Wednesday, March 26, 2008

The Luangwa Valley

The Luangwa Valley is at the southern end of the east African rift valley system.

One of the continent’s least known rivers, the Luangwa with its palm fringed lagoons, winds 400 miles through the Valley to join the mighty Zambezi.

A tsetse fly and malarial zone, it is inhospitable to farmers and has traditionally been the territory of hunter-gatherers.

Historical records of the Valley began with the arrival of the Portuguese in the 16th century;

Livingstone was one of the early British explorers to cross the Luangwa River.

Slave traders from the Indian and Atlantic Oceans, of Arab, European and African origin, all preyed on its peoples.

Read more at:

http://www.liv.ac.uk/sace/research/projects/mfuwe/luangwa/index.html

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Canoeing the Luangwa

Our friends John and Carol Coppinger set off on a ten day canoeing trip to the Luangwa/ Zambezi confluence this week.

Sarah and I joined them for the first (65km) leg to Mfuwe. It was a wonderful day although a little hair raising at times as the crocodiles suddenly become very inquisitive when they see you floating past.

John has actually had one bite through the front of his canoe before!

http://livingluangwa.com/2008/03/21/canoeing-the-luangwa/

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

I lost my heart to Zambia

A trip to Luangwa Valley, Zambia proved life changing for Wild Notebook columnist Simon Barnes

I got up before dawn to say farewell. One of the great times of my life was ending. I had been here for two months, on an all-but-ruinous self-imposed sabbatical. I had stayed at the same camp on the Luangwa River in Zambia, slept in the same hut, driven the same drives and walked the same walks. Now it was over.

Outside my hut – a sort of largish laundry basket containing a bed and a table – lay the deep, hollow bed of the river. After an endless expanse of beach, you could at last make out the knee-deep trickle of the river itself: at its last gasp, waiting for rains. The camp had to be dismantled that day, before the rains came, and I had to say farewell to the people I had shared the place with and start making my way back to real life. Or back from real life: you decide.

I had seen wonders. I had been on terms of the closest possible intimacy with a pride of lions. I had been charged by an elephant while on foot – not very seriously charged, she turned away at a nonchalant handclap from my cool-in-the-bush companions.

I had seen crocs in teams of a hundred and more, I had seen the air turn into flame at the carmine bee-eater colony. I had walked with impala and puku, gazed at kudu and eland; I had followed leopard on their wild night-hunts and watched them kill. In short, I had lost my heart: or a piece of it, anyway.

I have my notes for that last day. For some perverse reason I only recorded the creatures I identified by ear. Hard to remember why: but I suspect it was an expression of my intimacy with the place. I no longer had to look in order to know. All my senses were now bush-senses. I was not an outsider looking in: I belonged. My ears told me that.

Six species of mammal, then: the distant crump of lion, the explosive scolding of a baboon spat, the dirty-old-man laughter of hippo from a still-deep pool of the river, the bark of impala, the last noise you’d expect from so frail a beast, and behind camp, the log-sawing roar of leopard.

I also noted 30 bird-voices; not so many, perhaps, but then I was only at it for an hour or so. On one day, a reasonably leisurely one, I had recorded 134 species in a single day, a record that has since been beaten many times. At that time, I could put a name to every cough and trill and tinkle. It was a matter not just of listening but also of belonging.

What I like best about the Luangwa Valley is absolutely everything. The totality of the environment is the thing. I love above all the way the place sucks you in, the way you cannot help but become a part of it. And everything you do is spiced with just a little whiff of danger, to make you feel more alive than is possible anywhere else, because, of course, the place is full of things that can kill you.

So I noted the orange-breasted bush shrike, which sings Beethoven’s; Fifth, and the distant booming of ground hornbill, and the sweet whistle of black-naped oriole, and the rest; lion roaring in the distance. There was, inevitably, a clamorous farewell from the African fish eagle: the very sound of the valley. And then I left.

Ah, but that’s the most terrible lie. I’ve never left. I’ve been back, a dozen or so times, but in a way, that hardly matters. The fact is that the place has become part of me. When I go back, I see new wonders, and I become reacquainted with the same old wonders seen a hundred times before. But I don’t really mind if I see nothing at all. I demand nothing of the place. I just need to breathe the valley air: to know that there are wonders out there still. Whether or not I see them myself hardly matters any more. It’s just good to get back in touch with that missing piece of my heart.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/related_features/love_nature/article3537153.ece

Sunday, March 2, 2008

The Luangwa ... Zambia

The Luangwa River, one of the Zambezi's biggest tributaries flows south through a deep valley of fertile grasslands, woodlands and riverine forests. The Luangwa Valley itself is the southern extension of the Great Rift Valley that stretches from North Africa down to the Zambezi River.

The Luangwa Valley has a long history of game protection despite which horrendous decimation of its great herds occurred in the mid-70's and 80's following independence. The valley has recovered steadily over the last decade thanks to subsequent government intervention and the work of amongst others, organisations such as Save the Rhino Trust and the Luangwa Independent Rural Development Project.

Safari operators in the valley since the 1960's and particularly over the last few years are largely responsible for the ongoing conservation efforts and positive results seen today.

The valley contains 4 designated conservation areas including the South and North Luangwa National Parks, the Luambe and Lukusuzi National Parks. The latter two parks have no safari facilities and the state of their game populations remains uncertain with poaching an ever-present reality.

The Luangwa is essentially a dry-season safari destination. As all of the camps are small and relatively exclusive, advance bookings are essential.

http://www.zambezi.co.uk/safari/zambia/luangwa.html

Saturday, March 1, 2008

Obituary: Norman Carr

Norman Carr is a name inextricably linked to the Luangwa Vally, this obituary can be read in its original form following the link at the end of the article.

