Wilkinson's World

Archive for August, 2009

In ancient times, so the Maori story goes, Hinehukatere just loved to go climbing in the mountains of South Island and she often persuaded her lover, Tawe, to venture into the mountains with her. Tawe, though, was not as experienced in the ways of the mountains as Hinehukatere and one fateful day he was caught up in an avalanche and swept to his death. Hinehukatere was inconsolable in her grief and the tears poured from her eyes as she mourned the loss of her lover. The trickle of tears became a stream; the stream a river and as her tears flowed down the mountainside they were frozen in the cold. And thus the Franz Josef Glacier was formed, in Maori still called Ka Roimata o Hinehukatere (‘The tears of Hinehukatere’),

Descending from the Southern Alps on the West Coast of New Zealand’s South Island, the Franz Josef Glacier is about twelve kilometers long and is one of the few glaciers that approaches so close to the coast, ending about 19 kilometres from the sea and dropping to less than 300 metres above sea level before the terminal edge melts and becomes the Waiho River. The Franz Josef moves many times faster than the average glacier, sometimes reaching as much as 70 centimetres per day.

Now a major tourist attraction, the area enclosing the Franz Josef Glacier and its neighbour, the Fox Glacier, has been declared a World Heritage Site that attracts many adventurous souls every year. In February 2007 Jane and I joined this pilgrimage and spent a wonderful day walking on the glacier.

At the start of the walk

We joined a group led by a guide christened Dale, but known to all as “Donkey”, and were quickly kitted out with protective gear appropriate for the conditions we would encounter on the ice. Gortex jackets, hats, gloves, boots and crampons. Before starting the walk we stopped to strap on the crampons. Nearby was a sign warning of the “Extreme Danger!” of proceeding; I was immediately reminded that our travel insurance expressly excluded the cover of injuries sustained while walking on glaciers. Charming.

Jane fitting crampons

The walk towards the glacier was totally awe inspiring. A river of ice snaking down the mountainside with quite lush vegetation on either side. The contrast with the desert landscape of Namibia couldn’t be starker.

The terminal edge of FJG

Walking on ice in crampons takes a bit of getting used to! We started gingerly, but grew in confidence as we found ourselves to be quite secure, although the surface was far from level. The ice seemed to have been formed in waves, some many metres high, and we moved forward slowly in total wonder at the sights that presented themselves.

We edged our way through narrow clefts in the ice, through tunnels, past standing waves of ice and over tumbled blocks. When faced with steep inclines or even vertical faces of ice Donkey used a pick to quickly and efficiently cut steps to provide us with safe passage. Because of the ice tumbling and melting and continually moving, this cutting of steps had to be repeated each day.

It is quite a strenuous walk, with a lot of climbing over the ice, but the pace is leisurely and there are plenty of stops to admire the scenery, to have a snack or just to share the moment with the other folk in the group.

Much of the ice was dirty, but there were many areas of amazing translucent blue ice that made the effort of getting there more than worthwhile. Every step seemed to lead to scenery more spectacular than that just left.

A wonderful experience!

I’ve got a strong belief that what you focus on grows. The more thought you give to something, the more it pops up in your life. On a recent holiday I heard (what I thought was) a great Lucky Dube song called Reggae Strong and was delighted when Rob bought me his CD with lots of lively Rasta music. I played it constantly before going to Cape Town for a week and, sure enough, it brought some Rastafarians into my life!

But before I tell you about the Rastas, let me set the scene. I was returning to Windhoek on a luxury bus – something that is always an absolute treat given the stunning scenery that one passes through along the way. Also, it is now late August and the time of the year when the Spring flowers are blooming in profusion. The roadside and hills are covered in blankets of yellow, orange, purple and white flowers and Arum Lilies grow next to all the streams. Never mind the 1265kms that stretch ahead to be eaten up over nineteen long hours, with padded seats that recline practically horizontally and enormous viewing windows, the journey is normally very pleasurable.

I wasn’t unduly concerned when a number of Congolese Rastas boarded the bus and proceeded to take up seats behind me. Admittedly, they are a little disconcerting with their matted dreadlocks and shaggy beards – I took one look at their hair and thought that it would take a sheep shearer or a mat comb to bring it into some sort of order and I wondered when last any water or shampoo had passed over their heads. Although the bus was in immaculate condition, there were no paper anti-macassars that one usually finds draped over headrests on planes and buses. I immediately wondered who had rested their head on my seat before me. Could it have been one of these kind of guys? Mark one against the bus service.

