The woods are my church

14 July 2014

Yesterday my alarm went off at 5am. I hit snooze until I was sufficiently satisfied with my Zz’s and finally awoke at 5:30. I looked out at Bwerumbwe hill, a nearby mountain inside of the park and my destination for the morning. The sky was a dusty ochre hue with highlights of amber. A halo of deep red surrounded the peak. It was still dark enough that I needed my headlamp as I dressed and inhaled my breakfast of cold oatmeal. I was anxious to start my hike, hopeful to see some animals in the early morning hours.

By 5:45 the cloudless sky had turned to shades of pink, peach, orange. I began my 1km walk through town, thankful that it is early enough on a Sunday that few people were awake enough to want to stop and chat. I wanted only the quiet and comfort of a morning spent in the woods alone. As I passed the gate and walked on the path that passes through the park employees housing complex my thoughts begin to ramble… Eager to escape the rising sounds of humanity I pick up my pace.

The ceaseless cackle of roosters begins to diminish behind me and I finally slow when I reach the fire road that descends to the creek that marks the start of the long climb to the crest of Bwerumbwe. Today the air is particularly frigid, lower 40’s. I am bundled against the cold, hands deep inside the pockets of my light jacket and my ski cap pulled tight against numb ears. The sharp chill makes my sunburnt nose feel wet, my eyes water and cheeks sting. I have slowly become accustomed to the morning temperatures, always just cool enough that I start every day with it deep in my bones.
I shake off a shiver as I listen to the birds come to life while the daylight brightens. The fire road borders a long leaf pine plantation on my right and as I walk the sounds of dew falling from the musuku trees on my left repeatedly give me pause, causing me to think I am hearing the snapping of twigs made by a fleeing animal. The path eventually turns to the right, becoming single track, and takes me into the pines. This stretch is eerily silent; the non-native trees give few local animals reason to use this space. The undergrowth is sparse, here and there stunted native plants struggle to survive against the poison released by the pine needles.

I come across an old pile of elephant dung, long since engulfed and then abandoned by termites. It gives me reason to think on why I woke so early. I would love to see an elephant so close to my home and to the park boundary. It is unlikely to happen, but this is the time of day for it. I have already been fortunate enough to see some on an earlier day trip into the park with the local beekeepers group. A family of 8 had walked in line into the bush as our truck drove slowly by. I remember the bull male made an imposing visage, standing guard with his ears flared and trunk held high while the rest of his troupe slipped into the woods.

What I really want to see though is a leopard. Oh how I wish to see a leopard! The locals tell me one lives on Thazima hill, the mountain that my house backs up to, and the last time I hiked Bwerumbwe I found some leopard scat. Apart from some klipspringers that we glimpsed for only a second, scat was about the only thing we found on that hike. I was accompanied by 3 university students who were far too loud to allow for any animal sightings. This time it is just me, and with the day free of obligations, I could take all the time I needed.

It is not long before I am rewarded. Shortly after leaving the pine strip I hear a twig snap and the swish of grass being parted. I freeze in place, waiting for my guest to appear. To my right, 30 meters off, the silhouette of a bush pig comes into view and I immediately drop to a crouch. He moves in short bursts – quickly moving a few feet then stopping to listen. This repeats several times and for a few moments I think he may pass right in front of me.

If there ever was a time I would call a pig beautiful, this is it. He is large, much stouter than I expected. I would guess in the range of 80lbs. His coat is mottled in black spots and a simple but clean reddish/tan fur. Long wisps of hair swirl about his face and give image to a small beard. Suddenly he gives an extended pause, sniffing the air vigorously. I am immediately aware of the steam coming from my breath. He turns away, holds for a moment more, and then vanishes into a thicket.

Soon afterwards I cross the stream. It is a simple, elegant thing that steadily burbles as it carves a path through the granite bed. By this time the sky is a milky white, the color of baby’s breath and giving hint to the clear blue sky of day. The sun is barely hidden behind the mountain, surely shining on the other side of the valley. It is warm enough that I can take my hands from my pockets and lift my cap above my ears in the hopes of hearing something new.

Apart from the wonderful views of rocky, boulder strewn woodland, the hike up is largely uneventful. I pause often, half to strain my ears for sounds of wildlife and half for the sake of catching my breath – exercise has hardly been part of my routine lately and my lungs struggle to keep pace with my feet. The view of the peak is obscured by trees and just before coming upon it I hear a strange grunting noise from my right as a bushbuck slips away on my left.

The top of Bwerumbwe is marked by two large rocky outcroppings. The first of which is capped with a stone hut that the park installed along with a relay tower for staff radios. The hut reminds me of images of montane Europe and the relay tower has long since collapsed – its guide wires cut in the night by poachers some time back. I drop my bag and shed my jacket in the rising morning temperature. It is now 7:30 and the sun is well in the sky. The woods are fully alive with the hum of insects. Several times I am buzzed by bumble bees larger than my thumb as I sit on the cliff staring into the park below. I have borrowed some old military binoculars and scan the area.

I discover two bushbucks 1km away on the valley floor and follow them for 10 min before finally losing sight of them. As I get up and take a few steps to the other side of the hut a male klipspringer sprints down the hill and hides behind some trees. He is followed by a female who stops atop a boulder, back to me but neck craned and eyes fixed, ready to flee. She repeats a very loud nasal warning grunt that surprises me given her small size. A tiny thing, weighing only ~25 lb at most. 1/3 of the weight seems to be in the thighs, a product of a life spent jumping from rock to rock.

I am nearly still, the only movement my hands as I scroll with the binoculars. She must be curious to find if I am friend or foe, she has turned to face me. Painted in a raccoon like guise, her eyes are locked to mine. For a full 5 minutes she grunts her alarm call, occasionally supplementing it with a small bounce of her front legs. The resulting crack from her hooves striking the rock echoes a sharp report in the area around me. Her call has been answered by a third klipspringer, another male. Eventually they regroup beneath a tree 50 meters away and linger in the area for 20 minutes before they decide I am not worth their time and move around the other side of the hill.

I spend another half hour or so on the second outcropping, a tremendous monolith with the best view in the area, before I finally begin my descent. I am sweating and in a T-shirt by the time I reach the stream. It is around 10 am and the temp has climbed steadily to the mid 70’s. This swing in temperature is common during the cold season and most pronounced on sunny days like this one.

Before the sounds of humanity reach my ears again I spend the last of the walk contemplating. I think about what it means to me to turn 31, to spend this time on a new continent, the work I hope to do and how I am happy to be here but simultaneously lonely for so many friends back home. Eventually I hear the pounding of maize and the howls of children and my thoughts turn more to the day at hand.

I did not get to see a leopard, maybe luck will be with me this week. This afternoon I am supposed to leave for Chelinda, the camp/village in the center of Nyika National Park. I am going with the university students (they are from the University of Livingstonia, Malawi) for some training on park research and a meeting with the manager of the safari lodge there.

I am bringing my camera this time.