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.