Had there been no wildlife reserves nor national parks, it is doubtful if much wildlife, apart from birds and the smaller reptiles, and insects would be found in Malawi. All would have long since been poached or hunted into near or total extinction; even in the massive Lake Malawi the once bounteous fish life is suffering a serious decline with only the smaller of the species eluding the fishermen’s nets and those hunting mediums are getting more deadly as their meshes get small and smaller. On several occasions as Paul drove along he would point out areas where, not that many years ago, wildlife and game was not an uncommon sight; today they have all gone.
However, all is not lost; far from it. Malawi now has several parks and reserves, all carefully managed and controlled; in addition there are the multitude of forest reserves which apart from conserving and protecting the abundant spread of trees also provide shelter (and safety) for many species of wildlife.
Since one could not visit all the parks and reserves as we went about the Patrol, Paul had decided to take me to just one, Liwonde national park at the southern end of Lake Malawi. Again I was to go there alone, Paul dropping me off at the jetty to catch the ferry across the wide and beautiful Shire (pronounced Sherry)River and to Mvuu Camp.
Privately he must have feared the worst. My two previous solo trips had not been without incident and now staying in a camp whose very name meant hippopotamus could be courting trouble. Mvuu was chosen not just to titillate visitors, but also reflect that these great beasts (and the most dangerous) would come ashore at night and graze between the chalets that made up the camp’s accommodation. Mvuu is an onomatopoeic word, being the sound, according to natives, that hippos make. Listening to them in the still of the night, I think they have a point.
Lone elephant
Liwonde had something in common with Mumbo Island: both were reflections of paradise. At Mvuu I had a waterside chalet to myself; sitting in the shade of the small patio I was blessed with a fine view across the Shire. Bank side trees on my side of the river afforded shelter for a multitude of birds, while butterflies and other flying things flittered between the small bushes and undergrowth. Across the Shire about a dozen hippos (all going ‘mvuu’) were half sunk in the water, just a few feet away from the waterside rushes.
Mvuu Camp staff ensured that visitors saw as much as possible during their stay. That evening I would join others in one of those specially designed open vehicles so familiar in game parks and which afforded the best possible viewing for all. Walking around the park was strictly forbidden, unless accompanied by a guide and then both of us under the watchful eye of another ranger, this one armed with a high powered rifle. For next morning I had booked the services of a guide (and rifleman!) to take a very early walk before breakfast. After that, there would be time for a short rest before embarking with others on a small powered boat for a long trip along the Shire.
Clambering aboard the vehicle on the evening ride, I wondered if the combination might not be too much for my camera: fading light, nervous animals, a bumpy vehicle; switching controls would have to be a nippy business. One animal in plentiful supply was the impala. Surely they must be the most prolific of buck, found everywhere in southern Africa. They must have had Mvuu Camp surrounded, for everywhere one looked there were these beautiful antelopes looking back at you, caution manifest in their gaze.
Plunging into the woodlands, the wildlife soon made itself known. Elephants, kudu, the stately, slightly arrogant sable, the comic warthog with young scuttling behind their parents, buffalo, hippos wallowing in half hidden ponds and, of course, fish eagles standing watch in the trees. A cat-like creature, the genet, stopped to look at us and then bolted into the anonymity of nearby undergrowth.
Light was fading fast as we headed out of the woodland and towards more open country, making for the banks of the Shire and, hopefully, one of the sunsets that Malawi is justly famous for. A few more elephants, in twos or three, a small herd of zebra and then into the open and coming to a halt by the river, now darkening as day slipped away.
It was not quite dark, the setting sun giving enough light to see the humped backs of hippos in the water, or the occasional disturbance of water as a crocodile rose and sank once more into the darkness of the river. Our party sat or strolled along the river bank (but not too far away) and listened to rather than saw the creatures of the night. Then a farewell drink from essential supplies carried in the vehicle and it was back to Mvuu and the last meal of the day.
