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Phinda Private Game ReserveA Winner in More Ways Than OneBy Wendy Windebank“Duck!” shouts Gavin, our ranger. We look avidly for some exotic species, only to realize it’s an urgent command to avoid huge spider webs, strung between trees and festooned with menacing Halloween-size spiders. Shortly thereafter, a low-slung web covers Gavin’s face only to be nonchalantly wiped away, the arachnid casually disposed of with a flick of his finger. These strong and lightweight webs are being harvested by a company making bulletproof vests. It’s February and I am visiting Phinda (pronounced Pin-da) Private Game Reserve, a jewel in the crown of Conservation Corporation Africa. CCAfrica, as it is known, has 25 safari lodges in Botswana, Kenya, Namibia, South Africa, Tanzania and Zimbabwe. But let’s focus on South Africa’s Maputuland area in KwaZulu-Natal. Tucked in its northeastern corner, Phinda, a Natural Heritage Site since 1995, meanders over 42,000 acres and seven ecosystems, offering tempting lodging options (all are members of Small Luxury Hotels of the World) and a varied wildlife experience. Their Forest Lodge, completed in 1993, offers 16 Zen-like glass chalets suspended in a unique sand forest habitat, an easy first choice for me over their Vlei, Rock and Mountain Lodges. Conservation Corporation Africa has been awarded Conde Nast Traveler’s 2000 Ecotourism Award in the Destination category. Since the 1940s, Phinda’s land had been ravaged by years of misuse, its wildlife thinned in favor of crops and cattle. But, in the ‘90s, CCAfrica introduced more than 1,500 animals (appropriately, Phinda means “The Return” in Zulu) making wildlife and rural lands financially rewarding by promoting natural resources and conservation. Locals are employed, trained and educated by CCAfrica. Small businesses flourish and a newly established clinic serves 11,000 people. A 12-seater Cessna
transports us from Richards Bay where I’m greeted by Anton, my driver to
Forest Lodge, with his loaded 375 rifle and open landrover. As we trundle
along bumpy roads passing giant torchwood trees with buttressed trunks,
baboons and warthogs scamper across the veldt. Anton giggles as the heavy
oblong fruit of a sausage tree swipes my shoulder. Half an hour later we
swing into the shady entrance of Forest Lodge.
Over a lunch of juicy impala meatballs and barbecued chicken, I share my home baked bread with a black-eyed bulbul, which flits to and from an overhanging wattle tree. The deck of the main chalet has been built around indigenous trees; in fact the whole lodge is low impact and unobtrusive. A community team of over 200 Zulu people were contracted for construction boosting the local economy; and to minimize the damage on this delicate sand forest environment, great care was taken to cart all the building materials in on wheelbarrows. Low-density, high-quality tourism with integrated care – care of their guests and care of local communities – is CCAfrica’s lofty aim. Game drives are morning and evening and our group of new arrivals has been assigned to bush maven Gavin, and Erin, his tracker who sits upfront on the landrover. This unique habitat is home to shy red duikers (tiny antelopes), which munch between the trees. Like kamikaze humming birds, golf-ball sized dung beetles whir above our heads. “Happy Box” cocktails and shaved biltong (jerky) are offered beside a small lily-covered pan as darkness descends over the reflective stillness. A cacophony crescendos with poppings in the water by bubbling kassina frogs and the piercing whistles of male painted reed frogs. In the voodoo twilight, two cheetah saunter within a few feet of the landrover followed by Gavin’s “cherry on the top at Phinda”: we come up behind a leopard, centered in Erin’s spotlight, which continues, unconcerned, to mark his territory in an ungainly fashion with squirts of urine. Phinda offers a vast
variety of different activities over and above the game drives and bush
walks I decide on the
“Mkuzi Black Rhino Trail” which sounds more adventurous than the deep
sea fishing trip, scuba or birding safari, Zulu cultural village visit, or
wilderness flight. However, it is not an option Flooding has washed away part of the road between Phinda and the
adjacent Mkuzi Reserve, making the black rhino inaccessible. Unfazed,
Gavin offers me the choice of tracking buffalo, elephant or white rhino on
foot at Phinda.
Through parted grass, I catch my first glimpse of the dominant lead female – a humungous dun-colored creature – head down, grazing sluggishly towards us. We stalk left to a safer vantage point as a hyena cries from rustling vegetation. The lumbering herd of about 40 animals browse between acacia trees. Two males spar with their menacing helmets of huge horns (called bosses) clacking together. A red-brown calf sidles up to its mother; a youth wallows from side to side in a shallow pool of muddy water; tails swish; loud snorts continue. These African buffalo (not to be confused with the Asian water buffalo or North American bison) fared well south of the Sahara before 1890, but rinderpest, a cattle virus, nearly exterminated them. This herd is disease-free thanks to rigorous and expensive testing. Their ecological importance stems from their breaking up and fertilizing the soil as they graze, aiding seed germination; and the trampling of their heavy hooves smashes old growth, allowing new. A stillness settles and I
embrace this God-given moment, enveloped in an exquisite and peaceful
synchronization with nature.