Mark two came very shortly after departure when the TV came on and we were subjected to a couple of hours of religious programmes. This had annoyed me intensely on the journey to Cape Town and to have to endure it a second time was a bit much. I was further riled when an offer came on screen for advertisers to ply their wares via this media as they had a captive audience. Christianity shouldn’t be forced down one’s throat because one is a ‘captive audience’. Shame on them. One old lady, who was seated directly in front of the TV screen ended up putting a blanket over her head in an effort to shut it out.

About ten minutes after the TV was switched off, one of the Rastas decided that it was time for us to listen to his ghetto blaster which he turned up in competition with the sedate piped music of the bus. Mark three against the steward for not asking the Rasta to turn it off.

Things started to get really dreadful on the bus when I put my seat back into the reclining position and tried to take a nap. The Rasta behind me, also in the mood for relaxing, thought it would be nice to take off his shoes. I don’t know how long he’d been in South Africa, but I would hazard a guess that he hadn’t washed his feet since leaving the Congo goodness knows when. The rotten smell that hit my nostrils was enough to shock me into an upright position. I grabbed my knee rug and plastered it over my face. My God! What a pong.

Within minutes the air in the downstairs area of the bus was blue and people were placing their hands over their noses. When the steward eventually came to check up on us, he got an alarmed look on his face and rushed back to the front to put the air conditioner on full blast. This gave us a small measure of relief, but it came at a price as we were now all sitting there freezing our butts off.

Mark four against the bus was the air-conditioning. They have a fancy little switch above one’s head where one can turn it on or off, but this is over-ridden by the main system that gushes out cold air from vents right beside the one that is closed. What’s the point. I then spent the next sixteen hours shivering and hugging my blanket to my face. I was even relieved when we were delayed at the Namibian border post for an hour and a half when two folks had hassles getting clearance to come into the country. It was such a relief to stand outside in the cold winter night and gulp in great dollops of fresh air.

Fortunately once we all got back into the bus my Rasta Rebel kindly decided to keep his shoes on – perhaps his feet were getting cold from the air conditioner. The next seven hours passed without too much pain and I even got to see the wonderful Milky Way from my relaxed position. I almost kissed the ground when I finally got off the bus in Windhoek!

I’m now in the process of writing a letter to the bus company. Oh, and I’m also disinfecting my hair. And as for Lucky Dube’s song called ‘Rastas Never Die” – maybe they don’t, they just smell like rotting corpses!

My apologies to any Rastas who might read this who do get to clean their feet more regularly.  This is not about you.

No, this isn’t about the Chinese Year of the Snake, but about an amazing year that we’ve had as far as snake sightings are concerned.  Yesterday morning while we were walking back from the Avis Dam, just three kilometers from our home, we came upon a Cape Cobra on the path in front of us, a path that is traversed by any number of people on a sunny Sunday morning.  The cobra must have heard us coming as it was reared up and its hood was flared when we saw it. We stopped and drew back quickly, but we needn’t have worried because the snake lowered itself from its aggressive stance and took off into the grass.  Stepping forward to see where it had disappeared to, we saw a yellow mongoose poised just a few metres away, very close to where the snake had been. Could it have been the mongoose that chased the cobra onto the rather busy path?

An encounter between a mongoose and a cobra would have been something interesting to witness.

Earlier in the year, on a trip to the Kagalagadi Transfrontier Park we saw several cobras and puff adders at fairly close quarters, usually in the road as they are almost invisible in even fairly short grass.

…

In Botswana during April and May we again saw a number of cobras and puffadders. At Grasslands we saw a complete sloughed snake skin that looked as though it had been discarded by a puff adder. It was interesting to see that this skin had even covered the snake’s eyes.

At Mankwe we witnessed a puff adder struggling sluggishly to reach the bank of a dam – which it did.

