In 1873 David Livingstone departed this
world after getting lost in
Bangweulu Swamps. On the 18 September 2004 we
nearly joined him! We were in search of the elusive Shoebill stork with an enthusiastic
guide; we were expecting to be out for 6 to 7 hours not the 17 it turned out to
be. To start at the beginning we were up at 4.30 in the morning, ready set off
from Shoebill camp for the drive across the now dry swamp land. During the drive
to the wet lands we came across thousands
of Red Letchwe spread across the horizon. Eventually we
reached the dry season waters edge. Only problem was it still looked like a grassy
plain, the clue came when the local nomadic fisherman were on hand with two morocco’s. One
at a time we squeezed ourselves into the dugout canoes for the short trip
across the invisible river.
Once on the other bank we waited next to the fisherman’s reed huts while our guide asked if the shoebill had been seen recently. Apparently one had just two hours walk away. Hot foot we set off. only walking in this part of the world is not like a stroll in the park! We had to walk along narrow hand dug raised banks negotiating the reed fishing traps (these traps are set in the bank to catch the fish as the waters retreat every dry season) when not on the banks we would walk either on the swaying reed tops or in thigh deep water. After two hours the Shoebill was still elusive as ever, then we came across a small island with a fisherman’s hut. Ken decided to have a heart to heart with our guide who was soon despatched to scout the local area, we spent the time relaxing in the scorching sun after raiding the hut for a reed mat.
After a few hours a figure was spotted on the horizon
(our guide) 20 minutes later he announced Shoebill one and half hours away!!!!!
Three hours hard slog later a halt was called. Another discussion took place
apparently the Shoebill was only one and half hours away? As you could imagine
the second word was off!! We sat on the floating reeds and ate what was left our
food before heading back to the river crossing. We had to reach this by last light
otherwise we would have to stay the night on the swamp along with the snakes
and leeches. After one and half hours a shout and a hand pointed to the right
it was the Shoebill and I was too bloody exhausted to get my camera out of the rucksack.
After the elation of seeing the Shoebill
exhaustion soon returned. We were miles from the river crossing; drinking water was now dangerously
low and we only had 2 oranges left to eat. Every few steps one of us had a
leech attach itself to our legs. I was chain smoking to get the buggers off? Miles
and miles of watery swamp ahead of us we at last reached dry land, we were assured
that the route back to the river was dry land only, only to come across more water!!!! Then at last
the fisherman’s huts came into view just as the sun was dropping below the horizon.
By the time we crossed the grass river it was pitch black. We climbed into Barefoot’s
land Rover ready for the drive back to camp, after a few minutes we were lost!!!! Our
guide came to the rescue under barefoot's instructions when he climbed down from the roof to “search for the
wheel” (our tracks from the morning drive). Eventually
we reached Shoebill Camp after one of the greatest adventures our lives. Ok we only
caught a glimpse of the Shoebill but we survived the wild Bangweulu Swamps
(just)