A while back … in the 1990s
In the early 1990s, on a beautiful estate overlooking Karkloof Valley in KwaZulu-Natal, Meagan and I had lunch in the magnificent, lush surrounds with an acquaintance and his son, one of the founders of the Phinda Resource Reserve.
At the time, Phinda was in the initial stages of its development. Strategic chunks of land had yet to be incorporated and consolidated into the proposed reserve. People needed to be moved and relocated, boundaries determined, and big game introduced and established – all in all, a very exciting and challenging project.
Our host’s son’s enthusiasm centred on the wide variety of habitat types found within the area, from sand forest woodland and wetlands to inland lake systems. He expanded by giving an account of the diversity of species that these unique ecosystems already supported and what they could potentially support. It seemed awesome. I listened intently, not wanting to miss a thing. His knowledge of the area was impressive and I couldn’t help feeling a touch envious of this wildlife paradise being so vividly described. Then he said something that changed the mood, something which I felt couldn’t go unchallenged, or left hanging in the air.
He maintained that the lowveld reserves, when compared with the proposed Phinda area, particularly the mopane and bushwillow of the northern regions, were little more than semi-deserts. He saw them as environments with relatively low carrying capacities and monotonous vegetation. I didn’t argue on that point, even though deep down he must have known he was missing something vital in his comparison. Yet, he made no attempt to hide the arrogance of his stated and disparaging position with even a modicum of concession.
Despite all my efforts at restraint, some physical evidence of my need to respond, however imperceptible, must have caught Meagan’s eye. Her subtle way of saying ‘leave it’ was to deliver a sharp kick to my ankle under the table. But I ignored it, giving way to my urge to elucidate and create a fairer comparative insight that would put things in perspective. However, before embarking on this mission, I pulled up both my feet and placed them out of harm’s way under my chair.
Without appearing defensive, I explained that the lowveld, particularly the drier mopane veld of the northern lowveld, is ‘Big Game Country’ and that elephant, for example, are endemic to the region. They occur in healthy viable populations and the areas in which they roam, although relatively dry, are comparatively large and unspoilt. I also told him that from a practical management point of view, the advantage of having endemic big game was invaluable.
I went on to point out that the other side of the coin was typified by the problems being experienced by Pilanesberg and other areas in the North West where closed systems, fences and geographic isolation amongst other factors brought their own headaches. Incidentally, the failed Knysna elephant re-introduction project had not been planned at that time, but ultimately similar problems would be encountered.
I observed that Phinda was surrounded by a human population dependent on subsistence agriculture. Furthermore, I reminded him that having elephant break out of a reserve surrounded by farmland could have serious consequences. These enormous and dangerous animals wreak havoc in crop fields and attempts by farmers to chase them usually ends in tragedy.
On the other hand, the lowveld had a relatively minor and manageable problem in this regard. If, for example, lion moved out of a fenced reserve in the lowveld, they would almost certainly be shot, as would those that escaped from Phinda. The advantage in our situation however, would be that the lowveld lions that were lost would soon be replaced by other wild lions moving in from Kruger, thereby filling the vacuum. We wouldn’t need to source semi-tame, badly adjusted cast-offs from breeding projects or safari parks. Far from it, our lions are homogeneous, arrive without any baggage, and are born in an environment where nature had already selected the fittest and strongest for us. The same recruitment process would apply with regard to elephant that break out and get shot.
These examples were but a couple of attributes that I felt made a strong case for comparative values between the regions, albeit without attempting to give an edge to the lowveld ‘semi-desert’ so disparaged by our lunch partner.
‘You need to look beyond the romantic honeymoon,’ I said. ‘Running a reserve surrounded by poor farmers is going to require a tremendous amount of PR and intensive administration, so, from a practical conservation management perspective, I’m happy I am where I am.’
This thought, that two totally different reserves with two totally different sets of strengths can appeal to different people, may be demonstrated by using any number of comparative examples. From my experience, one particular example springs to mind, Welgevonden as compared to Olifants. Welgevonden, a game reserve situated in the beautiful Waterberg of Limpopo Province, is composed of reclaimed farmland cohesively re-formed to create a ‘Big Five’ game reserve. It took a tremendous amount of perseverance and commitment to get to that point, yet today it is a significant conservation success story. It is intensively well managed and supported by a solid base of like-minded shareholders.
Species of larger game are well represented to the point that they boast more variety of larger herbivores than the Big Five private reserves adjoining the Kruger Park. The introduction of game and associated teething problems have largely been ironed out. Despite the reserve encompassing a relatively large area, it is still bounded by a fence and surrounded by stock farmers and smaller fenced game farmers. This means there will always be the inevitable ecological problems associated with a closed system. Nonetheless, these problems are being constantly monitored and well managed.
When I try to compare Welgevonden with Olifants, I find it really hard to come up with a finite list of pros and cons … there is something missing, and it’s not just the malaria mozzies or the heat. I think the problem is that they might seem similar, but it’s like comparing Canadians to North Americans. There are no obvious, discernable differences, yet they are different, that’s that.
People who own property in both Welgevonden and Olifants share the same sentiments – they love both, but for different reasons. Both the reserves have their role to play in the greater scheme of things. Our Phinda host was rather too uncompromising in attitude for our liking.
When I was converting my notes for this chapter into something resembling prose, I noted that Olifants was experiencing a period of change, having recently had some of the most rewarding elephant viewing for years. For nearly ten months there had been elephant continually on the reserve, mainly small groups of up to six young bulls. The number of individual sightings recorded by members was over 50, a record for us. There appeared to be about 12 elephant on the greater reserve area at that time, and we thought it would be wonderful if a breeding herd moved in permanently just to boost these numbers a little. That thought was high on our wish list, and it was materialising sooner than expected. The natural recruitment of elephant, endemic to the region, became a reality.
This all highlights how privileged we are: in spite of all our warts and pimples, ‘Big Game R Us’. The natural movement of elephant in our reserve demonstrates that despite the fences, railway line, the power lines and people shining spotlights in their faces, they appear to be happy here. Most importantly, they are relatively free to come and go as they wish. Our area may not be as pleasing on the eye as the sand forests and wetlands of northern Zululand, or as dramatically beautiful as the Knysna Forest, but big game animals, especially elephant, are thriving here, and they’re here because they want to be.