And in Maun, at the Island Safari Camp a co-camper chased a fair sized puff adder out from under the tent in which his wife was having her afternoon nap. It was fascinating to watch the reaction of the birds and squirrels to the presence of this puff adder. The birds set up a raucous cacophony and flew in to mob the snake and the squirrels approached very closely, albeit very carefully, and grew very excited. They all kept this up until the snake had slithered well away from the campsite.

Just look at the magnificent dragon pattern on the head of the puff adder!

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Botswana – April / May 2009

They say that Africa is not for sissies – I think they should qualify that and say that the backroads of Botswana are not for sissies.  Our trip to the Central Kalahari and Chobe for example – definitely not to be tackled by the faint-hearted.  We should have realized this when we read that one could only enter the area with a four-wheel drive vehicle.

No problem, we thought, we’ve had a 4×4 for years and have had a few successful attempts at rocky and sandy terrain – this should be no different.  First mistake.   Never under-estimate the challenge of the Kalahari.  We were prepared, after all.  We had a high-lift jack and had also acquired a brand new pair of sand tracks just in case we got stuck in the sand.  With these heavy duty plastic miracle rescuers we would be home and dry.  The second mistake was placing them under the running boards on the sides of the car, neatly tied on with bungy cords.  Out of the way but easily available if we needed them, we thought.

Our co-travellers, Jon and Hillary, are denizens of the remotest areas of Botswana, having made more forays into the wilds than David Livingstone and Henry Morton Stanley put together.  Only their mode of transport was different. David and Henry probably did it all on foot or horseback, whilst Jon & Hillary have a trusty Toyota and an off-road caravan.  So, we were all set and keen to tackle the unknown.

Our meeting in Ghanzi was marred somewhat by the news that Jon’s vehicle was having wheel-bearing troubles which he was having repaired at a local garage of doubtful repute.  It took until late in the evening to get the car on the road again and Jon’s wallet was about P800 lighter.  Not a good start to the trip!

Day 1 – Ghanzi (Tautona Campsite to Grasslands)  135kms

We were hoping to make an early start from Ghanzi, but our plans were thwarted when Jon thought that his caravan was hitched to the car when in fact only the electricals were attached and he drove forward.  The wiring seperated from the plug, and the caravan was instantly without indicators, tail-lights and stop-lights.   Unfortunately we didn’t have a wiring diagram, so after a fruitless two hours of trial and error attempts to get everything working,  Jon took the car back to the same garage in Ghanzi.  They were unable to help.  He finally phoned a mate in Durban who managed to sort describe the wiring set-up.

So it was quite late on Saturday morning when 45kms further up the main road we turned off at a little village called D’Kar (named after some unknown traveller’s initials found carved into a tree in the area).  Once we left the tarred road the narrow track turned to thick sand, bordered on one side by a fence and on the other by a low sand ridge covered with thick shrubs and thorn trees.  Hillary had smilingly assured us before we set off that the only hazards we’d have to contend with on this deserted stretch of road were the ten or so gates that we’d have to open and close as we went through.

We bravely took the lead with a feeling of exhilaration and excitement at finally heading off on our adventure.  The first few kilometers passed without incident.  Apart from the soft sand and the deep furrows made by the wheels of other cars, the road was quite drivable.  The high ridge between the furrows (aptly described in Afrikaans as the middelmannetjie) was covered with grass, which gently brushed the undercarriage of the car.  Rob joked that one could practically put the wheels into the tracks and let the car steer itself.  His mirth soon turned sour when the sand deepened making it much tougher to plough through.

I noticed things getting quieter in the car.  Rob was leaning into the steering wheel gripping it tightly with both hands, his knuckles white with the effort.  As we bumped and ground our way through the sand he was deep in concentration, breaking the silence only to say that it was a good thing this was such a remote road as he wouldn’t like to meet an oncoming vehicle under these conditions.  “We must keep up the momentum or we’ll get stuck,” he said knowingly.

Sandy Road

The umpteen gates that had to be opened began to pall after about number seven or eight.  Fortunately, with Jon and Hillary taking up the rear, we didn’t have to close them behind us.  Jon fell back slightly so that they didn’t have to drive in our dust.  Things were progressing quite well until, horror of horrors, I saw a vehicle approaching us from ahead.  Oh damn!  They would have to get off the road somehow as we had the fence running alongside us on our left.  Fortunately it was a safari vehicle so they managed to clear the ridge on our right-hand side quite easily, driving over shrubs and grass with all the ease of practice.  We stopped to tell them that a car towing a caravan was coming up behind us, but they pulled off without hesitation, happy to clear the way when they met the obstacle.

