Buchu Bushcamp - South Africa - August 15, 2007

Danger- Wrong Side Driver

Rafe at the Whale Spotting Beach

Pink Knees for the Ladies

Pink Knees for the Ladies

Buchu Hobbit Hut Cottages-Stick and Fibre Construction

Interior of the Hobbit Cottage - Where's Frodo?

This is the second part of last years adventure tour of S. Africa. In the last episode I was cage diving with great white sharks (See Shark Bait - August 13th, 2007). Now for the real scary part - my first time driving on the left side of the highway.

AUGUST 14TH – Off to the Bush

At 9 AM the rental agent delivers our vehicle to the hotel. It’s a Toyota Corolla with automatic transmission! Rena, Rafe, Colleen and I are off to the bush. That is if I can quickly adapt to driving on the wrong side of the road.

I carefully edge into the left land and proceed straight ahead. The car performs erratically at first. Or perhaps it’s the driver. One left, another left, then a right. This is too easy! Oops – almost hit the curb. Gotta go easy on the right side hubcaps. Wrong way rotaries are especially hard to get used to. Luckily, South African drivers are among the most polite, helpful and tolerant in the world. I only heard a horn sound once in three days of driving and I think she was a tourist from New Jersey. When a South African driver sees you overtaking, he pulls off onto the shoulder to let you pass. Sweet!

As we drive East on the N2, Capetown gives way to suburbs and farms. We leave the highway at West Somerset and hug the coastal route past vistas of sheer cliffs and small fishing villages. Back on the N2 then off again at Caledon, we motor through fields of green wheat and yellow rape. Fruit trees are starting to bloom.

We make frequent stops for photos and to allow Colleen to talk to the animals. She speaks to sheep, cows and ostriches. Male ostriches are black and females are dull gray. The male’s kneecaps and calves are bright pink. Later we are told that this only happens during mating season.

Carrying on through Napier we reach Bredasdorp – site of the shipwreck museum and the world’s southernmost Marathon. We turn onto a dirt road and 40 km later we arrive at the DeHoop Nature Reserve ( pronounced do-wop with the accent on the wop). DeHoop is famous for flowers and whales. The Buchu Bushcamp is a bed-and-breakfast just before the Park entrance. We arrive at sunset.

AUGUST 15TH – BUCHU BUSHCAMP

Buchu is definitely a low crime area. There are only 7 guests at the B&B. The four of us, a British birdwatcher and a Spanish couple who took a wrong turn and wound up at the reserve by mistake. Lucky them! This is a wonderful find. It looks like the hobbit village in Lord of the Rings. Our cottage is one big room with a loft for Rafe. The roof is thatch and we sit on tree stumps outside to watch the sun go down.

We dine in the big house on ostrich steaks and butterfish fillets with a central fire-pit for warmth and lanterns for light. The only power after dark is just what’s stored in batteries from the solar panels. There is no moon tonight and the Milky Way is spectacular. In the Southern hemisphere, you look directly toward the galactic core. What a view.

We fall asleep to the sound of peepers- just like spring at home. Also to the sound of energetic young Spanish tourists mating in the nearby cottage. “Are his knees bright pink?” I wonder drowsily. “Will this mating season never end?”

In the morning, sunbeams and showers alternate. The bush here is called ‘fynbos’ which means ‘fine bush’. When the sun is out there are multitudes of brightly colored flowers as if the rainbows are painting the landscape. ‘Fine bush’ indeed!

Our guide for the day is Jonti, the wildlife manager for the reserve. The staff at Buchu packs us a picnic basket and we follow Jonti into the park. Jonti has a bad stutter but his eyes are keen enough. As we drive to the park he points out two bontebok antelope and many elands. There are rare Cape zebras in the park, but since it’s the mating season we don’t see them. “They like to m-m-m-mate in private,” says Jonti. I think to myself, “They must be the only ones!”

Inside the park, Jonti warns us to lock the car doors. “Crime,” we whisper knowingly. “Not crime,” says Jonti. “B-b-b-baboons. They know how to open car doors.”

We take a 5 km nature walk with Jonti who is happy to point out birds, flowers and even the various varieties of ‘scat’. Scat are animal poops – baboon, antelope, ostrich and even porcupine poops.

Back in the car, we meet up with the baboons. Despite their bad rep, these primates are on their best behavior. Mama baboons are nursing. The baby baboons are playing. Even Dad is peacefully picking his fleabites.

We drive to a parking lot and hike over the dunes to a small cottage on the beach where we open our picnic baskets and have lunch. From here you can see whales – lots of whales. They are female Southern Right Whales and their pups – the latter are about 20 feet long. The pups are playing – jumping straight up, waving their tales and flipping their flippers. Rena and I walk the beach but don’t find any shells. A brief shower drives us back to the car, laughing.

Later, Rafe takes over the bar at base-camp and makes caipirinha for the waitstaff. Caipirinha, a concoction of cane liquor, lemons, sugar and ice, is the national cocktail of Brazil. This we enjoy with babooti the national dish of South Africa (ground beef with spices). After dinner Rafe does magic tricks for the staff.

