The Most Valuable Lesson I Learned After Almost Being Eaten by a Lion
It was June of 1995 and the Masika Rains had left the Moyowosi region of Tanzania a swampy impenetrable marsh. The dry season was just getting started and the seasonal fires that would burn off the elephant grass and make room for the life-giving shoots of new growth, had yet to roar through. This made the vegetation lining the side of the two-track road an opaque yellow wall of thatch. A thin strip of blue sky above us served as the only "scenery". Just ten hours prior, we had traversed this very section of trail in our 3-truck caravan of Land Cruiser J70 pickups, but it was evident a separate convoy, probably that of a safari company operating in a concession adjacent to ours, had passed this way since. This track was the only way out of the reserve's western region and had carried us to Kibondo, the closest village where we could stock up on fuel and fresh vegetables.
Water covered the tracks as it had for many miles, rarely exceeding the lower door sills. As we proceeded through the thatched tunnel, the lead truck of our three-vehicle convoy, driven by yours truly, seemed to melt into the mud and wallowed downward like an elephant drunk on rotten marula fruit. The ground in this area was more like warm pudding than mud and it was not surprising to find yourself in need of a short tug astern. We hooked up a strap and I was extracted without incident. Once freed, I lined the truck up for a slightly more "motivated" run at it. I succeeded in achieving greater forward progress but was still unable to completely clear the morass. Another pull back and I was returned to dry ground.
Because we had successfully traversed this trail during our westbound journey, my youthful confidence reasoned that this minor inconvenience couldn't possibly prohibit us from making our way back east. With this logic firmly in hand, I took a third run at the hole, Now, a wise man knows that the overlanding gods are fickle and on this third run, I managed to far exceed my previous attempt but still found myself mired and unable to continue. Never fear, I was filled with all the invincibility my twenty-two years of age could muster and after a slightly more challenging effort to haul me back out, I was ready for a fourth and final go at it.
Alowi, my camp manager, sat in the passenger seat next to me. I looked over at him, grinned the grin of a man with poor judgement, and accelerated towards glory. The truck lurched and bounced, sliding over invisible obstacles, huge chunks of black crud flew in every direction creating the impression that the earth was slowly exploding around us. We churned ahead, sometimes slow and sometimes with questionable velocity. I know at one point we were in the air and at another it felt as though only the snorkel remained above the water, looking much like the periscope of a World War II submarine plowing through liquid soil. The water's depth appeared to be decreasing, creating false hope that the finish line was within our reach. However, those deities referenced earlier snatched victory from our fingers as the earth plummeted away from us and we heaved to a stop in mud so deep we were unable to open the doors.
Other than the sound of water hissing angrily from the heat of the engine, there was only silence. I looked over at my intrepid seatmate and observed that his African skin appeared significantly paler than before this escapade and he seemed to have a slight tremble. I assumed he was just stunned that I had not succeeded in my effort and, after assisting him in prying his hands off the grab bar running across the dash in front of him. we climbed out of the windows into the back of the truck and took inventory of our situation.
My effort had accomplished two VERY significant feats. First, I was now stuck firmly up to the undercarriage. Second, I had managed to exceed the reach of any of our winch cables, including if all of the cables had been secured together. I couldn't help but be proud knowing beyond any question, this was the MOST stuck I had ever been. Of fascinating interest was that from the back of the truck, it was evident that the ground just a few feet from our watery path was muddy, but dry enough to walk on. From our elevated vantage, we also discovered that although we had gotten to within 100 yards of climbing to dry ground, we were separated from our convoy by a narrow band of water extending as far as we could see to the north and south of the trail. This made finding a route around the wash impossible in the limited daylight we had left.
Two other members of my team, Selehe, my lead mechanic, and Martini, our government assigned game scout, slogged through the marsh to our landing zone. Upon finding us, the look on their faces indicated either awe in my driving prowess or shock that we were alive. My Swahili was passable, but their rate of speech as they described the scene they witnessed made it impossible for me to decipher at the time. We attempted to dig and deposit a deadman anchor, burying the spare tire, but were unable to secure it in a way that prevented the "anchor" from pulling up through the grave we'd deposited it in. Selehe and Martini slogged back to the trucks as we continued to work. They were kind enough to return a short while later with dinner from the food box kept in one of the other vehicles. We were in for the night and went about sorting out our sleeping accommodations. In the morning, we would send one of the other trucks back to the game control station to see if a tractor could be hired to pull us out. Additionally, we would need to find a route for the other two trucks around the mire, so that we could continue on to camp.
