Magick Lantern
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Skukuza Translated Means... Sunday, January 7, 2007
(Rock outcropping above the Stevenson-Hamilton Memorial near Skukuza Rest Camp, Kruger National Park: two klipspringers were shortly about to make their appearance there)
We all go for an early morning game drive before packing up to go to the Skukuza Rest Camp. This will be our last full day and night in the Park. Skukuza does turn out to be larger and busier than the other rest camps in Kruger, but this is only relative. It has a lot of features that make it really pleasant for us. The library and museum, quiet and old-fashioned, introduce us to the Park's history which is a kind of microcosm for the last 100 or so years of South Africa itself. Later in Cape Town I will discover, purchase and read Harry Wolhuter's Memories of a Game Ranger , a chronicle of his life covering his childhood in South Africa in the late 19th century, the Boer War, and his life's work as the Park's first ranger working for James Stevenson-Hamilton, the Park's first Warden and a Boer War veteran himself.
The museum itself contains a series of exhibits about Stevenson-Hamilton and his wife Hilda (Cholmondeley) including period camping equipment and the knife used by Wolhuter to save himself when he was famously attacked by a lion during the days when the park was patrolled on foot and on horseback. A uniform belonging to a black south African ranger, fatally wounded in another lion attack, is also on display.
Skukuza was the name given to Stevenson-Hamilton by the local, indigenous people and it means "he who scrapes clean" or "turns things upside down" referencing the removal of native peoples from the Park. And so local history and its resemblance to U.S. history becomes more apparent. Frontier stores like Albasini's (now ruins), roads traveled by covered wagons, frontier life, the danger of violent death are all too familiar. Added to this is the haunted narrative of the [Anglo] Boer War, concentration camps and mass death, the Afrikaners' successful tactics against an ostensibly stronger enemy, and the losses suffered by the indigenous peoples confronted by European immigration and western style development.
(The overlook at the Stevenson-Hamilton Memorial, l to r: Carole, Will, Jeff, Greg -- Kruger National Park)
We were able to do a lot of game driving and ended up visiting the overlook where the Stevenson-Hamilton Memorial is located and where their ashes were scattered. It is inappropriate for me, an American tourist, to sentimentally interpret their lives as aristocrats -- but it seems that the creation of the park was a fortuitous way to spend the balance of this empire builder's days (and for his wife as well). What a legacy and certainly far greater than anything I will accomplish. And what a romantic and beautiful spot the overlook is -- and just as we prepare to leave, a pair of klipspringers appear on the face of the rocky koppie rising above us. This was a favorite spot near their home for the couple to visit (they met in London while he was recovering from malaria). The museum exhibits and this site left me with many questions about their personal histories and the paths followed by their two surviving children. Skukuza was born in 1867 and died in 1957, Hilda was thirty-four years his junior and died in 1979. An artist (and plant collector), a drawing she made graces Wolhuter's book.
(Two baboons foraging for food near Skukuza Rest Camp, Kruger National Park)
¶ 9:38 AM 0 Comments
(Rock outcropping above the Stevenson-Hamilton Memorial near Skukuza Rest Camp, Kruger National Park: two klipspringers were shortly about to make their appearance there)
We all go for an early morning game drive before packing up to go to the Skukuza Rest Camp. This will be our last full day and night in the Park. Skukuza does turn out to be larger and busier than the other rest camps in Kruger, but this is only relative. It has a lot of features that make it really pleasant for us. The library and museum, quiet and old-fashioned, introduce us to the Park's history which is a kind of microcosm for the last 100 or so years of South Africa itself. Later in Cape Town I will discover, purchase and read Harry Wolhuter's Memories of a Game Ranger , a chronicle of his life covering his childhood in South Africa in the late 19th century, the Boer War, and his life's work as the Park's first ranger working for James Stevenson-Hamilton, the Park's first Warden and a Boer War veteran himself.
The museum itself contains a series of exhibits about Stevenson-Hamilton and his wife Hilda (Cholmondeley) including period camping equipment and the knife used by Wolhuter to save himself when he was famously attacked by a lion during the days when the park was patrolled on foot and on horseback. A uniform belonging to a black south African ranger, fatally wounded in another lion attack, is also on display.
