We had arrived in our home in Cape Town around June 15th. Some two weeks later, we were all settled in. We had familiarized ourselves with our new surroundings and made initial contact with the group we were joining for our safari. It was time to get ready for our first adventure out of Cape Town.

The group, led by Ron Magill, included Nancy and Floyd Denison, their friends Katherine and Clay Stoddard and, of course us.

Ron describes himself modestly as a naturalist, but he is also an astoundingly talented photographer. He is big in conservation, big in ecology, big in his knowledge of Africa, big in his familiarity with animals - famous for his hilarious, photo-illustrated lecture on “Sex and the Animals” which, he is always careful in pointing out, is “Sex AND the animals”, not WITH the animals. Just about everything about Ron is big…even his size. He towers nearly seven feet, some two heads above us common creatures. He is a zealous worshiper of Mother Nature, believing that she is always in complete balance and she can do no wrong… lest man interferes.

Ron’s height turned out to be an invaluable asset at the airport, when we tried to find each other in the crowded departure terminal. He was like a beacon, easily visible in the milling rag-tag mob that was frantically trying to survive the check-in process.

Our safari adventure, planned to Ron’s precise specifications, involved two camps with three days and nights in each. The first camp, Phinda Forest Lodge, is located in Maputaland, outside of Durban. The second, Kirkman’s Kamp, is located in the Sand River Game Preserve where we had previously stayed at a marvelous camp called Mala-Mala and where we found the game viewing second to none. Both Phinda and Kirkman’s are managed, controlled and perhaps owned by “Conservation Corporation Africa” (CCA). Our last encounter with this organization was at the “Crater Lodge” at the edge of the Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania, and it was unforgettable…but that’s a different story.

First, a note about the weather … it was FREEZING … literally … it had snowed in Johannesburg the day before for the first time in a decade … and it was raining in the bush … last time it rained in July was 1947!

The flight from Cape Town to Durbin was uneventful. The transfer in Durban to a little single engine Cessna was uneventful as well…except for some winging from Nancy about the size of the plane and her fear of claustrophobia. But the little plane comfortably engulfed Ron, all seven feet of him, in one gulp, together with his considerable photographic equipment. Nancy wasn’t sure how it was all going to fit. But it did! An hour or so later, the plane’s tires squealed on the barely paved runway in the African bush, and we landed - cheered on by a family of warthogs, a bouquet of Giraffes and a cluster of rhinos - who used the landing strip as their daily diversion.

Phinda is situated in Maputoland, which is part of KwaZulu-Natal at the southern end of the great East African coastal plain. The seven or eight thousand acres that make up the preserve include savannas, wetlands and sand forests, all of which play host to thousands of large mammals including Elephant, Lion, Buffalo, Cheetah, Leopard and White & Black Rhino – the “Big Five” plus one (Cheetah).

Leaving the plane, we were delivered into the hands of the camp staff. At that point we were introduced to the Toyota Land Cruiser adapted for safari use. This vehicle was to become our universal mode of transportation for the Phinda portion of our safari adventure. We immediately dubbed it a “Truck”. Given the terrain we were covering and the extraordinary maneuvers this vehicle is capable of performing, it should really have been called a “Moon Buggy”.

It was now time to “Mount Up”! Whoever was able to climb into the truck first had the best choice of seat. Peter, being the slowest and oldest in the group (Oh poor me - I never get any respect for this) and Ron, being the most encumbered with photographic paraphernalia, were stuck in the last row of the truck. The first row is where the driver sits and lucky is he or she who sits next to him. The second, third, and fourth rows can accommodate three passengers each but really only two comfortably; the third row is elevated above the second, and the fourth rises above the third. Consequently, the ride in the last row allows for a little more visibility for which one must accept a bouncier ride. But the grab bars that surround the seating area are extremely well designed and security is never a question.

When we arrived at Phinda Forest Lodge, our home for the next three days, we were escorted to our bungalow, after the ubiquitous ceremonial welcome drink. We walked almost a mile, guided by the staff, to get there. We were number 17 of 17! But we didn’t mind the trek, as the path was level and soft, as well as full of wildlife surprises. Since the camp is not protected by fences, we encountered several species of antelope on the way to our bungalow, and we received a stern warning never to venture out at night without the company of an armed security guard. Although the idea that we were potential prey for any carnivores that may have failed to satisfy their needs in the bush outside of camp seemed preposterous to us, it was a sobering reminder that we were now indeed in the middle of an African wilderness.

