Trip Report - Rhino Trek

Tony motions for me to move forward. I put down the video camera so I can see where I'm stepping. I am covered in blackjacks, short, barb-like burrs, which jab my feet repeatedly through the mesh tops of my runners. I have heard the previous evening that blackjacks are the reason why Zimbabweans and Zambians who work in the bush don't wear socks. This is perfectly clear to me now. Blackjacks have turned my socks into pin cushions.

With that extra little burst of speed and slight change of direction, Tony and I emerge ahead of the rhino, the dominant male of a small group of re-introduced White Rhinos after the last one in Livingstone's Mosi-oa-Tunya National Park was lost to poachers in 2007. Up to that point, from when the rhino was first spotted, looking not unlike a huge boulder on the move, we have merely kept adjacent to him while slowly closing our distance to ten feet. (That we get that close is because Tony assures me that he can tell that the "big fellow" is in a "good mood" that morning.) Now when I raise the camera to my eye, the rhino fills the viewfinder. He continues to amble forward, never breaking his stride although he must know we are here. His ears rotate like windmills. In a minute, our paths will converge. Involuntarily, I make a little move to back away, which is exactly what I have been instructed not to do. The able park ranger who accompanies Tony and me clamps his hand down hard on my shoulder in a silent but adamant signal for me to remain where I am. Trust for the experienced men and women who show us the bush on foot is vital. I relax. Getting close to a rhino on foot is far more exhilarating than getting close to one in a game vehicle. Just in the knick of time it seems, the "big fellow" alters course slightly. He bypasses where the three of us stand, immobile as trees, and at least one of us not breathing. I have forgotten all about the blackjacks.

14-10-2009