ANIMAL SPOTTING IN SOUTH AFRICA

We saw a rhino within five minutes of entering the reserve. We didn’t even have to search for it. The rhino came lumbering across the tar-sealed road as we rounded a tight corner, small calf close by its side. It walked slowly across the road, obviously familiar with the excited murmurings of park visitors and the whirring of cameras, before heading off into the scrubby brush on the other side of the road. The three safari novices in the car, Mary, Melanie and myself, thought that this animal spotting caper would be a walk (or drive) in a park. However, the quest to see the rest of the so-called big Five (lion, elephant, leopard and buffalo, so named because they are the game animals that are most dangerous to hunt on foot) would prove to be much more time consuming. It would also show that there are a lot of lion and leopard shaped rocks in the park.

First rhino (and calf) that we saw in the game reserve.

Hluhluwe Umfolzi is Kwazulu Natal’s biggest game reserve and the first park of its type in Africa. It is now most famous for its large number of rhinos, in particular white rhinos, like the ones that we had seen soon after entering the park. 1600 of them call Hluhluwe Umfolzi home. We saw rhinos (always white rhinos) on several other occasions until we almost became apathetic with a(nother) rhino sighting.

Giraffes under the shade

Going animal spotting was a different experience than I thought it would be. For one thing, this wasn’t a case of bouncing around the back of an old jeep, holding on for grim life as your driver pursued game whilst dodging anthills and potholes. Instead, you could slowly cruise along tar-sealed roads in a small car, watching intently out the window for wildlife. Nor was this a case of massive herds of gnu and zebra, like you would see migrating across the Masai Mara. But that’s not to say that the park was devoid of life. Birds like rollers and raptors were a common sight. Animals were seen but were often alone or in small groups, grazing by the roadside or in many cases, walking on the road itself, utilising it as just another trail, seemingly unafraid of passing cars. It was hard to know if they were habituated by the constant stream of traffic or if their behaviour had changed because of it.

Warthogs at the front gate

By the time we had seen our first rhino, we had already seen a group of warthogs at the front gate and before that some giraffes and zebras on the hill that sat opposite the park-gates. On our drive from the gate to our accommodation, we saw a variety of antelope (impala, nyala and kudu), a lone baboon and groups of giraffes grazing quietly by the road-side, managing to somehow look graceful and ungainly at the same time. By the time, we reached our accommodation at Hilltop Camp, it was almost dark and as the gates close at night, we had to hurry to ensure that we weren’t locked out for the night, an uncomfortable and potential dangerous experience best avoided. At Hilltop, we slept in round Zulu style huts with thatched roofs. The camps are fenced off but it’s still possible for animals to get in; we saw bushbucks and monkeys in the grounds so I guess it could be possible for larger predators to get in and roam about. It was a thought I tried to not think about too much when I went walking to the toilet at night.

A curious and photogenic male nyala

The next morning at breakfast, we heard stories of a young male lion up a tree not far from camp. We quickly drove to the spot but the guides there said it had left 5 minutes earlier, the first of many near-misses involving felines. That morning, we had our first sighting of buffalo, the second of our big five. A large herd came down a hill following a well-worn track, looking all the world like a herd of admittedly aggressive looking cows on their way to the milking shed. Some of the bulls sported impressive horns and some of their flanks were scarred, most likely from battling with each other. They passed slowly across the road, past our car (which probably weighed the same as one of them) before heading down to the stream on the opposite side of the road. 

Cantankerous bovine

We continued driving, sometimes alone, sometimes following a truck from one of the park’s lodges. We saw cute vervet monkeys playing and watched nature unfold as a Hamerkop caught a fish and then lost it after being bullied out of its catch by a larger black stork. We saw gnu and zebra and had our first elephant sighing as a pachyderm crossed over in front of us and then decided to meander along the road, bringing traffic to a complete halt for a dozen minutes or so.

The Hamerkop, right before losing its fish to a bigger black stork.

We still had no sightings of a cat (lion, leopard or cheetah) and about this time, the concerted effort dubbed Hunt for Big Pussy was initiated. Kerry randomly met friends who had been in the park for only a day. In that time, they had seen the Big Five, hippos, cheetahs and even wild dogs. Such reports gave us hope, made us optimistic that by persevering we could hope to see all of the animals that we wanted to. For a change of pace, we went to check out several of the hides erected around watering holes that may or may not prove tempting to animals. At one, we were able to watch a herd of impala for a long time, at another, some birds with beautiful long tails. But still no cats.

One of the hides, no cats but we watched a group of impala from here.

