10272011 Maun, Okavango Delta, Botswana
The Florida Everglades should aspire to be the Okavango Delta. What the United States has been unable to do, the Namibians, Botswanans and Zambians have done : they have forgone the development of this extraordinary wet part of the planet in the middle of a vast desert despite the fact that all three nations are incredibly thirsty.
The boat left the new bridge over the Thamalakane and Boro channels at 9:30 am. I missed a good shot of an elderly man dressed in black pants, grey sport coat, slightly lighter grey shirt, black tie and a wide brimmed hat, also grey and topped with black tie and black, thick rimmed glasses. He was walking down a dusty road with a huge smile on his face, his pearly white teeth in contrast to and winning over his dark appearance.
The Okavango starts at the Buffalo fence: domestic animals reside on the south side of the fence and wild animals inhabit the north. If either ventures into the other’s zone, it is shot and buried on the spot. The Buffalo fence is 15 miles up-river. As locals in a bush town in Alaska might depict location by mountain ranges or rivers, all things on the delta are in reference to the roughly east- west running Buffalo fence and the main channels of the delta of which there are four or five.
Our group of six paying customers, one driver, one cook, one guide and one general helper used two boats to go 39 miles north of the Buffalo fence to an island called White island. I couldn’t help but think of the opening tune to Gilligan’s Island. The paying customers were comprised of Sean, a 6’2″ chain smoking, beer drinking South African; think jovial rugby player. Dan is a young surfer type from Australia making his way around the world with just a backpack. He uses only local transport to get where he is going. Beside myself there was a Frenchman and his 10 year old son and his South Korean wife. Our camp Xaxa, is one of four primitive campsites in the delta and is noted for its lions and is in the southern edge of the Moremi National Park at the point of a peninsula. The island is like a slice of swiss cheese in that the holes are swamps and very little dry land actually exists on the island.
The thousand forks in the rivers of grass we correctly navigated were a tribute to our driver, Obe. The moniker Obe-Wan-Kanobe of which he was well aware was an apt metaphor to his boat handling and navigation. The channels were often narrower than the boat. The moves involved getting on plane quickly, missing sand bars, starting turns before the turn was apparent and not cutting up the grasses with messy line selection and of course looking out for hippos and crocs. It was entertaining from a speed perspective and elephants, hippos, crocs and fish eagles were the most oft seen animals.
We got there with a couple hours of daylight left. The guide was surprised when Sean, Dan and I asked for a game walk. The Frenchman’s family declined the invitation so after a half hour of preparation we set out. We saw some impala, learned a little about tracking bush animals and learned of trees that can kill fish or cure stomach aches and indigestion and fever in both man and elephants. Then finally when we were a mile or two from camp and a half hour from darkness, we decided to reverse course and make our way back.
Not long after reversing course we spotted a large herd of elephants with plenty of baby elephants meaning the mothers would be very protective. They were heading in the direction of the camp and their course would put them on our return path ahead of us and blocking our way. We were down wind but we had a swamp on either side and there was not an alternate route that did not involve traipsing through croc infested swamps. Eustice our guide said in his broken English, “we must run”. The four of us double-timed for a quarter mile to get ahead of the elephants. The excitement and adrenalin high was noticeable in everyone.
It was now 15 minutes to darkness – colors turned to shades of black. We had just a small open and lightly wooded meadow to cross to reach the edge of the camp site but elephants, hundreds of them, were coming through as well in a direction perpendicular to our heading. We skirted a row of trees keeping low and around one popped a bull elephant just 15 feet away. He wasn’t happy and he let us know it. We started running forward again and made our way past the bull but after another couple hundred feet a mother and calf blocked the way, ears out, standing her ground and making a bit of noise. No getting past this one. About-face and again running the way we came but the bull that was off to our right had flanked us and was now in our tracks. Into the swamp we went picking up the pace as mud oozed into our shoes.
We got to dry ground, pitch dark now with just a few lingering photons. All were shapes and bunches of trees looked like elephants and elephants looked like trees. Which was which? Our eyes were tricked but we regrouped, everyone panting like dogs.
We went north and tried another route and again were shut-down causing yet another retreat. Eustice had a look of concern. The sneaking routes were not working and when we came upon elephants who have poor eyesight to begin with, it only surprised and agitated them more. I suggested a run through the open middle thinking if the elephants clearly recognized humans they wouldn’t be so alarmed. It was considered but we headed north a bit further trying to find a clean line into camp. After 100 yards we found it – just an emphatic, “Run” from Eustice and the four of us full-out bolted the quarter mile into camp past elephants on our right and left.
The camp fire was going and Jarvis the cook remarked, “I wondered where you guys were”. Everyone laughed, cold beers cracked and the stories began.
The next day everyone arose as they cared and a large bush breakfast was readied by the crew. Ham, bacon, eggs, toast, juice, cereal and coffee and in such proportions that everyone wanted to take a nap after finishing. No chance.
A mukuro ride is one of those things most tourists to the delta do. It is a narrow canoe made out of the sausage tree. It takes about 3 months of wood chopping with an ax. The sausage tree isn’t cut down outright; they dig around the roots and cut the roots so the whole tree just eventually tips over. Its most significant traits are its length and narrowness – the passengers sit in the bottom. A guide stands in the back and poles you around the delta for an hour pointing out animals, fish, frogs, dragon flies, trees and when not communicating he answers any question you might have about the delta. Most of the questions were about hippo attacks. You soon find out that there are so many animal incidents in Africa that they don’t even bother printing them in the local paper although I suspect tourism is another reason they aren’t mentioned much. Hippo attacks on mukuros are astonishingly lethal and they happen all the time. We were all a little uneasy but the mukuro ride went well with no mishaps.
