According to conventional wisdom, the best time to go on safari in Africa is
the dry season. The logic is simple: as the bush becomes increasingly
parched, the animals have fewer and fewer places to find water. Grab
yourself a good vantage point close to a watering hole and spotting game
becomes as easy as catching wasps in a jam jar on a hot summer’s day.
But conventional wisdom isn’t always to be trusted. Sometimes, unconventional
wisdom is superior. Listen to Robin Pope, one of Africa’s most revered
wildlife guides, who runs a collection of luxury camps in the South Luangwa
Valley, Zambia.
“For us — the people who live here — the rainy season is the best time of
year,” he says. “Tourists like to visit when it’s dry and dusty, but when
the rains come and the rivers swell, the bush bursts with life, the colours
are incredibly vivid and you have the most marvellous sense of renewal and
abundance.”
Like most operators, Pope used to close his camps between January and Easter,
but last year, for the first time, he decided to buck convention and stay
open throughout the wet season (cunningly rebranded the “emerald season”).
In the first week of April, towards the end of the rains, I arrived at his
camp, Nkwali, on the banks of the Luangwa. It was full, mainly with
khaki-clad Brits swapping stories of the big game they’d encountered that
morning. Pope offered tea and passed me his binoculars so I could examine a
pair of yellowbilled storks.
“It’s proving a huge success,” he said. “Most of these guests have stayed with
us before, and wanted to come back to see how the valley looks in the rainy
season. Price may be a factor, too. We’re offering good low-season
discounts.”
Although it was the wildlife we had all come to see, it was the river itself
that became a constant source of fascination. During the dry season, between
May and November, the Luangwa is little more than a trickle, much to the
distress of the thousands of hippos that live in it. All night, you can hear
them grunting and squealing as they squabble over wallowing rights.
By April, however, the river is close to bursting its banks. Beneath the
surface, herds of hippo harrumph contentedly, only their snouts and small,
round ears visible.
At Nkwali, where the Luangwa is as wide as four football pitches, our morning
and evening game drives began with a boat ride to the opposite bank, the
entry point to the South Luangwa National Park. There, we would climb into
one of Pope’s open-topped, open-sided Land Cruisers, hoping the rain would
hold off.
We were lucky. Not only did we dodge the showers, we were treated to the most
startlingly beautiful African skies: fiery orange sunsets, cloudscapes that
could have been painted by Magritte and, after dark, electrical storms that
strobed the skies with sheet and fork lightning.
With the vegetation running riot, I had been advised that I should not expect
to see many animals. Again, though, we were lucky. Just five minutes into
our first drive, we turned a corner to find a pride of lions stretched out
on the road in postprandial bliss, rolling on their backs and licking their
paws. Our driver killed the engine, and humans and cats all eyeballed each
other silently for several minutes before the lions sauntered off.
Close encounters with elephants, giraffes, puku and zebras all followed. Then,
as darkness unfolded and a dazzling view of the Milky Way appeared above,
our guide switched on a powerful arc light that revealed owls and genets,
hyenas and hares. We didn’t spot any leopards or wild dogs, but there were
no complaints. FURTHER up the valley is another camp that stays open
throughout the wet season. Tafika has just six rustic cottages in a remote
riverside clearing, three miles from the nearest village. With the
surrounding roads impassable, the only way to reach the camp is by motorboat.
The two-hour journey upstream from Nkwali had a Conradesque quality to it.
Each bend in the river took us deeper into the wilderness. Every now and
then, the boatman would cut the motor to point out crocodiles lurking in the
shallows or African skimmers darting across the surface of the water, their
beaks wide open to catch small fish.
John Coppinger, who owns and runs Tafika with his wife, Carol, met me at the
jetty with a muscular handshake and a warm smile. He showed me to my cottage
— hand-built using thatch and bamboo — and we lunched on chicken and mango
salad, spinach tart and home-baked bread.
Coppinger is a pioneer of rainy-season safaris. Between February and April,
when the river is at its most swollen, he cancels his usual programme of
game drives and instead runs river safaris. Guests travel by canoe or dinghy
across flood plains and seasonal lakes to remote spots, where, with a guide
and an armed scout, they head off walking deep into the bush.
