We are now truly implanted into deepest darkest Africa. There is nowhere as far from modern human civilisation as we now are.
Or so we thought... tomorrow my dreams are to be shattered.
However, back to today...
Because of the recent floods, the normal route from our camp in the Nyerere National Park to get to the East side Lake Tagalala (or anywhere come to that) is now impassable. The definition of impassable escapes me as almost every track we have driven on here is, in any normal understanding; impassable. But now, these roads will stop at nothing to bog you down and wear you out.
Instead, we needed to traverse a forest/jungle (what is the bloody difference?) on a barely visible track. As well defended as the jungle is, as weak as negotiating with rocks and ravines was, the forest's first line of defence is... the tsetse fly.
At the very least this fly (yes, it looks nothing more than a common or garden fly) can bite. It's bite is painful. They can bite through clothing and seem resistant to any chemical you wish to throw at it. It can, however, have two other effects. Firstly and (thankfully) uncommonly it transmits diseases. Such as sleeping sickness. Secondly there are a few (mostly women) who react to each bite by developing a large irritating swelling. Annick is firmly in this group. Antihistamines, steroids and machine-guns are the minimum required to counter this pest. Welcome to Africa.
We had organised this part of our sojourn to search for the Painted Wolf. This is my favourite of all African beasties, and one that is very difficult to find.
We started the day spotting the Ground Hornbills who, contrary to their monicker, were attempting to fly, kindly reflecting the morning glow.
Then we passed by a couple of aging buffalo, Like all aging beasts, present company included, we become more irritable as we age. These guys are amongst the most dangerous animals in Africa. Try not to speak anything but praise about their handsome visage.
This far south the baboons have shaken off their Olive roots and become merely yellow. They still love jumping about though.
After hours of hopeless searching, with nothing more than a single wild dog footprint, we passed through Selous Grave and finally to Mwana Mungo .
Mwana Mungo translates from swahili as the child of God. It is an absolutely humungous Baobab tree once honoured and revered by the local bantu tribe.
They believed that this tree was indeed placed on earth by their God as its own child. This interestingly matches its age, calculated to be about two thousand years old. These trees can live to be about three thousand years old, although how anybody can know this is beyond my understanding. Interestingly, as some of you may be aware, about two thousand years ago an apparently supreme being was busy sowing His wild oats hither and thither. If a child from a virgin human, why not a tree?
Sadly, the tribes that prayed for permanent longevity from this child of the Almighty One discovered that prayers are not all they were made out to be.
After the First World War, one of its participants, an English gentleman famous for his ability to kill at long range, decided that this area would make a great game reserve. You know, one of those areas where you can freely go around shooting the hell out of innocent wildlife.
This game reserve, astoundingly called the Selous Game Reserve, required that all local inhabitants became less local. Mr Selous the snipper achieved his dream and died a happy man. His Game reserve finally became a National Park only a couple of years ago (the Nyerere National Park) but sadly much of it is still given over to the slaughter of innocent life.
Despite this checkered history, this park remains the biggest National Park in Tanzania, given over to the wild Deep and Darkest Africa, as remote as it is possible to be.
Or so I thought...
Meanwhile, after a day of hopelessly searching for wild dogs, (here we are by a sand river renowned for its teeming wild dogs... er not...)
We settled for more mundane entertainment in the form of bee eaters...
It was time for us to return in time for our evening sun-downer.
It was not to be.
As is the norm for our voyages with Ian, we had an obligatory flat tire.
This time the repair was somewhat prolonged, and after recommencing our trip the offending wheel started to move in mysterious ways. OK, this was not going well. We would at the least be late and miss our much needed shower. At the worst we would be stuck here for all eternity.
We struggled on slowly in the direction of what we hoped was our camp. The problem was that it was now dark, and most tracks previously used were now completely hopeless.
It was slow progress though a jungle previously full of light and strange noises, but was now full of dark and bloody weird noises.
For me, the highlight of this voyage through the eternal night, was when we very nearly plummeted into a swamp. To be fair, our valiant driver manage to avoid this fate far worse than death, but it seems that the local frog population did not agree. As one, all one hundred thousand of them start making loud complaints that, to me, sounded like the bursting of a million bubbles. This was somewhat psychedelic in its awesome rhythms.
Weird with a capital W.
Three wheels on my wagon
And I'm still rolling along –
The Cherokees are chasing me
Arrows fly
Right on by
But I'm singing a happy song!
We arrived somewhat late for our evening meal.
Tomorrow; the death of a dream...
Next episode here
