Predatorial Elusiveness (KNP 7)

I’m a hard taskmaster (when I’m not procrastinating) – and of course the one being tasked is inevitably me. So when I set out for the Kruger National Park one of my principle aims, like all visitors to the Park, was to capture shots of the big predators. Oh I am such an eternal optimist!

The Park's primary big predators are lions, leopards, hyenas, wild dogs and crocodiles. I managed to find three of them, not bad, I suppose, all things considered and given that three of the five are primarily nocturnal. The trouble was, I set myself up for a fall. I was desperate to get a shot of a leopard. Silly idea really since they are shy creatures, not remotely keen on humans. But see, I was driven by the fact that I’ve had two leopard encounters in the bush – and without seeing the gorgeous spottedness itself.

Spotted Gorgeousness
Image copyright - Alison Hughes 2008

One happened when I was about 20 and was hiking in the mountains a couple of hours north of Cape Town with boyfriend and two of his pals. The boys decided, since it was a hot day, that a skinny dip in a deep pool in the river was a fine idea. Girls were not allowed. Silly sods, did they think that I, an art student, hadn’t seen it all before in life drawing classes? But no, boyish modesty had to prevail and I was told to beat it. Just where, in the midst of the wilderness I was supposed to go to, I have no idea. So I set off in a funk and spurred on by my bullish temper, tore along at a fair lick until I ran out of puff. I came to skidding, noisy sort of halt and clearly disturbed the beast in the bush. The mother of all roars rang in my ears and I didn’t even stop to think about it. Puff or no puff, I took off as fast as my legs could carry me. I had no doubt in the slightest what I’d just upset – a leopard - and I was hanging about to apologise. All would have been well, had I not decided on a short cut and found myself face to face with a family of extremely angry wild pigs. Wild pigs, leopards… it wasn’t a good day.

The second spotted encounter took place some ten years later while my ex husband was trout fishing on some far flung river up in the mountains (this time an hour west of Cape Town). Gorgeousness here had laid herself out at the river’s edge while husband went off to do manly things to small, defenseless fishies. I was lost in my book and away with the fairies when husband appeared looking a bit pale.
“Get up,” he said in a low voice, “and come with me and whatever you do, don’t look behind you.”
Now I know many others would have had a good peek behind them, but I don’t like being frightened so duly did as I was told and we crossed the river and scarpered up the slope to the car.
“What was it?” I asked breathlessly.
“A leopard,” the husband muttered, “in the bush right behind you. Didn’t you even hear it coughing?”
Erm, in a word, no.
It turned out that the leopard wanted to get to the river to drink and I was in its way. It just sat there patiently, uttering a soft cough now and then (which I didn’t even register) to alert me to the fact that it was there.

So you can understand, given these enounters, that I was very keen to snap a spotty in the Kruger Park. Sadly, however, in true spotty form, and despite the gorgeous pictures a friend recently took (see above), Mr Spotty decided to be his usual elusive self – though make no mistake, I could feel leopards about and we did hear one coughing to advise of his presence. But as for that great Nat Geo shot, well, it still eludes me.

At least I did get these though…

Hmm, now where's my dinner...

Are you my dinner?

Spotted Hyena at dawn

Soggy Spotted Hyena, coming from a swim in the waterhole

Fat slugs...who move with surprising speed.
Handbags and shoes in the making perhaps...?

Here's one to give you nightmares, a lurking crocodelli...

Zebras for Baino (KNP6)

Before I left, my blogging buddy, Baino, asked me to be sure to take some shots of zebras for her. “Sure,” I said airily, “no problem.” I mean zebras are pretty common, aren’t they? After all, each time I drive into the city, I pass zebras and wildebeest on the side of the mountain, grazing just a couple of hundred meters from the motorway. They’ve been there for as long as I can remember. Given that, I was quite sure that snapping pics of zebra in Kruger for Baino would be no problem. Ha!


I guess I must have had the Serengeti in mind when I made my promise – great plains covered with vast herds of migrating zebras and wildebeest – 1.5 million animals on the hoof… (Oh I am such a city slicker!).

On the first day we didn’t see a single zebra, didn’t even so much as catch a whiff of a zebra, never mind encountering vast herds of the beasts. On the second day, determined to find zebras, we trundled northwards to the savanna plains of the Kruger National Park. We drove up to a viewing point and gazed down.