One of many gates

We pushed on, glad that it was now a quiet early Saturday afternoon when most people are already at their destination. We expected a clear ride through to our campsite at Grasslands.   Suddenly we came to a corner where the sand was especially deep and yet another gate had to be opened.  Rob cursed as he jammed on brakes, worrying about getting going again once the gate was opened.  He put the car into gear and tried to pull off.  The back wheels spun furiously in the sand and the smell of burning rubber filled the air.  It was clearly now time to engage four-wheel drive, which up until then we had managed to avoid.  Once we were on our way again the rubber smell was still strong, but Rob assured me that this often happened when wheels spun in sand.

About five minutes later a warning light flashed on the dashboard and the car lost power and slowed down to a crawl.  Alarmed, Rob stopped and pulled out the trusty car owner’s manual.  The book wasn’t exactly reassuring when one was in the middle of nowhere on a Saturday afternoon and it read:  “malfunction – take vehicle to nearest service provider.”  Quite scary when we had no power and it was impossible to turn around on the narrow track.

By now Jon had pulled up behind us and jumped out to find out what the problem was.  “Give it a minute or two to cool down,” he said, “maybe it will fix itself.”  Sure enough, when Rob started the car the malfunction light had gone off, power was back and we were able to proceed with our journey.  “Aren’t these self-repairing Toyota’s wonderful,” Jon laughed.  We spent the rest of the way anxiously watching to see if the light came on again, which fortunately it didn’t.  This wasn’t a good thing to have happen when one was about to go into the wilds of the Kalahari for ten days.  I was secretly thankful that we had been so understanding and patient with Jon about his car problems – hopefully he would feel the same about ours!

The sand was getting ever deeper, more gates had to be opened and it looked like the ninety kilometer drive was going to take a good couple of hours, but we pressed on.  When another car approached we were again in no position to pull off the road.  The other fellow braked about ten meters in front of us and a young man jumped out of the front passenger seat to direct operations.  He turned some knobs on the front wheels to put the car into four wheel drive and instructed the driver to pull the car up onto the bank on our right.  Easier said than done.  The wheels just slid back into the deep furrow in the road.  The driver reversed and tried again.  Same result.  He then climbed out of the car to have a look at the terrain.  He was very well dressed in a nice suit, which was actually quite out of place where we were.  His decision was to reverse back even further and try another spot to ride up.  Once again his tyres slid back into the rut in the road.

This was going to prove more difficult than we thought and of course there was a caravan coming up behind us too.  By now two other passengers had alighted from the car.  At first glance they looked like bulls in drag, or perhaps the driver was taking two bulls to a fancy dress party.  Then we recognized them as being Herero ladies, who wear hats in the shape of bull’s horns.  To anyone who has never seen this particular headdress it must look quite strange.  I’ve often wondered at the origins of this peculiar form of adornment – the best explanation I could come up with is that they remind the men of the lobola (bride price) they have had to pay for the women – usually in the form of cattle.  But I digress ….

Eventually, the other driver managed to get two wheels up onto the ridge but his vehicle was still halfway across the road.  We would have to try and squeeze past him somehow.  With very little space to maneuver, Rob pulled his side mirror in and just made it past without touching the other car.  Whew!  That was a close shave.  Relieved we pressed on hoping that that would be our last encounter of the day.  Alas it was not to be.

About a kilometer up the road we saw yet another car heading our way.  “Goodness,” I said, “this is like the main road of Underberg on a Saturday morning!”  This time it was a hearse bearing the name “Joyce’s Funeral Parlour”.   With dismay and some difficulty we managed to pull over onto the verge.  “Let’s hope there isn’t a whole funeral procession,” Rob quipped.  Well, there was and there wasn’t.  The procession was very broken up with cars coming at odd intervals.  So it wasn’t like we could just sit and wait for them all to pass by.  Every time we got going again we met yet another mourner.  Eventually about sixteen cars later we cleared the last of them and were able to proceed with our journey in relative peace.  It was a relief to see the Grasslands gatepost looming up, assuring us that we’d arrived safely at last.  It could only get quieter as we drove further into the Kalahari.

