting in the water alongside a wobbly floating dock. He handed me a bucket half-filled with cut up sweet potatoes. “You can each take turns feeding Jessica. Place a slice of potato in her mouth and when she stops chewing and closes her mouth you can pet her nose.”

The first thing I noticed about Jessica is that she is the size of a VW bus. Her long, razor sharp tusks make my Nacho Cheese Dorito laden tummy do somersaults. The inside of Jessica's mouth is very pink and muscular looking - six pack gums so to speak. Also, she has bad breath.

I knelt down and popped a piece of potato in her cavernous mouth. She chewed twice before opening her mouth again for more. Each time I fed her I petted her nose. I couldn’t believe I was actually touching a hippo. Ever since we were charged by a hippo while canoeing on the Zambezi River in 2005, I have been terrified of hippos. I had no desire to get anywhere near them ever again. I think Jessica may have cured me.

After I fed her the potatoes, I massaged her back with my bare feet. After that, I gave her a big bottle of tea. After the tea, I gave her a kiss on her nose.

When I returned home that afternoon Scott, head in the clouds, forgot to ask where I had been.

It didn’t matter. I kissed a hippo!

Click HERE to see the kiss

“Whoopsie!” And Other South African Sayings

The hospitality of South Africans is beyond measure. They are warm, generous, and polite. They meet you at the door and walk you out too. Everything they do for you is "their pleasure."  How generous are they? While sipping coffee in Madham’s Cafe a stranger walked up and asked, “Is that your Landy? I think we passed you on the way into town.” When we told him we were in Hoedspruit for a month while Scott takes flying lessons Donovan said, “I have a small vacant house on my property. It’s a bit out of town but you are welcome to stay there.” Meanwhile at least three other people in town were looking for accommodation for us too. In the end, we rented a wing of a house in town, yet in the bush, in a place called Raptor’s View. I am writing you from the deck of Lisl’s house overlooking Africa, all the way to the Drakensberg Mountains.

Everyone in Hoedspruit seems to have two or three jobs. I think Lisl has six. She’s an environmental speaker and retired Air Force helicopter pilot who teaches Pilates, Tai Chi, and Zumba, writes, and coaches local women on empowerment and entrepreneurship. She is also the Goodness Guru at Madham’s. Best of all, she picked a pretty incredible spot to live. When Scott rides to the hanger for lessons (on the bicycle his instructor Bruce McDonald generously lent him) he often passes giraffe on the way.

When Scott isn't flying we practice our tracking skills and usually run into an interesting species or two. 

I love the way South Africans speak. I love their accents and intonations but I especially love their sayings. People the world over have words or phrases unique to their experience but I find the expressions in South Africa to be the most charming. The most charming of all, which I heard for the second time in one week, is “Lord, love a duck!” meaning, “You don’t say!” or “How in the world did you find that?” Or in the situation used the other day, “I can’t believe you still have the email I sent you three years ago!”

“Shame” It is usually delivered almost in a whisper. Shame can be used in place of “What a tragedy”, or “Oops” or “That really bites!” or “That is very kind of you.” Examples include, “I lost my job” – “Shame.” “I spilled my milk” – “Shame”, or “Here, why don’t you borrow my binoculars?” – “Shame.” We met a woman who never said just “Shame.” It was always, “Shame, Daddy” which I can’t explain at all.

“Whoopsie!” Like “Oops” or “Oopsie daisy!” as in, “Whoopsie, I spilled some Tequila."

“Oaks” It means, as far as we can tell, “folks” as in “Those Oaks are really nice people.” I forgot to ask what they say when they want to say oak as in oak tree, oak barrel...

“YE-EEES!” It’s “yes” but said with a lot more conviction, enthusiasm, and excitement. When South Africans say, “YE-EEES!” they sound like they’re… well, climaxing. Got me to wondering… never mind. Anyway, this is my favorite expression.

