At twilight, veteran guide Buxton Masasa spied the leopard. A grin paraded across Masasa’s normally impassive face and his usual growl dropped to a murmur.
“See it? Up there in the tree! The lion sees him too!”
Masasa was escorting three of us on a game drive out of the Khwai River Lodge and into the nearby Moremi Wildlife Reserve in northern Botswana. Oliver Boehm and Christine Maier, the young Germans in the back seat of the dark blue Toyota Land Cruiser, craned their necks and pointed. Oliver aimed his camera toward a shadowy cluster of mopane trees.
I could make out the lion readily enough. She stood only a few paces away from our vehicle, peering up into the branches. But I still failed to get a bead on the leopard that Buxton, Oliver and Christine eyed so raptly. Oliver motioned at me to join them in the back and share their unobstructed vantage point.
When I began easing the door open, and stage-whispered, “No, no, no, no!”
Embarrassed, I sank down in my seat, and then I realized that the lion had changed her position during my scramble for a better view. Now she ambled across the road, only about 15 yards in front of us.
I finally did see the leopard, a gold and black streak among the leaves, moving fluidly, more relaxed now that his arch enemy, the lion, had run out of patience.
We observed the leopard for awhile, took more pictures and noticed a half-eaten impala hanging from another tree–a dinner the lion had interrupted and probably coveted.
“Enough?” Masasa called. We nodded reluctantly, and he grabbed his radio mike to let other guides in the reserve know what he had found. To keep such a discovery secret would constitute a breach of game-drive etiquette. Before he could back out of the glade, vehicles from our lodge and others in the vicinity began pulling up.
While we sat around the campfire that night, Masasa told me I had erred quite seriously during the leopard encounter. He explained that anyone leaving a vehicle–even for a few seconds–is inviting attack.
All their lives, animals in the preserves of southern Africa have coexisted with 4-wheel-drive traffic from the tourist safaris. The big cats simply dismiss those odoriferous trucks as harmless iron beasts.
But if I had detached myself, the lion could have closed the space between us in a second. And if I did manage to scramble back into the vehicle, she would now have a whiff of the delicious morsels sitting in those rubber-tired containers.
Masasa apologized for losing his cool a few hours before, but in Moremi, leopards seldom show themselves.
“I might see one every three or four weeks at most,” he said. “Of course, that leopard probably sees me every day.”
In slightly more than a week of sampling safari camps in southern Africa, that would be the only time I experienced knee-weakening fright, and even then in retrospect.
Excursions out of luxury camps like Khwai River Lodge are so well organized, travelers easily forget their vulnerability. They are mere humans surrounded by hundreds of miles of bush, wetlands and desert–tenderfoot intruders peeking in on thousands of creatures who live there all the time.
Guests at those camps hunt with cameras for a few hours each day and then settle into accommodations so uniformly excellent that the raw nature out there momentarily seems far away. Top-of-the-line outfitters and safari hoteliers adhere to certain standards:
– Ample and satisfying meals, including tea-time snacks, refreshments on the game drives, cocktails with hors d’oeuvres, coffee and cordials by the campfire;
– Handsomely furnished reed, stucco or brick cottages topped by thatched roofs–or sturdy “tents” with wooden floors;
– Indoor bathrooms featuring 5-star fixtures and perhaps an outdoor shower just for atmosphere;
– Swimming pools;
– Expert drivers, guides and eager-to-please staff members. You say “Thank you” and they say, “Thank you” back;
– Locations where animals and birds proliferate and the settings feel truly wild, yet strangely unthreatening.
All that buffering can lead to a false sense of security. And after a few days of this, camp-hoppers may develop blase expectations. They see hundreds of zebras and giraffes, a surfeit of elephants, buffalo, lions, hyenas, impala and wildebeests until the sense of excitement wanes. The campers face hardship only when the wine cellar runs out of 1991 Fleur du Cap Cabernet Sauvignon.
There are other ways–more rugged ways–to experience the African wilds. Bare-bones expedition companies offer budget tours. And a lot of hardy adventurers with plenty of time sign on with outfits that take them from one public wildlife reserve to another by bus. They pitch tents under the stars. Some hunting camps on private property continue to let unreconstructed adventurers blast away with live ammo.
