Written by Neil Harmse

Chapter 14. ‘The Hat’ – A Dirty, Smelly Old Friend

When it comes to ‘outdoors men’ (sorry, ladies, this is a man thing!), have you ever wondered what it is that sets us apart from one another? I am particularly referring to the older generation of hunters, fishermen, bird-watchers and general outdoors guys. What is it that gives each of us a characteristic, individual look?

Well, I have discovered the reason: over the years, we have become attached to a dirty, smelly old friend from which we simply cannot tear ourselves away.

My favourite hat.

I never realised this until the start of this year’s gamebird hunting season, when John Brelsford – my old hunting and fishing buddy – turned up for its first shoot. At first, I could not quite put my finger on why he looked so different. Then it struck me. He was wearing a brand-new straw hat. John’s normal headgear was a horrible, tattered old straw hat with a broad brim and a few pellet holes through it, splotched with some green and brown paint for camouflage. Without this familiar head apparel, he just was not the same old buddy. He seemed to have changed overnight!

Readers familiar with the hunting stories in Magnum magazine and the many tales by Geoff Wainwright may think about the photos of Geoff with that decrepit, floppy felt hat that has become his trademark. Go back a bit further in years and think about that famous game ranger and herpetologist of the 1930s-1950s, CJP Ionides (or, as he was nicknamed, ‘Iodine’ the Snake Man). He sported the most dilapidated, shapeless and grimiest felt dome on his head, a trademark that made him instantly recognisable.

Another unmistakable character due to his favourite hat was the famous big game hunter and friend of John ‘Pondoro’ Taylor, Fletcher Jamieson, the Rhodesian elephant-hunter. Fletcher always wore a hat with its wide brim turned up in front, which gave him his famous ‘look’. Rumour had it that he wore his hat this way because the lowered brim behind his head allowed him to catch the slightest sound, functioning like the ears on an elephant.

Then it suddenly dawned on me that I, too, have become eccentric because of my favourite choice of ‘lucky’ headgear. My hat started off as a gentleman’s velour felt hat that was fashionable in the 1950s. It belonged to a favourite uncle and on his passing, it found its way into my possession. Over the years, it has become such an old friend that I cannot imagine myself outdoors without it perched on my head.

That hat and I have travelled many wilderness trails together and shared many adventures; it sports a gash on the crown where an angry lioness took a swipe at it when I threw it at her. On cold winter mornings in the veld, I have held the hat over a campfire to warm it up before putting it on my head. The interior leather band shows the burns and scorch marks from this habit. It has been used as a ‘water bowl’ for my pointers to drink out of on a hot day when no dam or river was nearby. Together we have shared sun, rain, sleet, hail and dust storms. On many a day, it has shaded my face while taking a midday snooze under a tree and served as a pillow when I have been sleeping out under the stars on wilderness trails. My hat has become a ‘dirty, smelly old friend’.

I have been admonished by the lady of the house, who insists that the hat should stay outside with the dogs, as such a thing does not belong indoors in our home. However, as a compromise, it now has pride of place on a hat and coat rack at the kitchen door, demonstrating its status over the other less-used pieces of headgear which have yet to gain character, if they ever do.

It saddens me to think that most of the young outdoors men of today will never experience the bond that many of us ‘oldies’ have shared with our dirty, smelly old friends. Today the trend is to step out with a fancy branded cap, or some new, fashionable creation which makes a really great piece of headgear – comfortable and practical – but has much to go through before it gains that characteristic ageing which distinguishes one wearer from another.

Give a thought to your friends and their headgear. Think of your own. Do you have a favourite hat that sets you apart from others? If not, you are missing out on a special bond that could develop over many years and bring back many memories and shared experiences.

ritten by Neil Harmse

Chapter 12. Wilderness Trails

My life in the bush had its moments of excitement when dealing with problem animals and I have mentioned incidents on hunts and while guiding clients on safaris. However, when I think back, one of the most rewarding periods was when I was appointed Field Director to head up the (then) Transvaal branch of the Wilderness Leadership School, which at that time was conducting environmental educational trails and courses for young people in the Timbavati game reserve bordering the Kruger National Park, as well as in the wilderness area of the Pilanesberg Reserve in the (then) Northern Province. 

