More pictures from Lake Nakuru

Flamingo

Giraffe and oxpeckers

Spotted hyena

Flamingoes in flight

Baboon by the camp fire

Lake Nakuru

Photo courtesy of Alex Law (copyright)

Bush camp. Note the limited facilities.

White rhino

Heading north to Lake Nakuru it was time for a mental recap on how we were doing on the Big 5 front. I reckoned it was three and a bit - lion, water buffalo, elephant and the tail of a very unfortunate leopard (sorry, I claimed that hippo were one of the Big 5 in an earlier blog, my mistake. I'll blame it on the bloke who led the nature walk). We were still in need of a full on leopard and black rhino.

We would have been exceptionally lucky to see black rhino in the Maasai Mara. In the 1980's there were about 800 rhino, but the latest census revealed only 17. The remainder taken by poachers to meet the demand, mainly in Asia, for powdered rhino horn. It is considered, wrongly, to be an aid to sexual potency. Let's hope the little blue pill catches on in the Far East and saves the remainder.

About 200 poachers have also been killed during the same period. That may sound like good news but it isn't. The poachers don't make huge profits from their kills. It is the middle men who make the big bucks from the safety of their nicely furnished offices. Sadly, there are no known cases of a middle man being killed by a charging rhino or shot by the game rangers.

Lake Nakuru is one of the Rift Valley soda lakes. It is a very shallow, strongly alkaline lake. This makes it a very popular haunt for one particular creature - the flamingo.

We stopped at Nakuru town itself on our way to the national park to change money, barter with some amazingly friendly locals and stock up on booze and snacks. There would be no bar at our next camp site. In fact there wouldn't much of anything at our next camp site. I took the opportunity to buy bottles of Tusker, resigned to paying the ransom for Wainwright's return.

The Lake Nakuru National Park is much smaller than the Maasai Mara. What it lacks in size it makes up for by providing a completely different habitat that allowed us to get up close and personal with many animals we had not encountered previously.

These included a small group of spotted hyena and white rhino. The rhino are not indigenous to this area but were moved here from other parts of Africa. They do thrive here and I lost count of the number we saw. Probably more than there are in total in the Maasai Mara.

White rhinos are not actually white. The word 'white' is a mistranslation of the Dutch word 'wijde', meaning wide. This refers to the wide mouth of the this particular rhino. The mouth is ideal for grazing on grassland. The rhino referred to in the Big 5 is the black rhino. This has pointed mouth, which is adapted for eating leaves from scrub and shrubs.

We saw both black and white rhino at Lake Nakuru, so yahoo! That's another ticked off the list. Only a full on sighting of a leopard to go.

We had to wait until our second day at Lake Nakuru before bagging our leopard. We actually saw her three times. On the first occasion she was quite far away and I couldn't get a decent photo of her. On the second occasion she went down into a creek bed quite close by, but she did not reappear and we had to move on.

Finally, we were getting towards the end of our morning visit when we were told that she had gone to ground in a small culvert under the road we were on.

I must admit I wasn't paying much attention when a sudden shout went up and the leopard appeared out of the culvert, close to Isobel. I was on the other side of the truck and only managed some badly focussed shots of her. There was a glorious moment though when she paused and looked back at us. This resulted in a brilliant photo taken by Alex Law and I am indebted to her for letting me have a copy.

Between game drives we camped in the middle of the reserve. Given that all we had in terms of facilities were two long drop loos and a single tap that eventually ran dry you would be forgiven for thinking that it didn't appeal to some of the group. In fact everyone loved it.

I think it was because the camp had a real sense of adventure about it. Leo made a fire and we all sat around it, eating his great food and drinking wine and beer. Above our heads, in the unpolluted skies, were the myriad stars of the southern hemisphere shining out around the densely packed band of the Milky Way.

It was also time to meet the ransom demand for the return of Wainwright.

In the end it was CCTV that was the undoing of the kidnappers. One of the two couples on the trip, Carol and John, have a great system where Carol shoots video of the sights and animals and John takes all the stills. Carol showed me something she had caught on her camcorder.

The footage showed a very furtive looking John (her husband) sneakily removing Wainwright from outside my tent and placing him in a tree! When confronted by the evidence John did what many a ne'er-do-well before him has done - he portrayed himself was an innocent sap, a patsy and was quick to grass on the villain of the piece.

John's story was that he had initially removed Wainwright to get him out of the rain (because garden gnomes aren't used to it???). Then, with the co-operation of JJ, Wainwright was moved to Isobel's cab as a joke. But then things got darker and the dastardly kidnapping was undertaken. All the doings of criminal mastermind - Ally!

Finding myself outnumbered by these outlaws and beyond the reach of the law, I had no alternative to give in to the demands. The drop was made and Wainwright, none the worse for his adventure, re-appeared outside my tent.

Luckily, I didn't leave him there or he would have suffered a dreadful fate.

The Tuskers around the camp fire had an inevitable effect upon me and in the middle of the night I had cause to leave my tent and wander over towards the loos. As instructed by JJ, I shone my head torch around before emerging from my tent to see if any eyes were reflected back at me. I wear contacts, so it was a bit blurry anyway. I then broke my previous best for time taken to pee.

The camp was surrounded by baboons and during the night I was awoken sporadically by the racket they made. I may have dreamed it, but I fancy I also heard a low rumble, which I took to be a passing warthog.

