The Last Drive in Madikwe

It’s just Annabel, Mitch, our guide, and me again this morning.

We contemplate the odds of finding the elusive African Dogs but know it is not to be. Even though a few of the dogs in each of the two packs are collared for tracking, both packs are too far away for this abbreviated morning drive. (We have a car taking us to Jo’burg at 09.00)

Coming out at 05.30, it is still dark, but there alongside the road, we can make out a very large, napping rhinoceros. He is sort of lying partly on his stomach partly on his side.  He seems to be asleep but Mitch assures us he is very much aware of everything going on around him. Mitch dims the car lights and puts the searchlight away.

We wait and watch to see whether he does anything more than lie there. He doesn’t.

We back away so as not to disturb him, and wander over to a large, dammed lake to wait for the sun to rise.

There is a family of Egyptian geese, parents and four chicks, paddling about near the shore. Close by in a tree sits a large fish eagle (in the US we call them osprey). These African species are larger. There are fish eagles on every continent except Antarctica.  We wonder how nervous the parents are with that giant predator just a short flight away from their chicks.

The sunrise is magnificent and we can hardly do it justice on a camera. The reflection of the colours from the clouds, the absolute peace of the moment the sun rises.

Peace. Quiet.

I think out loud, “I wonder if everyone lived through the night.”

Well.

No.

An impala didn’t.

As we sit watching the sun rise, the fish eagle flies off without snatching one of the little goslings right under its nose, flying across the big lake toward a murder of crows making noise on the far side of the water.  

Mitch says, “Let’s go have a look.” He knows something is up by the ruckus caused by the crows.

High drama: a largish herd of several dozens of impala are barking. They’re all looking in the same direction. There must be something there.

Of course there is:  a spotted hyena.

It moves toward a smell. We try - and succeed! - to follow.

The fish eagle is already there with the crows. They're in the trees while the hyena grabs a glob of kill and moves off to eat it without the lurking threat of the birds coming to take it away from him.

We follow the hyena.

He eats what, we eventually deduce, is the last remaining leg of an impala.

We see and hear him crunch through the bones, to consume the last bits. 

He is skittish and nervous, worrying about whether something bigger (a lion) will come steal his meal.

We are taught that all predators are scavengers when they want or need to be. Lions will snatch a kill from a hyena or jackal.

The hyena is able to finish his meal in an uneasy peace, and he moves off.

So do we.

We figure it’s the end of our last drive, but we have one more wonderful drama in store.

As we drive back around the lake toward home, a large herd of impala are barking barking barking.  They seem to be saying:

“Be careful! Be careful! Be careful,” they bark.  “We’re not sure what the danger is, but be careful! Be careful! Be careful!”

We come upon a rhino and her baby. They are not the threat, but they move off too, understanding there must be something to worry about.

We can't find the danger so we finally make it back to the Lodge and sadly say our goodbyes. 

This span of three days has left a lasting impression.

I won’t go into the last bit of wildlife I experienced in my room as I pack to leave (a flat spider and some other arachnid in the bathroom and the little lizard scurrying under the bed, all totally undangerous).

I am reluctant to leave. I want to see the Little Five and the Secret Seven.

Contemplating this alien world - alien to a city girl - it is difficult to put into words how the last three days have altered my understanding of how the world works.

This continent is where humanity evolved. Evolved beyond eat or be eaten. 

We are, after all, the only animal that wears clothes. Hmmm. 

I do not know if I will return, but this adventure will stay with me forever.

Next up:  life in ‘civilised’ Cape Town, and the vast vine lands of the Western Cape.

 

A March Sunday in Madikwe

 I am coming to the moment where it dawns on me why this is such a profound thing I’m doing out here with Annabel and Mitch and the others and the hotel staff.  And the wildlife.

The wildlife. That word takes on an entirely different meaning here in this complete, natural biosphere of the Madikwe wildlife reserve. This entire environment occurs, continues, with almost no human interface.  That’s not to say we aren’t part of the equation here; but humans let life go on without interfering in it.  We’re the interlopers. We’re the outsiders, the aliens. The animals live and die, kill or be killed, are born have sex and carry on without us humans. Life goes on here just fine without us.

