Home » Botswana » Jul 24, 2004 Khwai River - Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana

“The Night of the Quelea...” Has kind of a ring to it, don’t you think? Like some bad B movie I saw as a kid in the late sixties. (Why do the late sixties seem like another epoch?) Well if this evening’s game drive were to be given any sort of moniker, “Night of the Quelea” would be it; and it’s a far, far cry from any second-rate film seen at some matinee on a summer afternoon when I was ten. Sometimes nature just opens up her arms and reveals something that is beyond imagining, letting you know that all your petty ambitions are of little consequence and most times just silly. Hey, don’t just take it from me, the Africa newbie; both Alwyn and Stanley said they’ve never seen anything like it either, and they do this for a living. Upon returning to camp this evening I made the comment to Nicky what a great writing exercise it would be to describe what we had just seen. Well, I’ve now set the stage and have no choice but to follow through with those words and embark on an exercise that will only prove my inadequacy in such regard. I persevere nonetheless (dragging you all along with me); but not before bringing us up to date on the last two days – a slight reprieve. The reward will be the Night of the Quelea. <br />

Jul 24, 2004 Khwai River - Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana

Tom Schueneman
2006-03-27 15:39:27

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a nylon cord between me and 350 feet of freefall, the waiting rocks poking up out of the river below, taunting me, daring me. Besides, I have an out – I’ve got bad knees. My idea of fun lies most definitely elsewhere. (Have I mentioned that I like airplanes and used to fly? There’s no nylon cord holding up an airplane)

Exhausted from all this talk of jumping off bridges, Jayne and I retired to tent #2.

While lying in the dark I listened for the troop of baboon that Stanley told me earlier was hanging out behind his tent. Not sure what to listen for, I did hear the unmistakable sound of a hippo grunting and a mysterious call in the distance – was it jackal? hyena? lion? I drifted off to sleep pondering the great nocturnal wilderness all around me, right outside our tent...

Our game drive this morning took us by the same algae infested pool we passed on our way in from the airstrip – only to find the same hippo looking as if he’d barely moved an inch since yesterday. “He’s dead!” cried Scott. “No” replied Stanley, “just not very happy.”

The real prize for the morning game drive was a pair of wild dogs resting idly in some tall grass by the side of the trail, possibly eyeing-up some Impala in the distance. The sad truth is that the reason there are so many Impala around is that they are food for so many predator, this pair among them. Wild dog bears only a faint resemblance to the domestic variety that responds to “come here, boy!” back home. More related to a wolf than the dog in your back yard, our pair had brownish red coats, probably weighing in at about seventy pounds. Their most striking feature was their large, rounded ears sticking out on top of their heads. Alwyn found the dogs and alerted Stanley by radio. By the time we arrived there was actually a bit of crowd, owing to the fact that wild dog are endangered and not commonly seen in the area. So we joined Alwyn and a couple of Piccadilly Circus trucks (probably 20 people in all – a veritable traffic jam out in the bush) to quietly watch the wild dogs quietly watching the Impala quietly grazing in the distance. There are so many things to hear when it is quiet, it amazes me the depth and nuance of the sound field when it isn’t blanketed with a constant barrage of over-compressed, over-amplified, mind-numbing sound. I should know, over-compressed, over-amplified, mind-numbing sound is what I do for a living. Everything in its place, I guess. I use the remnants of my once pristine hearing to learn from this pristine soundscape. God, I think I want to go hug a tree right now! There’s one right outside our tent.

And thus have been our days here along the Khwai River. Up at the crack of dawn, a bowl of oatmeal, glass of orange juice, and cup of coffee for breakfast, then load into the Land Cruiser de jour to watch the world awaken in the long shadows of the early morning sun. Back for lunch and siesta, and then back out for evening game drive. I’ve worked on my bird list since yesterday, adding white glover, bateleur eagle, pearl-spotted owl, and African jacana. Many of these birds spied along the pools and marshes of the floodplain, a hippo or two nearby watching with those bulging eyes on top of their heads protruding from the still surface of the water.

The intricate web moves, undulates, intimates – and goes on.

And now it is time for the Night of the Quelea.