Night of the Chui: a night drive of epic proportions

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I just returned from the most epic nightdrive of which I’ve ever been lucky enough to be a part. It was a somewhat last-minute decision to go at all, but, MAN, am I glad we did!

The drive actually started out painfully slow and relatively uncertain. Kayna captained the wheel while I manned the spotlight from the roof hatch and Sarah kept a watchful eye from shotgun. We saw very little for quite a while (in fact, nothing but dik-diks and hares), and I began to wonder if nightdrives ever yielded anything truly exciting around here. As we drove past a pair of dams (usually a good place to see wildlife), with nothing in sight, Kayna solidified my suspicions by claiming nightdrives rarely produced anything more noteworthy than some Bat-eared Foxes or an Aardwolf. Volunteering an example, she claimed that in her two and half years here, she’d only seen a leopard at night once - the rest had all been at around 3 in the afternoon!

Well, *ahem* . . . not 5 minutes later, while Sarah and I were trying to scope something out in the bush to our left (I don’t even remember what), Kayna said she saw something encouraging in the road up ahead. I turned to look at it, and concluded the eyeshine was definitely that of a large carnivore - probably a hyena, judging by its posture as it crouched near the road's edge. Kayna agreed, and we raced forward to investigate.

Whatever it was, it must have perceived our oncoming Landrover as a great rumbling beast with 3 intensely shining eyes (I know I would), and the unidentified creature leaped into the bush for safety. We were still too far to make out exactly what it was, but we did notice it was succeeded by a tail - a very long tail.

We quickly pulled up to the side of the road where it had disappeared into the bush and, scanning quickly with the spotlight, there it was: a leopard! We couldn’t believe our luck, or the irony, of spotting a leopard literally minutes after Kayna claimed it was nigh hopeless. It was small, most likely a female (some breeding females weigh as little at 26kgs!). After reappearing from behind a bushy acacia, it stopped and looked back towards us for half minute or so, offering us some fantastic views before slinking off into bush too dense for us to follow.

I finally had my first cat since being here - I was ecstatic! We all were. While leopards are far and away the most common of the large cats throughout Africa, they are the least encountered. Such a beautiful animal, too.

We drove on towards the spray race, still on a leopard high. On the way we spotted a genet - a good find - and followed it into the bush for a bit before continuing on. At the spray race, we found the usual ungulate suspects: Thompson’s Gazelle, Impala, Kirk’s Dik-dik, and Reticulated Giraffe. Canids were also aplenty: a trio of Bat-eared Foxes, probably the same ones we usually see in this area, scampered off erratically (as Bat-eared Foxes do) when we tried approaching for a better look, and a Black-backed Jackal put in a brief appearance before disappearing into the bush, quite chuffed with the dinner (dangling from its mouth) that it had just caught.

Continuing towards the airstrip loop - a favorite game drive - we drove past small herds of the more unusual antelope of the area: Jackon’s Hartebeest and Beisa Oryx. Apparently the leopard had given us a bit of luck - there were suddenly animals everywhere! Our nightdrive had miraculously transformed from a dull quasi-joyride to a nocturnal adventure filled with creatures of the bush. Even the dik-diks and hares that darted in and out of the headlights seemed more exciting now that our nightdrive had become such a success.

Such a success, in fact, that when I spotted a pair of unusual eyes back in the bush a ways along the airstrip loop, Kayna and Sarah joked that we were only stopping for lions from here until home. Just to be sure it wasn't the king of the jungle, I used my right hand to brace my binoculars against the spotlight, which I held with my left, and tried to get a better look.

“What is it?” Kayna asked.

“It’s a leopard,” I replied, rather more matter-of-factly than I intended.

“Are you sure?!” Kayna and Sarah chimed, both shocked.

“No, but it looked like a cat and it had spots!” I think I was trying to maintain confidence in what I saw, since I didn’t even believe me.

We tore off into the bush, hoping to find a better view and obtain a more definite identification. It took a bit of frantic searching, but we eventually found the eyeshine again. Lo and behold - another leopard! The most secretive and rarely seen of the big cats, and we had seen two in one night!

This one appeared as small or smaller than the first and had an adolescent look about it. It bounded off into the dense grass, eager to evade the spotlight. We followed suit, trying to get as good a view as possible whilst we had the opportunity. We were able to follow rather closely and get decent views of it as it slunk through the grass and sparse acacias. Kayna suggested making dying animals noises, to which I happily obliged, imitating the same noise I make for my Maine Coon back home when I want its attention - a sort kissing noise. Of course, a much larger cat required a much louder noise, so I kissed the night air as intensely as I could.

And it worked. The leopard stopped and turned around to investigate, facing us. It took a seat, somewhat confused that such a great beast could make such an intriguing and potentially delicious noise. We stared at each other for a while, the three of us blissfully admiring the cat and the cat curiously watching us. It even made a brief move towards the car (thanks to my dying-animal impression) before having a second thought and escaping into the night. We let it be, more than content with what had seen.

Two leopard sightings in one night: undoubtedly this was already a nightdrive tale worthy of multiple retellings, and we still had a decent drive along the river ahead separating us from Mpala’s gate.

Bumping along the uneven dirt road, heading into the valley that houses the Ewaso Ny’iro, we knew we were nearing the river when the spotlight caught the eyeshine of Lesser Bushbabies in the canopies of the hydrophilic Yellow Fever Trees. For such small creatures - small enough to fit in the palm of a human hand - they have impressively bright eyeshine that can be seen from more than a kilometer away if the spotlight hits it just right. Like bright red orbs careering from branch to branch, bushbaby eyes are undoubtedly the brightest eyes one might come across in the bush, occasionally giving riverside trees a festive and ornamental appearance when several can be seen at once.

