Tashinga

We left cold drizzly Harare at 9:30 AM after all the normal last minute panic and chaos. We’d lost one phase of electricity which meant that the borehole was not pumping and our 10,000 litre water tank rarely lasts more than two days with five of us in residence. Telco, our Internet service provider was also down due to numerous breaks in the fibre optic cable serving Newlands. No doubt Pene, our cottage tenant, would soon start to stress and panic. The drive to Lion’s den and ‘Saucy Sue’s’ was busy with the usual overloaded Vitz and Fits silver mushikashika pirate taxis and heavy trucks to and from the Zambian copper belt and the DRC. After our leisurely excellent burger and bacon and egg roll, we continued North to the Binga, Magunji, Bumi turn-off. After one and a half kilometers we turned onto the road to Maora farm and our campsite for the night. The neat, shady campsite was next to a dam covered with water lilies and surrounded by thick beds of reeds.

An amiable old gent, Gordon Bragg, Lorna Stidolph’s uncle, showed us around and settled us in. His two crazy dogs rampaged around the camp demanding games before jumping back into his pickup. The surface of the dam was covered in flowering lilac and purple lilies, their large leaves lifting now and then in the breeze. Jacana flitted over the leaves andCrake with bright green beaks, hunted bugs between the plants. Common Moorhens, black with bright red bills, competed noisily. Thankfully Gordon had brought firewood so we were able to huddle around a campfire as the very cold night set in. Carl Hinde, a young researcher who joined us at the campsite was also heading for Tashinga. He had a miserable cold wet night in his sleeping bag on top of his Land Rover and left very early before sunrise the next morning. The first 80 kilometres through Magunje and the surrounding cotton growing area was reasonable tar with only a few broken and patched sections. After that the dirt road deteriorated steadily through old tobacco farms becoming more and more corrugated. Beyond the impressive narrow bridge over the Sanyati river, the badly eroded road winds through steep hills slowing our progress to about 30 km per hour.

Winding down one of many steep gullies we heard an enormous loud metallic crack and bang. A rear shock absorber had sheared off at its base and now dangled useless from its top mooring.

Fortunately it was easy enough to remove before it could do any harm but our heavily laden Land Rover was now definitely more bouncy on one side, a cause of some concern. A short 1 km seemingly pointless sandy detour from the main road leads to the National Park outpost where we signed in. A useful requirement in case of a breakdown but lacking in such useful detail as time and type of vehicle. Once in the park and out of the hills, road conditions improved dramatically.

African parks have done a lot of good rehabilitation work on the roads but I suspect that heavy rain next season will wash away a lot of the loose soil and set them back again. After a long, hot six and a half hour hour drive we finally arrived at the Tashinga campsite and set about preparing our camp for the night. The only other campers were Kingsley Holgate, the celebrity Land Rover adventurer and his family, his two new defenders occupying the prime site next to the kitchen. We didn’t get to meet him but saw him with his enormous signature white beard around his camp. Mike Pelham whose name we couldn’t recall, came over to welcome us. He was very hospitable and offered us carte blanche to go anywhere in the park and camp anywhere we liked. This extraordinary privilege was unheard of in any other park and left us with endless options. Our only restraining issue was Internet access which Barbara required for her work. The signal from Bumi hills was erratic and slow forcing us to use the African parks head office to down and upload work. Setting camp for just one night is always frustrating. Lots of kit has to be laboriously unpacked whether it is for a night or a week. Packing it all away again the next morning is an unwelcome chore. Mike Pelham is now the senior man effectively running Matusadona National Park. He gave us a full update regarding the best game viewing areas, roads and a new camp under construction at the Jenje river. After a brief recce of the nearest shoreline road and then the Chura river, we drove to Rhino camp to pay our respects to Peter Tetlow, a good friend and old colleague of my father. They had no guests in camp but were busily tidying, decorating and preparing for visitors. There had been recent changes to the shareholding and management that was obviously weighing heavily on Peter and Kelly. Their workshop mechanic, Hercules, managed to weld our shock absorber and refit it for which we were very grateful. They also filled our water container and off we went to find a suitable spot back at the Chura river. Finding a concealed, level campsite with a view was time consuming. We eventually found a spot right opposite the remains of my father’s ‘Water wilderness’ tree platform built about 40 years ago. Only a few hanging poles marked the tree that had been the centre of his old waterborne safari camp. Of course it was a dry riverbed now, dotted with dead trees and an open plain where dozens of Impala spent their days. Wedged in a small gap in the trees we eventually levelled the Land Rover and set a comfortable camp with a 180 degree view over the plain and the gully. All that remained of the Chura river running into the Ume river was a few pools of water in parts of the gully where I’d hoped to see and photograph visiting wildlife, birds and elephants in particular. Our first day at Chura was very quiet with little activity on the open plain. In front of us a Saddle-billed stork spent his day fishing in the gully while I sweated in my small bird hide tent. A bee-eater broke the monotony, bashing his insect prey against a branch above me. Impossible to photograph at that angle.

