TRIP REPORT: I Speak of Africa… (Botswana 22 June – 7 July 2006)
Aug 22nd, 2006, 03:46 PM
#201
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Lynn,
Yes, last year the dogs moved den a shade past mid-August...but unlike this year, both dens were quite close to Zibalianja so we were able to see them at both.
Isn't the difference in cross-border relationships (Selinda-Duma Tau v. Selinda-Kwando) remarkable? Julian's reference to the Kwando relationship in his report and your mention of the Duma Tau relationship bear out everything I've experienced in that area. It hasn't changed in several years.
John
Yes, last year the dogs moved den a shade past mid-August...but unlike this year, both dens were quite close to Zibalianja so we were able to see them at both.
Isn't the difference in cross-border relationships (Selinda-Duma Tau v. Selinda-Kwando) remarkable? Julian's reference to the Kwando relationship in his report and your mention of the Duma Tau relationship bear out everything I've experienced in that area. It hasn't changed in several years.
John
Aug 22nd, 2006, 04:23 PM
#202
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hey lynn,
hopefully the dogs are denning at duma tau. i will be there in a week so hopefully i can report back having seen some pups. and how was duba plains. was the water high and therefore restrictive to your driving area?
hopefully the dogs are denning at duma tau. i will be there in a week so hopefully i can report back having seen some pups. and how was duba plains. was the water high and therefore restrictive to your driving area?
Aug 26th, 2006, 02:01 PM
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JULY 4: LINYANTI (LEBALA) / LINYANTI (LAGOON)
The day dawned on another 7.5C morning in the Linyanti – another reason to miss Mombo and the temperate climate of the Delta. I woke up early to finish packing and went down to grab a bite to eat (porridge and honey). When I asked Beth how she had slept during her first night in the bush, she said it was fine, except for the fact that her neighbour had set his alarm clock for really early in the morning and had kept hitting the snooze button – after two or three times she had really wanted to kill him. I was mortified, because I soon realised that the obnoxious neighbour was none other than yours truly. I’ve never been in a camp where the tents are close enough together for anyone else to hear my alarm clock.
I was even more mortified when she said that she had had to take a cold sponge bath because there was no hot water – I wondered if my bath had somehow drained the hot water for both our tents, as I hadn’t been able to get any hot water since yesterday either. Fortunately she didn’t hold either incident against me – who says management consultants have no hearts?
We headed out towards Halfway Pan, passing through a forested area where we saw some zebra and kudu, as well as an unusually smart herd of impala standing on a hill. We also saw a fish eagle flying low overhead.
We arrived at Halfway Pan around 9am, and stopped for tea. Normally the pan would be mostly dry, but this year it looked more like a lake, complete with a couple of resident crocs.
BK, our guide from Lagoon, arrived a short while later, driving a new green Uri that had been built specifically as a safari vehicle rather than converted from another purpose. The seats were definitely more comfortable (or at least more well-padded), but the suspension was just as stiff. Kwando is definitely not the place for those of us with dodgy backs!
We bade Spencer goodbye and headed north. As we drove we began to hear what sounded like a lonely cat, a repetitive chirping mew. It was a lonely cat all right – a large male cheetah (one of the Savuti Boys) was perched on a termite mound, calling and calling. He was very relaxed, and we stayed with him for a long time as he continued to call. I got some great shots, and Beth shot some video and recorded his calls. BK said that he was most likely calling for a mate, as his brother had been seen nearby and had not responded to the calls.
On the way into camp we saw a lone tssessbe, as well as a monitor lizard concealed in a tree trunk.
The lagoon at Lagoon was an oxbow lagoon rather than a lake, with the tents strung along the shore to either side of the main lounge. My tent was No 2, directly to the left of the main lounge when facing the water. Personally, I would have preferred to be in Tent No 1 next door, which was on the end of the row – the veranda of No 2 was easily visible from the main deck, and though the camp was quiet while I was there I could see that there could be potential noise issues if the camp was full.
All of the tents were on the ground except for Tents 7 and 8, which shared a raised deck and could be used as a family suite. 7 and 8 were also the only two that were not right on the shore of the lagoon, though their elevated position meant that the view was probably fine.
The main lounge was quite similar to Lebala, though it felt a bit posher. The food was very similar – simple, hearty country fare. I particularly enjoyed a guava-coloured drink that I took to be fruit juice but which turned out to be iced tea.
Back at my tent, I took a few pictures while waiting for my shower to heat up. Like Savuti, this was an outdoor shower only set-up, so there would be no showering at night. The concrete floor was a lot colder than the wood deck at Savuti, though! I was a bit surprised by the concrete, as I’d thought there was some rule against using concrete in camps in the Okavango (to keep the camp’s footprint as light as possible); maybe this area dated from before that rule was instated.
Following my shower I started cleaning my camera equipment, which was why I didn’t have a camera to hand when I caught a flicker of movement on my veranda – a cute little dwarf mongoose crouched under one of the canvas deck chairs, peering curiously at me for a moment before scampering away. I was surprised not to see any other mongooses nearby – it’s rare to see a dwarf mongoose alone.
The mongoose reappeared (still alone) as I was writing in my journal, this time outside one of the mesh tent windows. He was quite wary (perhaps a side-effect of being alone) and froze every time I made any noise, so there was no way I could get at my cameras, neatly put away in my securely Velcroed Crumpler bag. So I didn’t get any photos, but it was fun just to watch him as he foraged, darting here and there and digging among the leaves. I think I might have seen a kill (of a mouse) if I’d had a bit more time, but one of the staff came to my tent to remind me that it was lunchtime and the sound of his voice scared the mongoose away.
The day dawned on another 7.5C morning in the Linyanti – another reason to miss Mombo and the temperate climate of the Delta. I woke up early to finish packing and went down to grab a bite to eat (porridge and honey). When I asked Beth how she had slept during her first night in the bush, she said it was fine, except for the fact that her neighbour had set his alarm clock for really early in the morning and had kept hitting the snooze button – after two or three times she had really wanted to kill him. I was mortified, because I soon realised that the obnoxious neighbour was none other than yours truly. I’ve never been in a camp where the tents are close enough together for anyone else to hear my alarm clock.
I was even more mortified when she said that she had had to take a cold sponge bath because there was no hot water – I wondered if my bath had somehow drained the hot water for both our tents, as I hadn’t been able to get any hot water since yesterday either. Fortunately she didn’t hold either incident against me – who says management consultants have no hearts?
We headed out towards Halfway Pan, passing through a forested area where we saw some zebra and kudu, as well as an unusually smart herd of impala standing on a hill. We also saw a fish eagle flying low overhead.
We arrived at Halfway Pan around 9am, and stopped for tea. Normally the pan would be mostly dry, but this year it looked more like a lake, complete with a couple of resident crocs.
BK, our guide from Lagoon, arrived a short while later, driving a new green Uri that had been built specifically as a safari vehicle rather than converted from another purpose. The seats were definitely more comfortable (or at least more well-padded), but the suspension was just as stiff. Kwando is definitely not the place for those of us with dodgy backs!
We bade Spencer goodbye and headed north. As we drove we began to hear what sounded like a lonely cat, a repetitive chirping mew. It was a lonely cat all right – a large male cheetah (one of the Savuti Boys) was perched on a termite mound, calling and calling. He was very relaxed, and we stayed with him for a long time as he continued to call. I got some great shots, and Beth shot some video and recorded his calls. BK said that he was most likely calling for a mate, as his brother had been seen nearby and had not responded to the calls.
On the way into camp we saw a lone tssessbe, as well as a monitor lizard concealed in a tree trunk.
The lagoon at Lagoon was an oxbow lagoon rather than a lake, with the tents strung along the shore to either side of the main lounge. My tent was No 2, directly to the left of the main lounge when facing the water. Personally, I would have preferred to be in Tent No 1 next door, which was on the end of the row – the veranda of No 2 was easily visible from the main deck, and though the camp was quiet while I was there I could see that there could be potential noise issues if the camp was full.
All of the tents were on the ground except for Tents 7 and 8, which shared a raised deck and could be used as a family suite. 7 and 8 were also the only two that were not right on the shore of the lagoon, though their elevated position meant that the view was probably fine.
The main lounge was quite similar to Lebala, though it felt a bit posher. The food was very similar – simple, hearty country fare. I particularly enjoyed a guava-coloured drink that I took to be fruit juice but which turned out to be iced tea.
Back at my tent, I took a few pictures while waiting for my shower to heat up. Like Savuti, this was an outdoor shower only set-up, so there would be no showering at night. The concrete floor was a lot colder than the wood deck at Savuti, though! I was a bit surprised by the concrete, as I’d thought there was some rule against using concrete in camps in the Okavango (to keep the camp’s footprint as light as possible); maybe this area dated from before that rule was instated.
Following my shower I started cleaning my camera equipment, which was why I didn’t have a camera to hand when I caught a flicker of movement on my veranda – a cute little dwarf mongoose crouched under one of the canvas deck chairs, peering curiously at me for a moment before scampering away. I was surprised not to see any other mongooses nearby – it’s rare to see a dwarf mongoose alone.
The mongoose reappeared (still alone) as I was writing in my journal, this time outside one of the mesh tent windows. He was quite wary (perhaps a side-effect of being alone) and froze every time I made any noise, so there was no way I could get at my cameras, neatly put away in my securely Velcroed Crumpler bag. So I didn’t get any photos, but it was fun just to watch him as he foraged, darting here and there and digging among the leaves. I think I might have seen a kill (of a mouse) if I’d had a bit more time, but one of the staff came to my tent to remind me that it was lunchtime and the sound of his voice scared the mongoose away.
