A good game ranger needs to develop an intimate knowledge of the workings of the natural environment so field guide training is where I’m headed. This particular job i.e. the hosting of guests on guided safaris, does come with a roofless Land Rover and permission to pursue the ‘big and hairies’ but there is one or two things I must achieve to earn this first: walk the entire reserve road network of close to 300km, unarmed, to develop an orientation of the land, hone my senses and situational awareness in the field and dispose of complacency; master knowledge examinations on all the major naturalist topics including eight hours on ‘The Big Five’; visit the shooting range (more than) a few times to develop accuracy with a .375 Holland and Holland rifle and then take on a charging buffalo on wheels to prove my skill; and demonstrate that in addition to locating the exciting game species, that I can provide a well rounded, engaging experience of the environment to my guests imparting information including plants, birds, insects, reptiles, stars and tracks.
It’s been a three month haul but finally I get my chance to take real guests out into the bush on my own. I arrive on the deck at tea time to meet my allocated group.
‘Hi Mike, I’m Megan’ I say enthusiastically shoving my right hand out to shake his and squeezing firmly to impart confidence. The strawberry jam and cream-covered scone he’s eating looks delicious but I sense Mike and his family are keen to get going so I begrudgingly refrain from serving myself one. After a few polite questions about where this British family have already travelled in South Africa and probing for clues as to their interests and expectations during their two night stay with me, I suggest we head out. Mike looks at me confused.
‘We haven’t met our ranger yet’ he mumbles.
‘Umm… I’m your ranger,’ I reply. As if the shiny boots and freshly pressed khakis weren’t blatantly obvious!
The colour drains from his face momentarily before he makes a quick effort at retort: ‘Oh, I’m sorry…I didn’t realise…’ A brief but uncomfortable silence ensues and then, ‘So how long have you been working here Megan?’
Feeling even more on the spot and not wanting him to know this is in fact my first drive with ‘proper’ guests, I brush the question aside with an eager ‘Why don’t we go and look for that leopard you’re so keen to see!’
On the Land Rover I feel that nagging vulnerability again and questions start racing through my mind. Am I going to be able to find a leopard? Am I going to be able to keep this family entertained for four hours? What if I get lost? What if Mike thinks I’m a real woman-driver? I better drive carefully. But the sun’s going to set in just over an hour, I better hurry up if I’m going to find a leopard.
Just then a magnificent kudu bull steps into the road and turns his head to face our approaching vehicle. I ease to a stop turning the vehicle side-on to afford the guests a comfortable viewing position and to present a less threatening posture towards the kudu. We watch for a few seconds as the kudu stands statuesque. I then whisper a few sentences to my guests drawing their attention to the stripes on his side that break his outline in the thicket habitat where kudu live, the large ears that pick up the smallest of sounds in the dense bush and then the white of his ‘follow-me’ tail upturned as he eventually bounds away from us. Mike and his family seemed awed by the encounter and I relax a bit.
Not too long afterwards the radio crackles to life. One of the other guides has picked up some fresh leopard tracks in the south. At least now I know more or less where to begin my search but not ten minutes later, the unmistakable sound of pressured air escaping from its rubberised confines confirms my worst fears. We have a puncture. I turn to my guests and as confidently as possible say, ‘Technical problem, how about a glass of wine while we attend to the puncture?’
My tracker is suddenly conspicuous by his absence! Thankfully the boys on my ranger training course had insisted I change all the punctures so my skills in this department are especially well practised. Within fifteen minutes the tyre is changed, my tracker makes a miraculous reappearance and I believe I may have won a little respect from Mike! Another fifteen minutes on and my tracker redeems himself with a barely audible mutter: ‘Ingwe’. He’s spotted a leopard.
‘Hold on,’ I call quietly over my shoulder to the guests making a visual check to ensure everyone has seen her and then turning off-road. This is another first. The grass is so long it washes bonnet-high over the vehicle as if we’re swimming through the blades. With some help from my tracker I pre-empt the leopard’s movements and cut ahead so that she walks clean past the front of the vehicle and Mike and family get the perfect view of first one, then two, then three leopards. The female is with her two six month old cubs. Every insecurity I harboured about my first drive instantly dissolves. The bush at coal face, with others’ lives in your hands is a big deal but it’s also a thrilling experience for guest and guide alike.
Mike, his family and I enjoy pan-African cuisine around a raging camp fire sipping wine from crystal glasses and recounting the afternoon’s encounters. I’m relieved when they finally announce at midnight that its time for bed since tea the following morning is at five am. That means a four thirty am start for me as I have to check my vehicle and pack a hot-box before the drive. We’re going to look for rhino in the morning and I feel that twinge of apprehension again. Although the afternoon had been a productive one, I know that it isn’t always going to be so easy.
Whether it’s finding exciting animals for tourists, spending eight hours in the saddle on anti-poaching patrols or mapping alien-plants on exhausting foot-expeditions, I understand, thirteen years down the line, that the efforts of the game ranger are always tempered by the euphoria of being a part of the wilderness. There is something primal about being battered by the elements – being hot and sweaty when the sun’s out, wet when it rains, windswept when the wind blows. Small things matter. Stumbling upon a ripe prickly pear during a Triffid Weed survey, I was so elated by the chance for refreshment that I completely forgot to input this alien’s position on the map. The best White Berry Bush berry’s I’ve tasted were those eaten while I was stranded in a dry riverbed because a herd of buffalo (that we were stalking) had inadvertently surrounded us and separated us from our vehicle. A swim never feels as good as when it’s in the horse-trough and you’re in it, fully clothed, because there was simply no better option except to roll from the horses back into the water after hours in the glorious African sun.
