Animal Crackers

After flying, swimming, boozing and cruising, we were ready for a change, so we packed our backpacks and headed for Botswana, specifically, Chobe National Park, for a night of camping in the bush. We took a bus to the border, where the Chobe river feeds into the Zambezi and waited on the dusty shore where Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana, and Namiba could all be seen from the single point.

After a transfer boat, a ride into town, and multiple other stops that seemed to take all morning, we arrived at a resort where we launched onto the Chobe river to view the game from the water. The boat hugged the shoreline moving upstream, and immediately hippos could be spotted, their snorts spraying into the air. Hippos are known to kill more people than any other animal in region as they are territorial. Wandering too close may cause them to charge and ram your boat, which always added a little excitement when one would dive below the dark water.

Within the park, the Chobe river divides into two channels creating a large grassy island of an almost lime green color. Large groupings of Impala were scattered all along the island into the distance. These light brown animals resemble a miniature deer, lighter in color, with black striping on its tail and hind legs that resemble a McDonalds logo. They appeared to be the most common animal, especially among other deerlike animals such as the Kudu, and one other that we call “That thing with a circle on its butt.” Crocodiles like to eat Impala when they swim from the lime island to the mainland. Chevrolet likes to build them.

Way off in the distance, there appeared to be elephants. OMG, turn the boat, can’t miss the elephants! I believe we used up an entire memory card on elephant #1 when we finally saw him. Little did we know that roughly 70,000 elephants made habitat in Chobe.

The boat ride lasted about 2 hours, and we got a great taste of the wildlife. Some of our safari companions noted that viewing game from a boat was a unique new experience. There were locations where hippos, crocodiles, impala, and elephants were all in the same frame of view. At one location, in a grassy inlet of shallow water, 40 hippos wading, when out from beneath shot a brave crocodile, apparently trying to catch a fish lunch underneath their feet, causing a huge disruption and contortion of the mass. “This is why this is the best park in the world” our river guide told us many times.

Our companions included two brothers, originally from South Carolina (younger brother wore a salt stained Gamecocks hat) who moved to South Africa in their youth and never returned stateside. They were in marketing for industrial manufacturing and thus had very nice cameras and video equipment, because nothing says industrial manufacturing like a safari at sunset. They were big likeable guys with big fingers used for wiping sunscreen from each other’s faces in the morning.

We also traveled with some friendly Canadian teachers who taught Egyptian children for a Canadian school in Egypt. We were confused as well, but apparently the schools are popular for families who want children to learn English. They drive past the pyramids on their way to work every day.

Lastly, was a couple from England and their South African friend, a very pleasant trio who we enjoyed talking too about worldly food and legless night monsters that harassed the campsite.

The safari consisted of slow drives down tight, rugged, dirt roads, head on a swivel, looking for elusive predators, stopping frequently to watch the families of elephants, impala, baboons, and water buffalo. Offshoot roads split down along the Chobe river, where we had boated previously, and where the best viewing could be seen.

You know the scene in Dances with Wolves where Kevin Costner (at his best) crests a hill to view the plains of golden grasses scattered with distant grazing herds of Buffalo? Well, the main score from the soundtrack subconsciously played in our heads when turning onto those river spurs. Though, we did observe water buffalo (which is relatively rare) the masses of elephant spreading along the wide and distant grassy banks were astounding. While looking at 25 or more of them on one side of the truck, another 5 would come crashing out of the brush on the other side. We had some encounters that felt frightening, but must have been safe because our guide showed no sign of concern. We literally could have plugged their snouts with peanuts.

We got lucky too. During one of the drives, through an alley of open brush, a Leopard was spotted, stalking a pack of Impala. It was difficult to see, but young brother Olsen showed us a zoomed photo on his camera, where you could see the cat’s mouth open, practically drooling.

Giraffe necks would show up in the late afternoon, wandering around like aliens. We saw two males play-fighting by flinging their necks at each other, tangling them in a braid momentarily.

In between drives, we would go to the campsite, set back far in the bush, away from the water, where we would be fed under a canvas tent by the safari crew. The camp also had our heavy sleeping tents, and a four canvas walled enclosure with a five foot hole in the ground, makeshift toilet seat, pile of dirt, and a shovel.

