Mhudi E-Book

Sol. T. Plaatje

• Herausgeber: Jonathan Ball
• Kategorie: Wissenschaft und neue Technologien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

What started as a vision for the Olifants River Game Reserve [in South Africa] has become the story of a game ranger's life. With a naturalist's eye for detail as well as the bigger picture of managing a fragile ecosystem through years of drought and plenty, Mario Cesare brings a storyteller's delight - and a dash of Italian passion - to sharing his world. Life-and-death encounters with lion, elephant and buffalo are balanced by rescues and interventions as these giants of the lowveld suffer the effects of human interference in their ecosystem. There are problems with poachers and with rapacious neighbours; then the delights of success - and in the case of the elephant population, the conundrums of too much success. Mario Cesare's career has taken him from Timbavati and Mala Mala to Olifants River and beyond - and he delights in sharing his good fortune. His latest task: to develop and nurture the Olifants River Game Reserve as the fences of the Greater Kruger National Park area fall, undoing generations of damage. Man-eaters, Mambas and Marula Madness: A Game Rangers Life in the Lowveld provides a wealth of lessons on conservation as well as stories of life in the bush as it is enjoyed only by those fortunate enough to live on a 'Big Five' reserve.

Leseprobe

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What started as a vision about the Olifants River Game Reserve has become the story of a game ranger’s life. With a naturalist’s eye for detail as well as the bigger picture of managing a fragile ecosystem through years of drought and plenty, Mario Cesare brings a storyteller’s delight – and a dash of Italian passion – to sharing his world.

Life-and-death encounters with lion, elephant and buffalo are balanced by rescues and interventions as these giants of the lowveld suffer the effects of human interference in their ecosystem. There are problems with poachers and with rapacious neighbours; then the delights of success – and in the case of the elephant population, the conundrums of too much success.

Mario Cesare’s career has taken him from Timbavati and Mala Mala to Olifants River and beyond – and he delights in sharing his good fortune. His latest task: to develop and nurture the Olifants River Game Reserve as the fences of the Greater Kruger National Park area fall, undoing generations of damage. Man-eaters, Mambas and Marula Madness: A Game Rangers Life in the Lowveld provides a wealth of lessons on conservation as well as stories of life in the bush as it is enjoyed only by those fortunate enough to live on a ‘Big Five’ reserve.

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Man-eaters, mambas and marula madness

A game ranger’s life in the lowveld

Mario Cesare

JONATHAN BALL PUBLISHERS

JOHANNESBURG & CAPE TOWN

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For my wife Meagan, whose patience and support, despite being severely tested at times, is unwavering.

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Reserve HQ co-ordinates: 24° 07’ 12. 23’S 31º 01’ 50.43’E

Foreword

I get the feeling that a deep fascination for the African bush and its wildlife is something universal, something tightly wrapped in the DNA of all mankind. Or is this just the cloistered view of a South African who can’t remember better times than his visits to the Kruger National Park, or the Timbavati, and who holds the belief that a bushveld experience seems always to be the highlight for any of our foreign visitors lucky enough to get there?

The question to ask, I guess, is why this is so.

Is it the silence, the tranquillity, the sense of something unspoiled, the excitement of being privy to the unexpected, to the sudden and often explosive raw rhythms of nature? I suspect we could come up with a heap of theories that tie back to the mainstream of man’s primitive origins, our disenchantment with the concrete sprawl of our modern cities, the ugliness of the relentless development we see around us and the crowded tempo of modern life.

And it would all be unimportant.

The fact remains. The bushveld is a place where I, and most people I know, are most at peace and very happy to be in.

The bushveld is also where I first met Mario Cesare, under a Mopane tree, where we tested fly rods and compared casting styles, somewhere back in the 1980s. But that day is a convoluted story all on its own. The important thing is that we still share a friendship and a few common passions – fly fishing, the bushveld and wildlife. So we have been in each other’s company fairly often since we first met, always in remote places, either viewing wild life or fly fishing. And I was quick to understand that Mario’s passion for wildlife is underpinned by a deep empathy for it and an incredible understanding of its many huge machinations and its tiniest intricate nuances. It’s an understanding the likes of which I have not encountered to the same level in anyone else. I’m tempted to think there are ‘naturals’ at this sort of thing, just as we know there are naturals in sport, and that Mario is a natural conservationist. I get the sense that a lot of what happens in his head happens naturally, was just fed empirically along the way in his many years deep in the bush aided by his keen powers of observation.

Not that I should even hint that I’m an expert judge of the qualities of conservationists and naturalists. I am working on a hunch here, but it’s a hunch backed by my own observations during the many hours I have spent in Mario’s company. More importantly, it’s backed by the testimony of many people who are knowledgeable about these things and who happen also to know Mario well. I have been alongside Mario on many rivers and streams and if there’s one thing I am sure about, it’s that I can tell a lot about a person by just quietly watching how they approach a testy fly stream. Mario’s approach is studied, observant and skilled. I would guess he’s the same in the bushveld around big game as he is in fly streams around trout.

Man-eaters, Mambas and Marula Madness is more than a series of stories about one of the most successful private game reserves in South Africa. It is that in large part, but in many ways it is also the story of Mario’s life, as a family man, as a manager with high responsibility, as a committed diplomat and negotiator for the rights of wild animals and as a humble, compassionate and celebrated conservationist. It is a book richly woven with the tapestry of his life experiences, with charming bushveld vignettes from mambas to man-eaters, with humour (conservationists are paid not so much in currency as in sunsets), with wonderfully fresh insights into the intriguing ways of wildlife (you will never forget his touching story of the brotherhood among buffalo bulls), with accounts of the threats posed by fences and poachers, and with his few encounters with the prospect of sudden death.

This is also a book I have long hoped Mario would write. His head is too filled with the mysteries and intricate workings of this aspect of the natural world to let him slip quietly away one day without leaving us – and the generations to come – with a record of his experiences and insights. Fortunately, Mario has always been a committed note keeper and now at last we have much of that in book form. But as good as this book is, I hope there is more Cesare writing to come. Man-eaters, Mambas and Marula Madness has left me, as I suspect it will leave you, with precisely that sentiment.

