Ecotourism and Megafauna

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Sept. 9, 2003
LONDOLOZI PRIVATE GAME RESERVE, Mpumalanga Province, South Africa — I couldn't see the Southern Cross last night because of storm clouds. When they let loose, the savanna enjoyed its first good gulp of rain in a long time. Hail pelted the acacia and torchwood trees. As a result, there's an oh-so-subtle green flush today to the tawny gray landscape.

Some who visit here speak of the savanna's restorative powers. Others say they inexplicably long for this thorny place known as the bush, its serenity and natural rhythms beckoning them back time and again.

Some like the wine list at Londolozi and the fact that a crystal ashtray materializes when the cigars come out after a meal of lamb shanks and roasted pumpkin wedges.

Me, I enjoy being awakened by the distinctive sawing-wood sound of a leopard calling from across the Sand River. I'm also partial to the geckos tumbling from the thatched ceiling of my bathroom where, by the way, every fragrant chunk of glycerin soap — those at my tub, two sinks and showers (indoor and out) — are prettily wrapped with grass bows. And it doesn't hurt that a silver pot of tea is delivered to my door at 5:30 a.m. so I can sip while I dress for the game drive.

Still, I'm willing to wager a fistful of rand that, no matter our proclivities, each and every guest came here to see the megafauna — at least those known as the "Big Five." We come for the lion, leopard, elephant, buffalo and rhino. (Throw in some hippos, crocs, kudu and giraffe, and we're happy beyond measure.)

I came to South Africa specifically to see tigers, which are not indigenous to Africa and are not kept at this game reserve. This first stop — Londolozi Private Game Reserve — is operated by the people who are trying an experiment with a pair of zoo-born tigers, seeing if they can learn to live again in the wild.

 

As a guide here at Londolozi, it's Angus Hart's unspoken pact with us binocular-toting, snap-happy ecotourists that he will deliver the "Big Five." A former London banker (of all things), he knows what we want: The drama of the dance between predator and prey. A bit of mixing it up between territorial bulls. A tender moment between mother and cub.

It occurs to me, as a yellow-eyed lioness and I engage in a staring contest not tempered by bars or fence, that perhaps we crave the delicious if chilling reminder that we are, you and I — in our most fundamental state — simply another flavor of meat. It makes for a powerful connection.

The context of looming predators sharpens all other experiences at Londolozi. The just-bloomed savanna gardenia that Angus picks and passes around the Range Rover is that much more fragrant. The lilac-breasted roller and saddle-billed stork, that much more intriguing in flight and on the nest. The nocturnal bush baby, a big-eyed jumper, that much more endearing.

True to plan — a far-fetched one conceived decades ago by John and Dave Varty — Londolozi works on a number of levels, most evidently, in terms of protecting the savanna habitat and resulting prides, herds and flocks. It also works for the local people, the Shanganas, who are employed as trackers, guides and cooks, and whose children attend a local preschool where they play with Legos and learn English. (The staff-to-guest ratio at Londolozi is 3:1, with 170 staff at the beck and call of 60 guests. More vital than this number, however, is the megafauna-to-guest ratio, which is much higher.)

Londolozi has its roots in a hunting camp called Sparta founded in 1926 by Boyd Varty. The land here escaped development for farming and grazing because of the scourge of the mosquito and tsetse fly. When Boyd died, his sons, John and Dave, were young, but had grown to love their retreat. They convinced their mother to keep hold of the property and set about finding a way to make it pay.

Londolozi, a Zulu word meaning "protector of all living things," opened in the early '70s, and these days, is one of the grand dames of private game reserves; a model of ecotourism according to many, not the least being former South African President Nelson Mandela.

Londolozi is known the world over for its leopards. Adding to their allure is that John Varty has documented the lives and habits of these usually elusive cats in a number of films. Other parks and reserves have leopards too, of course. What makes the ones at Londolozi special is that guests can actually see them with an amazing rate of predictability, to the tune of several times daily.

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Part of the reason is a tradition of expert trackers. The other part is habituated leopards. Not tame, mind you, but calm in the presence of Range Rovers.

Jeremiah Hambana sits in the jump seat of Angus's Range Rover. He's a soft-spoken Shangana whose native tongue is Tsonga. A golden- beaded belt offers a glint of local color to his khaki uniform. His job: to interpret the subtle language of the bush, using tracks, sounds, smells. At 45 years old, he has worked at Londolozi the last four years in the enviable position of tracker, 19 years in all doing various other jobs. He aspires to be a ranger-guide, vowing to bone up on his English.

Jeremiah makes spotting leopards look simple. So much so, in fact, that I catch Angus telling another guide that we "bumped into" a female cub on our drive back to camp. Hardly.

It was dark except for the light from the moon and, finally, the Southern Cross. Jeremiah was manning the spotlight. He noticed an unusual "branch" in a thicket of trees that escaped all the rest of our eyes: it was white-tipped and spotted. Unflinching, however. So not to disturb her, Jeremiah placed a filter over the bright light, bathing her gorgeous patterned fur in soft pink. She never moved.

We just had been following this cub's brother, which had been on the prowl and vocalizing for its mother — a parent who seemed more interested in putting distance between herself and her cubs than tending to their needs. (It's just about time for them to begin fending for themselves and establish their own territories, Angus explains.)

Fully sated now by our exciting sightings, we bump and roll back to camp along a network of well-worn dirt roads.

"Ecotourism creates jobs and keeps the environment relatively intact," Angus says, "but it does have an impact."

The real challenge, he adds, is for Londolozi to make enough money off of people wanting to see elephants and lions to enable it to purchase greater tracts of land that will serve to protect species less charismatic, but not less important, than the "Big Five."

Next, I'm heading west to the grasslands of the Free State, site of John Varty's tiger sanctuary project. None of Africa's "Big Five" reside there. But two very important tigers do.

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