AFC#14 Man Hippo Croc Buff | african-fisherman

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Man, Hippo, Crocodile & Buffalo

By Rex Taylor

In 1995, the events detailed in this story unfolded in a terrifying sequence which almost defies reality. It is a story worth reading, and has been told around campfires and in bars for decades, and one which has seldom been embellished. If anything, the details are deliberately under-played for fear of the orator being labelled a liar.

In 2014 while cruising Kariba on the Umbozha houseboat, we had taken a tender boat out for a bit of late afternoon fishing, and some sundowners. Our group included others from the media world, travel consultants and those engaged in the tourism industry. As the sun dipped to the horizon, and the sun emblazoned yet another perfect Kariba sunset to reflect on the calming waters, we chatted easily and laughed comfortably. A conversation I was not involved in, but had an ear to spoke of a canoe trip on the Zambezi which had gone horribly wrong.

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Pinkies or the Redbreast are also a good fun species big, though the odd sizeable specimen will keep you interested. Pinkies will be caught alongside most other bream species (even mozzies), but can be specifically targeted when, at the onset of the rains the lake begins to rise to flood terrestrial vegetation. Omnivores, they will be seen in very shallow water (20-50cm) eating the newly flooded grasses - indicated by the twitching of grass stalks nibble. Here, a porcupine quill or bubble float

are used. With the baited hook (No.8-10 hook) set to about 10cm beneath the float, cast rig into the grass. Invariably, as the float lands on the water, the fish are attracted and arrow-like bow waves will been seen homing in on your bait. The float is actually acting more as a lure, than a float, and as you slowly twitch it, the fish will attack the bait. A firm strike, and the fish will be on. This is great entertainment throughout day, and especially good for keeping youngsters interested. They make exceptional bar snacks fried in a little batter.

Sonya recounted her terrifying ordeal as while canoeing the river up-stream of Mana Pools years before, a hippo attacked their flotilla of canoes and she was capsized. While rescue was quick from those still afloat, she lost her paddle... it bobbing in the Zambezi current as it was whisked away as useless flotsam.

It dawned on me, this was related to the story we had published almost 20 years before, something she confirmed. Miraculously, the paddle had traversed the Zambezi for many kilometres without beaching, or snagging in a bed of weed, or being eaten or retrieved by a subsistence fisherman on the river. Eventually, it arrived in a place, following a particular stream of current to its new owners... no longer a paddle, but a weapon against man-eating crocodiles.

The skin on the back of my neck prickled as I felt the irony in the linked, but separate events. Sonya's account was terrifying enough, but paled slightly when compared with events about to unfold further down stream. It is quite a story, and worth remembering when next you find yourself on the Zambezi or for that next campfire.

Ant Williams | Editor

Arthur Taylor is a hunter, typical of what the world expects a hunter to be. He has piercing eyes, a mixture of blue and grey and he has a healthy Zimbabwean tan, deep from many years in the bush. Like all good hunters he is self-effacing and listens while everyone else talks. He has a wicked sense of humour, and is a delight to watch when he takes the micky out of some loud-talking braggart. He is also an enthusiastic fisherman, the sort that takes more delight in the chase rather than the catch itself - he is reported to lose interest in fishing once he has caught one.

Arthur is married to Fay, one of the prettiest girls to have ever come out of England, charming, petite and as dedicated to the African wild as is Arthur. She is a better fisher-person than her husband too!

Anyway, in August two years ago, (1995), Fay's mother and father from Britain came fishing with Arthur, Fay and Alistair, who is Arthur’s hunting-and-fishing partner, along the lower Zambezi some 20km downstream from Mana Pools. Fay’s Mum, Brenda, is hooked on fishing, and just as Arthur was calling for a lunch-break, she hooked and landed one of the biggest nkupe Arthur and Alistair had ever seen taken by anyone. Not wanting to be accused of abandoning fishing for eating, especially if the nkupe were on the bite, Alistair and Arthur gunned the big borrowed Hamilton-jet upstream and drifted back to where the nkupe-hole seemed to lie. Five rods angled out from the boat as they drifted slowly with the current to where Brenda had hooked her big nkupe half-an-hour earlier. The Zambian bank was about 200m to their North and they were separated from it by a deep channel.

