The Time When Jack got into hot water on the Zambezi River
The shoot had got off to a rocky start. We were detained in Harare airport and my camera kit was impounded - I didn’t have the right permit. After 24 hours of marching from office to office, I was granted a Zimbabwean Press card by the Ministry of Information. A nice little souvenir.
Next morning, the producer and I reclaimed the kit from customs, and our little light aircraft was waiting for us. We bumped along the runway and were finally off towards the expedition-camp of our client on the banks of the mighty Zambezi River. There’s nothing I love more than safari, and I was full of anticipation as I watched the shadow of our single-prop plane cast over the wilderness of the Zimbabwean back-country.
We touched down on a red-earth airstrip. A lonely Land Rover waiting for us in the inviting shade of a Mopane tree. The only other sign of humanity was a tired and dusty windsock dancing lazily in the breeze. The early evening light was beginning to soften and the shadows were extending. No time to check into camp - it was straight into action to make up for lost time. A couple of canoes were waiting to take us downriver. A fine induction to Africa for our Producer who’d never been before.
The canoes were open-top with two guides to each. I sat in the middle, camera in hand as we slipped through the chocolate-coloured water. It felt wildly primaeval as enormous Nile crocodiles slipped silently from the banks, their reptilian eyes watching keenly. I was absolutely loving it, but our producer didn’t sound quite so enthused. I could hear fearful murmurings from the boat behind. Notorious for being the most deadly animal in Africa (after the mosquito) herds of hippos had left the water to graze the banks in the cool of the evening. But the sight of a camera team and entourage coming downstream had them running wildly back into the river, their 3 ton bulk crashing around us like enormous bowling balls. As a wildlife-lover, I knew that this was only them seeking refuge, but to our producer it looked like they were coming at us on all fronts. She was petrified. Don’t worry we said, “they are more dangerous on land if you get between them and the water. You’ll be fine out here”.
Suddenly there was an enormous splash and the sound of screaming. I turned around to see the boat behind upside down and our producer in the rapids, a hippo ploughing through the water, metres away. We quickly circled our canoe around and hauled our bedraggled producer out of the seething river before the crocs could reach her. It all happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure what was going on. She was now eerily silent; a hundred-yard stare in her eyes.
We managed to flip the water logged canoe upright and continue our journey to camp. There the guides explained that they must have hit a sleeping hippo which was submerged in the water. It had flipped the boat as it woke up and thundered away. They whisked our frozen and glazed producer off to her tent for a warm shower.
Later, she joined me by the fire, looking even more shaken. She’d just almost walked into the back end of a hippo in the darkness coming out of her tent. “Let’s get you a drink”, I said. Standing, I noticed that the trees around us seemed to be moving. I perched myself back on my seat and kept still as I could. They weren’t trees - it was a herd of Elephants walking through camp. Their feet were so quiet on the sand that they were almost inaudible, even as they walked between me and the drinks cooler. They eyed us curiously as they passed. The coast clear, I stood up again, “Gin & Tonic?”