birds eye view

We have been doing a lot of travelling this past month. Apart from the usual road hours - sometimes 11 hours at a stretch - we have been extremely fortunate to take some aerial journeys accross some of the most pristine wild country in southern Africa.

Firstly, leaving camp in Selinda, we flew in the empty supply plane back to Maun. This flight over  part of the Okavango Delta must be one of the most beautiful scenic flights in the world. It is mesmerising to watch the meandering arms of the delta waters bringing life to the desert heartland.  The patterns it weaves are interlaced with paths made by wildlife trekking from feeding grounds to water.  The way the paths converge on a waterhole, or favoured drinking spot, create further natural abstract designs.  It is landscape as it meant itself to be.

Here are some sights that birds see on their migration paths.

the name of this river translates to 'Snake'

meandering arms of delta waters form oxbows and islands in kalahari sand

diminishing waterholes in the dry hinterland threaded with game paths; this one has a yin-yang symbol

delta overview - big country for wildlife

if we ever needed reminding that water is life - here is proof!

palm islands in a sea of swampy watergrass

mosaic in shades of green

approaching Maun - tourist capital of Ngamiland

where we became terrestrial again

queens of darkness

A hyena lies at the edge of a muddy waterhole.  She is grubby looking, her fur filled with ash from the recent grass fire that swept through the savannah woodlands.  She raises her head looking left and right, drinking the scents on the wind.  Her deep set eyes do not sparkle with life like other creatures, yet they are alive.  They look like deep dark holes - an abyss into which you could fall forever. One can only imagine the horror scenes they record at every nocturnal kill.  The eyes are portals to store experience in the library of the brain.  With each fresh kill more skills are learned, stored, referred back to when needed.

 Her fur is matted and short, the spots stubbornly showing through the ash brown mud that clings to her.  Around her mouth pieces of last nights meal cling to the fur, all now a uniform unrecognisable brown.  I imagine the smell of her breath close to my face as the last thing i might smell in this life.

She is not pretty in our terms. The rules are different here.  Hyena pups can be pretty and endearing - they look like fun to hang out with.  A mature male or female however, shows no such charm.  It is important for them to clan, to find acceptance among each other.  Females are generally larger than the males.  To add to their strangeness female genitalia closely resembles that of the males. They are not apparently hermaphroditic as has been suggested before, but it does get confusing.  Nearby a sister is sleeping, her distended belly resting in the depression made by an elephants foot when the mud was wet. Symbiosis. Elephants are kind to their neighbours.

The alpha females stands and starts to move off into the tree line.  She moves with powerful grace; head down shoulders high - her stride surefooted and strong.  Hyenas are in their own niche in the world of species. Somewhere between a pit bull terrier and a wolf.  They hold the power of the night and every thought that makes you uneasy.  Like the executioners in days of old - its just her job.

Legends abound too - in this area, if you see a hyena go past with a man riding on its back, its your time to die. Technically this would probably be quite difficult as their hind legs are somewhat shorter than their forelegs and they are not that tall - he would have to be small. But still - watch out at night and in your dreams.

First rain and an honest scrap award

Its raining - thunder rocks the house; rain pours in silver torrents off the tin roof. The ground is running with streams and rivulets filling the dry clay waterholes.  Trees rejoice - reaching up and shivering in the cool air, filling up the reserves that fuel the new green leaves.

It is dark indoors and grey sheets of rain cloud the distant view.  It started with a whiff of magical rain smell. A few scattered drops that hit the tin like stones.

"Shall we close the roof on the car?"

"No not yet - it might chase the rain away"  

superstition rules the moment

At this stage the car is more like an aquarium because the rain has thanked us and given generously of itself in return.

Lightening flashes bright and thunder cracks overhead - bringing dramatic crecendoes to the thrumming rain. Damp earth and ash smells waft through the wooden house that so recently was more like a sauna.

Earlier, the fledgling flycatcher who has been entertaining us with his awkward moves and sweet clumsy flights, flew into the house and landed on a beam. "Be Calm" we urged and left him to figure out his new surroundings - hopefully to find a way out again in his own time.  He fluttered to the floor - a dark corner which allowed me to approach and pick him up in my hand.  He was a ball of feathers around a strongly pulsing heart. He weighed less than a postage stamp (remember those?)  I took him to the door and set him on a post. After a couple of seconds he flew into the croton bush.

Perhaps after all he was planning to pass the storm in the shelter of the wooden house?

The multi talented and gorgeous Nicky from Absolute Vanilla blogspot has bestowed upon Monkeys on the Roof an illustrious prize - The Honest Scrap Award. Thank you dear Nicky!

but what is honest scrap i wondered? i start to picture a rag and bone man from days of yore trolling the streets crying 'any old iron?'  but then i read on.

The Honest Scrap Award is about bloggers who post from their heart, who oftentimes put their heart on display as they write from the depths of their soul.