Tom Sutcliffe

April 2010

Introduction

Dr Ian Player, one of the world’s most respected conservationists, addressing a gathering of the Game Rangers Association of Africa, once said, ‘Keep records of your experiences … write, write, write!’ His advice could not have found a more eager audience than Mario Cesare. Thoroughly inspired and motivated by his words, I have taken notes and documented my observations for as long as I can remember – and finally, I have compiled my thoughts into some semblance of order.

Which brings us to the here and now.

Olifants River Game Reserve, ‘Olifants’ from here on, is a privately owned Big Five game reserve, unique among lowveld reserves in that it has a perennial river running through it. Over the years I have done my best to keep the shareholders up to date with the happenings in this fascinating place, in their piece of real Africa, and this ongoing task has proved to be as rewarding as it has been challenging. Through the production of regular newsletters, initially with ballpoint and notepaper, then with typewriters and latterly with laptops and PCs, I have been successful to some degree in bringing the Bush they’re so passionate about into their offices and homes.

I have never been asked by a secretary or personal assistant to call back later. No matter the profile of the captain of industry, the workload of the busiest professional or the time constraints of a packed commercial or personal schedule, if the shareholders of Olifants just can’t take my call at that moment, they will tell me personally. Invariably, this courtesy then includes a brief enquiry as to how things are on the reserve. The shareholders, the ‘family’ of Olifants, always want to know the latest news from the reserve and I always want to share it with them.

This book is a synthesis of my experiences and this reserve’s growth over the years and is peppered with selected features from the newsletters produced from 1993 to 2009. It is presented in no particular order or sequence. It is designed to be picked up and opened on any page at any time and to strike a chord or re-ignite a memory. The topics range from the earliest recollections of my interest in wildlife through a broad spectrum of nature conservation and environmental issues, to tales of my interaction with the bush and its inhabitants mostly viewed from the reserve’s perspective. Both the content and the intent range from conventional to controversial. In some cases, I may disturb some of the dust that has gathered on traditional thinking and may seem insensitive on sensitive matters. The intention is not to be provocative, however, but rather to question history, the status quo and alternative futures with an open mind, very much coloured by the realities and the challenges of life on Olifants.

Of course, there are personal and anecdotal recollections of some days in my life as a game ranger, and the nuts and bolts of practical conservation work. I hope these will offer some respite from the more serious moments and will help create a greater awareness of this wonderful reserve and the pivotal role it plays in a greater conservation system.

We know that conservation ecology is not an exact science. Broadly speaking, the basics can be and are successfully practised by some of the most primitive peoples on earth. There is no magic formula, it is practical common sense and the dependence on and respect for the environment that is the key. Nature is patient and forgiving, she will tolerate honest mistakes with remarkable resilience, and providing that we learn from them, we stand to benefit and prosper.

I am the first to admit I am not a scientist. However, of necessity, a smidgen of technical stuff weaves its way in and out of the meandering road map of this book. I have attempted to make this of interest to those of you who do not wear white dustcoats and thick bifocals. Equally, I am not a seasoned author, so although the words that have emerged as this publication may have been typed by my fingers, they come from the heart often with the emotional content unedited and loosely structured. In the end, though, it is my innate desire to share my experiences that has motivated the production of this book.

I have drawn on some 32 years in the bush, including the years spent beyond the borders of this reserve before my arrival in the embryonic Olifants River Game Reserve. I have also drawn on the experiences of many shareholders, and have named them and their individual lodges or reserves and acknowledged their contributions. At the same time, there has been no selection process for inclusion and there are no favourites, no inner circle.

Kobie Krüger coined the apt saying that ‘Game Rangers get paid in Sunsets’ and I am sure she would agree that these rewards are so often worth sharing. So it was, earlier this year, when I crested one of the higher ridges on Olifants in order to get an uninterrupted view of a particular sunset. It was one of those events which, given my limited vocabulary, frustratingly defied description.

Utterly humbled by the magnificent sight before me, all I could do was grab the radio microphone and blurt out to whoever was out there listening …

‘How’s that sunset?’

I hope that as you travel though these pages you may get to see and share what I have seen. I hope that you will be with me in spirit when I once again blurt out ‘How’s that sunset?’ and you will share, through my eyes, all that is Olifants River Game Reserve.

From the ‘Magdalena Method’ to the Alliance with Olifants North

AUGUST 2001

February 1993 was one of the hottest months we’d known in the last decade that we had worked in the Timbavati bush. The lowveld region had experienced a couple of years of severe drought, yet despite the onset of summer rains with the associated humidity, the vegetation was slow to respond. It appeared to be cautious and lethargic in recovering, as if it didn’t want to expose any fragile new growth to the heat, in case it didn’t rain again. The reality was, I suspect, that this demonstrated the degree of dehydration experienced in the preceding drought and, in particular, how much soil moisture had been lost.

Meagan had recently given birth to our son Dino, and my daughter Eleana, who was only two years old at the time, had already carved a place deep in her father’s heart. Another love of my life, the country of South Africa, was undergoing considerable political change and the sensitive situation that prevailed did very little for the international tourism market. It became extremely difficult to operate an up-market game lodge, which depended almost entirely on this fickle market. So, yet another love of my life, the bush, was offering no more than an uncertain future, apart from the effects of the drought as already mentioned. This was a major motivating factor in our decision to change careers for one less reliant on foreign tourism.

At that point, I seriously considered opting for the perceived job satisfaction and certain job security of a career with Natal Parks Board. This branch of South African National Parks was streets ahead in conservation innovation; they were progressive … right up my alley, I thought. I duly applied and went through the lengthy interviewing and selection process. One month later, I was offered a post at Cape Vidal, arguably one of the most spectacular of the Park’s reserves.

