"Chalk and cheese,” some might say, and I couldn’t agree more.

I’d previously experienced the marvels of the parched dry season in South Luangwa National Park, but this was something altogether different.

Standing on the riverside decking of the Nkwali camp bar, I stared in slack-jawed wonder at the gargantuan swathe of chocolate-coloured water that slid by at an incredible rate. Six months prior, when I was last in the park, the Luangwa River had been little more than a dribble, and I had walked on foot across what was now a rampaging torrent.

Trees from somewhere upstream tumbled past like Ferris wheels, while up above, in an ocean blue sky, a bank of cumulus clouds drifted by like jellyfish. They rumbled, and struck at the ground with tendrils of light.

The Luangwa Valley, a colossal fault line through which its eponymous river flows, has two very distinct faces depending on what time of year you decide to visit. Towards the end of the dryer months (May to October) the landscape is parched, the tributaries and oxbow lakes are all but dried out, and many of the plants and grasses are the golden hue of baked bread and honey. It’s a tough time for the animals for obvious reasons, and most of them are merely hanging on to life by means of ingesting what is left in the last remaining waterholes.

This means that huge congregations of hippo, elephant, buffalo and antelope often occur around the few sources of water. And patrolling the peripheries is a plethora of predators, all intent on self-indulgent behaviour. While these circumstances certainly ensure that it is the least favourite time of year for South Luangwa’s herbivores, they have also made it the most popular period for visitors. However, that statement needs to be qualified with one important fact: until recently, safari goers haven’t really been offered the opportunity to enjoy the opposite end of the spectrum, the ‘Emerald Season’.

When the annual rains fall in the Luangwa catchment area, the river rises rapidly and inevitably breaks its banks, inundating desiccated oxbow lakes with water. Grassy plains, where herds of elephant, impala and zebra eked out a living during those harder months, are suddenly transformed into vast, shallow waterways which are quick to be colonised by crocodiles and hippos.

The floodplain, which is up to 10km wide, becomes a winding maze of swamped-out fields, narrow channels and immeasurable sweeping stretches of water hitherto stable banks get washed away as if they were naught but dust. It’s in this matter that the river perpetually changes its course.

The Luangwa is one of the few major waterways left on the planet that has absolutely no man-made influences affecting it. There are no dams along its 700km length, and there are also no major irrigation or agricultural projects. Hopefully it will always stay this way.

The presence of two major conservation areas – South Luangwa and North Luangwa National Parks – as well as a low-density population of humans and the presence of tsetse flies (more dangerous to livestock than people) combine to ensure that the Luangwa Valley remains more or less untouched.

On my first ‘Emerald’ evening, I lay beneath the netting in my chalet and listened to the patter of rain upon the thatch. Strobes of lightning lit up the room and thunder rumbled, inciting a nearby pod of hippos to respond with their own delightful cacophony of snorts, grunts and bellows.

Hyenas whooped their eerie songs, while two vociferous male lions, on the opposite bank of the river, competed with the might of Zeus and Thor. Suitably chastened, the heavens soon fell silent, but for a few distant rumblings, and at last I was able to sleep.

The following morning, as I sat on the step of my riverfront chalet, I watched the Luangwa, now shiny and pink, glide by with silent power. On the far bank, the riverine forest steamed like early morning coffee and the sky, now clear of clouds, was mauve and misty. Egrets and ibis flapped across the open spaces and an unseen fish eagle filled the heavy silence with its haunting lullaby.

I sighed.

It was good to be back in Zambia again, but it was especially exciting, as everything was looking so different.
Travelling on one of Robin Pope’s new ‘River Journeys’ safaris, the first three days of my adventure were based at Nkwali Camp, and were more or less of a traditional nature. This meant an early wake up call, followed by breakfast and coffee, and then a game drive to one of the more accessible regions of the South Luangwa National Park.

My guide Jacob and I crossed the river several times by boat in order to explore the verdant and waterlogged landscapes in an open-sided vehicle. It was quiet on the opposite bank, not in terms of wildlife, but rather with respect to other vehicles and tourists – there weren’t any. The herds of elephants with their newly born babies, the rutting impala and the mass quantities of birds (both resident and migrant) seemed to be there for me and me alone.

The baboon troops I saw were all aglow with motherly pride, and every second one of them (or so it seemed) was carrying a little doe-eyed bundle of joy beneath her arms. There were Thornicroft’s giraffe aplenty (an endemic species to the park) and baby zebra gambolling amongst the many pretty flowers. Bee-eaters of every imaginable colour skimmed overhead, plucking morsels out from the air.

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“It’s not only the large herbivores that profit from all of the new plant growth,” said Jacob. “Insects also time their emergence to the emerald season, and they in turn provide food for birds, lizards and mammals such as mongoose. Everything is attuned to this special time of year: birds lay eggs, mammals have more energy, and lots of babies are born. However, I’m not so sure its such a good time for Robert.”

Robert, as I later discovered, was a warthog who normally lived in a concrete culvert beneath one of the park’s roads. With it now flooded, he was homeless.

As Robert trotted up towards the game drive vehicle, Jacob added: “I’m not worried about him though.” It was at this point Robert nonchalantly hopped into the 4WD. Without missing a beat, Jacob continued, “I have personally seen him successfully repel a lioness and a whole pack of wild dogs.”

The warthog dribbled a bit over Jacob, and nuzzled him affectionately before drawing any type of reaction.

“Now get out, Robert. What have I told you before about trying to drive? You don’t have a licence.” Robert immediately jumped down to continue grazing. He made a noise a bit like an old diesel generator – it must be a warthog’s equivalent to purring.