Suddenly all hell was let loose – the big 18ft fibreglass boat was thrown into the air. Fay and her Dad, Clive were hurled into the water, and Arthur, Brenda and Alistair were tossed into the bottom of the boat, completely confused as to what was happening. As Clive, a non-swimmer, grabbed for the side of the boat he saw the cause of their mishap launch itself at the Hamilton-jet for a second attack. This time the enraged bull hippo hit the boat amidships, throwing it high into the air and tipping the remaining members of the party into the water. Brenda screamed and spluttered, for she cannot swim at all. Fay was able to catch her Mum by the arm but Brenda fought viciously and furiously, screaming in terror all the time.

A man and his wife in a small fishing runboat drifted downstream, intent on landing big tigerfish. Arthur, Fay, Clive and Brenda called, shouted, yelled and waved. The couple in the fishing boat waved, but then turned their boat and motored upstream again. They thought that Arthur and the rest were fishing, but how silly to fish standing up in the middle of the Zambezi River. Hadn’t those silly tourists heard of crocodile and hippo? Then a fleet of canoes came into view, paddling slowly with the current. Once again Arthur and his family waved and screamed. Surely they had to be seen and rescued. The lead canoe waved back and paddled to a little creek where a herd of buffalo were waiting patiently to be photographed!

It was now nine o’clock in the morning and the Zambezi Valley was beginning to warm up. Alistair was feeling the effects of his terrible injuries. He needed water badly so he made his painful way down to the river. The couple fishing from their boat saw him stumble to the water’s edge. “That’s odd” said the lady to her companion. “What is he doing there? And look at the way he’s lapping the water… He must be hurt, let’s go and help.” They reeled in their lines and motored over to Alistair who was delighted to see them. They were aghast at his shocking injuries, and abandoning their fishing, they sped across to the canoeists and persuaded them to paddle over to Arthur and the rest and to ferry them to safety. Their first priority was to get Alistair to medical attention, and they motored off at high speed to the fishing camp, which Alistair had been hoping to reach on foot.

Relaxing in this camp were some German doctors who had come to the Zambezi River on a hunting and fishing expedition. Only the day before these same doctors had given emergency treatment to a young canoe guide who had been savaged by an angry bull hippo and who was likely to lose his leg and possibly his life as well. Now they found themselves having to save, patch and repair another intrepid river rat. Life on the Zambezi River can be cruel, tough and dangerous.

Fay shouted back “MUM YOU’RE KILLING ME!” which is just what was happening, but the impact of her daughter’s voice had the required effect and between Fay and Arthur they managed to keep Brenda afloat and dragged her towards the Zambian shore. Just as Brenda was showing signs of panic again, Arthur felt soft sand under his feet, although the water was still far too deep for any of them to stand yet. He swam on, noting where the flowing water revealed a shallow bottom. After what seemed like an hour or more, and still more than a hundred metres from the river bank, he was able to find water that came up to his waist, although it was chest-high to Fay and her Mum. Clinging together with their feet on the sand, they looked back to see what had become of Clive and Alistair.

Alistair was thrown high and clear from the Hamilton-jet, and as he hit the water he struck out for the upturned boat which was drifting in the sluggish current with only its bow above water. Clive was already clinging on, and it took Alistair several strokes to get to it as it bobbed its way slowly downstream. It drifted no more than another 200m before getting caught in some roots on the river bed. Looking upstream Alistair saw that Arthur, Fay and Brenda were standing waist deep in the water, while to his right, the Zambian bank was only about 100m away, although a deep channel in which the water was flowing very swiftly separated him from the safety of the island. “Ideal tiger-water”, he said to himself. Years of experience as a hunter had disciplined him and he did not panic. He realised that of the group, he was best placed to go for help from a Zambian fishing camp about 10km upstream. There was very little current where the Hamilton-jet, Clive and himself had come to rest, so he said to Clive, “Swim and wade to Arthur. If you get tired, drift and paddle back here, I’ll wait and see how you get on.” Clive floundered upstream, calling on hidden reserves of strength and determination to join Arthur and the ladies on their submerged sandbank in the middle of the hostile Zambezi river.