Aug 26th, 2006, 02:49 PM
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After a nice lunch we headed out on the afternoon drive, hoping to find some sign of the Lagoon pack of wild dogs. We never saw any sign of them, but we did see another unusual sight – a puff adder frozen in the grass about three feet from our vehicle. I was amazed by how still it was, given that it was frozen in a rather awkward looking position. BK said that the snake probably believed he was invisible because of his camouflage, which wasn’t far from the truth; when I took a look at the photos on my Epson it was still pretty difficult to spot him even knowing where he was. This was my second encounter with a highly venomous snake on this trip, and they seemed to keep getting closer…
We also had an unusual sighting of some hippos out of the water relatively early in the day, grazing on the brown grass. By coincidence, the road (and hence our vehicle) was between them and the water – not a good thing. Once they realised this they started beating a hasty retreat to safety, dashing in front of our vehicle as they headed to the water at a surprising speed for such portly animals. BK seemed surprisingly unconcerned about being caught in one of the classic danger situations you always read about and hope you never end up in – as it turned out, this did not auger well for the rest of our drive.
We saw some interesting mixed herds of general game (giraffe and zebra) before coming upon the buffalo herd we had searched for yesterday without success. There were an unusually large number of oxpeckers and storks – it looked like some of the buffalo were supporting entire flocks of birds. BK explained the role of the oxpeckers to Beth, and we stayed with them for some time, watching the birds do their cleaning and taking pictures of the herd.
We left the buffalo and entered a forested area, where we encountered a heavily pregnant female elephant. She seemed rather edgy, and BK told us that heavily pregnant ellies are more aggressive than musth bulls (after nearly two years of being pregnant, you’d probably be pretty aggressive too).
The fact that he said this made what happened next even more incomprehensible – instead of backing off and giving her some space, he kept moving us closer and closer. She trumpeted, flapping her ears, and made a mock charge. BK backed up a bit, and she stopped, staring at us for a moment before retreating to the sanctuary of her small breeding herd.
Now I’m not a guide, but it would seem that the sensible thing to do at this point would have been to withdraw. BK, however, had other ideas, and moved towards the herd, pursuing them as they withdrew. It was clear that the ellies were becoming quite agitated. Personally, I felt we were too close – BK said we were not inside their ‘flight zone’ but we were well inside my personal flight zone and a better guide would have realised this. Beth, being a safari newbie, was oblivious to the danger. I hinted, quite broadly, that I would feel more comfortable further back, but he blithely assured me that he knew these animals and that we were safe. And we may have been, but that wasn’t really the point – he should have backed off when a guest expressed discomfort with the situation.
The whole debacle climaxed with a charge led by the matriarch – and when the matriarch charges, so does everyone else, down to the calves. It was a solid wall of grey and ivory, six or seven animals abreast thundering down on us in a rush of trumpeting, and I can honestly say it was one of the most terrifying moments I’ve ever experienced on safari. They were actually too close to get a decent shot with my 70-200, which is way too close. BK kept urging us to take more pictures, seemingly more interested in the photo opportunity than in the possibility of getting flattened by an irate elephant.
The ellies stopped short in a cloud of dust – it had been a mock charge. They were about fifty feet away.
At long last we pulled away, heading down to a nearby pan. BK thought that the ellies might be coming down to drink and that it would be nice to get some photos. At this point I had had enough, and I was ready to insist on keeping our distance. Fortunately, they decided to drink elsewhere, and we had sundowners while watching some hippos yawning at each other.
Looking back, I wish I had said something more explicit about my discomfort with BK’s brinksmanship with the ellies. Going after exciting sightings is one thing – this was something else entirely. Not only is it dangerous, but it’s not good for the animals or for animal-human relations, not to mention the next poor sod who encounters that herd. But this was so far out of my experience in any safari camp that I wasn’t sure how to express my concerns. I’ve never had an experience like this with a guide before, in South Africa, Botswana, or Tanzania – on this trip, both of my Wilderness guides had explicitly said that we should let them know if we were uncomfortable with anything that was happening, and it was clear that client comfort with game-viewing circumstances was a priority.
On the way back to camp we saw a few scrub hares and spring hares, in addition to a genet in a tree.
After a tasty meal, we spent some time sitting around the campfire with the only other people in camp, an older British couple who were repeat visitors to Kwando. Then it was off to bed.
We also had an unusual sighting of some hippos out of the water relatively early in the day, grazing on the brown grass. By coincidence, the road (and hence our vehicle) was between them and the water – not a good thing. Once they realised this they started beating a hasty retreat to safety, dashing in front of our vehicle as they headed to the water at a surprising speed for such portly animals. BK seemed surprisingly unconcerned about being caught in one of the classic danger situations you always read about and hope you never end up in – as it turned out, this did not auger well for the rest of our drive.
We saw some interesting mixed herds of general game (giraffe and zebra) before coming upon the buffalo herd we had searched for yesterday without success. There were an unusually large number of oxpeckers and storks – it looked like some of the buffalo were supporting entire flocks of birds. BK explained the role of the oxpeckers to Beth, and we stayed with them for some time, watching the birds do their cleaning and taking pictures of the herd.
We left the buffalo and entered a forested area, where we encountered a heavily pregnant female elephant. She seemed rather edgy, and BK told us that heavily pregnant ellies are more aggressive than musth bulls (after nearly two years of being pregnant, you’d probably be pretty aggressive too).
The fact that he said this made what happened next even more incomprehensible – instead of backing off and giving her some space, he kept moving us closer and closer. She trumpeted, flapping her ears, and made a mock charge. BK backed up a bit, and she stopped, staring at us for a moment before retreating to the sanctuary of her small breeding herd.
Now I’m not a guide, but it would seem that the sensible thing to do at this point would have been to withdraw. BK, however, had other ideas, and moved towards the herd, pursuing them as they withdrew. It was clear that the ellies were becoming quite agitated. Personally, I felt we were too close – BK said we were not inside their ‘flight zone’ but we were well inside my personal flight zone and a better guide would have realised this. Beth, being a safari newbie, was oblivious to the danger. I hinted, quite broadly, that I would feel more comfortable further back, but he blithely assured me that he knew these animals and that we were safe. And we may have been, but that wasn’t really the point – he should have backed off when a guest expressed discomfort with the situation.
The whole debacle climaxed with a charge led by the matriarch – and when the matriarch charges, so does everyone else, down to the calves. It was a solid wall of grey and ivory, six or seven animals abreast thundering down on us in a rush of trumpeting, and I can honestly say it was one of the most terrifying moments I’ve ever experienced on safari. They were actually too close to get a decent shot with my 70-200, which is way too close. BK kept urging us to take more pictures, seemingly more interested in the photo opportunity than in the possibility of getting flattened by an irate elephant.
The ellies stopped short in a cloud of dust – it had been a mock charge. They were about fifty feet away.
At long last we pulled away, heading down to a nearby pan. BK thought that the ellies might be coming down to drink and that it would be nice to get some photos. At this point I had had enough, and I was ready to insist on keeping our distance. Fortunately, they decided to drink elsewhere, and we had sundowners while watching some hippos yawning at each other.
Looking back, I wish I had said something more explicit about my discomfort with BK’s brinksmanship with the ellies. Going after exciting sightings is one thing – this was something else entirely. Not only is it dangerous, but it’s not good for the animals or for animal-human relations, not to mention the next poor sod who encounters that herd. But this was so far out of my experience in any safari camp that I wasn’t sure how to express my concerns. I’ve never had an experience like this with a guide before, in South Africa, Botswana, or Tanzania – on this trip, both of my Wilderness guides had explicitly said that we should let them know if we were uncomfortable with anything that was happening, and it was clear that client comfort with game-viewing circumstances was a priority.
On the way back to camp we saw a few scrub hares and spring hares, in addition to a genet in a tree.
After a tasty meal, we spent some time sitting around the campfire with the only other people in camp, an older British couple who were repeat visitors to Kwando. Then it was off to bed.
Aug 26th, 2006, 03:19 PM
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JULY 5: LINYANTI (LAGOON)
Maybe it’s my imagination (or just wishful thinking) but mornings in the Linyanti seem to be getting warmer. Getting up in the morning is certainly getting easier. After a quick breakfast we headed out.
For the first hour the drive was pretty quiet – occasional general game, but not much else. Then we encountered what has to be the most ancient warthog I’ve ever seen, with warts that had grown so large they were squashing his eyes. I didn’t realise that the warts continued to grow throughout their lives. This old boy looked pretty tough, as he must be to survive as long as he had.
Beth had no idea how astonishing it was to hear BK cry, ‘Sable antelope!’ Sable? Here? But there they were, a herd of chocolate-brown females and one huge black male, with their distinctive curving horns. They were a bit nervous, and I would have expected BK to take a slow and steady approach, as I’ve seen guides do with nervous animals in the past. However, BK had other ideas, and charged straight in, with the predictable result that the sable took off. I missed a great shot of the male, as we pulled in so close that my 70-200 was too long – by the time I had reached for my other camera with the WA lens he had taken off, leaving me with an impression of an immensely muscled white rump.
We followed them through the bush, catching frustratingly brief glimpses of them. There were a few times where I thought I could sense that we were about to enter their flight zone, and sure enough as we crossed that invisible line they took off again. Hurrah for my instincts, but I wish I had been more assertive about getting BK to stop when I knew we were getting close. But he was the guide, and I wasn’t used to being with a guide who appeared to be oblivious to things like that. The male in particular was very nervous – he was always the first to bolt, and when he ran the others followed. It was one of the few times when I wished I had brought a longer lens, though I think I got a few halfway decent shots before we lost them in the mopane woodlands.
