Tag Archives: reserve

Oribi Mom: Not so secret visitors feasting in the macadamias

They’re fighting against crazy odds to survive as their natural habitat gets smaller.

July 15, 2023

It’s the third day in a row I’ve seen them. Three shining hazel-coloured coats with white stripes dazzling in the morning sun. They stand there in the macadamia grove, hoping we won’t see them.

Maybe if they stand dead still, we’ll pass by quickly. But they forget that their flopsy, large ears flick away the bugs all the time. And the shape of them stands out very clearly against the backdrop of natural forest that drops off sharply below them.

Somehow, they find their way up through the cliffs and forest and steep gorge slopes. They follow paths the rest of us might not even recognise as throughways, pushing past thick bush and sharp prickles and over loose rocks to get to where they’re going. They’re brazen about chomping baby mac trees, but how can they pass on such succulent treats? They’re planted neatly in rows and cleared of long grass. It’s like a smorgas board as winter dries up the natural vegetation a little in the valley below.

Longtime Residents of Oribi Gorge and Other Wild Places

Nyalas are, by far, our most beautiful natural antelope here. The bulls have the most impressive curling horns with bright orange legs sticking out beneath the dark, hairy coats.

The males are called bulls because their impressive size competes with eland and kudu and all these much larger animals. But the dainty females are called ewes, not cows. They’re not big enough to classify in the upper category like their male counterparts. At least, that’s what the game rangers have told me on trips up to Hluhluwe.

Lessons From Antelope? I’ll Take Them

Even if that’s a tall tale, I’m entranced to have these beautiful nyalas right here at home. They’re just a stone’s throw away from me, a human female who needs regular reminders that how others classify me is no concern of mine. It shouldn’t be, anyway.

These ewes-not-cows are still incredibly beautiful. They’re good mommies to the baby nyalas we see every season. And they’re fighting against crazy odds to survive as their natural habitat gets smaller and smaller thanks to development, mines, and yes, farming.

So, they can nibble our mac trees (Sssh, don’t tell the farmers!) if it means I can still watch them. Let them shining in the sunshine in fifty years’ time with the oribis, duikers, warthogs, reedbuck, and everything else.

Published here.

Oribi Mom: Making a Racket Again

“There was apparently a sighting in Harding a few years back, but it was still incredibly rare to see it here. It was also my first time seeing one.”

May 30, 2023 

There have been two phenomenal birding sightings in our area this last month. One was on a telephone line, and one was in a puddle.

I’ve been off social media for a while trying to eke out time for my many commitments as a mommy to three little people. Scrolling steals too much of that, which means I haven’t seen the South Coast Birder’s group in a while. I miss it.

Not One But Two Amazing Bird Sightings in Oribi Gorge

Anyway, the first sighting was by yours truly. A casual drive-by and a glance up at a telephone wire revealed a turquoise shimmer on a biggish little bird, undoubtedly a roller.

We get quite a few European rollers here over the summer. I love to admire these rather impressive and beautiful birds whenever they pop up. Maybe because I always used to love seeing the lilac-breasted rollers in the July holiday visits to the Kruger Park as a child. They would be shining in stunning purple and blue on top of a brown bush, a striking contrast that’s not easy to miss.

So, seeing rollers in my backyard as an adult has been rather special. But at the last minute, I saw this one jump and turn around. As it faced the other direction, I saw long tail streamers behind it, with little rounded bits on the end. I gasped a little. It was truly spectacular, but I wasn’t aware of why. I didn’t know that European rollers had long tails like that! Wow.

It turns out they don’t.

The Bird Wasn’t What I Thought It Was, But Close

I drove home, chatting to the kids, looking for reedbuck, jackal buzzards, water mongoose, and tractors like we do every day. We spied vultures above Leopard Rock. We saw a jiga duza (a Bell loader) that always gets my boys very excited.

So, when I got home and remembered to look at my birding app, I was shocked to find that what I had seen was not, in fact, a European roller at all. I wouldn’t have known that it wasn’t one of those gorgeous blue birds so common on our telephone wires in the summertime if I hadn’t driven past at the exact moment it jumped up and showed me its spindly tail.

It was a Racket-tailed Roller! And it was hundreds of kilometres south of where the map distribution indicated it should be. I couldn’t believe it.

I even messaged a birding fundi to check that I wasn’t going mad. I wasn’t. There was apparently a sighting in Harding a few years back, but it was still incredibly rare to see it here. It was also my first time seeing one ever.

Maybe, I should be travelling with my camera in the backseat instead of chattering farm boys shouting with delight at the tractors, TLBs, and cane-loading machinery we pass.

Oh, and the other sighting was by one of the farmers down the road who saw another wayward bird, the African Crake. Birder’s eat your heart out in Oribi Gorge, hey!

Published here.

Masaai Mara: An African Dream

August 2016

Waking dream!