It’s with the unspoken nod of Mitch that first night when he went another way rather than destroy that one spider web that got me thinking.

He also said at one point during one of the sundowners, “Let them be.” That is the mantra here in Madikwe. We watch from a little distance and let them carry on as they are meant to.

My small philosophical eureka moment over, on to the 

Sunday Morning Drive

This morning is epic in so many ways.

First off, my wish has been to see some grumpy old hippopotamuses in their natural habitat.

Easier said than done: we get close enough to see a couple of ripples in the river and hear a couple of honks and snorts, but we cannot get close enough to see the honkers and snorters. I have to be content with this “horse-shoes-near-miss” and be happy I've been that close to a hippo in the wild.

More exciting things to come, we are about to discover.

We move down alongside the river until Mitch finds a ford across this smallish Mariko River. The ford has been improved so that safari cars can cross safely.  Mitch drives us through the water and up onto the other side, where we’re not really supposed to be: this is now the Northeast Territory rather than our own Northwest Territory. But there’s a nice “watching spot” to see what’s going on in the stream.

A couple of Egyptian geese are perched on a tree near the water’s edge. They’re watching for fish and lizards, such as the baby monitor lizard sunning itself on some rocks. This one is a young one, only three inches or so long.  When it’s fully grown it can measure up to 10 feet.

There’s a pied kingfisher.  He darts up 20 feet or so above the water and hovers - just like a helicopter or a hummingbird (!) looking down into the water.  In a flash he dives and darts back out, flying away … with nothing.  No luck this time. We watch him for a few a few more dives before we start the engine up to go back across the ford.

Whoops.

We back up quickly, to let a long, very large, very old bull elephant saunter down to the water’s edge.

He takes his time.  He drags his trunk along the dirt road, looking as if he were really tired. Then he uses his trunk to feel for the bottom of the water before he starts to drink.

He’s thirsty.  A full grown male can hold up to 40 litres of water in his trunk. A full grown male will drink 240 litres of water in a day.

We sit back.  Wait.  Watch.

A good half-hour watching in fascination close enough to get a really good look at this old guy, and we wonder which way he’ll go when he’s had his fill.

He decides to continue along, crossing the ford where we're meant to go.  He drags his trunk the entire way.  Mitch explains:

Elephants communicate often through sound in the ground.  They can sense, ‘hear’ underground vibes from miles away. This old guy is listening to where others may be. He’s also smelling. 

The elephant’s ability to smell is six times that of a bloodhound. A bloodhound’s sense of smell is one thousand times that of humans.  (I just looked that up on google)

We wait some more.

The old guy saunters along through the water, stopping every several steps to rest, smell, listen. He slowly makes his way up the far bank, still stopping every few feet.

Since he’s on the road we want to get back to, we wait some more.

When he’s far enough away and going cross country, away from the road, we too make our way back through the water.

Thus endeth the Sunday Morning Drive. 

We say goodbye to the other four and this afternoon it will be just the three of us. We will go in search of cheetahs, we hope!

Cheetahs normally hunt solo. But on occasion, they will hunt together. It makes their chances of success a little better. Alas, it is not to be. We will most likely leave Madikwe without having seen these beautiful beasts.

What we do see is the coming together of a mixed herd at dusk: zebra, impala, giraffes, wildebeests. They know somehow there is safety in numbers. Methinks they also know there are two cheetah sisters out there. Waiting. Stalking. Hunting.

As we stop for our last Sundowner here in Madikwe, we're next to one of thousands of trees symbiotically attached to a termite hill. It's a good time to understand this relationship.

Termites cannot digest cellulose, so they need to manufacture mushrooms, which they can digest. To do this, they need water. A living tree out here in the bush has long roots going down deep to where the water is. Termites build their hills next to the tree in order to take advantage of that easy access to water, which they need to grow their crops of fungus/mushrooms.

They do not kill the tree.

The tree must stay alive so that it can provide the termites with the water they need to grow their crops. These termite hills are much more sophisticated than one might believe: human architects and engineers alike have studied these termite structures because of how they allow passages to be shut off and reopened as needed to keep a constant temperature - like ducts in a skyscraper - something needed to successfully grow fungus or to cool and heat a large skyscraper.

