Mhudi

by Sol T Plaatje

  We had made many attempts over time to resolve the impasse with our neighbour, ranging from offers of compensation for proven losses caused by our lions right up to a suggestion we build, at our expense, a predator-proof cattle kraal for him. But his obstinate resistance made it obvious he had only one agenda, and the fact that the law protected him suited him down to the ground. Little did he know that, ultimately, the law would be used with great determination against him.

  Happily, I am now able to report that there’s truth in the sayings, ‘What goes around comes around’ and ‘The big wheel turns.’

  Law enforcement in its many forms is dependent on informers to some extent. Our ‘bush telegraph’ is no exception. So, it came to pass that information gathered from various informal sources that constantly monitor ‘things’ in our area revealed that an illegal hunt for a leopard on this same farm was being planned. Subsequent investigation by our anti-poaching team over the next few days confirmed this information was correct. The hunting locale was found and there was no doubt as to the intent of the set-up, complete with a well-prepared blind from where the hunters would shoot. An impala carcass being used as bait had already been secured with wire high up in an apple leaf tree, so they were specifically targeting a leopard.

  Preparations for the apprehension of the would-be hunters were made. Photographs for later use as evidence were taken of the impala carcass bait. The blind from where the hunters would shoot was also photographed in relation to the bait. The relevant authorities both national and local were informed and involved. Together with our anti-poaching team, wardens from the north of Balule and an official from the local Department of Environmental Affairs, the sting was planned and implemented.

  The following week we observed that the remnants of the old bait had been removed and a fresh carcass put up. The blind was made more comfortable with a mattress and they had also fitted a spotlight, complete with a dimmer switch and a battery. This ingenious device allowed the bait area to be slowly flooded with light so that no matter how wary the leopard, it would become a clear target in the rifle sight without suspecting a thing. To round things off, a bottle of Dimple Haig was tucked away in the corner of the blind, no doubt for anticipated celebrations. We knew this was our cue and that they would be sitting up for the leopard that night.

  Late that afternoon, the vehicle was heard approaching. It was still far in the distance, it being forever amazing how far sound can travel in the bush. Then they came to a halt about 300 metres away, more or less. Not long after this, the two hunters quietly approached the blind, crawled in and, in eager anticipation, settled down to monitor their bait, blissfully unaware that another three pairs of eyes were simultaneously watching their every move.

  With the onset of darkness, we needed to get closer, so until it got dark, all communications were by silent text messages only. The official accompanying us was convinced there was now enough evidence to show intent and we didn’t need to wait for them to actually shoot a leopard. Initially, we had considered and accepted this sacrifice of a leopard, and as difficult as that decision was to make, it was an indication of how desperately we wanted to nail these bastards.

  At a given signal, the team quietly approached the blind. The hunters had no idea we were there until the voice of authority boomed out from behind the hide. After the greeting, the two men in the blind were asked to explain the purpose of their activities. One of the men was well known to the officer, so it must have been much more frightening when out of the darkness he was addressed by his first name. This courteous demand was so intrusive, however, that even the nightjars shut up for a while. How those poor so-called ‘hunters’ must have felt! I use the word ‘poor’, because they both ended up quite a bit poorer a few months later.

  Stammering a little, the two men said they were ‘waiting for poachers’. When shown and asked about the carcass in the tree, they changed their story, now stating they were baiting for hyaena, which were killing their cattle. Despite the official pointing out that it would be impossible for any hyaena to access a bait four metres from the ground in a tree, they stuck to their story. On the way to the police station they turned to one of the regional wardens, Marius Fuls, who was chiefly responsible for coordinating the arrest.

  ‘How can you want to arrest one of your own people? You are also an Afrikaner!’ one of them said to him in Afrikaans.

  ‘I know,’ replied Marius. ‘But that doesn’t make me a criminal, which is what you are!’

  As it turned out, one of the men was the unofficial, unsigned lessee of the farm and the other was a friend who later admitted to having shot four of the eleven lions two years previously. The men were taken to Phalaborwa police station and three charges were laid against them.

  Prior to this, they asked sheepishly if they could change out of their camouflage outfits. Short of the black SWAT team war paint on their faces, they looked like two turkey hunters straight out of ESPN’s outdoor huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ show. Suppressing the urge to parade them through the middle of town in their ridiculous outfits, we relented.

  The two men were found guilty and convicted of illegal hunting. Their rifle was confiscated and a hefty fine imposed, and they now have a criminal record. With the new firearms regulations now in place, this effectively means they will probably never qualify for a rifle licence ever again. That is really going to hurt. To separate a Boer from his ‘roer’ is, next to divorce, probably the most traumatic separation he has to face.

  To put this in context, if this had taken place in the south of my father’s homeland, where getting even is an accepted part of their culture, the lion killer would have lost much more than his rifle; he’d be sleeping with the fishes, wearing a pair of newly cast, custom-fitted, cement shoes.

  Do I believe in the concept of ‘vendetta’? No, not really, but the unmistakably sweet taste I savoured may have had more than a little to do with the good few litres of hot Italian blood in my veins.

