Adrenaline in the sky!

Josh phones me just before two. “Quickly, get the car and pick me up at forest, we’re doing buffalo capture.” I only understand half of it, but I jump in the car and 8 minutes later I meet Josh at Forest Lodge. To get to the meeting point in time we race off with our Tazz. It’s amazing how she takes us everywhere even on rough terrain. We should give her an award, Josh and I joke.

Adrenaline. I love this action. We run to the car even when it’s not really needed.
The buffs are huge - it’s very special to touch them, feel their thick skin and their enormous horns. Some are almost one meter wide. I write down the width of the horns and the chip-number that Chap, the vet tells me.

Grant, the buyer of the buffs, offers me a flight in the copper that they use to dart the buffs from. I can’t believe it and I must have looked confused. But soon Craig, the pilot and I walk off to the chopper. Craig has been flying for 17 years and is an excellent pilot. He shows me the seat belt – the only thing that will keep me from falling out of the open chopper. I say nothing but secretly I am quite happy that I can hold on to the dartgun.
Craig says it could be bumpy because of the wind. When we take off I am amazed by the smooth movements of the chopper. It is amazing from up there, with the enormous coloured sky and beautiful green hills. We look down on a large part of Phinda. The rhino and her calf underneath us look rather small.

When we land I am just one big smile! What an experience.

Capturing wild beasts

“The capture team is on their way, last minute call.” Musa tells me half excitedly half apologetically over the phone. “They will be here in half an hour, not enough time to collect you at Forest Lodge, sorry man.” Twice cancelled already due to rain and the first time we’ll get to see game capture, we’re not going to miss out! Minutes later the little, white Tazz flashes through the sand forest from home, scoops me up, and Kristal and I are bulleting down the sand roads (except around the corners) down to the junction of Mountain Access and the Sodwana Bay Road, some 15km to the south.

The rendezvous point is hard to miss. A huge truck to load the animals in is parked on the verge. Another, smaller, crane truck lingers closeby. A handful of Landcruisers, a drum of fuel and a very dinky-looking Robbie 22 chopper complete the picture.
The animals we will capture have been bought by a game farm about 100km from here. We will try for ten today, but it is already 2:15pm. The game capture team consists of veteran vetinarian Chap, big boss Grant, small boss Michael, chopper pilot Craig, truck driver, crane operator and about 20 or so pairs of Zulu hands. Grant is the middle man and so the capture is done by his team. We are just there to observe.

Dart-gun in hand, Chap climbs in next to Craig, and in gust of prop wind they dive up into the sky. Two of the animals were spotted just down the road. We all pile into the back of the Landcruisers and take off down the road. Ranger trainer Dale has joined us on the Phinda vehicle. Ahead of us, from the back of the bakkie, two long white scarves trail in the wind, in hands of two of the capturers. We wonder what for.

We hang back and then the radio call comes in, two darted, down and secured. We speed up the road and then, there, next to the side of the road two monstrously large Cape Buffalo lie in the grass. Both are already blind-folded with the white “scarves” and many hands, push and pull until they both are on there chest, the pressure off their internal organs. Kristal is quickly recruited to take notes of the buffalo, noting the micro-chip number that Chap reads out and recording the horn size – buffalo are sold by the inch.

Once all the info is gathered, the animals are rolled onto their side, a metal stretcher placed underneath and then they are rolled back onto their chest. An easy-sounding task made difficult by the weight and power of the drugged animals. Easily a ton of raw power. Many hands is the only way, and I pile in to help push and pull.

No less than two men at the head. One horn each. At all times. This keeps the head up and the airway open, and the people around a little safer. Chains are fastened to the first stretcher, and the crane and one buffalo and two head men are hoisted into the air and placed onto the bed of the truck. Another buffalo and another two men soon join them.

