The Morning Wander

Journeys back. Its whiter whiteness attracted my attention. The skull of a bull giraffe My easy leisure allowed time to wonder at its size, its beautiful perfection, even in this final confirmation of death. It was flawless, smooth like polished marble. Not even a crack or a mark from the bone crusher’s jaws. The skull was heavy as half a sack of meal, and the size of a young goat! The bull had survived to reach the full size that its environment could support. But the time came when its body started a slow decay to the point, not...

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Signs of Civilisation

Journeys back. Slowly, hints of civilisation are emerging – a track, the wheel ruts feint and in places covered in a green sheen of hardy furrow weed. It will eventually lead to another track, more frequently used, perhaps with footpaths that show human signs branching off, and a twisted scrap of orange plastic blown against a shrub… But it will be another day, perhaps two. Here the sky and the veld still tower over the senses and calm the mind to wonder. It is glorious solitude and endless open that makes one want to run, and run, and run...

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Journeys back: Lasts Tastes of the Bush

  Sweet indulgence after a walk from the vehicle that had stretched through the morning and past midday. As one leaves the wilderness the blemishes made by people and their doings will slowly begin to appear and the richness of the bush will be diluted. But until that happens, there is still much to enjoy. With the going relatively easy along our old tracks and the pace slowed by reluctance, there is time for such exploration of those “wonder what’s down there” spots that were passed on the way in. I especially love those check-it-out strolls around the camp...

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Journeys Back: More Petrol Tales

My brother, Phillip, in reaction to my petrol ramblings, sent me this photo to remind me of a petrol miracle we had once lived through together. It happened on the way out from the far north of Mozambique, near the border with Tanzania. As must be expected of experienced wilderness wanderers, we had stashed some petrol in the bush to get us back to Lichinga, which was where we hoped to find a filling station with some stock and a functioning pump – a reasonable assumption at best. As it turned out, the stash was no more than a...

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Journeys Back. Breakfast Break and Petrol Fill-up

Being In the wilderness comes, to me, with certain responsibilities and rules. Very few are written. Some are simply common sense; intuition. Some, including a lot of the intuition, are learnt through experience. I have touched on some, and I will on more, on the journey back. Some have to do with respect for a world where you are a guest – like moving quietly and humbly and with care, for you are in the presence of rhythms and forces and wonders that far, far exceed your abilities to comprehend or oppose, yet are so very fragile to what...

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Journeys Back: It Looks Different Now

On the way in we passed here, down this ancient elephant path through the ravine. Old Kgalilaga had looked away and shook his head wordlessly at my foolishness when I said we’d go down without spending time working on it first – he did so again when we stood looking at it from the other side.  But the fires were flaming high on adrenaline then, and I ignored him. It had been a close thing that could have gone badly wrong – a heart-stopping drop over the lip,  then a gasping slide down over the rough surface. Of course,...

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Journeys Back

Journeys back are meant to be nostalgic meanders along the faded tracks of the past weeks, filled with second chances to enjoy all that went unnoticed in the eager excitement of going deeper, further, into the unknown. They are meant to be a slow ease-out from the enchantment of the bush. They ask that you chose the easiest and least risky ways, because they are sad and without the energy of the way in. And so, journeys back like open spaces even more than journeys in. Open spaces mean very little or none of the fury of chopping or...

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Journeys Back. The Morning That Is the End and the Beginning

A dawn comes when thoughts need to be sternly told, “Thou shalt no more ponder the ways further, deeper into the bush.”  On that morning, when the sky brightens, the sounds are different – crisp instructions, containers banging onto metal and scraping into position… The senses are turned away from the bush and hurried along to lists and space and time and checking and cleaning and loading. And the thoughts are sad, but there is some joy too, in the slow meander back along the faded tracks of past weeks, and in the bright faces and warm embraces of...

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The Law of Water

It is not written, but it is a law of the bush: If you do not know the next source of water, at peril of death do not venture from a known source further than you can return with the water you are able to take with you. One might add: and if you find a good source, drink as much as you can hold and fill every container you have to the brim. This is a good source, and after carefully checking for signs of a resident crocodile that may have ventured this far and made its lair...

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You Never Get Rid of the Admin

When you have left behind the last hints that can somehow be traced back to civilisation and you start to dare deeper into the great wilderness, you distance yourself from the familiar undertakings and sensations of existence. What you now need to prevail are different kinds of skills, ingenuity, resilience, and perseverance – and luck. You have to make use of what you have with you, or can find around you; stitch them together in ways that will keep you going. Your vehicle with your equipment represents about the last of the familiar ploys, but one can take only...

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