Norman Carr shot his 50th elephant on his 20th birthday when he was a government elephant control officer in Northern Rhodesia. It was a dangerous but necessary job, for the local tribes depended on what they grew and, if marauding elephants destroyed the crops, the villagers faced hunger and real hardship. Carr was one of four such officers in the country. Of the other three, one died of drink, one after being mauled by a lion and the tombstone of the third reads "Killed by his 350th elephant".

Like the children of many British parents working in the colonies, Carr was sent to England to be educated when he was just six years old. He didn't see his beloved Africa or his parents again until he was 17, when he worked briefly in his father's tobacco business in Blantyre, Nyasaland, before taking the first opportunity offered to get out into the bush. He was appointed to the Game and Tsetse Department of Northern Rhodesia in 1935, as an elephant control officer.

A formidable hunter, Carr was slight of stature, but he was tough and intrepid. "You don't really know a country until you've walked it," he declared as he set out to cover Rhodesia on foot, walking alone for months with just a few tea-bags and some quinine in his knapsack. He lived off the land as he went, gathering the knowledge which would later enable him to set up National Parks for the Rhodesian government and personally train the rangers and wardens.

After serving as an officer with the King's African Rifles in North Africa during the Second World War, Carr returned to Rhodesia with a new idea - perhaps it would be possible for villagers to make money out of protecting, rather than killing, elephants and other animals. He realised that, to make such a scheme work, the people on the land would have to benefit directly.

He spoke to Paramount Chief Nsefu in the Northern Province, who was mystified as to why people would want to pay to watch animals but was willing to try the experiment. In 1950, having built six simple rondevaals (mud huts) for overnight shelter, Carr brought the first visitors from Chipeta, a town 100 miles away.

They shot with cameras instead of rifles and during the first year paid the chief and his council the then substantial sum of pounds 100 for the privilege. Eco-tourism in Africa was born.

The first National Park Carr established was Kafue, where he became warden. Matching the example being set by Joy and George Adamson, he rehabilitated back into the wild lion cubs whose mother had been shot.

Although the cubs learnt to kill and live off their hunting, the experiment was perhaps not altogether successful. When Northern Rhodesia became the independent Republic of Zambia in 1964, Carr had no difficulty in deciding to stay on: he remembered with distress his early banishment to a country with very little sunshine or space.

Not that Zambia was without its frustration. "Bureaucracy thrives and there is no word for maintenance in any of the local languages. But if I get fed up," he said, "I just remember Regent Street with all its noise and pollution. That calms me down."

Carr wrote several books, all illustrating his love and knowledge of Zambia. The first three, Return to the Wild (1962), The White Impala (1969) and Valley of the Elephants (1972) were published in the UK and the last, Kakuli was published last year in Zimbabwe. Kakuli is the affectionate name by which the locals called him - it means "Old Buffalo".

His success in setting up the National Parks was in part due to the good relationship Carr developed with the Rhodesian and later the Zambian government. He had befriended Kenneth Kaunda and introduced him to the richness of the country's wildlife before he became president in 1964.

Kaunda had a small lodge in the Luangwa Valley and continued to visit Carr regularly. Prince Andrew, the Duke of Edinburgh and Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands were also visitors. The Luangwa Valley National Park, which Carr established and worked in from 1960, is rich in game and it was there, after he retired from the Game Department, that he chose to live and set up Kapani, his own tourist camp just outside the park gates, situated by an oxbow lagoon.

During the day the birdlife on the water is a never-ending fascination. At night, elephants, lions and giraffes often visit the camp and the dawn chorus is always aided by the raucous honking of hippos.

He also had a small camp deep in the bush for serious walkers. There the huts were so flimsy that when you lay in bed you could hear the lions breathing as they padded around exploring the human smells.

At the camp one Christmas morning, Carr took out a family on foot while the cook prepared dinner. They stumbled on a lioness with cubs and had to beat a hasty retreat up a tree while she paced angrily below. They were trapped for hours until a rescue party found them.

He received a card every year thereafter from the family "in remembrance of the most exciting Christmas we have ever spent". Going out on safari with Norman Carr was always an exciting adventure. His vast knowledge and experience meant he could sense in advance what was going on so he might take you in the evening to where 50 elephant were fording the river to seek better feeding ground; the babies completely submerged held their trunks aloft like snorkels.

But the Luangwa Valley is still a wild land with ever-present dangers and Carr never underestimated them nor was he too proud to beat a retreat. Alarm at the devastation caused in Africa by poachers prompted Carr to set up the Rhino Trust in 1970 which later passed into the care of the Worldwide Fund for Nature.

After he was appointed MBE for his life's work, Carr suggested the conservation award should really have gone to the tsetse fly. In areas from which the fly had been banished, cattle are brought in to graze and people take over. Where the tsetse fly continues to flourish so does wildlife.

Carr was determined that tourism should not corrupt the local villagers and although he gladly took visitors right into the poorest areas, he would never allow tipping. However he encouraged donations for the local school which he sponsored, paying for uniforms, books and sports equipment.

Twice a month he took parties of school children into the park to show them their heritage and teach them the names of the animals so they no longer called them all "inama" which means "meat". It is to this Kapani School Fund that donations in memory of Norman Carr are being directed.

Norman Joseph Carr, conservationist: born Chinde, Portuguese East Africa 19 July 1912; married 1940 Barbara Lennon (one son, two daughters); died Johannesburg 1 April 1997.

http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qn4158/is_19970520/ai_n14110579