Somewhat disappointed with the absence of game at Chura we were about to start packing up, intending to search for a site with better photo prospects when elephants appeared in the distance. It took hours for them to gently meander through the trees that opened onto the plain before us.My new smart little drone was quickly assembled and flown over the elephants as they drew nearer. A couple of passes at high altitude looked good but the shots were wide leaving the elephants quite small in the frame. As they got closer I tried lower altitude slow passes over them but this only frightened the group. As chance would have it, the agitated elephants quickly headed straight for our position. They came within 15 meters of us. Two of the dominant cows, threatening, ears out, trunks up, tusks forward. Barbara was not amused as we hurriedly took refuge in the Land Rover.

Back at Tashinga we confirmed our intention to take the DDF ferry back to Kariba rather than drive through Karoi. We also consulted Mike about where to camp. He recommended the Jenje river area. Our preference was to camp where we had a view of the lake so we set off in search of the shoreline track that Peter Tetlow had made a year earlier. The track was vague, very rough and difficult to follow so we tried to connect from the other end at the King’s camp Rd. This also ended in failure so we finally made our way across the familiar part of the shoreline to where Peter had taken us a year ago. As we approached the old wilderness campsite at Makadzapela, we saw an elephant cow and her small calf at what appeared to be a spring at the edge of a dry sandy river bed. On our side of the river there were two large shade trees. A perfect camping spot. On closer inspection we found four drinking holes or ‘seeps’ where elephants had dug down into the water table about 700 millimetres beneath the sand. It was great to set camp properly, complete with toilet seat set discreetly behind some bushes. Our portable solar panel and monster battery was able to keep phone and computer charged as Barbara got back to work in this idyllic setting. We were on the edge of the dry sand river in our camp pondering a late full English breakfast when a family herd of 10 elephants carefully made their way to the ‘seeps’ about 40 meters from where we sat.

For the next three hours we watched as each adult knelt down and extended its trunk into the sand to draw up the clean pure filtered water. It was a long slow process. Many minor arguments erupted and a range of human-like traits reminded me of just how like us elephants can be.

There was patience, respect, order and organization as each elephant waited its turn to drink but there was also impatience, annoyance and the bullying of a tuskless cow and her calf. It was heartbreaking to watch her stand in the full sun to shade her calf as it slept. Both waited patiently watching the others drink. They were denied access to the drinking hole until all the others had drunk their fill. Getting to the clean water meant carefully filtering out the sand which sometimes involved violent shaking and flailing of the trunk to eject sand. I had set two trail cameras overlooking the seeps but first attempts revealed bad framing with too much foreground. After resetting them, a young bull carefully picked up one of the cameras and appeared for a moment to consider taking a bite. In the end he twirled it around and flicked it up and down before dropping it in the sand. I photographed his performance dreading the results of this harsh treatment of sensitive camera gear. Our last evening at Makadzapela was disturbed by the arrival, at last light, of more elephants. They more or less surrounded our camp as they fed and made their way to the seeps. We tiptoed around in silence for at least an hour while they went about their business. Now and then one would get our scent or hear something and peer at us through the very thin layer of scrub. Quite unnerving at times.

