A family safari
LOIS HOYAL und ihre Familie entdecken Südafrika im Geländewagen und zu Fuß. Auf Safari bewundern sie vom Aussterben bedrohte Nashörner und wagen eine rasante Fahrt mit der Seilrutsche.
Join Lois Hoyal and her family on a safari in South Africa’s animal-rich north-east, where they encounter members of the “Big Five”, the “Ugly Five” and the “Secret Seven”, visit protected rhinos and go on a zip-line adventure.
Looking just like the cat that got the cream, she slowly stretches her limbs before sitting down on her haunches. With the setting sun lighting her glorious features and the tip of her tail twitching, this most feline of felines looks into the distance. “What’s for dinner?” seems to be the question on the lioness’s lips. I hope it won’t be me and my family.
My husband, Barnaby, pre-teen daughters, Eleri and Aeronwy, and I are seated in a vehicle just a few metres away. By my estimate, that’s three easy jumps for our lazy lioness. If she noticed us, we would be history with a single quick swing of a giant paw.
“Don’t stand up!” our game ranger warned us at the start of our Big Five safari game drive. Unless you’ve got a death wish, it’s important to stay seated and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. And stay quiet, he added. That way, lions simply see you as part of the four-by-four and not as easy prey.
I still feel at risk in a vehicle that’s open on all sides but am willing to take his word for it. I push myself down into my seat and hold up a finger to my lips to quieten my daughters. Meanwhile, I silently pray that the clicking of camera shutters won’t disturb Simba. But the lioness simply yawns widely and ignores the photo shoot. Either unaware of our presence or bored by it, she gets up and walks over to her two feline companions lying partly hidden in the long grass of the open plains — a lion and a smaller lioness, looking almost thin in comparison with “our” lioness, with her giant paws and languid limbs. Ours is probably pregnant, we’re told. It might be the glow of pregnancy, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more impressive creature.
As the three lie in wait for dinner to cross their path, we drive on around the Kololo Game Reserve in the Waterberg Biosphere, Limpopo Province, in northeast South Africa. We’re searching for more “Big Five” animals (leopard, rhinoceros, elephant, Cape buffalo and, of course, lions) — but it will be hard to top that sighting.
Beetling off
Actually, it’s a far smaller, less dangerous creature that next gets our attention: a shiny black dung beetle. We tell the guide to stop the jeep and watch as the beetle tries to push an immense ball of dung up a slope.
I remember Sisyphus from Greek mythology, who was condemned for all time to push an enormous rock up a steep hill only for it to roll back down again just before he reached the summit. Similarly, our favourite beetle pushes and pushes a ball far larger than himself up the slope. Each time, just before he reaches the top, he and the ball fall back down to the bottom.
“Oh noooo, not again!” we all say, fascinated by the scene taking place in front of us.
“You do realize that if a pride of lions came by now, we probably wouldn’t even notice,” says one of our fellow passengers, and we all laugh.
Leaving our hard-working insect to his
task, we drive on. After a few minutes, a
dazzle of zebras shows off their stripes as they cross the road in front of us. Then we’re rewarded with the sight of numerous male wildebeest, grazing and walking across the grassy plain. Not one of the Big Five, but alongside warthogs, hyenas, vultures and the marabou stork, a member of a rather less exclusive club: the Ugly Five.
I’m told that the collective noun for a herd of wildebeest is an “implausibility”. How perfect for an animal whose shaggy mane, oversized head and thin legs look implausibly made up of spare parts. This group of wildebeest consists of young bulls only — a bachelor herd. These boys have chosen a particularly fine spot of grass in the hope of attracting females. By using glands on their faces and hooves, and by spreading their dung, they rub their scent into the ground to mark their territory and warn other males to stay away. We drive around searching for elephants, but the elusive “ellies” must have all found tall trees to hide behind. There are none in sight.
By now, it’s growing dark and we’re tired. Shining his torch from side to side as he looks for wildlife, our guide starts to drive us back. Then he stops and excitedly points out a small raccoon-like creature with a striped tail: an African civet. These are members of Africa’s “Secret Seven”. Civets, serval, African wildcat, aardvark, pangolin, large-spotted genet and porcupine are all solitary, shy animals and especially hard to observe in the wild.
On the two-hour journey back to where we’re staying, at Ant’s Nest, a lodge set in the Waterberg, we talk excitedly, saying, “Weren’t we lucky?” and, “Can you believe it?” I collapse into bed and dream of a wild cat climbing over me.
All walks of life
The following morning, Aeronwy and I put on our walking boots and set off on a guided walk — without the safe feeling of being in a vehicle. The enthusiastic Ali Kolonyane, who works for the lodge, acts as our guide. “Look,” Ali repeatedly says, as he points out tracks made by various night-time visitors, including leopard, warthog and giraffe.
Aeronwy smiles and stays behind for a moment. Using a stick, she draws outlines of tracks in the sandy ground.
“Ali, what animal made this?” she asks innocently. Just for a second she fools him. Ali gives her a serious look before breaking into laughter and replying, “I think that was you!”
