Author: Hoffman

A dawn comes when thoughts need to be sternly told, “Thou shalt no more ponder the ways further, deeper into the bush.”  On that morning, when the sky brightens, the sounds are different – crisp instructions, containers banging onto metal and scraping into position… The senses are turned away from the bush and hurried along to lists and space and time and checking and cleaning and loading. And the thoughts are sad, but there is some joy too, in the slow meander back along the faded tracks of past weeks, and in the bright faces and warm embraces of...

It is not written, but it is a law of the bush: If you do not know the next source of water, at peril of death do not venture from a known source further than you can return with the water you are able to take with you. One might add: and if you find a good source, drink as much as you can hold and fill every container you have to the brim. This is a good source, and after carefully checking for signs of a resident crocodile that may have ventured this far and made its lair...

When you have left behind the last hints that can somehow be traced back to civilisation and you start to dare deeper into the great wilderness, you distance yourself from the familiar undertakings and sensations of existence. What you now need to prevail are different kinds of skills, ingenuity, resilience, and perseverance – and luck. You have to make use of what you have with you, or can find around you; stitch them together in ways that will keep you going. Your vehicle with your equipment represents about the last of the familiar ploys, but one can take only...

You can listen to the recoding, or read through the text below. Enjoy! We sat on the veranda early this morning and I thought, today, I will write more about the trials of moving the vehicle through the bush to a new place from which to wander. But the morning unfolded so subtly, with young light and a delicate mist among the trees and birdsong echoing in the stillness, and it seemed to tell me to write about something else; something less pragmatic. So, I paged through my old diaries and let them choose this. The photo was taken...

The idea is getting “closer” – the vehicle.  Closer to an area that begs further exploration on foot. It sounds so obviously sensible. But before that “closer” happens, there is a lot of slow, hard work. Dragging the vehicle along through the bush is mostly brutal, and hardly made up for by the few extra comforts in attendance. When moving through the bush I am always careful to select the best going with the lowest risk of damage or getting stuck, even if it means frequent stops and gettings-out to inspect on foot. That, is a lot quicker and...

You can listen to the voice narrative or read through the text below. Enjoy!   Being back at the fly camp after days of drifting through the bush is like being six years old again at the sweets counter in the corner café. There is suddenly lots to partake of – remnants of wine and snacks, a comfortable chair, a table (the food box lid),  shower water warmed over the fire, if you want, clean clothes (washed by the camp attendants and smelling of sunlight), even different clothes for sleeping in – and tweezers, for finally pulling out that...

In the life of every expedition there comes an evening when the return has to be contemplated; when, at dawn the next day, it has to be taken on. It is a journey in itself, with its own observations and thoughts and emotions. And I will – we all will, at some point in the future, have to contemplate the journey back from this. Early this morning I sat down to write about that. But then, gazing out from the veranda over the lawns, streaked with yellow from the young sun, and hearing the birds and listening to Beethoven’s...

You can listen to the vopice recording below, or read throught the text. Enjoy!   Hoping for a restful night, but prepared – hammock slung low so I can easily reach down for the rifle, sandals ready, bright little LED torch between my legs inside the sleeping bag, a fire through the night – the feint glow in the background towards the top left. One of us will get up from time to time to push the logs deeper into the bed of coals, so that we have the constant lick of a slow flame. On the near side,...

We trudged into fly camp some time after 11pm – Vashtudu, Jantjie, Moosa and me. The pic is Victor’s work. He and Louis were recruited to look after the vehicle; neither was brave enough to stay behind in the bush alone, so I had to take on both. We found them fast asleep in the cab, their fire abandoned. The hyenas had been giving them hell, they explained, with some embarrassment. Sure enough, the next morning we found the area around was covered in hyena tracks. Vashtudu snorted derisively that they should know better than to leave smelly food...

Kalemba had become fascinated with my little idiot box – not always the best subjects, but still, it did leave a record of sorts that would not have been there had I carried the thing. We came across this little compound late one afternoon. I am (through Kalemba) listening to their accounts of what was going on in their stretch of wilderness. As I might have mentioned in earlier postings, such bush dwellers, especially the ones like these, that live their semi-nomadic lives in the remote wilderness, are wonderful to meet up with and spend a bit of time...