9 minute read
Wild encounters with the chimps of Mahale
Tanzania’s Mahale National Park, on the eastern shore of Lake Tanganyika, is one of the best places in the world to observe chimpazees up close in the wild
Words and photos by Andreas Fox
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Descending through the clouds, all I could see out of the window was bluegreen water with the odd white streak of a wave. I leaned inwards, and looked straight between the pilots and through the windscreen of the eight-seater PC-12. I had just started flying lessons myself and nervously laughed at what I saw: a short, dog-legged grass strip, starting at the water’s edge and abruptly ending below an ominous set of hills. I reminded myself that I preferred such small planes. I figure that you can see the pilot and if they are relaxed, then all must be well.
With broad smiles, Butati and Mwiga, two of Nomad Tanzania’s guides, met us off the plane and asked us to sign in to Mahale National Park. With only one other, barely operational, lodge in the area, flicking through the book meant rapidly going back in time. I searched for familiar names and quickly found some of the usual suspects – amongst many repeated names were a motley crew of private guides.
Many colleagues had regaled me with stories of this place, and I was thrilled to have finally made it out. It was both a little stressful and exciting to be taking guests to a destination I had never been to before. I had done my homework, but knew I would be relying on the local experts more than ever. My role had become less about knowledge and behavioural interpretation and more about being host, porter and cameraman.
At the bottom end of the airstrip, moored amongst the reeds of the lakeshore, was our motorised dhow. We clambered aboard, ducking our heads under the wooden shade structure. I looked overboard to check and, sure enough, the water was ‘ginclear’, as all the literature never fails to mention.
We headed out of the reeds and into Lake Tanganyika – Africa’s deepest lake and an evolutionary biologist’s dream. Settled into a cleft of the Albertine Rift – the western arm of the Great Rift Valley – the lake is a long, narrow body of water, bordered by four countries. At nearly 700 km long, it’s shared by Burundi in the north, Tanzania in the east, Zambia in the south and the DRC to the west. With an average width of just 50 km, we could clearly see the Congolese hills opposite us. Its deepest point is nearly a mile down, and it accounts for over 15% of all fresh water on the planet. By depth, volume and age, as a freshwater lake it’s second only to Lake Baikal in Siberia.
We navigated our way through anchored wooden canoes, stationed off a fishing village on the park’s boundary. Children waved at us as they swam in the shallows, their parents tending to carpets of drying fish on the shore. Behind the village were the towering hills at the heart of Mahale National Park. The boundary was clear to see as a defined change between open, cultivated land and thick, broad-leafed forest. Where the park extends into the lake, fishing has recently been banned.
The lake is famous for its diversity of cichlid fish species, the vast majority of which are found nowhere else on Earth. Even more fascinating is the fact that they represent the most extreme vertebrate version of ‘adaptive radiation’. Much like Darwin’s finches of the Galapagos, the Tanganyika cichlids originate from a recent common ancestor and rapidly evolved into different species of all colours, shapes and diets to take advantage of unexploited niches.
Despite the boat fighting waves, we made steady progress southwards. Mwiga took the opportunity to introduce us to the next phase of our adventure. We had travelled all this way for the prospect of experiencing arguably the best wild chimpanzee encounters in the world. Over fifty years prior, Mwiga’s father had helped researchers from Kyoto University, Japan, find their own study groups of chimps here, having been beaten by Jane Goodall to Gombe, a hundred miles further north.
The project’s presence has ensured that successive generations of chimps, in what has become known as the ‘M-Community’, are habituated to humans. We were enthralled at Mwiga’s tales and delivery. With his eyes lit up and wide toothy smile, he mimicked chimp body language and gestures perfectly. The anecdotes were wild and we were caught between excitement and trepidation. Between stories, I peered up at the steep forested slopes, binoculars in hand. Flashes of white amongst the canopies betrayed the location of yet another palm-nut vulture. That’s a Holy Grail species in some places. Here they are abundant. Fish eagles and migratory ospreys were there too, after the lake’s riches.
The iconic entrance to Greystoke Mahale
We eventually rounded a small headland, revealing what has to be one of the most iconic lodge entrances in all of Africa. A small crescent of white sandy beach emerges from the forest, lapped by the turquoise water. Framed by the clichéd ‘Jurassic Park’ background is the famous shaggy-thatched polygon that is Greystoke Mahale’s ‘mess’.
