I started the next day very early. Up at 5AM, roaring to go at the gate at six. I immediately set course for the Mestel Dam, but only the hippos were there and they weren't even playing. After five minutes, I drove north, then southeast on the S7. Again, I took the Shabeni loop, and almost came up nuffin'. But a few hundred meters before the loop ended, and while my eyes were fixed on the hill off to my right, my peripheral vision registered that something was coming down the road my way. I looked, and there were two young, male lions in the middle of the road, bearing straight down on me.
I frantically grabbed my superlens and found them in the viewfinder. I pressed the button. Nothing happened. I turned the power on. Still nothing. With a sneaking suspicion, I opened the battery holder. Empty. I'd taken it out the night before and it was still in the charger, which was in my PC case, which was in the fucking trunk. No matter; I grabbed my other camera and started shooting a movie. 30 seconds later, they had passed me, walking along the side of my car.
I then remembered I had two spare batteries in the glove compartment and quickly grabbed one and inserted it. I swung the car around and got in a couple of photos, but none of them turned out too well; too much vegetation and too much sunlight straight at the camera. I had a protector thingy on, but the sun was just rising and hit me almost directly. Still, I had the footage and I had the memories. As with the leopard, there was no sound and they seemed almost embarrassed to see me.
Mr. Lion is busy, busy, busy.
Beautiful animals.
As they walked into the bushes and disappeared, I drove the loop one more time, but they were gone forever. I took a pic of two posing klipspringers before I went back to the paved road and eventually made a trip up S65, where I'd seen the leopard. This time there was no leopard, but a kindly elderly couple not only pointed out where they saw lions, but also gave me their spot to take some pictures. That type of friendliness is all too rare these days.
Klipspringers in the early morning sun. They're posing, aren't they?
I only stayed in that spot for about a minute, then spent the next 10-15 driving up and down that road, exchanging small talk with them and taking pics of the lions; we both thought we saw six of them. After some time it seemed as if they'd all gone to sleep in the grass, so instead of hanging around for another hour or two on the off chance they'd change their minds, I went south towards Afsaal and lunch.
Lion walking through the grass.
Even a lion needs a good scratching every now and then.
Or a lie down.
Two on the prowl, one behind a tree.
However, after just a minute down on the H3, I exchanged information with a tour guide. He said that about five minutes south, there was a leopard by the side of the road. I needed no further encouragement and sped off.
The leopard came as a shock and something of a disappointment. It sat quietly by the side of the road, while people in private cars and tour buses were going gaga, breaking all kinds of traffic rules and common decency to get as many pictures as possible of the animal. It moved once, to walk a few meters along the road, then sat down and waited again. I took both stills and a short movie, but was kind of let down that this was how little these animals now cared about cars and humans.
Not giving a fuck.
It had its eyes fixed at a group of impalas on a hillside on the opposite side of the road, but made no move to cross, much less to take up the hunt. Most of all, I think it looked like it had lost the will to live and was content with living out the remainder of its days as a tourist attraction. A sad end to a once mighty hunter.
Join the tourist industry they said. Travel; see things. Well, here I am. A once mighty hunter reduced to a photo op for fat Americans. What's left to live for, I ask you. I can't even cross the road and catch an impala in peace.
I didn't want to prolong the spectacle, nor contribute to the insane traffic lines I could see was about to form in both directions, so even though I had probably third best spot of two dozen, I drove on. The remainder of the day was spent on slow, kidney-rattling gravel roads, where only a few giraffes and some warthogs made an appearance.
Single, goofy giraffe.
Warthog family.
Towards the end, I spoke briefly with two bushrangers who asked me if I'd seen a dead rhino along the way; apparently several tourists had made a report, but these rangers weren't clear on the exact location. I said I hadn't seen any, but might have added that I'd even stopped taking pictures of live rhinos unless they were really, really close.
I had a pretty decent lunch at Afsaal, a picnic place along the H3, just where the Voortrekker road ends (or begins, if you want to be difficult about it). My waitress was a very cheerful and competent young girl by the name of Debra, and we exchanged some banter but mostly I questioned her about her working conditions and life in South Africa. She told me she worked 24 days straight, all day then had six days off. There was no such thing as sick leave. Although she looked to be about 12, she told me she was at university, studying law; she wanted to become an environmental lawyer. Normally, I'm not much of a treehugger, but having seen how people toss beer cans out their car windows down there, I was inclined to support her in her endeavor.