Becoming a game ranger certainly has had its unique set of challenges but the rewards far outweigh the trials! Wouldn’t change a thing!
‘Hi Mike, I’m Megan’ I say enthusiastically shoving my right hand out to shake his and squeezing firmly to impart confidence. The strawberry jam and cream-covered scone he’s eating looks delicious but I sense Mike and his family are keen to get going so I begrudgingly refrain from serving myself one. After a few polite questions about where this British family have already travelled in South Africa and probing for clues as to their interests and expectations during their two night stay with me, I suggest we head out. Mike looks at me confused.
‘We haven’t met our ranger yet’ he mumbles.
‘Umm… I’m your ranger,’ I reply. As if the shiny boots and freshly pressed khakis weren’t blatantly obvious!
The colour drains from his face momentarily before he makes a quick effort at retort: ‘Oh, I’m sorry…I didn’t realise…’ A brief but uncomfortable silence ensues and then, ‘So how long have you been working here Megan?’
Feeling even more on the spot and not wanting him to know this is in fact my first drive with ‘proper’ guests, I brush the question aside with an eager ‘Why don’t we go and look for that leopard you’re so keen to see!’
On the Land Rover I feel that nagging vulnerability again and questions start racing through my mind. Am I going to be able to find a leopard? Am I going to be able to keep this family entertained for four hours? What if I get lost? What if Mike thinks I’m a real woman-driver? I better drive carefully. But the sun’s going to set in just over an hour, I better hurry up if I’m going to find a leopard.
Just then a magnificent kudu bull steps into the road and turns his head to face our approaching vehicle. I ease to a stop turning the vehicle side-on to afford the guests a comfortable viewing position and to present a less threatening posture towards the kudu. We watch for a few seconds as the kudu stands statuesque. I then whisper a few sentences to my guests drawing their attention to the stripes on his side that break his outline in the thicket habitat where kudu live, the large ears that pick up the smallest of sounds in the dense bush and then the white of his ‘follow-me’ tail upturned as he eventually bounds away from us. Mike and his family seemed awed by the encounter and I relax a bit.
Not too long afterwards the radio crackles to life. One of the other guides has picked up some fresh leopard tracks in the south. At least now I know more or less where to begin my search but not ten minutes later, the unmistakable sound of pressured air escaping from its rubberised confines confirms my worst fears. We have a puncture. I turn to my guests and as confidently as possible say, ‘Technical problem, how about a glass of wine while we attend to the puncture?’
My tracker is suddenly conspicuous by his absence! Thankfully the boys on my ranger training course had insisted I change all the punctures so my skills in this department are especially well practised. Within fifteen minutes the tyre is changed, my tracker makes a miraculous reappearance and I believe I may have won a little respect from Mike! Another fifteen minutes on and my tracker redeems himself with a barely audible mutter: ‘Ingwe’. He’s spotted a leopard.
‘Hold on,’ I call quietly over my shoulder to the guests making a visual check to ensure everyone has seen her and then turning off-road. This is another first. The grass is so long it washes bonnet-high over the vehicle as if we’re swimming through the blades. With some help from my tracker I pre-empt the leopard’s movements and cut ahead so that she walks clean past the front of the vehicle and Mike and family get the perfect view of first one, then two, then three leopards. The female is with her two six month old cubs. Every insecurity I harboured about my first drive instantly dissolves. The bush at coal face, with others’ lives in your hands is a big deal but it’s also a thrilling experience for guest and guide alike.
Mike, his family and I enjoy pan-African cuisine around a raging camp fire sipping wine from crystal glasses and recounting the afternoon’s encounters. I’m relieved when they finally announce at midnight that its time for bed since tea the following morning is at five am. That means a four thirty am start for me as I have to check my vehicle and pack a hot-box before the drive. We’re going to look for rhino in the morning and I feel that twinge of apprehension again. Although the afternoon had been a productive one, I know that it isn’t always going to be so easy.
Whether it’s finding exciting animals for tourists, spending eight hours in the saddle on anti-poaching patrols or mapping alien-plants on exhausting foot-expeditions, I understand, thirteen years down the line, that the efforts of the game ranger are always tempered by the euphoria of being a part of the wilderness. There is something primal about being battered by the elements – being hot and sweaty when the sun’s out, wet when it rains, windswept when the wind blows. Small things matter. Stumbling upon a ripe prickly pear during a Triffid Weed survey, I was so elated by the chance for refreshment that I completely forgot to input this alien’s position on the map. The best White Berry Bush berry’s I’ve tasted were those eaten while I was stranded in a dry riverbed because a herd of buffalo (that we were stalking) had inadvertently surrounded us and separated us from our vehicle. A swim never feels as good as when it’s in the horse-trough and you’re in it, fully clothed, because there was simply no better option except to roll from the horses back into the water after hours in the glorious African sun.
Becoming a game ranger certainly has had its unique set of challenges but the rewards far outweigh the trials! Wouldn’t change a thing!
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