The inspiration for the name is clear – the lodge is surrounded by the type of thick jungle that Lord Greystoke encountered in the Tarzan films. We offloaded and walked over the sand past the remnants of a stricken dhow, destined to be refurbished into a bar. It gave us a clue about the place’s character. There are only six rooms at the lodge, all totally open-fronted and made from reclaimed dhows that used to ply trade routes across the lake. Intricate carvings and other subtle hints of the wood’s past can be found in the odd smudge of old paint.
In each room, dark hardwood decks lead to a king bed centerpiece, draped with mosquito net curtains. Along with a steep A-frame thatched roof, with fronds that nearly tickle the ground, this is all that would separate me from the nocturnal world outside. I had already noticed the old leopard poo on the path, but knew I had nothing to worry about. I was in love with this bedroom, but had a feeling that my guests were going to be a little apprehensive that night.
In the evening, we gathered at the sundowner bar, which tucks into the headland we rounded upon arrival. Over gin, tonic and snacks we had our thorough briefing from Mwiga and Butati. We were told of correct etiquette and the importance of surgical masks, to prevent the transfer of possible illnesses to our closest relatives. Wild stories of chimps going mad at the sight of leopard print clothing or tying up a ranger with vines, worked their magic.
We went to bed merry and excited at the prospect of the next day’s ‘chimping’. No sooner had I tucked in, I could hear a rustle outside. Then it began grunting and snorting. Bushpigs are said to be common and I couldn’t resist catching a glimpse. I snuck out through the ‘mozzy-net’ and beamed a torch. His white mane draped over his russet flanks, it was one of the best views I’d ever had of this creature.
Breakfast was at 8 am, a lie-in by most safari standards. We were to come out ready to go into the forest at a moment’s notice. The tracker team was already out searching for the chimps. The radio call came in and we made for the boat. The chimps were located in an area that made starting by the research station easier. There are no motorable roads in this part of the park. We walked along footpaths that had been cut to facilitate the research and tourist access. The humidity was brutal. Only 30 minutes in, drenched in sweat, I noticed that my camera lens was beginning to fog up. Then we heard them. A distant crescendo of howls and hoots. Minutes later we had caught up with them.
We were watching a group of males and Butati began introducing the characters. ‘Michio, Christmas, Orion and the alpha male, Primus.’ All grooming, but as Butati explained, uneasily analysing each other for hints of hierarchical affirmation or defiance. For weeks, a coup had been brewing.
Chimpanzees, despite appearing small when you’re stood nearby, carry an air of brute strength and unpredictability. I’ve been lucky to spend many hours with both them and gorillas, and I find chimps more intimidating. I guess it’s the nature of their politics, or occasional murderous behaviour, in contrast to the stereotypically gentle, family-oriented society of their much larger cousins. It makes chimps even more human-like, I suppose.
My thoughts were soon contradicted when we found a pair of females with their offspring. Deliberately separated from the males and their posturing, these girls were ever so tenderly playing and grooming. Facing each other, the females clasped hands over their heads and used their spare hand to meticulously search the other’s fur for lice – the famous ‘Mahale High Five’; apparently not seen in any other chimp population.
Sweaty, but elated, we returned to camp for showers and lunch. An afternoon swim was in order. The threat of crocodiles meant we couldn’t just dive in from the beach. Instead, we packed a cooler box, jumped on board a dhow and went in search of hippos and birdlife.
Turning back to camp, we headed out further into the lake, where the floor falls steeply into the abyss. It was too deep for hippos and no reason for crocs at that depth. Back-flipping into the water, I beckoned my guests to join me. The water was unlike any I had ever experienced. Warm and without salt to sting the eyes, it’s clear enough to see for metres until it disappears into inky depths. The mild soapy sensation on the skin, a result of the ever-soslight alkalinity, felt silky. It began to drizzle. The warm water was blissful and the scene on shore magnificent – a rainbow briefly developed through the clouds, shrouding Mahale’s peaks. A storm was coming and it was time to head back.
That night I was woken up by an almighty lightning strike. It struck so close, there was no interval between the flash and the thunder. A succession of storms came through, creating the most dramatic pyrotechnics and bed-shaking rumbles. There was no chance that any of us were asleep. I sat up to watch the show, and thought how lucky I was to be able to do this all over again the next day.