The Wilderness Leadership School trails was a concept introduced by Dr Ian Player, who realised the need to increase knowledge and understanding of wildlife and conservation among the youth and future leaders of South Africa. These trails were initially conducted in (then) Natal reserves such as Umfolozi and Hluhluwe, where Dr Player was based. The Transvaal branch was initiated and mainly run by an enthusiastic group of volunteers who gave up their spare time and weekends to introduce this wilderness concept. Men and women such as Laurie Wright, Arnie Warburton, Sally Kernick and other volunteers enthusiastically and energetically did everything they could to set up trail

programmes for the branch under the direction of experienced guides such as Tim Braybrook and Bruce Dell. Being a largely volunteer operation, it was rather loosely run, and my appointment as Senior Guide and Field Director was to try to control operations and also do fundraising to support the youth trails.

One of my first challenges was when I realised that these volunteer guides, enthusiastic as they were, lacked certain bush knowledge, firearm training and discipline. The guides were issued with rifles in .458 and .375 calibres belonging to the school, but had never fired them and, in one instance, the guide carried an unloaded rifle because he was afraid of the recoil.

I immediately cancelled all trails in dangerous game areas and drew up two volumes of training manuals and courses which the guides had to study and be proficient in before they were permitted to wear the epaulettes of a WLS guide. They were then considered safe and knowledgeable enough to conduct trails in big-game areas. These training manuals and courses became the basis for training for what was later to become the Field Guide Association of SA (FGASA).

With the help and collaboration of other similar associations such as the Wildlife Society of SA under Director Fred Roux and the Endangered Wildlife Trust under Director Clive Walker, a workshop was held at the Lapalala Wilderness Reserve and together with conservationists such as Mike Landman (National Parks Board), Drummond Densham (Natal Parks), Andy Dott (Drifters) and many other experts, this was the foundation of the FGASA and a constitution was drawn up to cover guides and guiding in South Africa. With that introduction covered, I was able to use funds raised from various corporations and businesses to support underprivileged youth groups who were selected to be introduced to the trails and conservation concepts. These were strange to many of them, as they came from urban environments and had never experienced the bush. These young people would hopefully be the leaders and torch-bearers in future conservation concepts and policies. These trails were extremely rewarding and it was interesting to see the interaction between the young people from different race groups who had never mixed closely and socially before.

Planning the next walk.

The trails were extremely basic, with no tents, lamps or luxuries. The idea was to live close to nature and learn the value of natural resources such as water, wood and food. We would backpack into the area carrying all we needed to the campsite, which had no facilities. Some of the trailists were horrified to realise that they would be living in such a primitive area and conditions for the next few days. Many had never been away from their homes before. A perimeter of stones would be put in a circle for the campfire and everyone would collect dry wood from the surrounding bush. A lecture on the value of wood as a resource served to remind them that fires must be kept small, just enough to cook on and give light at night. No big bonfires were allowed. I would explain that some animals such as lion and rhino were attracted by the flames and, out of curiosity, would come closer to find out what was happening in their territory. A night-watch roster was arranged and it was up to the trailist to establish what the next person would like to have to drink when woken up – tea, coffee or hot chocolate. The one going to bed would need to hand the drink to the next person going on watch and chat for a few minutes. This not only established a bond between them, but also ensured that the one on watch was fully alert and not likely to be half-asleep. If anyone heard strange noises or was afraid, they could wake me for reassurance. Sleeping arrangements were on high-density camp mattresses in a circle around the campfire. I noted with interest that there was restlessness the first night, but on the second or third night, after daily walks and activities, everyone slept soundly. The night watch brought some amusing moments, especially when big-game animals approached the camp area. On one trail, I was lying listening to some lion in the far distance when I became aware they were approaching the camp. I could hear their muffled grunts as they approached, then silence for a while. Suddenly one of the lions let out a roar, which woke everyone. One of the young lads started screaming and shot headfirst into his sleeping bag. With his head at the bottom of it, his muffled screams continued, which I think so frightened the lions that they disappeared in a hurry. It took me quite a while to assure the poor youngster that there was no danger and persuade him to come out of the sleeping bag. No-one wanted to go to sleep and for the rest of the night, I sat up with the group telling them bush stories. Elephant, rhino and, naturally, hyena were all visitors at various times, adding excitement to the experience.

Introduction to the bush.

