Serengeti: Following the Herd
The next morning, Masagi points toward the hills. There is a distant rumbling that I can't quite make out. Is this the sound of thunder, I am thinking. Nope, that would be the migration of wildebeest, like an army of them. I hear the occasional distinct neigh of zebras, the constant companion and co-target of the predators here in the plains, but the hooves spell out wildebeest, eager, running wildebeest. A herd with a loud, stomping, collective goal.
After that, the big cats will have their say, which is only fitting here in the Serengeti.
We return to the leopard's cave, only to find that the mother has returned and is stretching out in full view at the entrance. No sight of her cubs, although we assume they must be all right. Further down the road, there are lions, a male and a female paired off and roaming on their own. We pass a hyena's den before we spot a sudden swift movement through the grass. Through the binoculars we see a couple of cheetahs, presumably male, and not yet fully grown.
The cheetahs are trotting at a regular pace and quite clearly with a purpose. They have sighted something we haven't seen and are intent on at least taking a closer look at it. Masagi turns the Landcruiser around, sensing some action. Even at a trot, the cheetahs cover a lot of ground, so that we need the binoculars to keep up with them after regular eyesight and the wheels of the Landcruiser fail us.
Up ahead, we finally see what has attracted the cheetahs' attention. There is a lone wildebeest, a small one, sitting in the grass, in Serengeti's No Man's land. No Man's land here translates to an animal either being alone without a herd, an orphan, or an injured specimen. It also means a sudden death around every corner for the afflicted.
Once the cheetahs are within twenty yards of the wildebeest, they go into crouching mode. What the tourist would like to see here would be a prolonged chase where the cheetahs get to show off their metal and cover those one hundred or so yards in a couple of strides. The truth is that the wildebeest never has a prayer. It has enough time to jump up and run a few yards before it is tackled and quickly snuffed out. As cruel as it may look, it is just mother nature doing her thing.
Further down the road, the rains finally catch up with us, in that we are bogged down and stuck in the mud. It's unfair, really. Masagi puts the Landcruiser in reverse to give another four by four a chance to pass us. His reward is mud and more mud the more he tries to free the roaring Landcruiser. This will need some extra help.
This is duly achieved with a bit of metal cable and a jeep that happens by. We all get out of the car to lessen the weight, we add some grass beneath the wheels to improve the traction, and the Landcruiser is finally free again. Cheers erupt from the passing traffic, and Masagi winks back, glad to be back on the road.
We finally catch up with the wildebeest herd, which is a twin line cutting through the plains, each one several miles long. The zebras are along for the ride as well, although they cherrypick their trail, depending on which decisions the wildebeests' scouting department makes. A zebra is a tougher kill than a wildebeest. The back-kick of a zebra has killed scores of lions. And yet, a mile long stampeding wildebeest herd is still impressive, no matter which animal is watching it.
There are victims, of course, among the stampede. We see a couple of hyenas emerge from the tall grass, one of them with a flesh covered legbone, the other one with a long shroud of skin dangling from their mouths.
Once we ditch the wildebeest column, it's on to a watering hole with a couple of hippos and a crocodile warming themselves after the clouds finally part and the sun makes a rare appearance. The crocodile, easily the length of a small automobile, has its mouth wide open, and there are birds inside it picking its teeth. Symbiosis, pure and simple, or another way of nature saying, You help me and I won't hurt you.
The picture of the day goes to a herd of wandering giraffes. They walk slowly, and there is at least a twenty yard distance between each one, but there is confidence in their stride. These animals are Zen personified. This is what we are treated to at sunset.
The Serengeti can't be fully comprehended, I've learned, unless one has seen the dynamics of the place. This is not the 24/7 hunting and killing grounds Animal Planet will make you believe it is, at least not what we're watching. The Serengeti is lots of animals sleeping, and a lot of them grazing in a serene environment, all of this in a buildup that culminates in the interaction of the animals (friendly or not). That, or the perpetual need to move on, whether this means from personal setbacks or actual migrations.
It is simply a stunning place. I'm looking forward to a return here.
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