Bush Fires - the beauty and the beast

It’s late January.  The short rains, which started so promisingly (and so early), are long gone.  The sun blazes down each day from a blue, blue sky and the wind howls – sucking the last of the moisture out of the soil.

We are headed home after a day in the office.  There is a dense bank of smoke hanging over the park.  As we reach home, we can see it clearly - great grey gouts boiling up from the burning bush below, the underside glowing a dull red in the fading light.

During the night, we keep an eye on the fire to make sure it doesn’t jump the boundary onto our side.  A couple of times, we have to back burn to stop its progress.  It’s all very destructive but weirdly beautiful too. 

Occasionally, birds fly out of the trees as the flames approach; unused to flying at night, they are disorientated and make crash landings in bushes a short hop away.

It’s controlled burning time – the National Park authority has decided to burn the area.  Ostensibly, this is to prevent a massive build up of dead grass and wood, which might lead to a catastrophic hot fire in future; and also to reduce the amount of parasites in the bush.

Hmmm. All very well in principle, but is it a coincidence that there are only 4 or 5 commonly found tree species in this part of the park?  The very species with hardy saplings, capable of withstanding fire even when small.   Surely diversity should be an important goal of park management? Regular annual burning of the same areas mean that the more delicate saplings just do not stand a chance of survival.

Also, this is the time of year when food is plentiful after the short rains: so all kinds of bugs, birds and reptiles are breeding, making the most of the windfall.  How many nests, eggs and hatchlings went up in smoke?

And finally, even the dead wood and fallen leaves and old grass have a role to play within the system, as protection, food, breeding areas. If it is burnt every year, this whole section of bio diversity is likewise gone

There is no doubt that burning is an important management tool for park wardens; it is equally certain that it is overused in many parts of Tanzania. With us, it is the same areas that are burnt each year.

Bush fires set for three days in a row and finally, one jumped our double firebreak, aided by a strong wind. Luckily, we had enough people on hand to beat it out before it took hold in one of the wilderness areas of our plot

On the plus side: what’s the betting that the ellies will pay us a visit soon?  With so much burnt, they should be looking for better foraging grounds… karibuni sana!

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.

Mara River and the Selous

 Q: What do you call it when, having waited patiently for several hours to watch the primeval drama of a herd of wildebeest crossing the Mara River, all you get in the end is a female and her calf picking their way across, without a care in the world?  Whistling a jaunty tune no doubt…

A: A double crossing.

Wildebeest are just like that sometimes and there’s not a lot you can do about it. You feel like rushing out and yelling at them, waving your arms about to start the process off.  But first off, that would scare them off completely; and secondly – we just don’t do that kind of thing.

So we just sit and wait. 

Finally, a huge herd gathers on the bank, full of nervous energy and staring at the other side; more are streaming in behind them, the pressure is building inexorably.  Yes, this could definitely be it! The level of excitement in the car rises several notches. I start to plan my approach to the river, once the crossing is well and truly under way… any minute now…

And then another vehicle goes past us, into the middle of the herd, drives in a wide circle scattering the lot of them, then comes up to us to ask if we know, by any chance, where the lioness with the kill is?  Well yes we do, as a matter of fact and what the @$#@***@!#$%!!!!!

I exaggerate of course: along with our double-crossing, we had plenty of superb wildlife viewing.  Memorable highlights included 3 cheetah brothers who had recently killed & fed, looking as though they had swallowed a basketball apiece; mating lions on top of a kopje; a Pennant-winged Nightjar (go on, you know you’re dying to ask!  Well, some of you at any rate…) and a musth bull elephant seeing off a younger rival.

But the real icing on the cake happened right in camp.  That night we had lions roaring close to camp, and in the early hours they killed a wildebeest about 100m out.  There followed a wonderful cacophony, as lions jostled with lions for their share, then took on the hyenas that had been drawn by the noise.  I’m not sure there was a lot of sleeping happening, but then who needs sleep with all that commotion going on?

At dawn, before heading out, we crept around the camp looking for an overview, to be rewarded by a glimpse of a large well-fed male lion leaving the thicket where the pride had been feasting.

***

After Serengeti, it was time to head south, to the vast Selous Game Reserve.  Our first stop was Beho Beho Camp, and we went off pretty much straightaway on the first of many wonderful walks.  This was a gentle hour-long womble, but we had fine up-close-and-personal views of elephant and a jewel-like Malachite Kingfisher in gorgeous evening light before sundowners on a viewpoint near camp.

