Free 2 Game Drive by Marie Moore

October—the end of winter and the beginning of the South African spring. Though the nights were cold, the days were delightful. That was a special treat for us, for in New York, winter was fast approaching. It was extremely dry, too. The rains had not yet begun.
    Near the airport the land along the main paved road was fenced for the most part. Then, as we sped along the tarmac, the chain-link ended and the road was bordered instead with a dense scrub, thorn thickets, and leafless trees. The landscape was stark and dramatic. It was not a very pretty time of year, but great for a safari because the animals are easier to spot in the early spring before the leaves emerge on the vegetation to hide them.
    Before long we turned off the paved road and bumped over a shallow ditch to the left, onto a dry, dirt track. The vehicles spread out even farther because of the increased dust.
    Vincent was driving slowly, silently communicating with Anthony through looks and nods. Anthony’s head moved constantly from left to right, scanning the bush. In just a few minutes, the lead jeep was no longer in sight. When I turned to look behind us, the other vehicles seemed to have vanished as well.
    We lurched across a shallow ditch, wheels spinning in the dry, sandy soil of the empty creek-bed. Then we turned left again, going deeper into the scrub, bumping over rocks. Branches scraped the sides of the vehicle. I grabbed at the side of the Rover, trying to brace myself.
    “Please keep your hands inside the vehicle and mind your heads,” Vincent warned.
    Everyone was chattering away, heads swiveling, watching for animals. Small wooden signposts at a crossroads in the track pointed the way to our lodge and also to other game camps. Because of the bumpy trail, Vincent drove at a crawl, pausing occasionally, sometimes almost stopping. Then, apparently in response to some silent signal from Anthony, he turned off the engine and we rolled to a stop.
    Everyone abruptly stopped talking and the only sound you could hear was the ticking of the cooling engine and the lone cry of a bird.
    “Just there,” Anthony said in a low voice, pointing to our right, “giraffe.”
    “Oh, my goodness, y’all, look at that,” Connie whispered.
    We sat staring, camera shutters clicking, as a pair of giraffes moved gracefully through the bush, pausing now and then to pluck leaves with their long, blue-black tongues from the tops of the acacia trees. Finally, majestically, they moved on, striding smoothly out of sight.
    “Welcome to Africa,” Vincent said as he started the engine. He turned right at another crossroads, drove about a mile along a smaller track bordered by tall dry grass, and then passed under a large rustic sign carved with the snarling leopard logo. The heavy sign was supported by massive carved poles planted on either side of the road.
    There appeared to be no gates, no fences. We were in a private game reserve, one of many clustered along the edges of Kruger National Park. Apparently the owners and staff of each lodge just knew where their property ended and another’s began, for no boundaries were apparent. To the visitor, except for the gateposts, it was impossible to tell. It all looked the same.
    In our safari orientation David had explained to us that the western boundary of the Kruger National Park is lined by a crazy quilt of private reserves, most featuring lavish lodges, luxury tented camps or exclusive bush camps. He had shown pictures of some of the camps that were represented by his company.
    He told us that a park boundary fence, built in the 1960s between Kruger and the private reserves, blocked the natural migration routes of the animals for many years. Later, by mutual agreement, the fence was removed and the animals now moved freely back and forth across the land. They could even wander at will throughout our camp.
    Driving faster now, headed to the lodge, Vincent pointed to the big thatched roof of a large house off to our