Game viewing

Game viewing

I sometimes marvel at the lengths people will go to, to be fashionable. Take game viewing for instance. I would rather slow dance with a rattlesnake than accept the consensus of general society that watching hapless beasts being feasted on by others is an enjoyable pastime. Yet every dinner, braai or cocktail party I go to seems to harbor one or more conversations about the merits of visiting the bushveld. While the micro and macro flora and fauna actually do hold some appeal for me, the idea of “big five” game viewing leaves me stone cold. Somehow the idea of straining ones eyes through dense bush for the fleeting glimpse of a shadowy form for a six hour stretch does not endear me to my fellow passengers, especially when it’s 38 degrees in the shade, and the air-conditioning is not working. I once went on a game drive (in sub-zero temperatures) in an open-air land rover, and in three hours we saw one fuzzy blob on the horizon that may have been an ostrich. Somehow the R 300 price tag seemed a little excessive.

Nothing, however, compares game viewing to ardent bird watchers. Now this is where I watch and listen with weary amusement as (usually) an older married couple (whose hearing and sight are somewhat compromised at the best of times) vie for the correct identification of a nondescript pigeon-like looking bird. In the ensuing argument while Mrs firmly indicates her preference in a dog-eared Roberts Birds of Southern Africa book, Mr vocally attempts to mimic the mating sound of his preference in the hope of eliciting a reply from the uninterested fowl. After approximately fifteen minutes of escalating tirade between the two parties, the book snaps shut, the binoculars are lowered and a frosty silence prevails, until the next sighting of a vividly coloured, unmistakably identifiable, peace offering.

Call me unfashionable, but even the game drive that yields a selection of clearly viewable beasts within 25 m is just plain boring. Unless you’re like my friend Danny who on his way to Kariba towing a boat, decided to do a little elephant chasing in his 4x4. The result was a high-speed retreat in reverse through dense bush, and several subsequent visits to a psychiatrist. Now that’s exciting, albeit a bit expensive since his boat didn’t survive. I don’t consider myself particularly adrenalin-driven or ignorant, but a bumpy two-hour game drive along potholed roads reminiscent of the best of most African states is enough to last me at least two years. The birds I see I am happy to accept as little blue, brown or yellow jobs, and as far as I am concerned the further animals can live away from prying eyes the better. The wildlife documentary makers have certainly earned their place in this life.