Written by Neil Harmse

Chapter 10. Bad Luck Safari

There are times when, no matter how carefully things are planned, nothing seems to work out as one hoped. I remember one safari to Botswana years ago which seemed to go wrong from the very beginning.

I was contracted to do a photographic safari with a client who was the principal of the College of Photography in Johannesburg. He wanted to experience and compile a photographic journey through a varied wilderness region, desert, swamp and bushveld. I felt that Botswana would offer exactly the trip he was seeking.

In those years, there was not as much choice of four-wheel-drive vehicles in South Africa as there is today. Toyota Land Cruiser and Land Rover were about all. Just before commencing this trip, the Jeep agency brought out the model CJ-6 long wheelbase and, as my old Land Rover had seen a lot of wear and tear, I decided that this Jeep seemed a good proposition for the safari and decided to purchase one. I had it fitted out with a bush bar, roof rack, jerry-can brackets and high-lift jack and felt this vehicle from the USA was just the right thing for our pending adventure.

Stephen and I left Johannesburg early in the morning with the aim of travelling across the Botswana border at Martin’s Drift and carrying on to Francistown, where we planned to overnight. This stage of our journey was quite uneventful and I must admit that the Jeep seats were a lot more comfortable than the old Landy. Instead of finding accommodation in the town, we travelled a few kilometres out of it and set up a fly camp on the road to Nata in order to get an early start the following day. Little did we know what was in store for us.

After early-morning coffee and rusks, we packed up camp and set off for Nata, one of the few places where we could refuel en route to Maun. Our plan was to refuel and have ‘brunch’, then travel south-west along one of the tracks leading to the Makgadikgadi Salt Pans. This system consists of several desolate pans, collectively covering about 16 058km² of nothing but white salt-covered expanse, an extremely inhospitable area with virtually no wildlife or plant life. Stephen was very keen to experience and photograph this region.

After a few hours’ grinding along in fourwheel- drive, we made our way to Sua Pan, one of the largest of the salt pan systems, where I stopped to allow Stephen to walk along the crust-covered surface taking photographs of some of the few varieties of algae which occurred in spots. It was impressive to just stand and stare across the vast expanse of white salt surface stretching to the horizon.

After about two hours, I suggested to Stephen that we get going if we still wanted to reach Maun by late afternoon. After he had stored all his photographic paraphernalia safely in his boxes, we were ready to set off. I turned the key – and NOTHING! The engine did not turn over. I tried several times, with the same result. The Jeep was dead. I checked everything, but could not get it to start. The battery was stone-dead. We were now in a very tight spot. We tried to push-start the vehicle, but because of the thick salt crust surface, there was no way of moving the Jeep. In desperation, I used the high-lift jack to raise the rear wheels, wound a rope around the tyres and, with the vehicle’s gears in second, tried hauling on the rope to spin the wheels in order to start the vehicle. We simply did not have the strength to get a kick out of the engine. It was now growing late in the day and I suggested that we get some food going and try to take stock of our situation.

After a meal of mostly tinned foods, I suggested that I take a knapsack with some food and two water bottles and make my way northwards, towards the main Nata road, to find help. I planned to leave early the next morning, while it was still cool. Stephen would stay with the vehicle and supplies to wait for my return. I warned him that it could be two days before I got back.

Following a fitful night’s sleep, and after taking some careful compass bearings, I was ready to leave the next morning. About roughly 3km along our backtrack, I heard a droning sound which I thought could be an aircraft or vehicle. As the sound got nearer, I realised it was a vehicle. After a while, I saw a Land Rover heading towards me. I have never felt so relieved in my life. It turned out to be one of the Botswana Department of Wildlife & Fisheries rangers who had seen our tracks from the previous day and decided to follow them to investigate. I could have hugged him! Before long, and with a pull-start from his Landy, the Jeep was mobile again. He offered to follow us to the main Nata-Maun road and then he would have to turn off on the Pandamatenga road. We would keep going non-stop to Maun, where we could hopefully get a new battery.

Maun in those days consisted of Riley’s Hotel, Riley’s Garage, Riley’s General Dealer and a few trading stores. The mechanic checked the battery, only to find a dead cell, but he had no suitable battery in stock. He managed to contact a supplier in Francistown who had a truck coming through the following day and would bring a battery for us.