The sighting had been brief and frustrating, but it was still a thrill to see sable. I would later learn that they often come down to drink at the lagoon near Tent No 1 in the dry season.
Our final sighting of the morning was another monitor lizard peeking out of a tree trunk. He was very well concealed and hard to spot even when you knew he was there – whatever BK’s flaws as a guide, he does have good eyes.
After a nice omelette for brunch I went back to my tent to relax a bit before taking a short boat cruise on Lagoon’s double decker boat. It was getting rather hot and I wasn’t really looking forward to the cruise, but felt I should do it since their double-decker boats are one of the things that make the Kwando camps unique. It would be interesting to see how much difference having two decks would make in terms of viewing animals from the water.
I cleaned my camera gear while keeping an eye on the boat, where my tracker, Jeffrey, was preparing for departure – there are some advantages to having a veranda right next to the boat launch. My room was getting pretty hot as well – I’m not sure I’d want to stay in there in October without a fan. Unfortunately my mongoose neighbour didn’t drop by to pay me a visit.
Beth had decided that it was too hot to go out on the boat (a sentiment I secretly seconded) so I was the only passenger. Jeffrey provided a bottle of ice-cold water, but it was still rather hot on the unshaded upper deck, particularly as we pulled away from the shade of the trees near the lounge and the sun started to beat down on the aluminium deck. I got some nice shots of the camp as we pulled away.
I’d hoped to see some hippos or crocs, but there wasn’t much to see, though I got some nice shots of the reeds and riverbanks and Jeffrey found a large monitor lizard on the bank. I even glimpsed what might have been some hippos disappearing into the reeds. Jeffrey was great about getting the boat into position to photograph the lizard and some unusual purple lilies. He plucked a lily out so I could get a better picture – though I appreciated the thought, I wish he had just left it alone.
We had a bit of a parking problem when we got back to camp, and had to be helped into place by one of the new guests, an American man who was there with his wife and two daughters. The kids were around 8-10 years old, and spent the rest of the siesta period shrieking and running around the deck in front of the main lounge – with them in camp, noise did become a problem at Tent No 2, reminding me forcibly why I prefer a child-free safari…
Maybe it’s my imagination (or just wishful thinking) but mornings in the Linyanti seem to be getting warmer. Getting up in the morning is certainly getting easier. After a quick breakfast we headed out.
For the first hour the drive was pretty quiet – occasional general game, but not much else. Then we encountered what has to be the most ancient warthog I’ve ever seen, with warts that had grown so large they were squashing his eyes. I didn’t realise that the warts continued to grow throughout their lives. This old boy looked pretty tough, as he must be to survive as long as he had.
Beth had no idea how astonishing it was to hear BK cry, ‘Sable antelope!’ Sable? Here? But there they were, a herd of chocolate-brown females and one huge black male, with their distinctive curving horns. They were a bit nervous, and I would have expected BK to take a slow and steady approach, as I’ve seen guides do with nervous animals in the past. However, BK had other ideas, and charged straight in, with the predictable result that the sable took off. I missed a great shot of the male, as we pulled in so close that my 70-200 was too long – by the time I had reached for my other camera with the WA lens he had taken off, leaving me with an impression of an immensely muscled white rump.
We followed them through the bush, catching frustratingly brief glimpses of them. There were a few times where I thought I could sense that we were about to enter their flight zone, and sure enough as we crossed that invisible line they took off again. Hurrah for my instincts, but I wish I had been more assertive about getting BK to stop when I knew we were getting close. But he was the guide, and I wasn’t used to being with a guide who appeared to be oblivious to things like that. The male in particular was very nervous – he was always the first to bolt, and when he ran the others followed. It was one of the few times when I wished I had brought a longer lens, though I think I got a few halfway decent shots before we lost them in the mopane woodlands.
The sighting had been brief and frustrating, but it was still a thrill to see sable. I would later learn that they often come down to drink at the lagoon near Tent No 1 in the dry season.
Our final sighting of the morning was another monitor lizard peeking out of a tree trunk. He was very well concealed and hard to spot even when you knew he was there – whatever BK’s flaws as a guide, he does have good eyes.
After a nice omelette for brunch I went back to my tent to relax a bit before taking a short boat cruise on Lagoon’s double decker boat. It was getting rather hot and I wasn’t really looking forward to the cruise, but felt I should do it since their double-decker boats are one of the things that make the Kwando camps unique. It would be interesting to see how much difference having two decks would make in terms of viewing animals from the water.
I cleaned my camera gear while keeping an eye on the boat, where my tracker, Jeffrey, was preparing for departure – there are some advantages to having a veranda right next to the boat launch. My room was getting pretty hot as well – I’m not sure I’d want to stay in there in October without a fan. Unfortunately my mongoose neighbour didn’t drop by to pay me a visit.
Beth had decided that it was too hot to go out on the boat (a sentiment I secretly seconded) so I was the only passenger. Jeffrey provided a bottle of ice-cold water, but it was still rather hot on the unshaded upper deck, particularly as we pulled away from the shade of the trees near the lounge and the sun started to beat down on the aluminium deck. I got some nice shots of the camp as we pulled away.
I’d hoped to see some hippos or crocs, but there wasn’t much to see, though I got some nice shots of the reeds and riverbanks and Jeffrey found a large monitor lizard on the bank. I even glimpsed what might have been some hippos disappearing into the reeds. Jeffrey was great about getting the boat into position to photograph the lizard and some unusual purple lilies. He plucked a lily out so I could get a better picture – though I appreciated the thought, I wish he had just left it alone.
We had a bit of a parking problem when we got back to camp, and had to be helped into place by one of the new guests, an American man who was there with his wife and two daughters. The kids were around 8-10 years old, and spent the rest of the siesta period shrieking and running around the deck in front of the main lounge – with them in camp, noise did become a problem at Tent No 2, reminding me forcibly why I prefer a child-free safari…
Aug 26th, 2006, 04:41 PM
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Over lunch I met Steve Kgwatalala, who would be my private guide for my final day at Lagoon. As Kwando veterans may recall, Steve used to guide at Kwando before becoming a private guide. He’s well-known for his talent for locating wild dogs, and regularly guides Michael Vecht (mv) on his visits to Kwando. So far we hadn’t found any sign of the dogs at either Lebala or Lagoon, and the guides at Lagoon they hadn’t seen them for several weeks so I was hoping Steve would have some insight into their whereabouts. I’ve heard a lot about the wild dogs at Kwando and was hoping to spend some time with the Lagoon pack.
It turned out that the large pack that has provided such wonderful sightings died out some years ago, and the new pack that has moved into the Lagoon area is much smaller (only six dogs) and relatively skittish. The old Lagoon pack used to den in termite mounds near Lagoon, but the new pack prefers to den back in the thick mopane, making the dens much more difficult to find. Sightings at Lagoon have thus become much less reliable than they once were.
I had plenty of time to chat with Steve about the dogs, as the kitchen had forgotten that I don’t eat onions and there were onions in all of the lunch dishes. For some reason when I asked for an alternative to the onion-covered chicken they thought I was a vegetarian, and brought out a grilled vegetable kebab – which had onions on it. It took forever for the kitchen to finally produce some (rather dry) grilled chicken. By that point I was starving so I just made the best of it, though I loathe dry chicken. One of the managers apologised, admitting that they has completely forgotten about my dietary requirements and assured me it would not happen again (it didn’t).
The problem with lunch meant that we got a late start, which was rather frustrating. Steve and I had discussed our strategy while we were waiting for the food, and he had suggested checking out the pack’s former den sites. He warned me that we would need to cover a lot of ground (without braking for general game) to have a decent chance of finding them – this was fine with me as by this point in the trip I’d seen plenty of game. He also warned me that one day wasn’t really enough, and that there was a chance we wouldn’t see them at all – this was fine as well as I realised the limitations of the timeframe and wanted to give it my best shot.
We had the converted Hi-Lux pickup as our vehicle, which despite looking like the most homely of the lot was also the most comfortable – the suspension was considerably easier on the back, which was fortunate as hunting for the dogs meant a lot of offroading deep into the mopane. My bum didn’t leave the seat nearly as often, which was a relief, though it was still a pretty bone-rattling ride.
In the end, we drew a blank on the dogs – not even any tracks. But although we may have remained dog-less, it turned out to be a banner day for rare antelope – Steve spotted my first roan antelope, a young bull browsing near some trees. We couldn’t get that close as he was quite nervous, but I did get some halfway decent shots of him. He was a magnificent antelope – I love their facial markings. His ears looked comically large, though they would look more well-proportioned once his horns grow out.
According to Steve, he was a bit too young to be on his own, but was approaching the age when he would break away from the herd – being a short distance from them now was a way of becoming more comfortable with being on his own. We found the herd a short distance away (too far from us for photography, unfortunately).
We didn’t stop for sundowners, but continued to look for signs of the dogs as long as there was light. On the way back to camp we found an unusually relaxed eagle owl roosting in a tree beside the road.
There had been a call for lions that we had passed up, and I’d hoped that Beth would get a chance to see them as she really wanted to see lions in the wild; unfortunately, she didn’t see them. I’d seen the American family at the roan sighting, and I wondered if they realised how rare it was to see roan.
After another hearty meal, it was back to my tent to do as much packing as possible – the plan was to maximise my drive time by bringing my luggage with us on the morning drive and doing a bush breakfast so we could go straight to the airstrip. Again Kwando had scheduled me for an early transfer which would cut into my game-viewing time, which was a pain in the bum.
