Every now and then you come across an area so beautiful and
so unexplored you feel like the first person to discover it. Stephanie Debere
ventures into one such haven in a remote corner of Zimbabwe.
Emerging on horseback from dense
bamboo thickets, brushing wet vegetation aside, I half expected a pterodactyl
to sweep overhead. The landscape felt primordial. Birds and baboons screeched
across the valley of thick green bush, steamy as the day warmed up following a
night’s steady rain. We seemed in a time-warp, an era before mankind
existed on the planet.
Indeed, the only signs that man had ever been
here at all were beautifully observed Bushman paintings of animals, lining
caves and rocky overhangs and estimated by archaeologists to be at least 1,000
years old. Otherwise the Mavuradona Wilderness in northeast Zimbabwe remains
free from houses, roads or even paths made by man. The best way to explore is
on horseback, following elephant trails through rocky hills and alongside
hurrying streams that sustain the area’s game year-round.
Mavuradona means “land of falling water” in the local Shona dialect.
The hills, a stretch of the mineral-rich Great Dyke range that scores Zimbabwe
diagonally, from northeast to southwest, is unknown even to many Zimbabweans.
One of the country’s best kept secrets, it lies hidden above the Zambezi
Escarpment south of Cabora Bassa. “People think you’re mispronouncing
Matusadonna,” says professional guide Jane Hunt, referring to the
well-known hills south of Lake Kariba.
Fortunately, the deposits of
chrome and platinum found here are not commercially viable, and in 1988 when
human habitation threatened to encroach on the area, the government declared it
protected. In 1992 Englishman Geoffrey Carew and his wife Max won the tender to
operate safaris here. Since then, Jane, leading their horseback treks, has
opened this wilderness to scores of enthralled clients.
Their
visitors’ book reads like a directory of superlatives, with multiple
references to the Garden of Eden and Paradise—as well as sore backsides!
Flicking through it on the wooden deck of Kopje Top Lodge, you wonder what
could justify such enthusiasm. But look up, and the magnificent terrain gives
you an idea. Layers of rounded hills define the Tingwa Valley: thickly
vegetated granite slopes amid the Dyke’s olive-green baize, too
mineralised to sustain dense bush.
Kopje Top is an inspired piece of
architecture, layered like a wedding cake with open decks that form lounge,
dining room, library and a roof-top viewing point. Drinks flow freely and meals
are superb. Comfort abounds, yet the bush is delightfully present, with
tree-canopies surrounding the lodge and thatched stone sleeping huts open to
the virgin land.
As our horses were being saddled, Jane briefed us
calmly. “One piece of safety info: if an elephant’s going to charge,
you must ride as fast as possible in the direction I say. I can’t lead you
as I have to stay between you and the danger. It’s unlikely but
possible.” We tingled with anticipation.
Within minutes, the
advantages of seeing the Wilderness from horseback became obvious: a better
perspective, and the ability to cover plenty of tough ground with the serenity
and intimacy of walking. Small details of the bush enchanted us: elegant curls
of gilt-edged flame lilies, dung beetles diligently recycling nature’s
waste, yellow-winged butterflies and pink Devil-thorn flowers. “The
creeper has two pointed horns like the devil,” said Jane, “a killer
in your foot but rub the leaves with water and they make excellent bush
soap.”
The Carew Concession covers 600km2, within which lies an
astonishing variety of terrain. In meadows of silvery grass, bushpig and tiny
grysbok antelope scattered before us. Watercourses were marked by riverine
woods, including juicy young palm fronds. We leant back in the saddle as the
horses descended steep gulleys, then stood leaning forward, gripping with our
knees and holding the mane for balance as they powered up the other side.
Absolute faith in our mounts was essential and they never wavered, even when it
seemed impossible that a horseshoe could find purchase on stone so steep, or
step over roots so delicately. Carew owns mixes of race, polo and quarter
horses, which are carefully matched to their rider’s abilities, expert or
novice.
We lunched amid hundreds of lizards on smooth rock in Dead
Elephant Gorge, where Jane found elephant bones when first exploring the area.
