Kalahari Kudu
DURING the night, the first heavy thunderstorms unleashed their fury on the scorched Kalahari, belting our tents with heavy rain and the concussion of lightning strikes. It was a hell of a show. Spectacular. Paddy and I were glad to be there. It was an amazing thing to experience, and in a part of wild Africa that we’d felt drawn to all our lives. In the pre-dawn we could see where the clouds had marched to the north, still sporadically illuminated by God as we drank coffee and shivered. The heat of the previous days had vanished, and it was cold. Paddy – the bastard – stole the front seat, tucked-up snug as a bug with the heater blowing, and was probably reciting poetry to Bridgo, the PH. I very nearly died on the back of the Toyota that morning, a morning so cold even a penguin would’ve perished!
“Jason was just to my left when he stopped still and slowly pointed at the kudu bull in front of us.”
We slowly