Next morning was all about lions.  My favourite moment came when a big male, after mating right in front of the car and spray-marking a bush, turned and walked straight towards us.  This was by far our closest encounter (he pretty much brushed against the side of our open land cruiser, within easy touching distance) and I was watching the reactions of our 3 Intrepid Ladies.  Eyes opened wider and wider as he approached and all photographic activity was suspended.  In an effort to reassure, I said something along the lines of ‘Don’t worry, he’s not interested in us’.  Angela hissed back: ‘ARE YOU SURE???’  It was perfect– and we all made it, even if nobody recorded the moment when he stopped and locked his golden gaze on Grace’s eyes before going on his regal way once more.

***

Next day was the beginning of Our Big Adventure – a walking safari, taking us from Beho Beho to the banks of the mighty Rufiji.

We left early, heading east from camp, to the hot spring, where we stopped for a wallow in this gorgeous setting, a series of steamy, sulphur-stinking pools in a rugged valley surrounded by a graceful fringe of wild date palms.

After lunch in a shady spot by Lake Segesse, with water birds and peacefully grazing animals nearby, we settled down for a snooze – our camp crew had thoughtfully laid out bedrolls for us.  A gentle evening stroll took us to our fly camp by Tagalala, where we sipped our sundowners as hippos sighed and African Skimmers unzipped the mirror-silver surface of the lake with their strangely elongated lower mandibles, trying to snag small fish.

Photo by Matt... I'm SO jealous!

Having survived the night, it was time for our longest walk – a full morning’s hike to our next camp, Kogota, a remote spot right on the Rufiji.  En route, we spotted a lone buffalo bull, but were mystified when he crashed off into he bush as we started to approach; it just wasn’t possible that he had seen or heard us. A careful scan revealed a pride of lion lolling in the shade of a tree.  There was no way to get closer without scaring them off, so we went on our way.

It was pretty hot by the time we hit camp towards mid-day, so the first glimpse of the Rufiji was very welcome.  The three Intrepid Ladies sank gratefully onto the bedrolls thoughtfully laid out in the shade by our camp crew, and I had to wheedle a little to persuade them to join me for lunch!

Stiegler’s Gorge was our next stop, a 2-hour boat trip upstream from camp.  Named after a hunter killed here by an elephant in the early 20^th century, this is a rugged gash carved through the sandstone hills over the millennia.   It is a serenely beautiful place, especially as you drift downstream under the great ramparts on each side.  We were lucky enough to spot a troop of Colobus monkeys and a Crowned Hawk-Eagle, high up in a Sterculia tree. 

Back at Kogota once more, we had another delicious lunch followed by the traditional siesta and a wander 

All of a sudden, there was a loud moaning, roaring sound, coming from thick bush very close by.  Hippo?  Elephant?  No – mating lions!  We waited a few minutes, and sure enough, there it was again.  So we had a couple of large honeymooning cats within a stone’s throw of camp… but no way to get to see them, as the bush is so dense right there.  Still, it was terrific to feel their presence so close by.

Our walking safari came to an end that afternoon, with a short drift by boat downstream to Sand Rivers - our first view of the lodge was in gorgeous evening light as we drifted slowly with the current.

The lodge was the perfect place to unwind after our adventures over the past few days; and there was still time for one more.  As we walked out for sundowners on nearby Lizzie’s Hill, we watched a lioness striding along on the flat ground below.  She was either unaware or unfazed by our presence.  The perfect ending to a lovely trip.

Notes:

Nightjars are nocturnal insect-eating birds, which means that they compete with bats - a tough challenge!  Ground dwellers, they are all a mottled brown, blending in well with fallen leaves around them.  In the US they are often called ‘Night hawks’ or (occasionally) goatsuckers: they are believed to creep up on unwary she-goats and suck milk on the sly!  Funnily enough, some Tanzanians share this belief.

Mature bull elephants go into a condition known as ‘musth’ once a year, characterised by high testosterone levels, when they actively seek out oestrous females.  They are more aggressive at these times. 

Firesticks - the movie

Here is a link to my vimeo account where I hope to post clips on a regular basis. This was shot at Kakesio, on the escarpment overlooking Lake Eyasi.

What to do when you have left the matches behind....

Click on the title of this post and it should take you there!

All Creatures Great and Small

Flap-necked Chameleon - Philip Shirk

As I often say, size isn’t everything.

Ok, ok, you can stop sniggering at the back…

My daily grind consists, on the whole, of going to lovely places and looking at awesome animals.  Usually big animals.  But that’s not always the case – sometimes you find some cool smaller stuff, and some of these are very cool indeed

A friend kindly volunteered (or was 'volunteered'?  Thanks again, Norma) to act as a ‘mule’, bringing me some exciting new toys from the States.  One of these, advertised on Amazon as a ‘Private Investigator Flashlight’ (apparently great for revealing bloodstains and other bodily fluids, as any ‘Bones’ fans out there will know) is an ultraviolet light.

