Hippo alert – “There’ll be plenty of beasties today, for sure,” Sven announced cheerfully on our third morning. It was to be our last full day of kayaking, taking in the Class II to III rapids at Sinasimba. What with the hippos and whitewater, we were bombarded with volleys of instructions. “Try to avoid knocking your paddle against the kayak,” advised Sven. “Hippos don’t like that noise.” Mostly, though, the directions were simpler: veer left, take a 45-degree line, or simply, paddle hard. Periodically we’d hit a patch of eddies, the drag nullifying our efforts so it was like paddling through treacle. Muscles burning, the temptation to down sticks and just drift was offset more than once by the appearance of suspiciously rounded rocks midstream. Rocks that sunk out of site or, more alarmingly, raised bulbous heads above the surface to stare us out.
Fall for the falls – We spent our final morning above the falls in a six-person inflatable raft. I felt both better and worse in this larger vessel. Better, because there was a sense of safety in numbers (and Sven was steering, a clear improvement on my own). Worse, because it was harder to shift direction quickly on the occasions – and there were many – when a pair of twitchy ears signalled a territorial hippo lurking nearby. But our attention was torn between those irascible mammals and the white, billowing column that appeared on the horizon.
Rising like an ethereal lighthouse, the spray from Victoria Falls reached some 500m into the sky, and was visible from several kilometres distant; it was our guide and companion throughout that final day on the river. So, too, was the rain, which only eased off once we’d hauled out and made our way (by road – cheating, rather) to our final campsite. Perched high on the edge of Batoka Gorge – the deep cleft carved out by the Zambezi below’ Victoria Falls – the site at Rapid 10 is as far from glamping as you could imagine. As with our other halts, the loo was a hastily dug hole, topped with a plastic seat. Shower: none. Neighbours: none. Bar: a coolbox. Views: heart-stopping.
Beneath my feet, just steps from my tent zip, the land fell away into the basalt canyon, which echoed with the Zambezi’s muffled roar. This scene, which seemed so timeless, has actually changed frequently over even the past few thousand years as the river has re-routed its course. In a few more millennia, the rock under the falls will collapse, and another cataract will be created farther upstream. In the more immediate future, a hydroelectric dam, which is due to be built 50km downstream, may see the gorge flooded almost up to the falls, with disastrous effects on both wildlife and whitewater rafting industry – a good reason to get here quick. But for now, as I sat alone under the glittering feather boa of the Milky Way, such change seemed impossible, and the world full of nothing but the Zambezi’s immense, relentless flow.
