Western Tanzania

We had a very weird spell of weather in October and early November – tremendous rains, unusually early and heavy.  It was very patchy, so while everything at home was green and flourishing, and there was heavy flooding in parts of Serengeti, large swathes of Maasailand remained brown and parched.

So, November came around and with it a group of old friends from our days in Turkey.  We were headed out west, for a week in Katavi and Mahale.  Katavi will be at it’s best at this time, won’t it?  The long months of hot and dry mean that large numbers of game will be congregated near the few springs, so game viewing will be a cinch.  Except for that early rain (see above).  The whole park was freshly painted in luxuriant greens, the Katuma River was flowing and the air felt vibrant with life. 

Many of the hippos had moved out of the springs at Ikuu, their dry season refuge, and back into the newly formed pools on the Katuma.  The crocs were slowly coming back to life, although many were still more or less somnolent in their riverbank holes.

The downside to all this, of course, was that much of the game, released from the tyranny of the dry season, had scattered to the four winds.

It was gorgeous and we did find just about everything we wanted to see, but we had to work pretty hard to do so!

We found a lovely pride of lion with cubs (the Chada Pride), and followed them for a couple of hours through the bush as they made their way to the river, presumably changing hunting grounds.  They were lean and hungry looking, but with a healthy glow.  We stayed with them for some time, hoping for a hunt (they were clearly ready for action), but nothing came of it.

It was the same story with elephant – when we finally caught up with a herd, we had a long visit with them, following slowly as they fed through the bush.  There was a tiny calf with them, but we only got brief glimpses as Mama kept her close by her side.

It was strange to see so few elephant, but the mystery was solved when some of our group spotted a large herd, several hundred they reckoned, waaaay out on Katisunga Plain.  Too far to go and see them, sadly, but nice to know they’re there.  And always nice to solve the puzzle!

This happens frequently: elephant clans are forced to break up into small family groups during the dry season, because of the lack of resources, but when the rains start and food and water are plentiful, they gather once more into large groups.

Not long after we left, a herd of several hundred was seen just in front of Chada Camp – very likely the same clan.

One of our Chada highlights was this scorpion, found by one of the camp waiters.  Scorpions have this weird undead glow under ultraviolet light – perfect material for nightmares!

All too soon, our time was up and we upped sticks and moved on to Mahale Mountains. 

Again, the recent rain meant that the forest was bursting with new life.  Gorgeous butterflies flitting through the clearings and fresh new leaf everywhere.  The miombo woodland on the mountain slopes was resplendent in shades of copper, crimson and brilliant fresh greens.

We had high expectations of our time with the chimps: as you probably know, the Alpha male of Mahale’s ‘M’ community was killed by his own kind back in July (??).  Pimu was a thug who ruled by brute force and terror, and in the end, his subjects rose up against him.  If only Gaddafi had taken heed of this sorry tale…

Anyway, we were intrigued to find out how the succession struggle was working out.  There are 2 contenders: Alofu, the former alpha, deposed by Pimu; and Primus, a young buck with his eye on the top spot. In the event, we had unexpectedly mellow viewing, consisting of peaceable group grooming sessions and youngsters endlessly at play. Endlessly watchable.

We are still waiting to hear who will take on Pimu’s mantle, but we can expect a great deal of manoeuvring and wheeling & dealing before the dust finally settles on this saga.

The moon in June and other safari moments

Photos by Tynan Daniels

Gaunt granite outcrops amongst the grey-tawny bush near the shores of Lake Eyasi.  Every bush and tree here, it seems, has thorns that reach out and cling at your skin and clothing.

We are visiting a small band of Hadzabe, the Bushmen of Tanzania.  Only a few hundred remain, living their traditional hunter-gatherer lifestyle.  In common with aboriginal peoples on other continents, they are increasingly marginalised. Once, they roamed freely over this whole vast landscape, but these days they are restricted to a relatively small area, as land-hungry immigrants from other tribes move into what appears to them to be unutilised land.

We catch up with the hunting group at their small encampment in the hills, a collection of small grass huts.  ‘Huts’ is putting it a bit strongly, as these are very basic shelters, easily assembled from local materials: grass, a few branches and twine made from bark.  This makes perfect sense for a nomadic people who need to be light on their feet, able to pack up and go quickly in response to changing ecological factors such as trees coming into fruit at a distant location.

