Ann of Africa and the bushman visited the delta a couple of times at the turn of the century, during which we were captivated by its kaleidoscope of land, water, birds, and wildlife from the air, on land and in the swamps. We shared our experiences in articles we wrote for magazines like Leisure Wheels and Caravan and Outdoor at the time.
The distance from Nah-tah to Maun along the Oh-kah-vung-go’s southern boundary is three hundred kilometres and from Maun to Shakawe up its western boundary, it is a further 370 kilometres.
Shakawe lies on the top of the panhandle on the Caprivi border of Nah-mib-ee-ah. It is at this point that the Oh-kah-vung-go River, which flows from the Central Angola Highlands for over 1,600 kilometres, pushes over eleven million cubic kilometres of water out via hundreds of streams across a staggering fifteen thousand square kilometres until the water finally disappears into the sands of the Kah-lah-hah-ree Desert.
The Oh-kah-vung-go Delta is the home of the largest concentration of wildlife on the continent. It is both a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the seven natural wonders of Africa. It certainly rivals the Serengeti. The delta is very flat, with less than two metres variation in height across its fifteen thousand square kilometre expanse, while the water drops about sixty metres from Shakawe to Maun. In those days, Maun was a dusty frontier town where tourists, scientists, explorers, historians, and conservationists mingled in an atmosphere of opportunity and adventure.
The town provided a base from where supplies could be bought for expeditions deep into the delta, the Kah-lah-hah-ree, and the Moremi, the latter of which takes up most of the eastern boundary between Maun and Kah-sah-neh.
We bumped into a few of the friendly folk in a local pub at the Sedia Hotel and on one occasion we couldn’t get out until the early hours of the next morning, when we stumbled our way back to camp on the banks of the Thamalakane River.
We got lost in the Moremi, of course. Four of us had entered the reserve early one morning and made our way along kilometres of waterways, encountering various game as we ventured deeper into the bush. The thing about Moremi is that unlike its commercialized counterparts further south, its wild. I mean really wild. There are restrictions as to the number of visitor permits that are issued at any given time in order to limit the number of people in the park, so the likelihood of encountering other people is also remote. There are no organized camps. Nor rules, as such. You basically take your chances inside and outside your vehicle and are expected to adopt a cautious and intelligent approach to your visit.
Camp sites comprise open clearings in the bush. Campers are intuitively primed to remain alert for elephant or jackal, or the odd passing pack of hyena or lion that may wander into a camp site in search of a scrumptious morsel or two. Equally there are no signs to help you find the nearest restaurant or Coke dispensing machines. Once you enter, you must make do with whatever you have with you, and find your own way out! Anyway, thank heavens for the good old Garmin and the ability to backtrack along the route we had come from.
Maun, reputedly, is the largest and busiest airport on the continent, with so many light aircraft flying to and from remote locations deep inside the delta, as well as providing jaunts out for the likes of us to take in aerial views of the swamps and its herds of roaming game. It is the gateway to the Oh-kah-vung-go, Moremi, and the Mah-gah-dee-gah-dee, as well as offering cross-border flights into Nah-mib-ee-ah and South Africa.
On one occasion, we took our friends Ken and Inge to the airport for a scenic flight, and while delayed we discovered a cafe that made the best chips ever. We had been away from fast-food shops for quite a while, so the prospect of a bag of fresh chips was too good to pass up on. And the brief interlude stood us well as we somewhat nervously took to the skies in a single-engine piper and a pilot with a mischievous sense of humour.
In Shakawe we were able to spend some days on the river, tiger fishing and bird watching. African skimmers, white-backed heron, long-toed plover, green-backed herons, fish eagles, water dikkops, white-fronted bee-eaters, brightly coloured carmine bee-eaters that fly in from Europe in their thousands every year, are present in abundance. We also saw the elusive and rare Pels fishing owl.
In the Caprivi Strip, just north of Shakawe, the Oh-kah-vung-go River crosses an extensive sill of quartzite and separates into many smaller channels at Popa Falls, a place where the SA Defence Force established one of its bases during the South African Border War. Popa Falls is not a waterfall in the traditional sense, but more a sequence of rapids of around a thousand metres wide. But it becomes quite dramatic during the rainy season when the water from the north pushes its way through the falls into the narrow panhandle and out into the marshlands of the delta.
There is an old recruitment office in Shakawe on the banks of the panhandle that belonged to the Employment Bureau of Africa (TEBA). It was here, and at similar trading posts located around Southern Africa, that the South African mining industry recruited thousands of miners from the region to work the gold and platinum mines on the Witwatersrand. We were privileged to be invited by the TEBA management of the day to stay at Shakawe, as well as their Kosi Bay camp on Mozambique’s southerly border during the 1990s as part of a group of fishermen who were later were to become the infamous Team Smelly Fingers.
These were male-only fishing expeditions, during which we got to make our way by boat through narrow waterways to numerous small islands, ever mindful of the crocodiles and hippo, and fascinated by the abundance of local and visitor birds that are found in the area, as well as being challenged by the very strong and aggressive tiger fish that inhabit the river.
There was an occasion when Ann and I were touring, that I decided to go tiger fishing on my own. I hired the services of a chap and his makoro (dugout canoe) to take me through the waterways to a rocky outcrop. Here, he dropped me off with my tackle and lunch box with an agreement to come and collect me later that afternoon.
The rocky outcrop presented an ideal fishing spot. There was a section of rock that stuck out over the water, and it was elevated about a metre or so above the river level. It was here that I started casting into the river with a tiger spool and commenced the process of winding in the line, in anticipation of a tiger fish strike. This went on for an hour or so as I enjoyed the peaceful, sun-soaked surroundings with the sounds of birds all around.
I was having a really pleasant time, even though I hadn’t caught anything, when all of a sudden the tail of a massive crocodile came out of the water and swiped across the rock I was on. It was so close that my legs were drenched with the spray of the water, and I felt the wind rush of its tail through the air. Had I been a bit closer to the edge, I would have been swept off the rock into the water. It was time to re-evaluate my position. It was a close call indeed, and another demonstration of the violent danger that lies beneath the exquisite beauty of Africa.
Foot-and-mouth disease is an ever-present threat in northern Bohts-wah-nah, and on the roads that lead in and out of these areas we encountered control gates where we had to stop for inspection. All of the shoes on board had to be dipped in a foot dip and the vehicle had to be driven through a dip trench to disinfect the tyres. Any dairy and meat products in our possession were confiscated, even if sealed in their original packaging.
At the beginning of our travels, Ann of Africa, being the discerning lady that she is, packed a wide selection of shoes for every occasion. On this trip she had to unpack her collection and dip them, one by one into the dip mat. She took an executive decision that she would only pack a pair of spare takkies going forward.
On another occasion, in the company of our friends, we were leaving Nah-mib-ee-ah at the far eastern point of the Caprivi Strip to cross back into Bohts-wah-nah when we had stop at a foot-and-mouth checkpoint on the border. This time around we were prepared and all that was left in the van were a couple of yogurts. Ken and I decided that instead of handing them over, we would eat them while standing in the morning sunshine.
Although the Oh-kah-vung-go offers luxury private lodges and river cruise houseboats, with all the benefits expected of five-star treatment, including personal guides, it is also perfect for adventurers who seek the rugged, untamed African bush.