Campfire Tales

Campfire Tales

StoriesfromtheLifeof

aProfessionalHunterinZambiaandTanzania

by

Rolf Rohwer

Safari Press

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Table of Contents

Foreword by Tony Dyer ......................................................................viii

Author Preface ...................................................................................... x

Introduction by David Shepherd....... ................................................. xix

About the Artist ................................................................................ xxiii

Chapter 1. How I Ended Up around the Campfire .................... 1

Chapter 2. Diamonds and the Golden Gate Bridge .................12

Chapter 3. A Snaky Day with Phil Berry ..................................26

Chapter 4. Elephant Cropping Scheme in

South Luangwa National Park ................................44

Chapter 5. The Kafue Hippo ......................................................60

Chapter 6. The Guinea Fowl Elephant ......................................70

Chapter 7. Johnny Uys and the Python .....................................80

Chapter 8. My Elephant ..............................................................88

Chapter 9. The Independence Day Rhino ...............................100

Chapter 10. Hit by a Charging Elephant ...................................112

Chapter 11. The Airport Buffalo ................................................ 118

Chapter 12. Snake! .......................................................................126

Chapter 13. The Hippo and the School Teachers .....................132

Chapter 14. Derek, the Hippo, and the Sick Bag .....................136

Chapter 15. An Angry Hippo Attacks the Land Rover ...........146

Chapter 16. Two Rather Good Shots at a Buffalo

and an Elephant ......................................................154

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Chapter 17. Kalimulilo Leopard ................................................ 162

Chapter 18. Franz Coupé and the Hippo .................................. 176

Chapter 19. The Double ..............................................................184

Chapter 20. An Elephant Hunt with Warren Page ..................190

Chapter 21. A Sitatunga Hunt in Bangweulu with

H.I.H. Prince Abdorreza (Pahlavi) ........................204

Chapter 22. My Thumb, the First Signs of Loa Loa,

and the Johnny Carson Show ................................. 218

Chapter 23. Zambia, Land of the Sable .....................................228

Chapter 24. Talking Drums and Bongo Hunting ....................240

Chapter 25. Carole .......................................................................250

Chapter 26. An Airboat to Capture Black Lechwes .................268

Chapter 27. St. Pancreas Hospital and Loa Loa .......................286

Chapter 28. Ron Pavlik’s Lion ....................................................296

Chapter 29. Tanzania’s Roosevelt Sable .....................................304

Chapter 30. Lion Mauling ..........................................................312

Chapter 31. To Zambia from Nairobi Hospital for

a Job Interview ........................................................340

Chapter 32. Gary Reichart’s Leopard ........................................ 352

Chapter 33. Thomas Pigeon and the Almost

Hundred-Pound Elephant .....................................364

Chapter 34. Close but Not Close Enough—Hit by a Buffalo .. 376

Chapter 35. Epilogue ...................................................................388

Chapter 1

How I Ended Up around the Campfire

It was the winter quarter of 1961, and I was just about to take an exam in statistical analysis at the University of Colorado in Boulder, Colorado. It was my second quarter at the university.

I was weak in mathematics, and I had, therefore, deliberately decided to take a high-powered math course in the engineering school in the hope that I could improve my understanding of the subject. I had studied very hard for this exam and felt confident. I had properly prepared for the test and could utilize any of the mathematical formulas that we had been asked to learn.

The professor for this course was Dr. Wolfgang Throne. Dr. Throne was a German immigrant. He had a fairly distinct accent and dressed and acted very Germanic indeed. As I arrived for the exam, Dr. Throne was busy walking down the rows of students, passing out the exam papers. He slowly and deliberately laid the exam facedown before each student. When he had finished distributing the papers, Dr. Throne stood before the class and announced that we had exactly one hour in which to finish the questions. He told us to leave any questions that we did not understand and go back to them only if we had time left after the bulk of the questions had been answered. He then said that we should start.

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I turned my paper over and was instantly horrified. The entire first section was nothing more than a rote memory test in which we were asked to reproduce a list of formulas. There was no application of reasoning. I had never attempted to memorize these formulas, for they could easily be looked up in any mathematics book at any time. Instead, I had studied the actual use of each formula, how and when to apply them. I simply had no idea how to reproduce them from memory. It was immediately obvious to me that I had to fail; there was no way I could even start the exam.