Situated on the north coast, in the heart of Zululand, the reserve boasts a wide range of habitat types, including a marine reserve with some of the best bill fishing on the Northern Natal coastline. Despite the attractions, I had to turn it down for one very practical reason. The salary offered at that level, at that time, meant that Meagan and my dog would both have to go out and find full-time jobs to keep us alive, while I ‘researched’ the deep sea fishing potential of this magnificent coastal reserve. Not that I would have been able to afford the expensive fishing tackle needed to facilitate this research.

There is a saying, I think in the advertising industry, that ‘emotion decides, while reason but censors and hides’. Well, we needed to listen to reason, not to our emotions. We needed to make a ‘head’ decision. As difficult as it was, we accepted that this was not the time to allow our hearts to rule. Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, all I can say is, thank goodness we didn’t listen to our hearts. Realising that a post with a state department would mean slow starvation, this avenue was abandoned.

So, after nine happy years in the Timbavati, we changed career direction, and made the decision to move to Olifants River Game Reserve, taking up the position as General Manager/Warden. This was very much a husband & wife position, and formally, we became ‘the management couple’.

Moving home is never easy and getting to the reserve with all our belongings proved to be no exception. The organisers of the Roof of Africa Rally could have learned many a lesson from the reserve’s access roads. The physical challenges of the road that took us to our new home proved stressful indeed, with the driver (me) and the navigator (Meagan) having to co-operate to negotiate the route and get through with all of our furniture and the necessities of life intact … breastfeeding Dino en route was completely out of the question. I remember it took us an hour-and-a-half to drive the 30 kilometres from Hoedspruit to the reserve’s office. This same trip now takes only 40 minutes, which includes having to slow down for the 100 or so speed bumps I have since built. Prior to the era of bumps, incidentally, in a particular emergency, I did it in under 30 minutes!

We arrived at noon, and except for the shrill, high-pitched buzz of cicadas, there wasn’t a sound or sign of life. The air was thick with that oppressive mood imparted in the movies, when they portray some rundown, deserted, mid-western USA town complete with the shimmering heat making the corrugated iron roofs go ‘tick, tick, tick’ as they cooled when the sun slipped behind a cloud. All we needed to complete the scene was for a chain saw to suddenly start up! Eventually, I detected movement near the workshop area and found someone ‘alive’ who explained that everyone was on a lunch break until 2 pm. Nevertheless, he was kind enough to show us to the ‘office’.

The ‘office’ was an old building with as little charm as an old Pofadder railway station house. We learned later that it doubled as a clubhouse, but we learned immediately that it boasted other inhabitants! The pungent smell of bat urine and droppings which had saturated the gypsum ceiling was almost unbearable. A family of warthogs had dug themselves a cool hollow in the only remaining two square metres of lawn under a baboon-ravaged guava tree, and the soil that was meant to support a lawn now transferred dust with each gust of wind into the office and a murky over-chlorinated swimming pool. After cursory introductions and small talk we were told that our accommodation was not ready yet, and we were asked to settle in elsewhere temporarily.

Depressed doesn’t begin to describe how we felt at the time; it was the closest we came to turning around and leaving. The temporary quarters, which must have been a product of the same uninspired architect who had given birth to the office, were a nightmare. High ambient temperatures and humidity made living under the corrugated iron roof of these temporary quarters extremely uncomfortable, particularly at night. There were a couple of groaning fans to help add some sluggish movement to the air, but no air conditioning. Apparently no one had told the previous management that this technology was available.

In our temporary ‘home’ we couldn’t unpack properly, which meant we were going to be living out of boxes for a while, not a happy situation for Meagan at all. Then, in my haste to make things comfortable, I forgot to switch our portable colour TV from 12 to 220 volts. When I plugged it into the wall socket, the acrid smoke and burnt plastic smell left me in no doubt that I’d blown it. To further improve our stress levels, the outgoing management were totally uncooperative. They did everything they could to undermine us. At first it was subtle, but as they neared the end of their notice period, it became blatant and obvious. Nevertheless, being made of sterner stuff, we gritted our teeth and eventually overcame the hurdles that were shoved in front of us.

The reality of settling into the routine of a new job and the sudden change of environment, with its associated challenges, was rather harder on Meagan than it was on me. Much of the disruption to my life was cushioned, as I was out in the bush most of the time, learning new boundaries, roads and water points. Despite the maze of the road network, I began to get my bearings and started to feel more settled. At that point, getting to know the reserve in relation to its neighbouring land owners was made a priority.

The inescapable politics of the area and their effect on the reserve were depressingly apparent. The poaching threat, particularly from the smaller properties across the river, was relentless. In the first month alone, we arrested two men armed with a .303 calibre rifle, poaching warthogs and giraffe on the reserve. Their brazen arrogance was evidenced by the fact that even though one particular warthog they shot ran over 200 metres into our property before dying, they followed it in, cut its throat, and bled it out as they dragged it back to their side of the river. There was absolutely no attempt made to conceal the blood trail, which led right up to the point where the carcass was loaded into a waiting car.

I take some satisfaction in reporting that they don’t have that rifle any longer and they’re a few thousand rand poorer. Oh yes, and perhaps just a teeny bit less arrogant.

In a widely publicised case, another of our neighbours, a man of the cloth, purposely and with the intention to hunt, lured five lions across from our side of the river onto his congregation’s worshipping area. He had slaughtered a cow and then, sitting over the bait the carcass provided, systematically shot three of the lions.

Worse was to come …

During my familiarisation, I was taken to a high point on the reserve to orientate me in relation to our northern neighbour, the farm Magdalena. Lodge 82, with its elevated position and commanding view, was chosen. I remember mentally comparing the view with that of M’bali camp in the Timbavati, from where Meagan and I had recently moved, and there was no comparison. The Olifants River, with its associated riparian trees and the seemingly unspoilt bush to the north, was spectacular. What also made an impression on me was the lack of power lines, telephone lines and railway tracks. And yet, all was not as pristine as it seemed.