The Tingwa’s clear waters cooled us, cascading between zig-zag slabs of
rock that looked pulled apart by giants’ hands. Tiny hands have been here
too: a diminutive Bushman print alongside clear rock paintings of hyaena and
kudu.
New terrain followed: open Miombo woodland, including msasa
trees, big-leafed mhobohobo, pink Prince-of-Wales feathers, water-berry, and
mountain acacias. In a flash, I felt this was what it was like for
Africa’s first European pioneers, investigating untouched areas on
horseback, with only animal trails for pathways. Wide vistas stretching from
the top of granite kopjes confirmed the impression: nothing visible but trees
and hills; the air smelling herbal.
The birdlife, with 290 recorded
species, from martial eagles to sunbirds, is prolific. Baboon and warthogs
watched us, but the patches of bare earth which mammals lick for minerals were
quiet. “No sable today, most unusual,” said Jane.
Eland also
thrive here, as do kudu and zebra, their numbers having increased dramatically
since the area was protected and poaching controlled. Waterbuck and impala have
been completely reintroduced. Leopard are common, though shy, and you’d be
unlucky not to see elephant whilst riding. The area is a successful example of
the government’s CAMPFIRE scheme, where tourism revenue is pumped back
into the community so that local populations realise the value of game as an
economic resource and are encouraged to nurture it.
We slept beneath a
towering granite cliff at Bat Caves Camp, in bamboo and thatch huts opening
onto thick bush. Peppermint green lichen hugged the tree-trunks, the surest
sign of the health of this pristine ecosystem. When air becomes tainted, lichen
is the first to die, explained Jane.
A wild location, but we were
spared no comforts, with hot bucket showers, long drop loos, and beef curry and
wine. Jane built the camp with imagination and available natural materials: the
dining seats are craftily hewn logs; candle-holders are chunky elephant
vertebrae. A river rushes below, disappearing into underground tunnels,
including the eponymous bat cave, housing one of the southern hemisphere’s
largest colonies of Egyptian fruit bats.
After sundowners, we lay
outside the cave in dying light awaiting the bats’ nightly exodus in
search of ripe fruit, which they can smell three miles away. With wingspans of
60cm, long distances present no difficulties. They zoomed above us frantically,
radars clicking, among leisurely glow-worms flashing in pursuit of a mate. Jane
surprised us: “Bats are the largest order of mammals in southern
Africa”.
By next morning, I knew I would return for one of
Carew’s longer Explorer safaris which penetrate Mavuradona’s heart,
conquering the heights of the Great Dyke. Riders get the full cowboy
experience, sleeping beneath stars and washing in waterfalls, grappling to
absorb the views.
For now, I happily negotiated dense bamboo groves,
lifting the heavy poles overhead, cocooned in luxurious greenery, wet with
rain. Beyond were promising signs of elephant: trees stripped of bark and a bed
of flattened grass. How could such huge creatures master this vertiginous
terrain? “You think it’s not elephant country,” explained Jane,
“but that’s because it’s harder to lug camera equipment here
than across savannah by jeep, so it never gets filmed.”
Finally
she spotted them, like distant mobile rocks. Adrenaline surged as we began our
silent approach, according to wind direction. We found fifteen altogether,
including young, but sensing our presence, they slipped away with surprising
speed.
And that was part of Maruvadona’s beauty: the game was
unaccustomed to humans, truly wild. To come here expecting animals acclimatised
to being stared at by safari-goers is to miss the point. Here, creatures still
behave pre-historically, as if humans had never been here before.
Stephanie Debere writes for several magazines and newspapers, including The
Times and The Telegraph.
Mavuradona Factfile
In 1988 the Zimbabwe government set aside a 500km2 chunk of
the Mavuradona Range above the Zambezi Escarpment as a wilderness area and game
reserve. In this area there are a few basic bashas, but you need to take all
your own food, sleeping and cooking equipment.
Carew Safaris is the
only formal safari operation in the area. If in the area, its worth visiting
Tengenenge Shone sculpture park (see story on page 16).
There are no
flights providing access to Mavuradona. There are good tarmac roads leading
from Harare to the area, but 4WD is recommended (especially during the rainy
season) for the dirt roads in the Mavuradona itself.
