6/26/22
A 4-hour delay at the gate in Atlanta cost me my chance to see the Kalahari from the air. The scheduled 7 pm departure on Saturday turned into a 9 pm landing local Johannesburg time the following day. Needless to say, it was a long day but it was good to finally hear, "Welcome to Johannesburg" over the plane's intercom.
After the boarding doors were opened, I stayed with the herd while we got our forehead temperatures checked and passports stamped. Hunters, like everyone else, got their normal luggage first then broke off into their own group to get their guns from RSA authorities. I had expected at least one hiccup but everything was quick, easy and flawless. South Africa certainly understands the value of hunting tourism.
My PH met me on the way to the office where guns were being handed to their rightful owners. Whether on purpose or not, he certainly looked the part. Green shorts, a long-sleeved shirt in a slightly different green, and a well-worn leather hat with a sweat-stained band. His South African accent completed the package.
The three-hour drive through the South African dark was somewhat anticlimactic. There were no rogue elephants on the side of the road nor lions darting across. In the dark, Africa didn’t look that different from some familiar places in South Carolina. Other than the right drive car the only real betrayal of which hemisphere I was in came when the PH stopped at a midnight gas station to fill up. The attendant wasn’t in a hurry to be helpful. Nick, the PH, told me that South Africa doesn’t allow drivers folks to “throw their own petrol”. He jumped out and spoke, what I found out later was, in Zulu to the attendant. Of course, I didn’t understand a single word but the tone was unmistakable – something like “hey, what are you doing? Get your lazy butt over here and pump some gas.” It was matched by the tone of the retort and a back-and-forth started that was clearly some sort of banter. They were both quick with replies. A mutual respect seemed to develop and before long the gas was pumped, a credit card scanned, and we were back on the road.
Finally, a more substantive clue that I was nowhere near Kansas. As we turned into the property I’d be hunting, a surprisingly large Spring Hare hopped across the side road inadvertently keeping itself centered in the turning headlights. I’m a little embarrassed to say that my gut knotted with some sort of childish excitement. I came a long way to recapture that feeling so I allowed it to course through every fiber. It was a long slow drive through the property but we finally reached the camp. The pit in the boma was lit up with a roaring fire that felt good in the June winter cold. It was close to 1 am local time and I was the only client in camp but its three other inhabitants, the chef, housekeeper and tracker/skinner named Big John, were up to welcome me with a traditional African greeting and a much-appreciated lemon-aid type drink. Big John, by the way, is aptly named.
We talked for a while and I was shown my tent. By the time I organized my belongings for tomorrow’s hunt it was 3:00 am. The last thing I did before laying down was let my handheld GPS get a signal lock so I can find the camp on map when I get home. I use the GPS as an alarm clock too so the satellite lock ensures that it has got the right time. I had only 7 days on the ground in Africa and I didn’t want to miss a single minute of it.
If folks are interested, I'll post more as I sort through things, tweak grammar and edit photos.
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