Packing by the light of the feeble fluorescents was also a pain in the bum – even though I had made certain to secure a well-charged torch that wouldn’t die. I kept worrying that I was leaving something behind. Packing my camera gear was particularly challenging, as the ideal configuration for moving camp is definitely not the best configuration for photography. I ended up packing for the game drive with the hope that I would have a chance to re-arrange my gear before boarding the plane.
It turned out that the large pack that has provided such wonderful sightings died out some years ago, and the new pack that has moved into the Lagoon area is much smaller (only six dogs) and relatively skittish. The old Lagoon pack used to den in termite mounds near Lagoon, but the new pack prefers to den back in the thick mopane, making the dens much more difficult to find. Sightings at Lagoon have thus become much less reliable than they once were.
I had plenty of time to chat with Steve about the dogs, as the kitchen had forgotten that I don’t eat onions and there were onions in all of the lunch dishes. For some reason when I asked for an alternative to the onion-covered chicken they thought I was a vegetarian, and brought out a grilled vegetable kebab – which had onions on it. It took forever for the kitchen to finally produce some (rather dry) grilled chicken. By that point I was starving so I just made the best of it, though I loathe dry chicken. One of the managers apologised, admitting that they has completely forgotten about my dietary requirements and assured me it would not happen again (it didn’t).
The problem with lunch meant that we got a late start, which was rather frustrating. Steve and I had discussed our strategy while we were waiting for the food, and he had suggested checking out the pack’s former den sites. He warned me that we would need to cover a lot of ground (without braking for general game) to have a decent chance of finding them – this was fine with me as by this point in the trip I’d seen plenty of game. He also warned me that one day wasn’t really enough, and that there was a chance we wouldn’t see them at all – this was fine as well as I realised the limitations of the timeframe and wanted to give it my best shot.
We had the converted Hi-Lux pickup as our vehicle, which despite looking like the most homely of the lot was also the most comfortable – the suspension was considerably easier on the back, which was fortunate as hunting for the dogs meant a lot of offroading deep into the mopane. My bum didn’t leave the seat nearly as often, which was a relief, though it was still a pretty bone-rattling ride.
In the end, we drew a blank on the dogs – not even any tracks. But although we may have remained dog-less, it turned out to be a banner day for rare antelope – Steve spotted my first roan antelope, a young bull browsing near some trees. We couldn’t get that close as he was quite nervous, but I did get some halfway decent shots of him. He was a magnificent antelope – I love their facial markings. His ears looked comically large, though they would look more well-proportioned once his horns grow out.
According to Steve, he was a bit too young to be on his own, but was approaching the age when he would break away from the herd – being a short distance from them now was a way of becoming more comfortable with being on his own. We found the herd a short distance away (too far from us for photography, unfortunately).
We didn’t stop for sundowners, but continued to look for signs of the dogs as long as there was light. On the way back to camp we found an unusually relaxed eagle owl roosting in a tree beside the road.
There had been a call for lions that we had passed up, and I’d hoped that Beth would get a chance to see them as she really wanted to see lions in the wild; unfortunately, she didn’t see them. I’d seen the American family at the roan sighting, and I wondered if they realised how rare it was to see roan.
After another hearty meal, it was back to my tent to do as much packing as possible – the plan was to maximise my drive time by bringing my luggage with us on the morning drive and doing a bush breakfast so we could go straight to the airstrip. Again Kwando had scheduled me for an early transfer which would cut into my game-viewing time, which was a pain in the bum.
Packing by the light of the feeble fluorescents was also a pain in the bum – even though I had made certain to secure a well-charged torch that wouldn’t die. I kept worrying that I was leaving something behind. Packing my camera gear was particularly challenging, as the ideal configuration for moving camp is definitely not the best configuration for photography. I ended up packing for the game drive with the hope that I would have a chance to re-arrange my gear before boarding the plane.
Aug 27th, 2006, 01:53 AM
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Hi Julian,
I am surprised that you didn't voice your concern regarding the eles. I would have been reluctant to put myself back into a vehicle with him, because you really do put your life into their hands, and to me, that does give you an enormous voice to say when something doesn't feel comfortable.
Really annoying regarding the sable, I have what is called insurance shots, that you take them from a distance and approach steadily stopping, and taking a better shot. That way, at least you have something, and of course with digital, you delete as required. I have had a few rangers that try for the very best shot but you end up with nothing!
Fortunate with the roan as well!
Kind regards,
Kaye
I am surprised that you didn't voice your concern regarding the eles. I would have been reluctant to put myself back into a vehicle with him, because you really do put your life into their hands, and to me, that does give you an enormous voice to say when something doesn't feel comfortable.
Really annoying regarding the sable, I have what is called insurance shots, that you take them from a distance and approach steadily stopping, and taking a better shot. That way, at least you have something, and of course with digital, you delete as required. I have had a few rangers that try for the very best shot but you end up with nothing!
Fortunate with the roan as well!
Kind regards,
Kaye
Aug 27th, 2006, 03:28 AM
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Hi Kaye,
Maybe this wasn't clear from what I wrote, but I did voice my concerns to him, much more forcefully than I have ever done before (to the point of saying, 'I'd like to leave -- NOW!'). Everything was happening so fast, and I was also concerned about making too much noise that the ellies might have interpreted as aggression. But as you know we have a national allergy to making a fuss, and I just don't think I expressed myself as well as I could have.
I did get in a few insurance shots with the sable the following day -- they're not great but they're passable.
Cheers,
Julian
Maybe this wasn't clear from what I wrote, but I did voice my concerns to him, much more forcefully than I have ever done before (to the point of saying, 'I'd like to leave -- NOW!'). Everything was happening so fast, and I was also concerned about making too much noise that the ellies might have interpreted as aggression. But as you know we have a national allergy to making a fuss, and I just don't think I expressed myself as well as I could have.
I did get in a few insurance shots with the sable the following day -- they're not great but they're passable.
Cheers,
Julian
Aug 27th, 2006, 07:50 AM
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JULY 6: LINYANTI (LAGOON) / MAKGADIKGADI PANS (JACK’S CAMP)
The best-laid plans of mice and men…there was just too much packing left to be done, so I ended up getting a later start than I had planned (though we were still the first ones out of camp). Admittedly, staying up to finish ‘The Guide’s Guide to Guiding’ (Garth Thompson) didn’t help when it came to getting up early.
We spent the morning checking additional old den sites, which involved some serious bush-bashing – unfortunately to no avail. To be honest, I’d pretty much given up on seeing them here – despite its reputation, it looked like my Kwando stay was going to remain dog-less. There was always the chance I would see them in the Sabi Sands – stranger things have happened, and I’ve seen dogs several times at Londolozi.
At this point in the trip, I’ve had so much great game-viewing that having a quite couple of days at Kwando didn’t bother me as much as it might have under other circumstances, particularly with a week in the Sabi Sands coming up. But I was very glad that I hadn’t done an all-Kwando itinerary, or I might have been very disappointed.
As it was, it was nice just to drive around in the bush, enjoying the occasional sighting of general game but mostly just sucking up the atmosphere on my last day in northern Botswana. I didn’t take any pictures except a quick snapshot of the bush breakfast, which was a bit of a surprise – I’d expected a continental breakfast but there was also some smoked ham and some weird egg tart things which were way too greasy for me. The ham was also a bit fatty for my taste but I ate a bit for the protein, as I knew that I had a long travel day ahead and bush planes in Botswana are a food-free zone. As soon as I realised there was biltong I ditched the ham in favour of the biltong.
We never did find any sign of the dogs – I think Steve was more disappointed than I was. We headed to the airstrip, where I said goodbye to Steve and asked him to say hello to Michael Vecht (mv) who would be arriving that afternoon. Hopefully he would have better luck with the dogs than I had.
After the superb photos I’d gotten on the helicopter flight, I no longer felt the need to take photos during my light aircraft transfers – the helicopter shots were a league away in terms of quality, as you’re so much lower down, moving much more slowly, and there’s no glass to shoot through. So I sat back and watched the Botswanan landscape scrolling past beneath me – first the golds and greens of the Linyanti, then the verdant floodplains of the Delta, and finally the dusty outskirts of Maun. I have nothing against Maun per se, but seeing its motley mix of rondavels and little tin-roofed buildings appear beneath the plane always makes me sad because it means my trip is over and I’m going to have to leave Botswana.
However, this particular flight was an exception – rather than heading back to Joburg, I was transferring to a light aircraft transfer to Jack’s Camp. When Michael Vecht and I had dinner in London, we’d wondered if we might see each other in the departures lounge at Maun since we were both transiting through there on the same day, but as it turned out I never even went into arrivals, much less departures – a porter from Sefofane met me with a golf cart as I disembarked. After a quick loo stop (it had been over an hour from Kwando and would be another hour to Jack’s and there are no loos on these planes) I boarded my flight to Jack’s Camp via Chitabe.
Aboard the plane I saw a familiar face – the cabin steward was the same one who had done my transfer from Savuti to Mombo. He remembered me because I’d asked if the pilot could circle the camp so I could get some photos. He asked if they’d turned out all right – I wasn’t really sure as it was hard to tell on the Epson.
Ironically enough, after dashing to the loo I was dying of thirst – and just my luck, this was one of the only Sefofane flights I’d been on with no water cooler. Sometimes the smaller planes don’t have them, but the Caravans (like this one) usually do so I hadn’t thought to ask – my fault entirely. The steward said that he would try to get some water at Chitabe, where we were stopping to pick up some passengers and drop off a number of Chitabe staff who were returning to camp after making a supply run to Maun. I had an interesting conversation with one of the managers about Air Botswana and the coming end of its evil monopoly.