The truth emerged next morning. The baboons were sounding an alarm because there was a lion in the vicinity. And from safety of Isobel both Leo and Julius has watched the lion stroll casually through our little group of tents. How many near death experiences can one man endure I hear you ask. Be assured, I am made of stern stuff. But if I'm ever in that situation again I'll be peeing out of the tent flap.

There is a sad footnote to this story that underpins, all joking aside, how much danger there can be in places like this. The baboons, although they may look like monkeys are in fact very savage apes. The big males are very fearsome. On our final day we lunched at a vantage point called Baboon Cliff. True to its name a couple of large male baboons turned up and tried to steal food from hapless eaters. One baboon even climbed through the roof of a mini bus from another tour group. They are cunning and nasty.

It was only when we had left Nakuru that JJ told us the following:

Four years previously another group, very similar to ours, camped in the park. The group went off and left the cook to prepare a meal for them. The camp was then beset by baboons, trying to steal things from the tents. The hapless cook went to chase them away. But instead of fleeing the baboons summoned more of their number and turned on the chef and killed him.

Kidnapped

Next morning I got a lie in until 6.00 am. Having packed our basic essentials into the mini-buses we took one final game drive around the Maasai Mara before heading back the way we had come to Lake Naivasha for a re-union with Isobel and Julius, the third member of the crew that looked after us.

You may have noticed that up to this point Wainwright has not featured in my tales. This is because he suffered his own version of deep vein thrombosis during the flight from London to Nairobi. When he emerged from my backpack he was in three pieces!

Our return to Lake Naivasha in the late afternoon afforded me time to wash a few items and then attend to Wainwright. I dug out his first aid kit and set to work. Having to work in the field and not in my garage my surgery was not as precise as previously, but Wainwright looked very good after it.

Not wishing to fill my tent with super glue fumes I put Wainwright outside to recover. Big mistake in a volatile place like Africa.

Shortly afterwards we experienced the worst deluge of the trip. Returning to my tent quickly to zip it up tight my heart skipped a beat. Wainwright was gone.

We took shelter in a covered area where Leo lit his charcoal fire and began to prepare the evening meal. Beyond the shelter was Isobel and I saw that Wainwright was safe. He had somehow managed to get himself into Isobel's cab and was now standing on her dashboard, prominent in his black and amber football strip.

I relaxed and enjoyed another of Leo's wonderful meals, washed down by a bottle of Tusker, the local brew.

The meal ended and the rain abated. But when I glanced across at Isobel, Wainwright was no longer standing in her cab.

I wasn't too concerned at first, but then I found the above note attached to my locker.

Like Poirot, or possibly Inspector Clouseau, I set about discovering the perpetrators of this dreadful crime. I had a list of 18 suspects - the 3 crew members and the other 15 in our party. It couldn't be John and Carol, they were far too nice and seemed genuinely concerned about Wainwright. Two of our younger members, Alex and Helen were equally ruled out as being too pleasant to be involved in crime. Besides, I'd never seen them drinking Tusker. The other younger member, Susie came under immediate suspicion. She had a cheeky way about her and when I turned my searching gaze on her I could see a hint of guilt. The sisters, Jacki and Jenni also came under suspicion as I couldn't see this being a single handed job, it had to be a gang, probably three of them judging by the demand. Jacki and Jenni were travelling with a friend, the delightful Dimnah. I couldn't see Dimnah being caught up in this unless it was under duress, but the numbers added up. However, when I gave Jacki and Jenni my knowing stare I got a sharp 'What are you looking at?' back in response. My detection technique was clearly mistaken for some sort of pervyness. Too serious. I ruled them off the list.

Going back to the note something puzzled me. There was no indication of where or at what time the drop was to be made. Clearly, I was dealing with amateurs.

Then a further clue appeared. Ally, a lone traveller, who had not as yet figured in my suspicions told me she had found a camera with a nasty picture on its digital display. She showed me the picture. What I saw was poor Wainwright, pinned to the ground and with a very large knife at his throat.

Naturally, I wanted to seize the camera as evidence (it was a decent one, definately worth a few quid on ebay), but Ally resisted. Very odd.

Next day there was still no sign of Wainwright but I know he is a tough cookie and would come through his ordeal safe and sound. Luckily there was a nature walk that morning that took my mind off this unpleasant turn of events.

I welcomed the walk as it was the only opportunity for exercise since we had arrived in Africa. There weren't any water buffaloes to disturb us this time but we did see lots of giraffe, warthogs, zebra, impala and gazelle. There was also a good sighting of a black chested buzzard eagle. At least that's what our guide said it was. But he also claimed that the gestation period of a zebra was 24 months. That's longer than an elephant! I think he was just making stuff up on the spot myself.

When we returned to camp all the tents were packed away and after a bite of lunch we headed north, to Lake Nakuru where the kidnappers would finally be unveiled.

Buffalo soldier

Another cheeky cheetah

Hippo in the Mara

We can see you! A stupid water buffalo tries to ambush me by hiding behind a twig.

Not everyone in the group took up the option of the balloon flight, so when it was over the plan was for the balloonists to be ferried back to the airfield where we would meet up with our travelling companions. The journey back happily became another game viewing experience as our driver went out of his way to allow us a close up view of some of the creatures we had flown over. These included the four cheetahs, who turned out to be a mother and three males, around one year old (see pictures in earlier blog entry).

We were all enthralled by these guys as they played together - having mock battles and chasing each other over the open ground. In a trip that brimmed with privilege, none ranked higher than the 15 minutes or so we spent in the company of these glorious and energetic cats.