The bungalow can best be described as a glass box in a forest, indeed a unique habitat. It was furnished in excellent and very sophisticated taste. However, no TV, no electronics, and no heat. The saving grace was the fact that the bed was king size and we had an electric blanket…life was good!

After we made ourselves at home in the bungalow, we trekked back to the lodge and made the acquaintance of our very own antelope, a lady Nyala which had established herself in the forest surrounding our bungalow to hold her daily tea party with a bunch of other Nyalas. To us, the encounter was thrilling. But we soon realized that there was nothing unusual about Nyalas at Phinda. The place was full of them and their presence in the middle of the camp hardly surprising. We surmised that they had to feel a sense of security, albeit a false one, from predators as they wandered so close to us humans.

When we reached the lodge, after the long trip from Cape Town, we were expecting some “down time”. Alas, given the rigors of Ron’s ambitious agenda, we were given about half an hour to eat lunch and get ready for the 3:00 pm game drive. It had been a frenetic, non-stop day.
And so, we mounted up again for our first game drive. The seating order in the truck changed in significant ways. Most notably, the general consensus was that Ron should sit in front - after all, he was not only the leader of the expedition, but the exigencies of his photographing assignment required excruciatingly detailed instruction to the driver of the truck. The driver, known as a “ranger”, was named Walter. He had been with Phinda since the beginning, and was the most experienced ranger around. He was working in tandem with a “tracker” who was perilously perched in a small seat attached to the left front fender of the Truck.

With the first row of seats occupied by Walter and Ron, Joyce and Peter displayed enough agility to quickly grab the second row. This was indeed a choice location, were it not for the fact that half the space was preempted by Ron’s bag of photographic equipment. But, on safari, no one ever complains. To do so would be admitting a fatal flaw of character.  Nancy and Floyd were in the third row. This gave Nancy a good vantage point from which to control Ron - and even the driver - at critical times. Floyd was busy testing out his video camera. Kathryne and Clay were stuck up high in the fourth row. They too were frantically testing their photographic equipment; Kathryne with a cute little digital camera and Clay with a video recorder.

As the truck got underway, Ron began to unfurl this humongous Nikon the size of naval cannon. He then proceeded to assemble a stand for this monster camera, which enabled him to maneuver the equipment as efficiently as a machine gun turret on top of a Humvee in a war zone. We watched the process with amazement, giving Ron full recognition now for being not only the leader of the expedition but the master of its technical paraphernalia.

Indeed, Nancy had a camera that looked like the grandson of Ron’s monster. It seemed to have the same kinds of adjustment knobs and control gadgets…only a much smaller lens. Ron gave her tons of hints, briefings and advice on how to use and adjust the camera so that she too would be able to escalate the business of picture taking into a refined art form.

All this preparation was not for naught. An hour or so later during the game drive, after seeing a gazillion Nyalas, Giraffes and Bushbucks, we emerged into a clearing and saw a magnificent Cheetah lying exhausted next to her kill, which must have occurred no more than a few minutes before we came upon the scene.

The Cheetah totally ignored us, being far more concern over Lions and other predators that might steal the product of her hunt, a hapless impala that had been a tad too slow for the chasing carnivore.

The kill scene triggered a frenetic paroxysm of clicks from all the cameras in the safari vehicle. Everybody was thrilled with the results, which were preliminarily displayed on the view screens with which the cameras were equipped. Throughout all this excitement, the Cheetah was unconcerned and the Impala, of course, was now in a completely different place.

It had started to get dark when Ron, having captured the perfect shot, declared: “Stick a fork in me, I’m done!” That was the signal to move on. And so we did. Driving through the dusk on the way to the lodge, we ran into three huge male lions, cat napping near some trees. Walter informed us that it was a fourteen year old father and his two sons who were well known by the trackers in the area. They seemed well fed and healthy. Dad was huge, had a magnificent, very dark mane and an incredibly regal demeanor as he walked away with majestic insouciance, passing around our truck.  We were told that he was well known throughout Africa as “the most beautiful lion in South Africa” – well deserved.

This would have renewed the torrent of camera clicks, but it was now getting too dark for even the most advanced flash systems. After a brief “Sundowner”… some time after the sun had already made its descent, we headed back to the lodge for dinner, with the tracker still installed on top of the fender, illuminating the road with a strong electric torch.