Most days started at dawn and after coffee or tea and rusks, we would set off through the bush, silently in single file, stopping every now and then to discuss points of interest, often about the value of various plants, trees and shrubs for medicinal, cultural or other purposes. Within about three days, many in the group would recognise the plants and talk about what they learnt. Middens and droppings of various animals were also points of interest. Spoors and tracks were studied and soon the trailists could identify and track directions. On some trails where I felt they were wasting water, I would walk the group out of camp with full water bottles. After about half an hour, we would stop and have a discussion on water as a natural resource and its importance to both humans and animals for survival. I would then have them pour the water out of their bottles and continue walking with empty bottles. Just the idea of an empty bottle would have a psychological effect, making them want a drink. We would stop under a tree and again discuss the importance of water, and they would each have an apple or orange while we rested. Once we started walking, I would head in the direction I knew was a river line and after about an hour or so, we would again stop for a rest and I would point out a green tree line in the distance and tell them there was a river where we could get water. As we approached the tree line, I would notice their pace picking up in their hurry to get to water. As we reached the riverbed, I could see their disbelief and frowns as we stood in the dry, sandy riverbed, and they would ask where the water was. I would lead them to a spot where the elephant had excavated a hole in the sand to reach water and then explain that the water was underground. To reach it, we had to dig as the elephants did. I showed them how to dig, keeping the sides in a funnel shape to prevent the hole from collapsing, and eventually heard excited voices as they found moist soil and then water seeping up into the hole. They learnt to let the water settle and clear before slowly filling their bottles. This was one of the best lessons on awareness and conservation of water.

Some of the trails had a few interesting characters. I remember one youngster called Brett who was fascinated by snakes and scorpions. He was always scratching under rocks and logs to see what was hiding there. At one stage, he gave a happy shout and came running up holding a young puff adder by the tail. I was horrified, but he was quite at ease and everyone wanted to take a photo. I eventually had him release the reptile. We then had a discussion about the role of snakes in nature. A good lesson for all. Brett was knowledgeable because he collected snakes and scorpions as a hobby, so he was in his element.

Discussing the day’s adventures.

lions return to their kill. We watched the lions as they devoured the impala and then moved off to find a shady spot in which to rest. We then set up our camp area under some trees on the opposite side of the water hole. One or two of the youngsters were horrified at the idea of eating these impala steaks: the only meat they had ever tasted came from their butcher or supermarket, wrapped in a nice plastic package. However, at dinner time, with the pangs of hunger and aroma of fresh meat on the braai, everyone tucked into the meal with enthusiasm. Another important lesson from the wilderness.

One of the interesting and rewarding aspects of these youth trails was on the final day, when I would space the young people about 20m apart along a stream bed, out of sight of each other. Each had a note pad and pen, and I would ask them to sit quietly for a while and then write down their thoughts, anything they felt they had learnt or had piqued their interest during the experiences they had shared. I was amazed by some of the notes compiled by the youngsters. Brett, the collector of snakes and scorpions, wrote that he had learnt that the secret of successful communication was to put aside all bias and misconceptions and talk openly and freely. He also wrote that he felt there was harmony between animals because they were all reliant on nature, food chains and their respective roles in the ecosystem for survival. Harmony among mankind had never existed since the fall of Adam and Eve. Racial bias was an important factor in disunity among people and Brett felt that by spending a week in the neutral environment of the bush, he had learnt respect for his new black friends, from whom he had gained greater insights into cultural and political problems. He wrote that the most striking lesson for him had been the colour-blindness of those few days spent in the bush, and he would carry that experience with him into his life ahead. By working together and co-operating for a common goal, he felt that there was a future for racial co-operation in our country. He finished off by writing that he had learnt to appreciate home comforts and the value of water and natural resources. His closing words were: ‘I will now work on inter-racial interaction, knowing that there is hope in sight, even though it is a small light at the end of the tunnel. I am a better person having had this experience.’ Wise words and a good summary of lessons learnt by a teenager over 30 years ago. Many other notes were written in a similar vein. I often think of these youngsters and wonder how their future has been shaped from lessons learnt on those wilderness experiences. For me, it was a very worthwhile and rewarding experience helping to share the wilderness and gain an insight into the changes that it made to their lives.

Written by Neil Harmse

Chapter 11. An Expedition into Mozambique

The 1980s were a busy time for conducting walking trails and I also got involved with game control operations. By way of something different, I was asked by my good friend Loot Schulz, the owner and Director of Pungwe Safari Camp in the Manyeleti Game Reserve, to accompany him on a trip to Mozambique to evaluate a game park called Zinave for possible restocking with game animals and to restore it as a tourist venture as part of the planned trans-frontier park project.