That night, we took our first guided trip. We sat on the back of a jeep with a family from England (the father talked incessantly on his cell-phone to an employee in England, much to the annoyance of everyone else on the tour). We enjoyed a beer at one hill-stop top, enjoying the last glimpses of light before we got back onto the truck, ready to begin spot-lighting. Night viewing is not as good for photography but can be a good time to spot animals, in particular the nocturnal predators. Leopards are commonly caught up in trees by the spotlight but not that night.  The highlight of our trip was a sighting of a rapidly disappearing hyena escaping from the spotlight and a civet that darted across the road in front of us. Not to be discouraged, we signed up for a dawn ride for the next morning as well, chancing on some elephants and a group of rowdy bull buffalo wallowing in mud. We also saw our first leopard, not a cat but a leopard turtle, one of the so-called little Big 5 (the others being the Elephant shrew, the rhino beetle, the Buffalo weaver bird and the ant-lion). Frustratingly, this would be the closest we would get to a leopard sighting during our time in Hluhluwe Umfolzi.

Our guide with a leopard turtle, one of the little big 5

Kerry was probably getting sick of the three of us wanting to drive and search for animals every waking minute but us non-South Africans were still keen to try and glimpse a big cat, eye RSI and scanning the horizon head-aches notwithstanding. We were rewarded for our persistence with a glimpse of a male lion, sitting majestically and aloof on a rocky outcrop, a good 100 metres from the road but easily seen through binoculars. In contrast to our excitement in seeing him, he seemed nonchalant, dismissive of our existence. The cliché misnomer “King of the jungle” never seemed more apt as he sat overseeing his domain, with us being just another of his insignificant subjects. This, after all, is his habitat, his environment and we were encroaching on his life-style.

The conclusion of Hunt for Big Pussy 

The greatest sight we saw was one of the last things we saw on our third night in the park. We stopped for a big solitary bull elephant that was acting aggressively (in the end, he actually charged at one car). The reason for his angst may have been that he wasn’t alone; instead, he was at the head of a thunder of about 50 elephants, including several juveniles. The elephants, ignorant of time, made their way slowly across the road as cars backed up on either side, waiting for the great beasts to cross. It was a majestic sight and easily the sight of our time in Hluhluwe Umfolzi. As we drove off marvelling at the size of the group we had just witnessed, we came across another one, this one maybe even larger in number than the previous one, foraging in a field not 500 metres from where we had waited for the other beasts to pass. Again, we took time to watch them interact with one another, being careful to keep a safe distance (unlike the car-load of Asian tourists we saw the next day who got out of their car to take pictures of an elephant less than 25 metres).

The second thunder of elephants we saw.

Hluhluwe Umfolzi may not be South Africa’s premier safari destination (that honour would fall to Kruger whose big cat sightings are legendary) but it makes for one hell of an alternative. Kerry’s father was probably right when he said that you needed to walk in the African bush to really savour and experience it fully, to get to know its sounds and smells (some of that smell in my case would have been fear). But that being so, I don’t feel cheapened by my experience. Those three days, as an avid animal follower, were a dream come true and something that I definitely want to repeat at other parks in Africa.

VIEWS FROM THE ROOF OF AFRICA

The area we were staying in in South Africa reminded us of where we come from in New Zealand; lush, green hills as far as the eye can see used by dairy and sheep farmers. The difference here is that sheep farmers face real threats, both human and animal. Caracals, jackals, hyenas and maybe even leopards are still in the area. Lambs and sheep make an easy target for these creatures. Sheep are also conveniently sized for human poachers, you can strap a sheep onto your back but it’s hard to do that with a dairy cow. It was Christmas Eve as we set out for Lesotho, and signs written in Zulu hung from some of the farm gates expressing the availability or not of Christmas lambs.

The order of the day was to take a trip into Lesotho, a small country completely surrounded by South Africa. Lesotho is made up almost entirely of Basotho people, 99.7% of people identify as being Basotho, making Lesotho one of the more homogeneous countries in the world. As well as being breathtakingly beautiful (admittedly an impression made from only three hours in the country), it is extremely poor with many of the population surviving on less than a buck 50 a day. HIV is endemic, with the prevalence at around 23%, one of the highest in the world. Many of Lesotho’s most notable facts relate to its geography. It is a geographical curiosity, given that it is entirely landlocked by South Africa and as such is the southernmost landlocked country. For the record, it is the only independent state in the world that lies entirely above 1,400 metres (4,593 ft) in elevation. Its lowest point of 1,400 metres (4,593 ft) is the highest lowest point for any country (if that makes sense). Over 80% of the country lies above 1,800 metres. It may surprise you that South Africa didn’t swallow up Lesotho but it wasn't (some would say it was saved) because they were a crown colony of Britain, rather than being administered by either the Cape colonial government or by one of the Boer Republics. It remained a colony until its independence from Britain in 1966. Of course, its economy remains closely linked to South Africa’s, with water sold to that country and the remittance of workers (both legal and illegal) from South Africa, are both major contributors to Lesotho’s economy. However, the agricultural sector is still the biggest player in Lesotho.

