The cheetah moved silkily, stealthily picking up one front paw, then the other. Behind her, imitating her movements, were two young males. Our guide explained in a near whisper that she was teaching her teenage sons how to stalk, aiming for a distant group of impala.
Three open Land Rovers held us, the rapt audience. Fifteen minutes passed in silence as the cheetah paused to sniff the air, exhaustively scrutinize the terrain, then move on. Suddenly, she dropped low and started running at warp speed, in complete silence. Then to our immense disappointment, she suddenly disappeared behind some small trees on this mostly open plain. Our drivers threw their cars in gear and we careered down the dirt track, but we were too late.
It was the most thrilling moment in an afternoon of game viewing at Mombo Camp in the Okavango Delta in Botswana. But there were so many moments. That morning, we had seen three male lions patrolling their territory. Zebra and impala were so common they were pretty much ignored, although the elegance of the dainty impala never ceased to charm me.
This was Day 7 of a two-week "flying safari," a mid-May tour of southern Africa with Wilderness Safaris. The ambitious itinerary started in Johannesburg, going from there to Namibia, the Okavango Delta in Botswana, Zambia and Victoria Falls and finally Zimbabwe.
I had arrived in Johannesburg on my own, to join what I was told would be a group of 10 others. In fact, when I arrived at the designated meeting place, just two people were there -- Dan, a lawyer from San Diego, and Bruce Van Niekerk, the young, chipper and omnicompetent South African who was our guide and pilot for the entire trip. This was a group?
I never discovered why the numbers shrank so, but one result was that Dan and I had a private pilot, as well as a terrific guide and companion, flying us around southern Africa in a Cessna twin-engine 310. In short order, we were flying northwest across the Kalahari Desert to southern Namibia. When, several hours and one refueling stop later, we approached Sossusvlei Wilderness Camp, the first of six lodges that we would visit, we were definitely in the middle of nowhere -- a stark, lunar gray-brown desert.
It seemed impossible that anything could live here, but waving cheerfully as we touched down on the small landing strip was Dios, crisply uniformed, who drove us in a Land Rover up a bone-rattling steep track to the camp, almost invisible above the plain. Two smiling staff members met us with cold washcloths and showed us the handsome lodge and our cabins: thatch-roofed, stone and wood structures strung along the hillside.
I was amazed at the comfort of my tile-floored bungalow, with its king bed draped in mosquito netting, a chaise and a few pieces of attractive dark wood furniture, a double free-standing sink and claw-foot tub, a toilet and a shower with a small window that opened to the desert. A tiny porch with a postage-stamp sized pool completed the setup, all sited for total privacy.
There wasn't much time, however, to luxuriate. We left after a quick late lunch to explore the Kulala Wilderness Reserve in which the camp is set, and before dawn the next morning, were off to the adjoining Namib-Naukluft Park to see the sun rise. At almost 31,100 square kilometers, it is one of the largest nature reserves in Africa, noted not for game but for the vast sweep of huge ocher dunes, truly orange-red at dawn and sunset. Backpackers and tourists of all ages walked and hiked in the park. We unpacked a generous picnic brunch under an acacia tree. That night, back at Sossusvlei, we were surrounded by deep silence, and a black night sky brilliant with low-hanging stars.
The next camp, Ongava in northern Namibia, could not have been more different. At Ongava Lodge, we were in rich game country. The flat plain of vast Etosha National Park, 13,800 square kilometers, was practically next door. At a popular park watering hole we visited the next day, zebra, wildebeest and black-faced impala milled about. We saw 14 giraffes browsing, and a lioness thrilled us by giving chase to a jackal. The camp itself, undramatically set in scrub trees at ground level, is in the safari company's private game reserve. As a result, much of the same park game can be seen in relative solitude, or from the lodge, overlooking a watering hole lighted at night.
At Ongava, the skill of Shadreck, our driver-tracker with superhuman eyesight, came into play, as an afternoon game drive extended into darkness. Driving while holding a floodlight, he showed us the track of a python, and knew an elephant's size, age and sex from a footprint. His triumph was finding a family of rhino. On the way, a group of rare Hartmann's mountain zebra dashed across our path.
