April 2010 ~ Bikers World

As we came over the brow of the hill at least forty Chacma baboons scattered from the dirt road and disappeared amongst the thick bush that cloaks the side of the mountain. Over the next month we would definitely see and hear a lot more from this troop and, possibly, from their rivals that roam around the area. It felt great to be back on the farm in South Africa - the sun was out and, thanks to recent rainfall, everything seemed quite content .

The leftovers of a Leopard's lunch

With over forty five square kilometres to get reaquainted with, a busy month lay ahead. After a deep sleep, thanks to an exhausting trip from the U.K., I rose early and took a walk from the house down towards the northern end of the farm. A couple of light grey mountain reed buck skipped from their early morning drink and vanished into the twisted acacia bush just below the house. Small black faces of a group of sleepy vervet monkeys turned in my direction as I passed, but an alarm call wasn't due after the long, sleepless night that they had just experienced. To be a delicacy in the eyes of the leopard and caracal leaves little time for dreaming under the stars.

Near the next waterhole a herd of impala stirred as I approached. Many individuals in the herd simply continued to lie on the short, dew-soaked grass, not frightened by me. With the shooting season so long behind them and the early time of day, their laid-back behaviour could well be understood. Maybe, like the vervet monkeys, they had experienced a shortage of sleep during the long night.

A morning puff adder

Around the next corner, and surprisingly for the time of day, I encountered the first snake of the trip. With the hot sun a couple of hours away from hitting its spot, a large, female puff adder lay stretched out on the gravel. I was in luck as this usually superbly camouflaged snake was coloured a little differently to it's surroundings, letting me catch sight of it just before my foot landed on its back. Whether I would have been bitten is open to debate, but my guess is that I would have been faster than the early morning adder. With a little persuasion the snake reluctantly moved out of the road and into some cover.

A Puff Adder is highly camouflaged when amongst the leaves, but luckily not so when out on the gravel

Only birds and insects kept me company for the remainder of the morning, although the brown hyeana had trodden the same route on his nightly round not that long before my own walk. Very distinct from other spoor, the front foot is almost twice as large as the rear pads.

A little further down the road a colony of large, shiny, black ants was heading home after their nightly raid on a neighbouring ant nest. The last of the light brown, oblong pupae of a species smaller than themselves were being hustled back to the nest before the first rays of the sun struck the red earth. A narrow pathway, an inch wide and worn clean by the passage of thousands of tiny feet, snaked off through the bushes back to the raiders' nest.

Ant raiders on their way home after a night's work

The next day, a movement in the corner of my eye turned out to be a young python that had taken up residence near a water reservoir. It had been seen before, basking in the branches of a tree overhanging the water. and the rich pickings of abundant frogs and lizards had obviously been enough to persuade it to stay put. As I bent down the snake kindly posed or, rather, prepared to strike, by arranging its body to obtain maximum reach. A decent photo required me to get quite close and personal with the little snake and, thankfully, the camera took the brunt of its strikes!

The fiesty young African rock python that was determined to attach itself to my face

Apart from the usual procession of small, winged visitors to my room during the night, a bat arrived and, after completing a few laps, decided to take an early evening rest. Although the majority of people would find this sort of visitor particularly disconcerting, it does have a couple of important benefits. First of all, it makes short work of any irritating mosquitos and, secondly, while it's carrying out this kind service, it gently fans anyone struggling with the intense, summer heat.

A night visitor to my room

A southern view of the farm

Not a week had passed when I checked out a cave to see if the resident porcupines were at home. A few quills lay around the cavern's low slung entrance revealing who might be in residence, but, without a torch, nothing was visible and a return trip would be needed. Before I left, I noted that a strange noise could be heard, originating from deep within the pitch black darkness. I couldn't quite figure it out so I clicked a couple of pictures hoping that the flash burst might reveal what was causing this bizarre sound. It wasn't until later that I actually looked at the photos and noticed about 200 bats hanging from the roof of the cave - the noise had simply been the gentle flapping of wings!

The cave with the bats at the back and wasps hanging near the front waiting for me to arrive.

Intent on getting some decent shots of the bats, I returned the next day. To get into the cave I'd need to slide on my stomach through the entrance, which is no more than two feet high. Once inside, where more room is available, it would be possible to set up the tripod to photograph the bats.

The roof of the cave is a perfect nesting site for the wasps known locally as perdebye, so I checked if any were about before I started to manoeuvre inside. Having hardly got to the ground, I felt something hit the side of my head, followed by instantly intense pain. Previous experience had given me some lessons about these particular wasps and I knew that an extra-quick exit would be the only thing to save me. Once they've been disturbed and have decided to attack, it's only only a fast and long run by the target that throws them off the trail.

A different nest, but same species of wasp, starting to get agitated by my presence

I flew out of the cave like a rocket, whilst slapping the side of my head to try and dislodge the wasp that was repeadedly stinging my ear. In the excitement my camera flew from my other hand and proceeded to bounce down the side of the mountain from rock to rock. My head throbbed as if I'd just been branded with a red hot poker. Amazing pain which slowly subsided as I rubbed my quickly-swelling ear. Gingerly I crept back up to collect my tripod before taking my leave. The wasps had now settled down and, luckily for them, my camera was trashed. Had it been working, they would have definitely come to a premature end. Looking at the photos that I had taken the day before, the wasps can quite clearly be seen hanging from the roof - how I missed them, I will never know.