Later that day, I joined the only other guests — two middle-aged sisters from
Essex — in canoesd. We paddled gently downstream, slowing to watch fish
eagles, kingfishers and buffalo. A newborn hippo trotted along the bank
behind its mother — evidence that even the least attractive creatures can
have cute kids.
Stephen, our guide, showed us how to tap the bottoms of the canoes with the
paddles. “It’s to warn the hippos,” he explained. “When they come to the
surface, they can’t see what’s above them. If they tip your canoe over and
you fall in, the crocodiles will get you.” This was not a happy thought, so
we did as we were told and tapped.
Soon after dawn next morning, we moored the dinghy downstream and hiked
through the chest-high grass along what, at first glance, looked like
well-used footpaths. In fact, they were trails cleared by hippos on
nocturnal food hunts. Stephen pointed out lion droppings and the
velvety-soft elephant-ear plant, which local villagers use as toilet paper
for babies.
After an hour and a half, we reached a colony of yellowbilled storks. We sat
nearby under a winter thorn, drinking tea and eating ginger cake, as
hundreds of the huge birds flapped, squawked, squeaked and scrapped. They
made such a din, we could barely hear each other speak.
Back at base camp, a treat lay in store. Coppinger is the proud owner of a
two-man microlight and, providing conditions are good, he will take guests
on spectacular low-level flights over the valley. At most times of the year,
he charges £50 for a 15-minute ride, but during the rainy season, he’ll do
it for free.
Why the largesse? “It’s because I love this time of year,” he smiled. “When
it’s dry and the dust blows up, the visibility isn’t all that great up
there. But now, after it has rained and the air is clear, you can see for up
to 100 miles in every direction. I’m just keen to get up there.”
Once I was strapped into the passenger seat, a huge involuntary grin broke
across my face as we bounced off the grassy airstrip and soared skywards. It
was an awesome sight, the whole valley laid out beneath us, the course of
the Luangwa, its tributaries and oxbow lakes, suddenly clearly visible.
“Look at it,” said Coppinger over the intercom, “the last great untamed
river in Africa.”
We flew to a height of several hundred feet, from where we could see a rainbow
and distant storms, then dived down through the treetops to watch baby
elephants bathing in a riverbed. We passed over the yellowbilled storks —
taking care not to disturb them — and Coppinger pointed out giraffes,
buffalo, waterbucks and elands. “Amazing, isn’t it?” he sighed. No further
commentary was required.
So, should safari operators drop their existing programmes and tell tourists
to visit Africa only in the wet season? Not quite. If you want to see lots
of game up close — and enjoy some guaranteed sunshine — the dry season will
do very nicely, thank you. But if it’s your second or third visit, and
you’re ready to give yourself up to the immensity and raw beauty of the bush
— the awesome skies, the lush, fecund landscapes, the swollen rivers and the
heart-stopping electrical storms — you know what to do. I’d go back
tomorrow.
Mark Hodson travelled as a guest of Expert Africa
Travel details: Expert Africa (020 8232 9777, www.expertafrica.com
) has three nights, full-board, at both Nkwali and Tafika, with one night, B&B,
in Lusaka, for £1,885pp between January and April — compared with £2,456pp
in high season (July to October). Both prices include flights.
Other camps now open for the rainy season include Mchenja Bush Camp and Kapani
Lodge, both in the South Luangwa Valley. A week, full-board, with four
nights at Kapani and three at Mchenja, starts at £1,956pp between January 21
and March 31 with Okavango Tours (020 8343 3283, www.okavango.com
).
The Okavango Delta, in Botswana, also comes alive in the rainy season
(February and March). In the Selinda Concession, home to elephants,
giraffes, cheetahs, wild dogs, leopards and lions, Zibalianja and Selinda
Camps stay open. Book with Expert Africa, Okavango Tours, Steppes Travel
(01285, 880980, www.steppestravel.co.uk
) or Tribes (01728 685971, www.tribes.co.uk
).
Obviously it wasn't 2007 because they have had the wettest rainy season since 1978 when I was rescued by Cindy Buxton in her boat.
peter durkin, banbury, uk