When we landed at Chitabe I was surprised to see a vehicle marked Sandibe at the airstrip – I’d forgotten that they shared an airstrip. There was a veritable fleet of Chitabe vehicles as well, and I was dreading a full flight until I realised they were all empty – they were here to pick up the staff and supplies. And there were a lot of supplies, an amazing motley assortment of goods encompassing everything from crockery to what looked like folding chairs and radio gear. I was astonished by how much they’d managed to stuff into the hold – just when I thought they were done they pulled out another bag or box.
When they had finally unloaded, the two people from Sandibe boarded – a retired American couple on a Micato trip, who were very nice but rather fussy. Oddly enough, they didn’t seem to have any idea what their camps would be like (e.g. they had no idea where Jack’s was or that it wasn’t really a big game-viewing camp) or what being on safari was like (they had been told that they didn’t need binoculars as the camps would provide them). Their agent really should have done a better job of briefing them on what to expect.
Thankfully the cabin steward was able to procure some water from the Sandibe ranger – otherwise it would have been a long and thirsty flight. I’d hope to get some shots of the Makgadikgadi Pans from the plane, but it turned out that I was on the wrong side of the plane to get a good view of them. I reminded myself to sit on the opposite side when I left.
We landed on an unusually dusty airstrip in a surprisingly forested area – for some reason I’d had the impression that everything in the pans was flat and open. There were two other planes on the airstrip, one hired by a family that had taken over San Camp and another belonging to Ralph Bousfield, the legendary safari guide who owns Jack’s and San.
Our guide, Kitty, said that Ralph uses the plane to commute back and forth between the camps and his place in Francistown, where his company’s offices and the Bousfields’ animal orphanage are located. Logically, a plane is the only way to manage that commute, but given Ralph’s history with flying small planes I had to admire his courage. Kitty mentioned that Ralph was in camp and would be joining us for dinner tonight – I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my first night at Jack’s.
The best-laid plans of mice and men…there was just too much packing left to be done, so I ended up getting a later start than I had planned (though we were still the first ones out of camp). Admittedly, staying up to finish ‘The Guide’s Guide to Guiding’ (Garth Thompson) didn’t help when it came to getting up early.
We spent the morning checking additional old den sites, which involved some serious bush-bashing – unfortunately to no avail. To be honest, I’d pretty much given up on seeing them here – despite its reputation, it looked like my Kwando stay was going to remain dog-less. There was always the chance I would see them in the Sabi Sands – stranger things have happened, and I’ve seen dogs several times at Londolozi.
At this point in the trip, I’ve had so much great game-viewing that having a quite couple of days at Kwando didn’t bother me as much as it might have under other circumstances, particularly with a week in the Sabi Sands coming up. But I was very glad that I hadn’t done an all-Kwando itinerary, or I might have been very disappointed.
As it was, it was nice just to drive around in the bush, enjoying the occasional sighting of general game but mostly just sucking up the atmosphere on my last day in northern Botswana. I didn’t take any pictures except a quick snapshot of the bush breakfast, which was a bit of a surprise – I’d expected a continental breakfast but there was also some smoked ham and some weird egg tart things which were way too greasy for me. The ham was also a bit fatty for my taste but I ate a bit for the protein, as I knew that I had a long travel day ahead and bush planes in Botswana are a food-free zone. As soon as I realised there was biltong I ditched the ham in favour of the biltong.
We never did find any sign of the dogs – I think Steve was more disappointed than I was. We headed to the airstrip, where I said goodbye to Steve and asked him to say hello to Michael Vecht (mv) who would be arriving that afternoon. Hopefully he would have better luck with the dogs than I had.
After the superb photos I’d gotten on the helicopter flight, I no longer felt the need to take photos during my light aircraft transfers – the helicopter shots were a league away in terms of quality, as you’re so much lower down, moving much more slowly, and there’s no glass to shoot through. So I sat back and watched the Botswanan landscape scrolling past beneath me – first the golds and greens of the Linyanti, then the verdant floodplains of the Delta, and finally the dusty outskirts of Maun. I have nothing against Maun per se, but seeing its motley mix of rondavels and little tin-roofed buildings appear beneath the plane always makes me sad because it means my trip is over and I’m going to have to leave Botswana.
However, this particular flight was an exception – rather than heading back to Joburg, I was transferring to a light aircraft transfer to Jack’s Camp. When Michael Vecht and I had dinner in London, we’d wondered if we might see each other in the departures lounge at Maun since we were both transiting through there on the same day, but as it turned out I never even went into arrivals, much less departures – a porter from Sefofane met me with a golf cart as I disembarked. After a quick loo stop (it had been over an hour from Kwando and would be another hour to Jack’s and there are no loos on these planes) I boarded my flight to Jack’s Camp via Chitabe.
Aboard the plane I saw a familiar face – the cabin steward was the same one who had done my transfer from Savuti to Mombo. He remembered me because I’d asked if the pilot could circle the camp so I could get some photos. He asked if they’d turned out all right – I wasn’t really sure as it was hard to tell on the Epson.
Ironically enough, after dashing to the loo I was dying of thirst – and just my luck, this was one of the only Sefofane flights I’d been on with no water cooler. Sometimes the smaller planes don’t have them, but the Caravans (like this one) usually do so I hadn’t thought to ask – my fault entirely. The steward said that he would try to get some water at Chitabe, where we were stopping to pick up some passengers and drop off a number of Chitabe staff who were returning to camp after making a supply run to Maun. I had an interesting conversation with one of the managers about Air Botswana and the coming end of its evil monopoly.
When we landed at Chitabe I was surprised to see a vehicle marked Sandibe at the airstrip – I’d forgotten that they shared an airstrip. There was a veritable fleet of Chitabe vehicles as well, and I was dreading a full flight until I realised they were all empty – they were here to pick up the staff and supplies. And there were a lot of supplies, an amazing motley assortment of goods encompassing everything from crockery to what looked like folding chairs and radio gear. I was astonished by how much they’d managed to stuff into the hold – just when I thought they were done they pulled out another bag or box.
When they had finally unloaded, the two people from Sandibe boarded – a retired American couple on a Micato trip, who were very nice but rather fussy. Oddly enough, they didn’t seem to have any idea what their camps would be like (e.g. they had no idea where Jack’s was or that it wasn’t really a big game-viewing camp) or what being on safari was like (they had been told that they didn’t need binoculars as the camps would provide them). Their agent really should have done a better job of briefing them on what to expect.
Thankfully the cabin steward was able to procure some water from the Sandibe ranger – otherwise it would have been a long and thirsty flight. I’d hope to get some shots of the Makgadikgadi Pans from the plane, but it turned out that I was on the wrong side of the plane to get a good view of them. I reminded myself to sit on the opposite side when I left.
We landed on an unusually dusty airstrip in a surprisingly forested area – for some reason I’d had the impression that everything in the pans was flat and open. There were two other planes on the airstrip, one hired by a family that had taken over San Camp and another belonging to Ralph Bousfield, the legendary safari guide who owns Jack’s and San.
Our guide, Kitty, said that Ralph uses the plane to commute back and forth between the camps and his place in Francistown, where his company’s offices and the Bousfields’ animal orphanage are located. Logically, a plane is the only way to manage that commute, but given Ralph’s history with flying small planes I had to admire his courage. Kitty mentioned that Ralph was in camp and would be joining us for dinner tonight – I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my first night at Jack’s.
Aug 27th, 2006, 08:36 AM
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Julian, I didn't realize that sable and roan were in the delta. I saw plenty of sable in Chobe (in large groups), but I have only seen roan in Mkhaza, Swaziland (re-introduced).
I'm looking forward to your report on Jack's -- thatès high on my list.
Iæm writing this from Sarajevo, BiH, so forgive some strange symbols. Tomorrow I begin my trip overland via Mostar to Dubrovnik.
Michael
I'm looking forward to your report on Jack's -- thatès high on my list.
Iæm writing this from Sarajevo, BiH, so forgive some strange symbols. Tomorrow I begin my trip overland via Mostar to Dubrovnik.
Michael
Aug 27th, 2006, 08:52 AM
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Hi Michael,
I haven't been fortunate enough to see sable in the Delta, though I hope to do so at some point. I hope to go to Hwange next year, which is supposed to be good for sable sightings. I didn't realise there were roan in Swaziland!
Cheers,
Julian
I haven't been fortunate enough to see sable in the Delta, though I hope to do so at some point. I hope to go to Hwange next year, which is supposed to be good for sable sightings. I didn't realise there were roan in Swaziland!
Cheers,
Julian
Aug 27th, 2006, 09:41 AM
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Julian,
I regret that your time at Kwando wasn't enjoyable and you had an "ellie incident". But such things can happen in any camp (even at Wilderness Camps)and I agree with you that the safety of the clients should be the first priority of the guides.
Best regards,
Johan
I regret that your time at Kwando wasn't enjoyable and you had an "ellie incident". But such things can happen in any camp (even at Wilderness Camps)and I agree with you that the safety of the clients should be the first priority of the guides.
Best regards,
Johan
Aug 28th, 2006, 02:20 AM
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JULY 6: MAKGADIKGADI PANS (JACK'S CAMP) Continued:
The drive to camp took about 30-40 minutes. The vehicles at Jack’s are unlike any others I’ve seen, Land Rovers with canvas roofs built around an unusual metal frame supporting fold-down seats on the roof (over the first row of seats behind the guide). The view from the roof was often spectacular, if a bit sunny and windy. There were wooden beanbag trays in front of the seats, and a number of plump suede-covered beanbags.
