12:38, Monday, 29 July, 2013

Late November – Mid December (Continued)

I’m crazy about turtles and tortoises.  Although my dad would accuse me of saying such things about any and every animal (maybe he’s right…), there is indeed something special about Testudines to me.  So when Timothy showed up one day in camp, I was ecstatic.  Timothy was a baby leopard tortoise, about the size of my hand if it were greatly swollen.  We spotted him before evening obs.  Just when you think every animal imaginable has been found in camp, up pops another.  I made sure he got out of the driveway, but this time I walked behind instead of picking him up to avoid dehydration.  I could’ve followed him all evening, but there were hyenas to watch.  Not a bad trade. 

The trip to Nairobi was looming above our heads.  Charlie and I were excited, because my family and his girlfriend were coming to visit on Christmas, but the amount of time we would have to spend there prior to our guests’ arrival was dismal.  I called Ian around December 10^th to discover that we would have to leave by the 13^th to get the vehicles to him before his holiday.  That would mean spending almost two weeks in the city.  Ugh.  So when we set out for obs the night of the twelfth, we were not looking forward to coming back to camp, as we would have to leave our hyenas in the morning.  Little did we know we almost wouldn’t make it back.

It may have been the same night as the lions, I can’t quite recall.  Charlie, Wilson and I.  The famous adventurers.  Benson, our fourth accomplice, was helping out in Serena.  We had crossed the river and were searching for Fig Tree.  The sunset was absolutely spectacular, one side of the sky perfectly gorgeous and cloud-free with the fierce sinking red ball, the other a painter’s palette of unblended dark and ominous grays.  After stopping for some sky pictures (Charlie was always amused by my constant need to take pictures of the sky), we decided we had better get back across the river and start toward home.  Wilson did just that.  Then it came.  The sky released the rain of Noah, and we were driving in the heart of a massive storm.  Water leaked through the windows, torrents lashed the windshield.  The wind was insane, grass bowing and twisting whitecaps of the land.  I pulled my legs toward me, eyes wide with simultaneous horror and secret delight that we got to be witness to such a spectacle.  Charlie and I began assuring Wilson we would sleep in the car if he wanted to stop driving; trying to get back in this seemed completely futile.  But Wilson said he was fine, and heroically kept on.  Every moment we expected to get stuck.  After a half hour or so, my nerves were shot and my head aching from repeatedly checking on Wilson, who was rightfully getting short with repeatedly assuring me he was fine.  So I lay down in the back seat, scrunched between windows so as not to get wet, and watched the sealess tsunami enveloping us.  It took us hours to get home, and even now I cannot believe we made it.  Upon reaching the main road to Talek, we had to make a decision.  Should we risk Coucal and Middle Sunrise Lugga Crossings, or go all the way around, generally a more conservative route, but a way that would take at least another couple hours and therefore possibly be even more treacherous with the continued rain?  I voted for going around, but Wilson was certain we could make Coucal.  So he went as I prayed.  It was deep, and water swooshed over the hood of the car, making us curse and pray harder.  But Wilson was right; we went through it surprisingly easily.  We also made it through Sunrise Lugga.  Very nearly getting stuck in the driveway, which would have been unbearably insulting, we finally returned to our anxious friends in camp.  It was nothing short of a miracle.  Thank God/Allah/Krishna/the Great Spirit/Jesus/Nature/the intercession of Siddartha and Mother Mary for Wilson. 

The camp paths were flowing creeks, and we sloshed back to our tents following dinner, subsiding adrenaline and digestion awakening utmost fatigue.  The rain had become very light, but everywhere was dripping wet.  Our tents are supposed to be our dry refuges, somewhere we go to get away from the ever permeating wet and settle into our comfortable beds with dry socks on and warm Maasai blankets pulled up to our chins as we read before bed and listen to the sounds of the wilderness.  Every time this was violated during my stay, I felt as though I had no shelter.   So it was very unpleasant that night when I returned to a flood in my tent.  Apparently my tarp wasn’t holding its own, because the entire portion above my bed was sagging with water, dripping through the canvas ceiling and resulting in puddles on the floor around my bed and under my desk.  Thank goodness my laptop and camera equipment remained dry, but a couple books and clothes were wet.  Overall not bad, and I had to laugh.  I pushed off the water from underneath, dried the floor as best I could with my shower towel, and removed the top blanket on my bed, which was damp.  Then I stuffed things in my duffel for Nairobi, and cuddled into bed, wet things draped over my desk chair.  The short rains had arrived.