2018 in Pictures

The last 13 months in Photos

(Yup, it was a long year...)

This is my xmas card to all of you. Hand made with love and anguish, especially for you.

Feast your eyes. Then feast all your other bits as well...

I've added some upbeat music, the first piece my long suffering practice manager may appreciate. Be warned, she ran the Bee Gees fan club...

Don't worry, I'm in recovery...

A Religious Experience

In the beginning, God created all manner of stuff...

(then, several days later)

God said, "Let the land produce living creatures according to their kinds: the livestock, the creatures that move along the ground, and the wild animals, bacteria, parasites, mosquitos, arachnids, each according to its kind" 

And it was so.

(the very next day)

God said, "Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness (especially Trump), so they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, bacteria, parasites, mosquitos, arachnids....

Thus veterinary surgeons were created.

Then, around 1977, it all started going wrong...

Every year since then, many of us get together to celebrate the fact that our livers have survived another year. 

This was to be our 42nd pilgrimage. 

Kev & Jane had been given the cruel and unenviable task of following on from last year's extravaganza in the South of France (in that evil place called Europe). 

In desperation, in a radical attempt to compete, they called upon the intervention of Trump God himself. 

This years reunion was to be held in monastery.

Stanbrook Abbey in Worcester to be precise.

It's an impressive building, onto which, to uphold its long monastic tradition, a large concrete block has been attached.

The first evening was spent in the traditional christian way of topping up alcohol levels. Here's Phil explaining that all the bottles belong to Judy...

That evening's food was monastic. I was impressed. I thought only British Rail could reach such dizzying heights.

The next day, after a hearty breakfast (I love it when I ask for an espresso and get what is obviously their normal coffee in a small cup) we were led on a stroll up the Malvern Hills.

Wick was given the honour of carrying the crate of holy water.

We walked at various speeds with various heart rates. Thank God there was an electric fence to keep us on the straight and narrow, and to kick start our tickers when required.

After an hour of stumbling along, we gathered near the summit for prayer. Not everyone was kneeling in supplication.

Spot the difference.

 On reaching the summit we searched for enlightenment a bar.

 even asking a passing monk,

 but no pub could be found.

 Nice view of the local pollution though...

Someone did, finally, spot a pub where we gathered to give thanks.

 Clearly a sign of our devotion.

Fasting seemed appropriate.

That evening we all went to church to repent our sins.

This part of the abbey was kept solely for deeply meaningful contemplation

 We contemplated soulful replenishment.

 We sat to pray that the food would be good. We ate flesh and drunk red stuff.

 Touching was encouraged, as in most Catholic Churches.

Our souls fully replenished (the meal was bloody good, BR must have been on strike), the next day we searched for further rejuvenation. In another pub. Not that it shows any signs of revitalising us as yet...

And so, to the end of another three day liver-enlarging sojourn. Kev and Jane did us proud. Thanks both for all your efforts and your attempts to convert us from the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
See you all next year, by the grace of God, or shear bloody luck...

May your god go with you...

Postscript

Bellow the abbey can be found the dungeon realms where the spawn of hell hang out. Here are the wine cellars, games rooms and lost souls wandering in a state of delirium.
I half expected to find Mike Hayes...

An After-Dinner Stroll

This year, we've not been up to our 'Pad in the Pyrenees' as often as we would have liked. This has mostly been due to me being a temporary hotel manager with guests that insisted I keep up with them in the food and drink department.

This has done my overall health and wellbeing no good.

No good at all. 

As I was about to find out.

As some work needs to be done on our pad, we popped up there for a couple of days for a 'site survey'. Oh good, only new stairs and a garage door...

Whilst there, we were invited by friends (Peter & Babette) for lunch in their new abode, an old farm they moved into a year ago.

After a lovely meal of sea-food starter, magret de canard followed by tiramisu, swilled down with a good belgian beer and a 'couple' of glasses of decent plonk, all was well with the world.

A walk was suggested.

This took me back to my youth when, after Sunday lunch with Aunty Win and Uncle Louis, we'd go off for a walk beside a local canal, ending up with tea and jam sandwiches on a tartan rug. 

The walks were always agonisingly slow, complicated by Uncle Louis' penchant for taking photos of old disused industrial sites. This would always be further aggravated by an evening spent looking at slides of the last walk... 

Yawn...

Oh dear, I've just realised that is exactly what I am doing now...

"Well", I thought, "what could be more pleasant than a slow country walk after such a wonderful lunch?"  The trouble is, canals are kinda rare here, due mostly to those big pointy things that were all around us. Still, no worries, their abode was surrounded by rolling hills.

"This will be easy" I thought.
Uh, no.
We were taken further into the mountains, up to Portet d'Aspet (one of the Tour de France hot spots), where we would start our afternoon stroll in an upward direction.
It started easily enough, peaking through breaks in the trees to see the peaks beyond.

This was to be a long uphill walk,

up the mountainside through thick forest.