The food was great and plentiful. Macaroni with salad, chicken stew, granola and yogurt, sandwiches, coffee, wine, water, and high tea. At night we sat around the fire, half the time in silence, listening to the abundant wildlife. Taking a note from Krysta’s inquiries to the rafting driver, and to break the silence, Luke asked the guide if the truck had ever been charged by an elephant. The guide stood up and walked by the cooks in lieu of a response.

Sleeping was hot. Krysta spent the night staring at the ceiling of the tent simply listening to the sounds of the surrounding darkness. Besides the dripping sound from Luke’s sweat, at various points she heard the true Ghost In The Darkness, king of the jungle, roaring in a nocturnal hunt. She also heard the stomping of elephants, and the cackle of hyenas likely on their way to scavenge the dead elephant we saw the following morning. Krysta was tired the next day. Luke was sweaty.

In the morning, we slowly drove out the brothers and the teachers, and were treated to a very rare sight, a pack of wild dogs along one of the river roads. Apparently, what makes them special is that they are indigenous to the region, and are very low in number. At one point, they started to chase impalas, but gave up upon finding a shady respite.

We enjoyed another lunch and 2 more drives before being dropped back off for another river safari, this time just Krysta, Luke, and Captain “T”. Captain “T” was a great guy who had a very genuine passion for elephants. We learned that at around 5 years, mother elephants kick out the boys so they do not inbreed with their female siblings. Such inbreeding causes some elephants to be born without trunks, thus allowing them to survive only as long as they are nursed by the mothers. After that, they cannot feed or drink without the crucial appendage.

So after thousands of elephants and impalas, we made our way back to Zamibia for a final night, drinking a couple beers at a hostel, reminiscing on drowning and elephants.

There is no better way to top off a memorable trip like boarding a sold out double decker bus with broken air conditioning. Luke drank 5 bottles of water and a Fanta and left all of it sopping into the fabric of the bus seat, loosing weight through sweat. We ended up arriving 3 hours behind schedule because border security measures and intermittent security check points all along the way. Upon crossing Namibia, every person had their luggage searched. The only thing they found in our luggage was Krysta’s exploded shampoo. At another checkpoint, a man jumped out of the luggage trailer, which both we and the guards thought was odd, resulting in an extended delay baking in the sun while immigration authorities and the bus drivers fought over the apparent, attempted, smuggle. "We trusted you in 2010", an immigration authority screamed at one of the bus drivers. It was a horribly memorable experience. Upon arrival, we took a cab home, drove the POS Rav-4 to drop Krysta off at work, then drove the POS Rav-4 to the best service center in town, where it still remains, two weeks later, frustrating the service manager.

Impala

Impala

vultures

food tent!

wild dogs

warthogs

water buffalo

kudu

zebra with elephant

elephants along the shore

Rafting Death River

There is a little hike that takes you from the entrance of the Victoria Falls National Park to the rivers edge of the lower Zambezi called the Boiling Pot. On our first visit to the park, the day after our bus arrived, we hiked here to watch a rafting group begin a seven day voyage down the Zambezi, starting on the Zimbabwe side. The rapid at this point, on this day, looked intense, but harmless enough after watching a kayaker topple through it multiple times. The kayaker came over to talk to us. He asked us if we were going to raft, and if so suggested we come to Zimbabwe to do so.

“From Zambia, rafts hit this rapid, flip, and sometimes people walk back up the path you came from without rafting any more the whole time” he said to Luke slightly out of earshot to Krysta.

In Luke’s head . . . “What is this guy talking about, is it not the same river? Let’s go rafting tomorrow. I like to eat food.”

So we signed up for a full day trip on the Zambia side consisting of 25 rapids, many class 5, others class 4, sprinkled with 3’s. We were picked up and taken to our instructive breakfast under a large grassy hut, where we were told how to survive all of the precarious activities of the day, the instructor (our guide for the day named Babyface) speaking below a huge picture of a raft capsizing. On the ride to the launch site, Krysta asked the driver how many people had died over the years, whether there were crocodiles in the water, and other similar such questions intended to ease our minds.

