Two Shikras and a lizard
It was one of those days that come along every so often on safari, wherein conditions seem perfect and yet the game is nowhere to be seen. The day was hot, around 30 degrees, and stupidly I decided to embark upon a Game Drive in the heat of the mid afternoon sun. The mammals were all in hiding, using the shade of Mopane and Bushwillow trees to get some respite from the vicious rays, and there was no one else on the roads, the general game viewing public more reluctant than I to risk the heat.
The African bush is a magical place, and every now and then it provides one with a reminder as to just how magical it can be. I had plodded along for over an hour, sticking to the side roads and the dust in order to avoid any other vehicles, but also coincidentally decreasing my chances of seeing any game. Animals use roads for ease of access, just as we do, and so the dirt tracks often prove less productive for sightings than the main tar roads. I stopped by the riverbed to watch a Fish Eagle for a while, posing perfectly on its perch high up in a Jackalberry. I adore Fish Eagles - to me they are a vision of Africa, their famous colouring a postcard of the African riverine bush, and their call an iconic auditory sensation. As I sat with this majestic raptor however, I began to ponder the other raptors I had seen on this trip, or rather, the lack thereof. By this point I had been in the Kruger National Park for two weeks, and though I had seen my fair share of ‘common’ raptors - Fish Eagles, White-Backed Vultures, Bateleur, Brown Snake Eagle etc - I had not yet experienced the raptor diversity the Park has to offer. Where were the Falcons? Where were the Harriers, Buzzards, or Goshawks? Would I ever have the chance to glimpse a Bat Hawk in flight, or watch a Shikra hunt its famous prey?
As I left the Fish Eagle to continue with my exploration of the roads to the South of Shingwedzi, movement caught my eye. The more time one spends in the bush, the more one’s eye becomes attuned to movement. The nature of birds in flight and mammals on the run means that it is likely one needs to evaluate a sighting quickly, and so with practice, a bird flying across your field of vision can actually display triggers that help with identification. I saw instantly that the bird was medium sized, roughly 30cm in height/length, with a bright yellow beak and cool grey feather colouring. This immediately excited me - it was a raptor along the lines of which I had just been pining over, either a Falcon or a Goshawk. I slammed on the brakes and watched the bird land in a small Mopane tree. Reaching for my binoculars, I was able to discern that its size was too large to be a Falcon, and so Goshawk it was - but which one? My binos revealed a striped grey and white chest, bright yellow beak and most crucially a startling red eye. This was the key factor in its identification - it was a Shikra, a large, rarely seen member of the Goshawk family, famous for its habit of hunting lizards and skinks. I was thrilled with this sighting - not only was the Shikra a new addition to my bird list for the trip, but also a lifer for me (meaning I had never seen this bird before). I smiled from ear to ear, thanking the bush in all its majesty for hearing my thoughts and coming up with the goods.
Feeling satisfied and rejuvenated, I moved on, not particularly expecting any more incredible sightings but merely basking in the joy of the previous few minutes. I turned a corner and roughly 200m further on slammed on the brakes again, as my vision was disturbed by another fleeting glimpse of powerful grey wings. I tracked the bird with my binos and laughed audibly as I realised it to be another Shikra - possibly the mate of the first (most raptors are monogamous and mate for life). This time I was provided with the perfect photo opportunity, as the Shikra perched in the open roughly 8ft from my car. I turned off the engine and sat quietly, revelling in this unique experience for me, and then watched in wonder as the Shikra flew suddenly to the ground and returned to its perch with a lizard clasped in its talon.
Once more, the magic of the wilderness had prevailed and left me speechless. Once more, just as one thinks they’ve seen everything, the bush surprises you and provides a new unique sighting. It is this sense of awe and destiny that makes such memories unforgettable. I was alone, enjoying a private sighting of a rare bird, fewer than 10ft from where I sat, enjoying the view of an apex predator demonstrating its most famous trait, and I could not believe my luck. As I watched, the Shikra began to eat its prey, tearing mercilessly at the limbs and skin of the lizard as it lay helpless beneath the sharp talon. I took photos of course, desperately wanting to formalise the sighting and ensure its safety in my memory, but mostly I just watched. I often remind myself that the bush does not belong to us - we are merely visitors, fortunate enough to share in the experience of the wildlife for a short time. The bush belongs to its inhabitants, the mammals, birds, reptiles and insects, and witnessing such behaviour, immersing oneself in the drama of the bush, is priceless.
Here’s to two Shikras and a Lizard, and an afternoon I will never forget.