To get there, our first port of call was to go to the Sani Pass Hotel, where we would meet up with Ruan, our guide and driver for the day. You can’t drive yourself, at least not in a sedan. The way to Lesotho from this part of Kwazulu-Natal is via the Sani Pass, a treacherous 9km stretch of road that winds through the Drakensberg mountains, in a no-mans land between the South African and the Lesotho immigration that sane people say requires a 4-wheel drive vehicle and a lot of nous to navigate it (Luckily, Ruan was behind the wheel of a pretty robust looking Land Rover). The Sani Pass is the highest road in Africa and is reputably the third highest anywhere in the world, rising to 3,000 metres above sea level.

Many rivers to cross.

We set off along the bumpy track that was only going to get bumpier. Fortunately, in Ruan, we had an experienced driver who probably drove the Sani pass in excess of 100 times a year. He could navigate past potholes that looked like meteor strikes and ruts that looked like the handiwork of giant earthworms. At the South African border, we handed our passports over to Ruan. He took care of the formalities, leaving us to mingle with some migrant workers going home for the holiday season. If we thought our conditions were cramped, these guys were much worse off. 15 or so people in a van filled to the brim with gifts and luggage can’t have lead to a pleasant journey up the pass.

Waiting at the SA immigration office.

After the immigration office, the road got progressively worse, the incline steeper. The Sani Pass was created following the trail made by pack animals carrying goods into Lesotho from South Africa that in turn were made by following the migratory paths of animals etched out over centuries. It was finally extended into its only just vehicle friendly nature in the 1940s. We forded small streams, gazed up at waterfalls and took in the scenery of the Drakensbergs, one of South Africa’s prime nature spots and a UNESCO World Heritage site. We could make out our destination, the top of the Sani Pass, someway off in the distance. Here and there, birds would flit past, rollers and sunbirds, birds of extravagant colours and ridiculous tails. We were on the look out for bearded vultures, a rare bird in this region now. We stopped at one lookout, where we found a hyena track and saw some shy baboons, far removed from the inquisitive and aggressive beasts we had seen on the Cape peninsula. Leopards had been spotted recently but there was to be no such feline sighting for us. Proteas, the strangely beautiful flower that serves as a symbol for South African sports teams post apartheid, grew here. We were buffeted with fierce winds, an indication that we were getting some elevation and that we were trapped in a wind tunnel of a valley where the weather could be capricious. Ruan took us around every rut, through well-worn paths that I’m sure tested him and would have exposed the inexperienced driver. Towards the top, we climbed via a succession of kickbacks, going past one of the overloaded vans we had seen earlier (gear on the side off the road, people presumably taken in other vehicles in an attempt to get home before Christmas). At another point, we passed the remnants of a long broken down SUV, and passed another that had seemed to have overheated on the way up. Despite the sharp corners, Ruan managed to take them all in one go, which given their sharpness, it wouldn’t have been a loss of face if he had had to resort to a couple of attempts to get around some of them. It was both a relief and a disappointment to reach the top, although I didn’t fear for my life as my companions did. I’m not sure if that is a sign of strength or stupidity.

She's steep alright.

At the top of Sani Pass was the Lesotho immigration office, which consisted of a solitary, small building with Immigration, Welcome to Lesotho daubed on its white wall in black paint. It didn’t need to be high-tech. Lesotho doesn't attract huge numbers of tourists and the Sani pass is a hell of a way to get into a country. After a quick pit stop, toilet break and obligate photo under the Sani pass sign, we continued our journey on into Lesotho, known affectionately as the roof of Africa. We went past a small village, past a school building donated by Canada. The biggest building was the large, communal shearing shed. Agriculture is definitely the king here, and sheep farming is the trump card. In fact, 75% of the population of Lesotho is still rural. We passed shepherds who watched over their flocks, the sheep grazing without boundaries. Ruan said that the shepherds just had to obtain the consent of local chiefs to graze and that the annual movements were often repetitive, flocks following the same route year after year. The shepherds were young men, some orphans, willing to work for little, often to help buy off family debt. They were dressed in gumboots and all of them carried the traditional Lesotho blanket for warmth. 