After arid Namibia, Jao Camp, in the Okavango Delta of Botswana, felt like a verdant water world. Our band of three flew there from the unprepossessing small city of Maun, the jumping-off point for the delta's many camps. All nine luxurious units and the main lodge are connected by wooden walkways, high above the ground under towering trees. Even the animals like the arrangement, as it allows them free passage underneath.
In addition to game drives, Jao offered boat trips. Moving silently, the narrow makoros, the traditional hollowed-out log boats poled by a standing oarsman, carried us into the mysterious, sinuous delta. We made our way in narrow channels through papyrus and thick reeds, opening into large pools studded with waterlilies. A thumbnail-size green painted reed frog clung to a reed, and a tiny brilliant malachite kingfisher flashed by. At sunset, we pulled up on shore near a huge baobab tree to observe the tradition faithfully followed at every camp, the sundowner. Out came the drinks kit, and shortly a cool vodka and tonic or a glass of good South African red wine was in hand as the sky lighted up and the reeds turned to bronze.
Just 16 kilometers away, but still requiring a flight, was Mombo Camp, less green than Jao but equally comfortable. The camp looks out on a large shallow lagoon, which animals sloshed across at all hours, particularly lechwe, a marsh-loving antelope, and elephant families.
Leaving Botswana for Zambia, we flew northeast, arriving directly over Victoria Falls before landing in Livingstone, just across the Zambezi from Victoria, which is on the Zimbabwe side. The river was so high that rafting was forbidden and the falls were only partly visible under a cloud of mist.
We were headed for the River Club, a delightful hideaway several kilometers outside Livingstone, run and co-owned by a paragon of English style, Peter Jones. The lovely small manor house, decorated with hunting prints and deeply comfortable furniture, is supplemented by 10 thatch-roofed, tent-sided bungalows high above the Zambezi. Simply but pleasantly furnished, they are completely open on the river side. To wake up looking directly out on the Zambezi, magnificent in its breadth here, was rivaled only by descending a short staircase to the open-air bathroom.
Lunch was set up under the trees, then guests were free to swim in the pool or take the sunset cruise, as most of us did, seeing hippos and birds including the brilliant bee-eaters. Not a game lodge, the River Club offered a visit to a nearby village with traditional style huts, as well as visits to the funky but interesting Livingstone Museum in town, and of course Victoria Falls.
At the falls, under umbrellas and slickers in a drenching rain created by the torrent below, we inched along the slippery but well-fenced path on the Zambian side, as moved by the water's thunderous roar as the view, because only a portion of the cascade was visible through the mist.
Before leaving for our last stop, Chikwenya in northeastern Zimbabwe, I wanted to see the Victoria Falls Hotel, the grand 1904 hostelry on the Zimbabwe side of the river. We had already seen the blocks-long lines of cars waiting for gasoline in Livingstone, and an even clearer expression of the political turmoil in Zimbabwe was the near emptiness of the elegant and impeccably maintained hotel.
After meeting Bruce at the Victoria Falls airport, Dan and I were reassured by the long flight over Lake Kariba and hundreds of kilometers of bush: Our Zimbabwean destination was truly remote.
Chikwenya is set in a valley of Eden-like beauty in Mana Pools National Park, a World Heritage Site. The Zambezi, much narrower here, is flanked by huge acacia trees, and the game is plentiful, although the camp is known for its fishing.
On our final outing, we took a canoe trip downriver, carefully led by camp staff because of the hippos dotted around the water. A saddle-billed stork, baboons on the bank, egrets, all were at eye level, and as we paddled, the Zambezi was stained pink by a brilliant sunset. It was hard to imagine anything other than peace in this lovely corner of the world.
The 13-day flying safari I took in May with Wilderness Safaris is called Best of Southern Africa Wing Safari. With Johannesburg as a starting point, the itinerary included six locations: two camps in Namibia (Sossusvlei and Ongava), two in Botswana (Jao and Mombo), the River Club in Zambia near Victoria Falls, and a camp in Zimbabwe (Chikwenya). The tour, which will be given three more times in 2003, costs $7,995. The price covers all meals, drinks, housing and activities, as well as all flights within southern Africa.
Wilderness Safaris offers trips throughout southern Africa at a wide range of prices, from simple tented camps to luxury camps. Contact them through their web site at wilderness-safaris.com.
Lufthansa (Tel. 737-6400) operates regular flights connecting Moscow and Johannesburg via Frankfurt. Contact the airline for more information.
