We left C. Vidal reluctantly, but we really did get a lot of unseasonable wind, which limited our beach activity a bit.
On our way to Mkuze (or Mkusi, or Mkuse, – take your pick), Jean did her shopping bit at the roadside market, whilst Sean took highjack watch (a shame, but it is necessary). Jean’s bargains were 24 small pineapples, 19 medium bananas, 6 large paw paws, for a total of R 15.00 – not too bad!!
Mkuze is a very pleasant reserve, the camp site is open and uncluttered – and unfenced – the ablutes are reasonably equipped and seem to have a very modern infra-red system that ascertains exactly when you have soaped yourself all over and then, unfailingly, cuts off the hot water. Otherwise not too shabby at all.
Dawn at the Campsite.
Kudu bull
We have spent a lot of time in the various – 5 in all – hides that are scattered around the park. They are very well designed, and we have had a lot of enjoyment watching the various animals and birds come down to drink. Nothing really special as far as the big 5 go, but it is really nice to observe the various buck and their behaviour. We have also had the opportunity on two occasions to watch a big family of Baboon (50/60) interacting. They really do behave like humans, particularly the little ones. Watching some of them throwing tantrums took us back a few years.
Unfortunately the Reserve does have a problem with domestic cattle who get in through the fence (or are let in – they appear very sleek and well fed!). The interesting thing is, that, at the water hole they frequent, they chase off all the other game. Why is it that all types of various game can mingle and drink together, yet not with domestic cattle? Perhaps it’s the smell of man.
Kumahlala hide.
Wildebeest and woolly Necked Stork. Now you see them.
Now you don’t
Years ago (well over 20) when we were here last, we went on a game walk. We decided to do so again, and just after we arrived we went up to the office to book it. ‘Let’s do a Bird Walk this time” said Jean,” and to make sure that we get the guide to ourselves we’ll book on Tuesday – midweek”.. Right…………!!
Came the morn (we had to report at 06:45), the setting was appropriate. Not only did we have to get up at Sparrow Farts, but it was as cold as a Witch’s Tit. Furthermore, our battery and gas had run out and Sean had the discomfort of listening (from his warm bed) to Jean trying to sort matters out in the dark.
Eventually we pitched at the rendezvous point expecting to find one lone guide, but no such luck. 6 earnest twitchers awaited our arrival. They were in pairs, Red hats, Blue hats, and White hats. We exchanged greetings, Mrs Red hat asked Sean which club we were members of – “Royal Natal Yacht Club”- she looked blank.
Anyway, off we went in single file, when, “Tweet!” – a group of earnest and excited octogenarians surrounded and trained their binoculars on a very ordinary bush. In said bush – somewhere – there was a small greyish feathered blob about the size of a 50 cent piece. After much discussion and reference to Roberts, Sasol; et al, a verdict was given – A Bleating Warbler! This went on for a number of “Tweets” and a number of bushes. Jean had a severe case of the giggles, and Sean was muttering that if we came across another Bleeding Warbler, he would give it something to Bloody well bleat about.
We suspected that possibly Mrs White hat may not really be with the opposition. When she asked the guide what “that big black bird was running into the grass” was, and he answered, “Banded Mongoose”, she made her position clear, and joined the Minogues at the back of the line.
Let it not be said that we were a lot of Dodos (poor word choice) however. There was a scuttle in the bush, and Jean immediately called out “Natal Robin!” to exclamations of awe and congratulation from the twitchers. She accepted their acclaim modestly but omitted to tell them that we had been sharing our breakfasts with Natal Robins for the last 3 weeks. Our score went up a bit with this, and also Sean’s sighting of a crocodile (Misafi had sharpened his wits), but then went down with Sean’s 3 dead branches and 1 rock.
In fact we didn’t show up too brightly at all. Our guide was also battling. His English was as good as our Zulu, and we had a very interesting 20 minutes when we were all searching a pan for a swimming baby mongoose, only to find out – with a brilliant piece of intuition from Jean – that in fact that he was talking about a Pygmy Goose, not “Piccaniny Mongoose”.
After a while – a long while – even the guide was taking strain – by this time the discussion was on the difference between the Sombre Bulbul and the Yellow chested Bulbul. He very cleverly found fresh Rhino spoor. A bit of life at last! We came up to 3 white Rhino. 2 stayed where they were and looked at us suspiciously, the 3rd disappeared off behind us. Most of us were trying to locate the missing Rhino, when —- “There’s a Black Collared Barbet in that bush” shouted Mrs Red Hat.
After that, even the guide gave up. We came back to our camp, sat down with a cup of tea and a brace of cold Castles and saw a damn sight more life from our chairs then we had in the past 3 hours.
In fact life in the camp site is quite exciting. We have a resident teenage Martial Eagle who keeps a wary eye on us, and we also have Rupert the Rhino. Last night Rupert came to within 20 metres of our own site (Sean measured it off this morning). He grazes away at a strip of new grass and we hear him chomping away through the night. He is quite oblivious to our presence but did make it fairly obvious that he did not like Sean shining a torch in his eyes. Sean, considerate, and not wishing to offend, turned the torch off.
Rupert the Rhino the next morning.
We also had some excitement in the ladies’ loo. Yesterday morning, various Tannies in various states of undress (they make towels bigger in the Free State) erupted from the ablutes with cries of “Daar is n boomslang in die toilet!”, later the guard gently evicted a harmless and confused Brilliant Bush Snake, who really had been minding his own business.
On the subject of snakes, we are still at war with the monkeys, and Patrick J. suggested a plastic snake to keep them at bay. Seems to be a good idea and we have seen it used by others. Jean is concerned however that a real live jobbie might take a liking to our artificial one and become very peed off when he (or she, or it), finds that the subject of his lust is a Japanese blow up job. Said snake might then make life very unpleasant for the Minogues. We are now, therefore, searching the toy shops for a play, play snake with negative sex appeal.
We are on our way to Louwsburg tomorrow. (If you don’t know where it is look it up). Unfortunately, we won’t make Kosi Bay – too many problems with Parks Board bookings. We did drive up and have a look at Jozini, though. The town is a disaster, but the dam is really something. Just short of 14,000 hectares and with a North Eastern shore similar to the Turkish Coast with its deep bays. Apparently, there is good Tiger fishing there.