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Position: 24°03’02.7″S 31°43’46.1″E
“Hello! I’m Wonderful”, announced our driver. “I’m fantastic”, I replied. “Actually, my name is Wonderful.” “Fantastic”, I repeated, not fully understanding that people in this part of the world have names like Wonderful, Sensible, and Surprise. For a moment I was thrown back 35 years to my first visit to Taiwan. Back then, teenagers added a western name of their liking to their birth names. For example, my colleague Jackson Tsai chose his name because he liked Michael Jackson. Back in Kruger, the penny finally dropped as Wonderful introduced our guide for the day, Dennis. A young couple, farmers from Clarens, joined us. Once aboard, Wonderful fired up the ungainly and top-heavy Toyota Landcruiser bus and we lurched out of Olifants’ Rest Camp.
Driving around Kruger National Park is just that – driving. You are not allowed out of your vehicle for any reason. Doing so risks expulsion with no chance of re-entry. No matter how much you beg. This is for your safety. The animals are quite capable of looking after themselves while making short work of your gizzards. For the past couple of nights at two different rest camps our only exercise was pacing the electric boundary fence like neurotic zoo animals. We therefore leapt at the opportunity for an early morning guided walk in the wilderness. After all, in the care of trained guides, what could possibly go wrong?
Dennis Get Your Gun
Staggering down a rough dirt road towards the wide banks of the Olifants River, we gripped the rail in front of us tightly for fear of getting tossed out of the bus. After twenty minutes and a hundred metres from the waterline, Wonderful pulled over and shut off the engine. A curl of dust billowed around us as silence descended. Slowly the sounds of the river’s burbling reached us as birds rustled the leaves just above our heads.
Dennis hopped out and reached behind his seat and pulled out a rifle. Unzipping its camouflage case, he drew the gun out and slung it over his shoulder. Dennis, like Wonderful, looks solid. With his implacable features I doubt I’d knock him over in a wrestling match. In fact, I’m sure I’d be tossed like a rag doll into the next county if we ever squared off. I can’t imagine a situation where that would happen, but still…
Six Shooter
Six modest bullets nestled in the pockets stitched into the front of Dennis’ webbing belt. His deep green park ranger’s uniform was neatly pressed. The cuffs of his trousers tucked into his high-top black leather boots reinforced his military air and gravitas. “Can I take your picture?” I asked. “For social media? Well,” he said hesitantly, “if you take a picture and I don’t know about it, I won’t object.” Got it. An oblique no. With that we set off in search of wild animals. Wild hippos to be precise.
Hippos are dangerous creatures. They’re huge and fast and very territorial. Despite being vegetarians, they have no qualms about chewing you up and spitting you out if they deem you a threat. Every month a tourist or guide is mauled and killed by a hippo in Kruger. Oh joy! Hippos are not the tutu-ed ballerinas you remember from Fantasia. They are cold-blooded killers.
Scrambling over rock pools, Dennis pointed out several species of plants with medicinal properties, along with the now familiar kudus, giraffes, and water buffaloes (killers in their own right, those buffs). Approaching at ground level, we didn’t get a clear view of the watering hole for the first three hundred metres or so. Then we climbed a low rock bank and the hippos’ eyes and ears came into sharp relief. There were at least 15 of them drawing a bead on us, their ears twitching with all the spastic nonchalance of an itchy trigger finger. Dennis told us to sit down. It will calm the hippos, he explained. Making ourselves small struck me as an act of obeisance. We were after all guests in their domain.
A Bloat of Hippos
Dennis shared some facts. Your standard issue African hippopotamus (Hippopotamus amphibius) can weigh up to two metric tonnes, something over 5,000 pounds. At night they roam around feeding on grasses, eating about 40 kgs a day. They can run 30 miles per hour in short bursts. That is about four times faster than my personal best during marathon training. Their skin is at least 2.4 inches (6cm) thick. I wanted to ask him if his now dainty-looking bullets would have any hope of slowing an attacking male, but thought the better of it.
Instead, I asked him how many hippos live in Kruger? He said the population had declined dramatically since 2015. A series of droughts killed off 60% of them and there were only about 2,000 left. It made me sad for the hippos. And for the state of the world. Momentarily forgetting the mortal danger that brayed in the water just ahead of us, it occurred to me that the crew of Aleta is no safer at sea or on land. I swear those danged punk orcas in the Atlantic were in cahoots with this bloat of hippos in South Africa.
After 15 minutes of reverie and Q&A, we slowly rose and made our way back towards the truck, just in time to spot a couple of lions retreat back into the undergrowth. The water buffalo were nowhere to be seen. Back on board the truck Wonderful turned the key and the engine roared into life. Foolishly we felt safer. We also understood that tours like this were the best way to enjoy the park. At $20 each plus tip, we were completely sold on the value of a trained guide. One with a gun, of course.