Antimalaria treatment is recommended.
Three open Land Rovers held us, the rapt audience. Fifteen minutes passed in silence as the cheetah paused to sniff the air, exhaustively scrutinize the terrain, then move on. Suddenly, she dropped low and started running at warp speed, in complete silence. Then to our immense disappointment, she suddenly disappeared behind some small trees on this mostly open plain. Our drivers threw their cars in gear and we careered down the dirt track, but we were too late.
It was the most thrilling moment in an afternoon of game viewing at Mombo Camp in the Okavango Delta in Botswana. But there were so many moments. That morning, we had seen three male lions patrolling their territory. Zebra and impala were so common they were pretty much ignored, although the elegance of the dainty impala never ceased to charm me.
This was Day 7 of a two-week "flying safari," a mid-May tour of southern Africa with Wilderness Safaris. The ambitious itinerary started in Johannesburg, going from there to Namibia, the Okavango Delta in Botswana, Zambia and Victoria Falls and finally Zimbabwe.
I had arrived in Johannesburg on my own, to join what I was told would be a group of 10 others. In fact, when I arrived at the designated meeting place, just two people were there -- Dan, a lawyer from San Diego, and Bruce Van Niekerk, the young, chipper and omnicompetent South African who was our guide and pilot for the entire trip. This was a group?
I never discovered why the numbers shrank so, but one result was that Dan and I had a private pilot, as well as a terrific guide and companion, flying us around southern Africa in a Cessna twin-engine 310. In short order, we were flying northwest across the Kalahari Desert to southern Namibia. When, several hours and one refueling stop later, we approached Sossusvlei Wilderness Camp, the first of six lodges that we would visit, we were definitely in the middle of nowhere -- a stark, lunar gray-brown desert.
It seemed impossible that anything could live here, but waving cheerfully as we touched down on the small landing strip was Dios, crisply uniformed, who drove us in a Land Rover up a bone-rattling steep track to the camp, almost invisible above the plain. Two smiling staff members met us with cold washcloths and showed us the handsome lodge and our cabins: thatch-roofed, stone and wood structures strung along the hillside.
I was amazed at the comfort of my tile-floored bungalow, with its king bed draped in mosquito netting, a chaise and a few pieces of attractive dark wood furniture, a double free-standing sink and claw-foot tub, a toilet and a shower with a small window that opened to the desert. A tiny porch with a postage-stamp sized pool completed the setup, all sited for total privacy.
There wasn't much time, however, to luxuriate. We left after a quick late lunch to explore the Kulala Wilderness Reserve in which the camp is set, and before dawn the next morning, were off to the adjoining Namib-Naukluft Park to see the sun rise. At almost 31,100 square kilometers, it is one of the largest nature reserves in Africa, noted not for game but for the vast sweep of huge ocher dunes, truly orange-red at dawn and sunset. Backpackers and tourists of all ages walked and hiked in the park. We unpacked a generous picnic brunch under an acacia tree. That night, back at Sossusvlei, we were surrounded by deep silence, and a black night sky brilliant with low-hanging stars.
The next camp, Ongava in northern Namibia, could not have been more different. At Ongava Lodge, we were in rich game country. The flat plain of vast Etosha National Park, 13,800 square kilometers, was practically next door. At a popular park watering hole we visited the next day, zebra, wildebeest and black-faced impala milled about. We saw 14 giraffes browsing, and a lioness thrilled us by giving chase to a jackal. The camp itself, undramatically set in scrub trees at ground level, is in the safari company's private game reserve. As a result, much of the same park game can be seen in relative solitude, or from the lodge, overlooking a watering hole lighted at night.
At Ongava, the skill of Shadreck, our driver-tracker with superhuman eyesight, came into play, as an afternoon game drive extended into darkness. Driving while holding a floodlight, he showed us the track of a python, and knew an elephant's size, age and sex from a footprint. His triumph was finding a family of rhino. On the way, a group of rare Hartmann's mountain zebra dashed across our path.
After arid Namibia, Jao Camp, in the Okavango Delta of Botswana, felt like a verdant water world. Our band of three flew there from the unprepossessing small city of Maun, the jumping-off point for the delta's many camps. All nine luxurious units and the main lodge are connected by wooden walkways, high above the ground under towering trees. Even the animals like the arrangement, as it allows them free passage underneath.