Alowi opted to sleep in the cab of the truck. I spied the thick role of waterpipe we had purchased in town coiled like a giant nest in the back of our truck and determined it would be a beautiful night to be out under the stars. I spread a few blankets out and rolled my bush jacket into a pillow. This left my heavy coat available for when the night grew cool. I leaned my trusty rifle, a Sako .375, against one corner of my makeshift pallet perched in the bed of the truck and watched the stars dance overhead as I drifted off to a very sound slumber.
Like a gun shot, my brain screamed to alertness as I snapped from the deepest depths of sleep to adrenaline pumping, fully aware consciousness. I felt stuck in that murky place between asleep and awake. As I shook off the cobwebs and without moving my body, I looked around. Silence throbbed in my ears. The moon had set and a faint layer of clouds blotted out the light of the stars. I was surrounded by black African night. I listened for the slightest crackle of grass or shuffle of footsteps but heard only my own heartbeat. Very slowly, like honey rolling down a plate, I reached for my flashlight but couldn't remember what crevice I'd placed it in. I eased myself into a sitting position and stared into the inky blackness. No sound, No movement, Nothing. Even the air seemed frozen. I peered into the darkness for a few minutes and decided that whatever roused me so violently must have existed only in my dreams. With that peace of mind, I settled into my cocoon and fell back asleep.
Early the next morning, I was awakened by the stirring of Alowi as he exited the cab of the truck. This, of course, required some significant early-morning gymnastics as the egress through the window was still the modus operandi while the doors remained anchored in the mud. Alowi, took a wide step to the semi-stable earth, and began stretching his limbs, cramped from a night sleeping upright in the truck. As he did, I heard him nonchalantly say, "Simba." I raised up, my attention greatly intrigued by the Swahili pronouncement of "lion", I heard him expound further, "Simba hapa, simba hapo... simba wengi!" Now FULLY awake, my addled brain quickly translated this to, "Lion here, lion right there, many lions!" I looked at the ground where he was pointing and in the soft soil there was no mistaking the pads pressed crisply and freshly into the ground. There were lion tracks all around that side of the vehicle. The side where my feet happened to have been propped up while I slumbered soundly. A pride of lions (as the tracks were of all different sizes) had undoubtedly been attracted to the smells left over from our dinner. Without a sound, they had moved in, sniffed about the place, and moved on again, silent wraiths ghosting along the damp soil and grass wet from the evening dew.
I, too, dismounted from the truck, surveyed the story they'd left behind, and could only wonder what had startled me awake so violently. Perhaps it was the brush of dry hair against the metal of the truck? Could it have been a snuffle at my feet? Maybe it was a subconscious warning from some deep primal part of my brain that sensed death lurking about. I still wonder today.
Before noon, a tractor came wading through the mire. We secured a length of heavy chain to the front of the truck and with seemingly no effort, the tractor drug me to dry ground. By 3:00 pm, my team had found a route around the section of track that contributed to me nearly turning into catnip. We arrived in camp before nightfall, dirty, exhausted, and hungry. About a week later, we learned via shortwave radio that our neighbors had used the road after we left out, but before we had attempted our return. They were bringing in a huge Unimog and its enormous tires and portal axles had chewed invisible ruts into the tracks we were following. They suspected their passing had caused significant trail damage and, in good humor, stated that they were very appreciative that we had marked a new route around the marsh.
In conclusion, life lends us many opportunities to grow and develop. We get stronger through adversity and are sharpened by our experiences. There is value in everything that happens. I learned a very valuable lesson from that night which has stuck with me and continues to shape many of the decisions I make on the trail. No matter the obstacle before us, the challenges we endure, or the hardships we overcome, if the situation requires spending the night on the trail... YOU can have the night under the stars. I"LL be in the cab of the TRUCK!!!
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