They waved at Alistair, who, seeing that they were all together, pushed clear of his perch and set off to swim across the deep and dark channel. After a few overarm strokes, he realised that once his head was in the water he had little sense of direction, while the dark green water below him did little to boost his confidence! He changed to a lazy breaststroke and made steady progress towards the steep bank ahead. When this bank was close, he turned onto his back and paddled confidently for the last few metres. Suddenly his hunter’s sixth sense warned him of danger.

He kicked out hard, and in that same instant he saw the crocodile as it launched itself at him and gripped his arm in its massive jaws! Even in the terror of the moment, Alistair realised that the tip of the crocodile’s jaw was about a metre from its eyes. The observation was only theoretical, for in the second Alistair felt himself being spun around as the fearsome reptile tried to tear his arm out of its socket. He felt the solid tail twisting around his legs as the crocodile looked him straight in the face. With his good arm, Alistair tried to jam a thumb into its eye but couldn’t reach. The crocodile began to gain control and was pulling him into shallower water. Alistair realised that this would mean that his enemy would be able to use the leverage of the bottom and pull him under the water to drown. In cold-blooded desperation he forced his good arm down the reptile’s throat and curled his thumb and fingers around the flap that seals off the crocodile’s lungs when it goes under water. This sent the beast into a frenzy, but made it release Alistair’s badly mutilated arm and allowed him to escape and clamber up the steep bank. He was attacked again as he scrambled up the exposed roots and out of the river, but the reptile’s strikes fell short and Alistair collapsed against a fallen tree.

Alistair took a few deep breaths, then looked at his mauled forearm. He could tell that the upper arm was probably broken and certainly dislocated from his shoulder. Any arteries that may have been severed had now sealed over, but he had lost a lot of blood. His right arm, which he had thrusted down the crocodile’s throat was badly gashed, but surprisingly, was not bleeding too badly. Gathering his strength he stumbled upstream and when he was opposite Arthur and the other survivors he shouted out to them that he’d “been nailed by a bloody croc”, but that he was “OK” and he’d make for the fishing camp for help.

Arthur, waist deep in the swirling water, knew that although Alistair could make good time to the fishing camp, help would be a long time in coming. On either side of him the Zambezi River flowed fast and deep, and there was no prospect that any of them would be able to swim the distance. He knew too, that it was only his size and strength that was anchoring them on the sandbank and preventing them from being swept away. They would just have to wait it out until Alistair got help. Their hopes were high as they did not yet know how severely Alistair had been mauled.

The afternoon dragged on and as the shadows lengthened they saw Alistair stumbling along the bank opposite them. “What’s up?” called Arthur. Alistair explained in hoarse shouts that he couldn’t carry on, but that he’d try again when he felt better in the morning. The spirits of the group standing in the water sank; there was no alternative but to wait out the night and see what the morning would bring.

To his left, on the Zimbabwean side, Arthur had seen a large crocodile laying on the sand, but he said nothing to the others.

The sun sank below the horizon and a cold wind began to blow along the river, adding to the group’s discomfort. Each of them knew that as the night fell, their situation would become desperate, and after the attack on Alistair they also knew just how very vulnerable they were. Soon, as the temperature dropped and the flowing water swept away the warmth of their bodies, the agony of being freezing cold replaced their fear of hungry crocodile and angry hippo! They stood huddled together, back-to-back and holding onto one another for support and warmth.

From the Zambian bank came the awesome coughs and growls from a pride of lion on the prowl. A pack of marauding hyena howled as they too had picked up the blood trail left by Alistair’s wounds. The survivors in the river could hear the packs moving closer to where he lay among the rocks. Arthur called out to reassure Alistair, and to tell him that they were wet but otherwise fine! Alistair answered feebly, telling them that he now had a lone buffalo for company! Every half-hour or so Arthur called, and each time Alistair replied cheerfully – but, so did the lion and the hyena! Arthur and Alistair realised that their calls were guiding the predators to Alistair’s hideout, and so they reluctantly stopped calling to one another – which lowered their morale even further.