“Not many have died” he said.

“Only baby crocks, but they are vegetarian” he said.

Babyface had seniority, running the rapids for 10 years, so we were the last of the 5 boats to launch. On our boat was a couple from Hungary, a German named Andre, us, Babyface, and another Zambian who worked with the rafting company. While practicing our strokes, we didn’t see anyone fall in from the rafts in front of us. We sat on the right hand side of the boat, Luke at the very front, Krysta the middle paddler. “Forward Please” yelled the polite Babyface. Ten seconds later, upon hitting the first of the string of 5 undulating rapids, Krysta, Luke, and the Hungarian Timor, were under water . . . forever.

Unlike the Zimbabwe side, where the rafting begins above and in line with the string of rapids, the Zambia rafts must gain momentum, come at the churning wall perpendicular, and try to push through. This string aims at a mound of boulders and the canyon wall, the mound known to capsize full rafts of tourists if the aim is poor or the paddling is weak.

In the video we watched later, Krysta, Luke, and Timor flailed in that string of rapids into the wall, popping up from the whitewater only just before impact. Krysta was pushed downstream, while Luke and the Hungarian were circled backward upstream. Krysta was rescued downstream by the awaiting Babyface. Luke was picked up by a kayaker and instructed to jump off the rocks just downstream of where the rapids hit the wall, and reloaded as well. Only 24 to go.

The first half of the day hits the most intense rapids, numbers 1 through 10. The pictures do some pretty good justice. It was a blur, but a couple images stick out.

1. The fear in Andre’s eyes every time the big German popped up from the water.
2. The anger behind Krysta’s eyes (looking at Luke) after the first rapid.
3. The fear behind Luke’s eyes (looking at Krysta) after the first rapid.
4. The smile behind Babyface’s eyes watching these muzungu’s fall into river.

One other rapid deserves a paragraph, and that is rapid 8. Babyface explained to us that we had a choice.

“Go to the right, and you will likely not flip, go to the center and it is 50/50, go to the left and you will likely flip.”

A lull in the boat. No one wants to be the instigator.

“I’m all for not flipping . . . to the right?” said Krysta

“Center, its o.k. I think” said Andre

“How about right center” said Krysta, which Babyface took as humor, because center it was.

The series of photos will show you what happened. The boat disappeared into a hole that felt 15 feet deep, completely surrounding us with whitewater, and then it was like Homer jumping Springfield Gorge. We’re going to make it! We’re going to make it! This is the most exhilarating feeling of our lives! Hey look, one of those kite things. Where are my feet going? Why am I falling? Darkness and disorientation, flipping, and spinning . . . under the boat now upside down. There is an air pocket just like Babyface said.

“We must flip the boat back and all get back in very quickly” yelled Babyface from on top of the boat. The class 6 rapid was just downriver. During the flip, Krysta lost hold of the safety rope and began to float toward the class 6. Her face looked like Andre’s popping from the water. She was rescued by a kayaker with time to spare and survived.

The second half of the day was tame in comparison to the morning, but still some nice 10 foot holes. There were nice long calm stretches used for staring up the black cliffs topped with green jungles. Locals were spotted in desolate stretches at the river’s edge, reeling for Tiger Fish. At one point, most of the boat jumped out, climbed a 20-foot outcrop to practice flying on our own terms. We found out later that non-vegetarian crocodiles swim along the entire route.

It was truly one of the most exhilarating experience of our lives, and on the ride back down the dusty backroads, beer in hand, passing the straw hut Village of Babyface’s youth, we soaked in the dipping sun in our dripping clothes.

Mosi-o-Tunya

We spent Christmas day slowly packing with a Hallmark Christmas marathon in background. At 5:00 P.M. we boarded the Intercape Mainliner Bus (they let us back on) and embarked for a 20-hour ride to Livingstone, Zambia. We slept in odd positions, baking like pretzels, and freezing like our leftover Christmas morning egg casserole. In morning light, the modern towns had transformed to villages off the highway with huts of stick and grass, and children lying in the dirt under trees to escape the humid heat of north Namibia. We spent 6 days in Livingstone, Zambia, and 2 days in Botswana.

