African Wildlife and Environment Issue 64

FAUNA , FLORA & WILDLIFE

FAUNA, FLORA & WILDLIFE

looking at a herd of impala. After moving on I stopped at another herd. Soon I realised there are lots of impala in the KNP and I would not make Skukuza before nightfall if I continued to stop at every herd. At the Skukuza reception, I was allocated a chalet next to the river and given food coupons to redeem at the restaurant for supper. Walking around the camp and seeing all the paying tourists, I realised again how lucky I was to be here. This was where all my heroes had lived and worked. Inside a dingy rondavel was a small museum with mementoes from days gone by, and as it all soaked in, the sense of the incredible history almost overwhelmed me. I walked past the larger Skukuza museum and there, hanging on the wall, was the skin of the male lion and the belt and knife that Harry Wolhuter used to stab the lion that had pulled him off his horse. While the lion was dragging him by the shoulder, Harry had been able to stab the lion in the heart. My fantasy of many years, of being in Africa through the book Memories of a Game Ranger, was now going to become a reality. Outside the old Skukuza restaurant after a scrumptious meal, I sat below the Sycamore Fig and reflected on the wonderful day. A lion started roaring across the river and a short while later the coughing call of a leopard set off the baboon’s chorus of alarm calls as they settled for the night in the tree tops. Later as I drifted off into an excited sleep in my chalet, a raft of hippopotamus called for the last time as they left the safety of the water to graze the short grass beyond the riverbanks. The following day I met with Dr Michael Mills, fondly known as ‘Gus.’ He was the carnivore expert for South African National Parks and considered a world authority. Gus is a highly intelligent man who fired questions at me trying to catch me off guard, and within seconds I was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. However, I soon realised that Gus was a man with a heart of gold who was passionate about his research and he was testing me to make sure I would be up to the task of being his field technician. The research being done was a predator/prey relationship study and the study area was situated between Lower Sabie and Crocodile Bridge in the south-eastern part of the KNP. Where else in the world do you have the privilege of following lions, wild dogs, spotted hyenas and cheetah as your day job? Most of the observations did however take place at night, especially with the nocturnal predators like lion, leopard and hyena. Gus’s field assistant for the previous year, Ross English, had been tasked to show me the ropes in the research area of about 100 000 hectares. This was in the south eastern corner of the Kruger National Park between the Lower Sabie and Crocodile Bridge tourist rest camps. The Lebombo mountain range was an imposing barrier in the east, and the west was effectively closed in by a thick band of impenetrable sandveld thorn thicket. Two large rivers, the Sabie and the Crocodile, closed off the northern and southern sides respectively.

Being a relatively closed-in system within the greater Kruger National Park meant that the predator/prey relationships could be researched over the long term, looking at trends and relevant patterns. One of the Lion prides being studied at the time, had a particularly aggressive lioness and I was taken out to this particular pride by Ross English to familiarise myself with the animals. It was dark when we approached the pride using a VHF receiver with an antenna to home in on the collared lioness in the pride. The frequency of the collar ended in the numbers 8080 and we called this the 8080 pride. This was long before the advent of satellite collars which have made plotting animal movement so much easier. The aggressive lioness, true to form, came charging at the Land Rover and tried to clamber on the bonnet. As it was already dark, Ross reversed at speed to withdraw and give the lioness space. John our field assistant was on the back and was shouting something to Ross in Shangaan, who in turn was shouting at him to keep quiet, because every time John spoke the lioness would renew her efforts to get onto the back of the vehicle. Suddenly there was an almighty crash and the Land Rover smashed into a Knob Thorn tree. The spotlight that John had been holding, went spiralling off into the night. The accelerator had gotten jammed behind the mat and the V8 engine started backfiring as the revs redlined. John thought I was shooting at the lioness and screamed at me to stop shooting, not realising in the heat of the moment, that it was the exhaust backfiring. We switched the vehicle off and through the crackling and hissing of a very hot engine, we assessed what had happened. It turned out that while the lioness was charging, and we were reversing at speed in the dark, John was trying to warn Ross about the big tree behind us. The commotion when we hit the tree caused the lioness to back off and run back to the pride. Fortunately, the damage to the vehicle was minimal and thus started my induction into the fascinating world of predators. This was the start of a long career with SANParks and every day was a new adventure. Something that one quickly learns is to expect the unexpected in the bush. Many a complacent ranger is no longer with us because Africa is not for sissies, but also does not suffer fools lightly. I hope to bring to life many of these exciting experiences as I recall a lifetime of memories spent in the wild places of Africa.