From this vantage point, I was shown the extent of the river frontage that Magdalena shared with Olifants. Despite the thick riverine vegetation that straddled both banks of the river, I could see giraffe on the narrow flood plain, as well as what I thought was a small herd of waterbuck near the water’s edge. (The floods of 1996 subsequently had a devastating impact on the ecology of this landscape. Most of the huge, magnificent trees that grew on the banks of the Olifants River were washed away. Where they once stood, the river has deposited silt loads up to two metres deep, creating an enormous floodplain habitat.) Returning to the tale at hand, and with Carl Zeiss’s assistance, I was able to bring the small herd ten times closer and determine that the ‘waterbuck’ were in fact donkeys!

Worse still, as they moved about, bells on their necks made a tinkling sound. It was reminiscent of a Swiss chocolate advertisement and I half expected to hear distant strains of Julie Andrews. Another movement close to them revealed a number of scrawny cattle, which appeared to be of Afrikaner-cross-Brahman strain. I turned to the outgoing manager and asked what these domestic animals were doing in a game reserve area.

He explained that the owner of Magdalena, a well-known homeopath, ran a combined cattle and game farm, and added that all the wildebeest across the river had been shot because the cattle would be susceptible to ‘snot siekte’ which is carried by them. When I asked about the donkeys, I was told that they were used as bait to lure lions across from Olifants whereupon the lions would be shot. This doctor took the concept of prevention being better than cure to new extremes.

The more I learned, the more ruthless the ‘Magdalena method’ was revealed to be. Any threat to their sable antelope ‘breeding programme’ was eliminated. Leopard were trapped in cages strategically placed around the 300-hectare sable camp. They were then shot. Hyaenas were also trapped and shot. Wild dog and cheetah were shot on sight without the preamble of trapping. Magdalena’s manager at that time, apparently an ex-Nature Conservation official, had been tasked by the reserve’s owner with implementing a campaign against Olifants. The apparent reason for this feud was that the developers had promised not to build in front of the Magdalena camp, but went back on their word and did just that. War was then declared. However understandable the reasons for his anger may have been, venting his emotions by taking revenge on innocent animals was cowardly and shameful.

Incidentally, this vendetta was not only aimed at the larger predators. There was apparently no regard for any animals emanating from Olifants. Nyala, which are as beautiful as they’re innocent, were among the known casualties of this campaign. Initially I thought this extremely negative picture was being painted by the outgoing manager as a result of sour grapes. I was about to find out how wrong I was.

A few weeks later, I was called to a sighting of 13 lion at Wild Dog Pan. Among them were two beautiful full-maned males, the dominant males of our resident pride. Later that evening the pride moved down to the Olifants River and crossed into Magdalena near Fig Tree Grove. That was to be the last time I’d ever see them.

The following night, seven lions were shot out of this pride, and to add insult to injury, the whole ‘hunt’ was videotaped prior to the actual shooting. This smacks of the same subhuman mentality evidenced by terrorists in the mould of Al Qaeda when they videotape their innocent victims before and during their execution. The lions were filmed drinking at the cattle troughs, with the cattle clearly visible in the background. A further three must have been shot later, because only three lions returned the following day, one young male and two pregnant females.

The ‘Magdalena method’ impacted not only on the area’s wildlife and its human population, but also on the topography of the land itself. A few months later, not too far from Magdalena’s main camp, an airstrip was bulldozed in an ecologically sensitive area. It was in full view of lodges on Olifants (Environmental Impact Assessments and the Green Scorpions were not an issue in those days). Not only was the airstrip totally useless, due to its limited length and steep slope, but the scar it left on the landscape will take hundreds of years to heal. The stated purpose of this airstrip was to fly hunting clients directly in and out of Magdalena as it was going to be hunted commercially. They knew this would upset the majority of the shareholders on Olifants and the so-called airstrip was an ever-present reminder of the underlying threat.

One morning a couple of months later, I received a call from one of our guards, who reported that domestic dogs had crossed the river from the north and were chasing waterbuck on our side of the river. Immediately, I jumped into my vehicle and was off to investigate. Upon arrival at the point where the dogs were alleged to have crossed the river, I unexpectedly came face to face with the Magdalena manager for the first time. He was standing on the opposite riverbank, with his hands on his ample hips, and when he saw me, he cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, ‘Goeie môre!’ above the roar of the rapids. I reciprocated. After introducing himself, he went on to say that the two Rottweilers responsible for chasing the waterbuck were his and that should I come across the dogs, I was to shoot them if I wanted to.

I told him I didn’t think that would be necessary. I felt like telling him who was actually at fault, and who I thought should be shot, but managed to override the surge of my simmering Italian blood and maintained decorum. Thankfully, the dogs returned of their own accord shortly afterwards.

In the ensuing cordial conversation, on a quieter section on the river, I learnt that his boss had given him a list of things to do that would hurt Olifants. However, he said he could see I was a person with whom he could communicate and that perhaps we should bury the hatchet, at least on a managerial level. The only thing I knew for sure at that stage, was where the hatchet should be buried, but I kept that to myself.

What glimmer of hope there may have been was soon snuffed out. A few days later I heard that a large nyala bull, one of only 18 individuals on Olifants at the time, had crossed over from our area near lodge 30 and had been shot. Later, its mounted head was to adorn the manager’s house and stay there until he left.

These few examples I have shared with you represent the tip of a destructive iceberg the real magnitude of which we will never know. Thanks to the dedication and commitment of the Olifants shareholders, this untenable situation was eventually resolved. Although Magdalena wasn’t needed as a property acquisition, it was purchased for another reason – peace of mind. The then Magdalena is now known as Olifants North, and it and its wildlife population are now in safe hands. We can all rest easy when we see the odd vehicle movement or spotlight on the other side of the river, knowing there’s no hunter’s rifle behind the light. Best of all, no one is going to miss the domestic stock that used to summon in our beautiful bushveld mornings with moos and heehaws. And, when our lions cross over for a visit, we know there’s a good chance they will soon be back, and if not, it will be of their choosing.