The men are busy making new arrows, checking the straightness with the utmost care and shaving off small sections where necessary.  They are sitting on skins of Lesser Kudu, a beautiful spiral-horned antelope found in these parts.  The women are nearby, cooking and playing with healthy looking children.

Later, we set out on a hunt with the men.  It is rare nowadays for Hadzabe hunters to find big game – the pressure on the land is too great with all the newcomers.  In any case, having a bunch of flat-footed wazungu (whiteys) trying to keep up, would cramp their style.  Not to worry - I am fairly certain that they would forget all about us, in the excitement, if a decent-sized animal were spotted and they would tear off, leaving us floundering.  Quite right too.

They move through the bush, quiet but intent.  When a hyrax is spotted there is a flurry of activity and the scrawny hunting dogs scramble under the boulders, trying to flush the prey.  One man cocks an arrow and takes careful aim.  The unfortunate hyrax is hauled unceremoniously from his hiding place.

***

It is a few days later and we are in Serengeti.  By the road, lions have killed a buffalo.  They are pretty full but every so often one wanders over to the carcass – maybe just a little bit more, maybe a tiny space still left to be filled.  In the melee, we can make out five small cubs, maybe 2-3 months old.

***

The Western corridor is alive with the honking of wildebeest, like a chorus of demented bullfrogs. Hidden in dense bush by the Grumeti River, we watch as they make their nervous way down to water.  There is tension in the air: as animals of the open plains, they are fully aware of the dangers inherent in the prosaic act of drinking: large predators lie in ambush and the placid water might erupt at any moment, as a crocodile attempts to catch breakfast.  The Grumeti crocs are particularly large and probably only get to have a decent meal when the migration comes through for these few short weeks once a year. The rest of the time, pickings may be skimpy.

Today, fear wins out over thirst: something spooks the herd and they whirl away, out of the forest and onto the plains once more.

***

A herd of ellies finds a lovely muddy pool. An ecstatic youngster churns up the mud for better wallowing.  The babies lie flat, kicking their legs up in the air, while the adults, more sedate, squirt mud behind ears and under bellies.  A good mud bath is a wonderful way of cooling off, as well as for removing pesky parasites.

***

Later on, we sip our wine as the sun sinks to the horizon in a blaze of red and gold (all that smoke from the Park Managements early burning program has got to be good for something!).  It’s time to head back to camp.  A lioness… she wasn’t there a moment ago.  There is probably a whole mob of them in the tangled thicket of sickle bush from which she has emerged.  After a few minutes, we leave her scanning the plain, looking for dinner while we head back for ours.

•••

After a long flight, we are on the shores of Lake Tanganyika.  We know it’s a lake, but it feels oceanic: the mountains of the Congo side, 25 miles away, are shrouded in dry season haze and the water merges with sky at the washed-out horizon.  We head out for a walk in the forest – there are Red-tailed Monkeys in the trees overhead, but they are difficult to spot.  Moving stealthily and peering up for a glimpse, we are probably behaving just like a party of hunting chimps and they whirl away with bird-like chirrups of alarm.

•••

June is often tough for chimp tracking.  Many of the fruiting trees they favour are way up high and it is hard work for Homo sapiens, particularly an unfit specimen such as myself, to get to.  Today the news is good: last night, they nested low down and the trackers have set off to locate them early to give us the best chance of catching up with them.  We head south by boat to the trailhead and start into the forest.  Here the guides stop us: the chimps are on the move and they want to be sure of their direction before deciding which trail to take.  The trackers radio down: they’re off toward the river.  The trail hasn’t been cleared yet, as it’s still early in the season, so the guides have to hack a way through with their pangas (machetes).  Soon, there is no trail at all: we branch off along the river, and have to cross several times, teetering mid-stream on precarious boulders.  If the chimps cross before we get there, they will disappear up the densely forested mountain slope, where we have little hope of following.  All of a sudden, there they are: 2 males, Darwin and Carter, grooming each other in the classic Mahale Handshake style, clasping each others hands overhead while they search for parasites and flakes of skin.