Because of time constraints, I chose a softer route. Two of my stops, Khwai River Lodge and the Xaxaba (pronounced KaKaaba) camp– both in or near the lush Okavango Delta in northern Botswana–are run by Gametrackers, a part of the glamorous Orient-Express hotel chain. I also stayed in Chobe National Park at the Chobe Game Lodge, a Moorish-style resort nearer the Zimbabwe border. I finished up with an overnight at the Idube private game reserve near South Africa’s Kruger National Park.
At $400 a day (and up), these places may strike some people as a shameful indulgence, but the prices do include game drives and–with some exceptions–meals. And the guides take guests directly to the action.
Wildlife viewing is one of the major reasons to visit Africa. The United States offers nothing comparable, so a lot of seasoned travelers find the long trip worthwhile. They do have to keep in mind where they are. They cannot assume their overworked credit cards will build an impermeable barrier from the realities of their surroundings.
“One day, a woman called and wanted to know if there would be any wildlife actually in the camp,” a guide at Idube related as we finished off a lavish buffet luncheon.
“We kept assuring her that the animals hate to hang around people, and, finally, we convinced her she had absolutely nothing to fear.
“So, shortly before she got here, a pride of lions attacked a buffalo just outside the reception area. When the woman arrived, 14 lions were out there by the driveway, feeding on the carcass.
“It took a lot of persuasion before she’d leave her car. We told her lions with full stomachs wouldn’t have any interest in her.”
At Idube in South Africa, my last safari base, I nearly succumbed to wildlife overload. The private reserves strung together west of Kruger National Park, go on for miles, but they feel relatively confining. At Moremi, our treed leopard was a rare treat. In Idube, our guide knew where to find leopards mating, and he led us to encounters with the elusive cheetah and white rhinoceros–not to mention dozens of other camera-shy species. Private game reserves serve up wildlife in a hurry.
I took part in 14 game drives during my southern Africa travels, and even in Idube no two were the same. All of the luxury camp operators evidently have settled on an agreed-upon schedule based on animal proclivities: early-morning game drive, breakfast, free time, lunch, siesta, early-evening game drive, dinner, more free time, sleep.
The Gametrackers people offer a rotation that takes customers by bush plane to as many as four of its camps, situated in near-desert, grasslands and the marshy Okavango Delta. There the Okavango River flows down from Angola and floods a section of the dry Kalahari, forming a lush green oasis about the size of Switzerland.
The first stop at any new destination usually provides the most excitement. My initial experiences in Botswana did not let me down.
From Johannesburg, the Air Botswana prop plane flies over endless beige bushland dotted with acacia trees and the shadows of puffy clouds. The plane lands in Gaborone, and at a no-nonsense terminal, passengers endure customs procedures and a sample blast of Botswana’s searing afternoon heat.
As we reboarded for the flight to Maun, workmen loaded the forward cargo hold with crates of baby chicks. This may have been the point at which I began to savor the foreignness of African travel. The chicks peeped furiously; a few escaped and scooted over the tarmac like windblown yellow cotton balls.
The blue-smocked flight attendant strapped herself into a seat with its back to the cockpit and stared straight ahead. The hysterical peeping on the other side of the bulkhead fazed her not at all.
When we reached cruising level, the attendant got up and distributed miniature cups of apple or orange juice, instant coffee, tiny bags of Simba-brand peanuts and copies of the Midweek Sun–a feisty Gaborone newspaper.
The sweaty little Maun airport serves as a staging area for safari groups. Camp representatives wave placards at arriving passengers, then hustle them into single-engine bush planes.
On the short flight to Xaxaba (“island of tall trees”) on the Okavango Delta, I shared the cabin with one of the camp cooks, returning from a holiday. She stared impassively out the window as the plane bounced over savanna thermals and banked steeply above the Xaxaba landing strip.
Four women in tan dresses greeted us with a welcoming song and dance before leading the way up a short path toward a makeshift outdoor check-in desk. The woman behind it introduced herself, explained the routine and offered me a syrupy, peach-colored welcoming drink. The cook disappeared into the adjacent workers’ compound.