Bushwhacking back to the landrover, Frazer offers tidbits of biodiversity: the fine-leaved stalks of the wattle tree are the bush’s answer to toilet tissue (“always check first for softness as there’s a look alike with thorns!”); aardvarks can bury themselves in soft sand in 30 seconds with their strong forearms; the African Monarch feeds on the poisonous milkweed plant giving them protection from predators. Breakfast includes prickly pear fruit, after which my monastic haven beckons. A family of three gray vervet monkeys perches on the patio railing, the baby clinging protectively to its mother’s underbelly. I give the male two apples and he tucks one under his armpit, the other handheld; and the three of them disappear silently, melding into the sylvan background. I wonder about my muddy clothes, already at the lodge’s laundry – will they be raided by hyena and baboon as they dangle on the line (a warning the laundry form advises of this possibility)? The animals have assumed a comical anthropoid spirit and, while showering, I wonder if I’m being observed by the haunted eyes of invisible primates. On our afternoon drive we
scatter a flock of crested guinea fowl as a small herd of bachelor
impalas, outcasts of the dominant male, stare quizzically. “Better cell
phone reception!” Gavin quips as we comment on the female warthog’s
upright tail.
With sunset cocktails in hand, we cruise the Mzinene river, slowly being morphed into “birders” with sightings of purple herons, weaver bird nests, reed cormorants and Malachite kingfishers flashing turquoise-silver. African Jacanas, otherwise known as the Jesus Christ birds, run across water lily pads, their long toes spreading weight. Clusters of white cattle egrets settle in the reeds using their knee-locking devices to perch on the vertical stems. s we return to camp under indigo skies, nightjars, absorbing the warmth of the road, fly up in front of the landrover startled by Erin’s spotlight. Last night’s menu was ostrich neck stew, but tonight we savor kudu (buck) grilled on open flames, served in the outdoor reeded “boma.” The candlelight casts evocative shadows as jovial story swapping of the day’s events continues over mellow Cape wine. Flashlight in hand, a guide escorts me along the path to the accompaniment of chattering crickets. As if by magic, the morning drive delivers our last wish: lion. On an open grassy plain called “Little Serengeti” are two dominant males (father and son) and a female in estrous. Recently, the son had deliberately killed her cubs wanting to bring her back into a mating state; but the father has established himself as her only beau, hovering protectively, while his son remains an intimidated background observer. My last hour is spent floating on my bed in the forest. The pathway is empty, the vlei bare, the forest silent. There are only yellow butterflies and diaphanous-winged dragonflies outside my window, dancing to the mysterious rhythms of Africa’s ancient heart. Photographs by Wendy Windebank For Further Information:Lodging Options: Phinda Forest Lodge Conservation Corporation |
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My glass-walled chalet is
tucked away with total privacy at the end of its own narrow sandy pathway
overlooking a small grassy plain (or vlei) with grazing nyala deer graze.
Steps lead up to a wooden patio and I open large shoji-like doors into a
restful and uncluttered bedroom hugged by the forest. A cool slate floor
leads into the bathroom which transmutes from glass into the dappled
shadows and lichen-covered branches beyond. Feelings of peace and
seclusion sweep over me. 
African buffalo! This
could be my chance to discover if, as old hunters’ tales recount, they
are Africa’s most dangerous mammals. Or, on the other hand, are they
merely peaceful grazers? At 5.30 a.m., the symbiotic duo of Frazer, the
ranger, and Norm, his African tracker, drive me to a distant water pan
surrounded by grassland and distinctive lala palms. Norm, a master of scatology, picks up buffalo droppings and spoor
on a muddy track under the watchful eyes of nearby zebra and giraffe. Ever vigilant, the two exchange knowing looks and nods,
confirming that the herd is somewhere ahead. Frazer shakes his wind
detection device - an old sock filled with ash - to confirm our upwind
position. A marsh terrapin follows us briefly as we squelch through muddy
tracks into hip-high grass, senses afire. Frazer takes off his bush hat
and cups an ear forward. On cue, a loud grunt penetrates the warm air. My
adrenaline boost kicks in with a soundless Munchian scream. Buffalo!
Omigosh!
My reverie is broken with
Frazer’s nudge: time to move. As we shuffle through the bush, the
beasties spot us. Will they charge? Will they ruminate? It’s a perfect
telescopic photo opportunity and, as I view their large faces close-up, I
am perfectly comfortable in the company of these, yes, placid mammals. 
Suddenly Erin’s hand
signals the driver to stop. In the slanting golden afternoon light, two
cheetahs are regally seated on a branch 20 yards away – the stuff of
which dreams are made.