Rediscovering the joy of watching birds in northern KwaZulu-Natal
Text & Photographs by Anton Crone
About halfway through my field notes from a recent trip is the headline “Birds I saw after I dropped my phone in the drink”, followed by a small list. Despite many fine moments, this blunder proved to be the crux of my journey.
Mkhuze Game Reserve in northern KwaZulu-Natal had never been on my radar until I realised its importance. Fellow birders would listen to my tales of Hluhluwe–Imfolozi and Tembe Elephant Park only to seem disappointed when I didn’t also mention Mkhuze. It was clear that a northern KwaZulu-Natal trip was incomplete without visiting the hallowed reserve. So off I went, aiming to include False Bay and Hluhluwe–Imfolozi Park to bring my number close to the 420 species this birding mecca is renowned for.
I first stayed at Ghost Mountain Inn, not far from Mkhuze, with its beautiful garden boasting enormous fig trees and an array of birds. Manager Jean Toucher walked me to my room in a newly built wing. “The original floor plan would have meant losing one of the figs,” she explained, “so we decided to keep the tree and lose a few rooms.”
Arriving on a humid summer afternoon, I headed straight to the pool. Along the way I was distracted by various birds, including a Diederik Cuckoo high in the branches of a fig tree and a more accessible Collared Sunbird that sent me rushing for my camera. The garden borders a large dam fringed with reeds, where Yellow Weavers had me prancing along the jetty, photographing them as they darted in and out of nests. Just as the heat got the better of me, a Brown-headed Kingfisher beat me to the pool, diving into the cool water ahead of me. A wonderful introduction to the inn.
Mkhuze Game Reserve & Muzi Pan
With guide Sabelo Ntuli at the wheel, we drove to Mkhuze early the next morning, arriving as the gate opened. The road on the way was in poor condition and we were the only car there — a boon compared to the crowds in southern Kruger and the like. But we weren’t lonely. Shortly after entering the reserve, we saw a Crowned Eagle through the tree canopy, perched high on a branch surveying its domain. Its crown fluttered in the wind as a pair of Scarlet-chested Sunbirds flitted nearby.
We startled a White-browed Robin-chat as we continued on our way, taking the northern route through Mantuma Camp to Hlangweni Gate to meet community guide Xolani Jobe. He would guide us to Muzi Pan, a short drive through villages and farmland, but first we walked along the Mkhuze River, searching for the resident Pel’s Fishing Owl, which proved elusive. Never mind — a cacophony of wings drew our attention to the skies, where a formation of Pink-backed Pelicans circled before descending toward Nhlonhlela Pan. A Broad-billed Roller revealed itself by its distinctive call, and I proudly ticked off a White-eared Barbet — a lifer — on my bird app.
At Muzi Pan, my phone was constantly in hand to tick off all manner of birds. Highlights included a Goliath Heron, several Blue-cheeked Bee-eaters feasting on dragonflies and bees, and a honeycomb pinned to an acacia thorn, probably the work of a honeyguide that had hoisted it up there to feed on the wax. Back in the reserve, we drove south to Nsumo Pan, setting up in one of the large waterside hides for lunch while the birds also enjoyed their meals. Darters and egrets speared fish in the shallows as swallows swooped over the water to snap at insects.
The afternoon heat had many terrestrial birds seeking shade, except for Little Bee-eaters, which became more active. To my delight, a pair of Crowned Eagles soared low and heavy from tree to tree as we drove back towards the gate. By mid-afternoon I had recorded 83 species. Mkhuze had certainly delivered.
The next morning, Sabelo and I stretched our legs with a walk around the farmland and along the river and dam. White-throated Bee-eaters were everywhere, feasting on butterflies that rose from puddles. A candelabra tree was decorated with Black-collared Barbets, and Yellow-throated Longclaws took advantage of newly cut grass along the edge of the cotton fields, carting it off in their beaks for nesting material.