My chalet, called Firefinch, was one of 12 little reed-walled units scattered amid the trees. Outside my window, vervet monkeys swung through the branches, tiny black and white squirrels played frantic tag and red lechwe antelope pattered across the nearby lagoon, their splayed hooves making a sound like heavy rainfall.
As campers gathered for lunch under a spreading jackalberry tree, I discovered there were 18 of us and that late in the afternoon we would be taken up the Boro River to see what we could see.
When it was time for my first safari, a short wiry guide named Ruster Saaza invited me aboard a green fiberglass mokoro, an ecologically correct replica of the wooden dugout canoes that have been the backbone of the delta transportation system for centuries. Wooden canoes now are considered a threat to the timber supply.
Saaza and three other guides poled their passengers through reedy channels, pointing out whitebreasted cormorants, wattled cranes, African fish eagles and small herds of impala and red lechwe gamboling on dry land.
After awhile, we disembarked, and Saaza led our little band on a hike deeper into antelope territory, while the other groups fanned out on either side.
Saaza gave us an orientation tour, pointing out the towering gray termite mounds, their tips leaning westward to protect occupants from prevailing winds. He lingered and lectured by the thorn trees–black thorn, knob thorn, buffalo thorn, umbrella thorn–telling us how the giraffe easily dines on the leaves because its long, tough black tongue can work between the needles.
At first we saw no giraffes or any of the other big creatures, but no one complained. In the Okavango Delta, the birds, the waterways and the plant life take center stage, which would make the occasional sighting of an African giant all that more dramatic.
Suddenly we noticed that the other parties were tramping toward a thicket about 200 yards distant, leaving us behind.
“Elephant,” Saaza announced hoarsely, pointing toward a gray blob in the trees. Instead of leading us closer, he held us back and suggested we take seats on a palm log.
“You are welcome to join those people,” he whispered, “but I do not like to approach an elephant until I study him carefully. I do not think the others should be going so close.”
A few days later, after so much wildlife satiation, I might have blushed to admit the thrill I felt just then. To think there are places in the world where you can be walking along and suddenly come upon …
“This elephant is about 25 years old,” Saaza told us. “I have to check him before we get closer. Often the older, stronger bulls kick out the young ones, and they form bachelor herds. Most of the day, they travel alone, like this one, and then they meet up with each other.
“Sometimes people bother them, and they attack. When they’re not going to charge, they give a scream and try to scare you r-r-r-r-r-rAH. When they do decide to charge, there’s no sound. They run straight at you. They put the ears flat down and tuck in the trunk.
“This one’s ears are moving. That’s how they keep cool. So I guess it’s OK to take a better look.”
We rose and edged somewhat nearer but maintained a cautious distance, and after awhile, the elephant trudged deeper into the shrubbery and disappeared.
Back in camp that evening, Xaxaba manager Sello Motrotle said safarigoers typically save the Okavango Delta for last. “After the excitement of the other places–all the big game, up close–they come here for a more peaceful experience, a time to relax,” he observed.
The ensuing three game walks at Xaxaba, did produce encounters with zebra, kudu and wildebeest. We watched families of wart hogs strutting importantly through the tall delta grasses. We even came upon a couple of lions stalking impala.
But mostly we poled through languid waterways swarming with exotic birds and brightened by flowering lily pads. We meandered past acacia groves and undulating papyrus reeds dotted with purple hibiscus. Just to know we were in the unseen presence of the elephants and big cats felt satisfying, and the occasional sightings electrified me more than the ones that came later–if only because of the novelty.
But I pressed on, arriving the next day at Khwai River Lodge in time for lunch. Diners could look out from a thatched pavilion and see hippos soaking and snorting in the narrow river, no more than 100 yards away. Before dessert, some elephants turned up at the river to quench their thirst–three bulls, a mother and her child. I gaped and reached for the camera. The other campers had seen this spectacle before. They carried on with their conversations.
That evening, Masasa, our guide, parked near a watering hole, where 50 elephants mingled–a family grouping with some calves so tiny they looked as if they might have been born that morning.
The beasts started lumbering across the road in front of us. Two bulls turned and faced the Land Cruiser. They pawed the ground and trumpeted. They butted some trees, knocking them sideways, to demonstrate their strength. Masasa smirked and gunned the engine. The bulls held their ground and began moving toward us. Masasa threw the vehicle into reverse. Members of the herd shook their heads, as if to rid their ears of the whining transmission noise. Then they moved on.