It goes without saying that, ecologically, the two areas cannot be and should never be separated. An African ecosystem cannot be defined and demarcated completely and utterly.

There can never be ‘big enough’ in Africa. African mammals need lebensraum. Even the Kruger Park’s two million hectares are proving ‘too small’. The very nature and dynamism of African ecosystems, particularly when tested under drought conditions, demonstrate how precious every hectare is, and to have control over only one bank of a perennial river is in my opinion, no control at all.

Ecological management is now scientifically based and co-ordinated. Co-operation between north and south, especially where game management is concerned, is excellent. Many species share this combined area, with nyala, waterbuck and hippo being but a few examples of how co-operation is vital for management purposes. At present Olifants North boasts four waterbuck to every one south of the river, and therefore, what may seem to be an over-population in their area when looked at in isolation, is in fact high density due to this species favouring the habitat over there. They simply prefer the North, and the game census records over the years show that this has always been the case. Take the two areas as a whole, however, and combine the waterbuck numbers, and a more realistic picture emerges, upon which management decisions can be made. (This is discussed in a little more detail later under the heading ‘Management of game populations’.)

This link is just one more in the chain that gives the combined area strength and makes it the paradise it is and the envy of all. It is also no secret that Olifants North comprises habitat that is more suited to black rhino than it is to their white cousins. Considering the excellent holding pens and infrastructure already in place for the introduction of rhino, we will take advantage of this and consider introducing black rhino in the near future. A visit in 2006 by conservationist and author Ron Thompson confirmed the viability of this concept. As controversial as he may be on some conservation management issues, conversely he is an authority on others, and one of these is black rhino.

Ron studied these animals extensively in Zimbabwe, and after having visited our area on a number of occasions, he is convinced that the Commiphora woodland and hill country of Olifants North, Ukhozi and Olifants West, is very suitable black rhino habitat.

Unbeknown to Ron was the fact that in the last 16 years on this reserve I have never seen or received any report of a white rhino in the area or habitat he describes as suited to black rhino. With no obstacle whatsoever to limit their access, white rhino have not been recorded in this hilly habitat near the Olifants River flood plain or the river itself on the reserve. Despite the worst of droughts, during which many species under resource stress frequently roamed areas they normally wouldn’t in search of food and water, the white rhinos would not cross the ‘Commiphora curtain’. This line can be identified as the ecotone between the relatively flat bushwillow, marula and knobthorn veld, and the hilly rocky Commiphora woodland which characterises the majority of the topography and vegetation type that the Olifants River meanders through. It is quite incredible to see how the white rhino regard this habitat demarcation zone as if it were a fence-line, a solid barrier, which confirms Ron’s observation regarding suitable habitat for black rhino.

And so it is in this particular piece of Africa, that over time, natural cycles are played out, no matter the schemes of man. Perhaps we did not know it at the time, but the madness that was Magdalena was to cause the birth of Olifants North as a co-operative and like-thinking neighbour.

And, as if to confirm this, whilst the scar of Magdalena’s ‘airstrip’ is still visible, it fades faster than we might have expected, as have the memories of the bad old days.

The Klaserie Fence is History!

February 2005

The fence between the Klaserie and Balule Nature Reserves was the only remaining hurdle between our game reserve and the Greater Kruger Park’s open system. The removal of this barrier would effectively allow game to enjoy unrestricted movement between the Hoedspruit/Phalaborwa road and the Mozambique border. Furthermore, South African National Parks, in co-operation with the Mozambican government, had started a phased removal of the Kruger/Mozambique fence as well. To date, nearly 30 kilometres of fences had been removed, thereby creating the Transfrontier National Park. Hypothetically speaking, the future promised that there would be nothing in terms of fences to stop animals moving eastwards until they reached the Indian Ocean, an east--west migration possibility of well over 400 kilometres! The reality, in 2009, given the most optimistic predictions, is that only about half that distance will be used … but that is a huge achievement in itself.

The key to becoming part of this progressive conservation initiative was to become a full member of the Association of Private Nature Reserves (APNR). To fulfil the criteria for full membership of APNR, it was clear that we needed to get our house in order. This proved to be a huge challenge and while Balule had a lot going for it ecologically, it was on the political front that a tremendous amount of work still needed to be done. Once compliance was achieved, however, we were assured the fence would be dismantled. This process, which took nearly 18 years of goal-driven single-mindedness, successfully ran its course in 2005.

Understandably, our shareholders and the broader conservation community were waiting with bated breath for any news on our progress with APNR. In an attempt to inform the shareholders of the significance of what had been achieved, I wrote the following article, which appeared in an early 2005 newsletter. I also took the opportunity to throw in a brief history of the initiative’s background.

March 2005: I am told that good news doesn’t sell newspapers. Disasters, conflicts, scandals and misfortunes are some of the required and essential ingredients needed to cook up the sort of story that sells. When spiced with sensationalism and carefully tuned with well-placed words and a liberal sprinkling of adjectives, the end product is often a dramatic and marketable rendering of the events. Unfortunately, even when the story is far from an accurate reflection of the facts, it can be immensely readable and, for some, a macabre form of entertainment.

Fortunately I am not in the media business where I would be hard-pressed to earn a crust, as this time I can only report good news. Admittedly, it has taken a while to get to this point, but timing was all-important. I thought it better to wait until I was able to report back to you with facts and finality rather than with maybes and speculation. I think it was Sir Winston Churchill who said, ‘Lies travel the world, while truth is still putting its boots on.’

‘Mario, get to the point!’ I can hear you saying … well, OK …

The fence is down! I repeat. THE FENCE IS DOWN!

Where and when did this initiative start? Well, of course, it started with the inception of Olifants and the zeal of men with vision who started this reserve back in 1987. The pioneers of Olifants River Game Reserve were not only keen and talented developers, they were also men of ambition with a conservation ethic to match their sales drive. In 1988, the regulations governing developments were less stringent than they are today, so it was fortunate that they were not ecologically naïve, and despite pressing financial priorities, they never lost sight of the bigger picture.

