Rwenzori

We awoke at 3 am. The much anticipated day, what we had all payed big money for, and some trained for, the trip to the summit of the Rwenzoris: 5,109 m Margherita Peak. I had prepared my body and mind for this physical challenge for months - nothing could spoil it.

One of the classic characters on our team was Tom. Currently reading the complete works of Shakespeare on his Kindle, Tom seemed to have incredible mental endurance. Despite not having trained in any particular way for this climb, his tenacity and sheer zest for mountain glory proved sufficient for the campaign.

"Want some sunscreen?" asked out guide. "No thanks, I like to live dangerously" replied Tom. "You like to have a red face?" I asked. Banter aside, things were about to get real as we got up to the glacier.

We started climbing with headlamps at precisely 4 am, hoping to reach the summit after 5 strenuous hours of steep climbing and roped glacier travel. Five days of approach had gotten us well-acclimatized for this as our bone marrow trickled out a few extra red blood cells with each day. After summiting, we would start the descent to base camp, then another 5 km or so to the next camp from 5,109 m to about 4,000 m or so. We carried on, my group taking the lead. In behind, a young swiss/NZ couple who seemed to know a thing or two about mountaineering and bringing up the rear, a Swiss father and son team, led by Vulcer who is 72 years old. He would be the 3rd oldest person to reach Margherita Peak.

A typical segment of the trail

A White-necked Raven presides over the camp

White-necked Raven, our familiar companion

Swiss father and son begin ascending the second glacier

Getting suited up

This trek is known to be significantly more challenging than Mt. Kilimanjaro and Mt. Kenya (Africa's 2 highest mountains), despite Mt. Stanley only receiving a few hundred visitors each year. Still, hike participants in general agreed that this was much harder than they expected. With no turning back, maintaining positivity and morale was our best weapon.

We came to our second glacier, a very steep one at 4,900 m where the air gets a little thin. Myself, having only traversed my first glacier 30 minutes earlier, was no veteran but I was relishing my first experience, getting right into the techniques. "This is one of the best days of my life!" I yelled.

To give you an idea...

First, our guide, then Tom, then me, our fate connected by one rope. I have to admit I was a little nervous. After only 2m of roped travel on the steepest section of glacier, Tom's crampon came off resulting in a brief hair-raising moment before Richard swooped down to jimmy-tie his crampon with a shoe lace and save the day.

I expressed my concerns to our guide but he reassured me in very African style, and we were at it again. In moments such as these, one must simply say TIA and get on with it. I thought about he fine print of my insurance where it says something about not covering mountaineering...

Anyway, we made it, behind us, the NZ/Swiss couple were discussing technique with their own guide. "Moses, this is too much rope between us, what if you were to fall?" It's ok, I'm not going to fall" replied Moses somewhat cockily. "Not even the best mountaineer says that" yelled John. I have to say, I did laugh but at the same time but it added a little hairiness to the whole vibe of the glacier traverse/climb. From what I gather, the glacier travel was pretty straightforward traditionally, but higher temperatures/climate change have caused rapid melting, resulting in all sorts of new crevasses and rapidly heating/cooling snow that becomes quite crusty and difficult to penetrate with an axe. Sadly, in some years from now there will be no more glaciers on the Rwenzoris.

The summit came into sight, I requested my guide's permission to be "unleashed" (hehe), and I bolted the last 100m to the top. I was a true king on that day. My concerns for our imminent death disappeared as I basked in the glory of the alpine sun and the clouds cleared to herald our arrival at this legendary summit.

Typical altimontane vegetation with Giant Lobelias

Lord-of-the-Rings-epic

Above the clouds

"One of the best days of my life"

The descent - note the large crevasses created by the rapid melting of the glacier

The way back started with a haemoglobin-induced high during which I ran a couple of kilometers through boggy terrain, stopping only to photograph the occasional Scarlet-tufted Malachite or Rwenzori Sunbird.

Scarlet-tufted Malachite Sunbird

Rwenzori Double-collared Sunbird

The following day, however, the mileage had caught up with my legs. On the second-last day, I did something I'd sworn against: asked the guide how much longer we had left! It turned out, only a km, making my request a wasted one. We reached our target camp shattered. Huddling around some chocolate bars and sheltering ourselves from the rain, we discussed strategy (stay the night or press on). Again, surprisingly, I think I was the only person to vote stay! Yes, this physical challenge truly was putting me to the test. We trudged on in our wellie boots, our knee menisci deteriorating with each step. 

Rwenzori Turaco - finally!!!

Fortunately, the decision to press on paid dividends in terms of birds. The next camp turned out to be in optimal habitat/elevation for the Rwenzori Turaco, the most awesome Rwenzori bird which had eluded us for 7 days. It took a lot of patience and required sacrificing breakfast but I managed to capture the beast, after waiting for 30 minutes motionless beside the tree he was calling from. What a perfect ending to an epic trek with some fantastic characters! As a bonus, one of the guides saved me a plate of scrambled eggs which may as well have been served at the finest Michelin-starred restaurant. Hunger is truly the best seasoning, as they say. 