Skukuza was the name given to Stevenson-Hamilton by the local, indigenous people and it means "he who scrapes clean" or "turns things upside down" referencing the removal of native peoples from the Park. And so local history and its resemblance to U.S. history becomes more apparent. Frontier stores like Albasini's (now ruins), roads traveled by covered wagons, frontier life, the danger of violent death are all too familiar. Added to this is the haunted narrative of the [Anglo] Boer War, concentration camps and mass death, the Afrikaners' successful tactics against an ostensibly stronger enemy, and the losses suffered by the indigenous peoples confronted by European immigration and western style development.
(The overlook at the Stevenson-Hamilton Memorial, l to r: Carole, Will, Jeff, Greg -- Kruger National Park)
We were able to do a lot of game driving and ended up visiting the overlook where the Stevenson-Hamilton Memorial is located and where their ashes were scattered. It is inappropriate for me, an American tourist, to sentimentally interpret their lives as aristocrats -- but it seems that the creation of the park was a fortuitous way to spend the balance of this empire builder's days (and for his wife as well). What a legacy and certainly far greater than anything I will accomplish. And what a romantic and beautiful spot the overlook is -- and just as we prepare to leave, a pair of klipspringers appear on the face of the rocky koppie rising above us. This was a favorite spot near their home for the couple to visit (they met in London while he was recovering from malaria). The museum exhibits and this site left me with many questions about their personal histories and the paths followed by their two surviving children. Skukuza was born in 1867 and died in 1957, Hilda was thirty-four years his junior and died in 1979. An artist (and plant collector), a drawing she made graces Wolhuter's book.
(Two baboons foraging for food near Skukuza Rest Camp, Kruger National Park)
¶ 9:38 AM 0 Comments
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
A Contest Over a Carcass: Saturday, January 6, 2007
(Saddle-billed Storks, Kruger National Park)
We got up early to explore the roads west of Satara thinking that is the direction that the roaring came from last night. West of the camp we saw birders taking photos with a giant Canon lens and a big sign on the back of their vehicle that read "Bird Watching -- Please Drive Around". Sure enough we saw lions guarding the carcass of a Cape Buffalo from a group of vultures. If the vultures landed near the carcass, the lions would arouse themselves and chase the vultures away.
(One of a pride of lions fending off vultures from their latest kill -- a Cape Buffalo, on the S40 near Satara, Kruger National Park)
Moved into a rondavel with air conditioning. The boys promptly fell asleep basking in this luxury. We are seeing lots of game on all of our drives but in discussing our move to Skukuza Rest Camp, we speculate (incorrectly it turns out) that we will see far fewer birds and animals when we move there. We had heard from the South African family at Balule Camp that Skukuza is large and crowded -- so this spurs us into making the most out of our stay at Satara and we schedule long drives.
(Our rondavel at Satara Rest Camp, Kruger National Park)
We have dinner at the restaurant again with Jeff very helpful and engaged. Will wonders if Carole is tired and ready for the trip to be over. The rondavel is crowded with four people but the relative comfort, and the little veranda/cooking area and facilities restore everyone to good humor.
(Spirits restored -- Will on the left, Jeff on the right with Dad drinking some spirits on the veranda of our rondavel at Satara Rest Camp, Kruger National Park)
(Saddle-billed Storks, Kruger National Park)
We got up early to explore the roads west of Satara thinking that is the direction that the roaring came from last night. West of the camp we saw birders taking photos with a giant Canon lens and a big sign on the back of their vehicle that read "Bird Watching -- Please Drive Around". Sure enough we saw lions guarding the carcass of a Cape Buffalo from a group of vultures. If the vultures landed near the carcass, the lions would arouse themselves and chase the vultures away.
(One of a pride of lions fending off vultures from their latest kill -- a Cape Buffalo, on the S40 near Satara, Kruger National Park)
Moved into a rondavel with air conditioning. The boys promptly fell asleep basking in this luxury. We are seeing lots of game on all of our drives but in discussing our move to Skukuza Rest Camp, we speculate (incorrectly it turns out) that we will see far fewer birds and animals when we move there. We had heard from the South African family at Balule Camp that Skukuza is large and crowded -- so this spurs us into making the most out of our stay at Satara and we schedule long drives.
(Our rondavel at Satara Rest Camp, Kruger National Park)
We have dinner at the restaurant again with Jeff very helpful and engaged. Will wonders if Carole is tired and ready for the trip to be over. The rondavel is crowded with four people but the relative comfort, and the little veranda/cooking area and facilities restore everyone to good humor.
