Letter from Limpopo*
by Guest Tony Westby-Nunn
July 2013
July 2013
I once was a field-guide for the Wilderness Leadership School, with the job of taking groups from Johannesburg to Doorndraai Dam Wilderness Area, a distance of 260 km (160 miles), where the School had permission to take trails. We had an old VW Combi, the 998cc model, and the trip usually took about four hours. The Doorndraai Dam Wilderness Area teamed with plain’s game—from impala to roan and sable antelope, from wildebeest to warthog—and eagles and vultures soaring the heights.
It was a warm summer's evening when I drove a group of adults, who, over the long weekend, were to be “educated” in ecology and wildlife. We always camped in the open—never used tents, only sleeping bags on a ground sheet. If it rained, well tough. On the first night of the trip, I heard, close by, the sawing of a leopard. At our next debriefing, the other field guides pooh-poohed my notion that it was a leopard, saying a kudu’s grunt can be confused with a leopard’s vocalization.
I was sure it was a leopard.
It was a warm summer's evening when I drove a group of adults, who, over the long weekend, were to be “educated” in ecology and wildlife. We always camped in the open—never used tents, only sleeping bags on a ground sheet. If it rained, well tough. On the first night of the trip, I heard, close by, the sawing of a leopard. At our next debriefing, the other field guides pooh-poohed my notion that it was a leopard, saying a kudu’s grunt can be confused with a leopard’s vocalization.
I was sure it was a leopard.
On the following trip, in the morning, after breakfast, I walked the approximate three hundred metres from camp, through a donga (a dry water course), to my favourite spot for the day’s constitution—the base of a large Ficus petersii (Peter’s Fig tree), which offered an amazing overview of the wilderness area and the dam in the distance. With it being summer, I wore a khaki shirt, khaki shorts, and veldskoens, the latter locally-made hiking boots (translated from the Afrikaans veld shoes). I disrobed but for my veldskoens, hung my clobber and a loo roll on a tree limb, and then dug a hole with the trusty camp spade. After a while, from my squatting position, I caught sight of something in the bush, about twenty metres away. There was movement, then a long tail. The owner of the tail soon came into view and turned to gaze at me: a full-grown leopard.
For some reason, I considered her a female. And she quietly stood her ground. I rose slowly out of my deep-knee bend, until standing, myself—completely kaalgat (nude), with a mere spade and toilet roll in my hands for defense. You know, they say, your life flashes in front of you in situations like this. Mine did.
But then I had to laugh, because she obviously appraised my manhood and decided it wasn’t worth it. She went sauntering off into the bush, just as I realized that my slight constipation was being relieved.
Later on, while walking with the group, we discovered her kill, a young zebra. It was the first time a leopard had been seen in this wilderness area.
But then I had to laugh, because she obviously appraised my manhood and decided it wasn’t worth it. She went sauntering off into the bush, just as I realized that my slight constipation was being relieved.
Later on, while walking with the group, we discovered her kill, a young zebra. It was the first time a leopard had been seen in this wilderness area.
* * *
As a point of interest, we were taught to dig a shallow hole, cover it completely afterwards, and bring back the used loo roll which was burnt on the campfire. The reason for this is jackals will dig it up and spread it over the landscape.
In addition, we always left our campsites as we found them. Fires were buried, logs replaced, and leaves scattered over the surface. In other words, you would never have realized the spot had been used.
Love your guidebook, Kathleen.
*At the time of Tony’s squatting, Limpopo was called the Eastern Transvaal.
Tony Westby-Nunn lends his name to his small publishing house that focuses on the history and tourism of selected regions of South Africa. Visit Tony and see his books by clicking on the icon.
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Letter from Limpopo*
by Guest Tony Westby-Nunn
July 2013
July 2013
I once was a field-guide for the Wilderness Leadership School, with the job of taking groups from Johannesburg to Doorndraai Dam Wilderness Area, a distance of 260 km (160 miles), where the School had permission to take trails. We had an old VW Combi, the 998cc model, and the trip usually took about four hours. The Doorndraai Dam Wilderness Area teamed with plain’s game—from impala to roan and sable antelope, from wildebeest to warthog—and eagles and vultures soaring the heights.
It was a warm summer's evening when I drove a group of adults, who, over the long weekend, were to be “educated” in ecology and wildlife. We always camped in the open—never used tents, only sleeping bags on a ground sheet. If it rained, well tough. On the first night of the trip, I heard, close by, the sawing of a leopard. At our next debriefing, the other field guides pooh-poohed my notion that it was a leopard, saying a kudu’s grunt can be confused with a leopard’s vocalization.
I was sure it was a leopard.
It was a warm summer's evening when I drove a group of adults, who, over the long weekend, were to be “educated” in ecology and wildlife. We always camped in the open—never used tents, only sleeping bags on a ground sheet. If it rained, well tough. On the first night of the trip, I heard, close by, the sawing of a leopard. At our next debriefing, the other field guides pooh-poohed my notion that it was a leopard, saying a kudu’s grunt can be confused with a leopard’s vocalization.
I was sure it was a leopard.
On the following trip, in the morning, after breakfast, I walked the approximate three hundred metres from camp, through a donga (a dry water course), to my favourite spot for the day’s constitution—the base of a large Ficus petersii (Peter’s Fig tree), which offered an amazing overview of the wilderness area and the dam in the distance. With it being summer, I wore a khaki shirt, khaki shorts, and veldskoens, the latter locally-made hiking boots (translated from the Afrikaans veld shoes). I disrobed but for my veldskoens, hung my clobber and a loo roll on a tree limb, and then dug a hole with the trusty camp spade. After a while, from my squatting position, I caught sight of something in the bush, about twenty metres away. There was movement, then a long tail. The owner of the tail soon came into view and turned to gaze at me: a full-grown leopard.
For some reason, I considered her a female. And she quietly stood her ground. I rose slowly out of my deep-knee bend, until standing, myself—completely kaalgat (nude), with a mere spade and toilet roll in my hands for defense. You know, they say, your life flashes in front of you in situations like this. Mine did.
But then I had to laugh, because she obviously appraised my manhood and decided it wasn’t worth it. She went sauntering off into the bush, just as I realized that my slight constipation was being relieved.
Later on, while walking with the group, we discovered her kill, a young zebra. It was the first time a leopard had been seen in this wilderness area.
But then I had to laugh, because she obviously appraised my manhood and decided it wasn’t worth it. She went sauntering off into the bush, just as I realized that my slight constipation was being relieved.
Later on, while walking with the group, we discovered her kill, a young zebra. It was the first time a leopard had been seen in this wilderness area.
* * *
As a point of interest, we were taught to dig a shallow hole, cover it completely afterwards, and bring back the used loo roll which was burnt on the campfire. The reason for this is jackals will dig it up and spread it over the landscape.
In addition, we always left our campsites as we found them. Fires were buried, logs replaced, and leaves scattered over the surface. In other words, you would never have realized the spot had been used.
Love your guidebook, Kathleen.
*At the time of Tony’s squatting, Limpopo was called the Eastern Transvaal.
Tony Westby-Nunn lends his name to his small publishing house that focuses on the history and tourism of selected regions of South Africa. Visit Tony and see his books by clicking on the icon.
____________________
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© 2011 by Author Kathleen Meyer • All Rights Reserved
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