There were certainly a lot of trees. 

Until there weren't.
We'd reached the tree line.
I now know why trees don't grow high up mountainsides.
Their hearts give out.
Mine certainly had.

Both I and Aros (the pyrenean mountain dog and erstwhile god of love) were completely cream-crackered. Carrying all that extra weight was taking its toll.

The sun was going down as we reached the top.

We needed to get down fast. Our intrepid leader once more led the way. This guy is somewhat fitter than Eros and I. You can go off people...

Going up was hard for me, going down was harder for Annick. She had broken her knee less than a year ago, and although well healed, it was somewhat painful for her.
I would've carried Annick if my heart wasn't also giving up.

I need to get fit.
We arrived back at base camp in time for the sunset.

And so. If you're looking for a gentle canal walk, the Pyrenees are sadly lacking.
For me? Back to jogging.
And maybe keep out of the food and drink department.
Eesh.

In Search of the Painted Wolf - The Book

You may have noticed that the last few blogs have been dedicated to wild dogs. This, fear not, is the last of them, only now I feel that it's time to rename them 'Painted Wolves'.

No, this is not a European Regulation, yet another daft excuse to get out of Europe.
These incredible animals get blamed for a lot of livestock killing in Africa, but they are usually not the guilty party, usually the killings are done by Hyenas. Not Wild Dogs. Not Painted Wolves. But because of this, they frequently get shot.

So, does the name 'Painted Wolves' sound less dangerous? If you are an antelope, no. If you’re a goat, yes. If you are a local farmer, yes.

The only slight failure of logic here is that the local farmers speak Swahili...

Anyway, I've written a book called ‘In Search of the Painted Wolf’ that explains it all. If you fancy reading it, you can download it here:

In Search of the Painted Wolf

It’s about 200Mb so make sure you have a decent connection. You'll need to download it. It’s a pdf file, best read in Adobe Reader in ‘Single Page’ mode.

My favourite photos of Painted Wolves from the last trip to Africa can be found here:

Photos of the Painted Wolf

Beware, there are over 50 of them.

I hope you enjoy it. Any comments welcome as long as they are good ones...

Phil

Hunting Painted Dogs. Part Seven.

Days 8 & 9 - The Finale

Day 8 - The Hunt Ends

Sunrise

The night passed without noticeable human death or dismemberment. This was good news because, even at my age, I'm emotionally attached to most of my body parts.

4:00

We had somehow managed some sleep. The lions did not invade. The hippos had not squished us flat, and the crocs had found their amusement elsewhere. But at 4 in the morning a sound started that I had not heard before on any of our safaris, or even in our back garden. Those of you who know our back garden will find this surprising. 
It started as a loud low growl (a lion?) but ended on a much higher, agonised yodelling wail (an alien?). And these sounds went on continuously, so it surely was not lions? They normally only manage sex every 15 minutes. Lucky sods. 

So what could it have been? Annick said that she had heard something like this during those long nights spent sitting on the WC. So maybe it was an animal in similar distress?

We thought that maybe it was a lion caught in its death throws, or perhaps in coitus permanentus.

It was neither. 

It turned out to be two large bull hippos in a death tournament. Thankfully not our death. 
Thanks for keeping us awake guys.

4:45

This was an early wake-up call, somewhat unnecessary considering the death tournament preceding it. Very early. We needed to leave at 5am (4am body clock time, although by now my body clock’s main spring was considerably out of kilter). 

5:15

We wearily started the day with a few coffees then set off slightly groggy and slightly late. 

6:15

Dawn arose en route, as we made our way to the gate. 

Dogs had been sighted just outside the reserve the previous morning at 6:15. We were tight on time...

We arrived at the gates and had to fill out the required exit forms and hand in all our weapons of mass destruction. 

6:18

Exiting the park, we continued on the ‘main’ road. We were late. We reached full speed

6:20

But not for long...

We had to get past. Time was of the essence. After trying to find a way into the dense bush, we gave up and drove full pelt for the sandy banking. At speed. Sideways. Ian drove around the van like a demon possessed. Thankfully we had already been to the toilet. 

6:30

We made it and sped on. Underwear intact.

We soon arrived at the point dogs had been seen before. Other jeeps were already there. Dogs had been seen crossing the road but minutes before!

We sped off into the forest driving along narrow tracks. Many of these were dead ends.

We circled the area that the dogs were most likely to be in, but it was not possible to see far. They could be anywhere. We were five trucks by now, each in communication with the other. We spoke to a local bushman who confirmed that they were in his village earlier on, doing their morning shopping, but had headed in this direction.

Somewhere.

We searched.
And searched.

7:00

After about a half hour of staring into dense bush, our hopes had all but been dashed. By now three of the other jeeps had given up, leaving just two of us, desperately searching. 
We didn’t give up. 

They were not there. 
They had sneaked away.

We headed onto the main road again to go further east, knowing that the dogs hunting time was probably over. One more desperate search. 
But no good!! The road was once more blocked by another bloody truck! So frustrating!!

