Trip report by Russell Graves
Images captured by Ryan Graves
"Dumela, rra," I say in my practiced but far from perfect Setswana. Thato looks at me and smiles. How strange it must be for him to hear me speak the language of Botswana with my distinctive Texas twang. He, however, obliges my indulgence.
"Hello," he says back. "Welcome back to Mashatu."
While it's a few days past the winter solstice, the mild temperatures make it feel like a pleasant autumn day in Texas. The wind is light with a touch of coolness, the sky is lapis with just a scud or two of white, and the mood is light. It's hard not to be happy here. The two-hour flight from our last camp was easy and low enough to appreciate the scant landscape that folds out in every direction. On our final approach, we see a family of elephants headed to a destination known only to them.
Elephants are one of those animals that put a smile on the faces of even the most intrepid outdoor adventurers. While admittedly, the pachyderms do occupy a bona fide ecological niche, bringing wonder to those who see them in the wild had to be a secondary purpose of the enormous mammal.
While it's been a year since I've been here, it feels like a few weeks. The people here make us indescribably feel at home. There may not be friendlier people on Earth than those who call Botswana home.
Our arrival in Mashatu is the third leg in an ecological triad that's taken us all over Botswana. From a beginning base in Johannesburg (where our group met and spent our first night together), we spent an adventurous day of travel, hop-scotching from north to south until we arrived in Kasane. There we spend a couple of memorable days cruising up and down the Chobe River in a boat specially fitted with gimbal heads to cater to the most seasoned photographers. Seeing a cape buffalo from a well-outfitted safari buggy is one thing. It's quite another to see one at eye level as the beast feeds chest-deep in the water while devouring aquatic vegetation that thrives in the skinny waters of the southern African continent.
Here, the river's water is the rhythm that drives an ecological symphony whose parts are too numerous and too complex to understand in the scant amount of time we're allowed here. Each living thing - from the tiny microorganism to the biggest elephant - is intertwined in an intricate web of life that, despite the lean nature of the habitat in which they all live, supports an immense biomass that's hard to fathom if you spend too long thinking about it.
It's hard to think too long. One minute we see mongoose feeding on some non-descript scrap of sustenance on the river's edge, while the next, hippos, with their deep and hearty call, move surprisingly quickly through the water to plop down on a beach that they've determined must be a good spot for sunning. The wildlife here ebbs and flows to some unseen force, yet the action always seems constant.
Too soon, we leave the Pangolin Lodge section of the trip and fly to the fabled Okavango Delta.
From the air, this country looks deceptively sparse and lean, and the vast Okavango Delta fans out as far as I can see. The landscape is a hodgepodge of wetlands and drylands. A few burn scars dot the desert grasslands and stand testament to when (not so long ago) hot flames licked the grasslands bare of vegetation, ultimately burning to the margins of the prairies where the moist edges of the Okavango snuff them. Seas of grasslands are interspersed with tree mottes in an imperfectly perfect patchwork of edge habitat. And the glue that holds it all together? Water.
While in the dry season and rainfall is extant, the country parches and becomes spare. When the rains fall, however, water flows from the north through the Okavango River until hitting the flatlands of the delta. Here, it spreads in all directions like a cup of spilled milk on a kitchen floor. A slight depression in the Earth here and a shallow spot there fills with life's essence and ultimately covers the largest inland delta in the world. Unlike most river deltas, the Okavango doesn't run into another body of water. Instead, it either evaporates into the air or soaks into the ground.
Along the ever-changing seams of water, wildlife flocks. On our daily safari drives, we see the typical plains game like impala, waterbuck, tsebee, and zebra. Still, we also see much-anticipated predators like a hunting lioness, leopards, and the engendered wild dog.
While watching white pelicans spill into a wetland one morning, a pack of African wild dogs, slick and healthy, came trotting past us in a distinctive hunting posture. While the lead dog led the way, the others flanked it in an offensive position. Ears back, they picked their way through the short grass and past the throng of pelicans before disappearing into the grass to kill their next meal. The sighting was brief, but it was indeed memorable.
Shortly after the wild dogs melted into the tall grass, a couple of members of the cleanup crew lumbered through. Hyenas often get a bad rap from the casual observer, but their ecological importance to the savannah is unmistakable. The pair clumsily followed the path of the dogs. They trail the canine's scent until a kill is made. The dogs get the first taste of meat unless a lion chases them off. Once all that's left is bone and sinew, the hyenas clean up the mess. For all the constant tug of life and death on the plains, you don't see many bones left behind. Thank the hyenas for that.
Over at Mashatu, we find hyenas as they finish the last scraps of an animal who fed untold predators and scavengers. What's left of the animal (the tiny, nondescript bits) will provide the soil and the microbiome therein and keep the Botswanan plains fertile and verdant as the natural cycle has for all of time and memorial.
The one thing that the Chobe River, the Okavango Delta, and the Mashatu Game Reserve have is abundant wildlife. While each place shares several species in common, each site has its own personality. The Chobe River is a solidly riparian habitat. The Okavango is prairie grassland pocked with static wetlands. Mashatu is a desert scrub country.
Even in the scrub, animals are abundant. Our guides, Thato and Simeon (along with trackers BK and Chris) are adept at finding wildlife and explaining the nuances of each bird and each mammal we see. Each excursion is met with a host of wildlife species. However, the ground hides are a hit.
From inside a shipping container, we watch a parade of zebra, elephant, warthogs, impala, and scores of birds enter the water hole and drink merely feet from us and at eye level. The feeling of being this close to wildlife is arresting. Cameras click, people smile, and the moment is surreal.
A couple of nights later, we gather under a pair of immense baobab trees for dinner hosted by Mashatu's staff. The cool evening is punctuated by wood smoke wafting from the fire cooking our meal. Traditional songs sung by the staff penetrate the night and reverberate off the canyon walls. Soon, everyone in Tuli Camp is dancing. We've all become a family. The entire experience is a sensorial delight, and no matter how hard I try to explain it, words can't compete with being there on that magical night.
"Re a leboga," I say to Cynthia, one of the camp hosts. She smiles and nods.
"Robala sentle," she says.
It takes me a minute, but I figure out what she says. I can't wait.
Trip report by Russell Graves
Images captured by Ryan GravesLearn more about our Ultimate Botswana Wildlife Safari!