Semuliki

One Canadian science teacher. One Kenyan tour guide. The first, a canuck-turned-London man, is a neurotic, over-rushed maniac with a bipolar nature of being at times a well-rounded gentleman and at others, an obsessive-compulsive twitcher with sudden urges to wrangle reptiles. The other is a calm, collected and wise woman who takes her time to enjoy nature and with a matriarch-type personality.











These two haphazard companions were brought to southeastern Uganda for a single divine purpose: to slay the Albertine Rift endemics (and maybe photograph a few butterflies and even have a little fun by accident). At odds with this later objective was a dark and sinister force: the wrath of forest birding, whereby birds are like ghosts - more often heard and seldom affording even a second's view, ever keeping to the shadows of the thick undergrowth or up high in the canopy. Luckily, in Semuliki forest, we had Justice on our side (literally, our guide's name was Justice). That is so African, we thought, spurring a small brainstorming session for what I might name my first kid. Some kind of name, I thought, that is a good virtue, like "Wisdom", "Purity", "Precious" or "Favour." But then there are the ones I would call tier 2, like "Godliness", 'Prudence", "Innocent", etc.. I could go one step further and name my kid after an even more specific virtue or good character trait. How about "Steadfastness" or "Loyalty". No, I thought, if I were an African, I'd name my son: "Stick-to-itedness Snieder".



Back to our tale. We followed Justice into the forest to some nice hot springs, nabbing an assortment of Semuliki specialities along the way. For the non-bird-savy, Semuliki a little bit of Congolese lowland tropical forest that justs into south-western Uganda. Since nobody can really go birding in the Congo, aside from in the Virungas, it is the best place to see these Congolese lowland forest species. We managed to pick up such tasty ones as Fire-crested Alethe and the aptly named Leaf-love. An evening foray failed to hear the highly coveted and mythical Nkulengu Rail, which Justice told us would be a waste of our time if they are not calling at the time. Nor were we able to get a visual on a calling Swamp-palm Bulbul. Such is the unforgiving torture of Semuliki birdng where a second's distraction could spell lifer-missing misery.

A fire-crested Alethe, one of the low-altitude specialties of Uganda

A reclusive Forest Robin offers a second's view

Rails aside, the day-time birds were not enough to satisfy my heart's desires. I asked Justice of a great  and mythical swallow that dwelleth deep in the jungle, on the Semuliki River which divides Uganda and the Congo. "What if we were to harness its power and use it to our own advantage" I thought. We discussed the possibility. I sensed hesitation and doubt in his voice at the mention of this bird. I soon knew why. It would involve a 14 km march through uncertain (most likely swampy) jungle. Justice summoned another guard to accompany Martha in case we were to split up.


A dark shadow loomed over our quest as I too shared some doubt, I am ashamed to admit. At dawn, we set out for the river. The fellowship moved at a steady pace, making strategic stops along our way, trying to opportunistically nab lifers along the way while at the same time trying to keep a quick average pace. Crested Malimbes, Brazza's Monkey and White-crested Hornbills meant we were off to a good start by any standard!



Eventually, we reached a secluded forest pool. Immediately, a Shining Blue Kingfisher scooted across the water. I peered around the far corner of the pool to behold a mystical sight: a Hartlaub's Duck making a ghostly retreat. This is the only spot in East Africa to see this reclusive jungle duck, elsewhere found in the Congo. We crossed the pond over a slippery log using poles for balance. Then, a frightening sight: swamp covering the trail as far as the eye could see. Justice and I began the crossing, him in his Wellies and I by removing my boots and wading.











But there was a problem: the girls were no longer with us. There was some confusion and yelling of stuff in the local language, then I came to understand that they were not going to go any further with us. I waited. Were they coming? I could hear Martha's voice but not understand a thing. Would we make it all the way to the river? Justice was getting impatient and entertaining the idea of turning back. I could feel the corrupting influence of the White-throated Blue Swallow taking hold. Men are weak, and it appears to hold great power over them. Alas, it is with great shame that I tell you, we carried on to the river. There were many miles of mud and swamp ahead, and Justice could only wait so long. My worst fear had been realized: I had forsaken my companion and followed my guide to the river to seek for forbidden Swallow, a true Boromir moment. The fellowship was broken.

Mt. Kenya: Quest for the African Green Ibis

In Kenya, few birds evoke more mystery than the African Green Ibis. This near-mythical forest bird has eluded me during several days spent in Aberdaires and Mt. Kenya - so we did some intel and returned to Mt. Kenya for unfinished business. Ebird led us to Castle Forest Lodge, a place fit for a king (indeed - Queen Victoria once stayed here). Mfalme approves. As you can tell, it is a true mountain paradise.

