DRAKENSBERG
KwaZulu-Natal South Africa
Mountain of the Dragons
South
Africa’s mightiest mountain range with its spear-like peaks – reminiscent of
the saw-toothed spine of a gigantic dragon.
Where Adventure beckons..........
DRAKENSBERG WILDERNESS PHOTOS © WILLEM PELSER
"In the Drakensberg Wilderness it is the momentary carelessness in easy places, the lapsed attention, or the wandering look that is the usual parent of disaster.”
UNKNOWN
DRAKENSBERG MOUNTAINS
A Primitive Battle
A story from long ago, when the Drakensberg Wilderness was still really very wild, long before the arrival of so-called civilization……….
Bright sunshine was already filling the valley when the Bushman came out of his cave. He had not slept until it was almost morning. He had remained on guard the whole night as a lion had tried again ad again to enter his cave. Once he had saved himself only by flinging coals of the fire into the lion’s face. His first act now was to drag several heavy logs to his cave as props to strengthen his door against further possible attacks. This done, he overhauled his bow and arrows, being particularly careful to apply fresh poison to the tips of the latter. He knew that the lion, no matter how hungry, would lie up during the greater part of the day.
He was about to go and collect food from the forest when his attention was attracted by the sudden appearance of a troop of baboons on some large rocks at the bottom of the cliff, about thirty yards away.
This troop, the very large majority of which had certainly never seen a human being before his coming, had appeared on the cliff above his cave the very first day of his arrival, and had been constant visitors since. It seemed as if their curiosity would never be satisfied, but an additional attraction was the remains of his food which he left lying outside. By this time they had become so used to the Bushman and so fearless that even the babies toddled, played and gamboled without the protection of their mothers within twenty yards of them, while the old males sat around chattering about this strange creature. The Bushman was always glad to see them, not only because of their company, but also because he knew that, while they were about, he was surrounded by the keenest scouts in the world. Not so much as the ear or tail of a lion or leopard would show within miles without their knowing it and giving the alarm.
Neither the Bushman nor any of his forefathers had ever killed or eaten a baboon, since they believed that the baboons were human like themselves, though of a lower type. And as he sat there watching the idle lot, there was nothing in their gestures, antics or appearance that could alter his believe. A youngster would annoy an adult and be heartily slapped. If it happened to be his mother who had punished him, he would fly to a friend for protection, or to an older sister or brother, and his appeal was never refused. His kind protector would embrace him tightly, and then they would have the pleasure of searching each other for fleas. When time dragged some old male would doze off where he sat, with hands on knees and head hanging on one side. Then he looked very much like an old Bushman who had passed a bad night. A group of females would talk excitedly about what appeared to be the latest love scandal or domestic problem.
It was almost midday when the baboon suddenly decided to go. Even their leave-taking was very much like that of the Bushman. It took place in complete silence.
Then the Bushman took up his weapons, skin bag, and digging stick to go forth on his expedition to find food. He had in mind a certain place on the plateau, about three miles away, where he knew of a supply of food. Breaking into a stiff trot he reached it in an unbelievable short space of time. On his return journey he followed a somewhat different route. He went along high ground and cliffs which overlooked the valley. Suddenly he heard a sharp cry which he recognized as that of a baboon in distress. There followed a moment’s silence and then a great uproar broke loose. The hoarse barking’s of older males and the shrill cries of the youngsters were the chief notes in the strange confusion of sound. It came from a kloof some two hundred yards to the left, full of large loose boulders with mountain bushes growing between. Leaving his food and everything but his weapons, he hurried swiftly in the direction from which the sounds came. As he came out at a point overlooking the narrow kloof, a scene met his eyes that immediately rooted him to the spot.