Livingstone, Zambia is situated 10 km from the famous Victoria Falls. Described as Mosi-o-Tunya (The Smoke That Thunders) and renamed by European David Livingstone for his queen, the spill stretches 1 mile in width and drops 330 feet into a cataract, spitting the torrent down a narrow chute for tourists to practice falling out of rafts. The river is the Zambezi, 4th largest Africa.

Maybe Earnest Hemingway had words to describe the beauty of this place, but we do not. The misty cataract of slick black rock and jungle lushness on the island plateaus are like nothing we've seen or imagined. Viewed from the edge, as in the picture below, the channel looks like a secret entrance to a forgotten time. Rainbows swirl in the mist at every turn, even at night, where they are known to emerge like ghostly apparitions. We were giddy to experience the wonder from every angle.

Our first day, we hiked around the paths above, across, and below the falls on the Zambia side. Raincoats are offered, but it was as hot and humid as summer in Chicago, so we passed. The path across from the falls brings you eye level with the upper Zambezi, allowing a view of the tumble to the cataract below. The mist from the falls rides up the opposite wall of the cataract towards the sky, cooling the path on which we stood that hugs the chasm. From one viewpoint on the path, it looked like people were jumping into a pool above the falls. Man you sure had to be stupid to do that.

Our unofficial guide to that swimming pool was a local named Jeremiah. We tiptoed along Jerimiah’s hidden underwater pathway to the spot with 4 siblings from Argentina, holding hands much of the way as instructed. We stopped at multiple stone outcrops to peer into the cataract from the now opposite side. We lucked out, the last week of December normally marking the annual shift to high water, when the Zambezi begins its rise some 15 feet higher, stopping such tours. The swimming hole was amazing. A mini waterfall spilled into a mini amphitheatre creating a pool with a noticeable current to the edge of the real drop. We lingered for about 20 minutes, jumping from 15 foot outcrops, sitting under the mini falls, smiling, and shaking our heads at each other in silent disbelief.

(the edge of the pool)

(looking back at the pool/falls from the opposite side)

This massive river acts as the boundary between the country of Zambia and Zimbabwe, and only about a quarter of the falls can be seen from the Zambia side. A separate Visa is required to cross to Zimbabwe, and they start to get expensive. Maybe if we find a big kite, attach a motor with a propeller to it, and pay double the cost of the Visa, we could fly above the falls.

We boarded these kites on Tuesday the 29th. Though the kites had licensed pilots, they were like floating motorcycles, nothing between you and pavement, except in this case, thousands of feet. One would shake their head in silent disbelief at the view if one was certain the movement wouldn’t send the fickle vessel into a tailspin to the crocodiles and hippos below (which were visible from the view, in addition to elephants crossing the river for breakfast). The true scope of the breadth of the falls became apparent, and the energy of the water below literally dabs your face as you fly through the screaming skyward mist at a height taller than the Willis Tower. The view downstream provides a snapshot of the whitewater rafting route that took us an entire day. During the flight back upstream, congregation of fat hippos under the water were easily spotted, as well as crocodiles sunning, and elephants striding in slow motion.

(Krysta in flight)

Raised in capitalism, we seek out deals. Many of the outfitters offer package deals that present additional alternatives to see the Zambezi. Two such add ons included the Sunset Cruise and the Sunset Safari. The street name for the Sunset Cruise is the Booze Crooze. Picture a boat overloaded with horny springbreakers in Cancun, turn them into Australians and South Africans, and there you have it. It made us feel old, but we were isolated to the American section of the boat with some great Peace Corps people. All we had to do was yell “Crocodile” to clear the bar so we could get our money’s worth. The clouds obscured a sunset, but nobody would have noticed anyhow.

The Sunset Safari was outstanding. We putted along the islands upstream of the falls with just five other people and our guide named Gift. We came so close to crocodiles, we could have tickled their cute little armpits. A bird enthusiast would have died and gone to Africa with the constant floating of the flocks, gaggles, murders, and sieges. We were treated to a partial sunset through the clearing cloudy horizon, the soft glow outlining dinosaur islands awaiting the landing of thousands of birds.