We get ready to drive the kilometer or so back to the rendezvous point. “Would you like to go back in the chopper?” Kristal can clearly hardly believe what Grant has asked her.. There is only one answer to such a question and she jumps in with Craig, smiling from ear to ear.

We get back and soon the crane truck arrives with its cargo, pulling up behind the large transport truck. The first stretcher, with head men and buffalo is hoisted and then wedged in the open half-doorway. A little tilting and some pushing and shoving and soon the animal is inside. He is pushed deeper into the cavernous compartment, to make space for his friend, who soon joins him. The antidote to the drug is injected and the blindfolds removed. The animals are soon on their feet, we can hear, and from the safety of the roof Chap coaxes them to the back of the truck with an electric cattle prodder.

In the mean time Kristal has landed from her first chopper flight, with a bigger smile than when she left.

We race off again. Three more buffalo are down. I’m helping to roll one onto a stretcher. “Careful of the dart wound, there is M99 mixed with the blood. It can kill you.” Craig cautions me, “I suggest you wash your hands.” I look at my hands, covered in blood, hopefully with not too much M99, and get Musa to pour some water over my hands. I think I can feel my neck going a bit numb and there is a weird twinge in wrist. Uh oh! But all is fine.

I join the head men, and this particular buffalo is not so drunk. He swishes four of us around like little rag dolls. When I look down at that huge, powerful neck, I’m not surprised. Musa cautions that his testicles might get squashed, followed by laughter. And then a debate breaks out. What is the correct name for buffalo balls in Zulu? “Isende” Balls, argues Musa. “Ibele” Udders, argues everyone else from the capture team.

All the buffalo loaded, back at the transport truck and still the debate continues, with no resolution.

The clouds are closing in, “A chaotic sky” Craig tells us is what they call this. He’s not worried about the rain, he’ll just get wet he tells us, but the truck may get stuck.

The decision is made to push for another two, part of the little herd from which we’ve just pinched three. Soon the next two are loaded, under the curious eyes of guests on their way to stay at Mziki.

We all take off, up north, to offload in the buffalo boma, just past forest. Musa calls Umnobonobo to bring the tractor. Just in case. Half an hour later we are standing next to the loading ramp, with the transport truck doing his best to line up with the ramp. In the dark now, and in the deep sand. The truck gets to within a foot, too far for buffalo to safely hurdle. He gives is another go and then gets stuck. The tractor powers him out and the hugely skilled truck driver comes back, at speed. It has started to drizzle, the sand is wet. A chorus of shouts and whistles stops him just short of the ramp, just too short. He rams it further back and the thick, gumpole shoot of the loading ramp shakes as he crashes into it. Almost perfect, there is slight angle, a gap, and the team uses some logs, a spare tyre and canvas to block up the gaps. We all plan out escape under the truck if one of the buffs happen to test the flimsy canvas wall.

The half door is opened and from the roof Chap brings the cattle prodder into action again. One out. Then two. Three. Four. Five. But the last two don’t want to oblige. Chap curses from the roof. Kristal and I move up next to the side of the truck. A small, open sluice allows us to look in. It is eerie. Hoofs scraping against metal. Snorting. And long shadows. Horns. Cast against the cold metal walls by flashing torches. And then behind the shadows, finally, the buffalo comes out.

Seven buffalo, safely in the boma. Their fate, and price, depends on the results of the TB and Foot and Mouth tests, which will be taken in the next couple of days. So far no injuries, to captives or captors. The testicle debate continues, and remains unresolved as the capture team pull away.

Grasslanding and a visit to Zuka

Monday morning, and Musa steals me from the back of Seven’s Landcruiser, on its way down to the fencing happening on the Mzinene River. He whisks me away to Inkwazi, the ranger training camp up on the plateau, overlooking the beautiful floodplains below, bathed in the morning light. The rustic camp has been taken over by some of the top grassland ecologist in the country for a conference. Landowners from the greater Mun-ya-wana Reserve (which includes Phinda) are meeting with these experts to look at how to burn smart, to improve and maintain veld conditions.