I sat for a few minutes staring at the memory questions. Then beneath the list of questions, I carefully wrote, “This examination is an insult to my intelligence and hard work.” I then carefully signed the bottom of the exam paper. I stood up, slowly walked to Dr. Throne’s desk, and handed him the signed paper. Dr. Throne

The author’s MG sports car in front of the Rhodes memorial in Cape Town.

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looked at the virtually blank exam paper, and then he read what I had written across the bottom of the page.

He said, “Mr. Rohwer, if you present this paper to me, you will fail.”

I replied, “No sir, it is you who have failed.” I then walked out of the room. I immediately headed out of

the building across the grounds directly for a student bar just off the campus known as the Sink. Once inside the cool and welcome atmosphere of the Sink, I proceeded to get as drunk as only a student is able to get on Coors beer with an alcohol content of 3.2 percent!

When I was well past my limit of beer, I somehow made my way back over to the Delta Tau Delta Fraternity house where I shared a room with my good friend Kirk Osborn. I staggered into the room and attempted to look around. On his desk, Kirk had left open a National Geographic magazine with a large, clear, double-page color photograph of the University of Cape Town. It looked so absolutely beautiful that as I lay on my bed I decided I was going to go to the University of Cape Town as soon as I could make the arrangements. I decided that prelaw and economics were not for me, certainly not as I had failed the statistical analysis course. Perhaps I would find something in South Africa?

I will skip the details of just how I was financially able to make this dramatic change. The following Thursday, I departed for Paris. I would stay with my cousins who were studying at the Sorbonne while I waited for a telegram of acceptance from Cape Town. I had telexed the university and requested temporary admission pending receipt of my school records. I had decided that if Cape Town would not accept me, I would simply stay with my cousins and study at the Université de Paris. Finally, after ten days, I was delighted to receive a temporary acceptance. Before I left Paris, I promised my parents that I would stay in Africa for only six months. It is now

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more than forty-four years since I made that promise, and I still spend six months in Africa each year!

After a super trip via London in a British Airways VC10 jet aircraft, I finally arrived in Cape Town. I will always remember the trip because of the unique rear enjoined jet aircraft [rear of fuselage swings open for loading] and the smell. When we first entered the aircraft, I thought it smelled like a chicken coop, but I did not pay too much attention because I was very excited about the adventure. However, when we stopped at Tristan da Cunha to refuel, I walked forward to the first-class cabin. There I was able to see that the entire first-class section of the aircraft had been rather crudely sectioned off with a panel of light plywood. I could distinctly hear the peep-peep of some sort of birds behind the panel of plywood.

I immediately asked the stewardesses what was behind the panel. She replied that there were more than five thousand canaries and budgies in the first-class compartment! Apparently, once a year, an important importer from South Africa took the entire first-class compartment for his shipment of birds, and I was on the bird flight. I can still clearly remember the smell becoming stronger and stronger as we continued the flight. By the time we reached Cape Town some fourteen hours after departing from London, the whole aircraft smelled very like a chicken coop—not to mention the passengers!

I was met at the airport by a representative of the student council and driven to the university. The University of Cape Town Campus is located on the slopes of Table Mountain, which is quite spectacular. The views of Cape Harbor and the entire city are truly magnificent. As I stepped out of the car in front of the student housing, I remarked to the student with me that this must surely be one of the most attractive universities in the world.

I was taken into the student accommodation office where I was informed that I had been booked into the accommodation for

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seniors. The authorities had decided that the first Yank to attend the university should be isolated up at Varsity House with the more mature students. As it worked out, I was to make some good friends and was more than satisfied with the decision to semiseparate me from the students of my own age.

My roommate at Varsity House was Holge Fulde. He was a South African of German origin from South-West Africa (Namibia). His father had a soft drink business in Windhoek. Looking back at everything, I have decided that it was probably Holge’s fault that I chose to remain in Africa. During the first vacation I had at UCT, Holge invited me to visit his home in SWA. I had a small MG, and the two of us drove to Windhoek in this most unsuitable vehicle. During our fourteen-day break, Holge and I visited quite a lot of the country. We spent one weekend out on a ranch that Holge’s family owned. It was there that I saw my first wildlife, for the farm was full of springbok, kudu, oryx, and other antelope. I was immediately hooked on Africa!