Jane, Jon and Hillary at Grasslands

The manageress at Grasslands struck the fear of God into me when she commented on the road we were to drive the following day.  “There is a very sandy stretch for about 26 kilometers just before you get to the Xade Gate,” she said.   “You will have a real battle towing a caravan through that, especially as there are deep ruts as well.  At least you have two vehicles so you can pull each other out, but it is going to be a very tough drive.”  I was secretly hoping to goodness that Joyce’s Funeral Parlour didn’t have any more business in the Kalahari that weekend!  Imagine meeting them on that awful road.

Leaving Grasslands

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>> To Piper Pan in the Central Kalahari Park

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Day 2 – Grasslands to Piper Pan  185km

Hillary’s research told us that this was a very sandy stretch with deep corrugations and one could expect to take the whole day to cover the relatively short 185 km.

Before we left Grasslands Jon and Rob tied seed nets onto the front of the cars.  These are a must as they stop grass seeds from getting stuck in the radiator and causing the car to overheat.  Seeds in the radiator are not the only thing to fear from driving over long grass.  Grass accumulates in nooks and crannies on the chassis where it gets really hot and could catch alight.  It could be burning merrily while the passengers in the car are blissfully unaware of it until it’s too late to do much about it.

We saw a burnt out vehicle in the middle of nowhere which amply demonstrated that this was a very real possibility.  With lions around, possibly no-one else driving past for days and all one’s possessions, including water, gone up in flames, there was more than just a lost vehicle to be concerned about.  Best to make regular checks just to be sure.

‘Road’ is an optimistic description of the tracks that we had to drive along.  Quite often they are barely distinguishable through the grass and thorn bushes.  Passing between thorn bushes and hearing the scratching on the sides of the car is enough to put our teeth on edge.  Known as a ‘Kalahari carwash’, this scratching is an integral part of a Kalahari journey.  Nothing that a bit of wax won’t fix after the trip, unless of course one has had a brush with a really strong branch. It still goes against the grain to hear it , as one’s first instinct is always to preserve one’s car.

The first part of the journey went well and we made good time.  There were lots of birds around and plenty of sand grouse on the road. We had one stretch of about one and a half kilometers where we came upon a Spotted Thick-knee in the road; it took off, flying down the track in front of us instead of turning into the bush.  It kept settling on the road for a second until we approached and then taking off again.  It looked panic-stricken and exhausted by the effort and we were quite stressed ourselves by the time it finally moved to one side and we drove past.

I think we were all dreading the notorious sandy stretch, except maybe Jon who was game for any adventure that came his way.  This was a challenge for him though as it was the first time he was pulling a caravan through this sort of terrain.  When we saw the sign for the Central Kalahari Game Reserve we turned onto the sandy stretch.  We stopped to wish each other luck and Rob took the lead so that he could give Jon a tow if necessary.  We kept Jon in view most of the time, but had to try and negotiate the sand as fast as possible.  By fast I mean between 20 – 30 kms an hour.  Once in the sandy ruts, there was no turning off and one had to keep going to keep from getting stuck.

At times the sand thinned out and we were on hard ground.  This was preferable, but it came at a price – corrugations!  Teeth-rattling corrugations!  Whenever we got to these hard patches we waited for Jon to catch up with us.  The deep ruts that we’d heard about didn’t actually materialize because it appeared that we were on a new road.  The original road, with knee-deep ruts ran parallel with our sandy track.  If we’d had to negotiate the old rutted road we’d have got stuck for sure, in fact the vehicles would have straddled the middelmannetjie and gone nowhere.

Rob and Jon could pat themselves on the back for making it the whole way without getting stuck at all.  Jon did have to deflate his tyres at one stage, but both men drove like a real pro’s.  We were all very relieved when, much later, we were on solid ground and heading for the Xade entrance gate.  The staff at the gate were extremely friendly and helpful as they warned us of a very sandy stretch just after we entered the Park.  After a wonderful picnic lunch at Xade we started out on the last part of our journey to Piper Pan, a distance of about 79kms.

