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I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote

- Herman Melville


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Travel

Nov 05, 2018

Walking with Lions and Leopards

Close encounters, on a walking safari through South Luangwa National Park at the end of the Great Rift Valley.

WRITTEN BY

Sarah Kingdom

Zambia’s South Luangwa National Park is at the end of the Great Rift Valley and it is through this 9050sq kilometre National Park that the meandering Luangwa River runs. The river, with its ox bow lagoons, tributaries, riverine woodlands and open plains, plays host to huge concentrations of wildlife including elephant, buffalo, leopard, lion, giraffe, hippo… over 450 species of bird and 60 species of mammal. Portuguese sea captain, Antonio Gamitto, when writing of the Luangwa in around 1832 said… “Game of all kinds is very abundant… great numbers of wild animals collect here… we can only say that this district appears to be the richest in animal life of any we have seen.” In 1866, Scottish missionary, David Livingstone, upon crossing the Luangwa River, said… “I will make this land better known to men that it may become one of their haunts. It is impossible to describe its luxuriance.”

We were in South Luangwa for a three day walking safari with one of the most expert safari guides to be found in Zambia, Deb Tittle. With over 2,500 safari walks under her belt, Deb has been guiding in South Luangwa since the 1990s and is experienced at both interpreting the sights and sounds of the bush and at understanding, anticipating and explaining animal behaviour. Born in England, it was watching the movie Tarzan at a young age that awoke Deb’s fascination with wildlife. African wildlife television programmes further wet her appetite to explore the game rich areas of Africa herself. After university, and a stint driving overland expeditions through east, central and southern Africa, Deb decided on South Luangwa as her home. Passing guiding tests and honing her skills by working in a number of different camps and lodges in South Luangwa, Deb has passed on her knowledge to numerous local Zambians, many of whom now work as safari guides and conservationists in the park.

Deb Tittle. Photo: Jane Addey – Surefoot Safaris

Nothing makes your heart beat faster than hearing the deep guttural growl of a leopard

Deb’s brand new camp, Mapazi, is one of the northern-most camps in the park, a place far beyond the busy game drive loops further south; an undisturbed part of the park where there are few roads and even fewer people. The perfect location for walking safaris. Mapazi, is a small camp, taking only six guests at a time… spacious safari tents, comfortable beds with crisp sheets, plenty of hot water to wash away the dust of the day and cold drinks to quench your thirst. Mapazi roughly translates from the local language, Chichewa, to mean feet or footstep, and is a fitting name for the experience we were here to have. Mapazi has been set up in this remote and beautiful part of South Luangwa, not only to offer bespoke walking safaris for people wanting to really immerse themselves in the bush but also as a base from which to run anti-poaching patrols in the off season.

Nothing makes your heart beat faster than hearing the deep guttural growl of a leopard hidden in a thicket less than 15m from where you are standing! A fleeting flash and blur of colour, as he’d dashed into the bushes, was what had drawn our attention to the leopard’s presence. I was initially rather sceptical about his existence, and clearly the nearby puku were too, judging by their apparent lack of alarm. As we advanced I grew even more dubious, until a growl from the thicket had my heart racing. Deb Tittle, our guide, shared a grin with me and, putting a warning hand on my arm, reminding me not to make a run for it, calmly shepherded the group around the side of the thicket. Suddenly the leopard broke cover and once again all we saw was a flash and a blur as he darted away.

A few minutes later we startled a young, female leopard as she descended from an enormous tree, having finished dining on the last desiccated morsels of meat from a kill she had made some days earlier. Continuing our walk we came to an open plain, dotted with sausage and acacia trees, almost on cue, ten or so majestic giraffe came into sight, sauntering in their graceful way across the plain, while eland, waterbuck and impala grazed in the background. Having been briefed earlier by Deb about giraffe behaviour, as instructed, we feigned disinterest and the giraffe, accepting our presence, continued their slow amble, occasionally stopping to nibble the flowers of the sausage trees and wild gardenias. Not to be outdone by the morning’s leopard encounters, close to camp, three male lions relaxed in the shade. Unfazed by our intrusion on their morning nap, one retreated about 5m and the others, after giving us a cursory glance, didn’t move a muscle.

In camp, waking from a post lunch siesta, we discovered the camp’s resident bushbuck practically in our tent. Somewhat drained by South Luangwa’s October midday heat (into the 40s), we lay listlessly on the bed, marvelling at how close he was and pondering the likelihood of him jumping right up onto the bed. A giraffe peering over a nearby ‘hedge’ however spooked the bushbuck and he retreated to a safe distance, leaving us to watch some impressive aerial aerobatics from a pair of swooping, soaring and summersaulting fish eagles… ultimately culminating in some rather ‘R’ rated fish eagle activity.

