Every year!
We are fast approaching what is arguably the most beautiful time of the year in the South African lowveld. The autumn months of April and May produce a climate that is hard to beat anywhere in the country, in Africa, in the world. In our neck of the woods, this usually translates into pleasant and comfortable weather conditions in which to view game and enjoy the bush. The days are clear and sunny, and are pleasantly warm as opposed to hot. Midday temperatures gently taper off as you approach sundowner time, cooling suddenly as the sun sets; yet, you won’t find it cold enough to need more than a windbreaker to stay comfortable. When evening sets in, the fire in the boma becomes the focus of warmth and sustenance, and soon the soles of your boots get really warm as the flaming hardwood turns to glowing hot coal. Then it’s time to sit back with a glass of your favoured tipple in hand, and take it all in.
Insect numbers start to dwindle. There’s no more moth with your mouthful of merlot, and no supplementary squadrons of stinkbugs spicing up your starters. The boomslangs have beaten it back into the bush, bloated with a bellyful of bats that they slithered into your roof to get. There are fewer red veld rats to rasp through your vehicle’s wiring harnesses. The Mozambique spitting cobra which these rodents attracted has now done its pest control job and is curled up out of harm’s way at the bottom of the woodpile. Mambas are less active, and unless you have a late brood of squirrels in your roof, you’re unlikely to see one until next season.
Oh yes, I’d say it’s a good time to visit the bush.
Woken by the first francolin’s harsh cackle, invariably the raucous Natal spurfowl, you don’t mind, because the crisp fresh mornings fill you with eager anticipation. There’s something to get up for, and for once, it’s not to try and beat the traffic to work. You feel an urgency to get out early, before the game quench their thirst and seek shade.
As you head out, you cannot help but notice the myriad animal tracks, scuff marks and tell-tale signs in the soft sand on the roads. The detail is sharp, because there’s not much wind to round off the edges at this time of the year. There is no dearth of information out there, and if you take the time to learn the language, it can be read like an early morning edition of ‘Bush News’. Not only are the happenings and drama of the night before revealed, but important clues as to where to concentrate your search for big game can also be gleaned from this evidence.
The characteristically undulating topography of our reserve allows for some commanding views from which to survey the bush. Sitting quietly on one of the designated vantage points, or on a personal favourite, you watch as the pink haze of dawn gets brighter, the sun rises and the day begins. Sipping a mug of hot coffee and dunking a rusk, you plan your game drive route, the strategy of which may or may not be influenced by the lions you can hear roaring in the distance.
Only the wiliest of last season’s youngsters have come through the lambing and calving season. Having survived the relentless attention of predators, they are beginning to hint at the promise of maturity. Wildebeest calves have begun to change colour, going from juvenile fawn to the darker grey-brown of the adult, and are now beyond their most vulnerable age. The longer they live, the wiser they get, which improves their chances of survival exponentially.
Impala youngsters have now grown by more than five times their birth weight in less than three months, and have all but lost their gangly-legged cuteness. The adult bulls and rams prepare for the coming rut, which peaks in May or thereabouts, and will spend most of the day eating, rapidly putting on condition now, because later there’s going to be no time for eating when the serious stuff starts. The grass begins turning the colour of ripe wheat, reaching maximum protein content, which provides the nutrition necessary to help hedge against the lean winter months that are just around the corner.
Tamboties are among the first to show that autumn is approaching, their leaves turning a deep red. Bush willow leaves begin to pale, never quite turning the classic deep autumn orange, with their leaves remaining edible and nutritious late into winter, even eaten off the ground, as crisp and dry as cornflakes.
Dry, cool air also signals the start of the biltong season, and for those who secure supplies of this year’s game biltong and droë wors at the local butcheries, or like to hunt and make it themselves, there isn’t a better time of the year to do so. Having just come through the height of the growing season, the game is in excellent condition. This is the lowveld’s harvest time in every sense of the word.
The Olifants River, having transported millions of tons of waterborne silt during the summer months, begins to fine off, running progressively clearer each day. The release of clear mountain water from the Blydepoort Dam supplements and maintains the flow right through the winter months. Large-scale yellowfish can now be clearly seen, their golden flanks glinting in the sun as they writhe and twist, gleaning minute invertebrates and algae off the water-worn river stones with their thick rubbery lips. Pel’s fishing owls, fish eagles, otters and herons use this opportunity to maximum advantage. Fishing conditions couldn’t be better. If you happen to be a keen fisherman, as I am, this is as good a time as any to take advantage of St Peter’s Promise, that God does not subtract from a man’s lifespan the time he spends fishing. Unfortunately, in order not to make a mockery of this pledge, no one is allowed to fish in the Olifants River, because we know that the crocodiles here have definitely not read the Gospel according to St Peter!
If you can tear yourself away from the bush during this time, why don’t you head out to the coast or the mountains and wet a line … what have you got to lose, except maybe a big one? It really is a good time to be outdoors anywhere in the country, whether you’re searching for fish or game. Somehow, however, I suspect most of you would rather be in the bush thinking about fishing, than be fishing thinking about the bush. Similarly, I suspect you’d rather be in the bush thinking about golf rather than playing golf thinking about the bush, even though I am told golf is a different ball game altogether. But nothing can compete with Olifants around Easter.