The 2020 Africa Journals

Chapter 22

The Light after the Storm

 NOTE:   The photos will look best if you open them by clicking on one.   A film strip will appear at the bottom and you can scroll through them by opening each one.   I suggest you read the story then go back and click on the first photo.

Raindrops are plonk, plonk, plonking on the tarpaulin that covers my tent at Entim Private Camp in the Maasai Mara.   That I can hear them individually is a good sign in that it isn’t a downpour.   Yet.    There’s a threatening sky out there and the threat seems to be moving this way.

I have already downloaded the photos from this morning’s safari and am happily browsing through them on my little travel computer.   A stiff breeze ruffles the front flaps of the tent and the raindrops are no longer individual but part of a common sound.

My camera batteries are changing in anticipation of the late afternoon safari.   Here, we don’t leave camp until 4 o’clock, which is probably the latest departure of any of the African camps I’ve been in.   We return from the morning safari between ten and 11.

The amazing Secretary bird, so named because of the white cloak and pencils in her hair.

Lunch is at one.   That gives us five  hours or so of downtime, a period when the light will be too harsh for good photos and the animals most likely will be sleeping in what shade they can find.

Red-billed oxpeckers on a Cape Buffalo's back.

Today, we will meet at 3 o’clock for a photo lab.   I call it “Show and Tell” because each of us will present a photo to the group for commentary.

The wind picks up and so does the rain.  Suddenly one of the staff rushes up to my tent and says, loudly, “Close up your tent!”   He does the outside zippers while I make sure the inside zippers are fastened.   Then he rushes off to the next tent.

None too soon, either, because with crashes of thunder and sheets of rain, a squall hits us face on.   I stand in awe, looking out the side window screen of the tent, as wind and rain batter the tent.

Turn up the sound!

It occurs to me that turning off the computer and unplugging the power supply would be a good idea.   As I approach the desk, I see water on the canvas floor and consider my options.  That puddle has formed around the electrical outlet set into the floor.

My laptop and chargers are plugged into a strip, so I undo those first.   Then, I reach for the strip cord and yank it out of the floor socket.   Now all the electronics are safe and I can relax and enjoy the squall.

It’s all over fairly quickly.   While I’m thinking about the power of wind and water, I unzip the tent flaps and see debris all over the canvas floor of the deck. 

A visitor after the storm.

At 3 o’clock, I’m comparing inside-the-tent puddle stories with my pals and every one of them outdoes my little puddle.    Laura had two inches of water in her tent.   Others had an inch or so, or BIG puddles.   Then, Show and Tell begins.

There are a lot of good photographers in this group!   My photo of the lilac-breasted roller swallowing an insect while perched on a zebra’s back is well-received, and I’m tickled.

Lilac-breasted roller with lunch.

Then, after everyone’s photos are shown and comments concluded, we are off into the mud of the Mara.

We find lions in a small copse of trees near the airstrip and wait for them to wake up.  

By the time they move out into the open where we can see them better, the sun is setting and the light turns golden.  Our driver moves down-sun so we can shoot into the sun. 

And magic happens:

And the one I will use for the next Show and Tell:

When we return to camp, all the water has been removed from the tents and the front decks are spotless.

The 2020 Africa Journals

Chapter Eighteen

Into the Muddy Mara

Hard rains pounded the Maasai Mara National Reserve, swelling the languid Mara and Talek rivers and turning them into white water rapids.   Flooding wiped away several tented camps, blocked the river crossings, and in general created a big, muddy mess.

The aggressive tire treads on the safari vehicles churned up the red dirt on the Mara “roads” and splashed through the puddles, creating quagmires.  Deep ruts formed and when the sun came out, they dried into monstrous speed bumps.   Add more rain, and the process began all over again.

The frogs were delighted and set up a high-decibel chorus of singing, except when the hamerkop and storks were hunting them in the puddles.

The dry grasses of the savanna took a big gulp of water and sprouted upwards and upwards, high enough to secret the slinking serval as it hunts....

High enough to obscure the sight of a new-born Cape buffalo calf....

And high enough, even, to hide the sleeping lions.  

When the grass reached its maximum height, seed stalks appeared and created a layer of tan above the green grass.

But those rains were in November, the wrong time, the guides say, for such torrents of water.   

“Climate change,” they said.

This is mid-February, the usual time for Kenya’s skies to open and drench the land. 

We were lucky.   It hadn’t rained hard for a day or two and the river crossings were fordable.  The guides from Entim camp met us at the gravel airstrip, loaded our baggage into the Land Rovers, and we set out for a half-hour drive to our tented camp.

Animal droppings at the bottom of the steps.

Had the river crossings been flooded, we would have been in for a long, long drive.

Crossing a river.   The vehicles are equipped with air intake snorkels.

This drive itself is an adventure on the muddy, bumpy Mara roads.  The word “roads” bestows more status than they deserve.   They are more akin to Jeep trails.   At least we are spared the dust.

We arrive at camp and have a glass of juice while we await our tent assignments.   Then, off to our tents to get situated before lunch.   I luck out.   There’s an extra tent and David assigns it to me.   This will cost me an extra $800, a charge called a single supplement as most lodgings base their price per person on double occupancy.

 

Before we set out on our afternoon safari at 4 o’clock, we assemble for orientation.

The lounge, or common area.

David runs his safaris differently than any I’ve encountered before. 

Because there are nine of us, he assigns two groups of three and two groups of two to a vehicle, and those three will rotate seats every day, front moving to back, back moving to middle, middle moving to front.   That is how we usually do it.

What’s different, though, is that each three-person group will move to a different vehicle every day.  That enables all of us to go out with all four driver/guides a couple times during our session.     That sounds good.  It also means that each guide has the same opportunity for tips as the other three.

My tent, number five.

Now here’s the catch:   each three-person group remains together.   No rotating with any of the others in different groups.   Marg, Laura, and Sherry are in one group.    Mary, a friend from Boston, and I are in a different group with a third woman

, so I will not be able to spend time shooting with Marg (my mentor) or Laura or Sherry, or any of the other folks on this trip.

David and his assistant Delores will take turns riding with all of the groups.

Further, David says we will always shoot from the left side of the vehicle.   Most of the time, that makes sense.   It’s easier that way and the driver then knows how to position the vehicle.   As it turned out, I missed two good shots because the immediate action was on the right side and by the time the driver turned around, the moment was gone.

Finally, we are ready to head out.

If spinning the tires as fast as they will go doesn't get you unstuck, you summon another vehicle for a push.