MAASAI MARA – Day Two

(This is the sixth in a series of posts about my just-completed Kenya safari.)

After last evening’s brief introduction to the Maasai Mara and its illustrious cast of characters, our expectations are high as we set out on this morning’s all-day game drive. If yesterday’s drive, with its sightings of zebra, buffalo and wildebeest, could be called the forager foray, today’s was to be more like the predator prowl.

     We stop and watch as they alternately 
     materialize and evaporate in the golden 
     mane of grass.

We’re crawling along, scanning the wind-tousled grassland all around us for color breaks, lumpy forms, hints of movement…anything that might give away a wary animal. Sally and I rely on our naked eyes; John and Maria, with binoculars, can identify the nose hairs of a dung beetle.

Nothing. At least not for those of us with unaccustomed eyes.

Leave it to our amazing driver and guide, Eric. Looking in all the same places we are, he points out the lion…no, make that two lions, gliding slowly through the grass not 50 yards away. We stop and watch as they alternately materialize and evaporate in the golden mane of grass. Eventually, they stop to play on a small hummock where we can see them better.

SLO-MO CHEETAHS
Eric knows every inch of the reserve. We’re amazed how, in this 580-square-mile maze of rough, winding dirt roads, he always knows where we are. Besides using his sharp, experienced eyes, he’s constantly monitoring the two-way radio for word of any animal sightings by other guides in the park.

On hearing one such report (knowing very little swahili, we can only guess who’s seen what) Eric puts the pedal to the metal. Hanging on for dear life, we hurtle across miles of roads we normally would have been crawling along—slowing only for the worst of the dips, bends and washouts.

Sightings that, just yesterday, we would have stopped and gaped at—zebras, wildebeest, even elephants and giraffes—we fly right by. Whatever it is we’re chasing down, it must be good.

     Cheetahs know how to pick their battles.

Then we spot a congregation of five or six other safari vans pulled over by a clump of foliage, and maneuver our way into a good vantage point. There, in that choice spot of shade, are two breathtaking cheetahs.

One lolls on the dusty ground, while the other sits up nobly, scanning the horizon for any sign of rival or prey. As her gaze reaches ours, it passes right through us,
as if we’re invisible. No sign of acknowledgement; not even a blink of curiosity.
I wonder if that’s a good thing–wouldn’t they be better served by unfamiliarity,
by fear?

We can’t tell if they’ve eaten today or not; cheetahs always look hungry. By late morning they prefer to stay out of the hot, equatorial, mid-day sun. We learn that they’re successful in their kills about half the time. Of those, half again are lost to stronger, more aggressive predators like lions, leopards and hyenas. Cheetahs know how to pick their battles.

     “Cubs!!” we all blurt, trying to hush our   
      awe-struck voices to a whisper-shout.

ROOTING FOR THE CUBS
After a lovely picnic lunch in a shady thicket, we mount up for the afternoon game drive. We still haven’t spotted a leopard yet, so the search goes on; we pay special attention to the crotches of trees and any horizontal branches, even if they’re half a mile away.

We come across many more elephants, giraffes, hyenas and an ostrich or two.
This time, we stop.

Then Maria spots something. Whatever it is, it’s just moved behind some
scraggly bushes on the other side of a heavily eroded creek bed. She thinks it
was a big lioness.

We edge closer. For a good ten minutes we scan the bushes. Once we’re convinced she’s gone for good—probably lying down in shadiest, best-hidden place—Eric starts backing out toward the road.

Just then, Sally exclaims that she sees movement. "Just there, on the far bank of the creek. Isn’t that a…it’s not as big…it’s…" I train my lens on the area and zoom in. Maria and John are already there. “Cubs!!” we all blurt, trying to hush our awe-struck voices to a whisper-shout.

JAWS
If you’ve ever watched Nature documentaries about predator and prey, chances are you’ve seen the chilling footage of nervous wildebeest warily approaching the edge of a river, waiting, it seems, for one animal to muster the nerve to jump in and start swimming across.

Suddenly, a mammoth crocodile explodes out from under the murky water, grabs a terror-stricken 400-pound animal and pulls it in.

We're going to that place, the main wildebeest crossing on the Mara River. As we approach, it’s obvious the river’s full of—one might say overflowing with—life.

     Tomorrow, perhaps the next day, the herd 
     will cross…or at least most will.

And there was no mistaking the danger lurking for wildebeest – crocodiles everywhere. Some congregated in the shallows; a few larger bulls—up to 18 feet long—basked by themselves.

