Guest post by Southdowner*
I’d be lion if I said I didn’t have dog scents…**
It was a weekend. Looong Sunday hours stretched before us and, typical impossible-to-please ten-year-old, Clare was bored. “What can we do?” she kept asking. I’d make a suggestion. “No, that’s too tiring/boring/babyish/I’ve seen it/been there/haven’t got the clothes for it…”
Eventually I ran out of suggestions. Something that we could do… I looked at the bus standing next to us at the traffic lights.
“Come to Westershire Safari Park!
Holiday time – Are your kids driving you wild?
Show them OUR wildlife… They’ll love ‘em!!!”
Great! Something I hadn’t thought of. I turned to Clare and hesitantly suggested “Safari Park?”
Moments elapsed. I began to feel hopeful; the instant dismissal hadn’t happened yet. “Where is it?” she asked. We established that it was only 20 minutes away, and as the day began to cloud over, sitting in a car didn’t feel such a bad idea. We collected sandwiches, drinks, and other necessities (mine a book, just in case; Clare’s a nintendo, again just in case) and started off.
Twenty minutes later we had arrived at the entrance, and joined a short queue, following a small red car full to bursting with about 15 people. We paid at the gate house and hesitated over whether to buy giraffe food (brief pause) and how many bags of giraffe food to buy, at a gazillion squid each (even briefer pause), before passing through into the first enclosure, which was full of wallabies. I don’t know what you call a group of wallabies – flock sprang to mind; they grouped and regrouped like a flock of starlings, and then settled and grazed like a flock of sheep. The odd baby hopped alongside its mother and entertained the visitors by looking cute – you could almost see those babies playing to the crowd.
We visited – antelopes, who were very hungry and never raised a single head from their grassy lunch; wolves, who looked slightly shifty, and slunk around, heads lowered, watching us watching them; giraffes, who were not at all what I expected…. Breathing slowly and evenly, eyes shut, they were, all 3, horizontal! Lying flat out, near to the road, they refused to entertain on demand, even when giraffe food was rustled loudly at them by most of the passing cars. I suspected that they had had a hard night doing “giraffey” things once the park was closed to voyeurs.
We moved into a high security enclosure, where the track wound along next to a hillside with tall extremely capable looking fencing. The hill looked empty, and then on a second glance I saw a tiger, walking casually alongside the enclosing fence, adjacent to us; he seemed oblivious of the spectators; moving with a heavy grace he padded on large paws, gazing straight ahead as if alone in a quiet wilderness. Suddenly a crashing sound made me look away, up the slope, and I saw a slightly smaller tiger, leaping down towards us. She crashed into the first tiger, using his side as a swimmer turns against the wall of the baths, and sprang away. Transformed from adult to cub, the solid citizen raced after her, and together they tore across the hillside, sometimes racing and sometimes tumbling in a swirl of limbs and growls. Play.
Into another enclosure, where we found our first traffic jam. A herd of rare red African cattle had decided to hold up the tourists for payment (this is where the giraffe food came in handy) and were milling around, blocking all the cars. Driving carefully through the gaps we came to the other side of the Red Sea, finding that the cars following us had been outwitted by the swirling cows, and with no immediate followers, we carried on…
And finally we entered the double security gates and were within view of our objective – Lions!
Our route wound around the edge of the enclosure, with the lions lazing on a hill close to where the road exited the enclosure. They were immediately visible high above us on purpose built decking which made a lounging area from which they could see the whole site… and from where all the visitors could easily view them. Near them, just below their hill top, stood a Land Rover with RANGER emblazoned across every surface in neon green capitals. We drove slowly, at less than walking pace, all the time looking at the great cats lying leisurely in the distance.
“Mum,” said Clare, “will we be able to see them closer?”
“A little bit closer, but only as near as they are to the road,” I answered. “And I think that’s probably a good distance, don’t you!” I could see their power even at this distance, and suddenly the van seemed much less sturdy than it had a few moments ago.
Crawling along in our “feline” traffic jam, we gradually rounded the hill and came to the spot that was nearest to the lions’ lookout post. Cars were stopping for a brief look and then moving on. The car ahead stopped, photos were taken, they drove away. Our turn.
I pulled up in the spot they had vacated, and switched off the engine. The lions were dozing in the grey sunlight. One rolled onto her side, and her neighbour sniffed the air, closed her eyes, started to lie down as well… and raised her head. Even at this distance I could see alertness inform her gaze. She slowly swung her head while scenting, locating and fixing the source of her interest. Then equally slowly she stood up. Another lioness began to scent the air, and then 2, 3 were standing. The lion watched genially as his harem began to walk and climb down from their resting platforms; as they walked away, he yawned immensely wide, and then with dignity he too rose and slowly descended to the ground.
By this time the pride were on the move, and were unanimous in their destination. Us! The cars behind were all turning off their engines, and the resulting quiet made the situation even more emphatic. In his Land Rover the ranger sat up straighter and watched intently.
“Great, Mum! We’re getting a close up!” Clare beamed happily. I was dumbstruck. Lions. Big. Teeth.
I wondered how far away the group would stop. Even in zoos I had never been this close to a lion; how close? So close that their breath misted our side mirror. So close that I could see the lion’s pupils contract and dilate as he turned his head and the light caught his face. So close! I looked at my daughter, who, on the passenger side, was furthest from the pride. She was transfixed and joyous. Me? Scared would be an understatement, and wouldn’t do justice to the beauty and wonder also involved.
The lionesses explored our van. One stood squarely in front of us, others walked around the van; the lion stayed close by my side. His teeth were huge. He stood, face on a level with my own, panting very slightly, upper canines partly visible, and lower canines absolutely, totally there for me to admire. I could feel my heart beating faster than normal, adrenalin levels rise, but above all the scariness was a profound enjoyment of meeting an animal so immense and vital without the stain of pity or embarrassment that human cages and training can give such occasions.
I couldn’t tell you how long the lion and I watched each other. I can honestly say that I have never ever been so grateful for a sheet of glass as I was for that window in my van. Eventually they lost interest in us; they wandered off, and resumed lounging postures on their decking. Slowly, in a haze of lion-watching glory we started up and moved along, and the ranger relaxed back in his seat. The following cars eagerly took up our vacated watching post but none elicited so much as a twitch of interest. I think we went through fields populated with most un-English herds of zebra, but everything was an anti climax, and not much post-lion remains in my memory.
And thinking about this story, I mentioned it to Clare, now an insouciant teenager, who turned to me with enthusiasm – ” Do you remember how LARGE their teeth were?” she asked, eyes sparkling. “And how we could see their pupils enlarge and contract? And how the ranger sat upright and was very very alert all the time we were there?”
“Can we go again?”
* * *
* Bull terrier and assorted-other-canine queen^, for any of you who are not regular Days in the Life readers. Southdowner has eleven dogs.^^ Although she only brought one to my signing in London last November. Wearing a pink feather boa. The bullie was wearing a pink feather boa.
^ Although bullies are natural anarchists
^^ I think she was threatening–or threatened by–a twelfth. Let’s ask her. Yo! Southdowner! What’s the critter count! How about some puppies then! We want more puppies!
** Groan . . .
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