We return one last time for a quiet dinner on the open-air terrace of our Madikwe Safari Lodge.

Tomorrow morning is our last drive and it is a humdinger!

Saturday Afternoon Drive

People go on safari in Africa to see and shoot the Big Five. On Camera. The Big Five name is a throw back to when the animals were shot with guns and their heads and/or bodies taken back as wall trophies or area rugs.

Yuck.

Most - but not all - are now protected by law. That does not mean that illegal poaching no longer occurs. It does. We are warned before we travel not to post any real-time photos on social media whilst in the bush:  sophisticated poachers scan social media all the time, to find out where the profitable animals might be. It’s pretty creepy.

The Big Five are:  elephant, rhinoceros, Cape buffalo, lion, leopard. To the Super Seven are added:  cheetah and the critically endangered wild African dog. Actually, they’re probably closer to the wolf than a dog, but they too, like lions, hunt in packs.  We did not see any on our safari, but Mitch had two memorable experiences with them.

He once tracked a pack of wild dogs chasing a kudu all night all day.  The kudu, considerably larger than any one dog, reached the periphery fence and could go no further.  It turned to defend itself.  The pack took turns harassing their prey while others would lie in the shade watching. Talk about tag teaming!

Finally the kudu gave in and they were all over and done with him quickly.

The second tale takes place right here in the main, open air hall of our Lodge. It was early one morning, before most of the guests had gathered for the morning drive.  An impala bounded up the front steps and through the hall, with about 20 dogs after it.  They brought it down just at the far edge of the hall, tore it up and carried the pieces away, hardly stopping for anything. Everything was gone in a flash, the dogs and the kill.

Mitch recalls with a slight smile that none of the guests who arrived after had any idea of what they’d just missed.

Now on with today’s 

Afternoon Drive

It’s all about the kill. Or should I say about the aftermath of the kill.

The deceased:  a zebra.  Remains tucked away in the bush.  We make them out just beyond a napping, panting lioness.

She flicks her tail, raises her head, rolls onto her back then onto her other side.

We are about 20 feet away and she doesn’t care. Her belly is full.

After a while, we leave the lion and the carcass, stripes still visible, backing out the way we come in.

There are six of us in the safari car with Mitch:  Annabel and I; two Germans, and two South Africans from Johannesburg: Portia and Gershwin. Real names.

About half a mile along the road from the kill, Portia says, “I see ears! There!” and she points into the bush on the other side of the road.

We see nothing. Mitch sees nothing.  We stop anyway with the chance she actually saw something.

There are the ears!

And under the ears rises up a lone hyena lying amid the scrabble behind a bush.  Napping. Biding its time to get to that carcass after the lions are done.

Mitch is pretty sure there are other lions hidden in the bush surrounding the kill to protect it from scavengers until they’ve had their fill.

Our hyena lifts its head every once in a while.  It looks like it’s smiling.

Those teeth.  Look a little longer and the ‘smile’ becomes a grin. A grimace. Menacing.

Those teeth bite through bone. And yes, Mitch says, it mostly keeps its mouth open to help pant off the heat.

The teeth are just part of the fun.  I’ve seen horror movies and monsters where the creators use that Hyena mouth, those Hyena teeth for extra terrifying effect!

You’ll notice the hyena is wearing a collar. It’s a tracking device. 

As we sit watching the hyena with our backs to the road, along trots a solitary jackal. About the size of a fox but no bushy tail. And bigger, rounded ears.

It stops. It knows the hyena is there. The hyena knows the jackal is there. Both go back to what they were doing: the hyena napping, the jackal trotting. The jackal turns off the road on the other side to join another jackal - they’re all waiting for the lions to be done. They want next dibs on the kill.

The following morning I ask Mitch about what happens to the remains of the dead zebra.  He tells me:

After the lions are done, the hyenas and jackals come in. They want whatever fleshy parts are left, but they’re quite happy, those hyenas, to bite into the bones, eat the marrow, eat the bones.

Then the jackals.  Then the bugs, beetles etc.

