tree. Nestled within a clump of three similar trees with huge, buttressed trunks and powdery yellowish-orange bark, my chosen refuge hung over the sandy embankment, presenting an uninterrupted view of the meandering river. Behind it, a semi-clearing seemed ideal for building a fire. After climbing the huge trunk, I discovered a broken branch perfect for hanging my backpack safely away from baboons and other creatures.
I shimmied down and, now shivering, began foraging for dry wood in the dim light. Luckily, driftwood plentifully dotted the sandy expanse of the Limpopo River. I pulled several large pieces out of the sand and dragged them toward my little clearing. Perfect. Unfortunately, without kindling I’d have no way to ignite the large pieces. Twenty yards away, a broken log, bent branches extending like a pincushion from its decaying trunk, rose from the sandy soil. I hastily twisted small twigs off its reluctant surface until a sharp sting upon my knuckle halted me. A bright red ant, the length of my fingernail, crawled across the back of my hand. Fire ants scurried everywhere and with a sharp cry I dropped the branch and frantically beat off the swarm. I stood right in their nest! Hopping back, I still felt the hot sting of a renegade soldier’s attack beneath my trouser leg. Beating frantically at my already bruised leg, I stumbled away.
A few yards away, some dry-looking twigs peeked from under a crumbling rock. Straining with the effort, I pulled mightily, finally toppling the small boulder. A black scorpion, tail curved menacingly over its shiny body, scuttled toward my foot. Shrieking loudly, I leaped over the boulder and the arachnid darted into the deep shadow of a river rock. After that, incredibly tentative and literally jumping at every shadow, it took me a full fifteen minutes just to gather enough twigs to start a fire.
Like a conscientious Girl Scout, I carefully positioned saucer-sized stones in an attempt to encircle the fire pit as a preventive measure, hoping to contain any sparks that might start the dry grass ablaze. Thank goodness I had my box of matches. I decided to wait until it was almost completely dark to light my fire. I now had enough wood to last several hours; hopefully, that would keep away any predators.
Hunger gnawed at my innards as I considered my limited meal choices. I could finish off the peanuts, eat another energy bar, have one of the apples, or tuck into the biltong. Any of those options would leave little for breakfast or lunch. After consuming a long drink of water I decided to search for something edible from the veldt to make my meager supplies last longer. Late-blooming flowers lined the riverbank, resembling tall, red-blossomed matchsticks. At nearly a meter high, small clusters of peanut-sized red berries clung to their bottom stems. I’d been lectured all through my growing years by my farm-bred grandmother about how one must be extremely cautious regarding what they consume from nature. Her own cousin had died a horrible death from ingesting poisonous toadstools.
But how was I to determine if the berries were poisonous or not? I finally decided that dinner this night would simply have to consist of an energy bar, a few peanuts, one apple, and some bottled water. I momentarily wondered if there were any fish in the shallow Limpopo, but after recalling my experience with the crocodile, decided that finding out might not be such a wise idea.
A snort and a crackle issued from the brush and I immediately scrambled up the fig tree, perched upon the overhanging branch with my feet drawn up, ready to crawl higher if the need arose. A very large grayish-brown baboon came out of the bush and sniffed about, his weight resting on his knuckles. He scanned the riverbank before emitting a low howl, apparently beckoning his troop. Realizing that trees are a second home to baboons, I crouched silently, alert to the intruder’s every move. Peter had warned me about the
I shimmied down and, now shivering, began foraging for dry wood in the dim light. Luckily, driftwood plentifully dotted the sandy expanse of the Limpopo River. I pulled several large pieces out of the sand and dragged them toward my little clearing. Perfect. Unfortunately, without kindling I’d have no way to ignite the large pieces. Twenty yards away, a broken log, bent branches extending like a pincushion from its decaying trunk, rose from the sandy soil. I hastily twisted small twigs off its reluctant surface until a sharp sting upon my knuckle halted me. A bright red ant, the length of my fingernail, crawled across the back of my hand. Fire ants scurried everywhere and with a sharp cry I dropped the branch and frantically beat off the swarm. I stood right in their nest! Hopping back, I still felt the hot sting of a renegade soldier’s attack beneath my trouser leg. Beating frantically at my already bruised leg, I stumbled away.
A few yards away, some dry-looking twigs peeked from under a crumbling rock. Straining with the effort, I pulled mightily, finally toppling the small boulder. A black scorpion, tail curved menacingly over its shiny body, scuttled toward my foot. Shrieking loudly, I leaped over the boulder and the arachnid darted into the deep shadow of a river rock. After that, incredibly tentative and literally jumping at every shadow, it took me a full fifteen minutes just to gather enough twigs to start a fire.
Like a conscientious Girl Scout, I carefully positioned saucer-sized stones in an attempt to encircle the fire pit as a preventive measure, hoping to contain any sparks that might start the dry grass ablaze. Thank goodness I had my box of matches. I decided to wait until it was almost completely dark to light my fire. I now had enough wood to last several hours; hopefully, that would keep away any predators.
Hunger gnawed at my innards as I considered my limited meal choices. I could finish off the peanuts, eat another energy bar, have one of the apples, or tuck into the biltong. Any of those options would leave little for breakfast or lunch. After consuming a long drink of water I decided to search for something edible from the veldt to make my meager supplies last longer. Late-blooming flowers lined the riverbank, resembling tall, red-blossomed matchsticks. At nearly a meter high, small clusters of peanut-sized red berries clung to their bottom stems. I’d been lectured all through my growing years by my farm-bred grandmother about how one must be extremely cautious regarding what they consume from nature. Her own cousin had died a horrible death from ingesting poisonous toadstools.
But how was I to determine if the berries were poisonous or not? I finally decided that dinner this night would simply have to consist of an energy bar, a few peanuts, one apple, and some bottled water. I momentarily wondered if there were any fish in the shallow Limpopo, but after recalling my experience with the crocodile, decided that finding out might not be such a wise idea.
A snort and a crackle issued from the brush and I immediately scrambled up the fig tree, perched upon the overhanging branch with my feet drawn up, ready to crawl higher if the need arose. A very large grayish-brown baboon came out of the bush and sniffed about, his weight resting on his knuckles. He scanned the riverbank before emitting a low howl, apparently beckoning his troop. Realizing that trees are a second home to baboons, I crouched silently, alert to the intruder’s every move. Peter had warned me about the
Similar Books