There were two tables at which sat English people. Strange how, despite more travel nowadays, the English reserve still holds off allcomers. Neither table acknowledged the other, even by a nod and ‘good evening’ while the smiling, hurrying waiters were barely acknowledged as they performed their duties. Being solo (and on Patrol) I had my own table, a situation that quickly led to guests at tables either side (filled, I think, with Dutch) soon had me chatting about the day’s events. My waiter quickly realised that when one beer (or ‘green’) was finished, a replacement was required; words were not spoken.
And so to bed. Making my way back to the chalet I passed a notice which warned of the possible presence of hippos, a reminder which caused an increase in pace and maintaining a careful lookout. Never get between a hippo and water. . . .
Once or twice in the night I awoke and could hear the ‘mvuu’ sound of hippos; some clearly were still out in the river’s shallows, but one or maybe two might have been on shore and none too far away. Apart from looking through my bedroom window, I did nothing to check if they were grazing nearby.
Mvuu Camp staff ensured that visitors saw as much as possible during their stay. That evening I would join others in one of those specially designed open vehicles so familiar in game parks and which afforded the best possible viewing for all. Walking around the park was strictly forbidden, unless accompanied by a guide and then both of us under the watchful eye of another ranger, this one armed with a high powered rifle. For next morning I had booked the services of a guide (and rifleman!) to take a very early walk before breakfast. After that, there would be time for a short rest before embarking with others on a small powered boat for a long trip along the Shire.
Clambering aboard the vehicle on the evening ride, I wondered if the combination might not be too much for my camera: fading light, nervous animals, a bumpy vehicle; switching controls would have to be a nippy business. One animal in plentiful supply was the impala. Surely they must be the most prolific of buck, found everywhere in southern Africa. They must have had Mvuu Camp surrounded, for everywhere one looked there were these beautiful antelopes looking back at you, caution manifest in their gaze.
Plunging into the woodlands, the wildlife soon made itself known. Elephants, kudu, the stately, slightly arrogant sable, the comic warthog with young scuttling behind their parents, buffalo, hippos wallowing in half hidden ponds and, of course, fish eagles standing watch in the trees. A cat-like creature, the genet, stopped to look at us and then bolted into the anonymity of nearby undergrowth.
Light was fading fast as we headed out of the woodland and towards more open country, making for the banks of the Shire and, hopefully, one of the sunsets that Malawi is justly famous for. A few more elephants, in twos or three, a small herd of zebra and then into the open and coming to a halt by the river, now darkening as day slipped away.
It was not quite dark, the setting sun giving enough light to see the humped backs of hippos in the water, or the occasional disturbance of water as a crocodile rose and sank once more into the darkness of the river. Our party sat or strolled along the river bank (but not too far away) and listened to rather than saw the creatures of the night. Then a farewell drink from essential supplies carried in the vehicle and it was back to Mvuu and the last meal of the day.
There were two tables at which sat English people. Strange how, despite more travel nowadays, the English reserve still holds off allcomers. Neither table acknowledged the other, even by a nod and ‘good evening’ while the smiling, hurrying waiters were barely acknowledged as they performed their duties. Being solo (and on Patrol) I had my own table, a situation that quickly led to guests at tables either side (filled, I think, with Dutch) soon had me chatting about the day’s events. My waiter quickly realised that when one beer (or ‘green’) was finished, a replacement was required; words were not spoken.
And so to bed. Making my way back to the chalet I passed a notice which warned of the possible presence of hippos, a reminder which caused an increase in pace and maintaining a careful lookout. Never get between a hippo and water. . . .
Once or twice in the night I awoke and could hear the ‘mvuu’ sound of hippos; some clearly were still out in the river’s shallows, but one or maybe two might have been on shore and none too far away. Apart from looking through my bedroom window, I did nothing to check if they were grazing nearby.
Monitor lizard
Just after five in the morning I was dressed and making my way to the appointment with a game warden named Danger (plus armed guard) and a walk through the woodlands to see whatever might be stirring. The sun was well risen, the cool morning air combined with the gentle breeze to make for a pleasant and quite absorbing ramble.
Inevitably there were the usual legions of graceful impala, but also we were rewarded with sightings of an occasional waterbuck, warthogs, a mongoose and a small herd of elephant which, apart from casting suspicious glances at our small party, carried on eating on the edge of the woodland until, searching for fresh pastures, they moved further into the trees and were swallowed up.