We met enthusiastic guide Joseph - I don't think I've ever met a bird guide so energetic. At 6 am your habari ya asubuhi (good morning) is met with an enthusiastic SALAMA KABISA! (extremely peaceful!). Indeed, we did feel an extreme peacefulness in the mist-enshrouded paradise. And yet, a violent fire burned in our hearts - one for the mysterious mountain ibis. In order to see this retreating species, one must intercept them to and from their roosting site, at early dawn or late evening. In between those times, we had a lot of time to kill, so we explored around the lodge, turning up some interesting findings.

Grey-headed Negrofinch

Doherty's Bush-shrike (very shy!)

Jackson's Chameleon, one of the "Jackson Five"

Tacazze Sunbird

 Surprisingly, the Ibis are very noisy birds in flight, and hearing them was not hard. Seeing them, a challenge worthy of team Mfalme. On our final evening, we waited on the porch, beer in hand, for the evening flight. There was a thick smoke from a nearby campfire ebut you can clearly see the ibis in this photo.

African Green Ibis seen from the lodge patio flying to their evening roost

Based on their trajectory that evening, we estimated where they would fly over the road and headed to that spot the next morning before dawn. Amazingly, they passed right over us, circling a couple of times and affording this shot, in which you can see the shiny cheek-patch from my built-in flash. Their silouettes were very clear through the morning mist and their calls a loud Ahhnk ahhnk. They would be the first of 3 epic-ally rare birds we would see in one day.

African Green Ibis flying from their roost

Carnage on the Savannah

Greetings.

Long has been the struggle over the past year in London. Working tirelessly up to 70+ hours per week has taken its toll, while the cash flow continues at a steady trickle like an over-ranched Salinas creek. The cattle of this picture are the nameless, faceless businessmen that run London and it's education. The vultures that patrol these arid lands, the politicians, who corrupted the masses into voting us out of the EU. I will call these masses the sheep, who dwell mainly in the countryside/midlands, etc. [BREAKING NEWS: British accents do only make Brits sound more intelligent than they actually are].

Meanwhile on the African Savannah, a struggle for life and death rages on just as it has for millions of years. Fleeing far from my 1st world problems, I was joined by rafikis Martha, Jackson and Wilson for an epic quest to finally fill a deep, gaping void in my soul: the lack of leopard. To find this elusive beast, we hired a van to take us to Samburu and Meru for a 3 day Safari. It did not disappoint.

Our driver, Duncan, was a last minute substitution for the bird-savy Robert, a consequence of African organisation. Let's just say he wasn't exactly on the same page as us when it came to birds and budget accommodations. Echoes of simama hapa (stop here) and nyuma kidogo back up a little bit) will be troubling his dreams for many nights.

Now, imagine life as diminutive, ground-dwelling reptile or small rodent on the savannah. Your entire existence consists of avoiding an arsenal of aerial predators, such as this Brown Snake-eagle surveying the savannah from its prominent perch. Nearby, a small lizard falls victim to a Taita Fiscal. Fiscals are relentless killing machines that impale their prey on thorns, which has garnered them the nickname "butcherbird." Pole.

It took this Tawny Eagle mere seconds to rob a baby impala of its pathetic existence.

We continued to the river, where we met a small group of lions.

These future killers have already been given a taste for blood

Up ahead, a land cruiser was stopped, intently watching something we pulled up behind them and it was evident why they had stopped. Sitting in the shade of some shrubbery was a leopard. After some minutes, we watched it wander around, appearing to give zero care for being watched by 2 vehicles. It was a young one as evident by its small size and lack of hunting experience, as it seemed that bounding hare startled it more than the other way around. Suddenly, the non-challant feline took a slight interest in us, only to rub its head against our front tire! As it approached us in that brief moment, I was able to to capture its expression in a photo which I consider the best I've ever taken.

I hope this lousy hunter finds something to eat soon. It could take a lesson from the lioness we were about to encounter.

Following the river, we spot a pair of ears poking up from a bush. A lioness, waiting patiently by the river. Nearby, a herd of impala grazes peacefully, unaware of the possible impending death.



The herd made its way over the exposed riverbank, ever closer to the lioness but oblivious to the danger. We waited patiently. I paid a lot to organize this safari and we were all desperate to see blood. Suddenly, the impala became restless and started bounding around. The lioness continued to bide her time for the perfect moment. It came. The impala scattered, one male hesitated and started zigzagging, a rearward retreat blocked off by the river. The lioness capitalized on its hesitation, going straight for the neck. It was all over in seconds. The impala subdued but not yet asphyxiated, it was dragged up the shoreline in a powerful and savage display, its legs kicking in the air as it waited to die.

In nearby Shaba nature reserve, we set out to scout William's Lark habitat for the following day. We were accompanied by an armed guard to this remote area, who agreed to show us the grassy lava desert where this habitat-specific Kenya endemic dwells. His substantial rifle was not for protection against animals, but Somali bandits. By the roadside, a young Grevy's Zebra, who did not have this same luxury. Its mom was devoured by lions. Pole sana. 

A flock of vultures prepares for the evening roost, perhaps the same ones that may have fed on the entrails of the mama zebra. Hard life.