Delta Dawn
Silently DUNCAN BUTCHART’s mokoro slices through the
Okavango channel on a mission to track down Pel’s Fishing Owl.
But that’s not all he encounters
WORDS AND PICTURES DUNCAN BUTCHART
L
ike butter in a hot pan, the mokoro
slides out of the inlet onto the
coppery stillness of the Okavango
floodplain. Water lilies part as
Tshenolo Mahongo poles us
towards one of Botswana’s many small islands,
crimson in the rising sun. Here at Jacana, we’re
on the fringe of permanent wetland just west of
the Jao Channel, one of the Okavango River’s
main ‘fingers’.
Beady-eyed reed frogs watch us from their
lookouts in the sedge, and a spotted-necked
otter breaks the surface. Jacanas, egrets and
kingfishers are unafraid, only taking flight from
us at the last moment.
At Jacana Camp the previous night, I’d been
enjoying an outdoor shower under a full moon
when I heard the distinctive ‘boom’ call of twoPel’s Fishing Owls (1 on checklist). It’s an
ominous sound, like the distant beat of a war
drum, but the owls were simply keeping in
touch, and letting rivals know of their presence.
They are on the island that we are now
approaching, and I am keen to see them.
Tshenolo guides us artfully beneath the
branches of a waterberry tree, and with one
final stab and shove we are moored on the
muddy bank. “Not a word,” is Tshenolo’s
command, but I know the drill. It’s all about
silence now. There is fresh elephant dung on
the path – no doubt they were here for the palm
nuts – and we tread quietly towards an enormous
sycamore fig.
“The owls often perch here in the early
morning to catch the sun,” says Tshenolo.
A mob of bulbuls and helmetshrikes areSeptember 2019 074