The Rules of this Award are to pass it on to 7 bloggers you admire and follow and then to share 10 honest things about yourself.
 

The hardest part of these awards is choosing only 7 bloggers to pass it on to.  Nicky has already chosen several of the first that spring to mind, and some of you

I know do not like to receive blogs - even though this one could be made for you and you alone!  but anyhow, i shall persist, and here is my list..

Tanvir from Holy Vision who guides us through her world with strength and fabulous in-your-face humour.

Amanda from Travels with Persephone whose consummate short story skills, vision, sensitivity and warmth are entirely captivating;

Susan from The Mermaid Gallery who lives in a beautiful place, and shares her love of life through her vibrant artworks and anecdotes;

Reya - from The Golden Puppy who perpetually nourishes that questioning part of my brain with her wisdom, intuition and inter dimensional experiences;

The Times of Miranda - always a favourite!

Lori times Five - of course of course (if I can get to her before Geli does :)

Friko's musings - a blog full of life and humour as a German expat living in Wales

The Solitary Walker - whose words and poetry allow us to share the journeys 

The Alchemists pillow - who shares wonderful things i never knew about Spain

please follow the links on my sidebar - I am on borrowed internet time at the moment. Thanks!

and now for the even harder part - to find ten honest scraps about ME. Who wants to know this stuff? ten things that you dont already know....crikey...ok

1. i have been an aunty since i was 17 - its been the coolest thing to be

2. I am a believer by the Monkees was the first record i ever bought. I still love it though i dont own it any more.

3. I have some scars - most of them are due to my own clumsiness or acting the clown. When i am even older i will have fun remembering - if i can.

4. i love marmite

5. i can do the charleston a bit

6. happy movies make me cry

7. i get stuck on narrow bridges over great heights, or staircases that you can see through like inside the dome of St Pauls Cathedral in London.......shiver

8. i would love to see northern lights one day

9. i dont let go easily - friends be warned!

10. I used to think the Elgin Marbles were big round things.

there be dragons

The day was extreme - the heat building for first rains, topped all records.  It pressed down like a heavy wool blanket - the old fashioned kind, before down duvets and thermal hiking gear.  The breeze skittered and died, shifting from east to west, as though unsure of its own footing.  

Sweat coasted down my brow in rivulets, finding the corners of my eyes, burning them awake. Had I sprung a thousand leaks, that the more water i drank, the more poured out of my very skin, soaking my clothes?  I sought the breeze but it wasn't always there.

I wanted to lie down and sleep, but everything i touched was too hot - the sofa, the bed, the floor, the chair - I didnt want to touch any of them as they compounded my own body temperature. This is not funny hey? My thermostat is sticking now. The wooden house smells like a nordic sauna. 

We jump in the car and drive onto the floodplain. The air is like a hairdryer, or oven door, blasting at us.  Nothing moves in the heat.  We head for the big sausage tree on the island near the waters edge. There is an elephant heading there too, but we get there first. it is nearest pool of shade and we are happy to share, but he carries on to the next island.   

Relief, here at least a breeze off the water catches our sweaty brows and steadily imperceptibly body temperatures start to fall to manageable levels.  A purple roller flies out over the water, swoops to drink and returns to a branch over our heads.  Red billed wood hoopoe's have a nest in a hole in the sausage tree.  The parents return to feed their fledgling young. A racket ensues as the youngster, already in adult plumage, emerges to be fed, The parents are working hard in the soupy air. The youngster retreats back into the nest to await the next treat. No flying lessons today then.

Slowly our shadow pool grows as the sun dips to the west.  Dragonflies fill the air around our heads.  Lacy winged bi-planes swarm around coming to rest on leaves and twigs.  I turn the camera onto them. Their black wings seen from above show gold and bronze, purple and royal blue - who would have known? We find another - rich royal red, with a ginger abdomen, and fine transparent wings; whoa there is another - much more camouflaged in black and yellow, barely discernible in the leaf litter. Then another in royal blue.  They hover and land, flying around our heads, nviting us to cross over into a fantasy world of dragonflies and nymphs that the ridiculously hot day has allowed us  to see at last.  Were they always there? 

fire and rain

the three sisters in evening dress

A grass fire came in from the west, devouring tinder dry yellow grasses. Giant orange flames raced across open plains and along dry riverbeds. They tiptoed through the open woodland where the elephants had trampled the grasses, then raced out into the sunlight again. The wind was their friend, urging them onwards. But the wind is capricious and finally it turned. The flames stumbled and stuttered trying to find a new way forward, but they were stumped and the fire died right there.It  has left  a desolate landscape where burnt leaves shiver and shift on the ground, crumbling to soot and rising in dusky columns to dance with the dust devils of their old friend the wind.

