Gaborone - The sound from snapping branches and grinding molars woke us rudely in our tent and, for the next 90 minutes, our two children bounced between the gauze windows giving a whispered commentary on four bull elephants grazing the other side of the canvas.
The first day of our family adventure in the Okavango Delta had begun early. It was 4am.
“Look at the wrinkles on his bum,” 8-year-old Kit urged his 6-year-old sister, Tess, as they both stared at a hide looming only inches away, lit by the moonlight. Two of them then lowered themselves to the ground and went to sleep, the sound of their rasping breaths loud enough to keep us all fully awake.
The staff at Macatoo, a camp run by African Horseback Safaris, are used to sharing their workspace with game, so when Kea delivered a morning tray of tea she didn’t look twice at the animals still close by.
The delta remains one of the world’s last wilderness areas, unfenced and sufficiently remote to be most readily accessed by light aircraft. Each year, floods from Angola transform this 27 000km2 patch of Kalahari desert into a quilted waterscape of islands separated by channels and lagoons.
During these months – June, July and August – much of the delta becomes unreachable by vehicle, leaving operators with reduced options for their clients to explore. In its barn, specially electrified to keep out lions, African Horseback Safaris stable up to 50 horses of varying shapes and sizes, trained to navigate water and uneven ground, giving competent riders the chance to splash alongside game, often at the gallop.
The game rides have a strict over-12 age limit but Macatoo has gradually extended its repertoire to accommodate younger family members and guests who love the bush but are less keen on seeing it from a saddle.
Having first visited the camp to ride during the floods 10 years ago, I wanted to return with our children once they were old enough to appreciate the difference between the wild authenticity of the Delta and the more zoo-like game parks we had visited in South Africa.
Our September visit to Macatoo coincided with the floods receding, but there was still plenty of water around. We were all keen to fish on our first morning, so Bongwe Makate, the chief guide, drove us a short distance to a lagoon. We all helped heave the mokoro from the muddy shore and jumped on board, Bongwe poling us to a clear patch where our lines wouldn’t tangle in the lilies.
Around us spread a lush floodplain picketed on all sides by high trees – mopane, leadwood, wild fig, acacia – and coarse, often thorny undergrowth. The arrival each year of the water means this part of the Kalahari blooms.
It was a grand African stage with the wavering cries from fish eagles and shrieks from baboons providing the soundtrack, and buck such as tsessebe and red lechwe having walk-on parts.
As Bongwe passed around drinks and homemade flapjacks from the cooler box, he helped the children with their casting and kept up a master class in bushcraft. Naming the birds that darted overhead, he mimicked their calls.
After an hour snagging weeds, Bongwe announced we should move. “Do you see?” he asked, pointing to pied kingfishers skitting past. “They aren’t even bothering to fish here, so perhaps they know something.”
We drove to a larger pool a few minutes’ away, where we could cast from the bank.
“There aren’t any hippos here, but there may well be crocodiles,” Bongwe warned, carefully demonstrating to the children where they could safely stand, as Tim and I exchanged nervous looks.
“Don’t go deeper than your knees and always make sure there are a few reeds growing in front of you.”
The change of location and the patient casting practice paid off as Kit felt a tug on his line.
After a few minutes of struggle, with Bongwe gently coaching him, an African pike about 10 inches in length was hanging from the line in Kit’s hand.
Bongwe announced it was lunchtime so we packed up and set off in the vehicle, presuming we were heading back to camp.
Instead we were driven to a clearing around a thorn tree where the Macatoo staff had set up a table with place settings laid on a linen tablecloth.
A washstand of warm water was offered for us to freshen up and while the adults were handed champagne the children happily made do with fruit juice. The riding party arrived moments later, as surprised as we were, to enjoy bobotie and exchange “survival stories” from the morning.
Before arriving at Macatoo we were concerned whether the children would have enough to keep them safely occupied in camp, between activities, given that they couldn’t stray out of sight.
But it turned out to be a perfect playground: colossal termite mounds to “mine”, trees to climb and a receding water channel to practise mokoro punting, as well as a plunge pool which kept us all cool.
We were offered a family suite – two tents connected by an elevated walkway above the ground – but chose to share one, which was more than big enough. Macatoo has eight guest tents, elevated on to vast wooden decks, offering comfortable beds, a hot-water shower, solar-powered lighting and a large veranda from which to view the passing game. A pair of bushbuck, which the children attempted to tame, regularly sheltered under our deck.
The children were also offered horse rides, which they accepted with excitement.
Even though they could only be led on horseback around the camp – with dangerous game in the area, stable manager Mod Manyema was taking no chances – they still managed to spot elephants from their saddles.
But, like many guests who are drawn to Macatoo by its horses, we were all delighted by the range of non-riding activities on offer.
One afternoon, John Sobey, the camp’s co-owner, announced he would be taking us out for a “walk to get a pizza”. We were all intrigued. Along the way, the children’s attention was held by lessons in animal droppings and spoor and some wonderful sightings of birds and animals.
Approaching from downwind, John brought us safely up to a breeding group of elephants. Suddenly, they stopped grazing.
“It’s the horses,” Tess said. Five days at Macatoo had already given her “bush eyes” so she could spot things beyond my eyesight.
She had seen the horses ridden by the other guests as we approached another surprise rendezvous: this time an evening meal, under candlelight, of pizza cooked in an oven dug deep into a termite mound.
On our final evening in camp, John offered us a last treat, a sundowner in a tree-house set 8m up the trunk of a monumental sausage tree. As the fire glowed down below where dinner was being prepared, we listened to the African change of shift: daytime sounds switching to night time ones. Noises from a nearby water channel caught our attention, a single sloppy footstep followed by two ripping sounds.
“Hippo,” said John, explaining that the animals take two bites of grass right and left to every pace. He had the children in fits with his impersonation.
Turning on a powerful torch, he aimed the beam down from the treehouse and there was the animal, clear of the water, grazing greedily, its skin still wet yet rouged pink in the bright light.
“It’s just like that game we play at home – hungry hippos,” Tess whispered.
IF YOU GO
Accommodation rates at Macatoo: from R6 800 a person a night. See www.africanhorsebacksafaris.com
Flights to Maun leave directly from Cape Town with Air Botswana, and directly from Joburg via SAA Airlink, www.flyairlink.com, and Air Botswana, www.airbotswana.co.bw
Flights to African Horseback Safaris can be arranged via Mack Air, www.mackair.co.bw - Saturday Star