Chasing wild dogs in Madikwe

Posted by Alison Westwood on 20 May 2010

It all started in Durban at Indaba, when Getaway editor Cameron Ewart-Smith introduced me to Roger and Pat de la Harpe, two of Africa’s most prominent wildlife photographers and authors of In search of the African Wild Dog. Roger and Pat turned out to be really good fun. After Pat and I had compared compact cameras (we share an aversion to unnecessarily heavy SLRs), they mentioned that they were about to go up to Jaci’s Lodge in Madikwe to give a wildlife photography workshop concentrating on the wild dogs there. They also said there just happened to be one free space left on the vehicle… would I like to go along?

Now, I’ve been bouncing around on game drives all over southern and East Africa, but I’d never seen wild dogs before. Also, I’d heard lots of very good things about Jaci’s Lodges and Madikwe. Deadlines be damned! I packed my camera bag and headed for the bush.

I met up with Roger and Pat de la Harpe in Joburg. Their Landcruiser was packed to the gills with huge Nikon lenses and had a fluffy toy wild dog peeking out of the back window. It took us only around three hours to get to the lodge (excluding a Wimpy stop). I hadn’t realised Madikwe was so easily accessible from Joburg, but then it is only just past Sun City.

We received a warm welcome at Jaci’s Safari Lodge, even when they saw the enormous piles of gear we’d brought along. Mooketsi ‘Mocca’ Monye would have carried it all single-handedly if we’d let him. Roger had told me on the drive up that the tents at Jaci’s were a bit ‘poky’ and that he couldn’t really stand upright in them, so when I was shown to my room I couldn’t help bursting out laughing: it was enormous! A huuuuge stone, thatch and canvas chalet with a romantically draped bed, heated floors, swimming pool-sized bath and outside shower. The private deck looked out onto a secretive woodland glade and I longed to sit there peacefully and listen to the birdcalls. But first I wanted to see the dogs.

After a cool cocktail, a heap of tasty sarmies and a quick briefing from Roger on his rules for wildlife photography we clambered into the game drive vehicle. Roger handed me the Giant Lens he’d arranged for me to use: the Nikon 200-400mm f4. It took me a while to figure out how to attach something so massive to my now rather dinky-looking D300. Once I’d managed it, I clung onto my new anti-aircraft missile launcher like a jealous and rather frightened mother.

Our first stop was a waterhole where a herd of ellies was peacefully splashing rivulets of golden water in the setting sun. I’d never been on a vehicle with so many serious photographers before. The sound was impressive: ‘Click, click, clickety-clickety-clickety, click, click, click’. I sat and tried to work out how to frame a photograph in my enormous lens. All I could see were bits of elephant: half an ear, a foot, a square of grooved skin.

The elephants moved closer; the photographers jostled for position. The clicking grew more frantic. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I found myself saying something I’ve never heard anyone say on a game drive before: ‘I’m sorry,’ I piped up, ‘but could we move a bit further away?’

But before I could master the secrets of the Giant Lens, our guide started up the engine and drove off. Never mind the elephants – the wild dogs were on their way! And there they came, trotting towards us, frisking and playing and generally being incredibly uncooperative to at least one desperate photographer.

It’s at moments like this that I’m tempted to curse my career as a photojournalist. Because instead of simply relishing the sight – which was incredible – I was going bananas trying to catch the action through an overpowered lens that I had no idea how to use. ‘Stop running towards me!’ I grumbled at the dogs, who were ignoring us completely. ‘Sit! Stay!’ I said, as they trotted off into the distance. ‘Click, click, clickety-clickety-clickety, click, click, click,’ said everyone else.

Fortunately, I had plenty of time to sort myself out. We stayed with the wild dogs for more than half an hour as they frolicked by the waterhole, tussled in the grass and at last loped off down a long road beside the fence line. The golden afternoon light was perfect. The six dogs were entrancing. The Giant Lens was magnificent (when wielded with a steady hand). And though I don”t fancy my chances at producing my own coffee table book on wild dogs, as we drove back to the lodge through the deepening dusk, I felt that warm glow of happiness that makes all the costly kit and faffing around with heavy bags that goes into being a photographer absolutely worth it.

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