Hippo therapy - Zambia

It's not every day a hippo wakes you with its noisy chewing or an elephant threatens to mow you down. But then a Zambian safari on foot is not exactly your average walk in the park

THE elephant, standing alone on the far side of a dry water hole, seems benign enough. If she sees the red mist she'll have to cover a lot of ground to reach us, and even if she does decide to charge, she looks, to the untutored eye, cumbersome enough to dodge.

To the trained eye, however, it is time to retreat discreetly into the bush. Our guide, New Zealander Bryan Jackson, has picked up the danger signals – the first flap of the ears, then a lumbering pace forward.

"Come on, come on," he whispers urgently. We don't hesitate. It has been drummed into us, on this walking safari in Zambia's vast South Luangwa National Park, that such instructions must be obeyed instantly.

Batewell, our accompanying scout, is carrying a .375 calibre hunting rifle, but he will only fire it as a last resort and will aim to kill only if a warning shot has failed. In any case, we are not keen to test its efficacy. If the elephant comes on regardless, we could still be in trouble. "They can turn on a sixpence. She'd have you," says Jackson.

In the open vehicles most commonly used on safari, you are, to some extent, insulated from the surrounding wilderness. On foot you are exposed to it, with no engine noise to drown the sounds of the bush. It's not that you get any closer to the wildlife but, as just another bunch of creatures moving slowly across the landscape, you become part of their environment. There is a need for constant vigilance but, such is the expertise of Jackson and his colleagues, a faint feeling of vulnerability, probably advisable as a guard against complacency, never gives way to anxiety.

We have been walking between and around three camps run by Remote Africa Safaris, which also does conventional game drives. The company is aptly named. At its main base, Tafika, the remoteness is immediately palpable. At its two smaller camps, Crocodile River and Chikoko, the feeling is intensified, as they are accessible only on foot.

Tafika is an hour's flight by turboprop from the Zambian capital, Lusaka, to the small town of Mfuwe, followed by a two-hour drive on dirt roads. Lying by the wide Luangwa River, Tafika is home to the densest hippo population in Africa, and from one vantage point alone I see 36. One comes up the bank in the night, to chew the cud noisily by our hut.

All three camps, where accommodation is comfortable without removing the sense of adventure, have to be largely rebuilt after each rainy season, when the grass thatch and maize stalks used for roofs and walls become sodden and insect-infested. The food – Tafika has a magnificent garden in which a rich variety of fruit and vegetables are grown – is outstanding.

Days begin early – at 6am – with breakfast eaten around a fire if temperatures are low, and by 7.15am you set off on the morning walk. Itineraries vary according to the guests' fitness and enthusiasm, but we are out for five hours at a stretch and the ground, often comprising sun-baked mud pitted with elephant prints, can be difficult.

However, there are plenty of stops to look at plants and trees, watch lovebirds thronging between shrubs in green and crimson clouds, or lilac-breasted rollers performing aerobatics. One day another guide, South African Greg Patrick, calls our attention to a tiny scops owlet, perfectly camouflaged among leaves and branches. It takes me probably five minutes of concentrated peering through binoculars to locate what he has spotted with the naked eye.

The main break is in the mid-morning, at the edge of a lagoon. Moffat, whom survival expert Ray Mears would love, brings up the rear of the group with tea-making equipment. He makes fire by revolving a stick from a large-leaved skunk bush in a hole chiselled from a piece of Natal mahogany until it is hot enough to set a dry crumbling of elephant dung smouldering.

While we wait for the water to boil, we watch a pied kingfisher dive like an arrow into the lagoon. A crocodile snaps up a spur-winged goose and slides off with it, the bird's feather still visible above the surface. One morning we watch an airborne army of yellow-billed storks arriving in seemingly inexhaustible numbers to scoop up fish and fly back with them to feed their young at an extraordinary breeding colony in trees that are snow-white with droppings.

We learn that it is not just animals that can be dangerous. Don't linger under the sausage tree (Kigelia africana), we are warned. Its fruit, from whose shape it gets its name, is used to make a form of beer, but since it weights up to ten kilos it delivers a much bigger punch if it drops on your head.

Lunch is followed by a siesta, with time to read or doze. At Chikoko, where we sleep in tree houses by a creek, the temptation is to take advantage of the elevation and scan the bush. After more tea, in the late afternoon, there is a second walk.

This is the most stunning time of day. The long light catches a herd of leaping impala. Dry earth and dull scrub take on pastel shades. It's easy to imagine predators shaking off the coils of sleep and stretching in anticipation of the hunt. And if you strike lucky, you may not even need to exercise the imagination.

As we return to Chikoko one evening at dusk, Batewell spots three lionesses barring our route back to camp. When Patrick says he isn't sure what to do, my wife tenses, thinking he is worried about our safety, but he means he doesn't know how we can get a closer look. After pondering tactics, he whispers to us to walk quietly, crouching below the line of a dry lagoon bank, until we are only 50 metres or so away.

They look us up and down and then, as if deciding disdainfully that we will make a poor dinner, stalk off deliberately into the gathering gloom. We are privileged to watch them only briefly, perhaps for less than a minute, but in the mental file of experiences it seems much longer.

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