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.

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.