WE arrived here bag and baggage more than a week ago and are camped at a delightful spring of clear running water. They call it Simson's Spring, or as the natives pronounce it: "Campi a Shim shim."
The trophies and most of our camp stuff we sent on ahead by porters, and followed in the two machines later. There was some question whether or not we could make the trip successfully because of the rains which fell in heavy precipitation all about us. But fortune favored us, as she has throughout the expedition, and, meeting with no serious impediments, we accomplished the eighty miles from the Sironera River in one day. The foot safari required nearly a week.
The type of country surrounding us is quite different from that of our previous location. The land is broken up into short valleys and cut by many wooded streams. It presents the character of jungle Africa, especially along the wide river bed which courses through the broken terrain.
Game, which usually is abundant, according to all native reports, is at present very scarce.
We had hoped to do quite a bit of ambush shooting and stalking of the antelope and buck families. Impalla, particularly, should be present in great numbers, browsing on the slopes of the thickly wooded range of hills which runs for several miles west of our camp. They are, however, conspicuously absent, or occupy the open country, contrary to all rules, while the zebra and eland, though few in number, have taken to hill climbing and seek the ridges.
One feature of the camp is very attractive: we are on the edge of rather heavy tropic vegetation, and have in consequence a population of monkeys, sacred ibis, wailing lemurs and other jungle folk that make for good company and amusement. The lemurs particularly are strangely engaging and we hear their weird cry at night, one that resembles nothing so much as a very young baby with the colic. The sacred ibis also has a most uncanny call, coming as it does from the depth of the forest it seems more outlandish and discordant than it ought to be.
High up in the tangled vines of some mango tree this strange bird roosts, then squawks and flies to some sunlit pool beneath drooping limbs and there struts about in a most gawkish manner, so that I, for one, can never imagine why anybody ever thought - it sacred. It seems only diabolical to me.
Bird life is particularly varied at the water holes and gives one a delightful opportunity to study their actions from a secluded retreat.
Buffalo and rhino also frequent these places. One pool in particular in the deep shadow of the jungle seems to have been a buffalo bathing resort for ages. The worn trails and scarred trees where the brutes have rubbed their horm for generations give evidence of great antiquity.
In the river bed, too, we find recent evidence of these animals. Their migrations seem to be almost entirely at night. In fact, it seems that one old buffalo bull accompanied, or followed, by a rhinoceros companion makes regular night trips past our camp, wallowing in the chain of mud holes that runs down to the river.
The buffalo signs were so thick that Young and I determined to follow them up with an idea of learning their numbers and whereabouts, so that possibly we could try the effect of our flying shafts upon them.
Of course, the African buffalo is an extremely tough and dangerous animal, resourceful and vindictive, so we went prepared for casualties. White left us at this stage and made a flying trip to Nairobi to see to our final arrangements and sailing reservations.
Young assumed the responsibilities of repelling the impromptu attack from buffalo and rhino, while we threaded these jungle paths. . . . We hardly hoped to be able to shoot either of these great beasts with the bow, still Young always had his archery tackle carried by a native boy, and I tagged around after him with the furtive wish that opportunity might favor us.