I splurged on desert; after all, I'd seen both lions and a leopard that day.
Nothing much exciting happened the rest of the day and I turned in early.
I frantically grabbed my superlens and found them in the viewfinder. I pressed the button. Nothing happened. I turned the power on. Still nothing. With a sneaking suspicion, I opened the battery holder. Empty. I'd taken it out the night before and it was still in the charger, which was in my PC case, which was in the fucking trunk. No matter; I grabbed my other camera and started shooting a movie. 30 seconds later, they had passed me, walking along the side of my car.
I then remembered I had two spare batteries in the glove compartment and quickly grabbed one and inserted it. I swung the car around and got in a couple of photos, but none of them turned out too well; too much vegetation and too much sunlight straight at the camera. I had a protector thingy on, but the sun was just rising and hit me almost directly. Still, I had the footage and I had the memories. As with the leopard, there was no sound and they seemed almost embarrassed to see me.
Mr. Lion is busy, busy, busy.
Beautiful animals.
As they walked into the bushes and disappeared, I drove the loop one more time, but they were gone forever. I took a pic of two posing klipspringers before I went back to the paved road and eventually made a trip up S65, where I'd seen the leopard. This time there was no leopard, but a kindly elderly couple not only pointed out where they saw lions, but also gave me their spot to take some pictures. That type of friendliness is all too rare these days.
Klipspringers in the early morning sun. They're posing, aren't they?
I only stayed in that spot for about a minute, then spent the next 10-15 driving up and down that road, exchanging small talk with them and taking pics of the lions; we both thought we saw six of them. After some time it seemed as if they'd all gone to sleep in the grass, so instead of hanging around for another hour or two on the off chance they'd change their minds, I went south towards Afsaal and lunch.
Lion walking through the grass.
Even a lion needs a good scratching every now and then.
Or a lie down.
Two on the prowl, one behind a tree.
However, after just a minute down on the H3, I exchanged information with a tour guide. He said that about five minutes south, there was a leopard by the side of the road. I needed no further encouragement and sped off.
The leopard came as a shock and something of a disappointment. It sat quietly by the side of the road, while people in private cars and tour buses were going gaga, breaking all kinds of traffic rules and common decency to get as many pictures as possible of the animal. It moved once, to walk a few meters along the road, then sat down and waited again. I took both stills and a short movie, but was kind of let down that this was how little these animals now cared about cars and humans.
Not giving a fuck.
It had its eyes fixed at a group of impalas on a hillside on the opposite side of the road, but made no move to cross, much less to take up the hunt. Most of all, I think it looked like it had lost the will to live and was content with living out the remainder of its days as a tourist attraction. A sad end to a once mighty hunter.
Join the tourist industry they said. Travel; see things. Well, here I am. A once mighty hunter reduced to a photo op for fat Americans. What's left to live for, I ask you. I can't even cross the road and catch an impala in peace.
I didn't want to prolong the spectacle, nor contribute to the insane traffic lines I could see was about to form in both directions, so even though I had probably third best spot of two dozen, I drove on. The remainder of the day was spent on slow, kidney-rattling gravel roads, where only a few giraffes and some warthogs made an appearance.
Single, goofy giraffe.
Warthog family.
Towards the end, I spoke briefly with two bushrangers who asked me if I'd seen a dead rhino along the way; apparently several tourists had made a report, but these rangers weren't clear on the exact location. I said I hadn't seen any, but might have added that I'd even stopped taking pictures of live rhinos unless they were really, really close.
I had a pretty decent lunch at Afsaal, a picnic place along the H3, just where the Voortrekker road ends (or begins, if you want to be difficult about it). My waitress was a very cheerful and competent young girl by the name of Debra, and we exchanged some banter but mostly I questioned her about her working conditions and life in South Africa. She told me she worked 24 days straight, all day then had six days off. There was no such thing as sick leave. Although she looked to be about 12, she told me she was at university, studying law; she wanted to become an environmental lawyer. Normally, I'm not much of a treehugger, but having seen how people toss beer cans out their car windows down there, I was inclined to support her in her endeavor.
I splurged on desert; after all, I'd seen both lions and a leopard that day.
Nothing much exciting happened the rest of the day and I turned in early.
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