SO YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE THE HUNTER?
A great many hunters who come
to Africa each year will spend some of their time along the shore of a lake or
one of the great rivers like the Zambezi. A
day or two spent fishing is the ideal way to unwind before, during or after a
hunt. Now, most of us who have the Africa bug have watched one of the many
documentaries on the Masai Mara and the great wildebeest migration, and part
and parcel of this annual cycle is the havoc crocodiles wreak on animals
swimming across the rivers - in many ways, the giant reptiles are the ultimate
predators, being so good at what they do that evolution has passed them by for
over a hundred million years. They are the embodiment of stealth, cunning and
sheer terror. If I wake in the middle of the night and I happen by chance to
recall one beautiful spring day on the Zambezi, fishing for chessa in the
Kariba gorge a quarter of a century ago and the croc that materialized from the
depths literally at my feet I won’t fall asleep again soon. They lay just
millimetres below the water’s surface, and they are able to approach their
victims to within inches before a mighty sweep of the tail launches them
missile-like out of the water to seize their unsuspecting quarry. They retreat
back into the depths, where they will perform the “death roll”, a manoeuvre in
which the croc spins its body in an attempt to tear bits of meat from the prey.
Should the poor creature still be struggling, it is dragged beneath the
surface, and patiently held till it drowns. Many hunters from Europe or the United States
have grown up in wilderness areas where nothing really bites. I spent every
spare moment of my youth in the Sierra Nevada mountains or the Nevada desert. No
predators lurked beneath the water anywhere, and to catch a glimpse of a black
bear or a mountain lion was an unexpected treat. Not soon the Dark
Continent. Recently along the shores of Kariba at Charara a night
fisherman was seized by a crock. His friend rushed in to help and was taken by
another. One man survived. Ant Williams interviewed the fortunate one in his
hospital room:
“Sitting
at the hospital bedside of one Lourens Erasmus recently, the hair on my neck
prickled with these images as he related his story. The victim of a crocodile
attack early in May at the National Anglers’ Union of Zimbabwe’s Charara site on lake Kariba,
he survived a vicious mauling which had all the hallmarks typical of these
beasts. Zimbabwe being what it is, the rumour mill had sprung into action, with
all sorts of inaccurate - even ludicrous - stories surrounding the tragedy
emerging.
Lourens
(aged 53), a Selous farmer, and his good friend visiting from South Africa,
Frank Trott (aged 72), had been at Kariba for a week of bream fishing.
Returning to their lakeside Cloven Hall chalet - sighted on the point at
Charara - they prepared dinner as the sun set and a full moon peaked over the
eastern horizon. Although the bream fishing had been good, Lourens who had
never caught a silver barbel wandered down to the water’s edge outside the
lodge, scouting for a safe and comfortable spot to set up for a bit of night
fishing. Kariba had been rising, and water had started flooding the still green
grass of the shallow flood-plain. Walking a few metres along the bank in the
almost ankle deep water, he stopped at a point where thicker Kariba weed marked
deeper water. Curiosity satisfied, Lourens turned to walk back to the lodge. It
was just after 8pm.
From
behind him, the water exploded in a spray of weed and debris, as a croc which
had been laying in the thicker weed watching him, launched its attack. In a
split second, Lourens now laying in the water, was held firmly in the crushing
jaws of the croc. Its top jaw clamped across his lower back, with the lower jaw
piercing his upper right thigh between his legs, the croc easily overpowered
him and dragged him backwards into the water. Once in deeper water, the reptile
began its death roll, flicking Lourens head over heel several times. As it
stopped, Lourens’ head broke the surface and he was now almost chest deep in
the lake. In spite of the shock of the sudden attack, Lourens realised a croc
had him, and remembering stories that poking at an attacking croc’s eyes will
trigger a release, he reached down locating the bony ridge above its eye. As he
pushed his finger deep into the eye socket, the croc began shaking him again
forcing Lourens to abandon his attempts. Unable to move, he called out for
help.
Somewhere
out on the water, and across the bay, several people were answering Lourens’
cries for help. Frank, unaware of what had transpired over the previous couple
of minutes, ran out to see what was happening. “A croc’s got me” said
Lourens... the silver sparkling water calm around him as he stood motionless in
the croc’s grip. It would seem the croc believed its prey to be submerged and
drowning, and was content to lay still gathering its strength before devouring
its victim. Without hesitation, Frank waded in to help Lourens, reaching out
for his hand. As they touched, Lourens felt something brush past his free leg,
at which point Frank exclaimed he too had been attacked. In a second, Frank was
dragged into deeper water and disappeared from sight.
A
deathly silence fell over the moonlit night again and Lourens cried out once more, and was answered
by a cooperative fisherman somewhere out on the water in a small boat. Paddling
toward Lourens, he called reassuringly. As the small 10' boat came alongside,
Lourens latched on and manoeuvred himself around the stern to grab on to the
transom. Daring not to move too much, Lourens was handed a section of
broomstick like wood by the fisherman - probably a piece of a broken paddle.
Carefully directing it down, Lourens probed to find the croc’s open jaws, and
in one movement, plunged the stick into the croc’s throat. He was released
immediately and clambered on board the little boat.
Back
on the shore, unconcerned by his injuries - or not even fully aware of their
extent, Lourens quickly got to his truck and launched Frank’s boat. Aided by
his rescuer, they scoured the bay for almost half an hour trying in vane to
find Frank. Weak from shock and now in pain, Lourens had to withdraw from the
search, and was rushed to the MARS clinic in Kariba by Francois Bernadie
(Charara’s manager), where he spent three days before being moved to Harare.
Following several skin graft operations, Lourens expects to make a full
recovery. Tragically, Frank was killed by the crocodile and while his body was
not recovered, National Parks did shoot a croc they identified as the culprit.
It
is easy to become complacent on and around our many lakes and dams, and
especially so at Kariba. Many is the time, I and others, nonchalantly wade into
the water while launching or retrieving boats, or indeed while fishing. How
close, and how many times has danger been lurking only metres away? I shudder
to think... Lourens knows though.
Frank
was known as a true and selfless friend, and will be missed by the many people
who knew him. We join others in extending our sympathies to Frank’s family.”
You have come to Africa to hunt - but
be very careful you don’t become the hunted!
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