On Aeronwy’s request, we’re tracking something special today: porcupine quills. Luckily, Ali knows just the place to find them and leads us through the undergrowth to a group of porcupine dens. Aeronwy cries out in delight and gathers up several quills lying on the ground. I carefully place the quills in my backpack to add to a bone that I’m told a giraffe had gnawed on. “Giraffes and other animals chew on the bones for calcium,” Ali explains.
We find the horns of a warthog and a gazelle to add to our growing collection. A wildebeest skull won’t fit in the backpack, but there’s room for a few guinea fowl feathers lying on the ground. They probably belonged to the guinea fowl we see running off into the distance — scared off perhaps by our next visitors: a large mob of around 30 mischievous
mongooses. They run around in apparent confusion, a few stopping to stand on their back legs to stare at us humans as we stare back at them.
Close behind them is a troop of baboons. This isn’t surprising, as baboons and mongooses often gang up; there’s safety in numbers. Baby baboons hang on to their mums’ stomachs and backs as the troop moves along, grunting and screaming in a chaotic fashion. The tracks left by their front and hind paws are so human-like.
Ali bends down and hands Aeronwy a black creature that seems to have a thousand legs moving under its worm-like body: a millipede. Then it’s back to the important business of the day: the hunt for porcupine quills. Ali leads us to another group of porcupine dens, where Aeronwy excitedly adds more to her treasured collection. Still not satisfied, he makes a suggestion: “Let’s walk back to the lodge and take the jeep.”
We drive to the far side of the reserve, stopping to look at a tortoise, which I pick up and move to the other side of the road, considerably speeding up its journey. A snake quickly makes its way across the road and hides in the safety of the bushes. “Hmm, that might have been a boomslang,” Ali says. These dangerous
snakes are venomous, so we stay in the jeep while he searches the undergrowth, but doesn’t find any. Boomslangs are incredibly shy and this one is no exception.
We drive on before stopping at a group of bushes, where Ali thinks porcupine have been fighting, probably with a leopard. He looks around carefully for signs of recent activity, this time with success. We come across dozens of quills. Aeronwy collects them, one happy customer. Pleased to have completed his mission, Ali drives us back. A comfortable silence falls on us as Aeronwy cuddles up to me on the front seat of the jeep. It’s a special moment to be treasured, alongside all those quills.
Believing in unicorns
To add to the magic in the air, we’re treated to the sight of a young African “unicorn”, a rhino calf born at Ant’s Nest lodge in the private game reserve’s worthy fight for rhino conservation and against rhino poaching.
As the young one shelters next to his mother, I wonder how something that will grow up to look like a prehistoric tank could appear so defenceless, wobbling around on its huge feet. The mother shoos away the other rhinos as her little one tries to suckle. He’s not the only one interested: her elder son also wants some mother’s milk. Big brother may be a few years old, but the bond between a mother rhino and her calf is strong; a calf stays with its mother for up to four years.
But there’s no favouritism here; big brother is also shooed away. He looks so lost and it’s difficult to listen to his sad, complaining cries. The problem is that the young bulls don’t want him either — he’s still too much of a mummy’s boy.
“He just needs to man up,” one of the staff reassures me. “Then he can join them.”
It’s a lesson in tough love. I’m told that the whole reserve was thrown into chaos at one point after the young rhino went missing. Patrols picked up tracks that showed him interacting with another rhino. It turns out the calf had got confused and followed another rhino instead of mum. He was finally found, miles from home but not dehydrated, and reunited with his mother. All was well, yet mum certainly doesn’t want it to happen again, which explains the tough treatment of her older son.
Zipping along
We decide to end such an extraordinary week by flying through the air, hanging off a wire. While Barnaby and Eleri go horse riding, Aeronwy and I decide to give zip lining a go.
It’s just a short drive to Lekhalo Safaris Zipline, a two-hour adventure course of six zip lines set on a private game reserve. We don’t meet a single other vehicle on the drive there and the feeling of being alone continues after we arrive. We’re the only guests. We’re given a safety harness and hard hat before being driven through the game reserve accompanied by three guides. It’s nice to be able to view the wildlife without crowds of other people, but being the only ones there does make me a little nervous.
My legs feel even wobblier as we walk down to the platform from which we’re meant to launch ourselves over the gorge below. “Is it safe? What happens if one of the carabiners fails? What if I’m left hanging in mid-air?” Those are just some of the questions racing through my mind.
Fortunately, though, the guides test the zip lines for us. With his first-aid bag tied behind him, the first guide takes off, looking very relaxed. Aeronwy follows: she crosses her legs, puts her fingers and thumbs together, says “om” and adopts “the yogi pose” as she disappears into the distance. I see her land safely on the platform on the other side of the gorge. Thank goodness!
Now, it’s my turn. I take a deep breath and step off. Before I know it, I’m flying. A sea of green greets me from below. I turn around in mid-air and approach the platform backwards. Actually, that was fun! I’m excited and happy. What better way to end the adventure of a lifetime than being sky high on emotion?