Ian Green and Tim Ham both realised that this area’s long-term future and ecological well-being lay in becoming part of a larger open system. Tim was even more of a believer than Ian, in fact, and so confident were they that the removal of the Klaserie fence was an eventual fait accompli, that it became a passionate part of their sales ‘spiel’.

The implication was that Olifants would be associated with the prestigious Klaserie Private Nature Reserve, itself soon to have its boundary with Kruger removed. The Balule area at that point was a loose-knit group of relatively small landowners, many of whom were suffering from that ecologically destructive affliction I call the ‘Myne syndrome’, a personal interpretation of the ‘Mine, all mine!’ attitude for which a cure was later found, thank goodness!

Prospective buyers were entertained on Olifants, and were an enraptured, captive audience. In terms of sales and marketing, selling Olifants, even back then, could not have been much of a challenge.

You can picture the scene … flickering leadwood log fires burning on the banks of the Olifants River when a lion roars in the distance interrupting the conversation. It would have been a welcome distraction that set the mood like no presentation could possibly emulate. With a dram or two of Scotland’s finest, this priceless scenario no doubt helped even the most sceptical buyers to shed their urban mindset and put things in perspective. This was no sales gimmick, and they knew it. It is no wonder then, that cheque books seemed to fall out of pockets and the river became a mere trickle compared to the rate at which the ink flowed into contractual signatures. Nowadays, acquiring a piece of the action on Olifants is virtually limited to ‘Dead Man’s Shoes’, so prized is ownership and so limited are the resale opportunities.

The Klaserie fence remained while the Kruger Park’s was dismantled, and our neighbours gloated. Undaunted by this, Olifants River Game Reserve was driven then, as it is now, by its enthusiastic shareholders who took the initiative and began to play a leading role in the area. In terms of commitment to conservation and practical wildlife management in particular, we took the lead in Balule, and in relation to other reserves in the lowveld, we were up there with the best.

As a consequence of the Kruger Park removing its fence with neighbouring private reserves, the APNR was formed. Amongst other functions, this body regulates conservation activities within the member reserves. The APNR management plan, which is modelled on the Kruger National Park’s master plan, is now regarded as its broad conservation policy document.

I began attending the APNR meetings early in 1993, mostly to stay in the loop, and at the invitation of the Chairman, Mr Paul Geiger, a former senior colleague who was also chairman of the Timbavati Private Nature Reserve at the time. By late 1993, Balule began to attend in an official capacity, yet only as an associate member … although this proved interesting at times, it was mostly a frustrating relationship. We knew this marriage was celibate and could never be consummated while the fence remained.

In October 1993, Olifants River Nature Reserve was officially proclaimed a Nature Reserve. This achievement owes a debt of thanks to the fortitude and foresight of Theunis Kotzee, then Chairman. Not only did he champion the cause of Olifants, he looked beyond our boundaries and envisaged the inclusion of the surrounding areas to form one large reserve. These areas have since been brought together in a loose-knit federation of independent reserves, collectively known as the Balule Nature Reserve.

Due to some properties within the Balule area being reluctant to remove fences initially, the Olifants region and the rest of Balule at that stage were, for all practical purposes, separate ecological units and were managed independently. However, the Klaserie fence, which proved an effective barrier to game movement, was not going to discourage Olifants from moving forward. Not being full members of the APNR instilled in our reserve a feisty independence. We didn’t just lie down and cry ‘foul’; we were obliged to manage our reserve intensively. We persevered and although Olifants went on to become one of the most respected examples of conservation in the area, our sights were always on being part of the greater KNP … the bigger picture!

Andy Dott was chairman of the Balule Nature Reserve committee at the time and except for a couple of years, has kept the chair ever since. He was, and still is, loyally supported by Steven Hearne, another man with vision and selfless commitment. Andy took up where Theunis left off, sunk his teeth in, and persisted, not letting go for one minute. Although Andy had his own unconventional style and a structurally different approach to things, the common goal remained the same – full membership of the APNR and getting the Klaserie fence down. The challenge lay in creating an ecologically and administratively acceptable reserve, which would fit the criteria for inclusion as a full member of the APNR.

Structurally, the Reserve developed as follows:

Balule Nature Reserve comprises six independently-run regions, which collectively cover an area of nearly 40 000 hectares.

Each region employs a warden, and has its own regional constitution and committee, which in turn subscribes to the overriding Balule constitution and Balule committee.

The APNR committee requires that a warden from each of the four private reserves, namely Balule, Klaserie, Timbavati and Umbabat, attend meetings at that level. In 2002, I was elected to represent Balule Nature Reserve as warden, and also chaired the Balule Wardens Committee, to which I was re-elected each year for the next six years.

Despite the foregoing emphasis on structure, fragmentation was, and always will be, Balule’s greatest threat. To overcome this inherent negative, everyone concerned worked on the co-ordination and co-operation of activities between the regions through their wardens. The holistic approach to conservation was becoming a reality and Balule was growing. The Balule Wardens Committee played a huge role maintaining the unity between the regions, which required focused effort on my part. My workload was increasing to the point where I had to divide my time between broader Balule issues and the pressing obligations on Olifants, so I opted to hand the reins over to my successor in January 2008.

I still sit on the Wardens Committee where I represent our region, namely Olifants River Conservancy (ORC). The ORC is the largest of the six regions, covering 16 500 hectares, which comprises well over 40 per cent of the total area of Balule.

Essentially, my work was done. I had been a catalyst in the formation of the Balule Wardens Committee, which is now a widely respected body dealing with coalface conservation issues affecting Balule. In my opinion, however, the most important achievement of this committee, besides its all-important unifying role, is its reputation for credibility, its level of commitment and the image it projects of the reserve. Balule had proved to the ‘big boys’ of the APNR that we were more than worthy of membership. Not only was our house in order, but in terms of diversity of habitat and balanced game numbers, we were a show house with plenty to bring to the table.