Crossing a river into South-West Africa with Holge Fulde.

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When I returned from this short vacation to the University of Cape Town, I began to make plans with fellow Varsity House friends John Horn and Roger Blaylock to spend our long vacation hunting crocodiles in Nyasaland. Roger had a friend who was a professional crocodile hunter on the Shire River. The Shire River is the main river in Nyasaland, and it joins the Zambezi near the border with Mozambique. Our plan was to drive to Blantyre in Malawi and join Roger’s friend. We would go to the Shire, depart in two boats, and hunt crocodiles for three weeks downriver. The plan was to end up in one of the small colonial Portuguese trading posts on the Zambezi in Mozambique. We would then sell our crocodile skins and the boats and return to Salisbury in Southern Rhodesia on the train from Mozambique. All went as planned. We had many memorable experiences and actually made a great deal of money when we sold the skins.

Thus it was that some four weeks after leaving UCT for my long break, I found myself in Salisbury. It was nearly time to return to

The author standing next to an anthill in South-West Africa.

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South Africa for the next term at university. I was in a quandary, for I really did not know if I wanted to return. I had a serious case of wanderlust and could not decide what I wanted to do. It was a Sunday morning, and I was staying with another of my student friends, Ralph Davis, in his home in Salisbury.

Ralph and I had driven into Salisbury for a beer. I was sitting outside the main hotel with my drink while I read the Sunday paper. In the back of the paper, near the sports pages, was a half-page advertisement from De Beers Diamonds for “Field Officers” and “Geologists” to join De Beers prospecting division. The advert said that there were openings for field officers in the diamond prospecting concessions in various regions of Africa. Interested parties were invited to send in their résumés. My father was a geologist, and I had learned a fair amount about rocks and minerals from him. I had taken a few natural science courses, so I decided to fill in the application and send it off.

A week later, Ralph and I were planning our route to Cape Town. We would drive in his car, and we figured it would take us several days to get there. To my great surprise, I received a telegram from De Beers telling me that I had been selected for an interview. If I was interested, I had to contact their local office and collect my prepaid train ticket to Johannesburg, where the interview would take place.

I went to the office in Salisbury and was given a train ticket on the famous “Blue Train” from Salisbury to Johannesburg via Bechuanaland (Botswana). The train ride took two days, and it was super! From the carriage windows I could see zebra and antelope in the Bechuanaland countryside. It was a steam train, and I still remember the smoke and smell from the stack at the front of the engine. I had a ball! I ate in the big dining car and drank my cold beer at the elegant bar in the car adjacent to the dining car.

When I arrived in Johannesburg, there was a chap waiting for me holding a card with my name on it. I introduced myself and he

Campfire Tales

� Crocodile Camp in the Shire Valley of Mozambique.

Author leaning against a tree in South-West Africa.

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The author taking a break from paddling on the Shire River in Mozambique.

A bloat of hippos basking in the Shire River.

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led me to a rather smart automobile. We drove into the city center and stopped at a rather posh hotel.

I had the interview, met the son of Sir Ernest Oppenheimer, and got the job! I was offered several places and decided to go to the Luangwa Valley of Northern Rhodesia. I had heard Roy, the professional crocodile hunter, talk about the fabulous Luangwa Valley while we were hunting crocodiles together in Nyasaland. Now I would be paid by De Beers to go there and prospect for diamonds. How lucky is that!

John Horn and Roger Blaylock with our sacks of crocodile skins at journey’s end in Caia, Mozambique.

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Diamonds and the Golden Gate Bridge

Chapter 2

The map clearly showed that it would be a simple matter to make a new bush road over a few small hills to join up with the existing track leading from Mpika to the village of Paramount

Chief Mwasi-Lundazi. If we could join these tracks, we would be able to drive to Mpika, thus avoiding the grueling eleven-hour drive to Fort Jameson that we had to make every ten days to collect our supplies. It would be only four to five hours to Mpika, which offered a few basic shops and a real hotel with cold beer! Mpika was everything that two diamond prospectors could dream about.