Just before it arrived, I asked a fellow guide if he had used one at all?  Oh yes, lots.  How did he rate it?  ‘I stopped using it, it gave me nightmares…’  You see, UV isn’t only good for showing up bloodstains, it’s also REALLY good for finding scorpions.  (Hint: if you don’t like scorpions, don’t look at the picture below).

I have to admit to being just the teensiest bit underwhelmed when my CSI Flashlight arrived.  As soon as it was dark, I dashed outside to find… nothing.  I tried a couple more times in likely looking places… nothing.  So I wasn’t expecting much when Chris, the manager at Manyara Ranch, borrowed it to see what he could turn up.  But he was back in a few minutes, with a small scorpion in a glass.

It appears that a scorpion’s carapace absorbs UV light, so it glows a weird greenish white.  VERY weird against the purple backdrop of everything else around it!  Chris took a series of lovely photos, including this:

Photo by Chris Rodgers

As you can imagine I was reenergised by this discovery and managed to find 5 more on my way back to my tent.  Well, right by my tent actually.  Hmmm…

While at Manyara Ranch, Jules spotted a slim snake sunning itself on the path.  After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, we identified it tentatively as a Tanganyika Sand Snake, which, according to the distribution map, shouldn’t really be there.  We’re awaiting expert confirmation, but it looks like a good match. 

Meanwhile, back home once again, we were lucky enough to spend an evening prowling around our property with leading chameleon boffin Philip Shirk.  No UV this time: a standard torch (flashlight for those on the other side of the Atlantic) does just nicely.  In the cool of the night, chameleons save energy by diverting blood from the skin to the core; the colour-bearing chromatophore cells, deprived of blood supply, turn very pale.  So you look out for whitish, comma-shaped objects among the leaves and if you’re any good, you find them.

We found 9 (or was it 11?), including this baby Kilimanjaro 2-horned Chameleon and his friends:

Photo by Philip Shirk

Kilimanjaro 2-horned Chameleon - Philip Shirk

We also found these fun beasties:

Hawkmoth - Philip Shirk

Praying Mantis feeding on Hawkmoth - Philip Shirk

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

Hard times ahead

My apologies in advance… this post might make gloomy reading.  If you feel like a good giggle, I suggest you stop reading this now and come back to it another time.

Apparently, more than 800 rhinos were poached across Africa last year, including 333 in South Africa alone.  (For more on this story, follow the link below)

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20110325/ap_on_bi_ge/rhino_poaching

With figures like that, can there be any hope for rhinos in the wild?  South Africa is light years ahead of the rest of Africa in the sophistication of its anti-poaching.  Terrifyingly, we even lost one from our tiny Serengeti population, soon after a trumpeted reintroduction of five animals from South Africa.

http://www.wildlifeextra.com/go/news/serengeti-poaching011.html#cr

There are persistent rumours that more of the Serengeti rhinos were poached around this time, but nothing concrete.

The simple fact of the matter is that rhino horn is an incredibly valuable commodity: ounce for ounce, it is dearer than gold. With many people living on less than a dollar a day, the temptation to cash in on the goldmine on the nose of this bumbling blind behemoth is just too great to resist.

Here’s a scary quote for you: ‘Tanzania’s elephant population declined by more than 30,000 elephants between 2006 and 2009, primarily from poaching to supply black-market ivory to Asia.’ http://appablog.wordpress.com/2010/03/12/elephant-poaching-and-illegal-ivory-trade-out-of-control-proposed-ivory-sales-increase-threat-to-conservation-efforts/

One of the main forces driving this new upswing in trophy poaching is rapid economic growth in the Far East; many Asians are finding they have cash to burn for the first time, and ivory and rhino horn are among the products they covet.  It is fair to assume that this will change: as time goes by, the younger generations will turn against this trade, much as has happened in the West.  Political correctness will come to the rhino’s rescue.  But how long will this take, and what will be left of our wild places by then?

The crucial thing is awareness.  International outrage is the only force that can hope to put a stop.  On this front the tide is beginning to turn, with people like the artist / photographer Nick Brandt using his powerful images to publicise the massacre:

http://www.biglifeafrica.org/

Several of you sent this link to me - many thanks to all of you.

No pictures from me this time:  if you don’t mind, I think I’ll just let Nick’s photos do the talking.