01 Mar A choose-your-own-adventure kind of place
My husband and I board the game vehicle excitedly, ready for an afternoon drive from Rhino Post and all the unexpected moments it might bring.
Our guide, James, asks us if we’d like to stay on the busy, main road or take a chance down a quieter dirt road along the riverbed. There haven’t been any sightings there yet today, he explains, meaning we could be on a sighting alone if we’re lucky. Kruger National Park is a choose-your-own-adventure kind of place, and this freedom is wonderfully reflected in game drives from Rhino Post.
We choose the latter, an amble down the quiet riverside road in search of the African wild dogs we spotted there the previous night—rain-soaked and huddled beneath the boughs of low trees, looking for shelter from the summer rain.
African Wild Dogs, as an endangered species, are becoming more and more difficult to find even in places like Kruger. Not only are their populations decreasing drastically, but they can travel many kilometres in a day to hunt, meaning it’s impossible to tell for sure where they will be from day to day. Every chance to see one is a gift.
It’s minutes down the quiet road when we notice something—a duiker darts into the bush. What are you running from? We ask.
There’s a breathless moment when we’re full of anticipation and excitement, each of us, our guide, myself, my husband, and the other guests, all asking in hushed voices the same thing. “What’s there?”
Then we see it. The pack of African Wild Dogs is running in the wide open of the road before us.
They’re on the hunt, and even the young ones keep up the pace.
Behind them, a hyena, seemingly all muscle and bulk, tails them. Our guide tells us hyena will follow packs of wild dogs, even pushing them to hunt, to steal their kill.
After a few minutes, as we watch them, their beautiful painted coats blend with the bush as they run, like a painter mixing shades on his brush.
The wild dogs lay still, each laying in the shade, regaining their energy, maybe for when they sense the next prey. The hyena circles them, reminding them of the demand made by its presence.
The late afternoon is still, without wind or rain, it’s the first still night in days, prompting predators, not just wild dogs, to be out remarking their territory.
Our guide, James, takes us for sundowners on a bridge overlooking the riverbed, where we hop off to stretch our legs.
Just in the distance on the far side of the bank, a leopard crouches next to a kill. Her rosettes and tawny fur shimmer in golden light, just discernible amidst the reeds and tall grass.
The sun sets, turning day to night in the Kruger, bringing with it the nocturnal animals from their burrows, tree holes, and dens. Maybe an aardvark is emerging or an African Wild Cat.
As we set out again back towards Rhino Post, we shine our torches onto the bush, looking for glowing green or yellow eyes—the tell-tale sign of a predator. We’re also looking for the small wonders that might catch the light, too, like a chameleon or a python.
On the main road, as we approach closer to Rhino Post, James notices something we don’t. It takes an experienced eye to see it. A chameleon is in the tree just beside the road, camouflaged except by its lighter shades of green reflected by the torch. Its movements are slow; its eyes seem to move haphazardly, each eye moving independently.
These are often small, surprising moments that make the best memories of a safari. It’s not a hunt or a chase, but it’s a quiet moment to appreciate the intricacy and minute details of the bush even down to the level of the chameleon.
Just before we reach Rhino Post, where a candlelit dinner awaits us, we spot something hopping across the dirt road just before our Land Cruiser. A young bush baby is making its way across the road and climbs up the closest tree. It’s amazing to watch how it climbs the trunk before leaping from branch to branch.
Like the sighting of the African wild dogs, the bush baby is remarkable, remarkable in that in each moment, on each game drive, you never know what to expect. The bush always delivers a different gift, making each moment, especially when witnessing endangered species, one that will never happen again exactly as it has.