By late morning the group was re-united and we set off in our minibuses once more across the plains of the Maasai Mara.

We lunched on the banks of the Mara and in the early afternoon we drew up at a view point on the river. Below us maybe a dozen hippo were basking in the murky water. Although hippos are very dangerous my attention was drawn to an even greater danger. A young man in a uniform toting an AK47.

Unfortunately, men with guns are a common sight in Africa. Armed soldiers often appear at road blocks and outside most big banks you will usually see at least one man cradling an automatic weapon as he guards against robbers.

Our guy was quite scruffily dressed in combat fatigues and it turned out he was a game ranger. If a man with a gun is worrying, then a boy with a gun is downright alarming. On closer inspection he appeared to be about 16. He also had a very casual way of holding his gun and I was not exactly impressed to see it pointing towards my head at one point.

Besides the hippo, there was a solitary croc on the river, about 12 feet long.

Our young, armed friend invited us on a walk. For the equivalent of 50p each he would guide us further down the river to where more crocs lay in wait.

We had gone about 300 yards when the young guide stopped in alarm and bid us to be quiet. About 80 yards away to our right, apparently minding its own business, was a solitary water buffalo. At this point I didn't feel threatened but that all changed when our youthful friend quickly cocked his AK47. Luckily he didn't point it towards me this time. Instead he raised it aloft and let off a round with a loud crack that brought screams from my largely female companions who hadn't been expecting it.

'Be quiet!' commanded our guide. He then radioed for back-up, but none came. He let off another shot. By this time the buffalo had disappeared behind some bushes so I don't know what effect the loud bangs had. Three miles away a surprised looking monkey fell out of a tree, hit by a falling bullet (sorry, I made that bit up, but it might be true, they must have landed somewhere).

Our guide then issued another, albeit confusing, command -

'Very slowly...Run!'

Quickly, we backed away and returned the way we had come. Our walk was over. Reluctantly, we all paid our 50p anyway as none of us fancied starting an argument with our trigger-happy ranger.

If, like me, you are prone to having a suspicious mind you will be wondering if this was all a charade. A convenient way to get out of the guided walk and still make a few quid on the side.

This of course is possible, but if you've ever read any Wilbur Smith novel then you will know that water buffalo are not one of the Big 5 for nothing, even if they do look like a cow with a bad hangover. They are very dangerous, particularly the lone bachelors as this one was, who are forced to leave the herd when they get past their prime.

As if to reinforce the point that night JJ told us about a near fatal encounter his uncle had with a water buffalo.

These guys are not only mean and nasty, but sneaky too and they will set an ambush for the unwary. JJ's uncle was a game ranger and he and three others were on patrol when out of nowhere an angry water buffalo charged out of the bush. The ranger's weapons were not cocked and three of them fled in terror and climbed trees, leaving JJ's uncle to face the buffalo alone. The beast took him low with its fearsome horn, impaling his left thigh. The buffalo disengaged itself and charged in for the kill. Unable to use his un-cocked AK47, the uncle grabbed the buffalo's horns and wrestled for his life. Managing to free his knife, the uncle then stabbed the buffalo in the eye. This only served to make it angrier than ever. Sensibly the uncle manoeuvred himself onto the blind side of the raging buffalo and finally freed his gun. He shot the water buffalo several times but failed to hit any vital points. He did though manage to drive the beast off. Shakily, it withdrew, the knife still embedded in its eye, and returned to the bush to lay another ambush!

When the danger was over the other men returned to assist the uncle. He was in hospital for 2 months and needed to have muscle grafted from his buttocks to his badly damaged thigh.

Looking back, 50p does seem like a reasonable amount to pay for being spared the inconvenience of being skewered like a kebab on the horn of a pissed-off water buffalo.

Balloon with a view

The view Pilot Mike gets every day from his office

Up, up and away

Getting ready for take off

The trip afforded us 48 hours to visit the Maasai Mara and we made the most of it. On the Monday we were inside the park before sun rise and didn't leave until it had set again. This allowed us time for one of the epic moments of our journey.

I rose at 4.30 am and needed my head torch to find my way to the toilets and showers. By 5.00 am I was being taken by Land Rover back through the gates of the Maasai Mara national park. My stomach was tense with excitement at what was to come. I popped travel sickness pills to be on the safe side, the awful nausea that had gripped me in Kas, Turkey still very fresh in my memory.

The airfield was alive with people preparing the balloons for flight and one by one these giants came to life just as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon. Our pilot, Mike, a Kiwi, introduced himself and briefed us on our flight. Personally, I thought the instruction not to step outside of the basket under any circumstances was a bit like stating the bleeding obvious. Probably an insurance thing, a bit like 'Warning, may contain nuts', on a packet of KP salted peanuts. Always best to assume you are speaking to idiots I suppose.

Up to this point my idea of balloon flight was very much dependent on the Nimble adverts in the 1970's. There's a small basket, a big balloon and as long as your dress size is an 8 or less you will float above the clouds endlessly whilst eating insubstantial sandwiches made from really crappy bread to the tune of 'I can't let Maggie go'. It came as a shock, therefore, to discover that we were to reach for the skies 12 at a time in a very big basket. Still less did I expect to have to assume the missionary position in order to take off.