Loot and I had been involved in several conservation and tourism ventures, including the Manyeleti Game Reserve land claim, planning the Ivory Route and the Maluleke community project, to name a few. Loot had been approached by the new Mozambican government on the recommendation of Dave Law, the owner of Barra Lodge in Mozambique, to put an expedition together for this venture. The party would comprise six people, all with a background in tourism and conservation. We would be the first group of South Africans to enter Mozambique since the end of hostilities of the civil war. The plan was for Loot and I to travel in his Land Rover, while Pierre Sutherland and Gustav Wipplinger followed in Pierre’s Land Cruiser. We would meet up at the SAPS border control at Pafuri in the far north of the Kruger Park and, from there, enter Mozambique. Dave Law and Loot’s wife, Cilla, would travel from Barra Lodge on the Mozambique coast and meet us at a small town on the road to Zinave Park.

Loot had tried to obtain visas from the Mozambican embassy in Johannesburg, but by the time of our planned departure, these were not ready. We were told that documents could be obtained at the border control post.

Formalities on the South African side went off smoothly and, being late and tired after our long journey, we were kindly offered accommodation at the SA military base by the colonel in command. Early the following morning, we set off on the next stage of our journey to arrange the entry into Mozambique, then cross the Limpopo River and continue to Mapai, a small town which had been a flash point during the war with Rhodesian forces and Mozambique soldiers.

Our approach to the Mozambique border control was met with military personnel in assorted and varied camouflage dress, with a variety of firearms (mostly AK-47s and a few shotguns) all being pointed or waved in our direction. This was quite daunting and not a welcome sight. We were directed into a rather dilapidated house and shown to sit on what appeared to be a wooden school bench. After about half an hour, one of the men who had been standing in a group talking approached us. We explained that we required documentation to travel to the Zinave reserve. This provoked another unintelligible discussion and our passports were scrutinised. These were then thrown into a desk drawer and a letter was scribbled on a page from a notebook, which was then torn out and given to us. All the conversation was in what seemed to be a mixture of Portuguese and Shangaan or Tsonga, which we could not understand. However, we eventually made out that we had to travel with this piece of paper and would be able to retrieve our passports upon our return to the border control. We could not make out what was written on the paper, except for the word ‘Gaza’, which was the province we had entered. We had to travel out of Gaza into Inhambane province to reach Zinave.

With some trepidation, we started our journey to the Limpopo crossing and Mapai. Travelling along the road, we noticed a few homesteads which at one time must have been the stately residences of Portuguese families who had fled, been expelled (or worse) during the war. The houses all showed signs of conflict, such as bullet holes and fire damage. Initially, the road was in a reasonable condition and we hoped it would remain that way throughout the trip.

The Limpopo River was fairly low, since this was the dry season, and we crossed with no problems. Loot decided to stop in the water to wash the dust and grime off the Land Rover. We then took a short drive into the town of Mapai, where we wanted to stock up with fresh fruit and vegetables, but we had no luck: there was hardly anything worth buying. So on we went again, through to the road heading past the Banhine National Park en route to Inhambane province and the Zinave reserve.

The road to Banhine showed signs of roadworks, with some really bad humps and dips which we had to traverse slowly. Once past Banhine, however, the roads gradually became worse until they were mainly potholes and dongas. Loot hit one unseen donga with a force that rattled the vehicle, causing two jerry cans of fuel to fly off the back. One of them was damaged and half the fuel in it lost. We went past many small villages where people appeared to be poverty-stricken and starving. Pot-bellied children ran alongside our vehicle, begging for food. In some villages, they waved reed- or stick-woven baskets containing rats which they were trying to sell. The only animals we saw were a few mangy dogs, scrawny goats and the odd donkey. It was very sad to see the effects and aftermath of the long, drawn-out war. Almost all the villages had enormous grain baskets standing on stilted platforms to keep them off the ground, but the majority of them were empty. The harvest had been poor.

It had been a long, hard drive and we finally found a campsite in the bush where we could put up a few canvas flysheets to keep the dew off. Soon we had a comforting fire going, with steaks and sausages on the coals. A few beers were opened to slake our thirst and end the day.

Early the next morning, we turned north-east towards Zinave and the road seemed to deteriorate with every kilometre, although the vegetation improved. There were groves of beautiful fever trees in swampy areas, massive baobab trees which had to be hundreds of years old and forests of ironwood trees. At one place we came across a logging operation, with many logs of Chamfuti or mahogany trees which had been felled for export timber. This was the work of a Chinese consortium which was stripping the land of these magnificent trees.