By morning the entire remains will be gone having fed a host of fauna.  Even the dung beetles will enjoy a breakfast from the poo left by the lions and scavengers.  The bugs, in turn, are eaten by birds and other things. It’s trite to say it, but ‘the circle of life,’ there it is.

We continue on our way into the sunset. 

You might notice the lone, dead tree silhouetted by the pink sky. There are a lot of those dead trees around here. The elephants do that to trees. Eating the leaves, scratching themselves, and generally lumbering around through the bush.

This evening’s sundowner is a more elaborate affair, with staff from the Lodge laying out a nice cocktail hour in the bush, featuring several South Africa gins, including one called Six Dogs. It’s blue, but the tonic water turns it pink.

I stick with wine.

I have to pee (of course).  Mitch immediately gets his rifle out from the car and scopes out the area behind a big bush across the road.

All clear.

Loo paper goes into a brown paper bag given to me along with the loo paper to bus home to my room:  no t.p. stays in the bush.

On the way home, with the sun gone and the stars out, Mitch points out two constellations.  One I see all the time in the Northern Hemisphere:  Orion.  The other is brand new to me, this being my (almost) first time in the Southern Hemisphere:  the Southern Cross.  It’s cool to know that Orion can be seen in both hemispheres, but it’s even cooler to see the one you can only see ‘down here’.

Back in my suite, I open the curtains and look out onto the bush and into the sky.  The Milky Way is so bright you can almost read from the starlight. And so quiet!  No lion roars, no bugs buzzing.  

We are in a malaria-free zone here in Madikwe.  They Deet the rooms before we return in the evening so there is no need for bug repellent or mosquito nets around the bed.

A day full of wonder, a little fear, a lot of learning. We are so fortunate we have Mitch as our guide, in the true sense:  not only does he know a whole lot about life (and death) out here in the bush, he is eager to share his knowledge. You can tell he loves his job.

Next is our penultimate Morning Drive on Sunday.

Saturday morning in Madikwe

Madikwe, pronounced mah-DEEK-way, is a private game reserve in South Africa’s North West Province, bordering Botswana.  It’s about 750 square kilometres and is totally surrounded by fence in order to keep the animals in and the poachers out.  

Thanks to Project Phoenix, more than 8000 animals, including 340 different species of birds, were transported over a period of seven years in order to establish this wildlife sanctuary on what was mostly failed farmland. There’s an army of anti-poachers keeping 24/7 vigilance against those who would mutilate or kill these gorgeous animals for personal profit. 

It is among only a handful of game reserves in the world established as one the most sustainable and suitable land uses in the area.

Now. On to

The First Morning Drive

There’s a knock on my door at 05.00. Since I’m ready to go (I've been up for a while in eager anticipation), I follow the lady with the torch to the Lodge’s main hall. 

This morning we focus on lions.

Mitch drives to a different part of the reserve and we are in luck. (He knows where he's going.)

First, he hears a conversation between two lions. It’s a bunch of roars. We drive toward the closer roar; and are rewarded with two large females and two juveniles. The kids are harassing a nest of ring-tailed mongooses (not mongeese).  They chitter away in their den while the kids try to figure out a way to get at them. They can’t.

They eventually tire of their efforts and tag along after their mothers. The mongooses peek out, up into the sunlight, to make sure the little predators are gone. Then they are off on their daily search for food.

We drive along the road and stop well short when we see the four lions ambling onto said road.

The little ones decide to plop down in the centre of the road, onto the warm sunlit dirt. The first mama crosses to the other side, but the second joins the children.

We sit quietly, far enough away that the felines take little notice of us. 

Mama lion rolls onto her side. 

But then she perks up, sits up and begins a heart-stopping series of grunts, calling out to other lions, calling out to papa lion; calling out to other females by marking her territory with her grunts.

Mitch tells us the lion’s grunt can be heard from miles away.  I can feel it in my bones. You can see how the female uses her entire body to make those sounds. 

The other safari car includes both a ranger in the driver’s seat and a tracker sitting on the left front fender with his binoculars.  (we don’t have a separate tracker: Mitch is both Ranger and Tracker.  And he’s good. Very good.)

