Kruger Magic

Legogote Mountain was etched against the indeterminate blue of pre-dawn, gentle horizontal clouds lit with delicate pink and pale grey gave substance to the morning.

I had to get a picture! As I moved back onto the road, I checked my rearview mirror and there was the moon, as big as I have ever seen it, looking for the horizon.

What a day to be going to one of my favourite places, Kruger. My friend, Karen, was waiting at the turn off to their farm. They too had seen the moon, the gorgeous Lowveld sky with its promise for a glorious day, despite dire weather predictions for cold and wind and snow and mayhem.

As we wound our way up the hill through the suburbs towards Numbi Gate, our view of the breaking day improved, the colours, the glow magical. As we reached the final hilltop, ready to turn right to Numbi Gate, the sun arrived, no fuss. One minute it was all colours and potential, the next the main actor in this early morning drama took control of the stage.

Numbi Gate was quiet, we were the only car in the carpark. A couple of Game Viewers were ahead of us, but we were quickly processed and through the barrier into the Park.

“Hello, Krugs” I yelled out of the window as I always do. “Usual route?”

Karen nodded, so I turned left onto the gravel road that would lead us to the Phabeni Road. The sun’s rays were oblique, the air gentle enough in temperature for us to have the windows down.  I felt the worries and stresses of the past months slide away from my neck and shoulders as I began to scan the trees, and peer through gaps in the grass, still long and thick from late summer rains.

There was a time when the two of us would go at least once and usually, twice, a month. Karen is the best of companions, gentle and peaceful, knowledgeable and who enjoys the birds as much as everything else that Kruger offers, as do I. But the last year has been too busy, and we have managed fewer trips – this was our first this year.

There were fresh tracks on the road – giraffe; and lots of fresh evidence of elephant.

“There was dung outside the toilet at the gate,” Karen said.

“That’s close,” I answered. “Pleased it was before we went!”

We turned into the carpark overlooking the Mtshawu Dam. The hippos were napping after their night of grazing, no doubt thawing out in the water. A few water birds, but too early for anyone to be needing a drink.

We went on our way and soon found the giraffe, an elegant lady standing in the road, chewing thoughtfully. The rest of the herd were well camouflaged in the grass – some eight eventually appearing. Then it was the turn of the zebra, happily camouflaged in the early morning shadows, gnus, impala. We saw a dark chanting goshawk, and what we thought might be a juvenile gymnogene, now called an African Hawk Harrier.

We reached the tar road and saw Kudu, and a steenbok who surprisingly posed for us instead of scampering away as they usually do. Nyamundwa Dam is a favourite spot. It was warmer now, so animals were arriving and leaving. A newborn hippo stood uncertainly in the sun, impala pretended they were being chased, wildebeest stood in happy formation, their reflection in the water a possibility for a painting.

We reached the tar road and saw Kudu, and a steenbok who surprisingly posed for us instead of scampering away as they usually do. Nyamundwa Dam is a favourite spot. It was warmer now, so animals were arriving and leaving. A newborn hippo stood uncertainly in the sun, impala pretended they were being chased, wildebeest stood in happy formation, their reflection in the water a possibility for a painting.

We had our yoghurt – another ritual. Egg sarmies would come later, for lunch, My heart and soul were filling up rapidly.

As we approached the turn off to Lake Panic, a hand waving urgently appeared out a car stopped in front of us.

Familiar shapes. “It’s lion,” I said.

A pair, in gorgeous condition, although thin. We imagined they were fresh off a shagfest and hoping the rest of the pride had saved them some grub. They stood in the road long enough for a photo shoot, and then the lady made her way into the bush.

I sent a photo to my sons. I had already sent a picture of the early morning zebra. I fondly imagine they believe I share these moments because I miss them and wish they were present. They are sceptical.

“Oh stop it,” came the response from my youngest.

“He’s gorgeous.” I typed.

“Pat him.”

The firstborn responded later with a video of wild dogs from the safari he is on in Zambia.

“Get you,” I shot back at him.

The male, a king in magnificent stature, stopped on a ridge about ten metres off the road to survey what he could see of his kingdom. In the process we got to admire him and take good pictures.

The second half of our day belonged to buffalo. Many buffalo.

After a stop at Skukuza for the loo and slap chips (French fries for those of you who are not familiar with South African vernacular) we took the route along the river to Lower Sabie. The tar road is closed while they fix a bridge that was washed away in the floods a couple of months ago, so we were close to the water.

As we waited for the traffic on a one-way bridge, a familiar set of heavy horns poked out of the bush. A herd of about 500 buffalo, I guessed, although a report later said 400, doing what buffalo do: lie around in the sun, eat grass, or simply look dumb.

Too soon it was time to head home. A shadow had us both leaning forward peering heavenwards through the windscreen. A bateleur, but what was the other eagle? It obliged our curiosity by landing on the road in front of us to pick at some remains, and we realised it was a juvenile Bateleur. I tried to surreptitiously inch closer, but he flew off.

Transport Dam offered its usual mix of interesting birds: Woolly Neck Storks, a huge yellow crocodile keeping warm on a rock, impala and waterbuck, a Squacco Heron, leguaan, a fish eagle showing off as it skimmed low over the water.

The lions were not waiting for us at Shitlhave, the next dam, but elephant were there.

Time to head home. Thankfully, Kruger was not done with us.

On the short stretch from Pretoriaskop to Numbi, we came over a rise to see movement ahead of us, a couple of cars stopped, facing us. Buffalo, moving a little restlessly on the left side of the road. We stopped, switched off the motor, and watched as most of the herd crossed the road – super to watch, the sentries on the outsides, watchful and alert, cows with their calves stopping to look curiously at us, older ones disinterested now that any hint of danger had been dispelled.

“A good day,” Karen said.

“Yes. We cannot wait so long again.”

Our day was not done, however, as in a final goodbye, we saw a lazy ellie, leaning against an insignificant tree, pulling at the grass.

Thank you, Krugs, my heart is full, my batteries recharged.