Egyptian goose at a watering hole.
You must be in a covered vehicle to visit Amboseli National Park. Ol Donyo Wuas has one covered Range Rover so one group will visit every day for a week. Hilary and her pals were the first to go and reported that giraffe and elephant walk right up to the jeep. They had a wonderful lunch that Moses prepared on the top of a grassy hill overlooking the park.
Our day came and Ron, Michael, Paul, Kip and I set out for the two-hour drive to Amboseli after breakfast. We were familiar with most of the drive after visiting a town near the park a few days earlier so the trip doesn’t feel very long.
Our guide, Jonathan, informs us that we can’t get out of the jeep for any reason once we enter the park. Not even to pee. That news delights me because I hate peeing in the bush. The other rule is that you must stay on the road. No off-roading is allowed.
We stop inside the gate so Jonathan can pay. A few Maasai are ready to trade or sell. Michael buys a few bracelets. Jonathan returns and we drive into the park. Not far in, we see three small giraffe on the side of the road, their legs akimbo drinking out of a small watering hole. It was the first time that I wanted to get out of the jeep.
The land is more what I expected Africa to look like; dusty roads and flat, dry land surrounded at great distances by mountains.
There’s a herd of elephant heading our way. Jonathan stopped the jeep on the road and we wait. The elephants get closer and closer walking in single file or in pairs just like in Dumbo. They get closer but not louder. There’s barely a rustle as they pass in front of us, tusks rocking back and forth, feet padding along the ground. There is a baby surrounded by older elephants in the middle of the pack. We coo and purr over it. Several young males are trailing behind protectively. The last elephant passes silently in front of us and we drive to a palm tree grove.
We all have to pee, so Jonathan turns onto a path with a “do not enter” sign through thick trees whose palms stretch in all directions.
After a few turns we enter a clearing of neat tents with elephant skulls lining the paths between them. Jonathan parks and two men approach and welcome us. After taking care of business, we are given a tour of the Elephant Rescue camp.
It’s a 30-year-old project and each elephant in Amboseli has a name and is watched and protected by the organization. The elephant skulls are from animals that died naturally, even the tiny skulls. On one of the biggest skulls you can see the honeycomb cartilage that houses their brains. That's why the elephant’s head is actually very light. They don't have a heavy skull.
We leave the elephant preserve camp and drive around the park. Jonathan slows at a pond with reeds and stops. The boys and I are talking and comparing binoculars when Jonathan turns around and says, “Pea-pole. Hip-owe time.”
We look at the pond and a largue head with tiny ears appears above the water’s surface. Hippos.
It’s dusty and we’re getting hungry but Jonathan keeps driving around the park. We help a white mini-van stranded on the road by pulling it until the engine starts. Maybe they’re Germans. Possibly English. Their teeth are pretty bad but their clothes are kind of hip.
Once the van disappears, Jonathan turns off the road and across a bumpy patch of ground. He says it’s an elephant crossing. The mud with deep elephant tracks has hardened into ruts, making the jeep jostle and bounce so much that we have to hold on tight so we don’t fly out. I was getting annoyed and a little sick when the ground evened out and we stopped bouncing.
I said, “Jonathan, shouldn’t we have lunch?” with a whine that I couldn’t cover.
Spying a lone tree in the cracked, dry desert, Jonathan drives toward it. It is the only thing standing as far as we could see, even in the wavy marsh heat of the day. Jonathan stops under the little shade the tree provides and quickly unpacks lunch and opens a bag with cokes and ginger beer telling us the tree is called “fever tree,” a special tree that has survived the destruction of the elephants.
Jonathan puts the makings for sandwiches on the hood of the jeep. I’m opening containers with Focaccia bread and sliced ham and cheese. The guys are a short distance away taking pictures.
I walk to where Ron is standing and whisper, “Where’s my mountain picnic with tree-trunk seats and a view of the park Hilary told us about?”
From behind me, Jonathan says, “I see movement.”
I run to the jeep and hand Jonathan my binoculars. Putting the glasses to his eyes, he scans the horizon.
“Cheetah,” He says. “Pack up.”
Everyone’s in motion throwing meat and bread back into bags and drowning our drinks as we pile into the jeep. Jonathan jumps behind the wheel and we takes off across the hot desert. The tires loose traction as we drive onto a moist watering hole and pass one, two, three, four, five, six cheetah. They walk single file, hunched over looking at us drive right next to them. There’s just enough moisture on the ground to send us swerving in front of the cats.
“It’s a mother and her cubs,” says Jonathan coming to a stop a couple of feet away from the animals. They stop and look at us, panting. We don’t have good cameras but we try and get off a few shots as the cheetah family turns away and slowly bounce back the way they had come. When they reach a grassy area with cape buffalo and impala, one by one they sit down in the tall grass. We follow slowly and stop a short distance away.
“Wow,” is all any of us could manage.
The mother moves ahead of her cubs into the tallest grass in the area. The cubs watch the impala and cape buffalo. We watch them. And the mother watches everything. Unable to shake us, she stands and walks away. The cubs follow until she stops at a fallen tree, its white branches bare and bone-like against the grass.
Lunch is a distant memory.
All six cats drape themselves across the branches and turn to look at us.
Ron says, “An art director’s dream.”