All this despite us having a skeleton or two in a cupboard or two. But then, who hasn’t?

The combination of Tim Ham’s idea, Theunis Kotzee’s procedural and formal methods and Andy Dott’s zealous ‘I also want to play in the team’ approaches culminated in the slow but sure erosion of resistance to the removal of the fence. Ultimately it was Olifants’ chairman and the newly elected chairman of Balule PNR, Quentin Sussman, who had enough of the ‘happy to be along for the ride’ complacency and tackled the issue directly. Determined to get unambiguous answers to simple questions, he persisted until there could be only one answer.

On 22 January 2005, the Klaserie Private Nature Reserve called a special meeting of its members to vote on the removal of the fence. The resulting vote in favour of its removal was a resounding 90 per cent. This, I’m sure, was thanks to the recognition of Balule’s efforts by the Klaserie’s Chairman at the time, Mike Myers, who is a progressive thinker, a man who calls a spade a spade. Without his practical, fair and down-to-earth approach, this might have dragged on for quite a while longer. Even though it had taken 18 years to get to this point, there was no turning back.

And just like the Berlin Wall, the Klaserie Fence came down. No one regrets its passing.

Nothing Achieved … I’m Happy to Report

June 2005

Ever had the desire to go and look at nothing, to actually go on a drive with no other purpose than to see for yourself that where there used to be something, there is now nothing? Then, having done that surreptitiously for the third or fourth time by yourself, you find excuses to do it a few more times with those with whom you wish to share the experience.

More than 18 years of persistent persuasion and single-minded focus had gone into this project. Finally, after 20 pairs of leather gloves, approximately 80 000 individual wire cuts, many, many days of hard work and being spurred on by a lot of enthusiasm … ‘Nothing’ was achieved, definitively and finally.

The warden of the Klaserie Game Reserve and his team, assisted by an equally committed Olifants team, took just over eight days to remove over 20 kilometres of fencing. Another day or two were needed to remove all signs of there ever having been a fence and to neaten things up. I don’t know which of the two teams was more eager, but on the day we were meant to start with the dismantling, I rushed to the fence first thing, hoping to beat their team to the post (no pun intended), only to find some 300 metres of fencing had already been removed. Whether they snuck out at 3.00 am or burned midnight oil wasn’t important, the message was clear – let’s get this dammed thing dismantled and rolled up before anybody changes their minds or finds another reason to procrastinate.

I drove up to the fence line on the last day intending to tidy up, to make sure we had picked up all the fencing debris, bits of wire, the odd dropper and any related sort of stuff, and at the same time collect any tools that had been left behind. Although the bulk of the wire and fence poles had already been removed, I knew that in a task involving so much material, there would always be something that had been overlooked.

In an ironic twist, and despite there being not a strand of fencing left standing for some 23 kilometres, I arrived to find an impala ram thrashing around in a cloud of dust. He had managed to tangle his horns in the only piece of rolled-up fence wire that had been missed the previous day. Of course, we had him out of his predicament in a few seconds.

The fence had made its ‘final strand’.

This piece of wire wouldn’t give up and performed its function to the bitter end, demonstrating one final time what it was that made conservationists hate it so vehemently. In recognition of its ‘roll’ in history, this particular roll was finally cut into memento-sized pieces which would forever symbolise mankind’s ill-conceived and selfish approach to wildlife management. Packaged in small clear plastic sheaths, these were made available for shareholders to display as conversation-about-conservation pieces.

At a modest, informal celebration to mark the occasion, the wardens from the various reserves and regions concerned, as well as representatives of the Limpopo province’s Department of Environmental Affairs and Tourism, got together. The venue was a quiet site on the southern bank of the Olifants River. The ‘manne’ met a few metres inside the Klaserie Nature Reserve, close to where the old fence between the two reserves used to end. Moving out of the midday sun, we gathered in the generous shade of an enormous acacia overlooking the water. A pod of curious hippo had gathered a little closer to check out the intrusion that was about to disturb their siesta. Across on the northern bank, a couple of elephant bulls had come down to the river, their wet bodies still charcoal grey from their recent bath. Only the tops of their backs and flapping ears were visible as they grazed on the tender shoots of the tall reeds.

The fire that had been prepared earlier soon burned down to glowing coals, signifying it was time to braai. A chop or two along with some boerewors was thrown on the hot grid, and while these spat and sizzled, a few beers slid out of the cooler and were downed in easy conversation. A happy, jovial atmosphere prevailed, as the informal yet delicious meal that followed was thoroughly enjoyed. (For salad, the guys just had another beer.)

It was only once the food began to settle, that the men became quieter, and their expressions began to take on that faraway look. This soon gave way to a pensive and contemplative mood as the subsequent ceremonial drive along the entire length of this ‘nothing’ came to an end on the Olifants Game Reserve’s southern boundary line, 23 kilometres later. We eased to a stop, and turned the two Land Cruisers to face the way we’d come, then everyone quietly and deliberately climbed down. One of the wardens, a particularly large, burly individual, broke the ice by admitting that the last time he had felt so emotional, was when he held his firstborn son. Another remarked that, in his opinion, this was one of the most positive steps taken in conservation in this area for the last 20 years.

Not able at the time to think of anything appropriately clever or philosophical to say, I just stood there, humbled in quiet understanding of what had been said, while looking at where conservation’s equivalent of the Berlin Wall once divided this beautiful environment. Moreover, I was overwhelmed by the sense of relief that game could now move freely in search of grazing and that the system could now function more naturally. Amongst all of us there it was clearly evident that the far-reaching ecological significance of what had been achieved was sinking in. Although the modest ceremony did not reflect the enormity of the achievement, it took nothing away from those of us who were there … we knew.

At this point, the autumn sun was beginning to sink behind the Drakensberg, the beer supply had dwindled, and it was apparent that the dust in the air had begun to irritate a few eyes. So, it was time to break up and go home before somebody opened their 4x4’s cubbyhole, reached in past the bullets and binoculars, hauled out the Kleenex and openly started doing what cowboys aren’t supposed to.