The next sounds we heard were neither as calming nor as rhythmical as those from old Robert. Jacob had skilfully tracked a female leopard into some trees where it was sending the local troop of vervet monkeys into a frenetic frenzy.

“She’s not really trying too hard,” said Jacob as the beautiful cat leapt up into a tree, scattering terrified monkeys in every conceivable direction.

“She’s just teaching her cub that the monkeys are food.”

And there, at the bottom of the tree, watching and learning, was a beautiful young leopard.

We stayed with them for a while before they slinked off towards where we had last seen the ‘diesel generator’.

“Not a problem,” said Jacob. “ I’m sure Robert can hold his own against those little pussy cats.” And off to the lodge we went for high tea.

The second half of my ‘River Journeys’ tour was as its name described: a genuine adventure up the Luangwa and into the submerged lakes and flooded ebony groves of the Nsefu sector, an area of the park that has traditionally been off limits at this time of year.

“We can’t get in there by road,” noted Jacob over the noise of the outboard motor. “It’s only accessible by boat.” I couldn’t help thinking to myself that we going to be all alone in one of the most phenomenal wildlife viewing areas in Africa.

It took three hours’ of boating up a churning artery of water to reach Luangwa’s historical heart, and along the way we were treated to a whole host of fantastic animal encounters: bull elephants slowly wading across flooded plains; a great big Pel’s fishing owl (a birder’s holy grail) in action; and a pride of lions spotted lounging by the river bank. For me, the latter sighting was the crème de la crème. Approaching these magnificent beasts from the low vantage point of a boat was really quite a unique experience, especially when they stood up and loomed over us like giants.

That evening, the turbulent Luangwa rose a little higher and flooded the path just outside my chalet, which in turn attracted the interest of a large territorial hippo. All night long he ambled up and down the shallows laying down demarcation waypoints, and all night long I sat up listening to him do it.

Splish-splash-splosh, went his dainty little feet. Flippity-flappity-flop, went his rigid little tail. And splish splash splat went his less than solid poop.  It really was a treat.

The following few days were spent exploring Nsefu’s watery channels and the ethereal flood plains that filled and drained depending on how high the river was that day. Some were mere inches deep, but were as wide as a dozen football fields, and floating around on their mirror-like surfaces were pond lilies stacked high with stranded insects.

Frogs and unseen fishes capsized these little life rafts and made quick work of the refugees, and in turn, egrets, herons and storks made light work of them.

The name Luangwa itself means ‘fishing basket’, and no doubt this is a direct reflection of all the activity that occurs during the annual flooding season.

On my very last evening in Luangwa, Jacob and I drifted through a inundated ebony grove and out the other side into a deep, calm pool where around fifty hippos had gathered. As we approached, their ears swivelled towards us like little satellite dishes, but they were soon indifferent to our presence.

We stayed till the sun went down, sipping our drinks and silently enjoying the spectacle of young male hippos sparring, honking and blowing off steam. Egrets flew above like delicate drifting snowflakes, and elephants browsed on mopane trees lining the pool’s banks.

“Do you recognise this place?” Jacob asked me, but of course I did not. I had never been there before in my life. Surely I’d recall such a beautiful spot. Then he explained that six months earlier I had been here with him, only we were standing on solid ground, and the landscape was scorched and brown. It still didn’t click until he reminded me that I’d been nervously watching lions, lions that had been resting directly below where now we were floating.

Despite the penny dropping, I could hardly believe it.

“In another few months,” Said Jacob, “the water will be gone and the land will return to the way it was back then. Its an endless cycle of change.”

Dramatic thunderclouds reflected off the pool’s shiny surface, dragonflies zipped back and forth, and frogs filled the air with their twilight cacophony.

And once more again, I sighed.

To witness Luangwa during one season alone is perhaps akin to reading just the first book in a two-part novel. You may thoroughly enjoy it, and it may be a fairytale unto itself, but in the end you’ll never really know the full story.  

Plan your trip

British Airways (www.ba.com) offers three to four direct flights to Lusaka from London each week. Kenya Airways (www.kenya-airways.com), South African Airways (www.flysaa.com) and Ethiopian Airlines (www.ethiopianairlines.com) have numerous weekly flights connecting London to Lusaka via Nairobi, Johannesburg and Addis Ababa respectively. Proflight Zambia (www.proflight-zambia) links the park’s private airstrips to Lusaka.

Visas
Visas are needed for most visitors. These can be acquired at Zambian embassies abroad or at Lusaka airport and other points of entry. The cost of a single-/multiple-entry visa for British citizens is £35/£60. Single-entry visas for most other citizens is US$50

When to visit
Emerald season in South Luangwa runs from November to mid-May, with the majority of the rains falling between November and March. Things start to dry out during April and May. ‘River Journeys’ into Nsefu operate only during the latter half of the rainy season (mid-January to March)

Books
Bradt’s Zambia  (4th edition, 2008) by Chris McIntyre is the best guidebook dedicated to Zambia

Find out more
Flatdogs Camp (www.flatdogscamp.com)
Kafunta Safaris (www.luangwa.com)
Norman Carr Safaris (www.normancarrsafaris.com)
Robin Pope Safaris (www.robinpopesafaris.net)
Shenton Safaris (www.kaingo.com)
The Bushcamp Company (www.bushcampcompany.com)
Wildlife Camp (www.wildlifecamp-zambia.com)
Zambia Tourism (www.zambiatourism.com)