Mhudi

by Sol T Plaatje

  Realising Phinias’s extraordinary talent, I immediately promoted him to the position of game scout, with commensurate salary. I then went on to institute a change: all the rangers at Motswari and Mbali would henceforth conduct game drives and walking trails using a tracker, and it didn’t stop there. Five years later Phinias Sibuyi made history: he became one of the first black rangers in the country to take international guests on safari as a qualified Ranger at Motswari. Would I still have promoted him had he not found Shilo? … Watching him tracking that day had me convinced of his talent long before we found my dog … plastic bag filled with sand and all.

  Phinias continued to work at Motswari for many years until his premature death from a lung infection in September 2004. South Africa had lost one of its finest trackers, a proud Shangaan and a true spirit of the bush.

  Having gained first-hand experience from working with these men in the field, I would like to share some of what I was taught and what was learned. I will also throw in a little of my own experience and observations in the hope that I spark an interest and draw you closer to understanding something most people regard as magic. For the purpose of the foregoing, I will concentrate on the tracking of animals, as I have limited experience tracking men, although the transition from one to the other would be effortless as far an expert tracker is concerned.

  Observing an expert tracker at work doesn’t elicit material for an action movie script or moves for Jackie Chan to emulate, and unless you question them when they’re tracking, there is nothing to hear. It is essentially a gentle, intricate art where clues from nature are skilfully analysed and then used to achieve success … a little like fly-fishing (sorry, I just had to bring that in). I have often been asked what it is that makes some people better trackers than others. Considering the seemingly infinite variables and circumstances involved, there could never be a definitive answer. However, of all the possible attributes, there is a trait common to the best trackers I’ve known, which I believe lends itself to the art, and incidentally is extremely rare in First World people … patience.

  There are fundamentally two types of tracking, namely systematic tracking and speculative tracking (Liebenberg, 1990). The former is a systematic, painstaking gathering of visual information that tells the tracker where the animal was, what it was doing and which way it is headed. This method is most useful in hunting situations where a specific animal is being tracked either to be hunted or put out of its misery after being wounded. The latter is broader intelligence gathering based on knowledge of the animal being tracked and the terrain or feature it is likely to head for, the nearest waterhole or shady riverbed for example, also known colloquially as leapfrogging. This tactic is used extensively in game viewing operations with great success. Some of the best men I’ve worked with would combine the two methods, and depending on the circumstances it was usually a 70 per cent systematic approach, with the balance relying on gut feel, and a thorough knowledge of the animal and the area. The best results are obtained by using two trackers, one leapfrogging speculatively while the other systematically plods on. I fondly remember two trackers I worked with on Letaba Ranch who complemented each other in this way, producing excellent results, particularly when we needed to track the same animal for more than a day, or when wind direction precluded a strictly systematic approach.

  Having said this, a good tracker is unlikely to assume or guess where an animal may be found: even if pressured by clients he usually remains circumspect, and for good reason. A lucky guess is not good tracking, nor is raising false hopes based on guesswork. A good tracker will stay focused on the signs left behind, combining these clues with his knowledge of the animal’s behavioural traits. From this he will paint a mental picture and make calculated guesses in his mind all the time. I must admit that, even though I prefer the finesse of this approach and admire its complexity, there have been times when even ‘systematic’ trackers have needed to speculate and tell me what they were thinking or how the animal they were tracking might be ‘thinking’. This information is vital when following dangerous game in thick bush.

  From the outset I should make it clear that seeing a full print when tracking is a bonus: invariably the tracker is guided by signs that are far more subtle. Often the signs are not recognisable print impressions; rather they are minor disturbances sometimes unrelated to the footprints of the animal being followed, but indicating the animal’s passage as a whole, through a specific space. Trackers will walk next to the line of tracks so as not to smudge any clues, and in order that should they momentarily lose the spoor, they can backtrack and pick it up again. Tracking is not a hurried affair, however; when a good tracker gets to an easy section he will move through it quite quickly, often at a slow run. This saves time and crucially maximises the light advantage: leaving a trail to go cold overnight greatly reduces the chances of finding the animal the next day.

  Here are a few basic examples of the signs a tracker looks for:

  The most obvious of course is spoor, with the clues derived from the various surfaces they’re found on and the forms the imprints and marks subsequently take. Any characteristic that gives an animal a unique identity is stored in the tracker’s memory bank, helping him to single out the subject from among others – for example, a chipped hoof, a skew toe or, as in the case of a lion, mane hair length and colour.

  Urine and faeces can often provide the most accurate information on the age of the track.

  Insects found on the track that were inadvertently killed or injured by a hoof or paw, an ant lion reconstructing a recently trodden on pit-trap, for example.

  When close enough to certain animals many trackers are able to identify their proximity on scent alone; they can smell them long before they see them (Young, 1986).

  Disturbed vegetation in the form of bent foliage and grass springing back as the track ages, scuffed bark, broken twigs and crushed or discoloured leaves.

