Stalk this way
Tremayne Carew Pole
I’ve always been envious of City boys, not for the obscene six-figure bonuses, the sharp tailoring or the cut and thrust of mergers, acquisitions and trading, but for the pre-dawn starts. I’m inherently lazy, with a predisposition for all things sybaritic, and love aimlessly wandering the streets of London, coming down from the night before as the sun infuses the air with an ethereal sheen — although, as my thirties creep onwards, my body is less able to take the excess and my dawn meanderings are rarer. So the idea of heading to Zambia for some early morning walking safaris was irresistible.
Zambia is one of the few countries to reap the benefits of Mugabe’s despotic tendencies. Traditionally a hotbed of insurgency — Swapo, Zanu-PF, the ANC and Unita have all had training and supply bases here — the country hasn’t fallen prey to internal strife or internecine conflict, and after 20 years of stability is reaping the economic benefits of Zimbabwe’s failings. For the past decade, Botswana has been the new driving force in the southern African safari market, renowned for a startlingly beautiful delta, a glut of elephants and Mma Ramotswe, Alexander McCall Smith’s detective heroine. Zambia has now become the man of the moment. Geographically remote, one step removed from South Africa, it’s not prone to the drive-through tourists in overladen buckies or sparkling, Gauteng numberplated X5s, now omnipresent in Botswana, Mozambique and Namibia. Instead, parks the size of Wales are the preserve of a lucky few who choose to explore the dramatic bush in vehicles or, more tangibly, on foot.
Robin Pope is an African legend. With his wife Jo he has tirelessly worked in the promotion and conservation of Zambia. His pioneering safari company in the South Luangwa National Park offers a oneness with nature and the ideal of remote bush-camping.
The gentle knock on the door of the rondavel arrives in total darkness, accompanied by a whispered greeting and a steaming mug of strong local coffee. Breakfast, drawn from the pot of porridge simmering on the fire, is taken on the banks of the Luangwa as the first inklings of a new day warm the air. Way before the sun is even glimpsed, a procession of four solitary figures — Debbie, the guide; Gilbert, the armed Zambian scout; Kanga, the tea boy/guide-in-training; and myself — are wending our way down the edge of the river and into the bush, from where we’ll next see civilisation in three days’ time.
Dawn is a magical time of day in the bush. Elephants lumber gracefully across the sands, while hippos bellow from the depths as they escape the rising sun’s burning rays. Small prides of lions stretch, before slaking their morning thirst, and puku and lechwe nervously keep watch for the primeval crocodiles that fill the river. Inland, troops of mischievous and playful baboons drop from the trees and gather breakfast in the dappled light.
Walkers are quickly taught to uncover the secrets of the bush telegraph — spores, prints and dung are carefully analysed and quickly, even to an urban simpleton like myself, it’s possible to discern who has moved where during the night, and when. The only question is whether to head north after the pair of leopards or east after the pride of lions whose roars punctuated the previous evening’s dinner. Leopards are more difficult to find and the whole raison d’être of my trip is to come face-to-face with lions without the protection of a two-tonne Land-Rover, so we head east.
In the first hour of walking, more animals appear than imagined in my wildest fantasies: it’s as if I’ve just walked through a cageless London Zoo. Gnarled wild figs and sausage trees provide the perfect camouflage for birds and mammals alike, and rounding the edge of a grove we are confronted by a matriarchal elephant with her two tiny offspring. All of us, including the elephants, are more than a little surprised, and suddenly I’m being urged behind a tree as maternal instincts are aroused and four tonnes of overprotective mother are hurtling towards us. Hiding behind the trunk of an ancient tree pacifies her and she trots off grumpily, babies in tow. On foot, one is struck by how much animals rely on their sense of smell. We spend half an hour walking across an open expanse 100 yards behind a pair of bull elephants who seem oblivious to our presence; when they turn to look in our direction we turn to stone. Their eyesight is poor and at a glance I imagine we look like trees. A momentary shift in the wind direction betrays our presence, and their turn of speed is startling as they disappear over the horizon. Later, a hungry wart hog works its way to within a couple of feet of us before realising what we are and, with a squeal and a flick of the tail, trots to safety.
Finally, we find our lions basking in the shade of a tree on the river’s edge. Three tufted heads appear out of the long grass; they’re adolescent males — the hoodies of the pride — and worryingly without the normally restraining influence of the lionesses. Immediately it becomes apparent that we’re not wanted there, as they rise growling to their feet. Twenty yards away the three lions fan out and approach the four of us.
‘Stand your ground’ is the mantra drilled into clients over and over again. If a lion, elephant or other oversized, sharp-clawed and long-toothed mammal decides to test your mettle, don’t move, don’t even flinch — stand your ground, cross your fingers and hope. The force of will required not to scramble for the nearest tree, reach the crocinfested river or outrun the slowest member of the group is unbelievable. Luckily, they’re right, and as the first sweet shots of adrenaline surge through my brain, the lions decide we aren’t really worth it and pass us by, settling in the shade of a wild fig.
Later, as we stumble, weary and dusty, into our tented camp for the night we are met with silver salvers bearing cold, damp cloths and ice-cold gin and tonics, while the table laid with china and crystal bodes well for dinner. The 1920s elegance of the scene makes you wish you’d packed your dinner jacket. Everything about the experience is impeccable — the service, the camp food and the charming and insightful company of the knowledgeable guides. As night falls and complete darkness takes over, the night sky becomes a canvas criss-crossed with constellations, white dwarves and red giants. When you finally turn your lantern off, the animals begin to take over the camp — hippos, elephants and the occasional leopard wander through and the sounds of Africa course through the night, leaving you in quivering anticipation of your 5 a.m. wake-up call and the splendours of the next Zambian dawn.
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