Shepherds, sheep and a dog.

Shepherd with a sick sheep.

Some of them had fierce looking dogs with them, who looked like long haired golden labs on steroids, bred both to herd sheep as well as protect the flock from predators and poachers. We drove past one shepherd who was walking down the road carrying a sick sheep to who knows where. We drove for about 10 kilometres, until we found a spot to enjoy our packed lunch. From here, we could see for miles around, including the peak of the tallest mountain in Southern Africa, Thabana Ntlenyana, at 3,482 metres. I went for a walk but soon turned back, the strong head wind made progress difficult and cut through my flimsy coat.  Some of the shepherds noticed us and we watched them approach us from a distance, their long, languid strides eating up the difficult terrain, their blankets flowing from their shoulders in the strong wind. When they reached us, they initiated in conversation using those universal travelers questions, where are we from, how long would will be in the country, how old were we. We chatted for a few minutes, they showed us their cell phones (it always surprises me the spread of modern technology) and we gave them some rand and some food as a gesture of Christmas goodwill. I’m always a bit wary of giving money to individuals, preferring to give it to charities, but these guys live a lonely life in a pretty hostile environment and deserved a helping hand.  

Our three wise men on Christmas Eve.

After this, we got back into the truck and headed back towards the pass. Just before we arrived there, we stopped at a small village comprised of about 5 houses, all in the round Rondavel style, made from mud, stones and dried dung. The round lines help protect it against the strong winds that have seen many Western style houses crumple. Some older looking shepherds were hanging around, looking cozy in their traditional blankets. School aged children were reading or studying, the older ones helping the younger ones, with their reading. Pre school children were playing with what pass for toys here, rocks and an old 1.5 litre Coke bottle. The contrast between these children and the children of the family we were staying with in South Africa was immense. Our hosts children, while not spoilt, had toys to play with, books to read, DVDs to watch. In Lesotho, the children played with trash because they didn’t have toys to play with. We wondered why toys and books hadn’t been brought up from South Africa but in the end, South Africa has its own social problems to deal with and many of the children there would be no better off than the children we saw in Lesotho.

Kids reading.

We went into the front rondavel where we met a young lady who gave us some bread (very delicious) cooked over a dung fire and some alcohol (not so delicious, it reminded me of bad rice wine). We chatted with her, with Ruan acting as interpretator. We admired her radio, powered by solar panels. We traded some South African rand for Lesotho loti, bought some bread from her and purchased some cheap handicrafts. Ruan told us later that of the several companies who stop by the village, his is the only one that gives money to the villagers. All of the other companies exploit the villagers, adding to the authenticity of the tourist’s trip but give nothing back in return. The villagers (the ‘host’ for the day rotates among the woman who live here) just hope that the tourists will buy something. Sometimes they don’t, which means that they lose money from the bread they have baked. I found it shocking that tour companies didn’t pay any money to these people whose life was intruded upon so tourists could feel validated. We paid a not insubstantial sum of money to visit Lesotho and it made me sick that other companies didn’t feel the need to pass some of that money on to people who really need it.

Dung fired bread.

Last stop in Lesotho was the Sani Pass Chalet. The Sani Pass Chalet is said to be the highest pub in Africa, 3,000 metres up.  The views make that claim easy to believe, as you look back down into South Africa back down the pass, over the Drakensbergs and further out to what I imagined could well have been the Indian Ocean coast. It’s certainly the highest altitude where I’ve enjoyed a beverage, a Maluti beer, one of Lesotho’s finest.

Enjoying a bevvie at Africa's highest pub.

On the way back down the pass, Ruan mentioned how there are now plans afoot to tar the road. The reasons given are mainly for the benefit of trade and commerce between the two countries, although given the steepness and windiness of the road, big trucks would find it impossible to make it up. I’m sure that the Taxi van drivers would sure appreciate a tar road. Opponents of the tar scheme feel that it will degrade the road and the environment and make the icy winter conditions even more treacherous than they are now.  However, as a tourist, I appreciated the remote of the place and the difficulty of the drive. However, tarring would take away something of the wonder and sense of accomplishment (however shallow that sentiment is seeing as you were just a passenger in a vehicle) from reaching the top. Given that the project was supposed to start in 2006 and hasn’t yet, there might be a reprieve to tourists who want to brave this pass. The drive and Lesotho are worth it.

