A walking safari in the South Luangwa
We referred to it later as The Day of the Buffalo. Our group of five set out just after sunrise on a pleasantly cool and clear morning in search of the lions we had heard calling to each other during the night. Our guides estimated they were about two kilometres away. Seasoned walkers in the South Luangwa, these pros have a level of awareness that enables them to see, hear and notice things that 99% of people would and could not. The mission for our walk today was to track and then hopefully find them.
“Morning, morning”, the soft wakeup call of the attendant Kuda accompanied by the pouring of warm water into the copper basins on stands outside our tent, was just in time to raise us into consciousness. It’s so cocoon-ish in our tent, it’s hard to leave. But the adventure beckons. We’re in Africa! Casting about in the pre-dawn glow to find socks, pants and beanies. At 6:20am, with porridge, campfire toast and coffee still slushing around in our bellies, we carefully picked our way out of the mopani forest that surrounded the temporary or ‘mobile’ campsite. We had spent the night there, on the edge of the Mupumadzi River, lulled into deep sleep by a meal that would be called decadent in any surroundings, and which will live on in memory for a long time to come.
Headed by Piela, an armed scout from the Zambian Wildlife Authority (ZAWA), Rocky, our guide from Robin Pope Safaris, and a trusty spotter, John, in single file we cautiously and purposefully navigated the thicket at the edge of the banks of the Mupumadzi River in the South Luangwa National Park of Zambia. It was a comforting to know Piela was carrying an AK-47 but when asked if he had ever used it, he shrugged and grinned a huge toothy smile and said, “No, but once when a lion came too close I shout at him and wave my arms like a crazy man so the lion took off.” How close exactly is too close? Noticing our sideward glances at each other, he laughed, “Don’t worry, that was ten feet. Everything will be OK.”
We’d been walking for not more than twenty minutes when suddenly the bush reed that constantly dangled from Piela’s mouth became motionless and he paused mid-step. The quietest murmur to Rocky and a slight nod towards a group of buffalo that was busy eating over to our right, nestled not more than 100m away in the bushveld. Moving slowly to re-position and shifting his gun from his right arm to his left, Piela gave us a slight hand motion indicating we were to continue to move very, very slowly. Careful walking in the cover of the thicket revealed a steaming herd of 500 cape buffalo – a breeding herd – gathering on the riverbank. The herd was – as yet – unaware of our intrusion onto their feeding ground.
One is quick to get used to the hand instructions of the scouts and also to come to the understanding that if you are to see or to photograph any animals up close or in any sort of close range at all, you have to learn to be super quiet, focused and obedient. Walking carefully avoiding twigs, loose rock, any uneven surface that would cause you to go off-balance is crucial. Controlling breathing, body movements through trees and bush and staying in the footsteps of the leaders in the group. It becomes intense at times, the concentration and checking what’s coming, what’s around, in front and behind. It becomes a lesson in total awareness.
The plan was to get into a good position, to catch them running down the embankment onto the river to drink. Within seconds each of us were pressed up against the dry section of the river bed edge, trying to keep our scents to ourselves. No mean feat when you are a human, strictly upwind and all but visible to at least five hundred of the most enormous – and skittish – creatures in Africa. Being still, maintaining correct exposures on camera settings, attempting to use elbows as tripod soon while remaining camouflaged in a sandbank became an exercise in extreme yoga. Inching closer and closer but waiting for the alpha male buffalo to emerge, check out the scene and give the all clear for predators before moving the full herd down to drink.
There came up to the edge the herd leader, with a couple of other males for support but which had clearly dropped behind him. The entire herd was bunched together in their hundreds in the emerging low grass, eerily silent. They waited, expectantly, all eyes locked on the leader to give the all-clear signal before descending the riverbank for a drink. The tension in the air was thick and we were all perspiring although the temperature had not yet even begun it’s climb north on the barometer for the day.
I was now in the front of the group due to the herd having swung around. We were by this time all lying quite close together up against the bank holding our breath and wondering if he would miss our scent, except for Piela who stood off to one side in his ‘tree’ position as the scouts called it. They cannot tell if you’re a tree if you don’t move, apparently. The ZAWA scouts are all dressed in a tree green colour shirt tuckefd into matching military-style pants. The South Luangwa is incredibly lush in points and hence the warning in the advance list of what to bring the advice is to avoid ‘light or white colours’. I could now understand why. You are so much more visible in lighter colours, even if they look beige, you do stick out. (The advice also said not to wear any camouflage or ‘military-looking camouflage items’ which I guess is helpful if you don’t wish to be mistaken for a guerilla or rebel fighter from some other war).
My arms were becoming dead / numb from holding the big lens without the tripod but to change the situation was impossible. I was simultaneously fighting a battle with sand, dust, heat, sweat, and changing light as the minutes ticked by. To make matters even more complex the lens I had at 300mm was now completely unnecessary as the creature in front of me was no more than 40 feet away. I just needed the other camera body which was now inaccessible.
From my position I could see him in great detail without the aid of the zoom. In profile he was several tonnes of magnificence, with a massive head and horns, black coat glistening in the sun down to a solid clay line right along his mid-section, from his recent night’s rest in the dirt. He stood on the edge out of the riverbank in full relief with the still early golden light of morning lighting up the details of his features and with seemingly the whole world behind him in the background. Shifting his nose left and right, then nodding forward, trying to catch the wind, snorting, not quite happy, repeating the exercise, sensing something unusual. And then, something new, something strange, and all of a sudden he caught our full scent, turned his head directly towards us, registering finally our group. It was the classic stare-off but all this at a range he could obliterate in seconds if he had wanted to. The Cape Buffalo is known as the most dangerous animal in Africa when provoked, but, as with most animals in the wild, he had no need of confrontation. He just wanted a drink in peace. Taking all of one second to completely shift that enormous bulk and with a flick of the tail, he ignited the entire herd to run in the direction away from the river.
The noise and chaos of that moment will not be easily or quickly forgotten. The ground literally shook, and then half the sand on the river bank collapsed onto us and our gear. The noise made by the hooves of the buffalo was simply overwhelming – there was no way to hear any instructions from the scouts or Rocky, who manhandled us up onto the ledge just in time to see their complete evacuation through twenty feet high dust.
It was an exhilarating, spectacular event.
