Mayhem at Mlilwane
(written 09/29/07)
I’m now happily in the tiny kingdom of Swaziland, staying at the equally tiny Mlilwane Game Reserve. Our accommodation is in traditional beehive huts, which were quite worrying from the outside but actually very large and comfortable on the inside.
(Remember, all images can be enlarged if you click on them.)
Mlilwane doesn’t have The Big 5 but it does have a lot of animals roaming around. It was my first time seeing the very odd looking Blesbuck, which are very numerous in Mlilwane. And there were scores of warthogs, particularly around our huts, and tame enough for us to get very close.
The Hippo
At Mlilwane, we saw things, we did things, etcetera, etcetera…but the big news of the visit was that I had an encounter with a hippo. It wasn’t as bad as my mountain lion encounter last summer on Vancouver Island. On the terror scale, it was more along the lines of being chased by a moose with Warren the summer before. (I appear to be on a one-terrifying-animal-encounter-per-summer cycle. Looks like I am in the clear for another year.)
Before I share exactly what happened, I must publicly acknowledge that I grew up in the city, where the only dangerous animals were of the two-legged variety. And, I know from experience that when I am out in nature I have to keep a tight reign on my imagination because if TV has taught me anything, it’s that all manner of viscous beasts, precipitous terrain and menacing weather awaits the merry nature-goer around every bend in the trail. And TV is never wrong, eh?
I only had about two hours of daylight left so they recommended a shorter trail and guided me to the starting point, just past the gate.
The walk started out ‘uncomfortable.’ The trail that they sent me on skirted the shoreline virtually the whole time. I was rarely further than 30 feet from the shoreline. I was baffled that the trail would take me so close to certain death by crocodile, but continued on, remembering my proclivity for paranoia and reassuring myself that the Mlilwane people surely knew something I didn’t.
After about 20 minutes of trying to get into the experience, trying to ignore that I was all alone and feeling very vulnerable, I reached one of the main lakes.
I spied another couple off in the distance and made my way over to the viewpoint where they stood watching the water. They weren’t terribly friendly, but I did manage to pull out of them that they had been hearing hippos all afternoon, but had yet to see them. They had walked all around the lake but to no avail. Within minutes of my arrival, they gave up their quest and headed back to the campground.
Alone again, I stood at the viewpoint overlooking the lake and wondering what to do next. I turned away from the lake to search for a trail heading away from the water, figuring that would be a little more in my comfort range.
I turned back to take one last look at the lake, and there he was. Staring at me, not very far from where I stood…a big, nostril flaring hippo. I was momentarily stunned and excited—“Wow, it finally came above the water. Wonder if I can catch that couple? Are they too far by now? Oh my gosh, a hippo.” It went like this: glee, glee, glee, wonder, awe, fascination, panic.
It was still moving toward me through the water. And still moving. And still moving. Okay, stop now.
It was just me and the hippo and I felt very little. I decided I was too close, so I calmly turned around and walked about 30 paces away from the shoreline. I then turned back to check my comfort level at the new distance, and noticed that the distance hadn’t changed. The hippo had continued in my direction.
I then began an irrational, irritated (but quiet) conversation with the hippo. “What? What do you want? I’m going. Don’t follow me.”
I walked horizontal to the shore on the far side of the trail, talking to the hippo, thinking that would help. The hippo followed me. Perhaps to stave off a desperate panic, I got mad. “If you are just being curious, knock it off. You are freaking me out.” Still following me. My distance-estimation skills are woefully bad, but I would guess that the hippo, at that point, was just 30 feet away from the shoreline, 50 feet away from me.
I pondered running directly away from the shore, into the tall grass, but I didn’t know if that would make things worse. Would running into snake- and tick-infested grass be better? (There was a detailed snake warning back at the campground, which I read, in horror, from start to finish the night before.) And would running spark some chase response in the hippo? I figured probably not, since hippos aren’t carnivores. But they are the most dangerous animal in Africa. They kill more people than any other animal in Africa. Who? Why? People who walk along their shoreline and irritate them?
I had all these thoughts as I tried to walk calmly along the path with my hippo friend or foe (not sure which) keeping pace behind me.
I finally got to a fork in the path. To the left, the path continued along the lake, in water too shallow for hippos but just fine for crocodiles. To the right, the path veered into the tall grasses. Not a tough decision. I chose the right, and barely got 10 feet before I spotted a big bliesbuck or nyala or waterbuck—not sure which—a short distance away. It spotted me too, then lifted it’s head and let out a short loud hissing noise. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a big deal. The bliesbuck/nyala/waterbuck/whatever is a herbivore, and generally skittish. Not the type to attack. But I was already in a freaked out state, so I stopped in my tracks.