CAGE DIVING-WHEN SHARKS ATTACK

Above: Check out the teeth on this guy.

Cage diving was always been something I was going to do in South Africa. It would be on my bucket list I guess, if I knew exactly what that term meant. The only issue was that I wanted to find a responsible tour operator, not a gung ho cowboy who throws a couple of goat carcasses into the ocean and waits for the sharks to come, disregarding any environmental or ecological concerns. And it begs the question, who wants be in a small cage surrounded by great whites in a feeding frenzy anyway? A bit of research (thanks to the wife) and we found an operator whose environmental credentials I was happy with.

We were diving out of Gansbaai, which has assumed the mantle of the cage diving capital of South Africa and is the best place on Earth for tourists to see great whites. Gansbaai is a small town three hours or so from Cape Town and is like any other small town from around the world in that when it finds something to embrace, it doesn’t let go. The association Gansbbai has with sharks is a long running one, although initially it was through a shark liver oil factory in the 1940s. Now, the emphasis is very much focused on live sharks and reminders of sharks are omnipresent here in this town of 7000. At the Great White House, (the home of our tour operator), a quick video and a Q&A session sufficed for our training and we soon boarded the boat to find ourselves some great whites. Sharing Jaws quotes, the passengers were excited but subdued.  For some, this may have been conquering a fear or phobia, for others something to fill in a holiday, for others offering a chance to do something they had been wanting to do for a long time. Whatever the motivation, everyone was tense, hopeful that today wasn’t going to be one of those rare days were no or few sharks are spotted on the dive. Since it was summer, we didn’t head to the famous Shark Alley (the sharks can only be bothered hunting there when the seal pups head out in the winter) but to a spot not actually that far off quite a picturesque yellow sand beach. This proximity to the beach reminded me of helicopter pictures taken in Durban where there were as many large sharks on the beach side of the shark nets as on the open ocean side. It also serves as a reminder that great whites don’t see us as a food source. They are in fact discerning diners preferring prey that is not encased in a wetsuit and armed with a surfboard. Most attacks occur when sharks are just taking a preliminary nip at us to see what we are. It’s just unfortunate that those nips are conducted with huge jaws, meaning that even these investigative bites often cause wounds that are fatal.

When we got to a spot the crew deemed suitable, they chummed the water, not with goat carcasses but with fish liver oil extract, a way to entice the beasts without actually feeding them. 15 minutes later, we had our first shark sighting. Nothing really prepares you for the majesty and grace of your first Great White sighting. Virtually unchanged for millions of years, it is one epic hunting machine. The sharks (we saw eight different sharks during the day) would sometimes hover around the boat, chasing the fish heads or the seal decoy thrown from the boat on a rope, muchlike a dog chases a bone. The decoys were dragged towards the people waiting in the cage, sometimes causing the shark to lunge in a last minuteattempt to snatch their prize with teeth bared right in front of the cage as if it were attacking the divers. Only once did one of the great fish succeedin catching the fish heads before they were hauled onboard. I feltsatisfaction on behalf of the shark, gloating at its victory over the puny fisherman.

When it came to our time in the cage, I descended into the cage, thick wet-suit on to combat the cold and with last minute and redundant reminders to keep limbs inside the cage. Surprisingly, given that I was going to be sharing a space with earth’s most feared predator, I was not at all apprehensive, not as nervous as I felt I should have been. Despite their reputation, all I could see that day was a supremely designed creature, ultimately adapted to their environment. We hung in the cage until the sharks approached. A crewman would yell instructions “Shark, left” or “Shark, right”. We would dive (great whites are scared off by bubbles so this was all free-diving) and watch the shark, sometimes as it swam by harmlessly, sometimes as it attacked the decoys and by proxy the cage, teeth bared as it lunged at the fish heads. Again and again, the sharks would come, meaning that our run was the most frenetic 30 minutes that any group enjoyed in the cage. Wanting more but chilled by the cold Atlantic waters, I clambered back on board, still buzzing from what I had witnessed.

Shark diving was not as I imagined. It didn’t set the pulse racing as other adventure sports have done. Instead, it was serene, almost peaceful. Don’t think for a minute that I underestimate the power or danger of these animals. They could just as easy remove a human leg as we could swat a fly. But when protected by a cage and a mask, one can appreciate the rugged beauty, the pureness of their movements and also the fragility of their existence. Remember no matter how much we may fear sharks, sharks have much more to fear from people. The more people that can see sharks as they are, instead of as a caricature, the greater the chance sharks have of survival.