Tale guide

Have you ever seen a lion kill?

Have you ever seen a lion kill?

(From the series ‘Ann of Africa and the Bushman’)

Ann and I had only been married for a short while and although she had lived in South Africa for a number of years, she had never experienced the wonders of Africa's wildlife.

We had also been very fortunate to buy a second hand Sprite caravan off a friend and colleague, which caravan we carefully refurbished in preparation of our great escape and which we towed with an automatic Toyota Camry, courtesy of the company we worked for.   

One of my first objectives was thus to introduce my dearest English rose to the Kruger National Park and the closest camps to our home in Johannesburg lay on the southern border not too far from Nelspruit in Mpumalanga.  

The South Western mountains of the Kruger National Park have the highest rainfall of the park and together with the Crocodile River that forms its southern boundary, it provides a natural catchment area for just about every species of game.

The first destination on our trip was Crocodile Bridge camp where we set up camp on the fence line and settled down for the night to the sounds of lions roaring in the far distance.

At sunrise the next morning we set out. We soon found ourselves on a gravel road running parallel with the river as the sun broke the eastern horizon and we soaked in the atmosphere, sights and sounds of the bush.

We had pulled over and switched the engine off in order to watch a large herd of browsing Impala and listen to the nearby trumpeting of elephants that were probably frolicking near the river’s edge, but that remained illusively out of sight. After a while we moved on, slowly winding our way in a westerly direction.

Before long and as we approached a dip in the road which is better known in South Africa as a donga, through which a little rivulet flowed occasionally, we were motioned to stop by the driver of an oncoming kombi bus.

I pulled up alongside the kombi and wound down the window. The vehicle was full of tourists and was being driven by a female tour guide with a distinctive American accent. She cautioned me to proceed carefully. “There is a nervous young bull elephant at the bottom of the dip,” she warned.

Two thoughts crossed my mind at this juncture. Firstly it occurred to me that the tour guide’s kind and thoughtful gesture was indicative of the good nature and camaraderie that one finds so often amongst folk in the wild. Secondly, this 'bushman' could not possibly concede in the presence of my Ann, or anyone else for that matter, that an American could know more about the habits of the African elephant than I.

Besides which I had attended one of Quinton Coetzee’s fabulous wildlife presentations and had some idea of the tell tale signs of elephant demeanour.

I drove forward and down the hill toward the concrete causeway that straddled the small, dry riverbed.

“Are you not going to wait a while?” Ann’s voice trembled with the slightest of concern.

“There’s nothing to worry about darling, I’ll take a look for myself and then decide as to whether we are dealing with a trouble maker or a show off” the 'bushman' spoke.

In my rear view mirror I saw the kombi turn and stop broadside across the road, presumably for the occupants to get a proper view of the drama about to unfold.

At the bottom and to the right of the road, we saw a young bull elephant chewing away at the foliage. As we approached, the elephant tore a strip off a branch, swung left and commenced a steady, almost rhythmic canter in our direction.

I think Quinton had told us that if you are faced with a charging elephant, you shouldn’t run away because you won’t have a chance in hell of outrunning the beast. Your best chance of survival is to stand your ground.

“My God, Richard, it’s charging us.” The level of concern in Ann's tone communicated a rapidly rising fear.

I wasn’t convinced. It seemed to me that the young bull was simply showing off and was neither angry nor had any intention of really charging.

Please appreciate that there was no proper basis for my reading of the situation. It was nevertheless a view, and for while (which turned out to be a very short while) it seemed good for me.

The elephant kept coming and the closer he came, the louder Ann protested. The louder Ann protested the less convinced I became of my original interpretation of the elephant’s intentions.

At a critical moment I concluded that I was wrong, Quinton was wrong, the American tour guide and my wife were right and the elephant was going to flatten us!

I pushed the gear into reverse and hit the accelerator.

Nothing happened!!

In fact, as I was to establish later that day, at that precise moment the reverse gear in the automatic transmission broke down.

The elephant was so close that I can tell you that the white of an elephant’s eyes are not white. They are yellow!!

I slammed the gear stick into drive and hit the accelerator again.

The car lurched forward and stopped as I instantly braked so as to avoid colliding with the massive animal. In response, the elephant immediately veered to our right and headed off into the bushes.

“Quinton, God Bless him,” flashed through my mind as a wave of relief poured over me. I straightened the vehicle and wound down the window.

“You see,” said the 'bushman' to his rose, building confidence at an alarming rate. “There really wasn’t much to worry about my dear.”

I cannot print her response...

In the rearview mirror I saw that the kombi had started down the hill towards us. It pulled up next to us and it was evident on the faces of its occupants that they were a little in awe of what had transpired.

Now overcome by a sense of extreme relief following the burst of adrenaline, my rather skewed sense of humor kicked in.

I opened the window and leaned out. “Have you ever seen a lion kill?” I asked with confident and informed authority.

“No” replied the tour operator, wide eyed.

“Then follow me” said the 'bushman'.

And they did…

Thanks for following

All the best