The basket begins on its side and is divided into two rows - top and bottom. The top row load first. Imagine sitting on a seat that has fallen onto its back and you have the idea. Then the bottom row run in and assume the position too. The burners roar and there is a sudden rush of heat as the pilot inflates the balloon fully. Outside the basket many hands steady the whole affair. Although there is only a gentle breeze it is already wanting to take the balloon away and it drags the basket upright, forcing us to sit the right way up, tucked well under the rim of the basket. Through the small gaps in the wicker-work I see the ground crew still steadying the balloon and holding it down. The pilot then announces we can stand and we do so to find that we are now 20 feet in the air and rising gently. My brain assimilates three bits of good news: 1. I'm floating in a balloon over the Maasai Mara; 2. I don't feel in the slightest bit sick; 3. There's not a bloody Nimble sandwich in sight.

Another of my misconceptions was once a balloon is in the air there is nothing much to be done but cling on and enjoy the ride. But Kiwi Mike isn't dressed as a pilot for nothing and with what little control he does have he manages to manoeuvre this magnificent beast of an aircraft with great skill. Obviously, he can control up and down through the use of the powerful gas burners. Small vents cunningly built into the fabric of the balloon also allow him to turn the balloon, in the same way that retro-rockets allow for small movements of a spacecraft. In this way the passengers are given a 360 degree view of the Maasai Mara as we turn very gently above it.

The earliest recorded balloon flight was in 1783 when a sheep, a duck and a rooster were hoisted aloft. That flight ended in a crash, as did many others in the early days of ballooning. But modern balloons rarely come to grief, although I notice with alarm that when they do the subsequent news report usually includes the words 'crashed in a fiery ball'. Putting aside all thoughts of the impact with the ground at least relieving me from the sensation of being burned alive, I felt very safe throughout. And not once did Pilot Mike have to remind me to remain inside the basket.

Our altitude varied throughout from almost touching the trees to a stunning 1000 feet, allowing us to see the foothills of Tanzania and the Serengeti in the distance.

Below us the creatures of the Maasai Mara begin to go about their daily business. Herds of wildebeest and zebra chomp their way across the plain. Three spotted hyenas jog alongside a dry looking creek. A family of elephant gaze up at us warily whilst picking leaves from the acacia trees. A female cheetah climbs onto a flattened termite mound to survey her territory and keep an eye on her nearby cub.

A lone lioness is seen striding purposefully across the open ground and in her wake are 4 cheetahs. Mike , who has picked up a lot of knowledge about wildlife during his 13 years in Africa, informs us:

'These guys are having some fun, letting the lioness know she has been seen. The cheetahs are quite young. They know that the lioness will kill them if she catches them but they also know they are much faster than she is. They're taunting her.'

It's like Usain Bolt calling Mike Tyson an ugly, fat goon from across the road.

The flight lasts an hour. As we near the Mara River we are told to crouch down in the basket once more and Mike tells us to expect two touches with the ground - a heavy one then a lighter one. Sure enough there is a thump as we make contact with terra firma once more and this is followed by a more gentle scraping as the basket comes to rest in an upright position. The eagle has landed.

We are very efficiently herded into a waiting Land Rover while the ground crew, who pop up from nowhere as I never saw them following us on the ground, begin to deflate and pack the balloon.

We are whisked away to an area of open plain where long picnic tables groan under a magnificent variety of breakfast food - croissants, eggs, meats, sausages, breads, cheeses, yoghurts, fruits and quiche. Behind us the first of many bottles of champagne are popped open. The spread is so tasty and looks so good that there is only one thing left to do to round off this wonderful experience - make like a zebra and graze. Cheers!

Maasai Mara

Was that it?
Yeah baby!

Only 345 more times and I can watch Match of the Day.

Travelling by road in Africa is always an interesting experience. Our journey would eventually total more than 2,500 km and none of this was on anything remotely resembling a motorway or even a decent bit of dual carriageway.

The road from Lake Naivasha to our camp, just outside the Maasai Mara game reserve, was a typical one. We made it back to the main road and headed south west. Generally the road was in good repair and had more than one lane to allow overtaking. But once off the main thoroughfare there is a dramatic change. The roads become pot-holed and our vehicles had to weave right and left to avoid the worst of them. Eventually, the road turns to dirt and the ride becomes very bumpy.

Travelling through villages and even towns it is noticeable that all the side streets consist of the dark red, impacted soil of Africa. It is like travelling back through time to the American frontier or medieval England.

Gaily painted shops front the main road but behind these there is always a hotch potch of shelters that are home to someone. Everywhere you look there are the ubiquitous yellow jerry cans that people use to transport the life blood of Africa - water. People, often children, can be seen carrying the jerry cans everywhere and for me it is a sobering reminder that despite my shower not being hot at least I had running water, which is more than the vast majority of people we pass on our journey enjoy.

As we get nearer to our destination another iconic African image becomes more and more frequent - the tall, slender Maasai tribes people, distinctive in their bright red cloaks while they tend their goats and cows.

I did consider buying a Maasai cloak but decided I would look even odder than usual when I shop in Tesco's.

Our camp site turns out to be a joy. It has all the essentials - a well stocked bar, huge, walk-in tents, decent meals cooked by Leo, very nice toilets and hot showers.

We arrive in time to dump our kit and set out for our first game drive in the mini-buses. We travel the short distance to the gate to the Maasai Mara and away we go.

Many moons ago I studied A level Economics and I can still recall the law diminishing marginal returns, which basically says that the more you get of something, the less you want of it. This is true of game viewing.

