Down to the coast

 A trip to the Northern Cape (for birders) is incomplete without the inclusion of the 140km drive from Springbok down to the coast to visit the small fishing town of Port Nolloth. This would be my first visit to this remote area where diamond mining from boats is the main activity, vacuumed from the undersea gravel beds by highly trained deep-sea divers. A high-pressure job if ever there was one.

As always, an early start was required to reach the birding site in the dunes at sunrise, and it was still dark as we left Springbok, passing the industrial area just outside town before heading into the fairly gentle hills on the descent from the plateau. Eventually the rising sun tinged the peaks pink and orange, and we were able to enjoy the scenery as it changed from hills to more open lands.

There was little to see in the form of wildlife or birds and we concentrated on getting to our destination as quickly as possible within the bounds of law-abiding speed limits - a great fuel saver if you don't exceed 100km/h. We knew we were approaching the coast as the first signs of fog appeared in the low-lying valleys - of course we had not considered the fog factor! The west coast is notorious for fog being on the icy Atlantic Ocean fed by the icier Benguela Current that sweeps up from the Southern Ocean via Cape Point. And so we drove...

True to form, we arrived in a pea soup, allowing for little viewing of the landscape, and we drove straight out of the northern edge of town to the dunes where we were hoping to find the - wait for it - Dune Lark. Having a pin for the location is absolutely invaluable when going to an unfamiliar area to search for a Little Brown Job, and foggy dunes dotted with low scrub would test the Frazzled Birder's observational skills. But that's what birding is about, and the rewards are great when it all works out.

As happens in the fog, the rising of the sun can change everything in an instant, and in no time a fogbow appeared. Ten minutes later, it was a different story, and sunshine warmed our backs as we toiled across the dunes, looking and listening. Like magic, the bird appeared, followed by another - no doubt its mate. (It is definitely breeding season, as all birds seemed to be paired wherever we went.) 

With a Cape Long-billed Lark, Karoo Lark, Rufous-eared Warbler, Trac-trac Chat and Dune Lark (coastal species) in the bag, so to speak, it was 9am and time to check out the town. Unprepossessing, damp (how not?) and salty. It didn't take long to find the little harbour, where a few boats were bobbing, unable to leave due to rough seas just outside, and the call of the hinterland was strong. Back on the road.

The Koa Dunes

 I wonder who else hasn't heard of this place, apart from us! There is a special place in the Northern Cape where the first evidence of the red dunes of the Kalahari hides down a gravel road outside Aggenys. These are the Koa Dunes, and if you obscure the surrounding landscape, you will think you are in the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park with its distinctive iron-rich red sands and sparse grass. The Kalahari stretches from Namibia all the way across the Northern Cape as far as Kimberley and surrounds and is the largest continuous stretch of sand in the world. The dunes run in the same direction and a scan of the area on Google Earth will reveal the fascinating topography.

Our target in these dunes was the Red Lark, and we spent a very pleasant few hours out in the wide open spaces observing a multitude of birds in their habitat. It was clear that nesting time approached, as the males were doing their best to attract the females, or had already paired off and aerial activity was lively. A great treat was a sighting of the vulnerable (ecologically) Tent Tortoise, so called because each of its scales eventually forms a raised point as it matures. This one was young and very shy and scuttled off as soon as we moved away. Such a privilege to see, as we only have an opportunity if they happen to be in the road.  

A particularly special experience was the appearance of a Black-eared Sparrow-lark - my bogey bird, as I have never seen it even though everyone else did! They are nomadic and not territorial, and can arrive unannounced in an instant. We were treated to the special attention of a male who repeatedly flew overhead, rising into the air and flapping its wings butterfly-like as it descended to land on the ground and shuffle around before repeating the display. He kept returning to where we were, and it was almost as though he was performing for us. There were no females nearby. So another one on my list, which is now 468 species - not bad for not being a birder and merely travelling in the slipstream of the Frazzled Birder. As a willing slipstreamer, I am able to study geology, botany, meteorology, astronomy and geography along the way, so the benefits are enormous!

The sight of the red dunes made me long for the quiet of the Kalahari, a place where the silence feeds the soul and all those who have experienced long to return to. One day.

The Koa Dunes offered so much in the way of birding that we were lured back the next day, despite the distance from Springbok, and I am sure future visits are on the cards.

A grim fairytale

 

Once upon a time, a family took a Sunday drive around the Cape Peninsula. A picnic basket with sandwiches, fruit and a flask of tea was packed. Near Smitswinkel Bay, a troop of baboons foraged, groomed and sunned themselves on the warm roadway. Father pulled over so the kids could see the wildlife in its natural habitat. He rolled down the window and held out a banana to see if he could get the big baboon to come closer.

Decades later, a cage is being built to keep the descendants of the troop away from the bananas on the table in the house of the great-grandchildren of those Sunday drivers.

In the intervening years, I have spent 45 on the urban fringe, observing the changing behaviour of the baboons from mostly disinterested passers-by to sometimes an aggressive and generally traumatised, fragmented and lost troop.

No more the squealing and scampering of young baboons in the evening light as the sinking sun warms their cliff-top sleeping site, with the disciplinary bark of the alpha male calling his family to order before nightfall.

No more the recumbent baboon on the neighbour’s roof enjoying a moment of quiet contemplation as he watches the breath-taking sunset of late summer.

No more the lightning raid through the front door, eyes fixed with intent on the fruit bowl before snatching a handful and escaping through the side door to enjoy the booty while I doze on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

The change came when they found they were not threatened by the presence of people and were actively receiving overtures of friendship. In particular, it seemed that the males would no longer react to attempts by women to chase them from a home raid, but still regarded men as figures of authority. Baboons are exceptionally intelligent and pass on all the knowledge they acquire, but unlike humans, are unable to unlearn or distinguish between right and wrong (my observation). Having learned where to find high-calorie food with minimal effort, they have chosen fast food over foraging – something we can all identify with.

The problem is that they remain wild animals, and our interactions should therefore remain respectful of the limitations of their ability to understand the terms ‘ownership’, ‘right of admission reserved’, ‘do not steal’ and ‘do not show any aggression when confronted’. Food remains food and a baboon who is separated from his meal becomes defensive, which surely applies to us as well.

Man’s propensity to harm anything that infringes on his right to a comfortable existence has led to despicably cruel acts towards animals by people who possess no emotional intelligence. The use of bear bangers, firecrackers, pellet guns and even bullets are all intended to frighten and disperse. Add to that the hysterical screams and barking dogs and chaos ensues. Again, in the belief that Man is higher in the chain of importance, it is decided that the baboons are the problem and must be dealt with in human terms. Removal from society is recognised as the punishment for criminals. A cage for animals is a prison for them. Because Man cannot be trained to be responsible for his own actions, to clean up his waste, close doors and windows at appropriate times and learn a little about nature and interaction with wild animals, the solution is always to deal with the results and not the symptoms.

The clock can never be turned back. The banana cannot be put back in the picnic basket. Man’s obsession with feeding wild animals cannot be cured. The result will always be detrimental to the animals.

A cage is no solution. There is no solution except what Man wants.