  In the case of a wounded animal, a blood trail helps with identification in the beginning, but as the droplets get progressively scarcer, other longer-lasting clues need to be looked for and memorised. Blood spoor can tell the tracker a lot about the wound: droplets of dark blood will indicate a flesh wound, and larger amounts will indicate a bleeding artery or vein. Pinkish, frothy blood, sometimes with larger bubbles, will indicate a lung wound. Blood from a gut wound is often watered down with stomach contents and the distinctive smell of rumen matter in ungulates is unmistakable.

  Secondary signs include the reaction of other animals in the vicinity. Game birds like francolin and guineafowl can be quite raucous when disturbed, and the chirping of oxpeckers, a bird usually associated with large game, is also a giveaway. Alarm calls from prey animals, if not directed at you, may indicate the presence of a predator.

  One evening around the campfire hoping to pick up a tip or two in general conversation, I asked Phinias how he had learned to become a good tracker, He looked at me with a sort of embarrassed sideways peek, then broke into a broad grin and admitted that as a child he was actually a naughty boy, and that as important as the responsibility was, he disliked tending the family’s livestock. He said he preferred hunting and playing with the other herd boys and so he would allow the livestock to wander where they wished for most of the day … but as we spoke it became apparent that this was not the main motivation, there was something else. In those days Mum didn’t pack the Twinkies and Melrose cheese sandwiches in a neat little lunchbox, nor was there a tuck shop to run to with your lunch money. Other than a bowl of maize porridge in the morning, he’d be out in the open air all day with nothing to eat; needless to say he remembers always being hungry – and as we all know, they don’t come much hungrier than a growing child. There’s nothing that demands your attention quite like real hunger does. The anticipation of a mouth-watering morsel being grilled over an open fire was enough to keep him sharp and focused; he told me he ate whatever he could track and kill that was edible. He soon realised that the better
he understood the behaviour of the animals in that environment, the better he could track them. This made him a better hunter. The more he hunted, the more he had to eat … simple.

  In addition to playing and hunting for food, come late afternoon, Phinias needed to find his father’s livestock before the light faded. He quickly learned how to tell his own herd’s footprints apart from the many others in the area, then he’d track the scattered animals, round them up and take them home. At the time he was unaware of the technicalities of the two types of tracking he was employing, tracking the cattle and goats each day is where he learned so much about speculative tracking. This was after having spent much of the day concentrating on the finer systematic aspect of tracking which was necessary to find the smaller more elusive animals he hunted for food. So, as a youth, he was already perfecting the two main aspects of tracking. Later in life he often combined the two, using them as circumstance dictated, making him one of the most skilled and versatile trackers I’ve known.

  No one is born a good tracker, just like nobody is born able to dance like Nureyev or play the guitar as Eric Clapton does. Tracking is an acquired skill honed over time; how proficient you become depends on the dedication and natural ability of the pupil. Although the San Bushmen and the Shangaans of Southern Africa are tribes with a reputation for producing good trackers, not all of their members are good at it. The elite few with whom I have had the privilege to work, acquired their skill when it was passed down from one generation to the next: they were taught. So then, in theory at least, anyone committed enough can learn to be a good tracker. Although there is no formal book learning or written exam to pass, the practical training required, if it were to be documented, would fill volumes and you could live a full life tracking every day and never uncover all of its mysteries. It is a fascinating and challenging art to try and master; there is no greater sense of accomplishment than when you successfully locate an animal you are looking for by tracking its spoor.

  Sadly the art of tracking is a dying one – and not for lack of demand, far from it. The Ecotourism industry and related facets still provide many employment opportunities in this field and the demand is ever increasing; however, there are fewer young men coming through the ranks who can track like their fathers could. Aspirations have changed. Today the majority of young Shangaan men, even those living within sight of the Kruger National Park, don’t have the faintest clue how to track; worse still, they are not interested in learning. The blame for this can be placed squarely on formal education and modern lifestyle values. Compulsory schooling no longer allows for young boys to spend their days in the bush tending livestock and hunting, thereby effectively denying any potential trackers the very foundation activities which hone tracking skills from an early age.

  Having worked as closely with nature as I have over the last 35 years and by taking an intense interest in learning the unwritten secrets of this mythical art, I could at a stretch push the description of my tracking ability to include the word ‘competent’. However, I’ll be the first to say that being able to get across the dance floor without tripping over someone’s feet doesn’t make you a dancer. Strangely enough, many of the Nureyevs of the tracking world I so admired were a little like the dancer himself, slightly temperamental by nature, often small wiry men, but with hearts of lions. This aside, it was their talent for seeing the invisible, their patient persistence in finding what everyone else had given up for lost, and finally, when they turned to me and whispered, ‘nangu’ – that’s what made them giants in my eyes.

