At First Charge

by Gemma Luxton (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown South Africa

My time training as a Field Guide in the South African bush was filled with wonderful, beautiful moments. Having breakfast while elephants roamed on the far side of the river, investigating our scent floating on the breeze with their long, dexterous trunks and gripping the edge of my seat, holding my breath, as the imposing form of a lioness stalked past within arms reach of our Land Rover, were definitely two of the most memorable. As part of the training that myself, and 19 others, were undertaking we would go through a stage called “Dangerous Game Week”. As it sounds, this was possibly the most perilous week we would knowingly undertake. Four days on foot, walking many kilometres, in the heat of the blazing sun or the onslaught of the summer rain, deliberately looking to cross the path of “dangerous game”. Lion, leopard, elephant, buffalo, hippo...and rhino. On the first day we woke with apprehension to the sound of the dawn chorus and hazy early morning light drifting into our tents. As we did every other morning, we all filtered into the camp kitchen to start the day with a cup of instant coffee and a rusk. We all chatted animatedly about what the day might bring, trying to both prepare and steel ourselves for anything we could be faced with. Little did we know, no amount of preparation or talking could have readied us for that afternoon. During the morning, we followed the impressive tracks of a white rhino and her calf, walking steadily and silently through fire torn land, soot and dirt coating our legs, being careful not to stand on any twigs or make any repetitive sounds. Our lead guide suddenly stopped us and motioned for us all to move towards him and crouch down behind the scant cover of a bare, fallen tree. Unknowingly, whilst tracking the white rhino, arguably the more docile of species, we had stumbled across a black rhino bull in the distance. This was the first game we had come across on foot, and could be argued as one of the more volatile. We watched him go about his day, eating the newly emerging shoots on the trees. Eventually, we backed up to a much safer distance and began to discuss what we had seen. Whilst been exciting and intense, it has also had an element of calm. At this point we left to the safety of our vehicle and searched for a new spot to track. Later that afternoon, after a light lunch and a quick midday nap, we were walking quietly through a dense patch of bush, this time deliberately following the tracks of a black rhino, when along our left side, no more than 10 metres behind the tall grass, we heard a low huffing sound. Immediately, our hearts began to race and tension crackled in the air as we recognised the distinctive noise. We kept moving forward and made a left into a more open clearing. As we continued we heard the unmistakable sound of large, heavy footfall thundering in our direction. We all froze. My everlasting memory of this moment will be of two things; looking up to see the impressive head, and subsequent horn, bounding up and down ferociously towards us. The other is the almighty noise of which our lead guide, and teacher, made in response to the rhino’s assault. He all but drowned out the sound of the charging animal, whilst waving his arms in an attempt to look as big as possible. However, what we couldn’t hear, we could feel. The effect of a 2 tonne animal charging makes the ground move, which rises through your body to your chest, where it rests heavy, beating. The defensive display our guide put on was ultimately enough to dissuade the rhino from continuing his charge. He swerved to his right, only 15 metres before reaching the first of our single file line. The whole experience was over in 30 seconds or less, yet time seemed to slow down. I knew then that I had never felt so alive in all my life as I had walking into the unknown of that first charge.