…continued from the previous post. If you want to start from the beginning of this series, start here.
Are you sure there is internet in Etosha,” I asked, looking at the map and harboring doubts.
“That’s what the website says,” Andrew explains. “There must be! The tourists need internet to post Instagram photos with the sunbathing elephants.” His theory is well enough, but it just looked like a difficult place to herd the mice who run the wifi-wheels. I download a few things before leaving the comfort of internet and our lodge in Swopkopmond, just in case.
Etosha was a solid six-hour drive on mostly paved roads (no fun at all!), through wild brush and tiny towns. Kids in school uniforms walk through the streets, men stand watch at fill-up stations until they see us approaching a mile away. They wave their arms to welcome us in. “I can help you here!” They always fill the fuel up to the brim.
“They must get paid per liter of fuel sold,” Andrew says as he wipes a splash of overflow off the side of the truck.
Despite the long drive, we weren't planning to lose a day of exploration. Our Fish River Canyon friends had given us the inside scoop to a lodge located inside the park. Boasting its very own onsite watering hole, animals come to you as you enjoy your sundowner cocktail.
Upon our arrival, the only thing standing between us and a front row perch to Rhinoceros viewing was the check in desk...
...and a line that snaked throughout the inside building, out the door, and along a covered patio.
“Well, maybe I’ll go get some work done while you do our check-in?” I told Andrew and he agreed. But, it wasn’t long before I learned the cause of said long line: They couldn't find guests’ reservations on the computer, and they were having to manually reenter all their information one at a time…
…because the internet was down.
I return to wait with Andrew in the check-in line. We considered leaving and driving four hours back to the last small town we passed, but the light was getting low and our rental contract for the truck specified we could not drive at night owing to the danger of running into elephants or miscalculating a newly displaced sand dune.
Resigned, I tapped out a short note to my office via the sat phone carried for just this eventuality: “Internet is broken today, I hope to be back online day after tomorrow.”
An hour and a half later, we were all checked in and we’d claimed a bench near the watering hole. But, nothing was happening. In the blank space between the African animals I hoped to see, my mind whirred through work tasks waiting my attention.
Andrew was feeling parched, so he leaned in and whispered in my ear “I'm going to run back to the room and grab the bottle of wine.”
"Okay,” I whispered back.
No sooner had he disappeared around the corner of the lodge buildings did I sit up on the edge of my bench to spy two objects - one large, one small - who could have passed for big boulders save for the fact that they were making a slow and steady progress through the grass.
“Is that a...” I peek through the long lens of my camera which doubles nicely as my “monocular”….”RHINOCEROUS!
...Ooooh, Andrew. Come back!”
It wasn't any Rhinoceros, it was a mother and baby rhinoceros! They cautiously approached the watering hole, looked around for trouble, then bent to slurp up their fill of water. “Oh wow...” I whisper, then look over my shoulder.
“oooh, come back, come back Andrew!”
Mama and baby turn around, and it looked like they meant to go.
I was just starting to accept the fact that they were going to leave before Andrew got back, when he slipped in beside me on the bench and whisper-shouted: “Rhinoceroses!!!”
“I’m so glad you made it back!" I said, and he handed me a mug of wine.
Even better, Mama and Baby did not leave. Like us, they stopped what they were doing to watch the scene as the sun dropped below the horizon and the sky developed to intense color.
We wait every last minute, until our dinner hour arrives and we must go. I suspect the restaurant requires you to commit to a reservation time, lest all their guests stay at the watering hole well past dinner only to rummage the lodge refrigerator for a midnight snack.
“It says here that this watering hole is the perfect opportunity to watch Big Kitties in their most active hours,” Andrew says to me while fiddling with his phone. “I’m setting an alarm.”
“Yeah, what time?”
“2:30 a.m.”
I grumble a little bit, but I am also enthusiastic to see the Big Kitties.
“It’s going to be cold,” I say, already layering my wool socks, wool long-johns, and a beanie cap under the Nap Sack, despite sleeping indoors tonight.
At 2:30 a.m., the alarm rings and Andrew bounds out of bed to make coffee.
I slip on my sneakers, add a layer of puffy coat, and pull the Nap Sack hood over my beanie cap. “Walking mode!” I declare as I pull the drawstring around my waist and smooth the tube of the sac down to just above my knees. Andrew ignores me. He hates my Nap Sack.
At the watering hole, we find “our” bench free and I snuggle with the French press until the coffee is ready to pours into mugs. Nothing is happening right now. We wait.
Then, we hear a sound from our right.
An answer from our left.
Two more answers back from the right.
A choir of base and rumbling from the left.
The hair on the back of our necks lifts and I feel every organ in my abdomen compress together to huddle as close to the center of my core as they might. Signal fires course through the spiral strands of my DNA. I receive a message from one of my eldest ancestors - the one who watched her sister be eaten by… “LIONS! Oh my gosh! Listen to that!”
Andrew is on his feet trying to peer into the darkness. They sound so close. Between the open mouth, neck-stretching roars, we can hear the low steady rumbles used to keep the voice box warm for full acceleration. I have the long lens of my camera out and I’m trying to scan the edge of light from the lodge to see if I can see any movement.