We had only gone a few hundred yards into the reserve when someone spotted a lone Thompson's Gazelle, about a 100 yards away and wanted to stop for a photo. Wisely, our driver ignored the plea, knowing full well that before long we'll be sick of the sight of the bloody things. Now, if a roe deer wandered into my garden I'd be reaching for my camera straight away. But when you've seen your hundredth 'Tommie', the novelty wears a bit thin. The same becomes true of the impala, wildebeest, zebra and even the giraffe. This was the migration season, when the wildebeest and zebra move north from the Serengeti, across the Mara river and into the Maasai Mara, so we saw thousands of the devils.

But one thing no one tires of seeing are the big cats. Our first sighting though brought home one of the problems of game viewing on the Mara - traffic jams.

The Maasai Mara is alive with tour groups just like ours. Whilst this is annoying it can also be useful as so many eyes soon home in on the game. Whenever two or more buses are gathered together there is the huge urge to find out what they're looking at.

Our first lion was sighted by another of our group in one of the other buses. The lioness was well hidden in bushes so it was a good find. But by the time our bus reached the scene there was a mad scramble for position among the bus drivers and all we could see was glimpses of lion through the bushes. It was disappointing at the time, but lion are plentiful here and during our stay in the area we must have seen about 20.

My favourite sighting was on our final morning on the Mara when our bus spotted a lone female. Selfishly we didn't tell any of the others (the buses have radios so the drivers can communicate) about 'our ' lion and the 5 of us in the bus felt a strong sense of ownership of her. In the early morning light she was a beautiful sight as she strolled casually out of the sun-dried grass and sauntered past the bus.

Shortly after this tender moment we saw 3 mini-buses grouped together. A sure sign that they had found another cat.

One thing that amazes me about lions is how well camouflaged they are. Several times I arrived at a sighting and started taking pictures of a lion only for someone to shout: 'There's another one!'. And there, only a few feet away would be another lion, and then another. I'd not even noticed them.

And thus it was when we drew up to the other three buses. We saw a male lion dozing in the grass almost immediately. Then there were two more - a male and a female a little further away. And then another male was seen.

The female was lying on her back, legs in the air. The big male beside her was looking a bit sleepy. We were looking at 4 somnambulant lions and understandably one of the mini buses left. There's only so many pictures you can take of a sleeping lion after all.

But our driver was a wise man. He explained that the male and female together were a mating pair and that typically a male has to mate with a female 360 times to ensure he gets her pregnant. If my calculations are correct, that's about a pint of jizz. No wonder he looked so knackered and she had to keep her legs in the air.

Of course, there was no way of knowing how far into the 360 times they were, but our driver was confident that if we stuck around our patience would be rewarded. He also drove into the vacated parking spot to give us the prime view.

Sure enough, a few minutes later the male shook himself awake and began to rise. Dutifully, the lioness crouched before the king of beasts. She didn't stand up, but then again who would in that situation. The male mounted her and bit into her neck before giving a low, rumbling roar to express his satisfaction. The female answered with a snarl of her own that seemed to say: 'Was that it?'

Not for the first time, I felt that I was in the middle of a TV documentary or Big Cat Week.

That was one of the 'Big 5' ticked off the list. In case you're not aware, the Big 5 is the name given by the white hunters to those animals considered to be the most dangerous to hunt and kill. The 5 are: lion, leopard, black rhino, water buffalo and hippo. Believe it or not, these guys are all real killers.

Our sighting of the other cat on the list was nothing like our lion sightings and turned out to be very distressing.

It came on the afternoon of our second day. Camping close to the Mara meant that we were among the fist to arrive when the gates opened. By mid afternoon the place is alive with mini-buses and 4 wheel drives.

On this particular afternoon there must have been close to 20 vehicles clustered around some trees and bushes. Naturally, we urged our driver to join them. With so many vehicles present it was hard to get a view of anything but eventually word filtered through that there was a leopard in the tree in front of us. From where we were I could only see a distinctive tail hanging down from the foliage.

Our driver then turned around very quickly and headed away from the tree. I assumed he was taking us to the opposite side for a better look.

The Maasai Mara is criss-crossed by numerous tracks and it turns out that the drivers are not supposed to go off-road. Being caught doing so results in a hefty fine. Of course the drivers totally ignore this rule so they can get their clients the best viewings and boost their tips. Ours wasn't then only bus to suddenly head away from the leopard sighting, it was like a cavalry charge. The reason became apparent - coming towards the clump of off-road vehicles was a distinctive blue Land Rover - the game ranger.

I don't think a tail counts as sighting one of the Big 5, but when I found out the full story behind what was going on there I was glad we never witnessed the horror of it.

The leopard we saw was a female. As she crouched in the tree she could see a lone male lion on the other side of bushes, away from our view. The lion was eating the leopard's cub.

In the Maasai Mara we witnessed the full circle of life - life being created and life being taken. Suddenly I wasn't in a TV documentary because they very carefully shield the reality of Nature from our fragile, sentimental human feelings. But lions are never sentimental.

Cheetah

This blog isn't the best for photo sharing, but I wanted to publish some images of these guys. Of all the big cats we saw these were my favourite, particularly as I had never seen cheetah in the wild before. We first spotted (no pun intended) them from the hot air balloon. These are three males, about a year old and they were with their mother. The four cats were trailing a female lion across the Mara, just for the fun of spoiling her day. The lion could easily kill them all, but as these guys knew - she'd have to catch them first.