We managed to book in at the hotel for a comfortable and congenial evening. After an excellent meal, we spent an interesting evening in the bar chatting to some of the guides and professional hunters. They included the famous Harry Selby, Lionel Palmer and Darryl Dandridge, who were killing time in the off-season. It was a great privilege to spend time with these guys and hear their hunting stories and experiences. I must say that Stephen took all this in his stride and accepted it as part of his ‘African adventure’.

The truck with the new battery arrived at about 10.30am and an hour later, we were ready to begin the next leg of our safari. We had arranged to hire two camp helpers and guides to accompany us to the Okavango. We had planned to travel along the road following the Thamalakane River, turning off along a track following the Santantadibe River, skirting Chief’s Island on the west, and making our way north to Seronga, then westwards to Tsodilo Hills in the far north, famous for its Bushman rock art.

The thick sand of the track along the Thamalakane made for terribly slow travelling and by late afternoon, after turning off on the Santantadibe track, we decided to set up a fly camp to call it a day. We soon had a fire going with some of our fresh meat on the coals and relaxed with cold beers from the cooler box. The meat done, we placed it in a dish and were busy preparing a salad when a hyena rushed in, grabbed the dish and made off, leaving us staring and cursing. Our stock of precious fresh meat had just been drastically reduced. Our first supper turned into tinned sausages and beans, but at least we still had salad. We would have to take more care in future. Hyenas proved a damn nuisance, as they tried to get at meat and supplies in our Coleman cooler boxes and chewed one corner almost off. A few uneventful days took us into the swamps, where Stephen managed to get some good photos of game in the area, including elephant, buffalo, lion and the usual selection of antelope species. Unfortunately, trying to get shots of hippo and crocodile proved a challenge, as these would never quite come out of the water and just photographing their heads in the water made for rather indifferent images.

There was a pool with some hippo and a few fairly large crocs, and earlier we had come across a camp of local citizen hunters. They had shot a buffalo and I had the idea of drawing a croc out by baiting it with a buffalo lung. After a bit of haggling, we traded for a lung, which we hauled near the water. I hacked off a few pieces and threw them into the water to attract the creatures. Then, with the help of our guides, we started to drag the lung to the water’s edge. I motioned to Stephen to keep his camera ready. He was walking along with us as we dragged the lung when a croc of about 5m suddenly came charging out the water at great speed, heading directly towards us. I had never realised just how fast these creatures could move on land. The guides dropped the lung and fled. With a lunge, the croc grabbed the lung and, in a flash, was back in the water, lung and all. I looked around for Stephen, but he had taken off with the guides and did not even think of using his camera. He did manage to get a few photos of the frenetic activities as the crocs twisted and tore at the lung in the water.

To make up, a while later Stephen managed to take some great shots of a pride of lions which were fairly close and some cubs engaged in playful antics with the adults.

Our next misfortune came the following day, and the blame was mostly mine. While crossing one of the smaller swampy streams, water splashed up into the engine compartment of the Jeep, which brought us spluttering to a stop about midstream. The water was only about knee- or thigh-high and we climbed out to dry the spark plugs and distributor. I opened the distributor taking out the rotor and then dried and sprayed Q-20 into the unit.

After this, I replaced the cap and dried and sprayed the spark plugs. I then tried to start the engine. It simply cranked, but would not start. I told the guys to push it across to dry ground, where I would check it. After moving it about 15m, a thought occurred to me. Had I replaced the rotor? Jumping out, I found the rotor was not there. I remembered placing it on the edge of the mudguard panel, but it was now missing. It was somewhere in the water. I realised that I did not have a spare rotor – after all, who brings along a spare rotor!? Moreover, it was about four days’ walk back to Maun. Our tracks could be seen where the Jeep had moved through the water. I had everyone on hands and knees, chins above the water, groping on the bottom along the tracks, trying to feel the missing rotor. After about an hour’s search, finding bits of wood and stones, as well as the odd piece of bone, one of the guys finally found the rotor. I was so relieved that I could have kissed him! I now always carry a spare rotor as part of my spares kit.

The next few days were quite uneventful and a good variety of game animals kept Stephen busy with camera, lenses and filters. He was enjoying the trip immensely and just as I was hoping we had used up all the bad luck in the barrel, the Jeep suddenly lost all its brakes. When I pushed the brake pedal, it simply sank to the floor with no pressure. On crawling underneath the vehicle, I found the problem: a metal brake pipe had been rubbing on the side of the chassis and had worn through, leaking brake fluid out and resulting in a loss of pressure. I turned a small self-tapping screw with adhesive sealer into the broken pipe and managed to bleed the brakes with four bottles of brake fluid I had in my spares. Then we were off again, with brakes on only three wheels.