It was close to 7:00 PM when we reached the lodge. A wonderful wood log fire warmed us, dinner was excellent and, just as we were appropriately mellow and ready for a nice long night of rest, Ron announced that “reveille” in the morning would be at 5:30 am so that we could proceed with our morning game drive by 6:15 am. To Joyce’s consternation, Peter was the only one who felt impelled to express some chagrin at the crazy hours. He was hoping that others would join him and beg for a little more sleep time. Of course, he knew better than persist in this manner, as Joyce, who is always gung-ho, had already severely admonished Peter to stop whining or be left behind!

The next morning, everybody was full of ambition. Ron wanted to find the lions from the previous night so we could photograph them in the daylight. Since rain was threatening, many animals had gone into hiding. We saw far less than the previous day; Walter and the tracker found a bunch of Lion paw prints and Elephant dung, but the perpetrators were nowhere to be found. At one point, both jumped out of the truck as if they had found a hot trail. They walked some distance down the sandy path; the tracker then came back and grabbed the rifle from the truck. This provided a great deal of levity when Clay, with his dry sense of humor, yelled after him: “wait… at least leave the gun!” as if our ranger and our tracker were going to abandon us, defenseless, in the middle of the bush.

The morning game drive lasted until 10:00 am. That’s when we finally got our well deserved and opulent breakfast.

We thought that the afternoon game drive would muster at 3:00 pm like on the prior day. Alas, the ever-eager Ron had changed all that the game drive would start at 2:00 pm to give us more time to find the lions in daylight.

So we girded our loins and, promptly at 2:00 pm we were all present and accounted for, ready to board our Land Cruiser. At first, we didn’t see much, as we focused on the pursuit of the male lions. In fact, the most persistent game caught by the camera lenses was Ron’s slightly balding pate that stood out on the front seat, hatless, like a weathervane behind the ubiquitous monster camera.

The afternoon … which turned into an evening and night… game drive ended without any notable event except that we did find the lions while it was still light! We also saw lots of Nyalas, lots of impalas, a few red and grey Duikers and, of course, Giraffes, which had a way of appearing out of nowhere and providing amusement to us because they seemed to be a mass of contradictions. They live on foliage that no one can reach; they are massive without really looking heavy; they are no one’s prey but they don’t bite; they escape the fate of their ungulate brethren by being able to deliver deadly kicks in all directions; they seem awkward until you see them run, then you can appreciate the extent to which all these long limbs are coordinated to become a very effective traveling machine.

On the afternoon of the second day at Phinda, Ron had made arrangements for us to visit a Zulu village. It was a pleasant contrast to the pro-forma game drive. Upon arrival, we were greeted by the official Zulu host who literally drew a line in the sand, thereby designating where we should stand, namely behind that line! He was dressed as a warrior with short lance and shield…just like the kind that had killed Michael Caine in the film “Zulu”. He then proceeded to acquaint us with Zulu customs, asking questions and exchanging information in his native language. He managed that so well that a kind of jocular conversation actually took place between the visitors and the Zulu host. As one would expect, the subject was wives and, consistent with local custom, the question was how many cows is a wife worth, as cows are the medium of exchange. For example, his three wives cost him ten cows, etc. We all picked up the concept with great enthusiasm.

This introductory bantering gained us access to the rest of the village where, at its center, we were ushered to a covered open shed lined with several tiers of benches. This was the space where we were treated to a fabulous dance performance inspired by the war-like history of the Zulu tribes.

After the third night and another 5:30 am reveille, we set out on our last game drive at Phinda. Nancy had gotten her fifth camera wielding lesson; Ron had once again thanked Walter for the excellence of his driving and the acuity of his tracking skills. When the sun finally made its appearance and after we warmed up a bit, we started to enjoy the birds, which are truly spectacular…if they would just stay in one place and not fly away the moment we got them into focus. The Crowned Hornbill seemed the most popular, although many would undoubtedly dispute this. We also saw Lilac-breasted Rollers, Bee-eaters and “Flying Bananas” which are just another kind of Hornbill.

