Heading down the Zambezi River
Jill Worrall journeys the famous tributary to encounter the wildlife around Zimbabwe’s Lake Kariba.
Five years ago, I stood on a rock only a few metres from the precipitous edge of the Victoria Falls and mused where I would end up if I improbably managed to survive being swept over the edge.
What lay beyond that tumultuous, roaring, foaming waters of the Zambezi River that flow over one of the largest waterfalls in the world? This year it was time to find out, but not by diving over the edge.
The Zambezi is the fourth longest river in Africa, 2574 kilometres from its source in north-western Zambia to its mouth, on Mozambique’s Indian Ocean coastline.
Below the falls is the section of this river known as the Middle Zambezi. After several hundred kilometres of white water the river meets the Kariba Dam and then forms one of the largest hydro lakes in the world, Lake Kariba.
We flew in a small plane that followed the Zambezi downstream from the Falls, through a gorge, close to the dam and then across the vast expanse of the lake. We were low enough to see elephants along the shoreline, which was dotted with skeletal dead trees, bleached in the African sunlight, drowned during Lake Kariba’s creation more than 50 years ago.
On the shores of Lake Kariba in Zimbabwe’s Matusudona National Park is the Rhino Safari Camp, which has seven open-sided thatched roof rooms on stilts. I hadn’t actually realised the rooms were open-sided until owner Karl Wright led us up the steps to ours. The view across to the lake was spectacular, especially as a family of elephants chose that moment to walk past, however, at the time I was more worried about how much wildlife we’d be sharing our room with.
The beds were covered with a walk-in mosquito net that solved the insect problem and we were assured elephants, hyena, even lions could not get inside. Snakes, however, were another matter.
‘‘There may be a few snakes living in the thatch that you might see in the heat of the day but they won’t bother you,’’ Karl said, blithely unaware I suffer from a serious snake phobia. I vowed that during afternoon siestas I would not look up at the roof.
We had an en suite open-air bathroom complete with a copious supply of hot water. Showering by moonlight beats tiled indoor luxury every time.
Before we set out on our first game drive, Karl explained that the camp had been famed for the presence of a female rhino, her older son and her baby. During the height of Zimbabwe’s political troubles, the camp, despite having no guests, was kept open so Karl and his staff could protect the precious rhinos. This they did successfully until a few years ago, when the mother was shot by poachers, her horns taken and the baby found some distance away, having died of starvation.
The third rhino escaped but was now exceptionally nervous of humans and extremely aggressive. Disappointing though it was that we’d be unlikely to see him I took solace in the fact he might just survive further poaching.
Each morning we got up before dawn and headed out with Steve our guide. We watched elephant matriarchs and their families, including babies just a few weeks old, silhouetted against the dawn. We followed herds of impala which barked out warnings if we got too close.
As dawn broke, cobwebs spun by female golden orb spiders stretched across the track, sparkling in the light, while their owners skittered back and forth just above our heads.
The coastline created by the flooding of the Zambezi River for the dam is deeply indented with inlets and bays. Steve drove us up a small rise: there, we could watch dozens of crocodiles energetically finishing off the remains of a hippo.
This was the end of the wet season so much of the wildlife was dispersed inland, not needing to congregate near the lake. But there was still prolific birdlife, including the startlingly ugly marabou stork and the brilliantly lilac-breasted rollers with their turquoise and azure wings.
With Steve armed with his rifle we spent many hours walking through the forests and grassy valleys, tracking two elusive young lions, on the way encountering a giant eagle owl, Africa’s largest owl.
We found it in a massive baobab tree. Both we and the owl were caught by surprise, the owl taking off and gliding right over our heads, an impressive sight with its 1.5-metres-plus wingspan.
One evening Steve and Cheeky (his real name), the boatman, took us fishing on Lake Kariba. Cheeky negotiated us along the shoreline and up inlets where drowned trees provided not only a navigational challenge but perfect perches for gorgeously coloured kingfishers. I caught nothing but I wasn’t really concentrating… elephants were coming down to drink, hippos were taking turns to yawn toothily at us and occasionally a crocodile would slip quietly into the water.
We passed a boat carrying five Zimbabwean fishermen. ‘‘Welcome to Zimbabwe,’’ they called, toasting us with cans of local beer.’’ Tourists, apart from around the Falls, are only now starting to return to Zimbabwe after the country’s years of turmoil.
On our last evening we stood by the 4x4 with Steve watching the sunset, us with red wine in hand, Steve with a can of cola, when we heard the unmistakable deep-throated roar of a lion, shortly answered by another. Finally, we’d found our two lions.
We packed up quickly – not to escape but to drive closer to the lions.
The roar of a lion is like nothing else in nature… it carries a vast distance and it is at such a frequency it seemingly makes your chest vibrate. It is in the truest sense, awe-inspiring.
With the light failing fast, the chance of spotting the lions was running out but suddenly Steve, who had the remarkable skill of being able to spot wildlife anywhere, pointed to where thick scrub gave way to grassland.
A lion strode out from trees and paced along the line of trees towards us. He took no notice of us, moving at a deceptively fast pace through the grass. We sat immobile, transfixed...
The writer travelled to Africa at her own expense but with the advice of Enchanting Africa.