At the end of a series of presentations we are all itching to go outside, to trade PowerPoint photos for real, live views. We all pile into the Cruiser and set out, stopping in an area in the south. We stretch our legs. Delicate, bright green blades of grass flash through the stumpy, blackened stalks. Zebra graze on the hillside in the distance, also appreciating the juicy benefits of this controlled burn from last July.

Later in the week we embark on another outing, to Zululand Rhino Reserve. “Eight kilometers from Phinda as the crow flies” the environmental consultant tells us and we pile into two double cab bakkies. A trail of dust wafts smoothly along behind us as we bump along the corrugated gravel, Phillip, Ross and I squashed into the cramped back seat.

A wrong turn takes us past a hardware store, where a handful of workers sit around in their blue overalls, waiting for something I’m sure. They spot us and one comes running over, signaling he wants a cigarette. Ross calls out the window. In perfect Zulu…”You think just because we are white we have everything. Perhaps you should pray and you will receive it.” He makes no effort to hide his derision of both religion and stereotypical relationships between black and white people. I don’t catch the expression on the recipient of this reply as we drive off…

We pull up to the gate of Zululand Rhino Reserve. Ross’ window comes down as the guard approaches our driver. He cannot resist. “We are just coming to poach some animals. When we leave we will hide them under the car so you won’t see them”. The guard laughs, but is a little unsure what is really meant.

Driving through the reserve the landscape is rather uniform compared to Phinda, but then we wind down into the beautiful, wide, sandy bed of the Msunduze River. It is just spectacular, lined with wise, old sycamore fig trees. We all agree that this is one aspect missing from Phinda…

We visit a few burn sites, some still smoldering, and when we leave the guard is sure to check under the bakkie. Just in case.

Between the grasslanding it is fencing as usual, on the Mzinene. Securing fence poles in the holes dug with the tractor’s borer, a device which saved both time and the backs of those who would have dug these more than 60 holes!

The Zulu is progressing well although it is often frustrating trying to find things to discuss. Every now and then a little gem of a conversation starts up, seemingly out of nowhere. One of the alien plant removal guys tells me of his dream to work as a tracker on Phinda, as we prop up a section of fence, being pulled taught by the glorious tractor. First he needs his driver’s licence he tells me. But he will get that soon he assures me. The learner’s licence is already in the bag.

A last minute invitation to join Ant and Paula for dinner at Getty House, the lodge and personal home of Tara Getty. We set off for Zuka Private Game Reserve, also part of the Mun-ya-wana Game Reserve. The chef from Tara’s boat is visiting and we are sampling some of her lessons to Getty House chef Andries. Course after delicious course emerges from the kitchen swing doors. An eight-course meal hugely enjoyed over almost two hours. “And you must come stay with us at Zuka any time, really.” Are Paula’s parting words.

And so we do. Friday after work we pack a bag, some food and the fan (just in case) and trek south again, about 20km to the Zuka turn-off. Just on the Zuka access road a game drive vehicle is pulled over. We slide by and sneak a glance of Kristal’s first male lion, lounging in the grass just off the road. Delicious fillet steak for dinner and some more Zulu practice on Nonhlanhla, the local Zulu nanny/house cleaner. And then it’s bedtime. And not to a scrawny little half mattress on the floor, but a fully fledged bed, and a comfy one at that. Bliss!

A hearty breakfast in the morning and we set out to have a look around Mountain and Rock Lodge. The gravel road climbs up onto the hillside, as you would expect when arriving at “Mountain Lodge”. The views are beautiful and staff friendly. We whiz through the lodge and then detour past the equally, if not more, beautiful Rock Lodge. Friendly butler, Walter, shows us around. “Everyone here at Rock Lodge is a Lodge Manager” he tells us proudly. His smiling enthusiasm is infectious and we gulp down an ice cold coke and water, between smiles, and leave him to get on with real work.

