We breakfasted in the pre-dawn dark, only a few of us gathered around the fire as we gazed upwards at Halley's Comet – a pale blur in the sky, not the blaze of light across the sky that I had imagined.
Everyone pitched in to have us at the national park gates at 6am. The sky glowed orange as the sun rose slowly, revealing the snow-capped majesty of Kilimanjaro rising out of the plain and demanding attention.
From the start we knew this park was going to be very different from Masai Mara. There are only a few white bearded wildebeest in Masai Mara but massive herds of these grey-striped animals, with numerous tawny brown young scampering around their elders, covered the plains here. We saw only a scattering of Thomsons gazelle and fewer Grant’s wildebeest and young, often grazing with zebra. Early in the morning the ultimate Amboseli photograph presented itself, when we came upon a huge but small-tusked elephant framed by the mountain and a blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds. His calmness at our intrusion encouraged Ben closer... so there we were, eye level with this mass of wrinkled hide, his ears flapping, his trunk easily long enough to touch our truck. It was awesome being that close but one trumpet was the only signal we needed to move on. The old fella shook his head angrily as we rapidly reversed away.
The tiny form of a black-backed jackal and a circle of vans drew us to a lioness hidden among trees, snoozing quietly in the green dappled light. The others were hanging back and waiting for her to emerge but Ben drove up to her tree, and we hung out of the truck watching her. Her ears twitching was the only sign that she knew we were there. As one, all the vehicles veered away to a tall, silent elephant standing alone on the edge of a swamp. This magnificent male had one long curved tusk on which he rested his trunk like it was a coat hook. It took us several seconds to realise that the mass between his hind legs was his penis, an enormous grey snake seemingly with a mind of its own, and I was not surprised that he became agitated as soon as we approached. He flapped his ears at us and stamped his huge flat feet, raising clouds of dust, and then started towards us. We hollered at Ben to get going, with increasing urgency and volume as our requests were ignored. The grey bull just kept coming until we finally started to move away – at which point he stopped, watching our dust, and then continued more slowly after us to ensure we got the message. Still early and we'd had two close encounters of the pachyderm kind.
It was only then that we saw a line of female elephants with young on the other side of the swamp, and realised their proximity was probably why he reacted so quickly to us.
The park is obviously a haven for these sometimes not-so-gentle giants. Perhaps their large numbers indicate that they are safe here, although there are more acres of reaches of grey dust, coarse dry grass and the inevitable thorn trees than areas green enough to support their huge appetites. The park desperately needs rain – a long downpour to revive the barren sections that are scoured with vehicle tracks and billow huge dust clouds when crossed. And yet the park is still beautiful, with pelicans flying over lush ponds and surrounding vegetation and Kilimanjaro dominating longer views. I was so frustrated having no proper camera.
We saw crowned storks, immature flamingos, fish eagles, cattle egrets and unidentifiable flashes of blues, red, browns against this Hollywood-ish backdrop. A flock of almost obscenely ugly vultures drew us to a felled Cape buffalo that the hissing, hunch-backed birds were tearing apart. Others came into land with legs down like harrier jets, necks curved into S bends like mythological creatures. The birds appeared to spend as much time chasing others away or practising domination tactics as they did with their heads buried in the animal’s anus or tearing at pieces of intestine.
The metal object we spotted lying beside the animal was a heavy spear, probably the weapon that had inflicted the two wounds on the animal’s spine. Ben souvenired the spear despite the unbelievable stench.
Our search for leopards produced hare, ground squirrel, a small group of waterbuck and several tiny dik-diks/duikers. Eagle-eyed Hawken recognised the plate-like hide of a black rhinoceros across open ground and a swamp, and on driving a bit closer we could see that there were two, though still only just visible among the bushes. Closer to us was a large buffalo in the muddy shallows. The red stalks of giraffes rose against the horizon and an African serval flashed black sports on red as it raced from the open into the shelter of the bushes. A herd of wildebeest erupted into a dust storm of pounding feet as we passed and we spotted a hunting lioness in the haze, her red body turning away from the scattered animals into the trees. Ben followed her and we found her lying beneath a tree, panting from the heat and her unsuccessful pursuit. We probably spooked the herd she was trailing before she'd chosen a target. She moved away from us a few metres but without any obvious agitation, almost as if she was quite happy not to have to bother after all and our presence was nothing more than a tolerable blot on her horizon. Curled up, she looked like a giant purring pussy cat.
We lunched on a soccer pitch, where monkeys stole food and socks from the side of the truck, tried to attack Vicki, took chunks out of Kel’s foam mattress in the crow’s nest, and had to be fended off with a large stick. Then we spent an hour driving around and around looking for cheetah – before we spotted another collection of vehicles and found ourselves 10 metres from a pair of male cheetahs. They alternated between lying down, sitting up, and pacing, not obviously disturbed but alert to every sound and sudden movement we made. We leaned out of the truck, watching the two of them for least half an hour, cameras and binoculars concentrated on their beautiful faces and twitching ears and bodies, like the prototype for the perfect running machine. Cheetah are the Ferrari of the cat family; their long lean bodies advertise their incredible speed, in marked contrast to the heavier, more solid lion, for whom power and weight are more important.
What a day - one of the best days of our 23 weeks so far! Nowhere near the numbers of animals that we saw in Masai Mara but the close contacts much more satisfying and exciting. Leopard, the most private of the cat family, is the only species we missed. Kenya is already calling me back and I haven't even left yet.
When we finally camped, below Kilimanjaro, we gave Ben three cheers.
Thank you Ben Edwards, co-driver, for this wonderful photo.
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