Who would have thought it? These supposedly rugged, tough men of the bush, actually admitting that they were so emotionally moved … by ‘nothing’.

Real Big Game Country

A while back … in the 1990s

In the early 1990s, on a beautiful estate overlooking Karkloof Valley in KwaZulu-Natal, Meagan and I had lunch in the magnificent, lush surrounds with an acquaintance and his son, one of the founders of the Phinda Resource Reserve.

At the time, Phinda was in the initial stages of its development. Strategic chunks of land had yet to be incorporated and consolidated into the proposed reserve. People needed to be moved and relocated, boundaries determined, and big game introduced and established – all in all, a very exciting and challenging project.

Our host’s son’s enthusiasm centred on the wide variety of habitat types found within the area, from sand forest woodland and wetlands to inland lake systems. He expanded by giving an account of the diversity of species that these unique ecosystems already supported and what they could potentially support. It seemed awesome. I listened intently, not wanting to miss a thing. His knowledge of the area was impressive and I couldn’t help feeling a touch envious of this wildlife paradise being so vividly described. Then he said something that changed the mood, something which I felt couldn’t go unchallenged, or left hanging in the air.

He maintained that the lowveld reserves, when compared with the proposed Phinda area, particularly the mopane and bushwillow of the northern regions, were little more than semi-deserts. He saw them as environments with relatively low carrying capacities and monotonous vegetation. I didn’t argue on that point, even though deep down he must have known he was missing something vital in his comparison. Yet, he made no attempt to hide the arrogance of his stated and disparaging position with even a modicum of concession.

Despite all my efforts at restraint, some physical evidence of my need to respond, however imperceptible, must have caught Meagan’s eye. Her subtle way of saying ‘leave it’ was to deliver a sharp kick to my ankle under the table. But I ignored it, giving way to my urge to elucidate and create a fairer comparative insight that would put things in perspective. However, before embarking on this mission, I pulled up both my feet and placed them out of harm’s way under my chair.

Without appearing defensive, I explained that the lowveld, particularly the drier mopane veld of the northern lowveld, is ‘Big Game Country’ and that elephant, for example, are endemic to the region. They occur in healthy viable populations and the areas in which they roam, although relatively dry, are comparatively large and unspoilt. I also told him that from a practical management point of view, the advantage of having endemic big game was invaluable.

I went on to point out that the other side of the coin was typified by the problems being experienced by Pilanesberg and other areas in the North West where closed systems, fences and geographic isolation amongst other factors brought their own headaches. Incidentally, the failed Knysna elephant re-introduction project had not been planned at that time, but ultimately similar problems would be encountered.

I observed that Phinda was surrounded by a human population dependent on subsistence agriculture. Furthermore, I reminded him that having elephant break out of a reserve surrounded by farmland could have serious consequences. These enormous and dangerous animals wreak havoc in crop fields and attempts by farmers to chase them usually ends in tragedy.

On the other hand, the lowveld had a relatively minor and manageable problem in this regard. If, for example, lion moved out of a fenced reserve in the lowveld, they would almost certainly be shot, as would those that escaped from Phinda. The advantage in our situation however, would be that the lowveld lions that were lost would soon be replaced by other wild lions moving in from Kruger, thereby filling the vacuum. We wouldn’t need to source semi-tame, badly adjusted cast-offs from breeding projects or safari parks. Far from it, our lions are homogeneous, arrive without any baggage, and are born in an environment where nature had already selected the fittest and strongest for us. The same recruitment process would apply with regard to elephant that break out and get shot.

These examples were but a couple of attributes that I felt made a strong case for comparative values between the regions, albeit without attempting to give an edge to the lowveld ‘semi-desert’ so disparaged by our lunch partner.

‘You need to look beyond the romantic honeymoon,’ I said. ‘Running a reserve surrounded by poor farmers is going to require a tremendous amount of PR and intensive administration, so, from a practical conservation management perspective, I’m happy I am where I am.’

This thought, that two totally different reserves with two totally different sets of strengths can appeal to different people, may be demonstrated by using any number of comparative examples. From my experience, one particular example springs to mind, Welgevonden as compared to Olifants. Welgevonden, a game reserve situated in the beautiful Waterberg of Limpopo Province, is composed of reclaimed farmland cohesively re-formed to create a ‘Big Five’ game reserve. It took a tremendous amount of perseverance and commitment to get to that point, yet today it is a significant conservation success story. It is intensively well managed and supported by a solid base of like-minded shareholders.

Species of larger game are well represented to the point that they boast more variety of larger herbivores than the Big Five private reserves adjoining the Kruger Park. The introduction of game and associated teething problems have largely been ironed out. Despite the reserve encompassing a relatively large area, it is still bounded by a fence and surrounded by stock farmers and smaller fenced game farmers. This means there will always be the inevitable ecological problems associated with a closed system. Nonetheless, these problems are being constantly monitored and well managed.

When I try to compare Welgevonden with Olifants, I find it really hard to come up with a finite list of pros and cons … there is something missing, and it’s not just the malaria mozzies or the heat. I think the problem is that they might seem similar, but it’s like comparing Canadians to North Americans. There are no obvious, discernable differences, yet they are different, that’s that.

People who own property in both Welgevonden and Olifants share the same sentiments – they love both, but for different reasons. Both the reserves have their role to play in the greater scheme of things. Our Phinda host was rather too uncompromising in attitude for our liking.

When I was converting my notes for this chapter into something resembling prose, I noted that Olifants was experiencing a period of change, having recently had some of the most rewarding elephant viewing for years. For nearly ten months there had been elephant continually on the reserve, mainly small groups of up to six young bulls. The number of individual sightings recorded by members was over 50, a record for us. There appeared to be about 12 elephant on the greater reserve area at that time, and we thought it would be wonderful if a breeding herd moved in permanently just to boost these numbers a little. That thought was high on our wish list, and it was materialising sooner than expected. The natural recruitment of elephant, endemic to the region, became a reality.