It’s cloudy but the heat is not put off. We pull up to Getty House, now all closed up with no Getty’s around and the Lodge Manager Liezel off in Durban. We slip around the side and soon are swimming in the pool. Where the water ends in front of us it drops away to the Zuka plains below us. Nyala and impala browse peacefully at a small pan just down the hill, and in the distance a large herd of miniature buffalo sweep across the green, open grasslands.

Back home in time to set off at 5 o’clock for Kube Yini, an 1800 hectare shareblock bordering on Zuka. The game drive vehicle bounces along the rocky road as we climb up out of Zuka, an old volcanic crater. Soon we pull up to the home of long-time friend of Ant and Paula’s, Neville Hawkey. Part of the evening is spent “frogging” in a couple of nearby dams. It is a chaotic scene. Torch beams from adults and kids carve up the darkness, searching for the myriad of frogs we hear calling. People are losing shoes in the soft mud. Kube Yini Manager, Russell, gingerly wades into one of the little ponds, the water just below the level of his gum boots. It’s of little use though; Neville soon moves in and scoops handfuls of water into his boots, amidst much laughter. Brown-backed reed frogs, bubbling kassinas and numerous other species hop away from their captors, desperately trying to identify them before they escape. A disc man with frog calls on CD and a little frogging book are being managed by Greg. He struggles to keep up with the demand to put names to frogs. The mud only increases chaos and the enjoyment for the kids.

After a delicious roast chicken dinner we drive home in the pouring rain, Kristal and I do our best to keep Ant and Paula’s son, and his little 5-year old buddy dry. Both are fast asleep under a thin blanket. Ant is taking no chances opening the (electric fence) gate to Zuka in the rain, and he dons the rubber gloves loaned to him by Neville. After a long, hard day, a bumpy drive home in the rain, 13 000 volts running through your body is not what you need.

We go to bed, excited to observe buffalo capture tomorrow. But then the drizzle turns to hard rain, with plenty of thunder and lightning. At just after 5am the call is made to call it off. The trucks will get stuck. So instead we lounger around the house, waiting to go on our afternoon exposure walk.

The Landcruiser pulls up to Umfaan’s at just after 2pm. Trainee ranger, Richard and experienced guide, Grant, will walk with us. We set off, in search of a lone elephant bull. Our searching takes us up onto the marsh, where the grass gets brighter with each visit. And each rain. And enjoying the grass in front of us is a crash of 8 white rhino. And under a tree, just ahead, two male cheetah take in an afternoon nap. We circle the north for some time and then find some fairly fresh tracks, before this afternoon’s rain. So we set off, following the giant discs in the sand, prints left by the grey giant. Here he drank, and then he fed here for a bit… “See the broken twigs”. But not for long because he is trying to catch the herd ahead of him. About an hour’s walking and we are forced to turn back, for daylight is starting to fade. We did not get to meet up with him this time, but will hopefully be back soon, to track down either him, or better still a lion!

River walk

The brown water of the Isibhicayi River escapes under the fence of the eastern boundary of Phinda, makes a dash under the bridge of the tarred Sodwana Bay road and then slowly winds its way down to join the waters flowing into the St Lucia wetlands. We also escape Phinda through the eastern boundary at 1-7 Gate, park the dusty, brown car on the tar road next to a tuck shop, head down past the bridge and start winding our own way down with the river. We are armed with binos, bird book and a delicious packed lunch.

“Have you caught anything yet?” we ask the two women fishing with handlines on the river bank, after exchanging greetings. The one under the shiny silver hat replies, “Cha, aziphumi”. They (the fish) are not coming out. Yet…

The birds are busy today. Weavers chatter, abuzz in the reeds instream while a poor, bedraggled malachite kingfisher looks like he could do with a bath.

