20 Apr |
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 The powder-soft grains, glowing a deep ochre in the setting sun of the KwaZulu-Natal bushveld, crumbled at every touch. A smudge here, a few broken twigs there, a tuft of matted fur to one side… all useful clues, but I still had no bloody idea which way the lions had gone. “You need to use all five senses,” said Grant over my shoulder, with the patience of someone who has long understood the answer. “Don’t just look at the sand. You have to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together.” I’d travelled to Phinda Private Game Reserve in northern Zululand to join a small group learning the ways of the veld on &Beyond’s four-day Bush Skills course. By the end of it I’d know – if all went according to plan – how to handle a vehicle, track game, identify fauna and flora, and speak the subtle language of the bush. A language that seems to be second-nature to game rangers in this paradise for pachyderms and all-things toothy. As jigsaw puzzles go, Phinda is a challenge: 14 000 hectares; seven ecosystems; over 400 types of bird; hundreds of flora and fauna species, and countless sandy tracks to get lost in. Thank goodness for Grant and Sifiso – our guide and tracker – who were there to help us start at the corners and work our way towards the sky. And make sure we didn’t lose any pieces along the way. After a night spent settling into Mountain Lodge, one of six luxury lodges on Phinda, Grant greets us at a breakfast table groaning under the spread of goodies. “So, where would you like to start?” asks Grant, and it’s a tough question. How do you cram 14 000 hectares into four short days? Casual cruising through the reserve is definitely out. The Bush Skills course is aimed at the safari tourist who’s ticked the Big Five off their list, done time on the back of a game vehicle and is looking for something more. It’s a chance to understand the bush and enjoy a slice of life as a game ranger. Thankfully, we aren’t handed any pairs of too-tight khaki shorts. And perhaps the word ‘course’ is the wrong one, conjuring up images of windowless rooms and interminable flipcharts. Think again. Here the bushveld is your boardroom, where notes are jotted in the dusty soil and grumpy elephant may disrupt the agenda. “Let’s start with some tracking,” suggests Grant, breaking us from our breakfast reverie. “Put on your walking shoes and something you can go bush-walking in.” Tracking is a good place to start, as being able to read the myriad signs of the bush can tip the scales from sighting to solitude. And unhappy guests. “See how the edges of the track are slightly rounded?” says Grant, as we kneel down at the edge of a dry waterhole. “That tells us this track is old; the wind has blown across here and taken away the detail. Look at the grass too; it’s dried out and dead, so it was trampled some time ago.” They’re all tiny whispered clues to what was here before us, but piece them all together and a clear picture of the landscape emerges. The puzzle begins to take shape: animals moving from grazing to waterhole, and on to a warm spot for the night; rhino marking their territory and cats looking for their next meal. Much of a ranger’s life is spent on the game vehicle, so we each take a turn behind the wheel. The turbo diesel roars with delight at the lightest touch of the pedal, and I drive our small party in a wide figure of eight across the reserve, keeping an eye out for game in the road. “You never have the vehicle in low range when you encounter elephants, and you always plan your escape route,” says Grant from the backseat. “If they become uncomfortable, or if there’s a mock-charge, you need a quick getaway.” We take turns in the tracker’s chair up front, attempting to spot and identify the subtle signs while zipping along at 25km/h, and I start to appreciate the incredible skill of the tracker and guide. Sifiso quietly points out the signs that I’m oblivious to. I still have a lot to learn, but perhaps it’s the rifle mounted on the dashboard that’s distracting me. To get a feel for the .375 Brno – made in the Czech Republic it is the standard bush rifle for rangers – we head up to a distant rifle range in an abandoned quarry to fire off a few rounds. Despite the thrill of the retort, it’s oddly out of place in the pristine bush of Phinda. The very name means ‘The Return’ in isiZulu, after the massive game relocation that took place in 1991, and the thought of removing any of those animals by gunfire is a sorry one. “The rifle is an absolute last resort for any ranger,” explains Grant. “If it gets to the point where you have to use your rifle, you probably haven’t done your job properly.” At the end of each day we return to Mountain Lodge, where we wash off the dust in the outdoor shower, soak up the wraparound views of the bushveld and ready ourselves for another fireside feast in the boma. But on the last day, Grant has something up his sleeve. “Bring your warmest kit and a spare set of clothes to dinner with you. We’re sleeping out in the bush tonight.” After a drive through the starlit darkness we pull to a halt in a dry riverbed: waiting for us are some low camp beds, a roaring fire and a table with a drinks laid out. “Just to keep the mozzies away!” laughs Grant. As we settle into our camp chairs, and agree on who’ll stay awake to keep the fire burning, the conversation turns to our few days in the bush learning to be a safari guide. One thing we all agree on is that driving a two-ton 4x4 over rough ground, all the while chatting amiably with guests behind you, identifying that brown splodge a hundred metres off as a young Nyala and watching you don’t land up in the middle of a herd of elephant is not as easy as it looks After an hour or two the conversation dies, and it’s just the snap and crackle of the dry firewood that disturbs the silence; all eyes are locked quietly on the embers. A log falls, sending a flash of sparks into the sandy riverbed. Gently, a deep voice in the darkness muses: “Shew, there’s nothing quite like watching a bush TV.” I chuckle to myself and stare up through the Tamboti branches at the spread of Milky Way. We’re finished with the jigsaw puzzle for now. We deserve a little time in front of the TV. First published in Sawubona magazine; April 2010. Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking websites            |