Danger proved a fine guide. He would stop, point to a tree and explain its fruit, which animals would eat it or ignore it; there were other trees that could supply a liquid that served very well as washing soap; others were a source of natural medicines; carvings, at which Malawian people were so adept, were fashioned from the wood of other types. Half way through the walk we came across quite a large clearing in the wood.
Coming to a large, circular clearing Danger explained that there had once been a small native village, but had been demolished and its inhabitants moved elsewhere to make way for the national park. I had been lucky, just being the only visitor on the walk and perhaps had more of an insight into the park’s attractions and mysteries. Anyway, time and breakfast were beckoning.
Of the three tours around Liwonde, the river trip was by common consent the best offering. A rest period after breakfast and then down to the jetty and the powered boat. Even to the least imaginative, the Shire River looked like what an African waterway should look like. Broad, handsome and sparkling in the late morning sun; rushes and small trees crowding the shallow banks; where there just grassy banks birds of all hues and sizes gathered to feed, forage and generally make a noise. Our guide was Danger (“I do everything,” he grinned, displaying a fine row of white teeth, in answer to my observation the he seemed to turn up everywhere).
Hippos were everywhere. Their lifestyle suggested just two functions in the water: mostly submerged with just part of the head and raised eyes above the water or, secondly, yawning opening their enormous mouths and displaying a throat that must have had the capacity to take on ox, if they’d been carnivores. Their teeth were of the magnitude that anything could be crushed to pieces. That these huge beasts are herbivores is almost a contradiction when gazing at their formidable display.
Crocodiles were much in evidence; by and large they appeared quite content to just lie and laze on muddy banks of the river. That such apparently languid creatures can move in and out of the water at incredible speeds is again another of Nature’s extraordinary contradiction. The remark of one of the visitors that one crocodile appeared to be dead in the shallow water drew a cautionary shake of the head from Danger, with what must have been an oft times reminder that one never trusts a crocodile’s appearance. One reptile that apparently feared neither the crocodile’s speed nor reputation was the monitor lizards, which made their ungainly way along the riverside.
We sailed gently on, quite blasé now about the presence of hippos, some basking just feet away, and crocodiles of which the occasional one or two would churn up the river’s water as they plunged deep into the Shire. Then a turtle swam by, a creature not that often seen Danger assured us. At first we had though it a small hippo basking almost submerged, but the noise of our approach stirred him into paddling furiously out of harm’s way.
By now our boat was well down river. Danger had steered the boat away from the Shire’s east bank and set a course down the middle. Suddenly he pointed and said, “Elephant’. And sure enough there they were, about half a mile ahead, their great bulks largely hidden as they swam and bathed. There must have been around a dozen, some just floating, a few using their trunks to spray those places where water could not reach. One or two white ibis were perched on elephants’ backs, for what purpose it was difficult to work out for they never moved. Surely they were not there for the ride, for the elephants were hardly making any movement in the water apart from being there, nor did they pick away at any insect life that might have taken up temporary residence on the thick-skinned beasts.
Most enjoyable! A cinnamon breasted roller
For twenty minutes or so Danger gently steered the boat alongside the bathing pachyderms, but not too close for that might cause our small craft to be capsized by a startled or irritated bather. Danger had reduced the engine’s nose to the absolute minimum and so we all were able to enjoy, indeed vicariously share, the morning ablutions.
Then it was time to go. Danger backed the boat gently away as first one, and then two followed by a fourth as the herd laboriously waded out of the river and back on to dry land. Not until viewed in their full size did we appreciate what mighty creatures they were. Emerging now were the almost sunken bodies, the hidden curves of the sweeping tusks, the sunken trunks up to now only seen when being gyrated to send out powerful jets of water. Slowly, majestically the herd moved and rose out of the river, savouring the last exquisite moments of submersion before disappearing along the hidden paths through the rushes.