The floodplain on which we walk has soaked up much the rains of last week. We tread carefully on grass that covers the dry hoofprints of cattle that passed here a few days back. Salty, moist soils are perfect for fever trees and they follow us down the banks of the river, a long line of yellow, also making their way towards the open pan ahead.

Wading through the river, through the reeds and then through the tall, green grass a line of young Zulu girls marches towards us, bundles of wood on their head. As we get closer they stop for a rest. It must be hard work: the distances are far and the load is not light. We exchange greetings as we pass them by.

A boy of about twelve digs for some clay in the river bank as we pass. He starts shaping what are unmistakably the horns of a majestic Nguni bull. Several live models for his sculpture move ahead of him. His father’s cows he answers us. The patchwork herd of black, white, and various shades of brown and grey graze the new grass between the fever and thorn trees. We look around and the floodplains are full of these beautiful creatures, creatures that look like they belong in this wild landscape.

Two younger boys pass with 4 dogs in tow. Catapults in hand they confirm that they are hunting for birds.

The land rises up from the floodplain to our left, and a number of Zulu homesteads perch high on the hillside. As we continue on, the land, and the homesteads, recedes and soon we are adrift in an ocean of grass and cracked clay. Flat and open for as far as our eyes can strain in the bright sunshine. Only the occasional tree and the ever-present cattle break up the expanse that lies before us. It is quite breathtaking.

We make our way towards one of these trees and in the shade, next to the river we enjoy our lunch. A line of cows approaches us, driven on by the shouts and whistles of two youngsters. They cross the stream right in front of us, and as the cows wander off in the direction of the distant hillside they pause. For one of them has hidden his shoes in the bushes next to our tree. He ferrets them out, puts them on and soon they are off after their charges.

On the way back we keep an eye out for the young herdboy-sculptor, curious to see how his artwork turned out. Splashing, fighting, shouting and laughing the two young hunters are in the river up ahead. The hunting dogs watch on. As we get closer the game ends and the clothes come on. I head over to ask after the sculptor. “He has gone home for now” I am told. “But we know how to make little cows too” they tell me.

We sit by and watch as they too gather clay from the bank. Both, also, start with the horns, clearly the most important part of the bull. Slowly we see two very impressive Nguni bulls emerge from the hands of these two youngsters. They are overjoyed at the R10 donation for their efforts and scamper off excitedly to go look for their cows. The river is salty and no good for drinking and they still have far to go to water their cattle in the dam over the hill. We are also thirsty and head back to the car, for an ice-cold Sprite from the tuck shop.

The two women fishing have also had a good day. “Ziyaphuma”. The fish are coming out now.

Wonders!

Josh wrote about it already, but the rains have come! It’s magic to see the environment becoming green so quickly. The burned sections of the reserve are covered with carpet of lush, green grass. 

 

The toads are croaking loudly, especially the first night that it rained. I thought for a moment that the birds were singing… Moths and other insects like to come into the house now. Ross warned us to keep doors and windows shut: ‘soon you won’t be able to see anything in the evening inside because of all the insects going for the light’, he said.

Beautiful ground lilies appeared on the bare soil just a day after the rain.
 

Have a look at our flat-crown. Isn’t it amazing to see the changes? These changes took place in just three days. 

Walking along the Isibhicayi River. Wow, we feel so free when we walk along the river towards the open plain. 

'Like an ocean', Josh says.
Some men and woman, with red-brownish paint on their face to show that they have their period, are line-fishing. 

 

We get a little taste of the life that the local boys have on the weekend when they don’t have school. Walking with a knobkierrie they follow the cows,  who either belong to their father or uncle,  over the plain and lead them to the good places to graze and drink.
Two boys, maybe 8 and 11 years old, offer to make us a cow out of the clay close by. We watch them modelling the tough clay. We are lucky. Our cows are very creative, so they’ll come back with us to Cape Town. 