  For those interested in learning more about the science and theory of tracking, I recommend that you read The Art of Tracking by Louis Liebenberg. From a guide to tracking perspective, this book will only provide you with the absolute basics, the bare bones as it were, but it is a start. Look at this as being much like the little book of road signs your daughter studied and the subsequent test she took to pass her driver’s license. While you have to accept she is now legally a ‘driver’, in your heart you know the acid test is going to be out there on the highways, shoulder to shoulder with 20 ton articulated trucks and doped-up wannabe Schumachers, or bumper to bumper in the concrete jungle with that impatient animal known as peak-hour traffic. Mastering it is going to be a lifelong learning process – as will tracking …

  Good luck!

  Not Just Another Buffalo Story

  January 2008, recalling an event from 2004

  According to the blurred illuminated dots of my Swiss army watch, it was just after 2 am. I groaned, not just at being woken at this hour, but because these early morning calls were usually from the Phalaborwa-based regional head of Spoornet’s train drivers. Few phone calls received at this unearthly hour bring good news, unless someone you know is phoning from Brisbane, or some equally far-flung place, and miscalculates the time difference. When Spoornet calls late at night or early in the morning, it is always bad news, invariably to do with a train colliding with some unfortunate animal.

  We have a working protocol that in the event of an animal being struck by a train, the reserve’s management will be informed immediately, irrespective of the time of day or night. Basically, this ensures that if an animal is badly injured, it can be humanely despatched or if already dead, the carcass can be removed from the tracks as soon as possible. This is to prevent predators and scavengers attracted to the immediate area becoming secondary casualties when the next train comes along. Here on Olifants, we are well-equipped and experienced in using our labour force and heavy machinery to do what is necessary. The staff know the routine and are more than willing to help at odd hours, and as an added incentive, although it may sound a touch both gruesome and opportunistic, there’s often the chance of collecting meat from the carcass. In this instance, the message was that a buffalo had been hit. According to the driver’s report, it was caught a glancing blow and knocked head-over-heels down a steep embankment. The rest of the herd of about six or so were apparently unharmed.

  I always keep the equipment at the ready for just such events – a powerful hand-held portable spotlight, a Petzl headband lamp, camera, hand-held radio, binoculars and a heavy calibre rifle. So, within minutes, I was loaded and on my way. Normally, I would take someone with me to shine the spotlight, which leaves my hands free to operate the rifle, but for some reason in this case, I thought it unnecessary to wake Meagan.

  The previous time I’d been called out was for a hippo with a broken jaw – and in that instance my daughter Eleana bravely shone the light for me while I put the poor animal out of its misery.

  The train drivers are usually spot on with the incident site, giving the number on the kilometre-marked pylons along the tracks as a reference. This time-saving process meant it wasn’t long before I was on the scene.

  Climbing onto the tracks and shining the spotlight, I could clearly see the disturbed gravel where a small group of buffalo had crossed. The embankment down which the buffalo had fallen was about eight metres high and had a pitch of about 35 degrees. I scoured the area with the spotlight hoping to pick up an unnatural shape or the reflection of an eye, but … nothing. Switching off the light, I sat in silence on the tracks, listening for laboured breathing or any sound of movement, but besides the odd Mozambique nightjar and the distant drone of the Phalaborwa mine, silence reigned. After about ten minutes, I turned on the spotlight again and did another sweep – and again … nothing. I walked up the railway tracks for a couple of hundred metres and then down again in the opposite direction with the same negative result. There was not much more I could do, so I decided to go home and come back first thing in the morning to study the signs at the scene properly.

  Subsequently, a follow-up visit revealed that a buffalo had indeed been hit before tumbling down the embankment. The precise nature of his wounds could only be revealed by tracking him, but all indications from the spoor showed he was favouring his left front leg and although not quite in ‘buffalo 4x4’, he still managed to cover a considerable amoun
t of ground on three-and-a-half legs. He was certainly able to keep up with the group and as buffalo are notoriously tough and resilient I gave him the benefit of the doubt, as he was probably only temporarily lame and would be fine in a couple of days.

  A few days later, a camp attendant at one of the properties down-river radioed in to say he had a buffalo in camp that was acting out of character. I went to investigate and found the buffalo had moved into a virtually impenetrable thicket of riparian bush. As this was on a neighbour’s property, owned by a part-time professional hunter, I telephoned him and suggested he follow up on the buffalo.

  I also suggested he take the tracks the following day, by which time it should have moved out from the thicket allowing for positive identification, as it would be disastrous for a healthy animal to be destroyed in error. Two days later, despite a concerted effort, he had not managed to get a clear sighting of the buffalo, and having other commitments, had to abandon the pursuit.

  A day later, one of my staff members staying on the next-door property casually reported to me that there were tracks of a lone buffalo bull near our northern boundary. The spoor pointed to behaviour totally out of character for a healthy buffalo. As it was already mid-morning, I thought there was no point in doing anything immediately, and with the morning weatherman having said the day was going to be a stinker, I decided to tackle the problem the next day.