Birders and herpers

Posted by Warren Schmidt on 27 May 2011

I emerged from the entangled undergrowth of Mtunzini‘s coastal forest, having spent the last several hours stalking forest cobras. I was filthy dirty, tired and thrilled to bits, feeling happy and content as I always do when disappearing into the wilderness. Any longer in the forest and I would have emerged slithering on my belly just like the serpentine creatures I had been looking for.

I got into my car, which was parked near the Raphia Palm Monument, and slowly navigated the bumpy track towards town. As I came around the bend, a Toyota Land Cruiser 4 x 4 blocked the track. ‘Birders!’ I gasped with a hint of panic. There was no way around them. My Almera was no match for the swampy surrounds so I decided to switch off and wait.

Suddenly, to my left, a neatly dressed elderly gentleman kitted out in the latest birding outfit, walked over in my direction. I grinned at the thought of a large forest cobra interrupting his purposeful stroll. Before I could plan my retreat he was upon me.

‘Can you see it?’ he asked bursting with excitement. ‘There, up in the palm on top of the hill,’ he pointed.

I emerged from my vehicle and grabbed my cheap twenty-year-old binoculars and peered through in the direction he was pointing. I suspected palm-nut vultures were the cause of so much excitement. I then noticed more birders homing in on me. I had learnt previously that when outnumbered by birders, simply pretend to be one of them. And whatever you do, don’t mention that you’re a herper! Firstly, no one knows what you’re talking about and secondly, explaining that you’ve spent the morning searching for lizards and snakes is bound to generate some peculiar looks of disbelief.

I kept peering through the binoculars when one of the ladies, realising the inadequacy of my set, kindly offered me her binoculars. ‘Wow!’ I said out loud, not because I sighted the palm-nut vulture, but was amazed by the clarity and lightness of the binoculars. Thinking otherwise, birder one patted me on the back, no doubt proud that he had shared this amazing sighting with a lonesome, if somewhat dishevelled birder. Before long, they had filled me in on their birding holiday, even giving me a detailed description of the previous day’s adventure to Ngoye Forest and having sighted the pinnacle of their birding holiday – the green or woodward’s barbet. Despite my affinity towards the scaly and slimy creatures, I do possess a few bird guides and later that day, I paged through to see what on earth got them so excited in Ngoye Forest.

Later that evening, I was back to my old self, happily emerged waist-deep in a mosquito-infested pond wondering how far the nearest hippo or crocodile was in relation to me, and carefully avoiding the numerous spiders gliding across the surface of the pond and dangling in webs above my head. The cacophony of frog calls was deafening and I moved slowly through the water, finding one frog and then another, photographing them in sequence – the snoring puddle frogs, forest tree frogs, painted and tinker reed frogs, guttural toads and greater leaf-folding frogs.

I then erupted with laughter, causing most the frogs to fall into immediate silence and scaring the daylights out of a roosting ibis. My thoughts were focused on my birding friends, who no doubt at this precise moment were enjoying a cosy dinner and sharing a good bottle of red wine in the comfort of their well-lit patio or restaurant, reminiscing on today’s bird sightings, as I emerged from the bog like some swamp monster, brushing away the latest bug intent on flying up my nostril, ready to indulge in a dinner of canned baked beans and a warm beer. If only they could see me now!

Even scarier than the bugs, spiders and snakes I had seen that day, is that I am now one of them. When the reptiles are scarce, you can find me ambling along with bird book in one hand and binoculars in the other, staring up into the trees and getting all excited about ticking off another bird on the list. But when darkness falls, the allure of what’s lurking in the swamps and undergrowth is just too much to ignore, and like a man about to transform into a werewolf, I politely excuse myself from social gatherings and retreat back into the darkness in search of the not-so-popular creatures.

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