After this, our luck finally seemed to change and we managed to complete the rest of our journey northwards with no further mishaps. However, while heading back to Maun through some longish grass, we suddenly crashed to a grinding halt. The Jeep had hit a hidden tree stump, badly buckling one of the tie-rods, so we now had no steering. After a lot of head-scratching and throwing ideas back and forth, one of our guides remembered experiencing a similar problem and suggested cutting a straight mopane branch and binding it in place. We removed the buckled tie-rod and managed to use binding wire to fix a reasonably straight mopane branch on the steering system. This did not give us much of a turning circle, but at least we made the last part of the journey, very carefully, to Maun, where we could have the vehicle repaired. We then drove the long road back to Johannesburg, still with brakes on only three wheels.

Thus ended a rather disastrous safari, although Stephen enjoyed his African adventure and said it was a trip he would always remember.

Above: Discussing routes with a game warden.

Left: Stephen viewing the vast salt pans of Makgadikgadi.

Written by Neil Harmse

Chapter 9. Concerning Snakes

One of the most frequent questions I am asked by people venturing into the bush on a trail or hunt is: ‘Do we have to worry about snakes?’ To be honest, there are snakes all over, even in suburban gardens, but they do their best to avoid contact with humans. Over the years I have spent in the bush, covering many miles on trails and hunts, my incidents and encounters with snakes have been relatively few and, as mentioned, these reptiles do their best to keep out of our way.

My first serious encounter was on a day in the late 1960s in the Waterberg. I was working on a geological survey and when it was almost midday, I decided to sit down and have a sandwich for lunch. I found a convenient tree log to park on while eating. I placed my field bag with my notebooks, maps and equipment on the ground with a bit of a thump, which must have disturbed the reptile – a yellow Cape cobra, which shot out from under the log. It was trying to get away, but as I jumped up, it turned and spat venom directly into my eyes. The snake then disappeared, and I was left squirming with excruciating pain, especially in my left eye, which had taken the most venom. Grabbing my water bottle, I rinsed my eyes, but this did not seem to help. I was about 2km from camp and, like a halfblind man, stumbled back to it. There was a Fitzsimmons snake-bite kit and I managed to use a vial of anti-venom serum, diluted with water, to rinse my eyes again. I then made my way to the farmhouse and phoned a doctor in Warmbaths, who suggested rinsing my eyes with milk and then coming through to him as soon as I could. After rinsing my eyes, the farmer drove me to the doctor for treatment. He flushed my eyes and then bandaged them, with instructions to keep them closed and out of sunlight for a day or two. After two days, the bandages were removed, and medicated drops prescribed. My left eye was still badly inflamed and had to remain covered for about a week. My eyesight eventually recovered, but to this day, I still have trouble with my left eye, especially in harsh light or while night driving with oncoming headlights.

Many years ago, in the early 1970s, I was doing some geological mapping in a very remote area in South West Africa (now Namibia). I was alone and had parked my Land Rover and 46 proceeded on foot towards some rocky outcrops, plotting and mapping as I went along. I had my field bag over my shoulder with my notebook, reference books, measuring tape and pens, and had my clipboard and geological pick in my hands.

Ahead was a large outcrop of sandstone with a high and vertical cliff face reaching above it. Suddenly a black mamba shot out from some scrub and sped away towards the cliff. It reached the cliff face and moved left and right, trying to find an escape route. Unable to find a gap, it then turned and came back directly at me. Now, the black mamba is one of the most dangerous, venomous and aggressive snakes in Africa, and definitely not a creature to take lightly. This one must have been about 3m long and seemed to be moving like lightning. All I could think of was that if it bit me, I had no hope and my body would not be found for weeks, maybe months. I simply froze! Not a movement. I think I had stopped breathing. The mamba shot past me, about half a metre away, at unbelievable speed and kept going, just wanting to get away. Had I moved or taken any aggressive action, it would have struck and I would not be writing these words.

Another snake incident was years later and concerned a Mozambique spitting cobra or

Mfezi.