The day concluded with some African pike fishing (every other cast) and swimming. The Frenchman and his 10 year old son were leery about getting into croc infested waters. I figured the guides knew what they we doing in selecting a safe spot. Sean and I jumped in first as the heat (125 F) was oppressive. (Note: Three sightseeing planes crashed the past week – many speculated that it was the extreme heat that caused the engine failures. We passed one of the wreckages on the way in). The guides and Dan followed. After some minutes with the all but the Frenchmen and his son in the cool water, they too decided to indulge and take a leap of faith. Funny part was, we kept to the shallows and close to the boat but the French man and his son swam out of bounds over deep, black swirling water, a definite delta swimming no-no. Overly cautious to overly flippant in a matter of minutes: I thought we were going to have a “Dangerous Animals” episode any minute.
We all slept soundly that night. I didn’t hear the lions roaring in the distance as others had but I did hear the family of hippos roaring just behind the boats pulled up on shore just 20 feet away. Sean can talk hippo just like my buddy James talks to cows in Florida – the talents some of us possess! I was told that if I heard them come through the camp at night, I was to stay inside the tent and not turn on my headlamp. If startled by light, they are easily confused and head straight to the water leveling everything between them and the water, including your tent should it be in their path. Hippos are massive and territorial and they can cover ground underwater like some futuristic cloaking device. Some we viewed from a 150 yards away only to have them submerge and surface 50 feet away in a deliberate challenge to vacate their territory. They can and do sneak-up and tip or demolish many boats on the delta.
The next morning was the long game walk. All were present except Sean for the high-light of the safari (Sean was hung-over).
We walked to the other side of the island meandering around swamps as we went, some of the shallow swamps we waded through. We spooked many herds of impala and kudu and we all got some great pictures. Without warning Eustice half shouted and half wispered, ” lion”! I brought my binoculars up and noticed a male and female making off through the bush heading off to the right. We followed their trail for a bit but did not see them again and Eustice advised against tracking them any further in the thick brush – too dangerous. We regrouped and discussed the sighting; we were elated. Suddenly baboons in a neighboring tree off to our left starting going off, howling at full vocalization. We followed the line of sight of the large male look-out baboons far out on a limb and ran in that direction. We got to within 15 feet of a swamp and the haunting growl of lion not 10 feet away stopped all of us dead in our tracks. We inched closer trying to get a good view, the guides frantically tried to keep us in single file for safety. Such a warning growl from a lion makes the hair stand up on end and sends shivers down one’s spine. It’s implicit that the growl is coming from a large chest cavity of a perturbed and dangerous animal. It means simply, “back off”. It kind of sounds like a chugging big block V8 at idle except slower in tempo and throatier – there’s no mistaking its message and its fascinating that you instantly know its intent despite having never heard it: an ancient long forgotten knowledge in some dark recess of grey matter from a time when we lived in caves and were much lower on the food chain. The South Korean lady, until now demure with an almost lethargic attitude now scrambled up a 10 foot termite mound like a monkey. Dan and I climbed up too to get a better look as the brush was so dense we couldn’t see anything. We had unknowingly cornered the lion between us and the swamp. It wanted neither but it had a decision to make and in seconds it jumped into the waist deep swamp covering the width in giant bounds of splashing water and roaring with displeasure as it did. The baboons meanwhile were still making a lot of noise. Eustice reported, “leopard”! Dan said and pointed, “there”! The South Korean lady was still busy clutching the termite mound like her life depended on it and by the time I got around her I had only time for a glimpse of the elusive cat. The baboons quieted down. Leopards are their mortal enemies. Baboons like the sausage fruit from the Sausage tree and so leopards hunt them there.
We had spooked impala, and they in turn had gotten the attention of lions which we also in due time spooked. The lioness and the male lion split up after I saw them (or there were three lions) and one we drove in the direction of a leopard hunting baboons. The mayhem lasted only 30 to 45 seconds but it was cause for celebration when we got back to camp.
It was soon time to go and we broke camp and climbed back into the boats and made our way to Maun. Dan left the next day. I left the day after and Sean left the day after my departure. I came to like dusty, dirty frontier-town Maun, the “Old Bridge Backpackers” and the dozen or so friends I made there. Maun is set to change with the completion of an international airport. Flights will come directly from Europe and more tourists will arrive. Botswana’s government mantra for tourism: “low density, high cost” will be fulfilled. Camping permits are set to increase five-fold or be restricted altogether to drive tourists to the $1000 a night lodges in the delta.
11022011 Kasane, Botswana
I’m finishing this post in Kasne (ka-san-ee). Kasne is in the northeast corner of Botswana and sits on the border of Chobe NP along the Chobe/Zambezi river. It has its charms: warthogs and baboons are a fixture at the camp site and town. Maverick elephants come into town often and destroy trees in people’s yards. Crocs and hippos are everywhere. A wayward leopard was in a tree over the bus stop last year. I just did a 2 day camping safari in Chobe and it was much different than the delta. It was still good, just different. Prices are higher and the wildlife, inundated by tourists every day of the year is acclimated to them to the point it has a Disney Land zoo-like quality. At a Cape Buffalo lion kill this morning, no fewer than 10 tourist buses showed up to gawk at the lion pride taking an after breakfast siesta (after satiating themselves the night before). The Cape Buffalo breeding herd was staring down the lions ready for a rumble but they could barely make their way through the tourist buses. Each tour bus had 10-15 people, all speaking different languages and clicking pictures like the paparazzi. The tour buses pulled up within feet of the sleeping animals and surrounded them. The lions didn’t seem to mind but it felt like harassment and I think my time in Botswana is drawing to a close.
I’m off for Zimbabwe tomorrow.