A little later the lion and the hyena erupted into a terrible squabbling cacophony, and when Arthur ventured to call again there was no reply from Alistair… They feared the worst and they sunk to the lowest depths of despair!

What looked like a broken reed floated on the current towards the terrified group in the river, and in the starlight Arthur recognised it as a canoeist’s wooden paddle and he was able to catch it. He didn’t quite know at the time just what he was going to do with it, but it was a tenuous link with the outside world. Little did he know that later that evening that paddle would save their lives!

Each patch of water hyacinth that floated towards them looked like a crocodile or a hippo, and Arthur used the paddle to push the clumps aside, grunting loudly for the benefit of his companions. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the crocodile that had been laying on the Zimbabwean bank, slide into the water and without a ripple it moved against the current. Only someone as bush-wise as Arthur could detect its presence, and cold fear gripped his whole body. Ten metres away from the group, it made its evil intentions plain: it was stalking and hunting this herd of humans who seemed careless enough to present him with his evening meal! Arthur gripped the flimsy paddle firmly and waited with horror as the big beast went from the stalking mode to the attack position! As the crocodile came closer, it quickened its pace and gathered itself for the sudden lunge that would seize its prey that, so far, had made no move to escape…! Arthur judged his moment carefully, and as the crocodile’s snout came within range he hit the water with the flat of the paddle just inches ahead of its nostrils and at the same time he let out a blood-curdling yell! The crocodile had never been so insulted in all its life, and with its ears still ringing from the combined crack of the paddle against the water and Arthur’s shouting, it sped off at high speed, leaving a bow wave like a speeding battleship!

For the whole night, the cold, frightened and unhappy herd of humans kept awake, fending off successive clumps of weed and praying for the dawn, but fearful of what new horrors the sun would bring! Alistair, they were sure, had been torn to pieces by the hyena and lion. When the sunshine eventually lit up the Zambezi River the soggy herd was happy to be still alive and together. As the first rays of sun touched the tree tops, the wet and dispirited family foursome in the middle of the Zambezi River heard Alistair call out to them! Ecstatic, they could have jumped for joy, had they not been so cold and water-logged! They cheered and whooped like little children! “Yes we are fine”, they yelled, “just very cold!” Alistair shouted back that he was feeling very much better. “That buff was amazing!” he called. “It chased the hyena away and saw the lion off too, and you may not believe me, but I swear that buff knew I was hurt and he wasn’t going to let those packs make a meal of me! He even lay down next to me when he’d finished with the lion! He has only just left when he saw me waking up.” Alistair coughed and took a step closer to the river bank. “That buff saved me from hyena, but he didn’t do anything about these red ants who think I’m an easy meal!” Brenda shuddered, for after crocodile, ants, were her least favourite creatures. At least, out here in the middle of the river there were no ants!

Alistair shook himself, and holding his painful and useless left arm in his right hand, he set off as fast as he could to summon help, his spirits much higher now that he knew his friends were alive and well, all of them.

The ordeal for Arthur, Fay, Clive and Brenda was not yet over. All night they had endured the bitter cold, and now the hot sun had baked the bare ground until it was too hot to walk on, for they had all lost their shoes in the hippo attack or during the night in the water. The nearest habitation was a hunting camp 15km upstream. Leaving his family to follow, Arthur struggled barefoot over hot sand, sharp rocks and cruel thorns, through the hostile Zambezi Valley to reach help, civilisation ad a cold beer.

The story has a happy ending. Although Alistair was seriously injured, he has made a remarkable recovery and is again hunting and fishing on the Zambezi, with a new respect for the river, hippo, crocodile, lion, hyena and especially buffalo! He recovered the Hamilton-jet, stripped and cleaned the motor and returned the outfit to its grateful owner. He, Arthur and Fay have opened an up-market fishing and hunting camp not far from the rocks where the buffalo had saved Alistair from the lion and hyena. Fay, her Mum and her Dad took a little while before they could talk about their adventure and their amazing survival, but, even with hippopotamus or crocodile, they intend hitting the fish on the Zambezi River again this year!