fire stick man

We drive along the sand track which in places marks the end of the fire.  Black as pitch the soot covers the charred view. Elephants have left big round impressions of footprints, where they have crossed out of the fire zone and into the bright blonde grasses again.  Here and there a fallen tree continues to burn. At night the coals still glow red but during the day they hide in snow white ash.  Trees that burnt where they fell, have left a ghostly impression in ash on the ground. We are driving past funeral pyres for trees - there is an armageddon feel as if we have stumbled onto the battlefield after a ghastly war.  The stump of an ancient leadwood tree shines dazzling white against the black. Cascading pure white ash it is a tower of smouldering coals around the baked ceramic core of the termitaria which once shared its niche.  Soon all trace of its existence will be blown away in the wind.

leadwood fire stump caldera of snow white ash

We are waiting for rain again. The October heat is reckless, relentless, and ever increasing - building for rain.  Yesterday was a full moon. It was a red moon as it rose through the smoke haze mimicking, for a while, the setting sun.  The full moon promises to bring a change in the weather.  Across the country people are watching the skies.  Bets are on for the first big rain.  Inland pans are drying up and the elephants, our most water dependent species, are forced to travel long distances through the dry interior to reach the lagoons and spillways of Selinda.

steenbok on fresh neon green grass shoots

Yet here and there already, neon green shoots of grass begin to appear. Tiny green shoots of leaves are poking out of dessicated branches - signalling that hope springs eternal. It has been more than a decade since the last grass fire came through here, and some think it was time.

This morning the horizon is dark grey in the north - whether from fire or rain we cannot yet tell.  There is a touch of moisture on the wind although I cannot smell that magical rain smell.  But then I am not an elephant. We pass one heading directly towards the dark sky, the rhythm of his steady pace belying his traveling speed.  A flock of open bill storks pass overhead in classic V formation heading the same way. Their wings flicker white against the dark clouds.

This heat has to break soon. We are on the cusp I feel certain. Any day now welcome rain must fall.

travelling light

Well here we are packed and ready to leave on our road trip. Now what have i forgotten......?

maybe i should buy some tomatoes

then look for a safari guide. I think i saw a sign...

Bad boons?

You can tell when its baboons on the roof at first light - not
monkeys. Baboons are much heavier for a start and they have a sort of
three gaited lope. Whenever the baboons are here, I thank my lucky
stars that it is only rarely and our roof racers are usually only
lightfooted monkeys. I dont think our tin roof would stand up to a
full baboon onslaught.
We have started our winter feeding programme again. We have some
molasses out, and this weekend we put out a bag of antelope cubes.
These are like dog cubes, or pony nuts, but designed for wildlife ie
probably mostly consist of ground up mopane trees for which we pay a
small fortune. As luck would have it the baboons spotted the weekend
feast from the top of one of the koppies and came striding in. They
sit around the feed zone, and keep on piling pellets, one by one, into
their mouths. They never seem to swallow. With each handful, their
quick brown eyes dart around in all directions so its very hard for
anything to sneak up on them, even when they are preoccupied with
feeding.
Baboons can see you through the window from far away - even when the
light is reflecting on the glass. Infact, i am pretty sure they can
feel when they are being looked at. You know that feeling that makes
you look around before you even realise why, and you find someone
staring full bore at your back, or immediately dropping their eyes
after a big staring session? Well there is supposed to be some energy
exchange taking place, that we can tune into, but mostly we are so
unaware that our bodies respond before we acknowledge the event.
Baboons are exceptionally good at this.
They can be sitting on their haunches, arms resting on knees, tummies
hanging round and low, gazing skyward or at the youngsters at play.
You start watching from the dark recesses of the kitchen and - whoa -
they spin around immediately. The mood changes and they start moving
away into the cover of the rocks and trees. Try this with a camera
and they are liable to take off at speed. Its very impressive, this
skill. No doubt it saves their bacon too where other farmers and camp
managers are liable to shoot at, or just shoot, baboons to keep them
away from the damage to property that they always do. Yesterday they
swung on one of the guest tents collapsing the center pole, and they
always swing on the rolled up canvas windows, breaking them, tearing
anything they can; they pulled the pool cushions around and left them
covered in baboon prints too - and they always leave a large ugly
calling card somewhere where you want to walk. So its not without
reason that people do not entirely welcome the baboons in to their
camps.
They will destroy your garden too.
However, living in a game area, it is better if your baboons are
calm. Other animals listen to their alarm calls and respond with
them. If the troop of baboons runs from you because they are afraid
they will get shot, then all the other animals run too. Panic is
catching! So if the baboons are relaxed at the waterhole, you are
more likely to see other more timid species coming to drink and
spending time there too.
Baboons are really fun to watch too. We can relate to them in so many
ways. Its a bit like people watching, but we are allowed to watch
baboons in this way. Just dont make eye contact - this is bad baboon
manners.
So we do like them, and its great to have them around. They make
wonderful silhouettes on the rocks at sunset, and their alarm calls
let us know when the lions or leopard are passing by. However, I am
still glad that they do not live on our roof.