We try to take a little fever tree to bring it home. The first one we try would not move one inch. We dig for quite a long time and then give up. The roots go deep in their search for water.
We find an even smaller one that comes out of the soil surprisingly quickly. This one wants to come with us! We hope to bring it safely back to Cape Town to plant in our garden. 

The rains arrive

The vehicle speeds down the old Sodwana Bay road, heading south, several of us on the back. Soon the luminous yellow fever tree trunks, just past the Zuka junction, tower over us and we turn off into them, heading away from the newly risen sun. The Cruiser winds its way out of the drainage line and soon we are out in the open. We labour up the eroded, rocky tracks to the fenceline that borders Harrowgate (part of Phinda) and the property called Nkonka (Bushbuck), recently bought with old family oil money by andBEYOND shareholder and Zuka owner Tara Getty. Fixing this fence, another one destroyed by fighting giraffe, we have to marvel at the scenery of Nkonka stretching out before us. Row upon row of steadily climbing mountains receding into the distance – just beautiful!

Gospel music competes with R&B and traditional Zulu music. All out of tune with each other and with the birds also taking part in the morning concert. All emanating from the cell phones of kakhi clad team members as we work side-by-side. Three per team. Five teams. We’re digging holes for a new fence to run along the dam wall of the Mzinene River. Where water used to flow we can now clearly see the drag marks of a crocodile tail in the mud. Around these spoor are the prints of other animals, animals with nothing between them and community land except a dry river bed. If we don’t put up this fence we will lose animals we still want and the community may gain animals they don’t want. Dangerous animals.

The ova’s (two-way radios) never cease to deliver both important messages and idle, often humorous chatter. In crackly Zulu and English, mixed equally. A rather frantic call comes in. In Zulu. A couple of poacher’s dogs have been spotted, inside the reserve. Inyathi (Buffalo) anti-poaching springs into action, searching out both dogs and poachers. The radios are abuzz and we follow their progress. The dogs they catch, the poachers sadly no.

Thembankosi must have been eyeing my bag for some time. He eventually plucks up the courage. Will I trade my bag for a couple of izagila (knobkieries) when I leave? It’s a deal! As we drive home by bag bounces along on the loading bed at the back of the Cruiser behind me. Thembankosi picks it up, carefully, and hangs it up on the railing. I hear him say to the others quietly, “It will get old if it rests on the floor.” I smile at this gesture, no sense in inheriting something old and broken I guess.

Lightning carves up the evening sky in the distance. The tension of every human and animal waiting for precious rain to fall on this dry ground just adds to the static in the atmosphere. The earth here is thirsty. Thunder rolls ahead of the streaking lightning and the clouds darken. And then the rain falls. It plummets to earth soaking everyone and every thing below. Sitting under our tin-roofed verandah we watch the pyrotechnic lightning display, through heavy, ground-soaking, blissful rain. Chirping frogs celebrate with us – 35mm overnight! Each day after the rain the umbrella foliage of the Flatcrown above our roof gets markedly denser, a flamboyant expression of rebirth made possible by the arrival of the rains.

A Sunday game drive with experienced ranger Thulani is a joy. Two brother cheetah rest up on the dam wall on the marsh. A small herd of impala, across wind from them, graze a short ways away, blissfully unaware of the danger closeby. It seems like more than a half chance to one brother. He stands up, head kept low. His tail flicks from side to side. His brother will not be tempted away from an afternoon nap though and so he settles back down. The impala are left untroubled. The grapefruit orange-red sun sinks beneath the haze and eventually the horizon. Thunder rolls gently across the grasslands, telling us of distant rain. The stars slowly emerge to keep the sliver moon company. Thulani sneaks a quick glance up to the heavens as we drive along in the balmy evening air. Smilingly he tells us of growing up, when his parents would warn him as a child not to look up at the stars. “If you do you will wet your bed…”. Thulani and many other Zulu children always ran between huts in their homestead, in case they looked up by a mistake. A good ploy no doubt to discourage wandering off at night. Tracker, Thomas, has worked at Phinda for 18 years and not much gets past him. The spotlight flashes up and down, telling Thulani that he has spotted something. A little chameleon’s camouflage has failed him, as he perches on the wrinkled leaves of a gwarrie bush. Thulani tells us that most the guys I work with are afraid of chameleons. They are one of the few animals whose eyes move independently, a sure sign of menacing powers.