I was stuck. Behind me, hippo. In front of me, hissing buck-thing. I stood in that spot for 20 long minutes. The main gravel road through the park was just to my right, and I decided eventually a car would come along. Eventually I wouldn’t be alone.
And eventually a car did. A young couple pulled up in a VW Rabbit (called a “Chico” here). They drove by slowly, and I said “Want to see a hippo?” They stopped.
Now there were three fleshy little humans, not just one. That felt better. They got out of the car and I pointed out the hippo, still about 20 feet from the shoreline. There were now two other hippos in the water, just beyond my hippo.
Just then, my hippo surfaced more and yawned a really big, slow, dramatic yawn. The couple thought it was really cool.
It wasn’t a yawn. It’s what hippos do to scare off other hippos or menacing predators or little fleshy humans that are bugging them. They open their mouths really slowly and wide in order to display their huge dagger teeth.
[I watched the yawn in amazement, and only thought to photograph it at the very end. So the shot is blurry and doesn’t capture the yawn well. But you forgive me, eh?]
It then clamped its teeth down, and the three of us backed up. At this point I was enjoying the encounter because (1) I was no longer alone, and (2) we had a Chico to jump into. We climbed into the car and drove to a safer viewpoint—the original viewpoint I was at when I first saw the hippo.
Three other hippos had joined the group, and the six of them made their way over to the viewpoint, but not close and not scary. Eventually they went underwater and we grew tired of waiting for them to resurface.
And so I walked back to my beehive hut, still in one piece.
---
(Note on the first photo above: As I walked away from the lake for the last time, I turned back to snap a photo of where it had all started. The hippo, now in a good mood I guess, was kind enough to move to where I initially spotted it—near the first viewpoint—so that I could take the first of the two photographs shown above.
Note on the second photo above: My hippo, “the stalker”, was by the island for most of the encounter. This photograph was taken after the yawn, after we had backed up and the stalker moved away from the shoreline and toward the other two hippos. So…it was closer than what is depicted in the second shot.)
I’m now happily in the tiny kingdom of Swaziland, staying at the equally tiny Mlilwane Game Reserve. Our accommodation is in traditional beehive huts, which were quite worrying from the outside but actually very large and comfortable on the inside.
(Remember, all images can be enlarged if you click on them.)Mlilwane doesn’t have The Big 5 but it does have a lot of animals roaming around. It was my first time seeing the very odd looking Blesbuck, which are very numerous in Mlilwane. And there were scores of warthogs, particularly around our huts, and tame enough for us to get very close.
The Hippo
At Mlilwane, we saw things, we did things, etcetera, etcetera…but the big news of the visit was that I had an encounter with a hippo. It wasn’t as bad as my mountain lion encounter last summer on Vancouver Island. On the terror scale, it was more along the lines of being chased by a moose with Warren the summer before. (I appear to be on a one-terrifying-animal-encounter-per-summer cycle. Looks like I am in the clear for another year.)
Before I share exactly what happened, I must publicly acknowledge that I grew up in the city, where the only dangerous animals were of the two-legged variety. And, I know from experience that when I am out in nature I have to keep a tight reign on my imagination because if TV has taught me anything, it’s that all manner of viscous beasts, precipitous terrain and menacing weather awaits the merry nature-goer around every bend in the trail. And TV is never wrong, eh?
Okay, disclaimer now out of the way, here’s what happened. It was late afternoon, overcast but still plenty of daylight left. I had planned to do a short game walk, but hadn’t planned to walk alone. Arica, my roommate, and I were going to walk together, but she was not back from the craft market and daylight was quickly fading.
So, I ventured out on my own. If you are thinking “okay, first mistake”… not exactly. I checked with the information desk to make sure it was safe—this is a game park after all—and I was reassured that it would be fine, that the only dangerous animals were crocodiles, so as long as I didn’t stray close to the lake shorelines, I would be fine.
I only had about two hours of daylight left so they recommended a shorter trail and guided me to the starting point, just past the gate.
The walk started out ‘uncomfortable.’ The trail that they sent me on skirted the shoreline virtually the whole time. I was rarely further than 30 feet from the shoreline. I was baffled that the trail would take me so close to certain death by crocodile, but continued on, remembering my proclivity for paranoia and reassuring myself that the Mlilwane people surely knew something I didn’t.
I snapped these pictures (stitched together) at one point on the path where the shoreline was a good distance away, a point where I was actually relaxed and happy to be out walking.
After about 20 minutes of trying to get into the experience, trying to ignore that I was all alone and feeling very vulnerable, I reached one of the main lakes.