“Chilled” It means relaxed but it’s often used with animals as in, “That bull elephant in musth (which means he has super high levels of testosterone coursing through his veins) is really chilled!” We think this a very misused expression. Lions and elephants are nothing like teenagers collapsed on a couch listening to music or watching TV. If you annoy a chilled teenager they are unlikely to chomp or stomp you to death as a lion or ellie would. Whenever one of our guides says, “That leopard is chilled!” I feel like saying, “Are you serious? Go over and change his channel and see what happens.”
Here's one we encountered in Kruger who knocked this tree over in order to get at the tidbits at the top - or just because he could. 

“Shhyo!”  Delivered with a loud exhale and as far as I can tell it means “Wow!” or “OMG!” or “YE-EEES!” or “I’m speechless!” or “You said it Buster!”

“Have you seen the Southern Cross?”  Just about everyone we meet asks us this question. When we say, “Yes” they accuse us of fibbing. “Are you sure you’ve seen the Southern Cross? Do you know how to find south by using the Southern Cross?” When we say “YE-EES!” (because we were required to on our course) they still tell us anyway, “See those 4 stars? And the pointers below?...” Anyway, the Southern Cross is a pretty cool mass of stars in the Southern Hemisphere.

“You must” or “You mustn’t” This is used in place of “I suggest” or “You might consider” when giving advice. I get a little tired of people telling me what I must or mustn’t do. “I’m the boss of me!” as I used to tell my mother.  I know “must” is just an expression but it started to bug me. “You must speak louder” or “You must tint the windows on your Landy so that people can’t see what is inside.” (That one is actually pretty good advice and we probably should, must do that.) The only time I appreciated being told what I mustn’t do was when a woman in a small town tourist information office said while pointing to a squiggle on our map, “You mustn’t take that road. There are potholes. Also, service workers are on strike in that town and they will throw rocks at your vehicle.”

“Okay!” I said, “I mustn’t!” But after a pause she said, “I just remembered that today is Sunday and on Sundays they won’t throw rocks. They will throw rocks again tomorrow, on Monday. You must take this road.”

All in South Africa seem to have a Jack Russell as a pet. Whenever we meet families traveling in Kruger Park where pets are not allowed we ask, “Who is taking care of your Jack Russell?” and no one ever says, “Shhyo! We don’t have a Jack Russell!” If they did we would respond, “Shame” because they really are the most amazing pets - especially the Jack Russell named Fraser who we met at Jembjo’s Lodge in Knysna. Best dog ever.

South Africans love to braai – barbeque – though it is a process that takes hours and hours because they start with logs and keep adding logs until they burn down to coals so you are usually pretty hungry by the time the meal is ready to eat. While we wait for the logs to produce coals we drink. Man! Can South Africans drink! (This characteristic fits in nicely with my Irish heritage.) They mostly drink beer and wine, but also Rum and Coke, or Brandy and Coke, or Tequila and Tequila. They eat meat and lots of it. No one knows how to braai like a South African male. It makes my mouth water just to think of it.

“Ach!” means, “I miss-spoke. I meant to say I would like a Rum, not a Tequila.”

"Now", Just now" and "Now now" all mean something different as to time when something will happen but I always get them mixed up. I think "just now" means "sometime in the future," or "don't hold your breath."

We learned in our firearm handling classes that "immediately" is defined as "by the end of the next business day."

No one knows how to enjoy the weekend better than South Africans. At least here in Hoedspruit they do. Shops close earlier on Fridays and even earlier on Saturdays. Most of the town is closed on Sundays. People savor and enjoy their time off to spend time with family or attend sporting events. We could learn something  here.

We noticed that when South Africans camp in Kruger, they build mesh fences or barriers all around their site. They bring lots of stuff and 100 feet of extension cord because they like to have lots of lighting strung up around their sites. But they are very quiet and respectful of others and they go to bed when the meat is finished so this is another reason to like them.