One of my favourite photos from the trip. When the balloon trip was over our Land Rover driver took us out for a drive and we managed to find the cheetah again. All I could think was - it's Monday morning and people are turning up for work right now. Here I am having flown over the Maasai Mara, had breakfast in the bush and now I'm spending time with these wonderful creatures. I'm just so lucky.

Another pic that I like. It shows the playfulness and sheer energy of these boys. I wish I'd shot a bit higher and got all of his tail in though.

I hope you like my cheetah bro's as much as I do.

Lake Naivasha

Al fresco breakfast (click to enlarge)

Lake Naivasha camp site

Wherever we travelled in East Africa we met friendly, welcoming people. This was especially the case in Kenya, and being a former British colony (Kenya became independent in 1963) English was spoken widely. The other prominent language is Swahili - hence the shouts of Jambo (hello) wherever we went.

Sometimes the Kenyans could be a bit too friendly, especially when trying to sell you something and at first I found this discomforting. But I found that if you simply said that you were feeling a bit crowded they would politely back off.

I have returned from my holiday with a wide variety of souvenirs, some of which I have little use for (anyone want a Kenyan flag?), because I was won over by the charm of the people I met. Maybe I'm just a soft touch, but I'd like to think that I was simply doing my bit to support the people and the local economy.

Sometimes, particularly among children, the plea was very simple - Give me money! This brings with it a dilemma about responsible tourism and for me there is always an element of guilt when I realise how much I have compared to those around me. Having been to Africa before, dealing with this internal conflict is a big issue for me and one I was not relishing facing again. It all came to a head in Rwanda, but hey, I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to Kenya.

Our first night under canvass was at Lake Naivasha. This is not far from Elsamere, the home of Joy and Peter Adams of Born Free fame. In fact we took a short boat ride to the house in the afternoon. It was interesting, but after a long journey what I really enjoyed was drinking tea and eating lots of cake on the lawn, whilst watching he antics of the magnificent black and white Colobus monkeys. Most of the group went off to watch the screening of a documentary about the Adams. After my fitful night's sleep I nodded off in the garden instead.

If I drew the short straw when it came to leg room on the plane, I definitely got the long straw when it came to holiday accommodation. Being the only single bloke it was considered improper to accept my invitation to sleep with all the women on a rota basis and I was confined to monastic solitude throughout.

The tents we carried on board Isobel were meant to house 2 people. Had I shared it would have been cramped and one of my pre-holiday concerns was over sharing with an unknown man. I took ear plugs for the snoring - a set for each of us. As it was I was able to be very comfortable by stretching diagonally across the tent, with my belongings tucked away on one side and Wainwright on the other.

For me the camping aspect of the trip made it into an adventure, but it wasn't the case for everyone. Now, please don't accuse me of sexism when I gently point out that 13 out of 16 people in the group were female. And I think it's fair to say that ladies, on the whole, are more particular than men about their grooming standards, toileting and home comforts. My own standards are about as low as you can get. Give me food, beer, a space to sleep and a pot to piss in and I'm very happy. In fact, I'd even be happy without the pot. Naivasha provided all of these naked essentials, but the cold showers (legend has it that there was a hot one but I never found it) and the privations of camping led to some early complaints. The lack of anywhere in the tents where a hairdryer could be plugged in did not go down well in one instance.

To make matters worse, there was some sort of music festival not far away on the other side of the camp site and this boomed out until 3.00 am. Thank goodness I packed the ear plugs, although the pounding of the bass was so loud that I did find myself vibrating across the floor of the tent. At least no one shook me in the night wanting the loo.

On the whole, there was spirit of good humour as we gathered early next morning for our al fresco breakfast, cooked by the wonderful Leo, our resident chef. What that man can conjure up in the middle of nowhere is unbelievable and as all armies know, good grub is essential to good morale.

It was time to give Isobel a rest. Three minibuses turned up to take us on the next stage of our adventure. Carrying only essentials we clambered aboard them. These were not ordinary mini buses. They each had roofs that pop up to allow the people inside to stand up and get a good view of what is around them. Essential for the next 2 days. One by one the buses pulled away from Naivasha and headed west - towards the Maasai Mara.

Nairobi

Isobel

The trip to Heathrow was uneventful. No blazing trains or engineering works to impede my progress.

Being 6 feet 3 inches tall I asked for extra leg room at the check-in desk, but as ever it had already been allocated to various cousins of Wainwright who would not actually need it. The check-in bloke did ask though if I would like to travel on another plane that doesn't leave until the following morning. I think about this carefully. I could either leave on my allotted plane in 3 hours, or I could spend all night at the airport and arrive at my destination 12 hours late and miss my holiday. I look for the hidden advantages of this seemingly ludicrous offer but I'm buggered if I can find them and accept the cramped seat I have been allocated.

Being forced to drink the 2 litres of water I am carrying in order to progress through security I am in dire need of the loo. Outside the toilet 2 burly cops pass me by without so much as a glance. Neither do they glance at the abandoned bright orange suitcase that is a few feet away from me. It is only when they have disappeared round the corner en route to the staff canteen, their brief work break over, do I realise that I am standing next to a possible terrorist attack.

I search around for its owner, but there is just me and 50 pounds of semtex. I think I can hear ticking too.