Across the broad, dusty plane that leads up to the crossing, sure enough the wildebeest are gathering. Some edge toward the river, a few follow. But, like a swirling liquid, the flow curls back and settles. We’re told the animals do this every day, waiting to see if one animal will lead the way into the water.

We watch the ambivalent herd for half an hour, but today, they decide, is not the day. Today, there will be no terror at the crossing. But tomorrow, perhaps the next day, eventually, the herd will cross…or at least most will. For a wildebeest, there
is no other option.

PHOTO: Paolo Torchio

LAKE NAKURU – An All-consuming Day for a Python

(This is the fourth in a series of posts about my just-completed Kenya safari.)

From Lake Naivasha, we headed out early for the next leg of our safari—with a dispassionate send-off from the resident troop of black-tie-attired colobus monkeys (the only primates, we're told, without thumbs).

It’s just an hour’s drive northwest to Kenya’s fourth largest city, Nakuru, and nearby Lake Nakuru National Park—one of the country's smallest and best game parks. Along the way, especially at higher elevations, we could clearly see the broad sweep of this stretch of the great, 3,700-mile-long Rift Valley, flanked here by the 10,000-foot Mau Escarpment on the west and the highlands and mountains of the Aberdare Range on the east.

       The number and range of animals we 
       were spotting continued to amaze us.

Lake Nakuru is a soda lake, one whose highly alkaline waters support a distinct range of organisms, among them, certain algae that just happen to be irresistible to flamingos. Depending on the season and a number of more immediate conditions, the lake’s shallows can be swathed in pink as anywhere from thousands to more than a million of the showy birds congregate, methodically straining the water.

Though we saw far fewer flamingos than we'd hoped for, what they lacked in numbers these flamboyant birds made up for in the splashes of color and elegance they threw against the backdrop of the lake's calm, gray-blue waters.

MANE ATTRACTION
With the top of our safari van raised, and Eric, our knowledgeable guide and driver, at the wheel, we cruised the park for the rest of the day. Both the number and range of animals we were spotting continued to amaze us.

It started with our first lion sighting, a big male walking through tall grass nearly a hundred yards away. It was uphill all the way from there: rhinos—both white and the critically endangered black; water buffalo; hundreds of zebras, two varieties of gazelle; impala; waterbuck; giraffes; velvet monkeys…and more lions.

Besides the flamingos, we saw white pelicans and spoonbills, hovering black-and-white kingfishers, a variety of gorgeous songbirds, imposing, five-foot-tall marabou storks, a couple of ostriches and the showy, snake-eating secretary bird.

Around mid-day, we wound our way up to
the top of Baboon Cliff for a spectacular overview of the lake and parklands below. There we met some more amazing birds, some red-headed rock agama lizards and the engaging rock hyrax.

       The best place to spot a leopard is draped 
       over a lower, horizontal branch of a tree.

PRESSING ENGAGEMENT
That afternoon, we’d stopped to admire one of those marabou storks standing by the water’s edge when we noticed something moving in the grass not ten feet away. A better look, through binoculars, revealed the sad truth; it looked like a dying flamingo.

At first, it appeared the poor bird lay on its side, writhing. But, on closer inspection, we could see that a rock python, and not a very big one at that—maybe seven or eight feet long—had caught the big bird unawares, squeezed the life out of it and started ingesting it head first.

With fascination slightly outweighing revulsion, we watched as the ambitious snake unhinged its jaws and began stretching its mouth around the feathery
pink carcass.

LEOPARDS WERE NOT SPOTTED!
As we slowly cruised the park, besides looking for animals grazing in the open, we were constantly scanning the trees on either side for as far as we could see. It seems the best place to spot a leopard, especially mid-afternoon, is draped over a lower, horizontal branch.

Now and then, Eric would stop, pull out his binoculars and check out some dark mass on an acacia limb two hundred yards away. And, though we never did spot a leopard, this technique paid off in other ways, including being able to sneak up on a young lion resting languidly in the crotch of a tree.

GOOD NIGHT, HIPPOS
When we got back to Lake Naivasha Resort that evening, the wildlife wonders continued. Sally and I were rounding a corner on our way to our second-floor cottage when we saw the giraffe leisurely trimming the hedge up there next to our door. We stopped and watched with renewed admiration for this majestic creature.

Just before going to bed, we decided to take one last look out our patio doors onto the dark lawn below. There, munching away on the grass just below our deck were no fewer than eight huge hippos! We watched a while, quietly closed the doors and drifted off to sleep, smiling.