I won’t talk about the politics because when it’s discussed, South Africans always say, “Ach! We could talk about this for days and no one would agree!” But everyone we have spoken with says that Nelson Mandela, 94 and in hospital, was a great leader and is wonderful man.

We hear side striped jackal at night and choruses of birds during the day. Five warthogs just walked by. I love it. Two properties away, Derek Solomon, renowned safari leader, birder, and wildlife sound recorder extraordinaire, generously gave three hours of his time to tutor us in the use of sound equipment that we use to record vocalizations of animals we meet in Kruger.

We don’t deserve any of this generosity! But we are grateful. I only hope we have a chance to pay it back. Or forward.

Scott and Tris

Hoedspruit South Africa

Spoor – Not to be Confused with S’more, A Tasty Campfire Treat.

 

Greetings from Teresa J. OKane, Field Guide. Well, more like Tris, Spoor Aficionado. 

During a trip to Africa fourteen years ago, Scott and I took John Locke’s Bush Trails and Training Course in Klaserie South Africa. We took it not because we wanted to become game guides but because it was for us the best way to learn about the bush while living in it. We slept in an unfenced big five game area in canvas tents, pooed and peed in a long drop, showered with a bucket and a cup or with a sun shower, took turns cooking for the group of 4 students plus John, walked twice a day in the bush, had class under the shade of the one tall tree in camp, heard the calls and examined the spoor of hyena and elephant and leopard that passed in the night, and loved every minute of it. We never forgot our experience so when we decided to return to Africa, Scott researched courses that would cater to our mutual love and appreciation of the bush.

 

A lot has changed in the Field Guide Training world in 14 years. There is more emphasis on the hospitality end of things and courses are longer. Fourteen years ago, FGASA (Field Guide Association of South Africa) was young and there were only two other students on our course. They were Afrikaners and English was their second language. These days, field guide courses include students from around the world. Some students go on to be guides, (a challenge if you are not South African, but possible if you are really, really good at your job) and all are interested in learning about the flora and fauna and skies of Africa, but most go back to Europe or The Americas or Australia having learned a lot about the bush and had a hell of a great time away from home.

What made the Ulovane training special was the quality of the instructors and the wealth of knowledge of our mentors Schalk and Candice Pretorius, Andrew Kearney, Brett Horley, and Cobus Spies. These names might not mean anything to you outside of Southern or Eastern Africa but anyone lucky enough to have even one of these people instructing them on the bush can consider themselves fortunate. That coupled with the uncommon number of reserves that served as our classroom, world-renowned places like Amakhala, Shamwari, and Klaserie, made it an unforgettable experience. Oh, and while at Ulovane a wonderful woman named Thabisa and another named Joyce cooked our meals, made our beds(!) and did our laundry. Yes, a lot has changed in 14 years.

 

We, along with 4 other students, completed the seven-week course in temperatures that ranged from heat stroke inducing to frigid and wet. We had many days that were perfect – still mornings and afternoon skies filled with bright white clusters of cotton ball clouds that drifted by in a soft breeze.  In all weather, we learned to track wild animals and identify their spoor. We learned how to aim and shoot a rifle big enough to stop a lion (or me as it turns out. More on that later). We beat about the bush at Ulovane (the school), and at Amakhala, Shamwari, and Klaserie Game Reserves. With our armed mentors we walked in big five - lion, leopard, buffalo, elephant, rhino - areas with all except for leopards, which we saw from a vehicle more times than seems fair. Sometimes the game we encountered on walks was almost too much. Eight buffalo would be thrilling enough for me but eight hundred can be daunting.

One day we walked for nine hours through Klaserie game Reserve. The first eight hours were too quiet. We strained to hear sounds of ox peckers alarm calling or guinea fowl kicking up the dust and we concentrated more on signs and tracks of what had been there before. Tracking is my favorite thing. It’s like beachcombing for treasure. We tracked lions for over two hours but lost the trail in thick tall grass. I spent several minutes touching, breaking apart, and sniffing a small pile of dung to determine if it was a baby white rhino or a baby elephant and it felt good when I showed our guide all the twigs and leaves in the poo because while the initial consensus was that it was rhino, I had thought all along it was ellie.