“Where are these bloody zebra?” I muttered to D. “Great, billowing golden plains and not a damned zebra in sight, just two ostriches. Ostriches I can see anytime! I want zebra!” Yes, I confess, there was a degree of petulance in my voice.

I am quite sure the breeze must have carried my words and had every zebra everywhere snickering behind their hooves.

“I promised Baino zebra,” I grumbled, “Why are there no zebra?”
“Not much grazing to be had,” suggested D.
Hmm. Savanna plains but no juicy green grass. Great.


It wasn’t until our third day that I finally spotted the elusive zebras. Tucked away in the scrub, cunningly leaning over one another as zebras do so that you (and the predator) can’t tell where one zebra ends and the other begins. Sneaky camouflage, if I say so myself. Zebras and their magnificent stripes are the most muddling things to see en masse and when you think about it you realise just how well they’re adapted to their environment.



After seeing our first zebra I then felt obliged to stop every time we saw any zebra, just in case my luck ran out. Sadly, I never got the shots I had envisioned (I guess a trip to the Serengeti may be required – oh yes, please!). Nevertheless, dear Baino, these are all for you – enjoy!

The Wickedness of Vervets (KNP 5)

Last week I told you about our “animal encounter” with a Vervet Monkey - or to give it its proper name, a Savanna Monkey. Well, here are some more Monkey stories, because while as dangerous as anything else with fur and fangs (think leopards, lions, hyenas, wild dogs), they really are very funny – provided you’re not on the receiving end of their brazen behaviour.


Vervets are smart – and cheeky. Many of them have worked out that human spaces are good places for rich pickings. The Skukuza restcamp where we stayed is overrun with the critters. They swing through the trees, chattering, ready to scavenge and “make a fast buck”. They’re not easily intimidated and will happily try their luck. They also hang out at all the picnic spots where one might be inclined to take a midday break.


We had our first encounter at the Nkulu tearoom on the riverine road between Skukuza and Lower Sabie, where the Vervets were having a field day. Hanging out in the trees, they kept a beady eye on the comings and goings of the lunch providers – that’s you and me, to them. One monkey would stake out a family and watch them, keeping a keen eye on lunch preparations. It would edge closer, seemingly innocent and just as the sandwich was ready, it would leap with astonishing speed, grab the sandwich and beat a hasty retreat up the nearest tree – usually to the chorus of “Voetsek! jou blerrie ding!” (which roughly translated means “sod off, you bloody thing!”) What I found deeply amusing was the outrage of the robbed humans. I mean, come on, the monkeys were there first, right, you’ve got nice goodies and it’s winner takes all. Frankly, I admire the chutzpah!


As I sat watching these antics I became aware of the fact that I too was being observed. And the watcher was sidling ever closer. What, I wondered, did I have that Mr Vervet could possibly want. All that was in front of me was an empty coffee cup and a small packet of sugar.
The Vervet gave me a look and looked away. He leapt a tree branch closer. He gazed innocently into the sky and had a scratch. He shot me another glance and hopped to the ground. Again, he gazed around him the picture of perfect virtue - and the next thing he was on the table. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he sat there, studiously ignoring me. Then in a swoop his arm shot out, the paw grabbed the sugar packet and in a flash (and I’d like to think with a whoop of triumph) he was gone and bounding up his tree, where, mightily pleased with himself, he tore open the sugar packet and scoffed the lot.


But not only do Vervets irritate humans, they have a fine sense of humour that involves irritating each other – especially if they’re young and full of fun. One small chap, taking a break from capers and antics, had snuggled up to mum for a drink. An older youngster, peeved that his playmate had disappeared, snuck up the tree and gave the baby’s tail a mighty tug. The baby finished his slurp, shot down the tree and the game was on again, involving chasing, biting and squealing. It’s clearly a very tough life being a Vervet (okay, being eaten by leopards, aside) - all fun, romps, scratching, eating and snoozing all day. We’d do well to heed the lesson!

The Awesomeness of a Morning Bush Walk (KNP 4)

Out in the wildness of the bush

Probably one of the most amazing things one can do in the Kruger National Park is to go on an early morning bushwalk. Admittedly this means rousing oneself at the ungodly hour of 04h30 in order to meet the guide at 05h15 and then facing an incredibly freezing drive in an open Landrover to the walking spot. Given it’s winter, temperatures are a bit extreme – down to about 2 degrees in the early morning (never mind the windchill factor), and up to over 30 degrees come midday.