To our surprise, on the roadside we came across a shot-up and derelict Russian tank – a relic of the past conflict. It gave us a chance to stretch our legs and take photos of us sitting aboard the shell.

A few hours later, we had reached the small town where we were to meet up with Dave and Cilla, who were driving from Barra Lodge on the coast. Here we had also arranged to meet the ranger or manager of Zinave, who would guide us into the reserve.

Dave and Cilla duly arrived and about an hour later, the ranger made his appearance. It was decided that I would travel with him in the lead vehicle and Cilla and Dave would drive with Loot, while Pierre and Gustav would bring up the rear. I was a bit concerned about the Toyota Hilux that the ranger was driving: the exhaust was broken and making a terrible racket, the radiator cap was missing and the radiator stuffed closed with a rag, while the same solution had been applied to the missing petrol cap. Conversation was rather limited because of the noise coming not only from the exhaust, but also from assorted rattles and squeals in various parts of the vehicle which seemed to be held together with wire, tape and diverse fastenings not designed by the factory. We had to stop every few kilometres to replenish the water in the radiator. There were about four 20-litre cans of water in the back, but I soon wondered whether these would be enough!

From our limited conversation, I learnt that the wildlife in Zinave was almost non-existent. There were rumoured to be about 10 or 12 buffalo ‘somewhere’ in the 40 000km² reserve, but Armando, the ranger, had only found tracks and had not seen the animals. During the war, the reserve had served as the military headquarters of the Renamo military faction and had been a point of conflict for years. Renamo soldiers would shoot any animal they came across, mainly for food. When they were away from the reserve or driven out, the Frelimo forces would occupy and shoot indiscriminately. In this way, all wildlife had been decimated almost to extinction. In addition, there were about 4 000 people living within the reserve boundaries, which also took a heavy toll on the wildlife and resources. Not an encouraging situation.

About two hours’ drive brought us to the boundary of Zinave and as we drove in, we were impressed by the number of enormous baobab trees and thickets of fever trees. What immediately came to our attention was the shortage or absence of animals and birds. It was quite eerie to be in an area with no signs of life. Driving through the reserve, we saw only a few scrawny yellow-billed hornbills, a couple of vervet monkeys and one lonely impala running for its life. The day was now drawing to an end and the ranger suggested we drive to an old tourist camp on the banks of the Save River. Here we could make camp and overnight.

A baobab tree dwarfing the jeep.

come across a few groups of people hunting with spears, accompanied by dogs and carrying snares, looking for whatever they could find. It was quite soul-destroying to think that a paradise like this could be wiped out in a few years by the greed and bloodlust of mankind. As a group, we decided to head back to camp to discuss what we had observed and pool our thoughts about the potential and future prospects of Zinave as a game reserve. When we arrived there, we enjoyed a late, light lunch of salad and leftover wors and chops which Cilla managed to turn into a delicious meal with some home- (camp-) baked roosterkoek (griddle cakes).

Another abandoned and war-damaged property.

I took a walk to the old camp to satisfy my curiosity. In one of the passages between the buildings, I was rather shocked to come across a human skull lying in the leaves and debris. It had what appeared to be a bullet hole above the right eye socket. Who this poor soul was and how he had come to die here is a story that will probably never be told. Just another casualty of a senseless war. After this, I decided I had had enough of exploring the deserted camp and made my way back to the group for some live company and a discussion about the way forward.

Each one of the groups had years of experience and qualifications in the conservation and tourism industry, so the input would be interesting. Generally, everyone had seen enough and decided it was not worth driving around, as it was just time wasted. To make a success of developing the reserve, the 4 000 people living within its boundaries would have to be relocated and even the villages on the borders would have to move in order to prevent large-scale poaching activities. This would be very difficult to implement and there would be resistance from both the communities and the Mozambican development agencies. SANPARKS and the Kruger National Park had offered to translocate game animals, including elephant, as a donation to the trans-frontier parks initiative, but we felt that this would be like opening a ‘free-lunch’ operation. Unless restrictions and control measures could be implemented, it simply would not work. So, sitting in the bush around the campfire with thoughts fresh in our heads, we drew up our draft report to be sent off to the principals involved.

The next morning, we started the long journey back to South Africa still mulling over the past week’s experiences. Fortunately, the trip back was mostly uneventful and, much to our relief, our passports were indeed still waiting for us at the border control. It was a great relief to be back on home soil again, with memories of shared experiences that would remain with us for years to come.