Luckily a chap saunters by on his way to join the cops next to the teapot. His security badge indicates he works at the airport so I dump the problem on him. He thanks me but doesn't actually look too pleased and looks around anxiously for someone he can dump the problem onto in turn. Helpful as ever, I tell him there are 2 cops in the staff canteen. He thanks me again and I withdraw. He moves around the corner and then then comes back as the cops are now out of sight. He hovers uncertainly and I wonder if the coward is about to leg it. I figure that if it's sarin gas he'll go down first, like a canary in a coal mine, and I'll have time to escape. But then again, it might be semtex after all, which will severely ruin my holiday plans. I leg it.

Squashed into my seat for the 8 hour flight to Nairobi, my body decides to sleep in shifts. First, one of my legs goes off to sleep, then it is the turn of one of my arms. Finally, I manage to get all of my body to sleep in unison only to find myself being shaken by the otherwise non-communicative lady next to the window who settled down to sleep without visiting the toilet and now needs to pee.

Eventually I do manage pockets of sleep of various durations between trying to get comfortable.

I awake to find my contact lenses welded to my eyeballs and watch a fuzzy version of Night at the Museum 2 over breakfast. The film goes off before the end as we are nearing Nairobi. It was crap anyway.

At the airport I get my first taste of the slow bureaucracy that constantly cripples Africa as I queue to pay my $25 and obtain my entry visa. As my time in the queue stretches out I am haunted by images of every thief in Kenya helping themselves to my luggage which must be circulating around the carousel on an endless loop by now.

As it is my fears are unfounded. By the time I get to the baggage area nearly an hour after arrival it is to find people from my flight still waiting for the first bags to appear.

My fellow passengers and I then play a game of luggage claim bingo. Once you have all your bags you shout 'Thank f*ck for that!' and hot foot it out of the airport. The loser is the last one to get a bag. I was the loser.

Wearily, I make my way out of the airport and follow the 'Exodus' sign that leads me to my fellow adventurers and our guide, JJ. He is a tall, slim, good looking, Bob Marley look-alike complete with dread-locks. It will take at least 2 more days for me to work out the various connections between the group I am joining and learn their names. At this stage I can only discern that they are a friendly bunch that consists mainly of women of various ages. I also detect some accents I take to be American in their midst. Most of the group, having faired far better at luggage claim bingo than me, seem to have bonded and exchanged details already.

Hounded by nice men who kindly want to help carry our bags, we make our way to where Isobel is waiting. Isobel is our base for the next 2 weeks. She is a huge truck that must never be referred to by the B-word (rhymes with Puss). But she is no ordinary truck. Isobel turns out to be the Swiss Army knife of trucks, full of hidden compartments and gadgets that will provide security and cater for our needs during our trip. Not only will she carry us safely over some very dodgy roads but she will also be our field kitchen, our secure storage, our water bearer, our game viewing platform and JJ's bedroom.

Bags onboard Isobel, we head north out of Nairobi, towards the Rift Valley.

The adventure has begun.

Jambo!

Man overboard!

Jambo, my friends. Wainwright and I have survived our 2 week trip around East Africa and are pleased to be home again.

And my, what an adventure it has been! It would be frivolous of me to summarise our trip in one blog entry as there is so much to share with you. Besides, I'm getting far better at keeping notes as I travel. So, I will attempt to provide a series of entries over the coming week or so that cover the highlights of our trip in chronological order. Here's a flavour of some of the episodes I intend to write about:

Wainwright gets kidnapped and held to ransom
In search of the Big 5
Ballooning over the Maasai Mara
The water buffalo shoot out
A lion comes to visit
Spot of bother in Kampala
Rafting the Nile
Chimps at Lake Victoria
Lake Bunyonyi orphanage

Plughole experiment on the equator
Genocide Memorial, Kigali
Gorilla, Gorilla

At times the trip has been an emotional roller coaster. Africa has a habit of balancing out its beauty and sheer awesomeness with pain and suffering. Something that I have difficulty coping with.

A picture paints a thousand words and all that, so I'll do my best to add a few . There's planty to choose from - I estimate that I took nearly 3,000. Of those maybe 80% will be deleted for being poor or too similar to other pics as I searched for that perfect shot of a lion (I got some great shots of a mummy and daddy lion making baby lions - talk about lay back and think of Africa!). My poor laptop is creaking as it is so it may not be a simple task.

The picture above was taken by the company I went rafting with. Yes, that is me going for an unplanned swim in the Nile.

This week marks the end of my first three months of retirement. This was always planned as a bit of a time out. I've had a fantastic summer and even now it is strange to return from a trip and not to be going back to work. But by the end of the week I do need to change up a gear and introduce a more rigid structure into my life. Quite what that will be I haven't decided yet. I do intend to devote far more time to writing and I have a few projects lined up. And I haven't given up hope of the TV/Film Extra work starting to come my way as I enter a more settled phase of my life.

No more big trips until November, when I head off to Vietnam. Australia and New Zealand are in the process of being planned for January/February.

The new term at university begins in a week, which means two things. One, I will have to get used to not having my gorgeous daughter around the house as she returns to Leicester for her second year of studying Law. Incidentally, her boyfriend's surname is Law, which means that when she's not studying Law she's studying Law - boom, boom! Two, I drag myself back for the final year of my Creative Writing degree. Not surprisingly, I have elected to focus on travel writing for the 10,000 creative words I have to submit. Should the book ever emerge don't bother buying it as you'll have read most of what I have to say on here.

Asante sana!

Live long and prosper.

East Africa

Wainwright is once more tucked away in my back-pack. Despite his chubby grin I do detect a hint of nerves as he prepares for his most epic and potentially hazardous journey to date. And after his Turkish adventure I have taken the precaution of packing his first aid kit (super-glue).

