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toward my final destination of the day, my headache subsiding somewhat.
    It was the afternoon of the giraffe as I set out for Letaba on the main road. My first glimpse of the world’s tallest mammal came through the trees, where a stately head bobbed between thorny branches as it loped along. Too distant for a good photo, I parked the jeep so I could watch my first real sighting lurch out of view. Later, at a water hole, three of the large creatures drank, spreading their long legs wide apart so they could maneuver their oversized necks close enough to lap up the water. I just couldn’t get enough of the amazing creatures. A few impala wandered between them, eyes briskly alert before dropping their lovely heads to drink. Large ground birds, speckled black and white, scurried between them to drink and chatter nosily. Within an hour at Kruger, I’d snapped over fifty photos.
     
    I glimpsed little more the rest of the afternoon until noting the oddest tree I’d ever run across. Its monstrous squat trunk reached root-like tentacles toward the cobalt sky. I thumbed furiously through my guide book, making the victorious identification. It was the famous baobab, called the upside-down tree by locals. Often several thousand years old, during winter the baobab’s leafless branches hover above its enormous trunk, gleaming an eerie gray-white in the bright sunlight. Impossible to miss, the tree’s majestic starkness is nearly indescribable.
    I took at least a dozen shots from every angle with the newly initiated Nikon, hoping to obtain one decent shot of the twenty-five meter high tree to blow up and frame for my new, bare-walled condo. Nearby, I noted an area blackened by brush fire, the haphazard path of flame having randomly missed several thorny trees while totally destroying others. I’d read on my initial flight to Cape Town about the veldt fires that redistributed the nutrients back into the parched earth during the winter. Their merciless flames enabled the wild grasses and flowers to spring forth with renewed life during the rainy season that started in October.
    I traveled no faster than fifty kilometers an hour that afternoon and finally arrived at Letaba tired but relaxed, having for once thoroughly enjoyed driving.
    Entering the large reception hall, I marveled at the handsome place and discovered the camp’s name meant “river of sand” in Sotho, one of the many South African languages. Spectacularly situated above the sweeping, wide bends of the Letaba River, it overlooked a huge flood plain where unafraid animals drank and grazed upon the rich grass bordering the shallow water. After being allotted a small two-bed rondavel with a quaint thatched roof, I lugged my maroon bag to the small room overlooking the river. I halted, amazed. Only ten yards from my door, a small, sturdy buck lifted soft eyes to observe me. Fearless, it chewed on a sprig of bright grass hanging from its lips like a thin vegan cigarette.
    The creature was lovely beyond measure with broad ears, bright, dark eyes, and a smattering of white spots dappling a lovely brown coat. Dainty black hoofs stepped gingerly over the green grass, artificially watered by a long length of black hose. I remained transfixed for several minutes until the unperturbed buck moved away. Later I discovered a huge glass information board inside the large, grassy area, discussing the prevalence of bushbuck inside the Letaba rest camp. Bushbuck were allowed to wander the enclosed grounds freely, though only females and their young are allotted this privilege. The bushbuck males were so reputedly fierce, they’d been known to attack lions and often emerge victorious, impaling the predator with their short, sharp horns.
    Huge trees of Natal mahogany and exotic marula dotted the well-maintained lawn. The camp buzzed with bright yellow and black weaver birds busily snatching grass so they could intricately weave their basket-shaped nests. Iridescent blue-black starlings