(I can’t tell you how much I wish I’d gone back to Nairobi for my older Range Rover! Oh, well.) “Stay aware men!”)
Circling to my right, I see that the ground is getting even more wet because we are down in a low area. Shifting to 4-wheel drive, I turn back left to get to the higher level of the meadow. I hear the back tires slipping in the mud and a sound similar to that of a teachers’ long finger nails scratching a school chalk board – in reality the high pitch squeal of the long, sharp thorns as they scrape the silver paint off both sides of what used to be an almost perfect paint-job. I make it back to solid ground.
“We will have to walk,” I announced.
I stop the Rover and look at Makali.
“This is real, my friend, carry your rifle, please. Benjamin, I need you to load and carry the dart gun. You ok with that?”
“Yes, and I’ll strap my .375 over my shoulder,” Benjamin replied. “Charles, I noticed we lost the odor down in that lower area. The smell is strong again right here. Smell it?”
“You’re right. Didn’t notice, was focused on trying to not get stuck. We’ll walk from here,” loading my Judge with .45 shells. “Remember, we are here to capture, not kill. Let’s try to simply validate if the odor is simba. Lock and load, Gentlemen,” I said opening my door. “Let’s do this.”