Jack’s has a very distinct personality and style, springing from Ralph’s direct involvement in all aspects of the camp. He personally goes to the UK and recruits all of his guides from the zoology graduates of Oxford, Cambridge, London, and a few other select UK universities, and interviews them in person before bringing them out to the bush, where he and the head guide, Super, oversee their training. Many of the guides have ended up doing PhDs on the wildlife of the Makgadikgadi – so little is known about the pans.
Our guide, Kitty, did a zoology degree in the UK. Her particular passion was birds, particularly raptors, and I think she was a bit disappointed to find that there were no birders amongst us. But she also knew an immense amount about the non-avian wildlife of the pans and about the environment itself, and was very easy to get on with. On the drive from the airstrip she told us about the geology of the pans and how the unusual weather had affected the environment. Normally the pan in front of Jack’s would have long since dried up and we would have driven straight across it into the camp, but because of the late rains it still held water and we had to circle around. There was something decidedly unreal about seeing this shimmering lake in the middle of the desert, with flamingos and other birds picking their way along the shore.
For the first time on this trip it was getting seriously hot, and as we drove into camp I joked that I hoped that I wasn’t in the tent facing the pan, which looked really hot (the joke was on me, as it turned out that that was my tent (No 10).
Alvain, the camp manager, met us at what could be termed the main entrance – a path that led from the mess tent out to the road. Alvain was very urbane and civilised, the consummate host – a throwback to the best parts of the old days. But there was nothing colonial about his attitude – he is passionate about working to bring some of the economic benefits of eco-tourism to the Bushmen while encouraging younger members of the community to value their culture. One of his ongoing projects was trying to persuade the Bushmen that their traditional crafts have as much value as the shiny new Western things they crave by selling them in a shop at the camp, so that the skills don’t die out with the older generation.
Alvain’s shop is some time in the future, however, as one of the most striking things about Jack’s is how non-commercial it is. This is the only camp I’ve ever stayed at where there was no shop (even Little Vumbura has a tiny little room with postcards for sale). As Ralph later said, he views the camp as an extension of his home, and who would ever think of putting a shop in their home, or selling postcards of it?
On the way into camp we’d decided we’d like to have a light lunch, as we were all a bit hungry – it had been a long time since that biltong at Kwando. We had a Nicoise salad, a nice light meal which suited the hot weather. The food at Jack’s was some of the best I had on this trip, which was particularly amazing given that it was easily the most remote camp I stayed at.
Over lunch Kitty described some of the activities at Jack’s and asked us what sorts of things we were interested in. The camp wasn’t full, so there was quite a bit of flexibility. Some of the other guests were going quad biking this evening – did we want to join them? Naturally my answer was yes, though the older folks took a bit of persuading. We decided to walk with the Bushmen tomorrow morning, and to visit the brown hyaenas in the afternoon. The following morning we would visit the meerkats.
After lunch I spent some time poking around the main mess tent, the only safari camp lounge to have the distinction of being a National Museum of Botswana. The walls were lined with glass-fronted cabinets full of fascinating artefacts collected out on the pans by Jack Bousfield (Ralph’s father, and the Jack after whom Jack’s Camp is named), Ralph, and the guides – animal skulls, Stone Age tools, fossils. It had a bit of the feel of the Pitt-Rivers Museum in Oxford – more like an eccentric uncle’s attic than the more clinical surrounds of a modern museum. There was also a cabinet showcasing Bushman tools and crafts – Alvain said that the knowledge required to make some of them was fast dying out as younger people had little interest in learning the traditional skills.
Just as fascinating as the artefacts were the photographs of Ralph and his family. Wildlife was always a part of his life thanks to the Bousfields’ animal orphanage – there was a picture of him as a child holding a banded mongoose, and one of his mother bottle-feeding a leopard cub. Another photo showed Ralph and his sisters walking with the half-grown cub.
Kitty walked us to our tents after lunch – the Americans were in Tent No 9, one of the few tents with a double rather than twin beds. It was quite secluded and shady, but didn’t have much in the way of a view as it was surrounded by tall grass. My tent, No 10, had a great view over the pan – Kitty said that it was easily the best tent in camp when the pan was full, and I imagine that the view must be pretty spectacular even when the pan was dry. Unfortunately there wasn’t much in the way of shade, and it was pretty warm inside – thankfully it was also one of the closest tents to the tea tent and plunge pool.
The décor at Jack’s is unique among camps in Botswana, very much in the style of a classic 1940s East African safari camp. The interior of the tents is dusky rose, with dark wooden floors. The eclectic dark wood furniture varies from tent to tent – mine had twin beds so far off the floor that they came with a step stool; a dresser with a selection of natural history books on top; a writing table and chair; a tufted velvet lounge chair; and a striking Moroccan-style table with ornately carved legs and a copper tray as a tabletop. The porch looking out over the pan had canvas deck chairs and a chaise lounge. The ‘throne’ in the loo really did look like a throne. I particularly liked my sink, which reminded me of an old secretary’s desk with its swing-up lid. In addition to an indoor shower with copper piping, there was an outdoor shower.
One thing that was noticeably lacking was anywhere to hang my clothes. There was a nice set of canvas shelves built on a wooden A-frame, but no hangers or hooks – not a big deal, but a bit awkward. I ended up hanging my shirts and coat over the top end of the A. (I later found out from Ralph that there are supposed to be hooks on the ends of the shelves, but mine had been recently replaced so the hooks hadn’t been installed yet.)
Ah, the joys of an indoor shower! Outdoor showers are nice as an option, but sometimes it’s nice to be indoors. No insects and no chilly breezes (though that was much less likely to be a factor here than at Kwando).
After my shower I took a few photos of my room for the Safari Lodge Photo Album and cleaned my camera gear. It was noticeably warmer than it had been at any of my other camps, and my alarm clock/thermometer read 26?C. Fortunately the tent had a large number of windows, and the occasional cooling breeze did help keep the temperature down.
We’d been warned to dress warmly for our night out on the pans, so I forced myself to put on my heavier clothes and to lug both my Mombo fleece and my coat to the tea tent despite the heat. The tea tent faces west and catches the light of the afternoon sun, and instead of chairs has piles of plump floor cushions scattered across the Persian rugs. I’d been tempted to skip tea since we’d had lunch such a short time ago, but I’m glad I went – there was some nice cool iced tea and yummy brownies (quite light, rather than heavy like most brownies).
I noticed a guy in khaki with some pretty serious photo kit shooting pictures of the tent interior, and for a moment I thought he was with Wilderness (doing a photo shoot for the brochure) but he turned out to be a periodontist from San Francisco who was a keen amateur photographer. He also shot Canon, and we had a great time talking about photography. He was on safari with his wife, who had retired from the San Francisco Ballet at the ripe old age of 26 – they were taking a final trip before she started law school in the fall, and were headed to Little Vumbura and on to Zimbabwe after Jack’s. All three of us got on extremely well, and we had a great time getting to know one another over tea.
After tea we piled into two of the vehicles for the 15-minute transfer to the edge of the pan where the quad bikes where located. This was where the fussiness of my two American companions, which had first reared its head on the plane, started to get on my nerves. First it was fussing about where they would sit – the front? The back? In the middle? On the side? Oh dear oh dear, we just can’t decide! They actually got in and then started fussing around, climbing in and out a few times before finally settling on a place to sit. Then it was fussing over whether the wife should wear her hat on the drive (they were sitting under the roof). By the time they had finally settled in, I was wondering if we could have walked there in the time it took them to make up their minds. For crying out loud, it was a 15-minute transfer – I was really hoping they would not be like this on every drive.
When we finally arrived everyone else was waiting. It took Mr and Mrs Fussy another ten minutes to figure out which of them should disembark from the vehicle first, by which time I had long since jumped down and joined the others.
The teenagers in the large family at Mombo had all had colourful kikoys (they are only thing you can buy at Jack’s) from the quad bike excursion. Mine was striped purple, green, and red. Super, the head guide, showed us how to wrap them around our heads and how to construct a face mask from one of the ends to keep the dust out in case it got to be a bit much. It was harder than it looked, and several people needed help from Super or Kitty.
Once everyone had gotten their kikoy into some semblance of order, he gave us a quick briefing on quad-biking. I’d ridden a quad bike occasionally as a child, but some of the others had never seen one before. There was one quad bike per tent, so everyone other than me and the guides would be riding double. Bungee cords were used to strap our camera bags, fleeces, etc to the front of the bike (I could see that my Mombo fleece, already dusty from many game drives, would really be overdue for a wash after this one). Crumpler claimed that its ‘Prince Charles Seal’ would keep water, dust, and corgis out of my bag – well, that claim was about to be put to the test.
When the time came to pick a bike I chose one near the middle of the line, which after a number of rearrangements ended up being second from the end (one of the guides was at the very end in case anyone’s bike stalled) with the couple from San Francisco in front of me. I was a bit concerned about the effect of eating everyone’s dust on my asthma, especially once Super told us that we would be going single file and that no overtaking was allowed – any off-road tracks would scar the pan for centuries. As it turned out, being on the end was ideal from a photographic standpoint – I could stop whenever I saw something interesting without feeling like I was holding anyone up. Super advised us to spread the line out to avoid eating each other’s dust, so that wasn’t a problem either. After a brief flurry of picture taking of various people looking dashing on their quad bikes we were off.
