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crossing the river, trunk trailing in the sand. Now my close-up on wildlife seemed much less enchant-
ing. The air was cooler, and the afternoon was drawing in. Suddenly everything was stirring. With
growing unease, I waited until the elephant was out of sight, and then continued cautiously along the
riverbed.
Then I heard the roar. The quintessential lion sound. The noise you'd make at the zoo to tease kids.
I reasoned with myself. Lions are rare in the Huab. Unlike the elephants, they need standing water to
survive, and this place is far too dry. They're common in Etosha National Park, far away to the north-
east, but I'd be very unlucky to find one here. Perhaps I just imagined it.
Right on cue, the roar came again, from the dense patch of scrub directly ahead. This scrub lay
right beside the escarpment that sloped up to the outcrop, and to find my companions I had to walk
past it. I squared my shoulders and strode ahead, pinning everything on finding the van, finding my
team, finding something safe. Along the escarpment, around the side of the outcrop, not running, not
smiling, I squinted up into the sunlight, searching for signs of human life. There was no one there.
I panicked.
Suddenly all directions looked equally alien. A civilian in geologists' territory, I'd foolishly kept
all my attention on the outcrop up ahead, and taken scant notice of the landscape through which I was
passing. Looking back now, I could see no landmarks that I recognized. Blindly I plunged into the
bush, and the thorn branches tore at me as I fought my way past. A full ten minutes passed before I
forced myself to stop and try to think clearly. I had to find the camp before daylight failed. But how?
Hansel and Gretel. Though I'd left no white stones as markers, all I had to do, I realized, was fol-
low my footsteps back. Here in the bush I'd trod mainly on springy grass, and there were almost no
prints to follow. But I could head back to the escarpment, and up till then I'd mostly walked on sand. I
resolved to find my footprints and follow them back exactly the way I came, no guesses, no shortcuts.
And I began to calm down. At the foot of the escarpment I found the first clear footprints. More deep
breaths, and I headed back along the elephant track.
There was no warning. Suddenly the large, angry elephant appeared, blocking my path, scarcely
fifty yards ahead. Ears outstanding, it clearly wanted me out of the way. Still, I had a mad impulse
to take a photograph. I resisted. These beasts scare easily. Three months earlier a Namibian man had
been trampled to death just north of here, when he surprised an elephant and then tried to run for it.
Climbing trees doesn't help. Make no threatening gestures. Slowly and carefully get out of the way.
Behind me was no go—that's where the elephant was heading. And I had no desire to get closer. I
turned to the side and walked out into the riverbed. The great head turned too, and watched, thought-
fully, ears still spread, as I slowly, steadily, began to cross the river. In the open sand I felt even more
vulnerable. If it charged, what then? Don't think, just walk.
I reached the other side, turned, headed homewards. The elephant hesitated, and then it too contin-
ued on its way. Stopped, stared and started again, this time rubbernecking. That mighty creature and
I walked past each other, on opposite sides of the river, heads turned, each watching the other's every
move. I have no idea how long I had been walking before I was finally clear. But by the time I heard
human shouts and found the real outcrop—the one that I'd passed inadvertently, hours earlier—I was
exhausted. Now that the fear had gone, I was furious. Paul knew I was a neophyte who had no idea
where we were heading. How could he have abandoned me like that? How could he be so self-ab-
sorbed?
Paul greeted me with a cheerful smile. There was still time to see the rocks, he said, but I was in
no mood to admire them right then. Why had he left without checking that I was there? Why hadn't he
