Beautiful image of a Baobab in Makuleke, by wonderful human and photographer Marcus Westberg
Welcome to ‘Off the Record‘! Here, we explore personal journeys and stories related to a place that has played a key role in who we are today, destinations and moments that we believe deserve to be shared for the incredible impact they had, and the beauty they hold (physical, emotional, intellectual…). In return, we’d love nothing more than to hear your stories of the places that marked you, and why you’d recommend them – why they were special! These Chapters will be slightly different to our Letters to you in format, but always filled with tips, information, and suggestions. They are certainly more personal pieces of writing and hope to inspire a reflection on your own journeys and what they mean to you.
Today, we talk about a fantastic wilderness experience that is almost like a rite of passage in an era of modernity. A trail guide by trade, Andrew brings it back to the beginning in this Chapter, exploring feelings, emotions and experiences that only a Trail can lead to. It’s the beginning of everything.
Photo by Marcus Westberg
A Rite of Passage
The Santeré-Mawé is a ritual ceremony conducted by indigenous tribes of Brazil. Young boys are given gloves densely woven with bullet ants(highly poisonous, very painful sting), drugged with a herbal solution the ants are barely conscious so the glove goes on without much fuss. Soon after, though, the ants awaken with rampant fury, hundreds of them injecting, in unison, their fire-like poison into the young men’s hands. Under excruciating agony, he must not lose composure, nor exhibit discomfort. Only then is he considered worthy of becoming a man.
The Vanuatu of the South Pacific are known for their ritual of young boys hurling themselves off a 100-foot-high tower built of the forest with nothing but a woven vine (acting as a bungee cord) strapped to their feet. The vine breaks the boys’ fall just before the ground…or the vine breaks…or the boy. Casualties and injuries are severe, yet not as common as one thinks as these islanders’ bodies seem to be able to withstand the violent whiplash and tension on the body much better than one would think. Though, for us europeans, would separate head from body and resemble something more like a car crash rather than a fun day at ‘the games’. Nonetheless, an event suitable for the madly deranged, it would seem from an outside perspective.
Hammer boys of remote Ethiopia must run across the backs of bulls, Inuit girls and boys must go and hunt in the perilous Arctic for months, and Maasai boys must hunt lion (now banned) with nothing but spear and shield. Humanity has been using hardship and nature as a ‘right of passage’ mechanism for thousands of years. Fracturing the outer shell of what we perceive ourselves to be and revealing our true essence, in some cases to be judged by others in order to be deemed worthy (some would say the latter is counterproductive but let’s move on).
Historically and more commonly, the rituals were meant for young (teenagers) and boys, and only to be done once in a lifetime. Now, we can see a ‘ritual’ in the return to the wild, some induced discomfort, some self-reflection and preparation as a tool for any age, gender or race and however many times we need to in our life. It is the leaving of the person we once were, knowing who we truly are, and most importantly, the entry back into the rest of our life that is the lynchpin to this entire concept.
Now that your attention is no longer shared with whatever else lies within reach of your fidgety ends and mind, let’s disclaim that we will not be dragging our Odyssean trail-ists this year through a line of Matabele ants, nor will there be any flogging whilst running the backs of a buffalo heard or hanging from baobabs until the sun turns us to biltong (beef jerky). We are yielding to a much more pleasant experience. One with discomfort, yes, but enlightenment too. A spiritual (word used here with utmost caution) awakening that can only be had when we are stripped of the conveniences and clutches of modernity. We return to the wild, to learn its lessons, to ignite our dormant senses, to encounter nature and not just view it, to test ourselves and to emerge a lesser distracted, lesser envious, lesser afraid and more ready, strengthened and aware individual than what first stepped off the transfers that drop us in one of the most untamed and wild places left on earth.
Welcome to the Origin Trail.
They say modernity (a condition or attitude adopted from living in a modern world) can be broken after four days in the wilderness. Hence why our Origin Trail is 5 days long, with 4 under the stars and one in a tented camp. We carry and walk, like mules it feels, for the first days. Whatever part of your body does not feel the weight of your pack will certainly feel the sun beating down on it. Our backpacks are heavy with everything we’ll need for the trail. Food, mattresses, gas cookers, spare clothes (optional), sleeping bags, torches, your wits and your humour (the main ingredient to maintaining wits/strength in times of hardship – noting the danger of using this word too many times, this experience is a great deal of fun I promise). No phones, no watches, only what we need to thrive on this wonderful adventure.
The Day
There is no doubt that when on foot in a wilderness, we are two different people come the day and the night, to a degree. The day is the time to traverse the ground, to hike toward our next spot for the night. It is ‘our’ time when we feel confident and are constantly taking in, with welcomed and heightened curiosity, all that nature has on display for us.