Then in the last hour, two hours after I had returned to camp with Christina who had brought us lunch at a waterhole, our group, tired and looking forward to returning to camp, came upon a breeding herd of elephants. Breeding herds can be cranky because they consist of moms, aunts, juveniles, and babies and everyone knows that the most dangerous animal in nature is a mama bear protecting her cubs. And they were. Not bears. Cranky. Several charged. Escape was into a ravine, then another ravine. By the time the elephants had chased the group a sufficient distance away, everyone was out of breath. Inhaling deeply was not such a good idea because a few feet away lay a fresh, half eaten carcass of an enormous male kudu. Brett Horley, our mentor, rifle still at the ready, looked at the carcass then in a split second, arched his back and aimed the rifle up into the tree directly above his head and that of the kudu’s mangled remains. Scott said, “By the look on Brett’s face he expected to see a leopard, sprawled out on a limb, tummy half full and ready to protect his kill.  Just as we all began to relax, a spotted hyena trotted by not 15 feet away. Tris, you should have stayed! You would have loved it!”

Another day in Klaserie, just before sunset, we approached two female lion on foot. From far away they saw us or smelled us or heard us. But unlike the few other encounters with lion where the lions noticed us, watched us then carried on resting or sleeping, these lionesses immediately stood up, growled, and charged. Rifles were cocked and retreat was made quickly back to the vehicle. I think it was the most adrenaline that has ever pumped through my body. As we retreated I knew I should keep my eyes on the lions but I couldn’t make myself look. I walked quickly expecting a lion paw to trip me up at any moment. Brett, and Jason a neighboring lodge owner and another mentor extraordinaire, were puzzled at the aggressive response these lions gave us because we were so far away when they charged. It was decided that we should investigate the lions from the safety of the game vehicle.

Entering a grassy opening through dense thicket we discovered the reason for the angry charge. There, lying in the grass panting, were a group of three female and two male lions. One female was pregnant and one or both of the others was in oestrus and the two males were vying for their attention.  On foot, we had walked into their bedroom and spoiled the mood. No wonder the two females were angry! For reasons beyond my understanding, the lions paid little or no attention to us as long as we were in the vehicle so we were fortunate to view some amazing animal behavior - scent marking, submissive behavior, invitations to mate, and a tussle between the two males. Watch the action here, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wz0pFGKD0-k

Not every day was filled with as many thrills but every day was exciting and new. Scott and I haven’t studied that much since college. We learned about gestation periods and weaning ages, weight of dangerous animals and their charging speeds (really, you don’t have a chance. If something wants to take you down, it will). We learned what they eat, how much they sleep, and what their footprints look like in soft sand, mud, and almost too hard to see prints at all substrate.  We learned all about digestive tracts, mating practices, how tall they stand at the shoulder, and how many teeth they have. I can define a carnassial shear and piloerection. It’s not what you think. I missed it on the practice exam. But I didn’t leave the space empty. Instead I wrote, “I have no idea but it sounds intriguing!”

We also had a few weeks of rifle handling. First we had to earn a certificate of competency from the South African Government. For three days we sat in classroom an hour away from Ulovane in Port Elizabeth and learned all about South African gun law, cleaning and maintenance of firearms, and emergency action drills undertaken when, as South Africans say, “The poo-poo hits the fan.” (see post “Whoopsie! and Other South African Expressions” for more.) We memorized tables with calibers and grains, and formulae for ballistics (internal, external and terminal) and trajectory, and where the brain is located on the big five. We learned to always treat a weapon as if it were loaded and to never ever point a weapon at anyone even if unloaded. We experienced the unbearable pain of pepper spray when our instructor fired a short stream into the air in the small indoor shooting range, “…so that you think twice before you use it. Use it if you need it but know what you are doing to someone.” A little goes a long way. When it hits you, you cannot breathe. Then we took our knowledge out to the shooting ranges. We used a scope on a .308 and had to hit the bull’s eye far down range. That was fun.