The only problem was the damn river next to camp. It was one of the headwaters of the Munyamadzi River. It was not really deep; however, it was too deep to drive across with our Land Rover pickup. If we could only get across, I was certain that we could finish the bush track on the opposite side and connect to the Mpika road within days.

Geologist Christopher Smith and I were sitting on the bank of the river discussing the dream of driving to Mpika when I decided that the only course open to us was to build a bridge! When I told Chris about my inspiration, he quickly replied that we did not even have one nail in camp. How did I think I was going to build a bridge? he asked.

I replied that I was convinced our local staff could build a bridge if we showed them where and how big we wanted the structure. Chris

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Constructing the Golden Gate Bridge over the Munyamadzi River in the Luangwa Valley, Zambia.

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Mission accomplished.

The Golden Gate Bridge over the Munyamadzi River in the Luangwa Valley, Zambia.

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said that he would happily OK the effort, knowing the head office in Broken Hill would be delighted if they could access the camp via Mpika. It would cut two days off the supply run for the main headquarters driver if he could deliver to Mpika instead of Fort Jameson.

I immediately called the headman of our crew, who was named Phiri (Phiri is the equivalent of Brown or Smith in Chichewa and is the most common surname in the area), and told him we were going to build a road out of trees above and across the river. Our man Phiri simply said “OK.” Now I was more confident than before—of course we could build a bridge! The local folk had been building bridges for centuries without nails, so why couldn’t we?

It was October of 1962, still two years before Northern Rhodesia would become the independent Republic of Zambia. Chris and I were working for De Beers Diamonds. The company was based in Broken Hill; however, Chris and I were working a large claim on the western side of the Luangwa Valley Game Reserve. Our own base was a tent camp situated on the bank of this small river at the base of a big pointed hill called Kipiri M’senga. We had been working in this area since June and were heartily tired of the dreadful supply run to Fort Jameson. To get to Fort Jameson we had to first drive nearly one hundred miles on a rough bush track through the South Luangwa Game Reserve to a small river pontoon located at a game post named Chilongozi. Once we crossed the river by hand-powered pontoon, we were faced with a drive of some two hundred more dusty, uncomfortable miles on the rough road to Fort Jameson. Only the last three miles of the trip was on tarred roads. That miserable trip was the driving force behind my decision to attempt the bridge-building effort.

Our daily routine had quite recently changed dramatically. During the previous two months we had been up at around 5 am, had coffee and a quick breakfast, and then departed camp at dawn on foot. We each had a crew of five local porters. Four of these fellows

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would each have a specific load; the other was in charge of a bicycle wheel that was attached to a mileage counter. His job was to advise us to stop and collect a small sample of the topsoil each quarter-mile. These samples were then put in a small canvas bag and labeled with a code that gave their map coordinates and the prospect area information. Our standard daily transect was ten miles straight out, one-half mile over, and ten miles back. This twenty-one-mile walk was often considerably more, given that we would have to walk out to the actual starting points. We were extremely fit, and both Chris and I enjoyed the walking—when there were not too many hills and rivers to cross. The four chaps with us carried the samples and our lunches. We would stop briefly at midday for our lunch and a rest. We could easily average three and a half miles per hour walking, so despite the distance, we were always home by late afternoon.

Diamond prospecting campsite on the Munyamadzi River in the Luangwa Valley, Zambia.

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Some two weeks previously, we had been told on the radio that some of our samples had revealed “indicators.” This meant that we now had to concentrate our efforts on the area where the indicators had been found. The indicators themselves were kimberlitic garnets. These small, rather ordinary-looking garnets were bright red, just as other garnets appear, but these had a pitted surface, associated with chemical action found in kimberlite diamond-bearing earth. Our mission was then to find the kimberlite and continue the search for actual diamonds.

The soil samples had given a broad indication of the source of these garnets; now we had to begin sampling all the small, dry riverbeds in the core area in search of more garnets and diamonds themselves.

