While in the wilds of Botswana researching an intriguing rite of passage in Bushman society, Mike Main enjoyed an exchange with his tracker that he’ll never forget. Thankfully, he was also compelled to write about it.
 The extraordinary ability of Bushman trackers is widely known, but seldom do any of us get the chance to experience it at close quarters. When you do, it seems more like magic.
Well, it certainly looks like magic. Yet like most things that are done really well, it’s more knowledge and hard work than any slight of hand or illusion. The tracking ability of these amazing people is based on two simple but absolutely fundamental skills, each honed to the highest level of perfection. The first is an ability to see, to observe with precision, in extraordinary detail and in a manner that most modern people simply no longer practise. The second is an absolutely profound knowledge of every animal species they will encounter.
Bushmen are a people whose very existence depends upon their ability to observe and accumulate an understanding of animal behaviour, and they do it in a manner that might very well put many modern zoologists to shame. Hunting with such a group allowed me the privilege of understanding at first hand just how very good they are.
“This,” said Xomani, “is the spoor of a hungry male eland who walked slowly past here yesterday evening. He is quite relaxed and is not far away now.”
I was astounded. There was nothing to see on the sandy surface of the Kalahari but a couple of somewhat vague hoof prints in the sand. How could he possibly derive such important information from scanty evidence. He was having me on, surely?
Yes, I knew enough to see that it was a big antelope and, as the area is too dry for buffalo, I would have guessed at gemsbok or eland, but what about the rest? Last evening? Hungry? Male? Relaxed? Nearby? Gleaning this from just a few hoof prints was clearly impossible, or so I thought.
“How do you know this is a male?” I asked.
“The hoof prints are very large and only a male eland has such large feet of that shape,” was his simple reply.
“Yes, I said to myself, “bit elementary really, any fool could have worked that out with some knowledge of the species.”
“How do you know it was last night?”
“If you look carefully at the sand,” Xomani said, “you will see that the sand here is not exactly the same colour as it is there.”
Before he’d even pointed to the tiny spill of sand within the print, the interpreter and I were already on our hands and knees, peering closely at the spoor, my eyes less than a few inches away.
“Yes,” I said, somewhat uncertainly, “so what?”
“It means that the spilt sand has not yet seen the sun and its new surface is not bleached, so the print you are looking at must have happened last night, since it was sunny, not cloudy yesterday.”
“But you said early evening.”
“Yes, look at that track inside the print.”
All I could see was a faint smudge.
“This?” I offered, pointing to it.
“Yes, that is the track of a mouse.”
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