We have a quiet night until Rafe discovers a bat in his bedroom. The sound of Portuguese cursing drifts faintly over the fynbos.

Daktari

Daktari at Home - September 2008

Big Jump for a Small Rider

Yum, Yum at the Beach Plum

Sawyer Island - So Near yet So Far

Pontoon Party on the Essex River

Sunset on the Essex Estuary

Last week’s blog featured the Outdoor Gravity Orb, which just happens to be located in my hometown of Amesbury. There are plenty of other local adventures to be had in this Northeast corner of Massachusetts So, in the interests of having fun while minimizing carbon footprints, here’s a selection of my recent local safaris. (Each selection has at least one highlighted link to click for more info.)

“Have a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” –Fred Rogers

Fidelity Jumper Classic -

“Hey Rena, wanna go watch horses jump over a fence?”
Rena glances up from the sun-chair where she is reading the Daily snews.
“Not really, why do you ask?”
Daktari knows a thing or two about persuasion

“It’s an international competition, it’s five miles away and it’s free,” I plead. “Plus there may be shopping.”

We drive about 15 minutes to the Silver Oaks Equestrian Center near Exeter. The horses and riders come from as far away as Puerto Rico, Europe and Brazil. They compete for a prize of $75,000 and they are wonderful to watch – for an hour or two. There was a bit of shopping, too. But only if you’re into bits, bridles and English leather.

Time to blow Dodge City.
We saddle-up the Suzuki and mosey down the road to our next stop.

“The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.” – Dorothy Parker

North Hampton State Beach

This is a cute little pocket beach similar to the neighborhood beaches in Rio.
It’s just at the end of North Hampton on route 1A (right before Rye). Don’t blink as you approach this little gem. It’s only 2 acres with about 20 parking spots. You’ll miss it if you’re not careful. Parking tokens are available for $5 in the bathhouse and are good for 4 hours.

The sand is soft, the view is lovely but the waves today are treacherous. It’s high tide and they break right next to the shore. I hop in just once and find myself tumbled arse over teakettle. The butcher’s bill is only one elbow slightly abraded. Lesson learned!

We’re both feeling a bit peckish. It’s time for lunch. Directly across the road is the Beach Plum. It’s a classic little beach take-out with several picnic tables for seating. A lobster roll and root beer float with vanilla ice cream is worth the safari. The combo creates a gustatory time-warp direct to the 1950’s. Outstanding!

“A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands.” -Lord Byron.

“ Yes, on the lobster salad, but I prefer women who drink root beer floats.” – Daktari

Hampton Beach Seafood Festival

We take our bikes off the rack on Rena’s car and pedal down route 1A to Hampton Beach (5 miles) to take in the Seafood Festival. It’s impossible to drive to Hampton Beach during Festival weekend. Plus parking is $25!

The Seafood Fest website says it’s rated by the IRA Motor Group as one of the “Top 100 Events in North America”.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” I warn Rena as we pay our $5 to get in. “ If you see gangs of young men wearing cable knit sweaters with strong Irish accents let me know.”

“Right,” says my partner in crime. “I make it a rule not to mess with the IRA –even the pedestrian ones.”

The Seafood Fest is not in my top 100 events list, but there is music, the beach is open, and the lobster macaroni and cheese is to die for. I find a shell bracelet in the sand. Rena buys Sophie an outfit. That kid needs a bigger closet! We bike back, hop in our car and whisk home as the sun sets.

“He who enjoys doing and enjoys what he has done is happy.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Nelson Island and Sawyer’s Island
Another bright sunny Wednesday in North Essex County, Massachusetts. Our morning is spent at the Registry of Motor Vehicles in Haverhill getting new drivers’ licenses. What’s with these cameras at the registry anyway? The photos make us look ten years older. How depressing is that! We need outdoor recreation therapy.

Rena and I drive to a small parking lot in Rowley to take a hike to Sawyers Island in Great Marsh. The North Shore's Great Marsh is the largest continuous stretch of Salt Marsh in New England, extending from Cape Ann to New Hampshire. Its 25,000 acres of salt marsh grasslands, tidal creeks, and estuaries make up one of the richest habitats on earth. (A downloadable map of the Great Marsh is available on the Great Marsh website.)

The original colonial settlers hayed these acres and used the hay to raise beef cattle for the markets in Boston, Portsmouth and other nearby ports. Most of the ‘salt beef’ that fed the crews of whaling ships and trading clippers was itself fed on salt marsh hay from the Great Marsh.

For adventurers there’s lots to explore in this great tidal ecosystem. We walk along a nice road applying bug-spray liberally as we go. Even ‘Ultrathon’, a miracle spray for malaria that I use in Africa, barely dissuades the voracious killer mosquitoes in this swampy lowland.

Oh no! Our adventure ends abruptly about 500 feet from the island. The tide is in and the road is under about a foot of water. I suggest to Rena that we take off our shoes, roll up our pants and wade. No dice! There are some things a lady just won’t do. Subjecting a fine pedicure to swamp water in a salt marsh is one of them.

