Nine friends decide, for the third year in a row, to safari in November at Bush Camp. It is low season, a dreadful time of year and there is no game.
Misguided guidebooks constantly crap on about ‘the best time for wildlife is in the dry season when predators concentrate around water etc….blah’.
In a break with 15 years of ‘Spot’ tradition, today’s issue does not deal with animals. The custodians of the Mara are Masai.
The words ‘Africa’ and ‘sunset’ are coupled almost unconsciously, yet the Mara’s dusks are unlike any other. These biblical skies are impossible to predict, frequently appearing when all hope is lost after banks of grey cloud have scudded along the distant escarpments.
Life at 2000 metres produces ‘rare’ sights but only a rare guide such as Andrew Obaga can find, then record them with such élan.
Just as Ryder Cup hostilities start brewing up, it appears that Valley camp fauna has got in on the niggling aggro act with more ‘rough’ than ‘fairway’.
The cultured pastures of Mara Naboisho Conservancy have yet again delivered. In some camps a repeat couple celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary, bringing their grown-up daughters could be permitted an indolent morning.
Whatever the sport or hobby there is nothing like boasting new-found jargon, particularly cycling jargon. The Divine Sideburn led his charges out of West London right about the time hordes of ruminants dived in for a snappy drugs-free 50 metre freestyle.
Of all the animals it is the spotted ones that vie for the most podium time: leopards leaping like Moses or Beamon and cheetahs sprinting like Bolt or Blake.