We were forced to give up and turned around in despair.  

7:05

To see this in front of us...

Astonishingly there was an entire pack of fourteen Painted Dogs right there, in the middle of the road, right in front of us!

There were tears.
Seriously, there were tears.

We stood there gawping, snapping away with the camera until its memory was choked.

7:09

Then, all of a sudden, they jumped up and disappeared into the bush.

They had gone.

But those few moments with them were worth the entire time spent looking for them. We felt both exilerated and privileged. 

Ian explained that they were not coming back again, that we had seen the last of them. 

Ian was not always right.

7:15

Five minutes later, as the elation was beginning to seep away, they were back!

Incredibly, the entire pack had returned to the road, and were relaxing in front of us.

A pack with two alpha males and two alpha females.

Some looking rather less than well dressed.

With the pack were six pups.

They were in constant movement. They would drop down to lie prone,

Then, microseconds later leap up, then sit down.

Then chew something,

Then play, play, play.

7:34

Eventually they moved on, over the other side of the road and away once more.

"We won’t see them again" said Ian...

But just incase... we decided to head to the nearby airstrip and try to circle around them.

7:44

And guess what?

In the short time it had taken us to circle around and find them again, they had made a kill.

Some kind of an antelope. What was it?

Ah. A dikdik. I’d been trying to get a photo of one of them all week...

A dikdik isn’t enough to fill the entire pack’s stomachs. The pups were left there with the alpha dogs, the rest were on a hunt.
The pups fought over the remains.

10:20

In the three hours that we spent with the dogs, I took over 1,200 photos. My camera was close to overheating.
This had been one of the most phenomenal times of my life. Emotion was high. 
This was good.
It was sadly time to leave them in peace, or, more precisely, their continued struggle to avoid extinction.

We headed back to our nighttime haunt for lunch.

___________________________________________________

After lunch, we went slowly back to camp, stopping to see the slightly less exciting, anticlimactic usual beasts en route.

On arriving back at camp to a heroes welcome, we cast off for our final celebratory sundowner on the opposite shore.

passing the usual herons

We landed on the beach after a couple of failed attempts, leading one of the guides, Simba, to leap into the water and drag us to the beach by hand. Mad bugger. Maybe he's immune to crocs?

And did we celebrate! What a truly memorable day.

 What a memorable week.

 Day’s End

Daily Bonus: Annick's favourite iPhone image from Day 8

The Master at work

Day 9 - Going Home

Sunrise

Another, final, early rise at 5:30 (by now, my body clock has given up all hope). This was to be our last morning's drive to say farewell to the local wildlife. 

We asked for lions, we got lions. 

The fact that I requested lions hunting giraffes seems to have been ignored.

Our final breakfast stop was by a swamp...

That's not me by the way.
Having 'done the dogs' we photographed the more prosaic, ubiquitous wildlife surrounding us.
Such as the lilac-breasted roller.

The hopping giraffe.

 and I guess, finally, you just have to include a pumba or two.

We stopped off at some Hot Springs...

where we had yet another puncture. Someone didn't want us to leave.
After our final lunch at the camp, we said our goodbyes to the amazing staff and headed on our way. 
We took our leave from the tiny airstrip heading to Dar es Salaam International Airport. 
I hate goodbyes. 
Instead: Au revoir.
Our flight to Dar es Salaam was necessarily in daylight due to the plane from Selous being somewhat on the primitive side. We stopped for five minutes in Zanzibar, then onto the main airport. As we had several hours to kill (as our flight back was to take off near midnight) we popped over to the other side of Dar es Salaam (nearly 2 hours of traffic jams) to catch the final sunset in a beach cafe.

Then back to the airport for the obligatory uncomfortable, sleepless, long, tiresome hours on a long-haul flight. 
Bleh.
Farewell Africa.

Day’s End

No one noticed the painted puppies I had in my backpack...

Daily Bonus: Annick's favourite iPhone image from Day 9

One of the many tracks we followed. What was this animal?

---------The End---------

Afterword

Thanks for reading! With 9,000 photos to look through, those in this blog are only just the beginning. I may have to bore you with more to come...
Many thanks to Ian Kiwelu for his (as usual) amazing guiding abilities and his formidable knowledge of wildlife, and Julien Polet for being an entertaining host and postponing his holiday just for us! (I forgive you for seeing the dogs first).
Thanks again both of you (and others including Sindy and Jamie, but not including the w**kers from Wigan) for being great dining companions.
We will see you again.
Next stop the Mara?

Part one of this amazing story, 'Getting There' can be found here.
Part two of this amazing story, 'Selous Game Reserve' can be found here.
Part three of this amazing story, 'A Near Miss' can be found here.
Part four of this amazing story, 'A Romantic Interlude' can be found here.
Part five of this amazing story, 'Alone' & 'Plan B' can be found here.
Part six of this amazing story, 'The Cunning Plan' can be found here.