South African solitude

The plight of the African rhino is well known, perhaps slightly overshadowed by that of the elephant, but common knowledge none the less. Our first trip to South Africa and we, somewhat reluctantly, shunned the world-famous Kruger in favour of the lesser known Hluhluwe-iMfolozi – a park renowned for its rhino conservation.

It was the middle of the day and, as any Saffer will tell you, probably the worst time to head off in search of wildlife. We didn’t care. We’d been in Hluhluwe for three days already and seen everything you could hope for and more.

Two hours into our sweltering self-drive and we pulled up beside a gated walkway, bordered on both sides by mesh-type netting. We knew it led to a bird hide and so - keen to stretch our legs - hopped out. The lack of cars made it clear we were the only twitchers.

As we approached the hide we heard something, but it wasn’t coming from ahead and it certainly wasn’t a bird. Backtracking, we crept along the wall of netting until we located a tear in the fabric.

A small, muddy wallow. Before it – stock still, alert, listening intently – a male white rhinoceros. Mere metres from us.

Several minutes passed during which he scanned his immediate surroundings and we imitated statues to the best of our ability.

His ears remained pricked until - I assume - he felt he was completely alone. Only then did he cautiously approach the waters edge and lower himself down.

We watched him for as long as our exposed skin could withstand the midday sun. There was no wind and there were no birds. Maybe there were and I failed to hear. All I hear when I think back are the deep and gentle breaths of an animal completely at peace.

It was not the first rhino I’d seen and I’ve seen many since. Yet whenever I hear of the threats facing wildlife, I think back to that moment and wonder if he’s safe.