We walked with two rangers, Ewoudt and Hubert – both armed with rifles carrying ammunition that would genuinely have floored an elephant with one shot. This is the bush, it is dangerous and although no one would ever want to do it, sometimes needs must.

Bush trekking

We started our walk in the chilly morning air under an indigo sky. The sun was only just stretching and casting a pink-purple hue over the golden landscape as we walked. Colours are startling in the bush – vibrant, rugged and mesmerizing. The sun, a fiery red orb, finally rose behind the bare outstretched arms of the Jackalberry and Marula trees, warning of the heat to still come.

Purple sky

Fiery sunrise

Beautiful sunrise aside, it has to be admitted that the ten humans tramping through the veld were probably one of the least pretty and more rowdy sights that morning. Human voices – and smells - are out of place in the bush. Silence is key, but the dry grass as it scrunched underfoot made keeping quiet extremely difficult.

As we advanced through the savannah, Ewoudt, the primary ranger, motioned us to stop and be still. Our eyes scanned the bushveld. Somewhere, lurking amidst the khaki and the gold was something large and grey. An elephant? No – the beast that lumbered into view was the archetypal armoured tank, a white rhino. Huge beast. Short-sighted and not at all keen on humans. We crept forward as the beast hulked between the bushes. We were downwind of him so he could smell us, if not see us. His twitchy little ears waggled back and forth and he looked increasingly unsettled. Then with a mighty snort he was off, moving with remarkable grace for one so huge (males weigh between 2040 – 2260 kgs) and disappeared down a hill.

Mr Rhinocerous, short-sighted and shy

We tramped on, crossing an open scrubby plain – and coming across the remains of a wildebeest and then an impala. By the time the lions, hyenas and vultures have had their fill there is very little left of the poor beast that once was. The skull and horns are all that remain. Everything else is crunched and munched – the hyenas being keen on the bones, while the Bateleur Eagles relish eyeballs. Nothing goes to waste.

Wildebeest horns - not much left

Impala horns, even less left

Eventually we reached a dried out riverbed. The Kruger Park falls in a summer rainfall area so in winter waterholes and rivers dry up. As we trudged across the sand we saw a troop of baboons scatter from the riverine scrub, shrieking and barking as they loped away. Next a herd of impala appeared and scattered swiftly in agile leaps and bounds. Ewoudt picked up a handful of sand and let it fall, checking the direction of the wind. We were in a good position, upwind of whatever might emerge from the trees. Again, he motioned us to be silent and led us forward as two elephants appeared from the trees at the river’s edge. We stood maybe 200 m from them as they tore at branches and stripped leaves. Awesome. Amazing. Words cannot do the experience justice.

Ellies arrive at the edge of the riverbed...

...and move toward rich pickings

I see you...

Breakfast

A sudden, gruff cough made me lift my head. It was a sound I’ve heard in other bush twice before. Ewoudt nodded. “Leopard,” he murmured.

We moved on, and clambering up a granite outcrop we stopped for a snack, our voices ringing out, incompatible with the bush, carrying over the miles, probably scaring every animal away.

Snacks devoured, we headed back towards the Landrover, pausing to examine a rhino midden. They’re latrine animals and a male rhino will use between 20 – 30 middens to mark out his territory, kicking up the dung to spread it about. A low growl in the distance told us lions were afoot and sure enough, a large paw print in the sand proved the point.

Rhino midden - though this is probably the dung of a female, left at the edge of the dominant male's midden

My what big feet you have, Mr Lion...

Ewoudt told us that two days before whilst out walking with another group, they’d come across a lion and two cubs. They paused to watch, marveling at the sight – and totally unaware that the rest of the pride had gathered and were circling around them, locking the group in. As Hubert, the other ranger said, “It was an exciting moment!”

My words and images can’t possibly do justice to the experience and so all I would say is, if you ever get the experience to visit a game park that does early morning walks, do it. There is nothing so awesome, nothing that quite puts you so in touch with wild nature as actually walking in it, being part of it, respecting the magnificence. And scared? No, not for one moment, it was just all too amazing. I’d take my chances in wild nature any day – it’s safer, I’ve no doubt, than walking on the streets of Cape Town or Johannesburg.

Winter riverbed

Animal Encounters (KNP 3)

There is one critical thing about being out in the bush (or on the ocean, or up a mountain): respect for the elements and the natural environment. When us humans swagger in, thinking we know it all, we are often in for a nasty surprise. Seas turn rough, mountains get swathed in storm clouds – and animals can get mightily pissed off.