The drive to camp took about 30-40 minutes. The vehicles at Jack’s are unlike any others I’ve seen, Land Rovers with canvas roofs built around an unusual metal frame supporting fold-down seats on the roof (over the first row of seats behind the guide). The view from the roof was often spectacular, if a bit sunny and windy. There were wooden beanbag trays in front of the seats, and a number of plump suede-covered beanbags.
Jack’s has a very distinct personality and style, springing from Ralph’s direct involvement in all aspects of the camp. He personally goes to the UK and recruits all of his guides from the zoology graduates of Oxford, Cambridge, London, and a few other select UK universities, and interviews them in person before bringing them out to the bush, where he and the head guide, Super, oversee their training. Many of the guides have ended up doing PhDs on the wildlife of the Makgadikgadi – so little is known about the pans.
Our guide, Kitty, did a zoology degree in the UK. Her particular passion was birds, particularly raptors, and I think she was a bit disappointed to find that there were no birders amongst us. But she also knew an immense amount about the non-avian wildlife of the pans and about the environment itself, and was very easy to get on with. On the drive from the airstrip she told us about the geology of the pans and how the unusual weather had affected the environment. Normally the pan in front of Jack’s would have long since dried up and we would have driven straight across it into the camp, but because of the late rains it still held water and we had to circle around. There was something decidedly unreal about seeing this shimmering lake in the middle of the desert, with flamingos and other birds picking their way along the shore.
For the first time on this trip it was getting seriously hot, and as we drove into camp I joked that I hoped that I wasn’t in the tent facing the pan, which looked really hot (the joke was on me, as it turned out that that was my tent (No 10).
Alvain, the camp manager, met us at what could be termed the main entrance – a path that led from the mess tent out to the road. Alvain was very urbane and civilised, the consummate host – a throwback to the best parts of the old days. But there was nothing colonial about his attitude – he is passionate about working to bring some of the economic benefits of eco-tourism to the Bushmen while encouraging younger members of the community to value their culture. One of his ongoing projects was trying to persuade the Bushmen that their traditional crafts have as much value as the shiny new Western things they crave by selling them in a shop at the camp, so that the skills don’t die out with the older generation.
Alvain’s shop is some time in the future, however, as one of the most striking things about Jack’s is how non-commercial it is. This is the only camp I’ve ever stayed at where there was no shop (even Little Vumbura has a tiny little room with postcards for sale). As Ralph later said, he views the camp as an extension of his home, and who would ever think of putting a shop in their home, or selling postcards of it?
On the way into camp we’d decided we’d like to have a light lunch, as we were all a bit hungry – it had been a long time since that biltong at Kwando. We had a Nicoise salad, a nice light meal which suited the hot weather. The food at Jack’s was some of the best I had on this trip, which was particularly amazing given that it was easily the most remote camp I stayed at.
Over lunch Kitty described some of the activities at Jack’s and asked us what sorts of things we were interested in. The camp wasn’t full, so there was quite a bit of flexibility. Some of the other guests were going quad biking this evening – did we want to join them? Naturally my answer was yes, though the older folks took a bit of persuading. We decided to walk with the Bushmen tomorrow morning, and to visit the brown hyaenas in the afternoon. The following morning we would visit the meerkats.
After lunch I spent some time poking around the main mess tent, the only safari camp lounge to have the distinction of being a National Museum of Botswana. The walls were lined with glass-fronted cabinets full of fascinating artefacts collected out on the pans by Jack Bousfield (Ralph’s father, and the Jack after whom Jack’s Camp is named), Ralph, and the guides – animal skulls, Stone Age tools, fossils. It had a bit of the feel of the Pitt-Rivers Museum in Oxford – more like an eccentric uncle’s attic than the more clinical surrounds of a modern museum. There was also a cabinet showcasing Bushman tools and crafts – Alvain said that the knowledge required to make some of them was fast dying out as younger people had little interest in learning the traditional skills.
Just as fascinating as the artefacts were the photographs of Ralph and his family. Wildlife was always a part of his life thanks to the Bousfields’ animal orphanage – there was a picture of him as a child holding a banded mongoose, and one of his mother bottle-feeding a leopard cub. Another photo showed Ralph and his sisters walking with the half-grown cub.
Kitty walked us to our tents after lunch – the Americans were in Tent No 9, one of the few tents with a double rather than twin beds. It was quite secluded and shady, but didn’t have much in the way of a view as it was surrounded by tall grass. My tent, No 10, had a great view over the pan – Kitty said that it was easily the best tent in camp when the pan was full, and I imagine that the view must be pretty spectacular even when the pan was dry. Unfortunately there wasn’t much in the way of shade, and it was pretty warm inside – thankfully it was also one of the closest tents to the tea tent and plunge pool.
The décor at Jack’s is unique among camps in Botswana, very much in the style of a classic 1940s East African safari camp. The interior of the tents is dusky rose, with dark wooden floors. The eclectic dark wood furniture varies from tent to tent – mine had twin beds so far off the floor that they came with a step stool; a dresser with a selection of natural history books on top; a writing table and chair; a tufted velvet lounge chair; and a striking Moroccan-style table with ornately carved legs and a copper tray as a tabletop. The porch looking out over the pan had canvas deck chairs and a chaise lounge. The ‘throne’ in the loo really did look like a throne. I particularly liked my sink, which reminded me of an old secretary’s desk with its swing-up lid. In addition to an indoor shower with copper piping, there was an outdoor shower.
One thing that was noticeably lacking was anywhere to hang my clothes. There was a nice set of canvas shelves built on a wooden A-frame, but no hangers or hooks – not a big deal, but a bit awkward. I ended up hanging my shirts and coat over the top end of the A. (I later found out from Ralph that there are supposed to be hooks on the ends of the shelves, but mine had been recently replaced so the hooks hadn’t been installed yet.)
Ah, the joys of an indoor shower! Outdoor showers are nice as an option, but sometimes it’s nice to be indoors. No insects and no chilly breezes (though that was much less likely to be a factor here than at Kwando).
After my shower I took a few photos of my room for the Safari Lodge Photo Album and cleaned my camera gear. It was noticeably warmer than it had been at any of my other camps, and my alarm clock/thermometer read 26?C. Fortunately the tent had a large number of windows, and the occasional cooling breeze did help keep the temperature down.
We’d been warned to dress warmly for our night out on the pans, so I forced myself to put on my heavier clothes and to lug both my Mombo fleece and my coat to the tea tent despite the heat. The tea tent faces west and catches the light of the afternoon sun, and instead of chairs has piles of plump floor cushions scattered across the Persian rugs. I’d been tempted to skip tea since we’d had lunch such a short time ago, but I’m glad I went – there was some nice cool iced tea and yummy brownies (quite light, rather than heavy like most brownies).
I noticed a guy in khaki with some pretty serious photo kit shooting pictures of the tent interior, and for a moment I thought he was with Wilderness (doing a photo shoot for the brochure) but he turned out to be a periodontist from San Francisco who was a keen amateur photographer. He also shot Canon, and we had a great time talking about photography. He was on safari with his wife, who had retired from the San Francisco Ballet at the ripe old age of 26 – they were taking a final trip before she started law school in the fall, and were headed to Little Vumbura and on to Zimbabwe after Jack’s. All three of us got on extremely well, and we had a great time getting to know one another over tea.
After tea we piled into two of the vehicles for the 15-minute transfer to the edge of the pan where the quad bikes where located. This was where the fussiness of my two American companions, which had first reared its head on the plane, started to get on my nerves. First it was fussing about where they would sit – the front? The back? In the middle? On the side? Oh dear oh dear, we just can’t decide! They actually got in and then started fussing around, climbing in and out a few times before finally settling on a place to sit. Then it was fussing over whether the wife should wear her hat on the drive (they were sitting under the roof). By the time they had finally settled in, I was wondering if we could have walked there in the time it took them to make up their minds. For crying out loud, it was a 15-minute transfer – I was really hoping they would not be like this on every drive.
When we finally arrived everyone else was waiting. It took Mr and Mrs Fussy another ten minutes to figure out which of them should disembark from the vehicle first, by which time I had long since jumped down and joined the others.
The teenagers in the large family at Mombo had all had colourful kikoys (they are only thing you can buy at Jack’s) from the quad bike excursion. Mine was striped purple, green, and red. Super, the head guide, showed us how to wrap them around our heads and how to construct a face mask from one of the ends to keep the dust out in case it got to be a bit much. It was harder than it looked, and several people needed help from Super or Kitty.
Once everyone had gotten their kikoy into some semblance of order, he gave us a quick briefing on quad-biking. I’d ridden a quad bike occasionally as a child, but some of the others had never seen one before. There was one quad bike per tent, so everyone other than me and the guides would be riding double. Bungee cords were used to strap our camera bags, fleeces, etc to the front of the bike (I could see that my Mombo fleece, already dusty from many game drives, would really be overdue for a wash after this one). Crumpler claimed that its ‘Prince Charles Seal’ would keep water, dust, and corgis out of my bag – well, that claim was about to be put to the test.
When the time came to pick a bike I chose one near the middle of the line, which after a number of rearrangements ended up being second from the end (one of the guides was at the very end in case anyone’s bike stalled) with the couple from San Francisco in front of me. I was a bit concerned about the effect of eating everyone’s dust on my asthma, especially once Super told us that we would be going single file and that no overtaking was allowed – any off-road tracks would scar the pan for centuries. As it turned out, being on the end was ideal from a photographic standpoint – I could stop whenever I saw something interesting without feeling like I was holding anyone up. Super advised us to spread the line out to avoid eating each other’s dust, so that wasn’t a problem either. After a brief flurry of picture taking of various people looking dashing on their quad bikes we were off.