I spied another couple off in the distance and made my way over to the viewpoint where they stood watching the water. They weren’t terribly friendly, but I did manage to pull out of them that they had been hearing hippos all afternoon, but had yet to see them. They had walked all around the lake but to no avail. Within minutes of my arrival, they gave up their quest and headed back to the campground.
Alone again, I stood at the viewpoint overlooking the lake and wondering what to do next. I turned away from the lake to search for a trail heading away from the water, figuring that would be a little more in my comfort range.
I turned back to take one last look at the lake, and there he was. Staring at me, not very far from where I stood…a big, nostril flaring hippo. I was momentarily stunned and excited—“Wow, it finally came above the water. Wonder if I can catch that couple? Are they too far by now? Oh my gosh, a hippo.” It went like this: glee, glee, glee, wonder, awe, fascination, panic.
It was still moving toward me through the water. And still moving. And still moving. Okay, stop now.
It was just me and the hippo and I felt very little. I decided I was too close, so I calmly turned around and walked about 30 paces away from the shoreline. I then turned back to check my comfort level at the new distance, and noticed that the distance hadn’t changed. The hippo had continued in my direction.
I then began an irrational, irritated (but quiet) conversation with the hippo. “What? What do you want? I’m going. Don’t follow me.”
I walked horizontal to the shore on the far side of the trail, talking to the hippo, thinking that would help. The hippo followed me. Perhaps to stave off a desperate panic, I got mad. “If you are just being curious, knock it off. You are freaking me out.” Still following me. My distance-estimation skills are woefully bad, but I would guess that the hippo, at that point, was just 30 feet away from the shoreline, 50 feet away from me.
I pondered running directly away from the shore, into the tall grass, but I didn’t know if that would make things worse. Would running into snake- and tick-infested grass be better? (There was a detailed snake warning back at the campground, which I read, in horror, from start to finish the night before.) And would running spark some chase response in the hippo? I figured probably not, since hippos aren’t carnivores. But they are the most dangerous animal in Africa. They kill more people than any other animal in Africa. Who? Why? People who walk along their shoreline and irritate them?
I had all these thoughts as I tried to walk calmly along the path with my hippo friend or foe (not sure which) keeping pace behind me.
I finally got to a fork in the path. To the left, the path continued along the lake, in water too shallow for hippos but just fine for crocodiles. To the right, the path veered into the tall grasses. Not a tough decision. I chose the right, and barely got 10 feet before I spotted a big bliesbuck or nyala or waterbuck—not sure which—a short distance away. It spotted me too, then lifted it’s head and let out a short loud hissing noise. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a big deal. The bliesbuck/nyala/waterbuck/whatever is a herbivore, and generally skittish. Not the type to attack. But I was already in a freaked out state, so I stopped in my tracks.
I was stuck. Behind me, hippo. In front of me, hissing buck-thing. I stood in that spot for 20 long minutes. The main gravel road through the park was just to my right, and I decided eventually a car would come along. Eventually I wouldn’t be alone.
And eventually a car did. A young couple pulled up in a VW Rabbit (called a “Chico” here). They drove by slowly, and I said “Want to see a hippo?” They stopped.
Now there were three fleshy little humans, not just one. That felt better. They got out of the car and I pointed out the hippo, still about 20 feet from the shoreline. There were now two other hippos in the water, just beyond my hippo.
Just then, my hippo surfaced more and yawned a really big, slow, dramatic yawn. The couple thought it was really cool.
It wasn’t a yawn. It’s what hippos do to scare off other hippos or menacing predators or little fleshy humans that are bugging them. They open their mouths really slowly and wide in order to display their huge dagger teeth.[I watched the yawn in amazement, and only thought to photograph it at the very end. So the shot is blurry and doesn’t capture the yawn well. But you forgive me, eh?]
It then clamped its teeth down, and the three of us backed up. At this point I was enjoying the encounter because (1) I was no longer alone, and (2) we had a Chico to jump into. We climbed into the car and drove to a safer viewpoint—the original viewpoint I was at when I first saw the hippo.
Three other hippos had joined the group, and the six of them made their way over to the viewpoint, but not close and not scary. Eventually they went underwater and we grew tired of waiting for them to resurface.
And so I walked back to my beehive hut, still in one piece.
---
(Note on the first photo above: As I walked away from the lake for the last time, I turned back to snap a photo of where it had all started. The hippo, now in a good mood I guess, was kind enough to move to where I initially spotted it—near the first viewpoint—so that I could take the first of the two photographs shown above.
Note on the second photo above: My hippo, “the stalker”, was by the island for most of the encounter. This photograph was taken after the yawn, after we had backed up and the stalker moved away from the shoreline and toward the other two hippos. So…it was closer than what is depicted in the second shot.)