Many of us have experienced the joys of camping in the great outdoors.
The sweet smell of fresh air, the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, the breathtaking night skies, the communion with trees and other flora, and - if we are lucky - the sightings of wild animals.
This closeness to nature contributes to what many regard as life’s greatest experience. These are some of the ‘joys’ of camping.
But, there are definite ‘woes’ of camping, which often are neglected.
And indeed for us, camping in Botswana’s magnificent Chobe National Park, chock full of every manner of wild animal, including thousands of wild elephants, Mother Nature had not forgotten to show us – in no uncertain terms – who was boss.
It started at dusk when huge squadrons of humongous bugs – probably Earth’s largest – descended upon our dinner table. They were bigger than life, of preposterous shapes and textures, in full Hollywood technicolour, and looked like they had just jumped out of a Spielberg horror movie.
Moths as big as our hands showed a definite preference for Koos baked beans, whilst walking sticks and preying mantises as long as our forks went for the brown rice. Not to mention those pesky mozzies which delighted in making us their evening meal, taking long sips of our life force and leaving behind their unique brand of identity tattoo.
Now, my daughter is not bothered by lions, leopard or elephants. But – hey - insects are another story! She jumped up from the table, letting out a series of loud, irritating squeals, overturning dinner plates and glasses of water, and made a beeline for the truck.
The next familiar sound was a muffled: “Mom, can I eat in the truck?”
So much for our idyllic family ‘dinner under the stars’.
To be fair to her, I must agree that there is something slightly intimidating about not being able to see that which is around you, especially when you know lions are lurking.
Lying in our tent, trying to find a comfortable sleeping position on cots that cripple the back for life, the grunting of lion in the bush nearby strikes terror in the heart. The adrenalin level rises even higher when there is a call to nature in the middle of the night, and we must face the unseen to get to the toilet.
Other ‘middle of the night’ issues do crop up.
At 1am a hysterical fracas amongst the baboons sleeping in the tree above our tent arouses us from slumber. We lie awake for some time, wondering if they’re going to attack each other, or us, and if in the case of the latter, what weapons we have in the tent to scare them away. Wild thoughts race through the mind, as we realise we have none.
At 2am, a herd of breeding elephants silently pass through our campsite. One unwittingly gets tangled in our clothesline, letting out with a piercing trumpet that sends us straight through the tent ceiling.
The poor old tusker becomes increasingly frustrated as she tries to extricate herself from our evening washing, then in a moment of anger, rips the clothesline from the trees, dragging my designer panties through the mud, finally sending them into oblivion in the waters of the Chobe River.
A 3am a pack of hyaena appear. They’re after the boots that my husband carefully placed outside the tent, lovingly sparing us the ordeal of actually inhaling their piquant aromas – and possibly averting a split-up.
My mind cannot stop visualising those massive sets of teeth, as the hyaena methodically work their way around the tent, sniffing noisily from back to front.
Finally, they find what they’re after; and we lie awake for quite some time, listening to them noisily making mincemeat of the ‘Calvin’ cowboy brand, and fervently hoping they will be satisfied with only that.
Overcome with fatigue, we drift off to sleep, only to be soon thereafter startled by loud grunts of hippo in the waters nearby. We can’t be sure, but they seem to be laughing at us.
Suddenly there is a loud splash, and a few moments later, we hear the noisy tearing and munching of grass. It sounds as if it’s right outside the tent!
Again, teeth are the subject of wild visualisations, as are irascible tempers.
By now, we are completely exhausted. We start to drift off again, only to be woken by the first grey light of dawn – and the raucous francolins announcing they have woken up for the day. And so should everyone else!
We try to get out of the tent, struggling to extricate ourselves from the positively crippling cot, and the blankets and sleeping bags all rolled up together into one impenetrable ball.
We straighten those sore, middle-aged bones, step out of the tent, and breathe in a full chest of fresh air – ahhhh!
How great to have had a ‘fitful’ sleep in the ‘great outdoors’!
An elephant’s appetite has developed through the night. And the thought of a ‘full English breakfast’ is enticing.
But, big, black clouds are gathering in the sky. And, in the distance, we can hear the rumble of thunder.
Mother Nature at it again, conspiring to challenge us every step of the way.
The rain waits, of course, until we have breakfast on the table, camping supplies out of the truck, and sleeping bags and blankets airing in the trees.
We run to get everything into the truck before the deluge.
But alas, we are not as fit as we used to be.
Crocodile tears fill my eyes as I watch my scrambled eggs floating around my plate in the rainwater.
It certainly has been a ‘trip of a lifetime’.
ends
Copyright Linda Pfotenhauer
Photos by Jessica Joy Pfotenhauer