We had a lesson in muscle memory. Using dummy cartridges, we loaded the magazine of a .375 rifle, chambered a round, aimed, unloaded and made the rifle “safe” all in fifteen seconds while blindfolded. 

Other timed drills included shooting a poster of a charging buffalo in the brain (a very small red circle between the eyes), handling a misfire, and my favorite, reacting to a charging lion (a poster of a lion running at full speed – or as fast as my fellow student Lewis Buckner and future Game Ranger in the Masai Mara could run the line attached to the lion contraption) while on a simulated walk with guests. In this drill, the lion runs at you with the intent to tear you to shreds. You have to shout at the lion, cock your rifle, tell your guests to stay calm and not run, shout at the lion again, shoot the lion at 5 meters, fire an insurance shot, move to the lion and poke him in the eye to make sure he isn’t just pretending to be dead, reload, and ask your guests if they are all ok. I got the Lion-poster in his right eye with my first shot (In real life, you only have one chance to stop a charging lion). Lion down, no drama, no profanity - except for Scott who might have said “Holy poo-poo Tris! Good shot!”

This was all on Day One of our weeklong Advanced Rifle Handling practical assessment. By Day Three, I was in tears, so sore and bruised up and down my arm and on my breast that I bailed. I remembered that I don’t like guns and would not want to have to shoot an animal anyway, so I was okay with it. Some of the gents tried to encourage me to stick with it. When I said, “If firing a rifle caused pain, bruising and swelling on your nuts, would you keep at it?” and they winced in sympathy. Scott did spectacularly well up until day five, the day of the actual assessment when he impulsively chose a different rifle than the one he had been shooting spectacularly all week. Two weeks later he was re-assessed by James Steyn back in Klaserie and passed with flying colors.

“What does this all mean!” I hear you saying. Not much! Only that if we get the chance, we will do more courses like this in the future.

Scott and Tris

Raptor’s View

Hoedspruit South Africa

Next: “Whoopsie!” And Other South African Expressions

A Test Drive to Angies’ G-Spot

The mechanical examination of N’doto was behind us and Easter weekend was upon us. Given that Hein and Karl were present at N'doto's diagnostic visit I thought it a little surprising when they both suggested that we might enjoy a few days at Angie’s G-Spot located in a valley at the bottom of a steep pass.

“How bad is the road? Is it worse than the seven passes road that we took back from George where we bought the tent?” I asked.

“It’s worse, yeah, but you’ll make it. It can be cold up there so bring an extra blanket,” said Hein.

“I admit that a place called Angie’s G-Spot sounds intriguing but I’m worried about taking N’doto on rough, steep roads before she’s serviced. Besides that, the high lift jack we ordered hasn’t come in yet. What if we get a puncture? We’re just getting used to right hand steering and lift side driving, and we aren’t too good at either yet.” I paused, trying not to sound like a nervous Nellie….  “Wait a minute, isn’t this the same road that you took a spill on your motorbike a few weeks ago? The steep, gravel road with the hairpin turns? The motorbike that’s been in the shop since then?”

“Yeah, but you’ll make it,” he said with a smile. “Harold and Angie have a great little place. It’s very remote. No electricity but you can set up camp along the river, they have a great bar, and they do meals.”

Scott phoned to see if a camping spot was available and Angie said, “Yes, please come!”

We looked at each other. I said, “It would be good to do a test run.” Scott added, “We have everything we need but a ladder for the tent.” So off we went with camp food and wine and Karl’s ladder.