(Spirits restored -- Will on the left, Jeff on the right with Dad drinking some spirits on the veranda of our rondavel at Satara Rest Camp, Kruger National Park)
Labels: Satara Rest Camp, Skukuza Rest Camp
¶ 2:41 PM 0 Comments
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Camping at Satara: Friday, January 5, 2007
(No question as to who has the the right-of-way, Kruger National Park)
Will, Carole and Jeff go on a game drive in the morning. I am happy to remain at the camp site to plan ahead now that the trip itinerary has changed and catch up with this journal. They return and decide to pass on the guided nighttime drive at R 120 per person. We set out for Shingwedzi and have lunch at Letaba.
Our game drive is very successful so we feel quite satisfied and camp again at Satara as planned. Today we saw a large group of Cape Buffalo. I hear lions roaring to the west of the camp during the night. Very comfortable except for the condition of the ablution block -- chiefly the smell which is quite bad.
(Part of the large group of Cape Buffalo that halted us on the road for many minutes while they slowly crossed, Kruger National Park)
(No question as to who has the the right-of-way, Kruger National Park)
Will, Carole and Jeff go on a game drive in the morning. I am happy to remain at the camp site to plan ahead now that the trip itinerary has changed and catch up with this journal. They return and decide to pass on the guided nighttime drive at R 120 per person. We set out for Shingwedzi and have lunch at Letaba.
Our game drive is very successful so we feel quite satisfied and camp again at Satara as planned. Today we saw a large group of Cape Buffalo. I hear lions roaring to the west of the camp during the night. Very comfortable except for the condition of the ablution block -- chiefly the smell which is quite bad.
(Part of the large group of Cape Buffalo that halted us on the road for many minutes while they slowly crossed, Kruger National Park)
Labels: Letaba, Satara Rest Camp, Shingwedzi
¶ 3:55 PM 0 Comments
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
In Trouble With the Police (Again): Thursday, January 4, 2007
(A male Steenbok, Kruger National Park)
We broke camp and drove toward the Giriyondo Border Post on our way to the Covane Community Lodge (our neighbors got away at 5:30 AM). Part of the immigration formalities required a check of our vehicle and its papers. The rest of the family was inside going through immigration (visa applications) and entry into Mozambique. In the car and truck port outside, I was informed by the sergeant on duty that he must fine me for "having a dirty engine". Inside, the customs authority is asking for my papers including the truck title and insurance documents which the sergeant has taken from me. I shuttle back and forth -- the officials inside increasingly uneasy about the delay. I argued a bit with the sergeant, asking how I was expected to arrive at Giriyondo with "a clean engine" after having been deep in the mud in Zambia and so forth. I am told that "just as a man should bathe each day" -- I should have bathed my truck and that the rest camps have car washing facilities.
This was news to me (later I spotted such a facility) and was convinced that this was just a pretext to shake some Rand out of me. The truck engine was not really that dirty. When my family learned about the demand, they staged a mutiny and basically refused to cross into Mozambique (we had quite a few steps left in the immigration process anyway -- but by now their passports were on a desk in the office). I had held onto mine having learned that my International Drivers License would substitute as the ID often demanded by the police at road checks and -- I had become very leery of handing my passport over to anyone except immigration officers.
So there I was. My philosophy has been to just push past all obstacles in life -- but they are concerned that if the South African police are going to be this difficult then the authorities in Mozambique will be much worse and that we will lose the truck. I argued with the family but to no avail (three against one). Feeling bad about the reservation I made previously with the community run lodge, I managed to reach the manager (I had called him previously from the States) on my cell phone and explained why I was compelled to cancel our stay in Mozambique.
We went back into immigration and announced that we wanted the passports back and why. A group of workers passing in the opposite direction into the RSA from Mozambique looked distressed for us as we explained the sergeant's position about our truck. The immigration officials were embarrassed too but said little. The visas were turned in and canceled.
Outside I demanded my truck papers back from the sergeant who was so surprised he handed them back with almost no protest. I said we had canceled our trip into Mozambique -- saying that we had no desire to deal with the police in Mozambique if he was going to be such a big problem. He protested "that this was not necessary and that something could be worked out" but I said we had made a final decision and that was that (I was happy not to be arrested again after confronting him directly this way). We went through all of our documents, determined that they were all there, and made our way to the part of the building housing the National Park employees. They were aware of the contretemps and were very helpful in redoing our itinerary and securing us a camp site in the Satara Rest Camp and on subsequent nights a chalet there and later at Skukuza Rest Camp.
