Walk on the wild side

Jill Worrall

Our borders are closed, but we are still part of planet Earth’s team of 7 billion. In this series, we shine a light on people, places, experiences, cultures, and travel moments that make the world a better place. This week, reminisces about a visit to the birthplace of the walking safari.

There’s a healthy population of lions in Zambia’s South Luangwa National Park. So when our guide, Arnold, suggested our morning safari should include a bush walk, I was a little surprised.

We had been in Tanzania’s Serengeti National Park the week before, where we had been told that the animals there regarded vehicles and their human passengers as one entity – it was only if you stepped out of your safari vehicle that you potentially became lunch for lions.

But here we were, our feet firmly planted on African soil with a flock of red-beaked Zambian lovebirds chattering overhead, and a whiff of elephant dung in the air.

We had walked around safari camps and villages, but this was the first time we had truly stepped foot in the domain of Africa’s wildlife.

There were six in our group, led by the highly experienced

Arnold and, behind us, Samuel who was armed with a seriously powerful rifle. But we had been well briefed about staying together, always in single file, and especially what to do if any of the many elephants were spotted.

Our guides were also expert trackers and could easily identify lion and other prints but, most impressively, could tell when the animals had passed by. Arnold and Samuel also had an intimate knowledge of animal behaviour and their routines.

South Luangwa is one of the best national parks in Africa, with prolific wildlife, but it is less well known than its Kenyan and Tanzanian counterparts. This is frustrating for Zambian tourism but great for people who do visit. We didn’t see a single other vehicle or person on this safari.

The parched grassland we were crossing was fringed by forest – splashes of light and shade the perfect cover for two zebras. Arnold gathered us close to the trunk of a sausage tree with its weird dangling fruit, and blood-red flowers at our feet. He pointed out a mother elephant and her baby ambling past. They disappeared noisily from view.

Elephants can move silently on their soft feet, but when they stop to tear bark and dry leaves from a tree they are anything but quiet.

We checked out the sun-bleached skull of an elephant, the rest of its skeleton scattered, probably by hyena; crouched to watch a dung beetle rolling its prize across our path; and stepped over a column of leaf-cutter ants. Then we heard strange, irregular thwacks.

We walked into a grassy amphitheatre in the midst of which was a tower (the collective term) of a dozen thornicroft giraffes. This giraffe subspecies is found only in Zambia, with a population of only about 550 and none in captivity.

Babies gazed at us over tangles of thorn bush, their mothers using their long, blue-purple tongues to rip acacia leaves from high branches.

And the noise? Two young males were playfighting or ‘‘necking’’ – twisting their long necks to strike at their opponent’s. We were entranced, only lured away by Arnold’s promise of a pride of lions.

Staying safe

New Zealand is under Covid-19 restrictions. Face coverings are mandatory on flights. Check safetravel.govt.nz before travelling.