Chapter Eight- Bushman Caves

   While working our way through the deep bush we came upon a hut being built in a small clearing. There was no one around, and it belonged to either a poacher or a war vet, and Dylan was incensed. We debated on tearing it down but Dylan was fearful of the consequences if it turned out to belong to a war vet, so we left it standing. As we made our way back to the Cruiser we spotted a man walking along a riverbed, and when he saw us he ran, which clearly meant he didn’t belong there. It didn’t take long for the two youngsters to outdistance me in the rough terrain, and my blood chilled a short while later as I heard a shot. I continued on and caught up with them in a couple hundred meters or so, and as I approached they were looking at each other and me like kids caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I asked who fired, as if I didn’t know, as Dylan was the only one with a rifle. He sheepishly admitted to having shot at the interloper when it became obvious they wouldn’t catch him, and now we needed to learn if he had hit or not. We spent an hour or so looking for a body or blood trail, and with great relief we found neither. By that time Dylan was beside himself with fear. It didn’t matter if the man was a trespasser or not, if he went to the police and complained of being shot at they would certainly respond. What passes for the law in Zimbabwe is indeed color blind, in so far as whatever a black citizen does can be overlooked, if a white citizen can be charged with a crime in the process. I would experience this first hand later in the season, and it took Dylan a couple more hours before he calmed down and got over his fear. There was a good chance that the man wouldn’t bother walking the 70 or 80 kilometers to the nearest police station anyway.

   We returned to the house for lunch and reported into the main office by telephone. Dylan relayed the events of the previous evening, along with the story of the hut we had found, and that bit of news caused a great stir at the office. They made a decision to report the information to the owner of the concession, as legally he would have to be the one to file a complaint, not that it would do any good.

   Dylan received our new orders, and we discussed them over lunch. We were to drive to the Company owned ranch after dark and shoot several impala for leopard baits, and in the morning Reeves and Dylan were to drive back to the office in order to accompany a hunt bound for Mahenya. I was to remain at Boulder Creek as two clients were arriving the next day with a contract Professional Hunter named George Brown. The Company had only two full time Professionals on staff besides the owner, and in the event that more hunts were booked simultaneously contract hunters were used. I had heard of George and looked forward to meeting him.

   Basically we had the afternoon off, and we opted to do some exploring on the concession. Dylan had told us that the game scouts who lived there had often spoken of old bushman caves, and cave art left by their ancestors, and I wanted badly to see some of them. We grabbed an old game scout who claimed to know where some of these places were and struck off. We spent some time driving around looking for landmarks, and after backtracking a couple of times we arrived at the base of a small gomo, where the man indicated we should park. We climbed to the top and at first glance there was nothing to see, but then my eye was drawn to the side of a huge slab of rock, and faint red stick figures could be made out. Closer examination revealed a lot of wall painting, mostly of individual people and single animals. It was an awesome feeling, and as we explored the top of the hill the story came to light. It appeared that the original configuration of the rock had been upright, and it stood next to another rock that was also upright. There was a space of perhaps 8 meters between the huge boulders, and it had been used as shelter at one time. Some shift in the earth had caused the rock slab with the paintings to topple over, closing off most of the opening between the two slabs. Dylan climbed up into the space that remained and found remains of other wall paintings, along with a few pottery shards and remains of a few baskets. We took pictures and did our best to not disturb the site, which I think impressed our game scout. I had gotten the feeling that his roundabout way of bringing us to this place had been partially designed to prevent us from finding it on our own, and that tactic had worked. After that day I had tried several times to locate the places we visited again, but I never could find them.

   In any event, seeing that we were respectful and appreciative he offered to show us another place. We spent some time driving in circles again, and eventually were ordered to park about a hundred meters from a long low hill that stood out a little from a series of rocky gomos. We fought our way through thick brush at the bottom and climbed up the side of the hill which turned out to be much steeper that it appeared from the bottom. We entered a horizontal cleft in the rock that at first glance showed no hint of what it contained, but a little way into the cleft I was stunned at what unfolded.

   We passed into what must have been a small village, and the settlement existed on two levels inside the cleft, which originally had been about 30 meters deep and perhaps a hundred meters long. As we entered we passed a small goat kraal, with many of the sticks used to build the fence still standing. The dung had built up the floor of the kraal so it was considerably higher than the main floor of the cave. A little further in were signs of habitation, including the broken head of a knobkerrie, or war club, as well as several woven baskets and wooden bowls. Scattered about the floor were some old bones, and a large flat rock in the middle of the floor and what appeared to be paint drippings on the edges. There were many wall paintings in the cave, although they were heavily faded compared to the first location we had visited...