We drove back to Satara and moved into our camp site. The grounds were crisscrossed with electrical cables as camping here is almost a competitive sport (it is probably more so in the U. S. now although I had abandoned it as soon as I could afford hotels). I camped in the U. S. as a poor migrant (literally). Here in South Africa -- compared to the other campers -- we are again poor Okies or Arkies. People here have every sort of electrical and recreational convenience and once again we are befriended by our neighbors and made to feel very welcome in South Africa. At the end of the day our only complaint is that the ablution block left something to be desired -- but the heavy traffic from the full camp site was sufficient explanation. And after all, being in Kruger National Park is sufficient in and of itself.
(Sunset, Kruger National Park)
(A male Steenbok, Kruger National Park)
We broke camp and drove toward the Giriyondo Border Post on our way to the Covane Community Lodge (our neighbors got away at 5:30 AM). Part of the immigration formalities required a check of our vehicle and its papers. The rest of the family was inside going through immigration (visa applications) and entry into Mozambique. In the car and truck port outside, I was informed by the sergeant on duty that he must fine me for "having a dirty engine". Inside, the customs authority is asking for my papers including the truck title and insurance documents which the sergeant has taken from me. I shuttle back and forth -- the officials inside increasingly uneasy about the delay. I argued a bit with the sergeant, asking how I was expected to arrive at Giriyondo with "a clean engine" after having been deep in the mud in Zambia and so forth. I am told that "just as a man should bathe each day" -- I should have bathed my truck and that the rest camps have car washing facilities.
This was news to me (later I spotted such a facility) and was convinced that this was just a pretext to shake some Rand out of me. The truck engine was not really that dirty. When my family learned about the demand, they staged a mutiny and basically refused to cross into Mozambique (we had quite a few steps left in the immigration process anyway -- but by now their passports were on a desk in the office). I had held onto mine having learned that my International Drivers License would substitute as the ID often demanded by the police at road checks and -- I had become very leery of handing my passport over to anyone except immigration officers.
So there I was. My philosophy has been to just push past all obstacles in life -- but they are concerned that if the South African police are going to be this difficult then the authorities in Mozambique will be much worse and that we will lose the truck. I argued with the family but to no avail (three against one). Feeling bad about the reservation I made previously with the community run lodge, I managed to reach the manager (I had called him previously from the States) on my cell phone and explained why I was compelled to cancel our stay in Mozambique.
We went back into immigration and announced that we wanted the passports back and why. A group of workers passing in the opposite direction into the RSA from Mozambique looked distressed for us as we explained the sergeant's position about our truck. The immigration officials were embarrassed too but said little. The visas were turned in and canceled.
Outside I demanded my truck papers back from the sergeant who was so surprised he handed them back with almost no protest. I said we had canceled our trip into Mozambique -- saying that we had no desire to deal with the police in Mozambique if he was going to be such a big problem. He protested "that this was not necessary and that something could be worked out" but I said we had made a final decision and that was that (I was happy not to be arrested again after confronting him directly this way). We went through all of our documents, determined that they were all there, and made our way to the part of the building housing the National Park employees. They were aware of the contretemps and were very helpful in redoing our itinerary and securing us a camp site in the Satara Rest Camp and on subsequent nights a chalet there and later at Skukuza Rest Camp.
We drove back to Satara and moved into our camp site. The grounds were crisscrossed with electrical cables as camping here is almost a competitive sport (it is probably more so in the U. S. now although I had abandoned it as soon as I could afford hotels). I camped in the U. S. as a poor migrant (literally). Here in South Africa -- compared to the other campers -- we are again poor Okies or Arkies. People here have every sort of electrical and recreational convenience and once again we are befriended by our neighbors and made to feel very welcome in South Africa. At the end of the day our only complaint is that the ablution block left something to be desired -- but the heavy traffic from the full camp site was sufficient explanation. And after all, being in Kruger National Park is sufficient in and of itself.
(Sunset, Kruger National Park)
Labels: Giriyondo Border Post, Satara Rest Camp
¶ 11:42 AM 0 Comments