My good friend and expert wildlife guide, John Locke and I were contracted by the North West Province Nature Conservation to conduct a training course for prospective rangers in the Borakalalo Reserve. One evening, John and I had a campfire going and I went to the bathroom to clean up. This facility was rather rustic, constructed of poles, reeds and thatch. Standing at the washbasin, I heard a strange, hissing noise emanating from beneath it. Looking down, I saw a large snake curled up on a ledge. Needless to say, I beat a hasty retreat, hoping that the snake would move away on its own if left undisturbed. After about an hour, John and I went to see whether the reptile had gone. As it was getting dark, we had torches to see better in the dark recesses of the facility. We saw no sign of the snake, so we went back to our campfire to get a few chops and sausages going.

While sitting and enjoying a drink and dinner, we heard a strange, swishing sound moving closer. Jumping up and flashing torches, we saw a large Mfezi or Mozambique spitting cobra making its way over the loose sand from the ablution block and heading directly towards our camp. The snake must have picked up our movements and swung off to the left, directly to my tent, where it slid under the groundsheet. There was no way I was going to sleep in the tent while the snake was sharing the same space, even if it was under the canvas sheet. Wanting to make it move, I went inside the tent with a broom to try to push it to the side and out, while John was on the outside with his torch trying to see which way it was moving. Eventually a terribly angry Mfezi shot out and sped up a tree, below which my Land Rover was parked. Not wanting the snake to get into the car, I drove it away and parked on the other side of the camp. After a very uneasy night, at sun-up we could see where it had slid from the tree and moved into the bushes away from camp. We could again breathe easily. Thankfully, we did not encounter the snake again for the remainder of our stay.

Once, on a walking trail in the Manyeleti, I was leading a family group when I heard the sound of a herd of elephant ahead of us. My old tracker, Petrus, with us. He was walking ahead, following the tracks. As usual, when we approached the herd, he moved back to see to the safety of the people in the event of us having to back away suddenly, should the matriarch or one of the cows become a bit nasty. A breeding herd is always unpredictable because of the cows with young calves and sometimes immature bulls within the herd. We were walking slowly along and I was concentrating fully on the elephants. As Petrus was passing me to move to the rear of the group, I felt him grab my jacket and pull me backwards. Astonished at this sudden move, I looked at him and he pointed down, in front of me. There, where I was about to put my foot, was a nasty-looking puff adder curled up, watching me with beady eyes.

I was saved from what could have been a very bad bite by Petrus’s sharp eyes and quick reaction. We watched the ‘puffy’ for a short while and then left it in peace, giving it a wide berth and carried on observing the elephant herd. Again, the snake was simply basking in the sun and not really aggressive, but this would have changed, had I put my foot on it. While involved with game control operations in the southern area along the Kruger National Park border, my family and I had a house on a large estate in the Malelane area. Early one morning, I heard a high-pitched screeching or squealing coming from somewhere at the front of the house. Grabbing my shotgun, I ran through the house and onto the enclosed veranda. There was a large mamba trying to grab a big frog, which was the cause of the high-pitched screech. Before I could fire a shot, the mamba turned and was gone, into a tree on the side of the house. I fired a few shots into the tree, but with no result. I could not see where the snake had disappeared to.

When I eventually returned to the porch, the frog was dead, obviously bitten by the mamba. My two children, six-year-old Janet and five-year-old Craig, were standing wide-eyed, watching the incident. The snake gone and the frog dead, I went to put the shotgun away and asked the children to fetch a spade, pick up the frog and throw it over the fence into the veld. Inside the house, while storing the shotgun, I suddenly heard loud screaming from the children and, grabbing the gun, ran back. The mamba had returned to collect its prey and as the children ran away, it turned to chase them. I had heard of this behaviour before, but had never experienced it. I once again grabbed the gun and as I came around the side of the house, I encountered the terrified children with the mamba in pursuit, going in the opposite direction. Without hesitation, I blasted the snake, almost in two halves, from the close-range shot of the shotgun. With children and dogs around the house, I was taking no chances sharing our home space with a reptile like that.

Over many years and many miles through the bush, I can honestly say that the encounters I have had with snakes have been few and far between. Snakes are generally less of a problem than people imagine and for the most part, given their instinct for survival, they will move out of your way and do their best to avoid contact with humans.

Written by Neil Harmse

Chapter 8. Concerning Rhino

At one stage, when I was doing wilderness trails for the Wilderness Leadership School, I was asked to do a promotional walking trail with a group of journalists and dignitaries to help raise funds for educational trails for underprivileged young people. Included in this group were Heidi Muller of the SABC German Service, Greg Marinovich (a photojournalist with The Star), Willem Pretorius (a journalist with the Afrikaans newspaper Beeld), as well as several other media people. This trail was conducted in the Pilanesberg Game Reserve wilderness area and, after a few hours’ walk, we had been fortunate in seeing a variety of game animals. Discussions on the importance and use of various trees and plants generated a lot of interest, and notes and photos were taken.