“There she is!” I click away, trying to capture whatever I might. Between the call and answer of roars, one lion crosses the darkness between the pride on the right to the group waiting on the left. “Another one!” I click again, then show Andrew the light of my screen
“Someone on the left has captured a kill, I bet.” Andrew says.
“I’m sure of it.”
The roaring pauses, and we settle back into our bench until I hear the crack of footfall on a dry branch. My eyes dart to a shadow of movement, still faint in the darkness. A slow, steady rolling grey monolith moves toward us. “Look, Andrew, an elephant is coming,” I whisper.
The night is so quiet between the lion’s roars. There is no birdsong yet, no crickets leftover from the evening. The stars are out, but many washed away in full moonlight. As the elephant arrives, the silver grey of his back is warmed to orange by the lodge lights. He walks straight toward us and takes a long look before turning over his right shoulder to dangle his trunk into the water for a drink. We can hear the scchhhllluuuurrrp, scchllluuurrrp. He then curls his trunk to his mouth and the water splashes down his gullet. He goes in for a second sip, as the lions start up again. The elephant looks up momentarily, and it’s almost as if you can see him shrug. He returns to his water hole without concern.
“I’m not sure elephants are convinced about this “King of the Jungle” thing,” I said to Andrew. As soon as I said it I realized I am not sure about this King of the jungle thing, either. “Wait…King of the jungle?”
Andrew laughed, “Yeah, I think that might be a Disney plot hole.”
“Maybe they were Thai Elephants.” I considered.
We probably could have stayed at the watering hole all day, but the greater Etosha park sat waiting for us just out there. So, we packed up the French Press, put my Nap Sack in walking mode, again, and returned to our room to get ready for a quick breakfast and a day self-driving the park.
At first light, the gates opened and we zoomed away in a cloud of dust.
“Vegetarians…” Andrew would say as we would pull up next to a watering hole to find mostly Elan, Oryx, Zebra, and a series of interesting birds. “Birds…” Andrew reports through his binoculars. We watch the vegetarians romp and chase each other for a while.
Etosha is famous, not only for it’s exotic animals, but also for the great Etosha pan. Covering an area greater than the size of Rhode Island, it is a white-clay shallow lake bed, dry in all but the most unusual of weather. I had heard Elephants rub the dust on their skin as a type of sun protection. I had to see this! So, after watching the vegetarians at the watering hole, we sped along down the road until it took us near the pan.
As the truck buzzed around a left-hand turn, our phones beeped a series of times indicating they had found a spot of internet and brought in our emails.
Salvation!
We visited the Etosha Pan which was as long and white and wide as anything we’d ever seen, but unfortunately, saw no sunbathing elephants. It was high noon and all the animals had gone for their midday naps. We retraced our tire-tread to find the corner with the slight glow of internet. We followed the signal until it led us to a second lodge at the center of the park. It boasted no watering hole, but glorious, glorious internet. We found a picnic table under a shade tree and hid from the heat of the day.
As the sun fell lower in the sky and my to do list was tucked comfortably behind checkmarks, we set off to our own lodge via “Rhinoceros Road.” At least we thought so, until we realized we’d been waylaid onto Elan Road headed East instead of Rhinoceros Road headed West. Now off schedule and at risk of being out in the park past the time we are allowed, we turned back as quickly as we dared given the risk of animals darting across our path.
“This road should be called ‘Hornbill Road,’” I said as hornbills of all color and spots peeled out of trees making way for us to pass. “Is that….whoa whoa whoa, STOP!” Looming on the horizon, in the middle of the road, an elephant-shaped spot centered itself before a globe of sun.
Andrew slides to a stop.
“Back it up! Back it up!”
Andrew shoves the truck into reverse and we roll backward along the road.
The elephant is easily as big as our truck with big flat feet stomping the road dust flat before us. His ears are expanded to their widest width, and he is glaring at us. His trunk lops down between two very white, very sharp looking tusks. He picks up a wad of dust and throws it at us.
“Oooh, he’s mad.” I say, “Back it up!”
The truck whines in reverse as we roll backward, a continuous retreat as our elephant stares us down. His ears sound like two giant leather dish towels being snapped at our legs as they flap aggressively. “Come on, guy! We have to keep going that way.” I tell him. But, our schedule is not his and he continues his aggressive stance against clear passage.
Eventually, he got bored of us. Having lost a solid 15 minutes and some mileage in retreat, we were now running VERY late. It’s illegal to be in the park after dark and our lodge closes its gates at sunset. “What time is sunset tonight?” I asked Andrew. But we didn’t know, because we had no internet.
Ho-hum….
We zoom the dirt roads as fast as we dared, lest we turn a corner to find another elephant. The sun fell low over the giant Etosha Pan. Worst of all, it seemed very likely we were going to miss rhinocerous hour!
Just then, we turned the corner and spied our lodge in the distance. We slid through the gates at exactly sunset…at 6:28 p.m.
Luckily, darkness comes long and slow here, and we still had an hour yet of deepening red sky. We took our bottle of wine to the watering hole again to find our Rhinocerous already bent over sipping her evening brew. Once she left, the giraffes arrived and our Etosha Adventure was complete.