The tracker adjusts his binoculars, which attracts one of the lionesses, and not in a good way. She turns to him and gives him the evil eye and a short but loud growl. The meaning is clear: “Don’t mess with us.”

A blond lion appears strolling across the road.  You can see they’ve all had a kill during the night by their full bellies.

Dad crosses into the bush where the other female lies in the shade and he too begins his guttural communication to this brother who is still quite far away.

I watch with equal parts fascination and trepidation as the troop of five stroll past us down the road, only 10 feet away.  There is no fence, no barrier between us and certain death if any of them decides they want us for lunch. (Well, Mitch has his rifle.) Whatever Mitch is saying while that lioness strolls past, I do not hear. I am on her side of the car and she is just a might too close for me to do anything else but pay attention and be quiet. Most especially when she looks at me!

When they move on, so do we, in search of the other male. 

We find him, along with two other females and a younger cub. 

Apparently, the two sets of females don’t like each other.  (Mitch knows all.)

While these entertaining cats monopolise our morning, we still manage to see:

Wonderful warthogs - Mitch says they make great pets but they’ll ruin your garden

Wildebeests AKA gnus - bigger than I expected

Springboks and impalas So many so many! And a kudu or two.

Also giant Matabele ants, a dung beetle pushing his baseball-sized ball of dung across the road (with his back feet - an intriguing sight)

A lilac breasted roller and his cousin the purple breasted roller - both of these small birds will eat a mouse whole. A mouse the same size as the bird.

We stop for our morning coffee in the bush. It's laced with a bit of creamy Amarula, a liqueur made from the nut of the marula tree. It makes for an especially tasty morning coffee.

On the way back to the Lodge and breakfast we pass a lone wildebeest (gnu) sitting in the morning sun, waiting for his lady love. Mitch says he is seen here almost every day, but alas the female gnu never shows.

Later, we are once again seated for lunch down on the lawn across from the watering hole. We are served by a gentle, friendly man named Innocent. He regales us with the story behind the very nice white wine we are drinking, MAN wine. It is named for the wives of the three men who are the vintners.

Three men would go off together, to where, their wives did not know.  After several days of the men disappearing the wives became cross and demanded to know what these guys were doing.  Of course they thought the guys were just going to the bars.  It turns out they were making wine.

They name their wine MAN wine, in honour of their three wives: M for Marie, A for Anette, and N for Nicky. You can find this fun history at www.manwines.com

Next stop:

The Saturday Afternoon Drive 

Madikwe in March

This is the first of a series of posts I plan to do about my adventures in South Africa this spring. The 10 days I spent in the bush, in Cape Town and in the Vinelands was a profound experience. Anyone who has visited this part of the world would probably say the same thing.

This is my take.

Well.

After I don’t know how many months - years! - of planning, postponing, planning, dreaming hoping, I am finally on my way.

The negative PCR test results and boarding pass are hand.

The luggage has been packed and unpacked and packed again.

Now it’s time to finally get excited about this long-awaited adventure.

To Africa!

The forms required by South Africa of non-citizens is astounding:

1. A completed form to enter the country

2. A completed form while in the country 

3. A completed form to leave the country

These forms are identical to one another except for their title.

This is my first international trip since moving back to the U.K. and it’s okay to be excited.

The overnight flight from London Heathrow to Johannesburg International was uneventful. Virgin’s Upper Class has flat bed seats (as if I can sleep).

It’s the 10-seater single prop out of Jo’burg’s Grand Central that gets the juices flowing. That flight to Madikwe Wild Game Reserve is memorable.  There are five passengers and two pilots. 

We land first at Madikwe West to let two of the passengers off, on their way to their own lodge.

The landing field is dirt, and a giraffe gives us a curious glance as we take off again on our way to Madikwe East. (At the very right bottom of the pilot's rearview mirror is our landing strip.)

Ten minutes later we land again with a small group of elephants paying no attention to us. We are introduced to Mitch, our Ranger for the three-day stay.

On the 15 minute ride to the Madikwe Safari Lodge, we see more giraffes, a lot of zebras, an impala or 10.