More appear from the forest, making their way to the water’s edge to drink, before crossing, taking care not to get their feet wet.  This they achieve much more elegantly than our party of their closest cousins.

It is a perfect situation for photography, which is ironic, as my camera has chosen this moment to go on strike…

Six of them settle down to a group grooming session, crowded around the thuggish alpha male, Pimu.  One female, Omo, has a small infant cradled on her lap.  He is only 6 months old, and has a pink, wizened old man’s face.  We are totally rapt.  All of a sudden, a single chimp pant-hoots from above.  The group immediately leap to their feet, replying in wild crescendo, ending with a series of high screams.  Then they disappear into the wall of forest.  It is perfect – the curtain has come down on the scene and we, the privileged audience, walk slowly back down the hill.

Next day, we don’t find them at all.  The trackers only hear a single distant call – how incredibly lucky we have been.

***

It’s our last night.  Everyone has gone to bed, Steve, Kiri and I are sitting around the camp fire before heading off to bed.  I glance over my shoulder – why has the moon gone red?  Wow, IT’S AN ECLIPSE!  I race off to rouse my guests and we stand and watch in awe.  It is a relatively rare event as this time as the moon passes right through the centre of the earth’s shadow, so it is a total eclipse – the moon gets very dark.

The fates are clearly smiling on us…

A Hadza lady in her boma

Breakfast in Katavi; Nights in Paradise; Days with the Relatives.

Before the sun was too high in the sky, we stopped for breakfast on the banks of the Katuma, in Katavi National Park, with hippo and crocs scattered decoratively along the shoreline. As we munched our bacon & egg sandwiches, a monitor lizard came along on the far side and started to dig in the sand. It took him a while, as he had to keep stopping to scan for danger - hungry eagles on high, angry female crocodiles below and even more perils courtesy of his immagination - but finally, he came up with a whitish crocodile egg in his mouth. He proceeded to manipulate it carefully, puncturing the shell. (Reptile eggs are not hard like a bird's, more a papery consistency). He then gently squeezed out the contents into his mouth so as not to waste a drop of the valuable protein fix, then finished up by swallowing the shell as well for a well-rounded meal. After that had gurgled down, he came back for more........and more.....and more - 6 times in fact!

We estimated that each egg was about the size of 2 to 3 hen's eggs, so he ate the equivalent of about 18 eggs, shells and all... Not a bad meal for a 4-foot reptile weighing about 20 pounds! And we had just one fried egg and a couple of rashers of bacon in our sandwhiches.

That evening we watched a fight between 2 male hippos, a real clash of the titans. The result was never really in doubt, as one animal was clearly bigger and heavier, with longer tusks, but it was nevertheless an awe-inspiring sight. A short way on, we came across a bull that had lost such a fight, with a deep, slashing wound across his rear thigh; the skin and muscle yawning open. Hippo sweat contains an antibiotic - a useful adaptation or wounds like this would often prove fatal.

Early next morning, we set off for Paradise, for a night’s fly camping. Absolutely incredible, the best I have ever had, I think. We had a pod of hippos right by us - honking, splashing, yawning, dozing - and there was game dotted all over the plain, including a herd of buffalo a thousand strong. On our evening walk, we stood stock still as a herd of waterbuck passed by us, oblivious to our presence as long as there was no movement or sound. They finally picked up our scent us as they pass downwind, whipping round to stare at us before taking flight.

My night’s sleep was punctuated, at regular intervals, by the roars of fighting hippo bulls and distant lion. Honestly, who do I sue?

Mahale was amazing, as ever. The chimps were making almost daily visits to camp to gorge on False Waterberry fruits on a tree by the kitchen. Talk about lazy chimping... In the forest, we got to see babies playing, endlessly climbing vines and branches, trying to dislodge each other. I’m King of the… what? Swing? A female with an infant approached one of the big males, grinning and calling in fear and submission. He reached out a lordly hand to reassure her and they settled down to a long grooming session. All around us in the forest, chimps were calling back and forth (I’m here, where are you? OI! STOP BULLYING MY BABY!! Nice figs these – here, try one..).

We had fabulous kayaking on the smooth, crystal-clear lake this morning, in the golden light of dawn, with hippos honking way off. Can it get any better than this? Well, just maybe - but not often.