Chris and I had driven to Fort Jameson to collect the gravity separator for the river samples. This large, weird-looking machine

Chris Smith and the diamond sorters.

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featured a great vertical spoked wheel on one side that made the device vaguely resemble a cement mixer without a bowl. In place of the bowl was a flat, circular steel table. When the large spoked wheel was turned, the circular wheel spun around at quite a speed. Two spouts led down from the top of the machine to the table surface. One spout was for the gravel samples from the riverbed, and the second was for water from the river. Both the water and the gravel were hand-carried by the staff from the river in buckets. The men would use a wide steel ladder up the back of the gravity separator to access the top for the two spouts. When we first began using the gravity separator, the men would quickly climb the ladder, dump the contents of their buckets in the corresponding spout, and return to the river for another load. This method was very inefficient, and I quickly decided that it would be far more workable to form a chain of workers from the river to the machine. In that way, the buckets were simply passed along the line up to the machine. I had two chaps filling the buckets with gravel and one doing the water. Things went quite smoothly once we had the routine in place.

The circular table had a hole in the center. The work of the separator was that gravity produced by the water-driven spinning wheel pushed the heavier minerals toward the center of the table, where they dropped through a hole onto a series of stacked, round wooden baskets. Each basket had a graded, different-size screen in the bottom. The basket with the largest-mesh screen was on the top of the stack. Each subsequent basket had a smaller mesh. The constant stream of water and vibration from the machine would continually shake and wash the heavy mineral samples through the successive levels and sizes of screens until the samples reached a uniform size in each basket according to the mesh size.

This whole process was monstrously boring! Either Chris or I had to sit next to the bloody machine and watch the table go around for hours at a time. Every fifteen to twenty minutes we stopped the

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infernal machine and took out the stack of baskets. The contents of each screen were then examined for diamonds and garnets. If there were many garnets, they were added to a larger sample, which eventually would represent the sample intake from wherever we were taking the gravel in the streambed.

Of course, to break the monotony, every so often one of us would shout “Diamond!” After the first time, obviously, no one believed the cry, so it was rather a silly game. However, there was not much else to do and few ways to create amusement, so the silly game continued each day.

I was on duty on the fifth day, using our new but supremely boring diamond separator. It was already midday and I had finished another lousy paperback book while half-watching the table go round.

Another view of the equipment used to sort diamonds.

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I stopped the machine and took out the stack of circular baskets. There on the top basket was a diamond! I had never seen a raw diamond and did not even know really what to expect. However, there was absolutely no doubt that I was looking at my first-ever uncut diamond. It was about a quarter-inch wide and slightly yellow in color. The amazing thing was that it was so easy to spot. The screen also held a collection of kimberlitic garnets, zircons, and quartz crystals. All were wet and all sparkled. However, the diamond stood out among the sparkling sample like a bright light! It was truly stunning. I immediately shouted to Chris that I had found a diamond.

Naturally, he totally ignored me! I hollered that this time I really had one, and he still ignored me. We had been instructed not to advise the staff if we ever found anything of importance, so I took the basket with the sample down to the riverbank some two hundred yards away where Chris was sunbathing on his towel. As I approached, he looked up and said, “You don’t seriously think you can fool me, do you?”

As quietly as possible I said, “This time I really have one!” Chris jumped up and came over, and we both stared at the diamond. It was the first diamond ever found by a prospector in Northern Rhodesia. We were so excited that we almost forgot to look at the other four baskets. There were two more diamonds in the smaller-mesh screens. Three diamonds—now we were really excited! All the boring hours faded away while we discussed what this meant for the company and ourselves.

During the next three days we found four more diamonds. We used the prearranged radio code to report the find to our head office. We were instructed to cut a strip of cardboard box about six by four inches, push the “samples for identification” into the cardboard, and cover the holes with sticky tape. This “card” with the samples was then to be put into a large envelope and addressed to the company headquarters in Broken Hill. Then we were instructed to drive the sample to Fort Jameson and post it in the normal post system. I was

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horrified! How could we send the first diamonds ever found in the country through the postal system? I was to later learn that many years of experience had taught De Beers Diamonds exactly how to manage its extremely emotional business with a minimum of fuss and bother. The company always used the post for such samples. Apparently there have been no losses!