Peter, who doesn’t own a camera, found all of this a little boring. His thrill of the game drive was enhanced by the fact that the weather had turned. It was now even colder, windy and raining. He could not see very well, the poncho designed to keep the water out was ill fitting and had soaked the blanket on which he was sitting; he wanted the warmth of a fire and the breakfast that had been withheld until the game drive was over. And now, his bladder chimed in - it too had something to say. It was at this point, after almost three hours into the game drive that Peter couldn’t believe his ears when he heard Ron ask whether we had had enough and whether the group was ready to head back to the lodge. When Peter heard that, he was crushed. “What?” He blurted out loudly, “I thought we had been heading back for the last hour!”

For reasons he completely failed to understand, everybody laughed at that, except Ron, who was imperturbable, and merely turned to give Peter a withering look of complete disdain. He was now forever identified as an insensitive Philistine in his appreciation of the animal world.
Eventually we did get back, had our breakfast and then rushed to the landing strip to meet the little Cessna that would deliver us to Kirkman’s Kamp.

Kirkman’s Kamp is in Sabi Sands, a 3000+ acre private game preserve, which abuts the famous Kruger National Park. Having had a safari experience at Mala-Mala a few years ago, this felt like a homecoming for Joyce and Peter, only better. The last time we were there, we were housed in a very luxurious air conditioned bungalow that overlooked the Sand River. This time, we were housed at Kirkman’s Kamp, where the bungalows were just as luxurious as Mala-Mala, but where the base Lodge was very special. It was Harry Kirkman’s homestead back in the ‘20s when he was originally involved in transforming the land now occupied by the Sabi Sand Game Preserve into a cattle ranch. This enterprise might well have succeeded were it not for the Lions that considered the effort an invitation to supper. The reprisals were devastating for the Lions. Kirkman killed 520 of them along with countless other horn and teeth bearing animals. The photos, paintings and drawings that adorn the walls of the lodge are almost as prolific as the achievements of what must have been a small army of taxidermists. The displays of horns, animal heads and sundry weapons leave no doubt that Harry Kirkman must have been the epitome of the proverbial “Great White Hunter”. The trophies were displayed everywhere, and the combination of the colonial proportions of the building, the heavy dark wood furniture and the rich ornamentation of the place all served to reinforce a sense of living Colonial African history.  What really lent drama to this was a large, dominant portrait of the man, in which he looked like the spitting image of George Herbert Bush, our erstwhile former President.

That and the perennial burning logs in two fire places, plus an unlimited access to a full array of liquors displayed in the small salon where we gathered, enhanced the feeling that we were indeed in a hallowed place. Floyd happened to have some Cuban cigars with him, and Peter was singing the virtues of V.S.O.P. Cognac. That sealed the fatal decision for the two of them to sneak away after dinner and sit by the fire to solve all the problems of the world!

While Nancy marveled over all this, she could not resist expressing her fear of seeing an actual kill, as Sabi Sands is famous for its abundance of leopards,. She thought she could not stand that, but everybody reassured her that seeing a kill would be highly unlikely and not to worry.
Kirkman differs from Phinda in a number of respects. Unlike Phinda, our bungalow was very close to the Kirkman Homestead which served as the base lodge for the camp. The air was as cold as at Phinda, but the bungalows at Kirkman’s were heated. This cast a whole new perspective on how we felt about the camp. More importantly, we noted that there was a lot more game within the Sabi Sand Preserve than we had seen at Phinda, where the game seemed healthier but was clearly scarcer. At Phinda, we were wallowing in Nyalas; at Kirkman’s it was Kudus - a fair trade. But we also saw lots of other game, including the in-camp pet Warthogs who literally mowed the grass under the tables where we were eating near the veranda of the base camp.

How does one deal with all this wild life. Joyce, having been a banker, thought of making a spread sheet, but it was Ron who turned out to be obsessively systematic in the protocol of game viewing. He had to see – and photograph - at great length - in just the right light – the “Big Five”.  So he ordained that on our first day we had to see Lions (whether they were there or not), on the second day it would be Rhinos, on the third, Elephant, etc.  We had seen 4 of the 5 at Phinda – all that was left was Leopard.