Stirring from a night of solid sleep to the sounds of a thousand different birds, I focused lazily on the rays of orange sunshine streaming through the tent and wondering on which alien planet I had landed.  I remembered the crazy rush to book a last minute flight with an hour to get to the far-off King Shaka airport, paying our entrance fees online on the way to the airport, the flight from cold South Africa to rainy Ethiopia to sleeping Kenya in the dead of night, the two hours of sleep before the alarm jolted us from our beds and the mad rush to pack nine of us into two cars, heading out of Nairobi at a prompt 6.30 a.m. sunrise.

With delight I recalled that we had made it through the six-hour journey, the Great Rift Valley opening up below us with its geothermal steam vents and slow trucks between Uganda and Mombasa, the wheat fields and pockets of livestock mixed with random antelope as we climbed out of the valley of volcanic rocks and trundled on through the dusty bushveld – its acacia trees and euphorbias astoundingly huge and beautiful – and the shocking corrugations on the pothole-infested dirt roads that claimed our entire exhaust fixture on the way home (it survived its trip back to Nairobi tied to the roof racks, but normal conversation pitch during the journey was next to impossible and we roared on home lost in thought and memory of the captivating experience).

I was finally here, somewhere I had dreamed of since childhood, unbelievably happy in an unfenced campsite along the Mara River, in a little tent, in the world-famous Mara Triangle, part of the Masaai Mara National Reserve – and hundreds of thousands of animals were here with us, too.

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The Great Migration

The herds arrived in the Mara Triangle the day before we did and it really is something you need to see with your own eyes to believe it. Beautiful and fascinating!

“Follow-the-leader” took on a new meaning as we watched the blue wildebeest lines stretching all along the base of the majestic Oloololo Escarpment, winding their way towards the Mara River to see if the oat grass really is greener (redder?) on the other side.  Apparently following the rain, the wildebeest spend their whole lives moving, an epic circular journey that starts down in the Serengeti of Tanzania and ends on the vast plains of the Masaai Mara in Kenya, where it starts all over again.

The wildebeest are joined by zebra and tommies (Thompson’s Gazelle) and solemnly face the predators at every step of the journey – an inevitable game of roulette as each night brings certain death, and each dawn a sense of victory at having beaten the odds.  Carcasses litter the savanna with evidence of the nocturnal carnage and the rotund lions we saw were too stuffed to bother with anything, eating only the choicest rumps and leaving the rest of it for the scavenger feast.  Even the scavengers turn up their noses at the drowned carcasses that fill the rapids of the Mara River after the senseless ‘crossings’, already filled to capacity from the pickings of abundant meat left from the kills.

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The animals converge on the river to drink, egging each other on to be the first to brave the threat of crunching jaws of the enormous Nile crocodiles.  Twice we watched as a wildebeest fell in, swam wildly to the nearest bank and was assisted by the curious hippos with a nudge towards the relative safety of dry land.20160821_123203

Wild and Free

The zebras with their exquisite black and white (a much cleaner contrast than the brown-smudged South African zebras) gather together to graze, some rolling in the dust, some playing catch; and even a naughty zebra male that suffered a thumping hoof kick (a ‘snotklap’ for you South African readers) from an irate female who had had enough (followed by whoops and giggles from the inhabitants of our vehicle as we cheered her on).

We camped at the private campsite, Dirisha, alongside the Mara River. Leopard, hippo, buffalo and elephant came into our campsite each night (the tent walls seemed thinner then) and the birdlife was amazing, too (including a rare Bar-tailed Trogan right outside our tent).  It was a proper bush experience with no ‘facilities’ to speak of, emphasising the fact that we were in the real African bush, humbled by our defenselessness and respectful of the ruthless ferocity in the daily life of wild creatures.20160821_174448

The week’s sightings also included herds as far as the eye could see (estimated between 750,000 and a million wildebeest alone), fat cats and scavengers feasting on carcasses lying everywhere, river crossings galore and even three black rhino fending off a pack of brazen hyenas.  One hyena also tried to catch a comical Ground Hornbill, who casually walked away knowing its fearsome beak was enough to deter its attacker.

Little Governor’s

Most evenings we headed to Little Governor’s for sun-downers and water refills (campers cannot afford to be shy about essential needs like drinking water, even if the lodge was as posh as could be). Looking out over a small water catchment, the luxury tents are set in the cool of the forest and can see all the surrounding beauty from their beds. More than once, we were delayed in returning to our campsite by the 7 p.m. curfew because of the elephants that roam about the lodge within hand reach of the restaurant patrons, who are swiftly ushered away to the other side by the staff and have to wait patiently until the giants have moved off.20160822_17442620160821_102002

Once in a lifetime

At the tip of the Mara Triangle map, Little Governor’s is one of many lodges that does hot air balloon rides across the Mara – a spectacular sight as the multicoloured behemoths transport mesmerised passengers silently across the plains, often just  a few metres above the herds on the ground below.  A future bucket list item for sure!20160822_065327

Honestly, this was one of the best weeks of our lives.  To be able to have seen this phenomenon firsthand was an awesome privilege and an unforgettable experience – even for Travelinds who have grown up in the beautiful wild places of South Africa, travelled in tiny boats through the jungles of Borneo and swam with ocean giants.

20160821_184628Masaai Mara – just wow!