The Migration

Masai Mara-

The Masai Mara is situated in the northern extreme of the great plains of the Rift Valley, the Serengeti in the southern portion. During the dry season of July, August, and September, the wildebeest, the zebras, and the other grazing herds cross the Mara River from the Serengeti into the much smaller, and greener Masai Mara. 

This great migration, consisting of 5 million animals, is one of the oldest known migrations and is all-important to the rhythm of life on the plains. All life, the great cats, the scavengers, the semi-nomadic people, follow the herds across the river; all life follows the migration, and so did Lovisa and I.

We rented a car, bought a tent, loaded up our camera bag with rolls of film, and headed off to see the Great Migration. One must get very lucky to actually see a crossing, people try for years to catch it, but few do. We were not optimistic, it is very rare to be at the river at the right time, and most of the herds had already crossed earlier in the year, confused by the drought. When we arrived in the Masai Mara though we suspected that our chances were not too bad because we had seen some strange behavior on the part of the herds the day before.

We came across a gigantic herd, some 100,000 animals or so, walking in the same direction and acting irritated. Spectacular sight, rolling hills, golden grass, and as far as the eye can see, wildebeest, zebras, and buffalo spot the horizon. We drove through the line of animals and stopped the car and just watched the animals march by. The sounds, grunting and stamping, the smells, the flies buzzing, the babies bucking, and always the herd marching straight ahead with lowered heads like tired soldiers returning home after a defeat.

The next day we crossed the river into the northern part of the Mara and drove along the river looking for a spot that looked like it may provide us with a crossing. At lunchtime we spotted a herd of Wildebeest congregating close to the edge of a cliff, across the river from us. We parked the car out and waited. We sat in the heat for a few hours, and watched the herd gather. 

The herd by the rivers’ edge got denser and denser, and the rest of the herd was still gathering behind it, as far off as we could see. The sun got higher and it got hotter. The animals stopped marching and the group in front dispersed; it was just too hot for them to cross now. Close, but no crossing.

Excited, and disappointed, we left the river almost seeing the great crossing. We went off to get a beer at the next closest lodge, about 2 hours away, and get out of the heat. On the way back to our camp we would have to cross the river again and we still held out for the possibility of a crossing.

We drove past the point where we had lunched earlier in the day, but the herd had moved on and decided not to cross. We kept our eyes open and came to a bend in the river called Crocodile Point, aptly named as we would soon find out, and on the high cliffs we saw the herd gathering. We quickly parked behind some bushes as not to disturb the herd, and waited excitedly. Just before a lightning storm the air becomes still and tingly and the light takes on colors that are eerie and otherworldly. Though no clouds in sight, this was the atmosphere at Crocodile point as the herd gathered and decided to make, or not make the crossing.

Then suddenly, a large bull in the front of the herd, a brave and stupid beast, took the plunge down the cliff and into the river below. Like a spark igniting a fire, the herd started to frenzy and followed the old bull into the river. Thousands of animals started to stampede into the river, their hoofs pounded against the dry earth  and created a long droning thunder. Dust erupted on both sides of the river and covered the sky like a bush fire. Both sides of the river's banks are steep, and the water current strong, making the crossing very difficult for the herds. Animals climbed on top of each other to get up the sides of the river bank, legs splashed high as they swim as fast as they can across the river. 

From further up the river we saw the evil crocs appear from nowhere. They swam slowly and directly toward the frenzied crossing herd. One, two, three, four crocodiles swam straight into the herd, each one grabbing a wildebeest with its large grasping jaws and pulled them under the water. We saw the Crocs surface up-river with their prey and watched them crush the bodies in their mouths. The herd continued to thunder across the river.

Twenty-five minutes, nothing but thunder and smoke, an estimated 15,000 animals made the crossing and regrouped into their smaller herds. Calves called out for mothers, bulls displayed their prowess and ran kicking their hind legs high into the air.

We, the fortunate witnesses, were breathless.