Source: Wikipedia  

It was my birthday.  One with a zero in it too, which always puts one in a bit of a contemplative frame of mind.  In anticipation of the big day we had loaded up the Land Rover and headed into the salt pans of Botswana – Kubu Island in fact – and had arrived the day before, set up camp, got organised, cooked dinner and hit the sack. 

The Makgadigadi Pans are the largest salt flat complex on Earth

I had seen so many images of Kubu Island – more correctly known to the locals as Lekhubu – that I decided that was where I wanted to spend my birthday.  Top Gear presenter Jeremy Clarkson had described the island as "just about the most astonishing place I've ever been", and there had been write ups and photos of the place in the local travel magazines and on various websites. The Makgadigadi Pans are the largest salt flat complex on Earth and millennia ago comprised a 16 000 km² lake.  Kubu Island back then was surrounded by water, but the water is now long gone, so strictly speaking it isn’t an island the true sense of the word. 

Our first night’s camp site was not the best – a bit rocky, with no shade at all, and when in Botswana in the spring that is a serious consideration.

Those food boxes and our beds weren’t going to be seeing much of us

In the dawn of the big day I scrambled out of the the tent and clambered up onto the ancient granite whalebacks that make up the ‘island’.  Baobab trees grow in profusion amongst the rocky outcrops, and the imposing grey boughs of the trees set against the grey granite, the white salt pans and the golden rays of the morning sun made for a wonderful start to the day. A good place for contemplation at the end of another decade and the dawning of a new one.  I headed back to camp for tea, breakfast, some lovely presents, and then the question what to do with the rest of the day.  Well firstly we thought we should move to a shadier campsite, which we duly did, carting everything down the hill in something of a jumble because it didn’t warrant packing everything up and unpacking it all again.  So the tent was pitched once more, and camp set up, and all the food boxes stashed in the shade.  Little did we realise that those food boxes and our beds weren’t going to be seeing much of us in the immediate future. 

They crawl on any exposed food or drink

Kubu Island, in spite of this mythical status, is taking a bit of a knock.  The campsites are a little overused, and the toilets comprise pit latrines.  Overused pit latrines, along with hot weather, are the perfect breeding place for flies.  The amazing photos that we see of Kubu Island belie the fact that you have to spend your day fending off these persistent blighters – they crawl on you, they crawl on all your stuff, and they crawl on any exposed food or drink.  By 10 am the sun was up, it was hot, the shade was sparse and the flies impossible.  So I said, ‘let’s take a drive out onto the pans to escape these damned flies.”  It would be a great adventure and with the windows rolled up and the air conditioner running we could swat those pesky little creatures.

The time for ghosts in Africa is at midday

So around the rocky granite outcrop that makes up the island we went, and ventured out onto a shimmering white expanse of salt-encrusted mud and silt that reaches to the horizon and beyond.  The glaring white of the pans is set against the blue vault of the sky that reaches unbroken down to the horizon.  Distant dust devils twist their impetuous way across the horizon, to disappear in a final twist of dissipating nothingness.  It was the great story teller, Lourens van der Post, who once observed that the time for ghosts in Africa is at midday – the sudden zephyr that whips through the camp and disturbs the leaves is quickly gone, the dust devil that spirals by just metres away, lifting grass and dirt and leaves in a sudden flurry before it too is gone, set against the imposing heat and absolute silence, makes you wonder if some entity has just passed you by.  To witness these things is to make you half believe.

The twirling dust devils drew us on into that endless fastness

Out on the pans the music played, the air conditioner ran and we were happy.  We were out adventuring in one of the most iconic places on Earth.  There were no rocks to negotiate, no road markings to follow; just endless, uniform flatness.  That ever-beckoning blue smudge of the horizon, and the twirling dust devils drew us on into that endless fastness.  It is a Siren’s song it turned out, luring us into danger.