While it’s true that generally speaking animals are more afraid of us than we are of them, it doesn’t do to annoy them.

While out in the bush we had two “animal encounters”.

Lesson one: They might be cute and funny but do not make eye contact with Vervet monkeys…


There we were, at the picnic spot having leg stretch, when a female Vervet with an attitude of note (as is the way of Vervets) hopped onto a picnic table for a steal. Move over hornbills, Vervets are doubly cheeky and even more brazen. D, rather struck by the critter’s attitude made the fatal mistake of making eye contact. The Vervet stiffened and bristled. In a flash you could see her eyes change as she sussed him out and tensed, ready to spring onto his head. As she was about to leap, and make no mistake Vervets are goal directed and they bite – hard - D swung up the camera in front of his face and pointed the lens at her. Barrel of a lens, barrel of gun – the principle is the same. Madame flung up her tail and beat a hasty retreat – much to D’s relief.



Lesson two: if a bull elephant is pissed off, get out of his way…


We were on our way to a waterhole, traveling slowly as one needs to, when up ahead I noticed a white VW Golf edging down the hill. And there was something grey and very cross ahead of it. Through the cloud of ochre dust we saw, coming towards us, the form of a bull elephant. And he was mad. His head was up, ears were spread and flapping, trunk thrashed from side to side. It didn’t take rocket science to sense this was a beast in a mighty stonk. The driver of the Golf, prize idiot that he was, just kept driving the animal forward. Three animals, it turned out – three very annoyed bull elephants.
Now a baby ellie might look very sweet, and generally elephants are pretty laidback (if you give them space), but a bull elephant in a strop is not something you mess with. Weighing in at between 5000 – 6000 kgs and standing between 3 - 3.3 m tall, they’ve been known to turn over or simply squash cars.
As eager as I was to grab that award-winning front-on shot of a charging elephant, I was more struck by the need to simply show some respect.


The elephants could see us ahead of them, and while their gripe wasn’t with us, we were in the way. So I turned the car around and with caution being the better part of valour, headed in the other direction. We stayed out of sight until I figured the elephants had had a chance to get off the road and take a deep breath. Then we went back.
Sure enough, there they were, in the bush, taking deep breaths. They were still miffed and the Golf driver was still making a pest of himself, but the elephants had been given a way out. We didn’t bother to stop but drove on, leaving the Golf to its fate.
When we went back a half an hour later, the ellies were standing in a copse passing the time of day. On taking a second look I can only say I was glad to have heeded the call for “respect”. They were the hugest elephants I have ever seen.
But the thing that struck me the most was the sense – imagined or otherwise – that they really appreciated the fact that someone had been good enough to honour their feelings.

Meeting Harry Hornbill (Kruger National Park 2)

Amidst the wild savagery that one finds in the Kruger National Park, there is also some other stuff – like humour.

Take Harry Hornbill for example…

Yellow-billed hornbill sitting in a tree... but face it, who'd be in a tree...

Hornbills come in a variety of shapes and sizes (there are about nine species) – from the rather dippy looking Ground Hornbill (who happens to be in decline and needs protection)...

What lovely eyelashes you have, my dear...

And such undainty toesies...

to the Grey Hornbill...

Style on a branch...

and the very comic Yellow-billed Hornbill.

Ya lookin' at me...?

I’m told by a zoologist friend the Yellow-billed Hornbills make great pets and it’s not hard to see why. They are incredibly brazen and seem to know no fear.

You stop at a picnic site and the first thing that hops over to you is Harry, the Yellow-billed Hornbill. He looks up at you, a quizzical expression on his face, and says, “Come on then, duckie, how about a nice crust of bread?” Should a crust of bread, your polony, your toasted sarmie, your apple or your banana not be forthcoming, Harry will simply help himself.

Witness the following scene that played out at a picnic spot called Tshokwane (on the savannah highway between the north and south of the Park) on the banks of the N’waswitsonto River…

Come on then, duckie, give us a crust... You know ya wanna...

Now see here, I'll show you how it's done...

You gotta fly in just right...

Watch closely now...
Aaaaiiiiieeeee... Chicken Maaaaaan.....

Hello there, you don't mind, do you...

What a brazen baggage, thinks the Crested Barbet (wish I had such chutzpah!)

Oh yum yum, what did you put on this sarmie?

More Kruger Tales tomorrow...