Aug 28th, 2006, 03:19 AM
#217
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There really aren’t words to describe the atmosphere out on the pans. There is a sense of sheer space that is hard to describe, and even harder to come by in the modern world. The very air was unlike any I have ever experienced, smelling and tasting of a unique tang that reminded me of baking soda and salt. On either side of the trail lay a crystalline version of the moon, a shimmering white cratered cracked wrinkled surface that seemed to stretch on forever. We passed the footprints of long-gone zebra and elephant, and the leathery desiccated remains of algae. An occasional patch of golden grass, rising up like a mirage, would break the stark white expanse.
I took a huge number of pictures, but when I looked at them later on my Epson they captured only the barest sense of the place – its sheer immensity, its living breathing emptiness. The ones I took of the San Francisco couple’s quad bike heading into the distance give the best sense of what it was like. Time seemed to cease to exist.
It was fortunate that we were the last two bikes in the line as both of us kept stopping to take pictures, with the end result that we fell behind and had to gun it to catch up with the others. Racing across the pans at speed with the wind in your face is an amazing experience – you feel like you’re the only person on earth, and that you could just keep going forever.
After about 15-20 minutes Super stopped and invited us to disembark and walk out onto the pan. Feeling it crunch beneath my feet reminded me a bit of walking on new-fallen show. Super told us about the origins of this unique environment in the bed of the ancient superlake which once covered most of Botswana, and about the life which lies hidden in this seemingly empty place. We had driven over hundreds of bullfrogs aestivating beneath the pan’s surface, and were walking on top of millions of brine shrimp enshrined in its crust. If you were to take a piece of the crust and soak in water, within 24 hours you would have thousands of brine shrimp, the choice food of the flamingos who come here to breed. A few scoops of sand showed us how water still lay just beneath the surface of the pan.
We drove on a bit more, and then stopped for drinks out of a cooler on the back of Super’s bike. Some people asked Super to take some pictures of them jumping – apparently if you lay on the ground to take the picture, the flatness of the pans makes it look as if the person is jumping really high off the ground since you can see the horizon under them. The ex-ballerina did a few jetes – I think I might have gotten a decent shot of her, and I told them I would email some copies to them when I got home.
We continued on, the sun sinking slowly towards the horizon. When I first saw the fire in the distance I wondered if it was a hallucination, but as we drew closer we realised that it illuminated a table swathed in white linen and set with silver and crystal, which seemed even more unreal. Kitty and Alvain greeted us with a full portable bar, including mulled wine warmed over the fire, and a canvas-sided bush loo stood nearby, marked with a paraffin lantern. In this surreal place it seemed perfectly natural to be drinking mulled wine for sundowners at the edge of the world.
The moon rose full overhead, reflecting off the surface of the pans and providing so much light that our headlamps weren’t really necessary when we bade Kitty and Alvain farewell and continued on our journey. Super picked up the pace, and I was so busy enjoying the scenery that I fell quite far behind and had to really put on some speed to catch up. We stopped in an area that seemed to embody the statement ‘in the middle of no where’ – there was nothing but whiteness stretching away in all directions. Super asked us to pick a direction, walk out onto the pan for 100 paces, lie down and look at the sky.
Lying on my back on the surface of the pan, inhaling its metallic salty soda tang, I felt like I had never really seen the sky before. The stars had stars, and the swathe of the Milky Way was a glittering veil flung across the sky. I could feel my pulse slowing, and the long travel day started to catch up with me. I drifted off wondering how many bullfrogs slept beneath me.
The sound of Super’s voice woke me from a dream about something I couldn’t recall, and we headed back towards camp. It had finally gotten cold, and I put both my fleece and jacket on for the ride back.
We had an amazing dinner in camp that night – it would have done Mombo proud, and the remoteness of the camp made it even more incredible. Unfortunately, Ralph wasn’t able to join us in the end, but I had a great time talking to the San Francisco couple about travel and photography. The ex-ballerina had a very interesting perspective on life, having effectively finished one career before most people have even gotten started. Hopefully I would get the chance to meet Ralph before I left.
We sat around the fire in front of the mess tent for after dinner drinks for awhile before heading back to our tents. I arrived to find three paraffin lanterns burning in my tent – I left two in the bedroom and took one into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I washed up I belatedly realised that the lantern was becoming quite smoky, and emerged to find that the other two had filled my room with so much smoke that I had to roll the canvas windows up to let the room air out. The cool night breeze made short work of the smoke, but also made me very glad of the hot water bottle I found tucked between the covers on my bed…
I took a huge number of pictures, but when I looked at them later on my Epson they captured only the barest sense of the place – its sheer immensity, its living breathing emptiness. The ones I took of the San Francisco couple’s quad bike heading into the distance give the best sense of what it was like. Time seemed to cease to exist.
It was fortunate that we were the last two bikes in the line as both of us kept stopping to take pictures, with the end result that we fell behind and had to gun it to catch up with the others. Racing across the pans at speed with the wind in your face is an amazing experience – you feel like you’re the only person on earth, and that you could just keep going forever.
After about 15-20 minutes Super stopped and invited us to disembark and walk out onto the pan. Feeling it crunch beneath my feet reminded me a bit of walking on new-fallen show. Super told us about the origins of this unique environment in the bed of the ancient superlake which once covered most of Botswana, and about the life which lies hidden in this seemingly empty place. We had driven over hundreds of bullfrogs aestivating beneath the pan’s surface, and were walking on top of millions of brine shrimp enshrined in its crust. If you were to take a piece of the crust and soak in water, within 24 hours you would have thousands of brine shrimp, the choice food of the flamingos who come here to breed. A few scoops of sand showed us how water still lay just beneath the surface of the pan.
We drove on a bit more, and then stopped for drinks out of a cooler on the back of Super’s bike. Some people asked Super to take some pictures of them jumping – apparently if you lay on the ground to take the picture, the flatness of the pans makes it look as if the person is jumping really high off the ground since you can see the horizon under them. The ex-ballerina did a few jetes – I think I might have gotten a decent shot of her, and I told them I would email some copies to them when I got home.
We continued on, the sun sinking slowly towards the horizon. When I first saw the fire in the distance I wondered if it was a hallucination, but as we drew closer we realised that it illuminated a table swathed in white linen and set with silver and crystal, which seemed even more unreal. Kitty and Alvain greeted us with a full portable bar, including mulled wine warmed over the fire, and a canvas-sided bush loo stood nearby, marked with a paraffin lantern. In this surreal place it seemed perfectly natural to be drinking mulled wine for sundowners at the edge of the world.
The moon rose full overhead, reflecting off the surface of the pans and providing so much light that our headlamps weren’t really necessary when we bade Kitty and Alvain farewell and continued on our journey. Super picked up the pace, and I was so busy enjoying the scenery that I fell quite far behind and had to really put on some speed to catch up. We stopped in an area that seemed to embody the statement ‘in the middle of no where’ – there was nothing but whiteness stretching away in all directions. Super asked us to pick a direction, walk out onto the pan for 100 paces, lie down and look at the sky.
Lying on my back on the surface of the pan, inhaling its metallic salty soda tang, I felt like I had never really seen the sky before. The stars had stars, and the swathe of the Milky Way was a glittering veil flung across the sky. I could feel my pulse slowing, and the long travel day started to catch up with me. I drifted off wondering how many bullfrogs slept beneath me.
The sound of Super’s voice woke me from a dream about something I couldn’t recall, and we headed back towards camp. It had finally gotten cold, and I put both my fleece and jacket on for the ride back.
We had an amazing dinner in camp that night – it would have done Mombo proud, and the remoteness of the camp made it even more incredible. Unfortunately, Ralph wasn’t able to join us in the end, but I had a great time talking to the San Francisco couple about travel and photography. The ex-ballerina had a very interesting perspective on life, having effectively finished one career before most people have even gotten started. Hopefully I would get the chance to meet Ralph before I left.
We sat around the fire in front of the mess tent for after dinner drinks for awhile before heading back to our tents. I arrived to find three paraffin lanterns burning in my tent – I left two in the bedroom and took one into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I washed up I belatedly realised that the lantern was becoming quite smoky, and emerged to find that the other two had filled my room with so much smoke that I had to roll the canvas windows up to let the room air out. The cool night breeze made short work of the smoke, but also made me very glad of the hot water bottle I found tucked between the covers on my bed…
Aug 28th, 2006, 04:40 AM
#218
Julian, your trip just goes on and on and gets better and better! I'm glad to hear a description of Jack's Camp. I wondered what it was like. The Makgadikgadi Pans are such an amazing place and I've only seen it dry.
Have you seen that movie "The Gods Must Be Crazy"? It's from 1980 and filmed in Bots and there is a vehicle in it that said Jack something. In the cast credits someone played Jack Hind. I know our guide, Nick, knew Jack but I don't remember him using a last name. Does anyone know if that is Jack's Camp?
Have you seen that movie "The Gods Must Be Crazy"? It's from 1980 and filmed in Bots and there is a vehicle in it that said Jack something. In the cast credits someone played Jack Hind. I know our guide, Nick, knew Jack but I don't remember him using a last name. Does anyone know if that is Jack's Camp?
Aug 28th, 2006, 06:18 AM
#220
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Hi Cindy,
The Jack of Jack's Camp is Ralph's father (Jack Bousfield). He was a Great White Hunter who once held the record for the number of crocodiles killed, but became a conservationist later in life.
Cheers,
Julian
The Jack of Jack's Camp is Ralph's father (Jack Bousfield). He was a Great White Hunter who once held the record for the number of crocodiles killed, but became a conservationist later in life.
Cheers,
Julian