  Jogging in the Bush

  Based on a March 2000 newsletter

  Jogging, among many other forms of vigorous activity, has been proven to have a positive effect on longevity, and in moderation is accepted as a healthy form of exercise. This was not always so. In his book, The Lore of Running, Dr Tim Noakes wrote that years ago, a writer concerned with the hazards of jogging suggested that US Congress enact legislation requiring a warning to be displayed on all running shoes, shorts and books. The suggested text was:

  WARNING

  Excessive jogging may lead to quasirandemous wanderitis.

  I wonder what the label would need to read were we to require its display here, warning against the health hazards of running on Olifants. There are many hazards, dangers and surprises in store for the unwary. For the purpose of this story, though, I have narrowed things down to what most of us regard as the danger at the moment.

  WARNING

  Jogging on Olifants can lead to confrontations with lions.

  Yes, running or jogging into a pride of lion is undoubtedly the perceived Number One hazard. [Note: In a few years’ time, as elephant numbers grew, this changed and they became the animals to try and avoid on a run.] The effect on the health and longevity of the runner in an encounter with either lion or elephant would vary, and I am sure would be entirely dependent on the circumstances. In the majority of encounters with members of the Big Five, excluding black rhino, of which I have no experience, the sudden appearance of a jogger would be enough to send them running off. In contrast, plains game could become quite used to seeing a runner and would often continue feeding as you ran past, though if you changed your tempo or stopped, they’d also move off. By and large, we consider the safety level of an activity in relative terms. For instance, it is a proven fact that it’s safer to fly than it is to drive, a statistic based on the comparative numbers of fatalities per kilometre travelled.

  If the same formula were used to calculate the risks and determine the danger level of jogging on
Olifants, then, I guess one encounter with lion per 20 000 running kilometres has got to be considered low risk.

  The following encounter could have been avoided had I been able to consult one of my early warning systems, namely John Chiburre, the Grootdraai security guard who, I might add, hasn’t let me down in ten years. John not only gives me a daily situation report on the lodges, he also informs me of any interesting game movement, particularly lion and elephant. The combination of John being off sick for a while, my change of running route and the statistical 20 000 trouble-free kilometres behind me conspired to deliver the inevitable and into play came The Law of Averages, Murphy’s Law, call it what you will.

  It had been a long day, most of which was spent locked in wage negotiations with our labour union, whose officials arrived four hours late, without so much as an apology. I am new to these tactics, but have since been led to understand that this is a pre-negotiation ploy and is quite normal. Incredible! Deciding against overdosing myself with blood pressure pills or Valium, I thought I would resort to the one sure-fire way of relieving the resultant stress and frustration – and that was to go on a run.

  Breaking away from my usual circular route around the flood plain and along the river bank, following the well-worn hippo path to the Japhets’ camp on Dinidza, I decided to kill two birds with one stone and check on some work that was being done at one of the lodges, stupidly neglecting to tell anyone of my change of route. On my return, approaching the home straight, as it were, I began opening my stride a little, anticipating the ice-cold Oros and cool shower that I knew was only minutes away.

  Nearing the turn-off to lodge 1, the landscape began to change from relatively dense Commiphora woodland to the more open and denuded floodplain habitat, so typical along the Olifants River. I ran past a large herd of immaculate impala which practically live on this grassless plain, and then nearly tripped over a family of warthogs with bad road manners. Up ahead, a couple of curious giraffe stopped browsing on a large sweet-thorn acacia, and looked down at me from under those just-curled eyelashes of theirs, not quite able to figure out what I was up to.

  It always amazes me how close they allow you to run past them, at times so close that they will cheekily lift a back leg, as if to warn you they will kick out if you come any closer.

  With the stress and frustration progressively dissipating with each footfall, I began to feel my spirits lifting and I revelled in the sense of well-being and in the privilege of being able to run in such beautiful surrounds. But, all was not as peaceful as it seemed. Ahead of me a flock of guineafowl uttered their shrill alarm call from the tops of a couple of dead leadwood trees on which they were perched. I slowed down and became more alert, as I knew that from their vantage point they could easily see a predator that I couldn’t. I ruled out an airborne threat immediately, as the guineafowl themselves were too exposed. It had to be either a black-backed jackal or a leopard, I thought, glancing left then right in the hope of catching a glimpse of whatever it was that was upsetting them.

  Alerted by movement some 30 metres further down the road in front of me, but probably not registering as quickly as I would have liked, I came to a sudden, intentional stop. I focused warily on the unmistakable tawny forms of lions. I could clearly see four of them. They were all startled at my sudden appearance and abrupt stop; two of them beat a hasty retreat up towards the old Mica mine road, and the other two skedaddled across the floodplain down to the river.

  I remained motionless, waiting for their curiosity to overcome their initial fear, and for them to move back onto the road. If that had transpired, I would have climbed a tree that I had already picked out for this purpose. To hell with the guineafowl, I thought, they will have to make space for me. When the lions did not return (admittedly I didn’t wait too long), I surmised that they had got quite a fright and had continued moving in the direction they were headed, and if so, this would effectively cut me off from any detour route back home.