“If I see an elephant again, I will close my eyes,” Masasa grunted.
I felt slightly annoyed at that crack, remembering the solitary magnificence of the elephant grazing near Xaxaba–my first. But staff members at the camps rarely express affection for the elephant. A 6-tonner requires nearly 500 pounds of fodder every day and spends most of its waking hours eating and drinking, a practice that leaves parts of the wildlife preserves an ugly jumble of dead, twisted branches and sickly palms.
Around the campfire, elephant discussions usually emphasize the farm crops they destroy, the houses they wreck while trying to get at the plumbing during droughts, the feeding-grounds they strip to such an extent that they end up starving themselves.
Khwai River director Steve Shaw often expounds on the subject: “Whenever we talk about culling the herds, there’s a world outcry. But we have to take a realistic view. It’s not a perfect world, and it’s not the world it used to be–not in Africa. The human population is growing; new areas are developing. Humans are always going to come first, and we have to find a way to manage the wildlife.”
At the safari camps, humans always do come first, and they share a human trait: It doesn’t take them long to decide that a once-novel experience has started getting old.
Fearing the boredom might be contagious, I tried, wherever I went, to mingle with newcomers fresh off the Air Botswana chicken run. I fell in with a family at Idube whose teenage daughter gasped excitedly every time she saw an impala–even though in South Africa that would be approximately every two seconds. And, earlier, I had enjoyed the company of some middle-age Germans during an expedition emanating from the super-luxurious Chobe Game Lodge.
The three couples froze with awe when a line of 60 elephants approached the narrow Chobe River. At first, the elephants formed a thin black horizon on the open plain, then gradually came ever closer until they surrounded the Land Rover like a huge shadow. Some members of the herd passed within touching distance before plunging into the stream.
As the hotel-owned vehicle pulled away, the German couples applauded. One man said he felt privileged to be there. And so did I.
SAFARI RULES: QUIET AND LIGHT
What to wear: Just about anything, so long as the colors won’t startle the animals. The familiar safari khaki is a perfect hue, but when carried too far–from bush hat to desert boots–such outfits resemble B-movie costumes. This is not big-game hunting. But do cover the head and shade the eyes.
What to pack: Keep it light and soft. Hard-sided cases are too bulky for bush plane luggage compartments. Two duffel bags and a camera-equipment case should suffice. Bring more film than you think you’ll need–400 ASA for dawn and twilight game drives, 64-100 for bright afternoons. Take the longest lens you can use with flexibility–at least 200 mm. Don’t leave home without strong bug spray, powerful but compact binoculars, a flashlight, 25 SP or higher sunscreen and proper inoculations, pills and stomach soothers (consult a physician).
How to behave: No matter what you might have paid, you are still a guest in a very special place. Don’t stand up in the game drive vehicle unless the guide says you may. Keep your voice low. Refrain from using flashbulbs, except during night safaris where guides work with spotlights. Do not wander off. One camp staffer was delighted to host a renowned TV personality, until they learned he liked to take long, nocturnal walks by himself. They found him on the airstrip, where a pride of lions had partied just a few nights before.
TRACKING DOWN THE SAFARI OUTFITTERS
Rates for Gametrackers camps in the Okavango Delta region begin at $345 per person, per night, double occupancy. Full packages–including meals and beverages, game viewing, park entrance fees, intercamp flights, laundry service and emergency insurance–start at $1,400 per person for five days. For further information, contact Orient Express Hotels Inc., 1155 Avenue of the Americas, 30th floor, New York, N.Y. 10036; 212-302-5055 or 800-237-1236 (fax: 212-302-5073).
Packages at Idube Private Game Reserve in South Africa start at about $160 per person, double occupancy. Write: P.O. Box 2617, Northcliff, 2115, South Africa; or call 011-27-11-888-3713 (fax: 011-27-11-888-2181).
Chobe Game Lodge charges $280 to $560 a night, including meals, game drives, etc. Write: P.O. Box 32 Kasane, Botswana; or call 011-267-650-340 (fax: 011-267-650-280).
Tour operators and packagers also offer budget and mid-range safari trips. Contact a travel agent.