Phoneless & fancy-free
Before setting off for Hluhluwe, I photographed White-fronted Bee-eaters on the jetty. Their squeaky voices filled the air like a magician shaping balloons into animals. I could have watched them for hours, but a pair of photographers drew my attention to a Yellow-billed Kite trying to pick up a dead fish. After ticking it off, I put my phone in my back pocket and sat on the edge of the jetty to photograph African Jacanas prancing from reed to reed. A large “plop” signalled what I thought was a fish. But when I stood up to leave, I realised it had been the sound of my phone dropping into the water.
It had slipped from my back pocket, through the jetty slats into the deep water. I quickly resigned myself to its loss, feeling an unexpected relief at being disconnected from social media — a rabbit hole down which I regularly tumble — and walked back to the inn with a skip in my step. Jean was adamant she would send staff to dive for it, but I persuaded her not to worry, that the phone was a goner. I left the lovely inn footloose and phoneless.
It was only when I reached Hideaways Lazuli Bush Lodge, secluded in the shaded sand forest of Kuleni Game Park, that I wondered what I would do without the bird app. The trees around the lodge were alive with birds, and I had not brought a bird book. Without the phone I had no means of confirming a bird’s identity, or its calls.
The resident Purple-crested Turacos were easy to identify, the ubiquitous Helmeted Guineafowls were a cinch, a Southern Boubou even answered my poor imitations. But the smaller, more nimble jobs that flitted through the shade and twittered in ways I struggled to recall had me stumped.
I realised I had to do the essential thing: be a birdwatcher rather than a bird-lister.
St Lucia are home to healthy populations of zebra, bushbuck and smaller antelope.
Hideaways Lazuli Bush Lodge is a bonanza for birdwatchers with its surrounding sand forest trails.
Becoming a birdwatcher
I set out along the trail through the sand forest, appropriately named Trogon, Nicator, Twin Spot and the like; I steadily immersed myself in the rich surroundings that I shared with the birds. I ambled through various biomes including thornveld and grassland, and in the deeper forest I lingered, simply waiting, listening and watching.
The next morning I drove the 18 kilometres to Hluhluwe–Imfolozi with no agenda. I had hardly entered the park when a phalanx of buffaloes blocked the road. I pulled over and happily whiled away the time watching Red-billed Oxpeckers feasting on ticks and flies.
The buffaloes soon made way for safari vehicles that sped on in hope of ticking off the rest of the Big Five, while I remained engrossed with the antics of the birds. Despite seeing many wonderful species, the oxpeckers became a recurring theme. The more time I spent with them, the more I enjoyed their antics and the more I learned about their relationship with the mammals they preened. I spent almost the entire afternoon watching a pair of oxpeckers working the hide, head and anus of a giraffe.
On driving back to the exit, I encountered the same buffaloes, this time with oxpeckers roosting on top of my car as if I was part of the herd — much to the delight of passing tourists.
By the time I left, I felt more content than I had on many birding trips. Not because I had counted a great number of species, but because I had spent a great number of hours observing just one.
False Bay & bee-eater trees
I resolved to keep this up in False Bay on Lake St Lucia the next day. The road from the gate to the shore winds through coastal forest, where red duikers hide in the gloaming and robin-chats fill the dark glades with song. Eventually the forest opens to a vista over the estuary, where the water laps at reedbeds and sandy shores.
After a lazy drive along the coast, passing zebra and bushbuck as they grazed, I set myself up under a large tree near the campsite. A Little Egret waded carefully through the shallows, striking at tiny fish. Three-banded Plovers dashed impatiently along the shoreline.
Above me, Blue-cheeked Bee-eaters lined the branches. They twisted and darted after butterflies and beetles, approaching prey from below, snapping them so they tumbled, then catching them before they hit the water. Their elastic precision was astounding.
As the sun touched the horizon I headed back to the Lazuli where a message was waiting: Jean from Ghost Mountain Inn had called to say that my phone had been retrieved and, incredibly, it was still working. I was extremely grateful — and somewhat sad. My time in phoneless paradise wasn’t quite over, and I resolved to spend the next day in False Bay beneath the bee-eater tree.
Blue-cheeked Bee-eaters are acrobatic hunters over Lake St Lucia.