This leg of the journey didn’t start off very well, as we immediately took the wrong turn and headed off on the same road that we had come into the Park on.  It was only through the speedy intervention of the Parks Board staff, who came racing after us that we turned around before we had gone too far.  They had apparently been watching us through binoculars because they were worried about us getting stuck in the sandy stretch.  Once we turned back and got onto the right road, we realized just why they were concerned.  The sand was very deep and made for very slow going.  Eventually we stopped on a hard patch to wait for Jon.  When after twenty minutes he still hadn’t caught up with us, we decided to turn back.  Not an easy thing to do on that road.

Jon’s car was comfortably bogged down in the sand (the caravan wasn’t dug in at all).  Fortunately the Parks Board fellow who had rescued us, had seen the problem and gone back to base to fetch a tractor.  What service from a Government official!  We were most impressed.  Once Jon was rescued and the staff had left, he assured us that he could have got going again without the tractor’s help, but as they had gone to so much trouble he didn’t want to tell them that he could manage on his own.

After this short delay, we were ready to carry on with our journey,  but now when Rob tried to start our car, the malfunction light came on again and the car was dead.  Oh great!  This didn’t bode well.  We waited for a few minutes and when Rob tried again it was all systems go.  We had no idea what was causing the problem but at least we knew that it self-corrected after a few minutes.

Once we passed all the sandy bits the road improved somewhat.  When I say road, of course I mean track, because once again we were driving through very long grass.  The sky was a magnificent blue and the temperature in the mid-30’s.  Now that the difficult parts were behind us we could relax, and what a glorious day it was turning out to be.  We saw a couple Secretary Birds and Kori Bustards along the way and the odd Springbok, which made the journey more interesting.  As we neared Piper Pan the vegetation became thick with catophractes plants – these are silver/grey bushes that are excellent camouflage for the many birds and animals that live in the area.

At last the sign read ‘Piper Pan’.  The Pan looked nothing like we were expecting it to.  For starters it was completely covered with meter high yellow grass – we had been anticipating bare ground or white salt pans.  This was totally different.  We were also expecting to see loads of animals, but all we saw were one or two Gemsbok and a Wildebeest.  Still, there was bound to be game at the watering hole at sunset, so we headed to our campsite on the northern side of the Pan.

There are only two campsites at Piper Pan and they are about six kilometers apart, which makes each site very private.  Ours was about 10 meters from the road and was sheltered by a hedge of trees and shrubs.  We set up camp close to the hedge, positioning the cars and caravan in a U shape to form a laager as protection against the wild animals.  As an added safety measure Jon also stretched some shade-cloth between the cars to stop lions and hyenas walking in on us. I was jokingly going on about having lions and leopards walking through the camp – hoping that it would happen so that I could get some nice action photo’s.  The toilet and shower were on the edge of the campsite, in two round wooden open air cubicles.  I knew I wouldn’t be using them at night!

With the camp all set and evening approaching, we made our way to the watering hole about two kilometers away.  Armed with beers and salty snacks we sat quietly watching a peaceful Botswana evening unfold as black-backed jackals made their way down to sip the water.  It was disappointing that no other animals came along, but we were in good spirits as we made our way back to the camp for a braai.

Later as we sat eating we heard the deep roar of a lion in the distance.  What a lovely sound that is.  When about half an hour later the lion roared just on the other side of our hedge, I dived into the car, trembling with excitement.  Of course I was the butt of many jokes because of my cowardice, but I’m not stupid -  I wanted to see lions in the camp from the relative safety of the tent or car!  We quickly grabbed the spotlights, bundled ourselves into Jon’s car (ours was immobile because of the rooftop tent) and went in search of our lion.

We found him very close by – a magnificent specimen of a black-maned Kalahari lion.  Although we drove close to him, he totally ignored us, not even turning his head to acknowledge our presence.  What contempt he showed for mere human beings in his majestic company!   On our way back to the camp we saw some bat-eared foxes running  along the road.  So day one in the Park ended on a high note and we were looking forward to what the next eight days would offer up!