budding herpetologist, I tried to get into the field as often as I could to catch snakes. While at primary school, I met my best friend Chris Moore, who invited me to his house where he had some pet snakes. My interest was immediately piqued and a lifelong friendship was forged, not only with Chris, but especially with all things reptilian. After school we would head out into the bush and ask the farmers on their smallholdings if we could search the termite mounds scattered on the farms. Most farmers found the termite mounds a nuisance and were only too happy for us to break it down. When they wanted to know what we were up to, and were told that we were looking for snakes, there was always a snigger and a shake of the head as they told us: “We do not have any snakes on our land”. Our modus operandi was to use a pick and gently break the seal where the mound jutted out of the ground and then turn the whole mound over, exposing the labyrinth of tunnels and chambers inside. Most of the snakes would enter the termite mounds to hibernate for the winter, as the nights can get very cold on the Highveld. The excitement of seeing a shiny snake body slithering along these tunnels, and the delicate process to extract and capture them, were intoxicating. Chris and I would be yelling like Indian Banshees as we grabbed the snakes and put them into the pillow cases we had swiped from home. It was not unusual for us to catch between fifty and a hundred snakes in one day if we could cover a large enough area. All these areas have subsequently been developed and are now just a labyrinth of concrete and tar, all in the name of progress. Our parents were adamant that we could not keep venomous snakes, so these were duly carted off to the local snake park where they were swopped for harmless species or just donated. It was quite a task having to sort the snakes into the respective “snake tanks”, usually converted fish tanks where we would monitor their behaviour and feed them. At a later stage, they would be released back into the wild at an isolated safe location. All indigenous snakes are now protected and any collecting or capture of snakes needs to be cleared by the conservation authorities and relevant permits issued for possession and transport. As a young boy I was petrified of my grandfather on my mom’s side who was very loud and intimidating. He always advocated that the only good snake was a dead one. One midday on his farm, he saw a big Rhombic Night Adder and went off to fetch a large walking stick to get rid of it. While he was away, I pinned down the snake’s head and picked it up with my hands. On his return, he almost swallowed his tongue as he scolded me and tried to force me to put the snake down so that he could kill it. I was relishing the power I had and when I walked towards him, he recoiled in horror. I put the snake safely away in a pillow case and my parents drove me to a neighbouring farm where I released the very lucky Night Adder. I was hankering for a life in the bush and eventually got my chance after studying Nature

Conservation at Pretoria Technikon. Early one morning in January 1987, with the sun still hidden below the eastern horizon, I left the metropolis of Johannesburg behind me and started the new chapter of my life in the Kruger National Park (KNP) in Mpumalanga. I was one of two students in South Africa who had been selected to do their practical year for the Nature Conservation Diploma in the world famous KNP. As the sun broke free of the earth’s embrace and shone through the thick smog from the coal-fired power stations, the mood created by the glowing red ball on the horizon leaving its dark sleeping place and reaching for the clear blue skies, lifted my spirits immensely. The anticipation I felt was tighter than an E-string on a guitar being tuned an octave higher. I had no doubt that I was embarking on an adventure that would change my life, and the thought of venturing into wildest Africa manifested in a smile on my face as broad as the horizon. I had only been to the KNP twice before in my life. The first time was as a six-year-old with my family in a 1959 Volkswagen beetle. My enduringmemory of the trip was screaming blue murder every time we saw elephants, because someone had said they target Volkswagen Beetles and turn them over. I had listened very well as a youngster and had no desire for the Havemann family to test this theory. Needless to say, I ruined the trip for everyone else. My second time in the KNP was as a student during the annual field trip. Travelling in a large bus, I knew the elephants would have a hard time overturning it, and of course in front of one’s friends you never show anything, but bravado. Perhaps this initial apprehension was because of what would transpire later in my life when I had many close encounters with these massive pachyderms. As I crossed the Sabie River before entering Paul Kruger Gate, I stopped on the bridge. Looking down the river I saw a bushbuck tippy-toeing through the reeds and making its way to the water’s edge. It seemed fixated on a point slightly upstream and would not get closer to the water. It was then that I suddenly saw one of the biggest crocodiles I have ever seen. Just his head was exposed above the water. From my vantage point I could see the rest of its huge body under the clear water. Suddenly the bushbuck barked in alarm and went bouncing off as a big elephant bull appeared, as if by magic, to take its place. The bull started crossing the river, ignoring the big croc and the sound of the current rushing around the elephant’s legs kept me transfixed on this beautiful scene. Just at that moment a Fish Eagle called and took off from the top of a Natal Mahogany tree and flew below me under the bridge. As a welcome, I could not have asked for better. I had arrived. A permit had been left at the gate and I was welcomed as if I was already part of the family. I excitedly recounted the scene I had just witnessed, and the gate official looked at me as if I was not quite right in the head. Within a minute of entering the KNP, I spent 15 minutes

Bryan Havemann Warden of Timbavati Private Nature Reserve bryan.havemann@gmail.com

28 | African Wildlife & Environment | 64 (2017)

29 | African Wildlife & Environment | 64 (2017)