In Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park we’ve gone over to the dark side … waking up early and setting out as the gates open, resting during the hottest time of the day when most respectable cats are under a tree, sleeping. Sadly, we still go to bed late … ish. First we stayed at the Nossob riverfront chalets, lining the dry Nossob riverbed, waterhole directly ahead.
Aaah, this is what Africa is all about.
And, there, at 8:30 in the morning after an hour’s drive was a leopard, loping towards us across the broad riverbed. He padded quietly, no worries, to the road where a couple of vehicles had already started gathering, threaded between two of them, then disappeared into the high yellow grasses. Enough for us to get a great viewing.
Ubiquitous to Kgalagadi, sociable weavers’ nests
Then at 10:30 a car stopped to tell us about two cheetah at a particular waterhole we were heading towards. Expecting to find the two cats lying lazily at the water, what we got was … four adolescent male lions marching down a hillside toward the waterhole! Willie Nelson’s “Band of Brothers” comes to mind.
I am very proud to say this (and the one below) was taken with my miniature Canon. The rest are H’s skills.
And so passed a highly entertaining hour of hi-jinx. Here, too, was a concrete slab over part of the water, which itself appeared not so easy to get to. The lions first had to negotiate stones across the mud, then balance precariously on an unstable concrete slab, then try not to overbalance as they leaned down to reach the water. They balanced, wobbled and stumbled. One squirmed under his brother to get to the water, the other jumped away and over other bodies, losing his footing. The largest of the four, with a reasonably developed mane, slid off the edge and toppled into the mud. It was so squelchy he simply sat there in total resignation, mud-encrusted right up to his muzzle, whiskers coated, nose caked. It was utterly hilarious.
The wild August Kalahari wind was still with us.
Feeling a little silly after his slide into mud.
Our next night’s stay, at Grootkolk Wilderness Camp (only four units), we sat watching a Full Moon rise pink and mysterious through the Kalahari dust (with a glass of wine in hand). Just as dusk was darkening, the shadowy outline of a giant male lion materialised at the waterhole, which lies in front of the units. After drinking forever, he turned and headed steadfastly straight for our unit with a determined glint in his eye (we could see because our binoculars were trained on him). And the night light was on.
Trouble is, in our wisdom, we had moved our table and camp chairs from the roofed veranda (secured by a gate) into the open braai quadrangle. We had only a shoulder-height open-link fence between us and an advancing male lion. We scuttled behind the gate of the veranda. He made a sudden turn left, then plopped down heavily 15 metres from our braai fence. And there he happily settled in. He was clearly an old grizzled dude; every now and again he would test out his voice with a feeble grunt. We felt sorry for him, thinking he had lost the ability to roar.
But our biggest problem was … how to get to our roaring fire, let alone carry our table and chairs back to safety? He appeared so settled we stealthily tiptoed back outside, lifted the table and hauled it back. He was unperturbed. Quite nonplussed.
And so our evening progressed. A slug of wine for courage, light on so we could see what we were doing, H. at the braai raising hefty aromas of grilled ribeye. (He was tempted to ask the old Meneer how he liked his steak done … maybe medium-rare for a change? H. decided against it.) In the end, it was a very amicable arrangement, H. at the braai, me chopping up salad, the lion giving out a few grunts a few metres away.
There he stayed until we were halfway through our meal. Then he got up, padded slowly behind our unit, and started revving up his vocal chords. Slowly, slowly, each grunt strengthened, then became powerful, got louder and louder. Finally we got a real meneer of a roar that thrilled us to our bones. The old codger settled outside the camp manager’s hut, where four or five times throughout the night he made sure he kept us awake with his territorial bellows.
A typical Kgalagadi scene, but this played out right in front of our chalet at Grootkolk. There was a constant flow of wildlife across the day. Magic.
I liked the pattern of the shadows here, lions a bonus.
We didn’t see our giant old lion the following day, but when we got to the furthest reaches of the park, at Union’s End, there was a female lion perched prettily on a sandy bank at the roadside. She was very aware of our presence (how could she not?) so after a while she crossed in front of us, climbed the road bank and turned to walk right past us for a little distance, then stopped, turned around. She seemed a little irritated and began walking purposefully towards us, head down and tense. Knowing the tyre-destroying reputation of Gharagab’s lions, the wilderness camp not too far away, H. slowly drew off. She leapt forward and started scampering after us at a pace.
Chased by a lion!
Union’s End … North, South, East, West in Afrikaans (Oost for East)
Staring at us very suspiciously before getting up to investigate further.
H. had to rev up considerably to get away from her, and eventually she just flopped down in the middle of the road and started rolling the sand, legs in the air.
A tiny too close for comfort …
Ask us if we’re having fun.
Mata Mata riverfront chalets, where we slept to lions roaring and awoke to lions roaring.
Fitting end to a fitting stay in Kgalagadi