Located on a bend of the Luangwa River, Mapazi Camp is perfectly situated to catch the constant, and very welcome, breeze as it comes off the water, cooling things down in the intense October heat. Once the temperatures of the day had somewhat subsided we set out on foot again. Just out of sight of the camp, we rounded a corner, surprising a leopard drinking at the water’s edge. He didn’t sprint off, simply moved to a convenient gully and hid until we had gone. A little further along, we found the three lions of the morning’s encounter. Two slipped away and we watched the third, seemingly unobserved, or at least tolerated, until he too moved off with a mildly menacing growl. As dark started to descend, we turned and headed for ‘home’. Walking along the raised edge of the riverbank we found we were following a badly battle scarred hippo, limping through the shallows. Hundreds of huge welts, scratches and bight marks were clearly viable on his skin. Clearly having been unable to leave the water to graze for some time, his hip bones and ribs were showing. It made a sombre sight and as the sun set we wondered if he would survive to see the following day.

Photo: Jane Addey – Surefoot Safaris

After dinner under the stars, tired out from a day of excitement, heat and six hours walking, we were tucked up in bed by 9.30pm and sound asleep by 9.35. Hours later, somewhere around 2am, though I didn’t have the wherewithal to check my watch, we were woken from deep sleep by the bellows of a lion. The air trembled (and so did I) with every roar, even the ground seemed to vibrate. He was close by and in the dark it sounded as though he was only metres away. At intervals throughout the night we heard him call to his companions. Regular as clockwork, he would roar protractedly and one or two lions would roar in response. We followed their progress throughout the night… they were never too far away, but never as close as that first spine tingling roar. At dinner the night before we had heard the plaintive calls of a lost buffalo calf across the river, the calls continued from time to time throughout the night, but by the morning all was silent. We could only assume that the lions had made him part of their midnight feast.

Having been so abruptly awoken, and with my heart rate subsequently taking quite some time to slow, I lay awake in the tent for a long time listening to the sounds of the night. Hippos and elephants splashed and waded in the river, a hippo munched on fallen sausage tree fruit on the other side of the canvas of our tent, a lone hyena called across the water and various other rustles and plods of unknown night creatures continued until dawn. The lions were still roaring as the sun came up. I sat up in my tent watching a lone male puku who stood on the river bank, silhouetted by the rising sun. It was a privilege to feel so completely surrounded by nature.

Photo: Jane Addey – Surefoot Safaris

After three fabulous days on foot, we were now ready for some pampering and luxury. Our days spent at Mapazi were some of the best days we had ever spent in the bush in Zambia, but South Luangwa in October is HOT, and six hours a day walking albeit in the relative ‘cool’ of early mornings and late afternoon, combined with the adrenalin of some of our close encounters, was still quite draining. So it was with great anticipation that we headed an hour and a half’s drive back towards the park’s main gate, to another of South Luangwa’s brand new lodges, Chikunto Safari Lodge… and we were not disappointed.

Arriving, we passed a waterhole which surprisingly, given the time of year, still held some water. Four large male kudu browsed in the bushes, their impressive spiral horns entwined in the foliage. A warthog family with three tea cup sized piglets trotted off as we passed. Two adult saddle billed stalks dipped their beaks in the muddy water, whilst their two offspring did the same close by. Not yet possessing the distinctively striking plumage of their parents, the youngsters looked like gawky adolescents with their rather drab greyish black feathers. Various other water birds splashed and waded, watched by a bachelor herd of puku and a lone, regal giraffe, who stood tall with his deeply scared knobbly knees and missing the tuft on the end of his tail.

Chikunto is a stunning lodge. Cool crisp white sheets and a fan overhead made a welcome place to siesta after a swim in the lodge’s very inviting swimming pool. As the afternoon cooled slightly we headed out on a game drive. It felt strange to be back at this vantage point and travelling at such ‘speed’ after our days walking at Mapazi. On a walking safari you need to exercise caution when approaching wildlife on foot, here, in a vehicle, we could get a lot closer. This afternoon found ourselves very close indeed to a pair of lions, clearly tired out from earlier romantic rigors they now lay almost motionless in the sand, with only the occasional flick of a tail swishing away flies to indicate they were alive.