I share some of Wainwright's trepidation and will feel a lot happier when I am flying somewhere over France tomorrow night with a large gin and tonic in my hand. Compared with what is to come, the journey to Kings Cross should be easy. But I've travelled on these trains before and they often encounter problems. Once, we'd just gone through Stevenage and the bloody train caught fire!

I think Wainwright's mind is more focussed on Africa itself and the difficulties often faced by gnomes in the dark continent. Will a wild animal run off with him? Will he fall out of the hot air balloon? Might an entire village decide to make him their chief? Will a sangoma put a spell on him? And what of the mountain gorillas? They are supposed to be peaceful but how will they react to a very small person wearing black and amber?

You'll have to wait over two weeks to find out I'm afraid.

By the way, Right Ho, Jeeves and Generation Kill made it onto my final shortlist.

And finally....... The Premiership transfer window closed this week. The BBC website was alive all day on Tuesday awaiting news of big name signings by the bigger clubs. It was all a bit of a damp squib. But today lowly Hull City have outdone them all. They have signed Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink. As names go, surely they don't come any bigger than that? Try getting that printed on the back of your shirt. It'll double the cost.

Live long and prosper.

The week before Christmas

240 year old graffiti. Click to enlarge.

Looking towards Skidby

For me this is an exciting week and yet there is nothing of particular excitement happening. There is a long list of things for me to do so that I can ensure a clean get-away on Friday when I venture down to London, then on to Kenya. It's a bit like the week before Christmas. You want everything to be just perfect but a lot of effort needs to go in to make it happen.

Having said that, something a bit unusual did happen on Monday. Where I live in Beverley there is a Minster that dates back to the 1200's. It's not as big as nearby York, but glorious nonetheless. I have soft spot for the building and a few years ago I even had spell as a Minster Welcomer - someone who wanders around the building trying to look friendly and helpful. In truth they are also there to stop people nicking the candlesticks. On my first tour as a Welcomer the place was burgled! Some youths broke into an office that was slightly away from the main building. I walked within a few feet of the intruders but didn't notice a thing. They must have found me very welcoming.

On Monday access was given to the north east tower of the building, something that rarely happens. Someone said it was 30 years since the last time, but I'm sure I've seen people up there more recently than that. As you can imagine there were a number of steps to be climbed - about 220. The reward was a fantastic view over the town and it's environs. It was a clear day and in the distance the shape of the Sledmere Monument could just be discerned. I was assured that this was 20 miles away.

On the way to the top we passed through a chamber that connects the east and west towers. On the walls there was a lot of graffiti, both ancient and modern. Some of it crude and others very ornate. Most of it seems to originate from the various craftsmen who have and cause to work in this part of the building over the last 200 years or so.

For me these marks are one of the most important aspects of the Minster. In medieval times it was used as a school and on some of the pillars in the main body of the church there is some naughty schoolboy graffiti. Whatever doubts I may have that magnificent buildings like Beverley Minster are more to the glory of man than to the glory of God, I am always touched by the fact that is also a record of so many people over it's 800 year history. Even the building itself is divided into sections where different styles hold sway. This is because it wasn't one continuous building project, but built in three phases, each one interrupted by the great plague.

Unfortunately I was never left alone long enough to carve 'Middle Agged Gapper woz 'ere' , for future generations to marvel at.

Going back to my preparations for my trek around East Africa, one problem I always have is packing too much stuff. This time I need to get it right and the fact that my sleeping bag is taking up a fair bit of space in my back-pack makes it essential to keep my luggage down. This has presented me with a deliciously painful dilemma as I have decided to limit myself to only 2 books. But which 2? Last night I counted the books on my bedside table, most of which I have at least dipped into or started reading. There are 22! They include a range of travel books, a book about angels, a promise by Paul McKenna to make me thin and a glorious collection of 12 Commando Comics all bound together under the title 'All Guns Blazing!'

I have dithered about this choice all week, as if the success of the trip depends on it. My present favourites are: a Bertie Wooster novel by PG Wodehouse - probably 'Right Ho, Jeeves'. I mean what journey would not be made better by an escape into the Drones Club to witness the behaviour of Tuppy Glossop and Gussie Finke-Nottle? This is closely followed by a collection of the Blandings stories by the same author; next is 'The Van' by Roddy Doyle. A fellow student lent me this back in May and I feel a moral obligation to have read it by the time I go back to university. It's also a brilliant book and a great example of good novel writing, that might encourage me to finish the one I've started writing; then there's 'Riotous Assembly' , by Tom Sharpe, which I read about 20 odd years ago and found hilarious. Has it stood the test of time? Finally there is 'Generation Kill'. This is written by Evan Wright, a journalist embedded with US Marines during the second Gulf conflict. I couldn't get enough of the TV series that it inspired (although no else seems to have seen it). I have avoided buying the book but it was discounted at Tesco's this week and fell into my trolley.

Decisions, decisions. And of course there will be a the temptation of the airport book shop to negotiate too. The latest Nick Hornby came out yesterday.....

Whatever I choose I hope really that it's all irrelevant as I will be spending 24 hours a day trying to get that perfect photo of a big cat or a gorilla. And even if means leaving Jeeves and Wooster at home I will ensure there is room in my bag for the dozens of pens and pencils I have bought in the hope of handing them out at some of the villages on the journey. Maybe I can encourage some naughty school child graffiti. In the end it's always the people that are the most important part of any journey.

Live long and prosper.