Packing up camp next morning took the usual two hours and usually leaves us both tense, agitated and sad to be moving on from a good camp. We called in at Rhino camp to bid Peter and Kelly farewell and to drop off a copy of our camping book. I was mortified when Peter noted a technical blunder. I talked about pneumatic jacks when I meant hydraulic jacks, a serious error that will no doubt be widely noted. Very embarrassing. Peter was clearly unhappy with our selection of campsite in his territory. It was understandable given that Makadzapela is where he drives and walks with his guests. Our proximity to the seeps was also questionable. As it was meant to be our last night in the park before taking the ferry, we’d planned to camp at the main Tashinga public camp site. The wind was blowing in from the West churning up the lake. White-capped waves came right to the shore in front of us so we decided to retreat back to the Chura where we hoped to find shelter. From there we watched the sunset from a rise overlooking an inlet from the Ume river. Impala, waterbuck and an elephant were silhouetted against the vivid orange red of the sky. A fish eagle called and Egyptian geese honked as they flew to their roosts. It was a perfect setting albeit very exposed on top of a bare stony rise. We set a very basic camp, just a table, chairs and one gas cooker to heat our supper and settled in for the night. Shortly after dark, with us in our tent ready to sleep, the wind picked up. Half an hour later we were being buffeted violently by a strong wind. The whole Land Rover shook and it seemed that the tent might be damaged by the ferocity of the gusts. It was quite scary out there on our very exposed little hillock in the dark.

With no prospect of sleep in this gale, we lowered the tent and set off in search of somewhere sheltered. We settled in a gully out of the wind in a hippo runway. The following morning we were to meet the DDF ferry for our voyage back to Kariba but we’d been somewhat unnerved by the continuing strong wind and white capped waves. In spite of assurances by the DDF staff, we cancelled at the last minute and decided to face the horrible 6 1/2 hour drive back to Karoi instead. Roads within the park were much improved and we were pleasantly surprised with our rapid progress. Just short of the old park entrance gate we turned into a track down towards the upper reaches of the Ume river and an inlet from the lake.About 5 kilometres later the trees gave way to a view of a bend in the wide sandy river bed of the Ume. Elephants were feeding near the bank where a narrow sliver of water still ran. To our right an inlet from the lake, familiar with dead trees and sparsely vegetated shoreline curved around. Dozens of hippo in at least four groups lay in the shallows while huge crocodiles lazed sunning themselves at the waters edge. A small group of about 20 Buffalo came to drink as we watched.

We had stumbled upon a wonderful place to camp and promptly messaged Mike about our new plan to spend another night in the park. At sundowner time we clambered down the steep river bank into onto a sandy ledge and enjoyed our Gin & Tonics watching black winged Stilts fishing in water turned gold by the setting sun. Back in camp we put a steak on the braai and reflected on how fortunate we had been to be given such a free hand to go and camp wherever we liked in this huge wilderness area. It was definitely one of the most idyllic places we had camped in.

The drive out next day was predictably awful as we left Matusadona National Park and rejoined the poorly maintained public road to Binga. The dust and corrugations seemed worse than ever. After 6 1/2 hours we arrived back at Maura farm, home of Alex and Lorna Stidolph whose campsite we had stayed in on our inbound journey. The night was bitterly cold and two or three different pumps chugged away within earshot pumping water to the vast centre-pivot irrigation systems on the farm. It was a night from hell. Neither of us slept. Tired and aching we drove home to our very happy dogs and cat.