In addition to game drives, Jao offered boat trips. Moving silently, the narrow makoros, the traditional hollowed-out log boats poled by a standing oarsman, carried us into the mysterious, sinuous delta. We made our way in narrow channels through papyrus and thick reeds, opening into large pools studded with waterlilies. A thumbnail-size green painted reed frog clung to a reed, and a tiny brilliant malachite kingfisher flashed by. At sunset, we pulled up on shore near a huge baobab tree to observe the tradition faithfully followed at every camp, the sundowner. Out came the drinks kit, and shortly a cool vodka and tonic or a glass of good South African red wine was in hand as the sky lighted up and the reeds turned to bronze.
Just 16 kilometers away, but still requiring a flight, was Mombo Camp, less green than Jao but equally comfortable. The camp looks out on a large shallow lagoon, which animals sloshed across at all hours, particularly lechwe, a marsh-loving antelope, and elephant families.
Leaving Botswana for Zambia, we flew northeast, arriving directly over Victoria Falls before landing in Livingstone, just across the Zambezi from Victoria, which is on the Zimbabwe side. The river was so high that rafting was forbidden and the falls were only partly visible under a cloud of mist.
We were headed for the River Club, a delightful hideaway several kilometers outside Livingstone, run and co-owned by a paragon of English style, Peter Jones. The lovely small manor house, decorated with hunting prints and deeply comfortable furniture, is supplemented by 10 thatch-roofed, tent-sided bungalows high above the Zambezi. Simply but pleasantly furnished, they are completely open on the river side. To wake up looking directly out on the Zambezi, magnificent in its breadth here, was rivaled only by descending a short staircase to the open-air bathroom.
Lunch was set up under the trees, then guests were free to swim in the pool or take the sunset cruise, as most of us did, seeing hippos and birds including the brilliant bee-eaters. Not a game lodge, the River Club offered a visit to a nearby village with traditional style huts, as well as visits to the funky but interesting Livingstone Museum in town, and of course Victoria Falls.
At the falls, under umbrellas and slickers in a drenching rain created by the torrent below, we inched along the slippery but well-fenced path on the Zambian side, as moved by the water's thunderous roar as the view, because only a portion of the cascade was visible through the mist.
Before leaving for our last stop, Chikwenya in northeastern Zimbabwe, I wanted to see the Victoria Falls Hotel, the grand 1904 hostelry on the Zimbabwe side of the river. We had already seen the blocks-long lines of cars waiting for gasoline in Livingstone, and an even clearer expression of the political turmoil in Zimbabwe was the near emptiness of the elegant and impeccably maintained hotel.
After meeting Bruce at the Victoria Falls airport, Dan and I were reassured by the long flight over Lake Kariba and hundreds of kilometers of bush: Our Zimbabwean destination was truly remote.
Chikwenya is set in a valley of Eden-like beauty in Mana Pools National Park, a World Heritage Site. The Zambezi, much narrower here, is flanked by huge acacia trees, and the game is plentiful, although the camp is known for its fishing.
On our final outing, we took a canoe trip downriver, carefully led by camp staff because of the hippos dotted around the water. A saddle-billed stork, baboons on the bank, egrets, all were at eye level, and as we paddled, the Zambezi was stained pink by a brilliant sunset. It was hard to imagine anything other than peace in this lovely corner of the world.
safari information
The 13-day flying safari I took in May with Wilderness Safaris is called Best of Southern Africa Wing Safari. With Johannesburg as a starting point, the itinerary included six locations: two camps in Namibia (Sossusvlei and Ongava), two in Botswana (Jao and Mombo), the River Club in Zambia near Victoria Falls, and a camp in Zimbabwe (Chikwenya). The tour, which will be given three more times in 2003, costs $7,995. The price covers all meals, drinks, housing and activities, as well as all flights within southern Africa.
Wilderness Safaris offers trips throughout southern Africa at a wide range of prices, from simple tented camps to luxury camps. Contact them through their web site at wilderness-safaris.com.
how to get there
Lufthansa (Tel. 737-6400) operates regular flights connecting Moscow and Johannesburg via Frankfurt. Contact the airline for more information.
for your health
Antimalaria treatment is recommended.
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