Soon they were had gone; Danger turned the boat round and back we went to Mvuu. There did not seem much point in lingering too long over the return; we all had so enjoyed the experience and felt that nothing could follow it for the time being. And so we landed back at the camp jetty. All that remained was to pack, arrange for a time to be ferried back across the Shire and then depart to our various destinations.
First thing noticed when I got off the ferry was that Paul was not there. That in itself was nothing to get alarmed about. Timetables in Malawi were of interest not for adherence, or at least that was the impression gained. To pass the time I strolled around where the ferry had dropped me. Nothing of much interest, although a rather large number of different kinds of boats, mostly small, had been abandoned there, or drawn up on the banks and left there to rot away. One or two were dugout canoes which, one assumed, have only a comparatively short life span before disintegration sets in.
Sitting to the rear of the ferry stop was a mixed black community. Quite what their function was did not suggest itself, unless it was to help in any way possible (or maybe just beg?) visitors making their way to the ferry and Mvuu Camp. Or maybe they were guarding visitors cars, parked there while the occupants made their way across the Shire; I couldn’t suggest which.
Paul arrived, apologies for lateness (roads were full of pot holes) but he had something unusual to show. In the boot of the car was a large, brilliantly coloured flap-necked chameleon. Vivid yellow it had been rescued by Paul from two black youngsters who were bent on killing it just for fun. Already they had despatched its mate and then pursued the survivor. But for Paul’s intervention, the second would have been brutally put to death, for no other reason than to kill it.
That night we were to stay at Palm Beach, a B&B on the southern reaches of Lake Malawi, so the chameleon was washed carefully and taken there to be released into nearby woodland. Sadly, it was doubted if it would survive, but maybe there was just a chance.
oOo
For twenty minutes or so Danger gently steered the boat alongside the bathing pachyderms, but not too close for that might cause our small craft to be capsized by a startled or irritated bather. Danger had reduced the engine’s nose to the absolute minimum and so we all were able to enjoy, indeed vicariously share, the morning ablutions.
Then it was time to go. Danger backed the boat gently away as first one, and then two followed by a fourth as the herd laboriously waded out of the river and back on to dry land. Not until viewed in their full size did we appreciate what mighty creatures they were. Emerging now were the almost sunken bodies, the hidden curves of the sweeping tusks, the sunken trunks up to now only seen when being gyrated to send out powerful jets of water. Slowly, majestically the herd moved and rose out of the river, savouring the last exquisite moments of submersion before disappearing along the hidden paths through the rushes.
Soon they were had gone; Danger turned the boat round and back we went to Mvuu. There did not seem much point in lingering too long over the return; we all had so enjoyed the experience and felt that nothing could follow it for the time being. And so we landed back at the camp jetty. All that remained was to pack, arrange for a time to be ferried back across the Shire and then depart to our various destinations.
First thing noticed when I got off the ferry was that Paul was not there. That in itself was nothing to get alarmed about. Timetables in Malawi were of interest not for adherence, or at least that was the impression gained. To pass the time I strolled around where the ferry had dropped me. Nothing of much interest, although a rather large number of different kinds of boats, mostly small, had been abandoned there, or drawn up on the banks and left there to rot away. One or two were dugout canoes which, one assumed, have only a comparatively short life span before disintegration sets in.
Sitting to the rear of the ferry stop was a mixed black community. Quite what their function was did not suggest itself, unless it was to help in any way possible (or maybe just beg?) visitors making their way to the ferry and Mvuu Camp. Or maybe they were guarding visitors cars, parked there while the occupants made their way across the Shire; I couldn’t suggest which.
Paul arrived, apologies for lateness (roads were full of pot holes) but he had something unusual to show. In the boot of the car was a large, brilliantly coloured flap-necked chameleon. Vivid yellow it had been rescued by Paul from two black youngsters who were bent on killing it just for fun. Already they had despatched its mate and then pursued the survivor. But for Paul’s intervention, the second would have been brutally put to death, for no other reason than to kill it.
That night we were to stay at Palm Beach, a B&B on the southern reaches of Lake Malawi, so the chameleon was washed carefully and taken there to be released into nearby woodland. Sadly, it was doubted if it would survive, but maybe there was just a chance.
oOo
No comments:
Post a Comment