News / Camp News

The times they are a changing... like some super-charged giant organic washing machine, the Okavango Delta has entered a wet cycle the likes of which few people alive have seen and may never see again. We live in a world awash with superlatives, but in these diluvian days we are truly seeing natural history being written before us. 

We still don't know if this is a 30-year flood or a 50-year flood, or even the flood of the century. What we do know is that the equivalent of a column of water half a mile by half a mile and higher than Mount Everest has spilled out across the snooker-table landscape of northern Botswana, turning the beige baize green. Areas that have been dry for decades are feeling the magic touch of flowing water and have burst into life.

It really is remarkable to see: this is the big one -  the flood that the old men told us would come, like the floods of legend that drowned leadwood trees and carried papyrus stems far into the desert. We are seeing water in places we never thought we would; we are seeing our understanding of this most fluid of ecosystems being turned on its head.

Raindrops that fell months ago on the Angolan highlands now find themselves merged into the annual miracle of resuscitation that is the Okavango flood. At first the channels fill, and then the water spills over onto the surrounding floodplains, creeping up to the fringes of the myriad small islands which punctuate the Delta's story, creating the emerald and sapphire mosaic of life.

This year though the waters didn't stop at the island margins, but rather kept on rising. Buoyed by late rains, the flood has encroached onto the smaller islands and swirled around the ankles of isolated jackalberry and leadwood trees. 

In as much as it brings life, the flood can also be the coup de grace for acacias and other trees which have a limited tolerance for standing in water - and so we gain a new crop of the iconic skeletal trees which remain for many years after each big flood. 

Nightfall ushers in a chorus of cinematic music, the reed frogs lending their vibrato voices to the somnambulant musings of the hippos, grunting in satisfaction at this expansion of their living quarters. And still the water rises, catching small subterranean creatures unawares and compelling them to crawl to the surface and into the waiting dagger beaks of the patiently ruthless Marabou Storks. 

But it is with the first roseate gleam of dawn in the east that Vumbura comes to life again. The creatures of the night slink away, eyes slit against the strengthening light, and the water reflects a sky suffused with warm shades of pink and orange... Black turns to blue to mauve, the bruise of night healing on the horizon... And then there it is, the shimmering red ball of the sun poised to climb into the heavens. Sandblasted wooden decking planks, curved ivory tusks, chest feathers puffed out against the dawn chill - all glow as the light finds them. 

Hippos retreat to deeper waters, and still the flood swirls, never at rest. As the water rises, the saucer leaves of water lilies bob to the surface and tightly bound white buds break the surface to unfurl to salute the sun. Another day begins, revealing paw prints sunk deep into damp sand and the stories of the night just ended. 

It is hard to convey the slow-moving majesty of this flood, the irresistible quality of immeasurable quantities of water on the move across a landscape that at once both welcomes and attempts to resist its inexorable advances. And inevitably change on this scale affects every aspect of the ecology of the Delta: trees drown while nutrients are deposited to fuel new growth; areas of floodplain become inaccessible and this pushes animal herds together, increasing the density of game.

 

The Land Rovers rumble and sway across our bridge and off into the bush, often fording water that spills over the hood and into the guide's shoes, and a new adventure begins. In the same way that we have had to adapt our operations to this new inundated reality - with our airstrip becoming a shallow lake - so too have the animals that star in all our Vumbura stories. At left is the camp, a true island once more.

Lions of course are the alpha predators in this area, but even the king of the Delta knows when it is time to abdicate. The Eastern Pride in particular has suffered at the hands of their spotted tormentors on several occasions this month. 

 

The dying squeals of a large warthog seized by a lioness attracted the wrong kind of attention. It is uncanny how quickly hyaenas can arrive on the scene. In death, this warthog fed many mouths. Ears laid back on tawny heads, canines fully exposed, the lionesses snarled their impotent fury as more and more hyaenas appeared on the scene. In the end we counted 17 and the warthog carcass was completely buried under a seething ring of hyaenas which soon dispatched and ate the unfortunate pig. 

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, the pride made a considered tactical withdrawal and in the process provided us with a simply stunning sighting of lions wading through quite deep water. Again an experience they were not particularly enjoying - their lips were curled back as they grimaced with distaste. 

On another occasion the Eastern Pride was forced into yet more atypical behaviour, scrambling clumsily into the lower branches of trees as they lost another kill to the emboldened hyaenas.

 

Despite these setbacks, the future looks bright for these lions. One of the lionesses gave birth to two cubs around seven weeks ago. These tiny scraps of fur will grow up in a Vumbura that is much wetter and these early experiences should help them to adapt to their new environment. It seems likely - from patterns evident in historic flood data - that the next few years will also see enormous floods, with some hydrologist seers predicting the flood of 2011 could be even greater than this one...

Of course while the extent of the flood presents some animals with challenges, to others it is nothing but a pleasure. Some animals are very at home in water, or at least passing through it, and a herd of elephants moving from island to lush green island can be a real highlight of a mokoro trip along the streams and channels.

This delight in water can give rise to humourous moments also, like the contentment of a single elephant rolling over and playing in the shallow waters of Egyptian Pan, whilst his herd mates watched bemused from the shore, or simply continued eating.

The fact that we have lost some game drive areas to the flood has not proved problematic as it has concentrated the game in other areas, and also provided the incentive we needed to make additional access roads in the northern and eastern parts of the concession - areas that have great potential for game viewing. 

As times change, we see the beginning and ends of the many small eras that make up bush chronology. A new young male cheetah was seen close to Jacky's Pan earlier in May, and the hope is that he will gain the confidence and stick around here for a while.  Our big hope for this year however rests with the wild dog pack - they normally den at this time of year, and the female we suspected was pregnant was not seen with the pack the last time they were seen hunting. 

We all augmented this year's flood also with a tear or two shed in memory of Scottie, our most impressive sable bull. A magnificent animal: rich ebony coat with white blazes; recurved scimitar horns which could almost touch his back, he often stood a little way back from his harem as if surveying the realm he was lord of.  Perhaps blinded by testosterone, he was pulled down and eaten by the Kubu Pride. Lions have to eat, for sure, but can't they stick to the uglier creatures?

Very best wishes from the May Vumbura team: Miriam Tichapondwa, Nick 'Noko' Galpine, Attorney Vasco, Tumoh Morena, Wayne and Britt Vaughan and Kate Horner.