Our wreck took another form.  Dark, sticky, clinging mud reached up to slow those spinning wheels and pull them in.  It pulled them in so deep that soon the differentials of the vehicle are also caught in its dark embrace.  I remember the time – 11h30 on 2 October, stepping down onto that white surface that belied the danger below.  That dark sticky mud was now very evident beneath the stationary wheels.  Of course I tried to reverse in low range and then tried to go forward but just dug myself in further as the wheels spuin. Out came the plastic sand ladders which I hoped would provide a hard substrate to reverse out on.  They soon got pulled in under the wheels and too were buried in the mud. 

The sun rose ever higher, hammering down its blows

Then I got the jack out and jacked the vehicle up, until the board on which the base of the jack was standing also punched down into the mud.  The sun rose ever higher, hammering down its blows on the back of my head.  Fortunately, there was a 100 litre tank full of water in the vehicle, so at least we could keep hydrated. I then carried the spare wheel some 30 metres behind the truck and began to dig a hole to bury it – it was to form a dead-mans anchor on to which I could fix the cable and winch the truck back out of its muddy predicament.

I was worried that it might part and send tackle flying

Well, that dark mud was difficult to dig, and about 70 cm down there was a hard, ferricrete layer that didn’t dig easily at all. In fact it formed an almost impenetrable layer.  Tyre levers became digging implements as I worked my way down ever deeper into a dark hole.  As the sun was setting I decided that we had dug enough, so hooked up the cable and began to crank the winch. That cable became as taught as a bow string, and I was worried that it might part and send tackle flying in opposite directions.  We put a carpet from the back of the truck to damp any flying projectiles.  I dug and winched until half past seven that night, and all I had managed was to move the truck half a metre towards Kubu Island.

It was clear that we were going to spend the night out on the pans.  Luckily there was some chocolate and a bottle of ice-cold chardonnay in the mobile fridge, brought along specially for a birthday celebration.  We sat there on the warm pans and watched the glittering constellations wheel their way across that great dome of a night sky until they disappeared below the western horizon. Alone in the inky darkness night we popped the cork on that bottle and it tasted like nectar.

They augment their living by extracting wayward and foolhardy travellers

We slept fitfully that night, with no blankets or sleeping bags or pillows.  Four am found us walking back towards camp. Fortunately, I had the hand-held GPS with me, so it was a simple matter to navigate ourselves back to the island.  The sun came up – warm rays already hinting at the heat that was yet to come.  We found our tent, we made some breakfast, and then I went looking for help.  It was quite easy to find.  The local camp officials clearly augment their living by extracting wayward and foolhardy travellers from their predicaments.

They told me their price, and I readily agreed.  Now was not the time for any hard bargaining. Forty-five minutes later we were back at the truck.  At least now we had some manpower, some woman power, spades, sand, and wooden boards, and so we all went to work.  The tyres were deflated a little more, clay was dug out behind the wheels, sand was liberally applied where traction was needed the most, boards were strategically placed, and then I was told to fire up the old girl and drive us out.  With the engine slowly driving power to the four wheels, and with everybody pushing, out she popped. Building speed now, and acutely aware of the huge hole I had dug 30 metres behind the truck, and terrified of stopping in case we bogged down again, I kept on going.  I watched the approach of that yawning hole in my side mirrors, and prayed that I had judged it correctly.  I had to straddle it perfectly, because to drop a wheel into a metre-deep hole at 20 km/hour would have been disastrous. 

I had heard some terrible tales of vehicles being lost forever

We were out, and I drove a kilometre or so to a vaguely gravelly patch that I had seen on our dawn walk.  Our rescuers loaded up all the bits and pieces, including the fridge which they had taken out to lighten the load, and then they too nearly got stuck in that infernal clay.  Needless to say I was very relieved to be out, because I had heard some terrible tales of vehicles being lost forever in those pans. 

I had a memorable birthday

We had been enticed to drive out onto those treacherous pans, and had forgotten the advice that we had been given - to only drive on well-travelled tracks.  And we had paid the price for our misdemeanours.  But in retrospect we had a grand adventure, and to sit under the stars that night were magical, and the walk in the dawn back to camp was an adventure in itself. And now I have a story to share with you.  And I had a memorable birthday.

So looking forward to exploring with you