Days 3-6  – Piper Pan

We were awake early the next morning, keen to take a drive before the heat of the day took its toll on the animals.  Jon noticed a considerable amount of oil on the back of his car, which on further examination showed that the newly repaired wheel-bearings were leaking badly.  This was not good news and caused Jon much anxiety over the next eight days as he was worried about the bearings ceasing up.  We decided to use our vehicle for the longer day drives, with Jon doing only short night drives in his car.  This suited us well because of our rooftop tent.  We couldn’t do all the driving because we had to keep an eye out for our diesel supply, which could only be replenished outside the park.

We left the camp before breakfast, heading for the watering hole.  The only animals we saw there were black-backed jackals and Northern Black Koorhaans.  We circled the whole of Piper Pan and another two pans further on, but were out of luck.  Jon and Hillary assured us that they had seen lions and a leopard here on their last trip to the area, and loads of honey badgers, but it was a different time of year and animals were quite scarce.  The birdlife was pretty good though and Rob was in his element photographing the many raptors and Ant-eating Chats.  I must mention here that we had two completely tame Kalahari Scrub Robins in our camp that almost got themselves squashed underfoot wherever we went.

We took one final drive to the watering hole before heading back to the camp for the day.  Rob stopped to watch a jackal walk past the car and as I leaned over to get a closer look at him the muscles in my back went into spasm.  I screamed in agony, alarming everyone in the car.  Each time I moved the pain was excruciating and I knew that I was in trouble.  We would be in the middle of nowhere for eight more days, with no doctor and no way of sorting me out.

Fortunately I felt no pain if I just sat dead still and surprisingly little if I walked bent over double, but if I tried to straighten up it was sheer hell.  Hillary proved her worth greatly when she opened her First Aid kit and brought out some TransAct patches and Neurofen tablets.  These helped enormously and at least gave me comfortable nights.  I was to suffer endlessly until we reached Maun.

It was at about this time that we realized that we were averaging at least one disaster a day, sometimes more.  It became something of a joke really, but we were grateful that we were able to overcome most of the obstacles – not every one, but practically all.  One of the most disappointing catastrophes was Rob’s new camera lens that packed up on our second day in the Kalahari.  Fortunately he had brought a spare, but over the next few weeks he would curse the loss of this piece of equipment.

During the heat of the day, when the animals were sleeping in the shade and not very visible,  we spent most of the time at the campsite reading or doing chores like washing and cooking.  Our ablutions were quite unique but very effective.  Jon had brought along a portable shower kit which consisted of a 5 litre weed killer bottle, complete with pump action and an adapted shower nozzle.  We showered at mid-afternoon every day in the open-air cubicles as that was the warmest time.  We first poured in boiling water and then topped the bottle up with cold water to prevent us from scalding ourselves.  After a quick spray to wet the body, it was a race to soap oneself and then rinse off before the water ran out.  Two of us managed to shower with as little as three litres of water.  And did we feel great after a good wash.

Everyone going into the Kalahari has to be totally self-sufficient as there is no water, no petrol available and no shops.  We took 200 litres of water with us for the ten day period, which turned out to be too much, but if we’d been stuck for days it would have saved our lives.  There are also no staff to clean up , so all rubbish has to be taken out of the Park.  The system works well and we found everything to be pristine and clean.  Jon would crush all our metal cans with a brick to make them less bulky to carry out and all paper or cardboard was burnt.  It’s incredible how much rubbish one collects even on a short camping trip.

It is an amazing experience to drive around a game reserve for a couple of days and not see another vehicle.  It gives one a false sense of ownership and breeds selfishness.  On our last evening at Piper Pan we were dismayed to see we had company at the watering hole – two vehicles from Gauteng.  What an intrusion, we felt.

 Once again we were disappointed by the lack of game and hoped that we’d have better luck at Passarge Valley, which was where we were heading the following day.  The sunset, however, made up for the lack of animals.  It was magnificent.

We had a whole flock of guinea fowl that took up residence in a nearby tree at night.  It was a noisy affair as they settled down to roost, but their silhouette against an orange Botswana sunset was stunning and we were happy to see them come back each evening.  We also had a little hare that favoured our campsite and we saw him every evening, which was rather nice.    We loved the situation of  Piper Pan, but the lack of game was somewhat disappointing, especially as the guide books say that Piper Pan has the most game in the area.  However, if one sees the whole experience as a relaxing holiday time in a beautiful remote spot, it doesn’t really matter if the animals are a bit scarce or not.

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