The roadside acacias must also produce a sap to the bushbabies’ liking, as we were treated to delightfully good views at eye-level of these adorable primates (yes, primates) as we paralleled the river. It’s difficult to describe exactly what they look like, but I can’t help but think of them as the mammalian manifestation of an owl.

There is one point along the river where the road approaches it rather closely and the dense bush buffer between river and dirt track dwindles until nonexistant, exposing about a 150 meters of the Ewaso Ny’iro’s bank. I always expect to see something drinking when I pass this spot, and wasn’t disappointed as we drove past tonight: from the opposite side shone the eyes of a carnivore (the general rule being red/orange/yellow = carnivore and green/yellow-green = herbivore; there are, of course, exceptions to the rule, such as bushbabies). My heart jumped at the thought of a third leopard, as the river is prime habitat for these cats. I knew this was too good to be true, however, and was not at all let down to see a Spotted Hyena quenching its thirst. While they can be heard nearly every night, we rarely see them and considered this another bonus of a sighting and likely the cap to an impressive night of cruising the bush. With only a couple kilometers to go, we were quite satisfied with our drive and weren’t expecting much more excitement for the night.

That is, however, until we got a flat tire.

Kayna had felt something wrong with the steering, and asked Sarah to peer out her window at the front left tire. Sarah’s verdict: not completely flat, but definitely “squishy-looking.” But could we make it home? Fixing a flat on a Landrover (which requires a high-jack) can be tough enough on an uneven dirt road, and the darkness of night certainly makes it no easier. Of course, nor do the creatures of the night - especially large, ornery creatures with big horns. Creatures like the two gigantic Cape Buffalo I had just noticed grazing in the bush off to our left.

Kayna felt a sense of urgency I didn’t, and took off down the road while I was trying to get a better look at the buffs (and see if there were any others deeper in the bush). She put safe gap between us before coming to a stop and, without much hesitation, grabbed her torch and leaped out of the car.

“Look for buffalo!” she called up to me as she went to investigate the status of our “squishy” front-left tire. “Do you see anything?”

I almost immediately saw eyeshine not too far to the right, about 15 meters from the car - bright red bushbaby eyes, nothing to worry about. I continued my scan and saw nothing, so turned my attention back to the bushbaby, hoping to actually see more than just the eyeshine. It appeared to be low in a tree, obscured by some dense brush - just enough that I couldn’t quite see its adorable owlesque face. It hopped back and forth between a couple branches, its eyes like a glowing red rubber ball bouncing in the dark. It then hopped down to a large boulder behind the tree and, just as I thought I’d get a chance to see it, rebounded back into the thickest part of the bush. And then I noticed something odd - something that both confused me and profoundly troubled me . . .

. . . the boulder on which the bushbaby had just sat followed the bushbaby.

In what was undoubtedly the most embarrassing misidentification of my life, I watched the miraculous transformation of a bushbaby into the largest and most rotund buffalo I had ever laid eyes on. It was absolutely and awesomely gigantic; a burnt marshmallow the size of a Mini Cooper.

I finally answered Kayna’s question, about 40 seconds too late, trying to maintain a sense of calm while simultaneously getting the (very important) message across: “Nothing except for that (*expletive deleted*) enormous buffalo right there,” I said, just as she was rounding the front of the car back towards the driver’s seat. It was at this point that the massive beast turned its head towards the LandRover and the spotlight ignited the fiery glow of the right eye, set at a good foot or more from the left, providing Kayna with an up-close-and-too-personal view as she looked over her shoulder.

“Holy shit!” she screamed as she literally dove into the car. “Why didn’t you say something?!”

Understandably, she was obviously not very pleased with my dangerous-animal-finding skills. And, needless to say, nor was I. I was quite embarrassed as I tried to explain my misobservation - a misobservation of probably the biggest size discrepancy of all time. I felt like an idiot.

Kayna floored it, putting as much distance between us and the bush’s buffest buff as she could. It’s a good thing she did, too, because about 150 meters later we heard the “flub-flub-flub” of a completely deflated tire flopping along the dirt road as the car rolled to a stop. The last thing we would have wanted is to change the tire alongside the bush’s most dangerous animal! 150 meters isn’t much of a gap, but it’s something. We’d have to act fast, though - the buffalo were slowly munching their way towards us.

As previously mentioned, changing a LandRover’s tire is no mean feat, especially under the circumstances. The elevated clearance and good suspension requires the use of a high-jack, something I had never used before. Not only can the handle of a high-jack break a jaw if misused, but it also creates a precarious perch from which the vehicle can come crashing down. The flat came off easy enough, but the car needed to be jacked up perilously high to put on the new tire. As Sarah kept a lookout for wildlife from the hatch, the slightest shift in her weight made the arrangement wobble threateningly. Otherwise, it’s more or less like changing any other tire and, with Kayna’s help, I had it changed in a matter of minutes. We all breathed a sigh of relief when we were, once again, underway, sure that the night’s excitement had been exhausted.

And, for the most part, it was. A brief stop at the hippo pools yielded an impressively large herd of female and baby impala (awww . . . leopard food!), a few bushbuck, and a troop of baboons noisily sleeping (we could hear them snoring) in the yellow fever trees along the river. As we approached the research center, a lone waterbuck caught our attention, as did a rather unusual mongoose none of us recognized - one to be looked up in Kingdon’s African Mammals.

So, after more than two hours exploring the nighttime bush, we motored back through the Mpala gate. The askari asked us if we had seen anything good, and we told him as much as we could, in Swahili, about the observational spoils of our drive. I was most excited to tell him about the two chui we had encountered.

“Chui?” he replied, a bit surprised.

“Chui!” Leopard!

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