Well, the animals of course had their own ideas. The weather had turned to rain and the morning game drive had turned a little tedious, particularly as the animals were not so stupid as to stand there in the rain waiting to be assaulted by the inevitable barrage of camera clicks.  However, we encountered a most amazing scene. Our Ranger and Tracker had uncovered a den of Cape Hunting Dogs, also known as African Wild Dogs. It was feeding time, and a litter of some fourteen tiny pups, about a month old, were crawling out of the den and were spreading over the little hill that covered the den in search of mommy, who was sprawled near the bottom of the hill evidently trying to get some rest between feedings. The other adults were out hunting, and we guessed that they were due to make their appearance fairly soon. The pups were a lively and comical bunch, in constant motion, but far from ready to fend for themselves. Ron told us how well organized and intelligent these dogs were, and how they had earned the reputation of being the most efficient and deadliest hunters in the bush.

As the day went on, we were eventually allowed to have our breakfast and, by 2:00 pm, we were ready for the afternoon game drive that would last until maybe 7:00 pm. The weather had improved, and we saw lots of game. Everything was serene until, all of a sudden, as the sun was beginning its descent, Elliot, our Ranger and Driver, brought the Rover to a stop some twenty meters from a tree. He and the tracker had spotted a Leopard in that tree. We were in awe. It seemed the Leopard must have been aware of our presence because after maybe five minutes, she came down and started to walk away. This was the signal for Elliot, to swing into action and follow the Leopard on its seemingly leisurely, stealthy lope through the thorny bushes and impossible terrain, with no particular discernible destination. For the Land Rover, it was an impressive demonstration of its virtuosity. For the driver and the tracker, keeping us a close distance to the Leopard was an exercise in persistence. We crashed through the thorns and branches for about half an hour, always keeping a respectful distance from the Leopard. She finally stopped in the middle of some bush - there was a bit of rustling and a small yelp. By the time we looked in that direction, we saw the leopard emerge with its jaws clamped on the neck of a Bush Buck; we had witnessed a kill.

Ron explained that the Leopard had killed its prey by instantly breaking its spinal cord and that, in all probability the Bush Buck had been selected some time earlier when the cat was still in the tree where we first saw her.

But the whole thing occurred so fast that we were all in shock. Nancy, having realized her worst fear, broke down and, with tears in her eyes, kept insisting that the buck was not yet dead, as she saw its legs twitching as it was being dragged painstakingly by the Leopard to a place safe from other predators. Ron tried in vain to console her, trying to convince her that indeed the buck was quite dead, and that any movement she may have seen was nothing more than a post mortem spasm.

This incident renewed - with even greater spirit - the long discussion she had had with Ron a few days earlier about the “Natural Order” of things. There is no question that Mother Nature can be a real bitch, and the bush is certainly a place where cruelty, whether or not intended, is prevalent. The question is whether man should interfere? Therein lie the differences between Nancy and Ron and the demise of the buck raised this question to a whole new level.

The issue resurfaced the very next day when, in the course of the morning game drive, we ran into a pile of three lionesses and two adorable cubs. Everything seemed quite serene until we noticed that the cubs were doing a lot of licking. They were licking their mother and each other.

The charm of this pastoral scene, however, was quickly lost and turned to horror when Elliot explained the reality of the situation. The two cubs were starving, and this was OK with their mother, who seemed to not care. On further observation, we saw how she swatted the cubs out of the way as they vainly attempted to nurse from what seemed a dry udder. The licking was nothing more than a child’s expression for food!

It was Joyce’s turn to breakdown - half in anger at the bad mother lioness and half in pity for the cubs who, according Elliot, would probably not survive.  She couldn’t understand why we couldn’t take them from the mother and hand feed them.  Of course, as the ranger explained, the cold reality is – what exactly does a game reserve do with a grown lion that is unafraid of humans because of hand-raising!  And here again, we encounter the belief in non-interference by Man, which is the real issue.

Peter suggested that perhaps we could feed a conservationist to the cubs and thus keep them alive a bit longer, but nobody thought this was funny.

Before leaving Kirkman’s Kamp, we saw a lot of Elephants and their families, as well as Giraffes, Mongooses (or is it Mongeese?) and, wonder of wonders, a pack of Hyenas. We also saw a large herd of Cape buffaloes, although we were at a total loss about their social dynamics.

There is no question that, between Phinda and Kirkman’s Kamp, we all had a most exiting adventure. Indeed, we had seen the Big Five; we had seen a kill and a whole bunch of birds and tasted a bit of Zulu culture. While a lot of what we saw was demystified by Ron Magill and the excellent guides who drove us through the bush, it could not, however, mitigate the effects of the emotional roller coaster engendered by the brutality of survival in the wild.