After 13 kilometers on the gravel road we met the huge machine that had graded the road behind us. “No wonder it didn’t seem so bad,” Scott said as he hit the first pothole. Then we climbed. And climbed and turned and climbed and slid and bumped along on the most treacherous road I have ever been on. The hillside fell away from the road so suddenly and steeply that it was like driving along a 40 kilometer long L-bracket. While Scott kept his arms busy shifting and steering, I practiced my Swahili. “Hatari!” Danger! “Edge. Edge. EDGE!” I warned repeatedly. We couldn’t drive in the center of the road because the left side and the right side together were the center. After getting eaten by a particularly bad set of pot holes, there was a new clunking sound coming from the right wheel.

Forty-five minutes later, after we had found that of the three stick shifts poking through the floor board, the one with the red handle was an extra low gear, I began to relax. N’doto was now making her way up the mountain without stalling and there were no other vehicles coming either way (which meant it was also the inaugural drive in N’doto when we were not passed by at least 30 vehicles.) Then we began to smell smoke. We rounded a bend and an entire mountain side opened up in front of us completely engulfed in flames. The billowing smoke spread across the valley like storm clouds. Did I mention it was windy? The flames jumped and raced and danced up the slopes. It was the first forest fire, the first inferno I have ever seen up close. How close? So close that if N’doto had stalled I’m not sure we could have outrun the flames. 

“Should we turn back?” I asked ridiculously.  There was no turning back because there was no turning around. The road was so narrow we would have had to go back down the mountain for 30 kilometers. We hadn’t passed a farm, a scenic overlook (no room for one), or a pullout since leaving the N2, (or as Marius called it, the N-Tuna.)

“We’ll make it,” Scott said quietly.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?!”

About 15 minutes later we spotted a few buildings and a red Coca Cola sign pointing to Angie’s G-Spot. We were welcomed in gracious South African style, offered a drink, and pointed in the direction of the river where we could set up camp and unfold my house for the night.

We set up our chairs and enjoyed a beer at the river’s edge. We stopped short of setting up camp because as we sipped our beers the wind shifted. The sky became smokier and a few flakes of ash landed on Scott’s shoulder. A dog named Black and another named Cruiser came for a visit. A pig named Chiquila wandered by.

 

“Oh man. I wonder where the rest of this road leads. Maybe we should carry on.” I said more than a little worried. “I’ll go ask as the bar if they’ve had any news about the fires.”

Harold and Angie were in Plettenburg Bay doing their shopping but a friend of theirs was minding the place in their absence. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Well, I’m a little worried about these fires. Have you heard anything?”

“You’ll be fine,” said the barkeep. "You’ll have plenty of notice if we need to evacuate.” Then he added emphatically, “Don’t worry, you’ll make it.” Why does everyone keep saying that?!

I walked back along the river, checking the depth should it become necessary to lay down in it to escape the flames. But it was more creek than river. Behind me, storm clouds were building.

I found Scott sitting where I left him, only a few more flakes of ash resting on his shoulders.

“Well, I’ve been assured that we have nothing to worry about. Let’s set up our bedroom.”

We had it almost completely set up, me on the roof and Scott up the back on Karl’s ladder attaching the rain fly, when the skies opened up and bombarded us with buckets and buckets of rain.

“Hooray!” I shouted back to Scott. “We do have that new clunk coming from the chassis but at least we don’t have to worry about the fire.”

 

We finished setting up and stood by the rear door under the half of the tent that hangs over the back until the storm finished. After wood fired hot showers (thanks to Lagos the groundskeeper), we retreated to the bar where we spent the evening getting to know Angie and Harold and hearing their stories. (Everyone here has an incredible story.)

“G-Spot doesn’t mean what you think,” said Harold as we were about to call it a night. “Six years ago we stopped at this spot on the river and Angie just kept saying, ‘This is so great. Just great.’ So we set about buying the land and building this spot. The G, (Great), Spot. Today is our 5 year anniversary of the opening.” Drinks all around.

Scott and Tris

Angie’s G-Spot, South Africa

 

 

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http://www.amazon.com/Safari-Jema-Journey-Adventure-Casablanca/dp/1463741790/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1341666919&sr=8-1&keywords=safari+jema