More Zulu culture and a visit to St Lucia

Vusi continues to teach me, more patiently and more carefully than the others. And not just Zulu, but the Zulu names of the trees, the animal tracks in the sand sometimes too. He also often shares something of the Zulu culture with me. Listening to him describing how iqombothi (maize beer) is made I don’t always follow the Zulu, but his vivid description of bubbling mielie meal is brilliant. His hands perfectly mimic the drops of hot, white liquid spitting up into the air, plopping back into the pot as the bubbles of steam are released. The sound effects leave his mouth through a gentle smile. I smile back. I also learn that his family, or clan rather, the Dlamini’s, are forbidden from eating sheep. If he does it will make him crazy he tells me. Other clans are forbidden from eating goats, or other animals. Muzi, belongs to one of the luckier clans, the Mtshali’s – no food is off limits. Although for him his church forbids the eating of pork and various other foods.

“Frip frip frip frip!”, a small, greyish bird calls high up in a thorn tree. Fana knows this call well and goes to investigate. The bird flits off to a tree closeby, still calling incessantly. You can clearly hear the urgency. Fana follows the bird and I follow Fana. We both hope that this little bird, the lesser honeyguide, will lead us to a nest of sweet, golden liquid. We keep following and our little friend leads us on enthusiastically, for he knows that if we find a hive of wild honey that we will leave him a small piece of the comb, as a fee for his service. We scramble through thick bush. The bird waits patiently. And then we hit the fenceline. Passport on the other side, Mkuzi Game Reserve. Disappointed we turn back to where we are working, just a short ways away. The bird is confused, he thinks we have somehow lost him and flies back, fripping harder than ever. Birds don’t know about fences or about private property. Hopefully one day soon these fences will drop and the animals will roam a greater area with greater freedom. Eventually the honeyguide gives up and goes off in search of another accomplice with whom to rob the hive.

“I have some biscuits for you” Vusi tells me, excitedly, after we exchange greetings before a morning of fencing. He even takes out the packet and shows me, in case I didn’t understand. “But I will give them to you at lunch only.” Later we share lunch in the shade of the shed under which the tractor lives, at Mandatane. We sit on bales of lucerne, me with my pasta and him with his pap and beans. Chocolate Toppers for desert. Two packets, so I get my own one. They sell them for R5 a packet at a little staff shop at Izwe. It is a very humbling gesture, although I can tell he thinks nothing of it. I know I have made a real friend.

A weekend visit to False Bay Park takes us just down the road from Phinda, to a place I have been before, on a camping trip with Natal family when I was just a boy of five. The camp itself is closed, for the low water makes the main attraction of fishing in Lake St Lucia no longer possible. We are not there to fish though, so we go in for the day. A gravel road takes us from the depths of the sand forest, where red duiker scuttle out of our way, into the open lake shore. Miles of grey, dry lake bed stretch out, disappearing into reflections of mirages and eventually water. Driving parallel to the shore now, a patch of green appears up ahead, a small marsh that will drain into the lake after the rains resuscitate the streams. On a bush close to the road sits a crowned eagle, his tufted feather-crown dancing in the wind. He lifts effortlessly up into the winds as we pass and settles on some reeds closeby. The reception office and building around are rather neglected and all the signs are faded. One cannot help but imagine how beautiful this place could be with a bit of love and care. The scenery is complete contrast with the derelict buildings. Barren and dry yes, but hauntingly beautiful.