  Realising my predicament, I walked down to the river opposite Umfubu Lodge and tried to raise one of our neighbours across the river, to ask them to phone Meagan and ask her to come and pick me up. No one was home. From there, I jogged back the way I had come with furtive glances over my shoulder every now and then.

  I was feeling quite confident that I was not being followed, but I was getting really tired by now and I knew I had at least another four kilometres to go before reaching one of the lodges, or a vehicle parked there which may have a radio which I could use to call Meagan for help. Starting with the closest, lodge 49, I found no one at home and a vehicle with no radio. Same story with lodge 46, also no radio in the vehicle. The Hulett’s vehicle was a banker, I thought, but actually, also no radio! Reaching the top of the hill, there was one last lodge to check. Success! Getting there, though there was no one at home, there was a radio in the vehicle but no microphone. Eventually I found the microphone in the glove compartment, connected it and switched on. You guessed it, no power. Opening the bonnet, I found the battery power switch, turned on and called Meagan. Before I could tell her what had happened and where I was, she pre-empted my explanation, saying she was already on her way, and that the neighbours I had tried to raise earlier saw everything from their house and phoned her. (Big Brother is always watching.)

  On the way back to the area where I’d first bumped into the lions, we found not four, but five lions disembowelling a zebra they had killed, exactly where I had encountered them on the road. They must have only just made the kill when I happened on them earlier. The carcass, being slightly off the road in some thick bush, was well hidden and so was not visible from where I’d stopped on foot. Had I known they had a kill, I would have taken a detour via the old Mica mine road knowing they wouldn’t move far from their successful kill. At no time, however, did I feel the situation was desperate or dangerous, and would gladly have exchanged the lion interlude for a recent encounter with an unusually large black mamba that reared up at me while I was running on a small bush track with a well-grown ‘middelmannetjie’. I still shudder when thinking about it, but that’s a mamba story, and this is a lion story.

  Finally, if you absolutely have to go jogging in the bush, make sure someone knows your route and timing before you start and don’t make last-minute changes. If you spot anything that could develop into a threat, turn round and go back the way you came. Know where the bigger trees are; pick one that you’re confident you can climb. You’re safer up a tree than behind a bush.

  Something of Value

  Written yesterday, forever relevant

  ‘You know you are insufferably spoilt when you come home from a day on the river disappointed with a three-and-a-half-pound wild trout.’ These words are taken from the pen of Dr Tom Sutcliffe, talented author, artist and the doyen of trout fishing in South Africa. He refers to an afternoon spent fishing on one of the many mountain streams in the Eastern Cape, where peering into a pool below a low-water bridge, he spotted an enormous trout, estimated to weigh at least five pounds. I know the spot well and had the privilege of fishing this very pool, with the master himself, a couple of years before. Mustering all the skill acquired in a lifetime’s pursuit of trout, Tom succeeded after some time in landing a magnificent specimen, a wild trout weighing three-and-a-half pounds, a leviathan by South African river standards. The five-pound fish spotted earlier evaded capture.

  What has all this about fishing, particularly fly fishing for trout, got to do with a Big Five game reserve? Well, no, this is not going to be followed by an article on the merits of fly fishing for buffalo with grass-fly imitations or how to tie an Eragrostis streamer, but there are many and relevant parallels.

  Tom’s message has as much relevance to a Big Five game reserve as it does to a trout stream. Essentially, his message poses two questions. ‘Are you allowing complacency and unrealistic expectations to rob you of real value? Are you rushing through the reserve missing out on the less noticeable, but equally interesting creatures this area ha
s to offer?’

  Whether we’re talking about tortoises or trout, animals everywhere interact with their environment in much the same way. They are governed by the same basic ecological principles. As trout respond to favourable environmental conditions by increasing production, which in turn results in good fishing, so will our game respond to their own set of paradigms, providing the variety and diversity that creates the conditions for good game viewing. Ecosystems are cyclic and dynamic in function; no two days are going to be the same.

  Therefore, over time, you will experience times of plenty and times of not-so-plenty. You will even learn to love the days of near-as-dammit-nothing.

  It is well known that the general game on Olifants, particularly on and in our open clearings, can provide good viewing on many occasions. An example of this is the sighting recently of nearly 100 zebra, about 30 wildebeest, 17 giraffe, over 150 impala, eight warthogs, a troop of baboons, seven kudu and two black-backed jackal, all seen at one time on Wart Hog Pan clearing! This is spectacular value by any standards, although I am not sure it’s a record.

  Despite good general game viewing, if some of the Big Five aren’t seen on a game drive, you will hear the odd tongue-in-cheek comment like ‘It’s a desert out there, we had no luck today, plenty of general game around, but we haven’t seen any lion, elephant or leopard.’

  As a counterpoint, to introduce comparative reality and practicality into the equation, when I worked as a young ranger at Mala Mala game reserve in the late seventies, to see three of the Big Five in a day comprising two game drives was considered good. The ultimate goal was to deliver to your guests the chance to see the Big Five in a two-night visit, for which they were awarded a certificate to prove they had achieved the epitome of an African big game safari experience. How expectations and values have changed since then!