Fairly well camouflaged, but not too shy, a leopard sat in a tree with her kill. We first spotted her chewing on the carcass of a bushbuck. We continued to watch and saw what we had first taken to be dry leaves on the vines below her, we in fact much more macabre ‘fruit’. A fair sized portion of her kill had tumbled from the branch where she lay and pieces had become entangled on their way to the ground. It was only after half an hour of watching, when the leopard stood, stretched and descended rather gracefully to the ground, that we realised just how much had slipped from her grasp. She settled on the forest floor and began eating again. We watched, no binoculars required, as first she worked on the leg and then jawbone of her prey. Listening to the violent crunches as bones broke in her mouth I couldn’t help but think back to our encounters with leopard when we’d been on foot a few days earlier, and a shivers went up my spine.

Our final dinner at Chikunto was a dream ending to an exciting journey. Arriving back at the lodge after our drive, we were greeted with a tray of cool damp washcloths to wipe away the afternoon’s dust. After freshening up we met in the main lodge area for a pre-dinner drink by the fire. Even in the heat of October in the valley, an open fire is still mesmerising, though we didn’t draw our chairs as close to the flames as we might have in winter! A perfectly prepared and presented three course meal, served under the stars, felt like an extravagance in this bush setting, but we enjoyed every mouthful and moment of our last night in South Luangwa, as tomorrow we had a long dive back to civilisation.

Find out more about Mapazi Camp, here.

Find out more about Chikunto Safaris, here.

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Travel

Jan 15, 2019

Not Your Father’s Ski Trip: Jackson Hole, WY

Inspired by images of her dad’s Jackson Hole college ski trip, the author heads north to tour the Tetons and tack a few pictures to the family scrapbook.

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WRITTEN BY

Kela Fetters

The author’s father launching a cliff at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort cerca 1987

This film shot of my father going big on a set of ridiculously thin, twin-tipped K2s cerca 1987 instilled in me a deep gratitude for today’s fat freeride sticks and a sense of duty to keep the family’s cliff-hucking legacy alive. Scrapbook open on his lap, my dad extolled the terrain of Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, which he visited “back in the good ol’ days” at Colorado State University. He described a steep wonderland besotted with cliffs that beg for reckoning. After the past several seasons of wimpy Colorado snow totals whilst Jackson churned out foot-deep day after foot-deep day, I was enthused by the resort’s inclusion on my 2018-2019 Ikon Pass. With my own graduation looming in May, I figured the time was right for some Teton escapades. Like father, like daughter.

Car outfitted with a socioeconomically oxymoronic stash of ramen and expensive ski gear, I punched seven hours northward and arrived the night after a vicious storm cycle spat 20 inches of fresh flakes onto the mountains. The next day popped bluebird and my posse navigated the foreign slopes via trial, error, and the inexhaustible freneticism of college kids on vacation. We nabbed fresh tracks on Headwall and Casper Bowl, giggled down pillows on the Crags, and pinballed around the Hobacks. A ride up in the iconic Jackson Hole tram revealed a closed Corbet’s Couloir, ostensibly requiring another wave of coverage before its seasonal unveiling. I was forced to settle for a waffle at Corbet’s Cabin instead of matching my dad’s drop into the legendary chute. With the blood of my father and powder-fueled adrenaline surging through my veins, I willed myself over the most tantalizing cliffs on offer in Rendezvous Bowl.

The iconic Jackson Hole Mountain Resort tram, cerca 1987
Corbet’s Couloir: a timeless classic
Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, cerca 1987

In the words of the great Cyndi Lauper: Oh daddy dear, you know you’re still number one, but girls, they wanna have fun.

It’s part and parcel of parenthood to agitate over the safety and well-being of one’s children. I’ve subsumed backcountry skiing into my hobbiesnew territory for this family’s lineage. On my nascent out-of-bounds outings, my father, a textbook concerned parent, grumbled about avalanches, terrain traps, and my insurmountable naïvity. Several seasons of diligent education, one avy bag, and countless snow pits later, I’ve earned his reluctant acceptance, if not enthusiasm, for my backcountry pursuits.  In the words of the great Cyndi Lauper: Oh daddy dear, you know you’re still number one, but girls, they wanna have fun.