We’re greeted by Frank at the entrance to the lodge. He spritzes our hands with disinfectant, the only pandemic requirement out here in the bush.

After explaining things around the lodge and introducing us to our suites, we are ushered to lunch on the lawn next to the swimming pool… looking out to a watering hole about 50 metres away. 

While we enjoy a glass of crisp South African sauvignon blanc, two herds of elephants, a family of warthogs and several impalas wander up to the watering hole.

Walking up to the low electric fence that separates the humans from the animals, I suddenly burst into tears from sheer awe.  A staff member, Rebecca, puts her arms around me, smiles knowingly and gives me a good hug.

This trip is going to be epic.

We have a bit of time to settle in before we are called to the 

The First Afternoon Drive

It’s all about elephants and giraffes.

But also shrub hares, impalas, kudus and birds.

Spending time on a drive means spending time sitting, with engine off, just taking in every thing, every sound, every smell.

A herd of elephants watching after their little ones, including a very little one who hasn’t quite figured out how to work its trunk. It’s not unlike watching a human baby trying to figure out how to work its arms and legs.

After some time (times gets away from one here), we move on to watch a group of giraffes and learning about those little horns they have, how they “drop” their newborns at birth (they don't get down on the ground to give birth, so the newborn literally drops to the ground). We learn why they don’t like to get their head below their heart: their heart automatically stops the blood to the brain so that they don’t have a stroke.  Think about how much blood pressure it takes to pump blood up all that neck.  

We spend time searching for the wild animals, then sit there, silently, watching.

A young-ish bull elephant (late 20s early 30s) strides past us. He is in musk, dripping from his genitals and ears - wanting to find a female.  He’s a bit on the muscle, (a term my mother used to describe me when I was in a bad mood), and turns to look at us with what looks to me a menacing “don’t mess with me,” look, pauses, then continues on. Elephants are easily big enough and strong enough to push over our car. We are happy to see him pass us by. Boy does he stink.

Someone asked Mitch what his scariest experience was in the bush. He said when a bull elephant once charged him.

At dusk, we discover three grazing rhinoceroses and some baboons in the dusky distance filling in cracks on a cliffside.

There’s a very nice tradition in the bush: toward the end of a four-hour drive, the ranger stops the car in a clear space to give the guests a bit of time to stretch our legs.  Close to sunset, we stop for our first “sundowner” which includes the sunset and a cocktail.  Gin and tonic is a favourite, so is a glass of wine and some nibbles.

Our Ranger, Mitch (nice young fellow) has been at Madikwe for six years and he really knows his stuff. 

More about Mitch later, during this tale.

Once we’re back in the “car” (a Toyata Land Cruiser specially customised for safari trips) the sun is down and it is dark.  Mitch gets out his searchlight and follows it left and right while driving (he keeps his eye on the road each time he sweeps from right to left, left to right) always looking for “red eyes” in the bush.  If he sees “blue eyes” he moves the light away from these daylight animals so as not to cause them night blindness and make them more vulnerable to predators. He also knows all these roads so well, and we don’t expect to see more than one or two other vehicles. Just animals.

Finally, coming home after several hours with mostly elephants and giraffes, we come around the last bend before our lodge, and there, right across the road is a very large, very impressive spider web, blocking our narrow dirt road. The architect of this web sits right at its centre.

After a short pause, Mitch says, “let’s go back around past the staff quarters and leave the spider to its web.

This is when I know Mitch is a true Ranger. He also tells us “we don’t eat the animals who live here.  The only ones killing anything here are the predators.”

We understand now that the impala venison we eat at dinner is brought in from elsewhere. They are so tender, just like deer venison we get at our local butcher. We send our praises to the chef, who comes out to greet us and thank us for the compliment.  Her name is Gaylee.

We are escorted back to our suites along a dimly lit pathway and bid goodnight.

Inside my suite there is a ceiling fan and an air conditioner I don’t really need. The room is spacious and, in the winter, the fireplace is surely a welcome addition on the cold nights.

We are in the last bit of summer here in March, so a fire isn’t necessary. I’ll talk a little about my accommodations a bit later.

Stay tuned for 

The First Morning Drive