Standing in a green patch of grass over the dead body of an adult baboon was the lion. He was ringed round on all sides by a raging and wildly excited mob of baboons. The males were close in, while far out on the rocks the females and youngsters remained out of harm’s way. The small yellow face of the Bushman grew pale with hate and rage. At last he was about to meet his enemy on what he felt to be equal terms. The gleam in his eye boded the lion no good. He measured the distance with his eye. It was too far to shoot. He would have to halve the distance at least. He knew that the lion was not troubled by the nearness of the baboons. Before going nearer, however, he waited to find out whether the lion intended to remove the victim before it started to devour it or not. Presently the lion lay down and placed a paw on the soft belly of the baboon. Having learned what he wanted to know the Bushman immediately retraced his steps. Then he took a round-about which would bring him to the lower end of the kloof, within sixty yards of the unsuspecting lion.
As he was moving round the steep face of the hill into the kloof a female baboon caught sight of him. In a few seconds she had, in some mysterious baboon way, told the whole troop of the Bushman’s approach. This knowledge spurred them on as the sight of their master would spur on a pack of dogs. By an unerring instinct they knew that the Bushman was their ally. As he approached the spot from which he intended to begin his attack, the baboons hardly moved out of the way. The ring around the lion had suddenly become smaller. When he reached the slight rise for which he was making, he could clearly see it bunched over the dead baboon, intent on its meal.
After once more casting his eyes over the ground, the Bushman sank quietly from view. With great care he chose one arrow from the rest, and then placed two others beside him on the rock from which he intended to shoot. Quietly and swiftly he made his preparations. In a few seconds he was kneeling with arrow fixed and bow held at the ready.
A bright sun was shining and there was no wind. Both of these were in his favour. The baboons, grown bolder, were approaching closer and closer to the lion. In a fury of annoyance it rose to frighten them off. At this moment, from sixty yards away there came the harp-like twang of a bowstring, a sound that for centuries had been the sweetest of all music to Bushman ears. The direction of the arrow was perfect, but to the Bushman it seemed to fly too high. At the last moment, however, the heavy bone-tip speeded up the downward curve of the flight of the arrow, and it landed with a barely audible thud on the flank of the lion.
With a roar the surprised animal swung round, and in a moment had torn away the arrow, all except the barbed and poisoned bone tip. Then, as the Bushman fitted the second arrow to the string, the movement caught its eye and its anger, aroused by the baboons, was turned to fury by the pain of the wound, and it rushed forward at its little yellow enemy.
But the Bushman was prepared for this. He knew that the lion could easily reach him where he now sat. He fled to a sloping ledge in the cliff, closely followed by the angry beast. Close on the heels of the lion followed a horde of baboons.
Finding the Bushman out of reach, the lion turned upon the jabbering baboons. No sooner had it turned when a second arrow was lodged in its neck. This the lion tried in vain to reach with its teeth.
The Bushman had another arrow in his hand, but he did not intend making use of it. He knew that the mixture of snake venom and amaryllis juice with which his arrow tips were coated was so deadly that the lion’s fate was sealed. It was not long before the effect of the poison began to show itself. The lion’s fury subsided. Its attitude of proud defiance changed. Before long it walked off towards a patch of thick shrub, closely followed by the excited and abusive baboons.
Still the Bushman did not stir from his place of safety in the cliff. He knew that his friends would not for a moment lose sight of the common enemy. Carelessly, he stretched himself out along the ledge. He noticed that the baboons who were perched about on the rocks had quietened down considerably. After about an hour, he came down the cliff boldly and climbed on to a rock. From there he could see the lion as it lay in the shade of a small tree.
He had some stones in his hand and flung these at the lion. It rose tottering to its feet while big white flakes of froth oozed from its mouth. It stumbled on for a few yards, and then collapsed, never to rise again. Ten minutes later it was dead.
Then the Bushman came up close behind it and gave it a light kick on the back to make doubly sure. An old baboon nearby, sitting with his hands on his knees, yawned and looked over his shoulder. The others were already on the march. Swinging around slowly, the old one followed lazily in their wake.
We as hikers, explorers, and
adventurers have the absolute duty to respect and protect our Wildernesses.
Nobody else will do it for us. Take ownership!
The End.
Safe Hiking.
References and Acknowledgements
From the book – Land of distant Horizons – Victor Pohl
Photos: ©Willem Pelser
Compiled by: Willem Pelser