Finding deep snow on Headwall
Pillows aplenty on the Crags

After two days of charging in-bounds, my psyche longed for the solitude of the skintrack. Teton Pass, Grand Teton National Park, and the resort sidecountry make the area a veritable playground for backcountry enthusiasts. It’s a family affair in Jackson; a fraternal ethos is evident in the fact that 97% of the nearly 4 million acres of Teton County are federally owned or state managed. Locals are quick to mark their territory on Teton Pass with the exclamatory hieroglyphs of first tracks, but the terrain is ample enough to find virgin snow. After giving the snowpack several days to stabilize post-squall, we found wiggle room on north-facing aspects along the Mail Cabin Creek drainage. Our final line of Day 1 was the Do-Its, a bifurcated powder track that converges and meanders twelve hundred feet back down to the road. At the hill’s zenith, minute snowflakes collapsed into liquid and rolled from our hardshells. We stood atop a wind-plumped knoll and observed the gnarl of peaks, foregrounded by Mount Taylor and Mount Glory, tumbling into a horizon of exposed rock and liquescent white. The unperturbed flank below screamed for human contact. I was all too happy to oblige the siren’s call with a quick tuck into the void. My skis made that sanctified first contact with the snow below. A crescendo of polestrokes invoked a maelstrom of flakes to drown the world in white. Hips squiggling, mind locked to the minutia, dopamine and adrenaline flooding the nervous system, and a raven on high with a vantage point a ski cinematographer would kill for. Then I burned through the mountain’s vertical; the dance with gravity ended in an expository wave of white smoke. I looked back and the sublime evidence was a single, undulating track across the otherwise unblemished face.

Cloud inversion over the Teton Valley from the top of Mt. Glory
Top of Mt. Glory

My final day in Jackson came courtesy of Exum Mountain Guides, an 80-year-old Teton-based guiding service that offers instruction and adventure on rope and skis in North America, the Alps, Andes, and Himalayas. The service traces their lineage to local legends of the 1930s like Glenn Exum, Paul Petzoldt, and Barry Corbet. They’re the granddaddy of Jackson guiding services and the resident experts on Grand Teton National Park. Despite the government shut-down and limited National Park operations, dedicated employees were plowing the entrance road and ensuring access to some of the Tetons best snow staches. My guide for the day was Brendan O’neill, who informed me of the birth of his daughter Jessie three weeks prior as we puttered to the Taggart Lake Trailhead.

If newborn Jessie was taxing this new dad’s sleep and energy reserves, his athletic, assiduous pace on the skintrack suggested otherwise. I asked Brendan about fatherhood, hoping to glean some insight into my own dad’s relationship with raising a daughter. He hopes to have Jessie on skis the second she can walk; he would be thrilled if she took to alpine or nordic racing, but amenable if she chose not to compete; he is excited to show her the world beyond the boundaries of a ski resort. As we muscled up towards Amphitheater Lake, I mused that twenty years from now, Jessie might look at pictures of her dad guiding in far-flung locales and make plans to fill and transcend those footsteps. I wonder if Brendan knows how much she will look up to him and his accomplishments.

Exum Guide and new father Brendan O’neill

  Even the evergreens projected patriarchy: the tallest trees nucleated their sapling broods with paternal solemnity, each molecule of powder glistening in the shaggy green branches. We broke through the forest onto snow-covered Amphitheater Lake, a cirque bounded by the bald, mangled granite of Teewinot to the north and Disappointment Peak to the west. On a snack pitstop, we watched another party of skiers lay down tracks in Spoon Couloir, a steep, enticing chute on Disappointment Peak’s lower haunch. Brendan seemed to sense my desire to get after a big alpine line and suggested we bootpack the Spoon must have been his newly acquired parental mind-reading superpower. After crossing the lake, we cut a haphazard zig-zag to the top of the Spoon’s apron and transitioned to the bootpack. 500 feet of vertical boot-punching propelled us up the gut and bookended the nearly 5,000 feet of vertical notched from trailhead to objective. From our humble perch on Disappointment’s flank, an electric blue sky slumbered atop a soupy mass of clouds, hallmark of a Teton Valley temperature inversion. Backgrounded by this topsy-turvy atmosphere, I skied down the hard-packed snow of the spoon’s handle into its apron of softer powder.

The Spoon Couloir visible on looker’s left of lower Disappointment Peak (center)
Bootpacking up the Spoon

Grand Teton, senior pinnacle of its range, poised with patriarchal authority over Middle Teton, Mt. Owen, and all the rest

To redeem the remainder of our hard-earned vertical, Brendan led us through a mellow glade percolated with unrumpled pillows aplenty. Matching his cuts through the pines was reminiscent of a childhood spent following my dad around the resort as I learned to trust my edges and my body. As I ripped skins back in the parking lot, giddy with alpine energy, I turned to gaze up at the Grand Teton, senior pinnacle of its range, poised with patriarchal authority over Middle Teton, Mt. Owen, and all the rest. I owe this unforgettable trip to Jackson Hole to my father for choosing to raise and inspire (and generously fund) a skier.

Thanks to Exum Mountain Guides for making this trip possible.

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