We had also seen a number of rhino middens and had interesting conversations about the differences between white and black rhinos.

While walking in single file along one of the game paths through moderately thick vegetation, I spotted a white rhino cow and calf making their way along the path towards us. The calf was just ahead of its mother, being directed by nudges of her horn, which is the norm for this species. There was a bit of a gap in the vegetation along the path and my thought was to move the party out of sight and out of the way until the rhino had passed on their way. I quickly moved the people behind a large tree about 15m off the path, but – with a photojournalist’s instinct for a sensational photo – Greg stepped into the path to take a picture. The sudden movement ahead of her startled the cow and she immediately broke into a charge directly at Greg. He was wearing a short, sleeveless waistcoat, with many pockets for all his photographic paraphernalia, and I managed to grab him by the back of his jacket and pull him into the bush on the side as the rhino cow went thundering past. Fortunately, she did not turn, but kept going with the calf, huffing and puffing like a steam train. Needless to say, everyone was shaken by this experience and we all needed a while to settle our nerves before moving on.

Two interesting stories in daily newspapers came from this experience, one by Greg titled Close Encounters of a Rhino Kind and another in Beeld by Willem titled Dapper Daan Word Bang Jan (“Brave Dan Becomes Frightened Freddie”). Amusing stories which could have been tragic.

The experience proved that in the bush, it is mainly the clients who need to be watched! Another incident I experienced concerning rhino was in the Timbavati Reserve bordering the Kruger National Park. That time, I was on a walking trail with a group of Technikon students. We had started out at first light to make our 

way to one of the waterholes, about 5-6km from our trail camp. A light drizzle and thin ground mist had set in, making the conditions cool to walk in and deadening sounds, but visibility was limited to short range. I spotted a white rhino cow with a half-grown calf about 30m ahead. The cow was lying down and the calf standing by her side. Because of the drizzle, we were all wearing some form of waterproof jacket, but I did notice that one of the young ladies had an umbrella folded up at her side. I had not given a thought to this when we set out, which turned out to be a mistake to be learnt from. The cow seemed reasonably restful and I maneuvered the group to sit just in front of a fairly large marula tree and squat down while we observed the rhinos from a distance.

The wind direction was a bit variable and the calf seemed rather nervous, but I knew that as long as the cow was calm, and we remained quiet, there should not be a problem.

The mist had lifted somewhat and the drizzle had become light rain. I was quietly describing the differences between the black and white rhino species when there was suddenly a loud ‘WHAP!’ behind me as the young lady opened her umbrella. This alarmed the cow, which was immediately on her feet and startled by the movement of this strange, round object in front of her. Up went her head, then down as she charged directly at us. I shouted to the group to get behind the marula tree, out of her line of sight. Fortunately, the cow and calf thundered past about 3m from us and kept going, presumably in search of a quieter place to rest.

This goes to show that a guide must carefully observe and anticipate anything a trailist may get up to!

Another similar incident occurred when I was on a trail with a group of senior high school students, also in the Timbavati. We had walked about 6km to Oppie Dam, a medium-sized waterhole situated north of our camp. On slowly approaching it along a gully, I saw a young rhino bull also approaching the dam from the west side. There was a broken tree stump which had long acted as a rubbing post, against which rhinos and buffalo enjoyed rubbing mud and ticks off their bellies and legs. Crouching in the gully, we observed the rhino’s behaviour with interest. One of the boys had a 35mm camera loaned to him by his father and asked if he could take a photo. I did not see any harm in this and thought a quiet click would be safe enough from our distance. I did not realise that the camera had an auto-rewind and was on the last two frames. Nothing happened with the first click, but on the second, everything went pear-shaped. The camera automatically started rewinding the film with a loud, whirring noise. The startled rhino spun around in a circle trying to find the source of this annoying sound and immediately charged in our direction. Fortunately, he could not see us so low down in the gully and turned off at its edge, then kept going along the side of the gully and into the bush ahead.

This again taught me a lesson about noisy contraptions such as auto-wind cameras, beeping alarms on electronic watches and, later, cellphones, which were all banned from my trails and had to be left in camp. And, of course, umbrellas!