St Lucia will make the perfect little trip for my birthday and we set off eagerly in the morning. Sadly the camp at Cape Vidal is closed due to the drought and so we will stay in the town at one of the campsites. We drive through patches of thundershowers at Mtubatuba, and we are both wondering and hoping that this precious rain will reach Phinda. We wind through the town, under archways of lush, green forest, until we reach the estuary. A pod of hippos are making the most of the cloudy weather, grazing on a lawn, just below the dunes of the beach. Crocs soak up what heat they can on exposed sandbanks and terns take turns at performing impressive aerial displays between rest sessions next to the crocs.

 Watching all of this from the grass bank we soon spy a grey dorsal fin, and about a metre and half behind it a tail fin. These probably belong to a bull shark, about 2.5m long. Just 50m away and he is coming towards us. And then we spot the croc. About 3m long, heading straight for the shark. Neither gives way and the water erupts with slashing jaws and writhing bodies. Soon the splashing stops and they both move off, unclear as to who the victor is.

The Imvubu Trail seems like a good (and free) way to see experience the area and from the map it looks like it ends at the river. Binos and water bottle in hand we set off. The clouds have cleared and the afternoon sun shines down on the grass track ahead of us, leading us through open areas right up to the fence of the reserve. Three female buffalo graze peacefully on the floodplain below us, behind the fence. Further down the track we see a herd of female waterbuck looking on lazily as they lie in the grass, also on the other side of the fence. Passing a little stream we disturb the male of the group. He trots off towards his harem, holding his impressive, curved horns high.

We enter a small patch of forest, and a shy bushbuck flees from our advancing footsteps. Very nervous, and very reasonably so, for we have spotted several leopard paw prints in the sand, from just before the rain we guess. Perhaps last night.

At the junction a sign points us to the estuary. Soon we arrive at the fence. A faded sign indemnifies the Natal Conservation Service from animal injury we might sustain from encounters with the animals pictured in little blocks below. Buffalo. Elephant. Hippo. Crocodile. And Leopard. We walk up the ladder and over in the reserve. The sign we have just read definitely turned up the volume on hearing, sight and even smell. The area is very open, grasslands, with little patches of bushes and palms. Pretty good country for spotting dangerous animals but absolutely rubbish if you disturb a buffalo lying in the grass. Nowhere to hide or climb.

We walk the few hundred metres of grassland with no incident and soon we reach the mangrove forest, on the shores of St Lucia. We tread carefully in old hippo tracks, hoping that the sun would have chased any grazing hippo back into the water. We feel a bit safer when we spy hippo close to the far bank of the river. Some 100m away from us the pod of about 20 hippo huddle close to each other. A small croc drifts downstream, and we leave them to head back to camp. A wrong turn takes us on about an hour’s detour. Our feet are tired but at least they take us past great sighting of impala and zebra, somehow so different when you see them on foot. We head back to set up camp at Sugarloaf campsite, to enjoy a slow-cooked potjie with ice-cold beers. And later hot chocolate with Amarula, all under the stars.

We hit the Imvubu Trail again today for it is not often you get to walk alone in a game reserve with dangerous game. Along the trail, now inside the fence, we spy a beautiful male waterbuck in the distance, lying down. He hasn’t seen us yet. We use a small patch of bush as cover and sneak towards him. The wind is in our favour. We move out the cover and he is standing now, looking straight at us. We detect a hint of mockery in his expression for he is not that easily fooled.

We follow the trail, careful not to step on any of the many dung beetles busily transporting perfectly formed balls of dung with which to court the females.

Buffalo. Three of them. Just 70m ahead of us! We should have been paying closer attention. It is a stand off, us with no cover to get to and them, unsure of how much of a threat we are. The buffalo give way and trot off. Probably the three females we saw yesterday.

We spend the rest of the day in the park, walking on the beach at Cape Vidal, looping around past the salty shores of Lake Bangazi, through the smoky haze of burning reeds. The landscapes are just spectacular and the animals plentiful.