213 - Farting Rhino, Grumpy Lion (Etosha National Park, Namibia)
ETOSHA NATIONAL PARK IS 20,000 SQUARE KM OF WILDLIFE VIEWING BLISS… at least during the dry season. At other times, the critters like to hide in the grassy grass. Sightings can be few and far between. This explains why the Halali Rest Camp was nearly empty. We arrived in the morning, set up the tent, and began our patrol.
Animals or not, the park is captivating, more so without the crowds. The first day we saw little, but our time wasn’t spent in vain. Just being there, looking out across the great Etosha Pan and drifting along the grass-lined dirt roads while attempting (once again) to avoid getting Sparky stuck in the mud, was exhilarating. Spotting a giraffe and rhino didn’t hurt.
Back at camp, we ate dinner and made our way to the floodlit waterhole to sip wine and, hopefully, meet local denizens. We sat for the better part of an hour, but no one came to drink. Then, Leslie and I thought we heard something from a dark corner just on the other side of the protective fence facing away from the floodlight. Using a camera flash while standing on a rock ledge, I spotted Hornee the Rhino snoozing in the grass… and farting like a fucking maniac. We alerted other folks staring fruitlessly at the waterhole and soon a small crowd joined, lighting up Hornee with a barrage of flashes. We returned in the morning, but he’d moved on. Probably couldn’t stand the smell… dirty bastard.
Ever heard an owl screech? It’s bloodcurdling, resulting in possible loss of bowel control. Some were swooping through the campground at night. I tried to pinpoint their location but was forced to settle for glimpses and the occasional shriek. (FYI: I didn’t shit my pants… moral victory.)
We packed up the next morning and went east through Etosha. The animals appeared to have done the same. We had an uncanny knack for finding lone hyenas on a stroll. This day was no different. We stalked one in the Spark for a good ten minutes before moving on. Hyenas are neat. Not a doggy. Not a kitty. It’s a Hyaenidae. Yes.
Besides the usual suspects (wildebeest, zebras, giraffes, gazelles, etc.), we came upon two male lions not long after a zebra slaying. They were enjoying a morning snack as we approached. A few jackals circled the periphery, hoping for an opportunity. They didn’t get one. The brothers were unwilling to share. One did leave the carcass for a moment, only to come roaring back (literally) as soon as two jackals encroached.
We sat inside Sparky and enjoyed a little breakfast ourselves. We went with Cheerios, not raw zebra. The vibe dampened when two tourist buses pulled up for a look-see. We departed soon afterward. This wasn’t our last encounter with lions. Little did we know, we’d soon spend an evening with a pride of the golden kitties somewhere in the Okavango Delta… but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
We planned to camp another night in Etosha, but after high-level discussions, we concluded we should make for Botswana. On our way out, I caught our elusive owl friend lounging in a tree. I could stare at them all fucking day. We skipped the photos for once and just appreciated. It was lovely.
We continued northeast to Rundu, spending two nights on the Okavango River with a lovely view into Angola. It was my birthday and Leslie made it a memorable one. While I sat in our room and caught up on world events (Muammar Gaddafi was ranting incoherently about al-Qaeda and psychedelic drugs), Leslie was in town making birthday plans. She found a cake and a card. Yes.
The cake was surprisingly delicious, and although the card was meant for a three-year-old (oddly appropriate), it was a most touching gesture. And what’s a birthday party on the Namibia/Angola border without Bombay gin and tonic water? No party at all, I say. I’d been on the move so much over the intervening years, I’d barely given my birthday a second thought. This was a welcome change and made me feel special.