It is no longer the hum of a highway, it is a cicada song, relentless but appropriate. It is not the honking of a horn but a distant (or not so distant) elephant trumpet. It is not a chattering neighbour, it is yellow-billed hornbills and red-billed wood hoopoes cackling away in the high canopy. There is the weight of the sun yet its presence deepens our awareness of place, then the relief of five-by-five mahogany shade where we take brief breaks. There is the scent of wild basil, wild sage or fresh dung – more exciting than it sounds as we start to wonder how close it-that-left-it really is…
We read, intently, what is scripted in the sand. Tracks of a dung beetle rolling its prize away to bury. A scrub hare’s distinct ‘hop’ marks in the powdery soil from the night before. The hundreds of antelope tracks pepper the surface almost everywhere you look. ‘This is what the ground should look like, you think to yourself’ as you pass over the thousands of stories told by the ‘newspaper’ of the African bush veld. Then our heartbeat starts to increase its tempo as fresh pug marks of a lion, the spoor of elephant, buffalo or hippo is on our trail.
Tracking a wild animal (we will not be tracking a hippo, seldom a good idea) is gripping, it requires you to be completely immersed in your surroundings. Your eyes move from ground to grassland to tree-line. As you etch forward on the spoor, you must lift your head as often as possible to check the animal you track, or another is not standing right in front of you. As the clues hint you are gaining ground, you enter a meditative state of pure focus. Scanning, listening, testing the wind, you start to close in. Quite often, you will hear your quarry before you see it, buffalo and elephant especially will give away their position with breaking branches, rumblings and bellows. You can then position yourself with a favourable wind and sun and approach where you can view them. Cats, on the other hand, are dead silent during the day and we heavily rely on prey species alarm calling to identify its position. If not, prepare for a faint (at first) growl that will let you know they are aware, a little unhappy, about your proximity.
The days on trail are seldom without a moment absent of a heightened sense of things. It could be the higher-octane experience of tracking big game or simply sitting in the shade of a mango-steen grove, your thoughts drifting between birds in the high branches, the sound of running water, a gentle breeze and the plethora of life that comes to the water’s edge to drink. You snack, you hydrate, you contemplate, you update your list or jot down a few notes in your journal. You rest and ready yourself before getting on your feet again, walking this ancient land with a falling sun at your back. A place to camp for the night is our new objective…
The Night
It is in our response to defeat or loss, not victory, that we know our self. It is in discomfort or hardship that we are deepened as people, not comfort, not whilst ’slothing’ away in luxury. That is why we have chosen to be here, on this patch of sand underneath the towering cliffs of the Luvuvhu gorge, in the wildest depths of Africa. No tent, no hot water bottle, no shower – just a refreshing bath in the waters of the Luvuvhu, as hippos snort curiously at your arrival on the edge of their pool. The trail-time-night-time symphony of blowing up mattresses, setting ground sheets and igniting gas burners to cook dinner will soon be replaced by the sounds of the night.
During the day, the less eloquent creatures battle to be heard. Amongst the wind hissing through the grass, a hundred different bird and insect song, not to mention the larger mammalian adding their bark, trumpet, roar, snort. Even your footsteps fill the gaps, adding to the constant buzz of life around you. But at night, although far from quite, a ‘de-noised’ silence takes its turn. A stridulating cricket can be heard a hundred yards down river, a fiery-necked nightjar is clear and crisp, calling from the neighbouring valley. The roar of a lion kilometres away, getting closer with each bout.
A small fire is lit, for ambience and for tradition. Just enough to illuminate the fireside banter so we don’t waste crucial facial expressions married to our favourite stories of the ‘bush’. A larger brush pile is kept close by to set ablaze if larger game gets overly curious during the night. We are ready for the night, yet our confidence wanes as our instincts counsel us to find better suited shelter, a habit we have cultivated for hundreds of years. Not long, though, whilst sitting in the sand and in the presence of the energy of the night, we detect a calmness within us and come to the realisation that we belong here, we always have. No matter how often we flee for comfort and safety. Our origins are rooted in the natural world, comfort and safety were an attitude, an action applied to adversity, no matter how daunting. And only in the breaking of modernity do we realise our relationship with the wild and this strength to face challenge that writhes within us.
You take your turn, as we all do, and in the company of Orion himself, to watch over the group whilst they sleep (lightly, admittedly). Animals come and go throughout your watch. With eyesight limited, you are reminded of the sense of smell and hearing. An armoured ground cricket can sound like a rhino passing by should your imagination permit it. Now, in-between the stirrings, shining your torch to check on a rustle here and a crack there, in the aloneness of your watch, you can fathom the power and the magic of the African night. An experience that will be etched in your memory for a lifetime.
Home
The point is to be unsure whether you are going to it or leaving it behind, at the end of a trail, and that’s ok. You have washed off the dust but the tsetse fly bite on your left butt cheek will itch a while longer, the thorn in your foot will remain so that you do not easily fall back into the same traps the modern world has waiting for you on your return. And the return is sometimes the hardest part of all, but we must return. Dr Martin Shaw once explained, the difference between wild and feral lies in that being feral means we take a side and despise the other, siding for instance with nature (we think) and hating or losing our connection with humanity – in Africa, we called this ‘going bush’. Being wild, fucking wonderfully wild, is about being in love with the earth, in harmony with it, with humanity too (yourself at the end of the day). And that, my friends, is what trailing is all about. That is how we want to return to the world. Wild again, yourself again.
Spending time on foot in Africa is truly a life-changing experience. get some ideas from our walking safari destinations or get in touch and let’s chat about how you can experience life on trail!