Note to Daktari: next time check the tides before visiting the Marsh.

Essex River Cruise

We salve our disappointment with a cruise on the Essex River – traversing the Great Marsh by pontoon boat. Our friend Jan is celebrating her birthday and we’re taking the Sunset Cocktail Cruise. The price of admission is a donation to Partners for Development – a favorite charity of Jan’s. She hopes to raise enough to build a house for a family in Guatemala. Pictures of the family and a short talk by P.I.D. founder Gail and the house in Guatemala is well on its way.

The cruise is delightful – great views of the Great Marsh and the barrier island beaches (Crane’s Beach). The birthday cake is cut, the Champagne flows and the sun sets on the Essex River estuary. The absence of root beer floats goes un-remarked except by Lord Byron and Daktari. Who wouldn’t want to live in New England in September?

“Nothing written for pay is worth writing,” – Ezra Pound.

Until my next adventure-
Daktari

Go GO OGO- August 24, 2008

OGO on TRACK

INTO THE HOME STRETCH

INSIDE THE OVOCYTE

BUNGEE RAYS AND RAINBOWS

NO POINTS FOR THE DISMOUNT

A PERFECT TEN

GROWN-UPS ARE SO SILLY!!!

The physics of this latest adventure are straightforward. Imagine a transparent soft-plastic sphere. Inside the sphere place ten gallons of water and two or three thrill-seeking adventurers. Surround the inner sphere with a bigger transparent outer sphere. Now, suspend the inner sphere inside the outer with dozens of opposing bungee cords.

What do you have? It’s an OGO – acronym for Outdoor Gravity Orb.

Now take your OGO to a good size hill and roll it down an 800 foot track. This will generate about 20 OGO revolutions and a top speed of 28 miles per hour in about 41 seconds. The resultant sport is called ‘zorbing’ – very popular in New Zealand.

Want to get in on the action? Believe it or not, there are exactly three OGO’s ready to roll and waiting for you right here at the Amesbury Sports Park in my hometown. Check out the video at: http://www.amesburysportspark.net/

I check it out myself on Thursday and negotiate a special rate for an end-of-summer fundraising event. One day only, Sunday August 24th, $15 for summer tubing and an OGO ride for anyone who donates to my favorite charity -Amesbury for Africa.

Rena is definitely not up for this adventure. My description alone gives her the weebie-jeebies. So I give my young friend Kat a call:

“Hey Kat are you up for an adventure tomorrow.”
I go through the physics for her. I can imagine her eyes glazing over as she listens to the phone.

“To make a long story, short,” she summarizes, “you want me to get into a puddle of water, inside a giant sponge ball and roll down an 800 foot hill?”

“Well, sort of,” I respond. “But it’s for a good cause.”

“Count me in.” she says. “What’ll I wear?”

“A bikini would be nice,” I tease.

“In your dreams, cowboy.”

Next day, we’re at the top of hill. No going back now.
The attendant puts a hose into the inner OGO and starts running water.
“Is it cold water?” Kat asks.
“You betcha,” says our guide. “Take off your shoes and hop in.”

To my trained medical eye, the OGO looks like a giant human ovocyte.
The attendant directs me to dive headfirst through a narrow round tunnel connecting the inner and outer spheres (or is it connecting the cell membrane and the nucleus?) I feel like one of the human sperm paratroopers in the Woody Allen movie ‘Everything you ever wanted to know about sex (But were afraid to ask.)’

“Good thing nobody took a picture of that!” shouts Kat as she tumbles into the freezing cold water.

The gate at the top of the track flies open and the OGO starts to roll.
The screaming starts immediately.

As the OGO rolls forward gathering speed, Kat and I rotate up the back wall of the inner sphere until the wet surface slides us back to the bottom. Soon we’re sliding on our backs down a continuous curving sheet of water while this giant translucent sphere revolves faster and faster around us. As the OGO goes into overdrive, we are transported to the center of a scintillating prismatic spherical universe. Rainbows refract from the OGO’s glistening surface while the bungee cords become flashing radial arrows all pointed directly at us. It’s a wonderful behind-the-waterfall world. We’re still screaming when we hit the pillars of the air corral at the bottom of the run.

I feel like I’ve just been down a roller-coaster in a front-loading washing machine. The attendant unzips the entrance tunnel and slopes it toward the ground. I’m expelled from the OGO’s inner sanctum in breech position with a gush of watery fluid. My feet hit the ground first and then the butt. It’s a near-birth experience! All that’s lacking is to be hoisted up by both feet and smacked on my bum by a large invisible hand. A few minutes later, out squirts Kat for a perfect 10 on the dismount. We're both soaked through - like drowned rats.

The second run Kat goes down with her friend Donna. Originally, Donna was just along to provide moral support. Then she sees that every person coming out of the OGO ball, without exception, looks like she’s having the time of her life. So Donna decides what the heck, it’s only water – and jumps into the ball wearing her street clothes!

That’s the kind of enthusiasm that a ride in the OGO generates! Until my next blog, be sure and have a ball. An OGO ball, of course.
And may all your adventures be fun ones.

DAKTARI