We drove to Fort Jameson as requested, and I posted the sample along with a handwritten letter asking De Beers that I be allowed to purchase the large yellow diamond. I explained that I wanted to have it mounted uncut in a ring and give it to my parents. I said I would never find another like this one and that although it was yellow and had very little value, I really would like to have it. I did not tell Chris about the letter.

When the supply run arrived in camp some two and a half weeks later, there was a large envelope from Headquarters in Johannesburg. Inside were two letters. One was for the two of us. It simply said, “Congratulations, the sample sent contained seven diamonds from ⅛ to 2 carats in weight. Thank you for your hard work and diligence” followed by some blah-blah.

The second letter was addressed to me. It said simply that there was no way for me to purchase the diamond since it was (and still is) illegal for a private citizen in any country where De Beers has diamond-prospecting concessions to have an uncut diamond in his possession.

I was completely out of luck. I saw Chris reading the letter over my shoulder. He asked when I had requested permission to buy the diamond. I told him I had sent my letter along with the samples. He just said, “Too bad they won’t let you have it.”

Many months later, when I was leaving the company to join the game department, I had a big farewell party in the Victoria Memorial Club in Fort Jameson. Chris was there and he got very drunk on beer. Sometime during the night he took me aside and

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told me that, several days after our discovery, he had actually found another diamond similar in size to the first one that I had picked out. He said he had decided to keep it for himself as a souvenir. He had not declared it to the company but felt that he had to tell me since I had been so honest with my first diamond. He asked if I thought he should keep the stone, and I said certainly! I heard many years later that Chris had reached a high management position in De Beers, and I immediately wondered if he ever told the head office about the diamond he had decided to keep for himself. I will never know.

In any case, as I will explain later, even though I did not get to keep the diamond, finding the diamonds was ultimately responsible for changing my life forever.

After the find, we were initially instructed to just carry on with the gravity separator samples. After a few days, however, we were advised by radio that the chief geologist from our office in Broken Hill would visit us for a few days the following week. We were told

The white impalas of Luangwa Valley in Zambia were made famous by Norman Carr’s book, The White Impala.

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to relax for a few days while we waited for the boss. I decided to use this time to build my bridge.

William McKewan, the chief geologist, arrived the following week. During our week of waiting, three other prospecting teams from around the Luangwa Valley arrived in their Land Rovers. All had been summoned for the big meeting with the chief geologist.

When McKewan had us all assembled and seated, he began to outline exactly how we were to proceed with the intensive sampling now required. Once the diamonds had been located, we were to begin sampling the actual kimberlite “pipe.” This was to be done by digging parallel trenches across the pipe. These trenches were to be roughly three feet wide, six feet deep, and as long as the pipe was wide (some one hundred yards where we were). This digging would require a great

Sitting around the table at this “meeting” of diamond prospectors are Rolf Rohwer (far left), William McKewan, Chris Smith, and others.

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deal of labour, which would be contracted from the local village just outside the South Luangwa National Park.

At some point during the talk, McKewan asked if anyone had done any hunting. I raised my hand and said I had hunted all my life with my father in the United States. McKewan said that I should speak to him after the meeting. We met, and he explained that the law governing prospecting required that each villager who worked on the project was entitled to four pounds of fresh or fresh frozen boned meat each week. We were to have one hundred to two hundred workers on the site, so this would require a great deal of fresh meat. McKewan told me the company had obtained a “pot license” that would provide access to sufficient animals to supply the required meat but that someone would have to hunt the animals. He said that if I wanted the job, the company would continue to pay me my prospector’s salary plus a “danger allowance” for each kilo of meat I produced. When I asked why the bonus was called a danger allowance, he replied that the license allowed only buffalo and elephant!

Of course I accepted the offer, and there and then my life took on a completely new direction—a direction I have never left in the last forty-five years. That first meat-hunting job led to a later position as chief cropping ranger for both the Northern Rhodesian and the new Zambian governments, and the government position led to my return to university to study wildlife biology. The need to finance the university fees resulted in my becoming a professional hunter. So finding a diamond had changed my life forever.