Botswana’s Okavango Delta

Taking an exhilarating ride among zebra After spending most of the morning mistaking gigantic termite mounds for giraffes, I’d almost given up on finding my ‘African bush eyes’. Then one of the mounds

began to move. As our guide gestured for us to canter closer, the protruding anthill morphed into a young giraffe, which launched into an awkward lope ahead of us.
Six adults emerged from the bush to join its gangling flight and, for a magical mile or two, horses and giraffes ran as one across the vast floodplain.
With our mounts needing at least eight galloping strides for every one of the giraffes, we eventually fell behind and slowed to a walk to give the horses a chance to recover — and ourselves a moment to savour the undiluted thrill of riding with big game.

Botswana’s Okavango Delta is one of the world’s last remaining wildernesses and the most pristine  backdrop to an African safari. Seasonal floods arriving from Angola to the north sculpt this lush 10,000 square mile corner of the Kalahari Desert into a bewildering maze of lagoons, waterways
and islands.

Each year, as the waters recede, the final pattern of land and water is impossible to predict, meaning the Delta can never be fenced or sustain permanent human settlement.
And since much of the territory is inaccessible to vehicles during the floods, Delta-based safari operations have had to be creative about the way in which visitors can move around to enjoy the abundance of wildlife.
The British-run African Horseback Safaris has more than 40 horses with which its guests can explore its half a million acre slice of the Delta.
For the first long ride of my five-night stay, I was allocated Mufasa, a lively dun-coloured crossbreed who immediately claimed the prime spot behind the lead horse, ridden by our Botswanan guide Sekongo.

Although he’d briefed us on how to behave around the potentially dangerous animals we would encounter, it was only when I watched Sekongo load his gun and secure it on his saddle that the realities of riding in a true wilderness dawned on me.
The brisk trot out of Macatoo camp was just what I needed to settle my nerves. My holiday  companion, Lizzie, was riding behind me and our little group was completed by Scorpion, the back-up guide.
We were barely out of sight of the camp when Sekongo suddenly raised his hand — a gesture to halt that Mufasa obeyed even before I had registered it. A lone elephant was grazing just ahead on the edge of marshland, close enough for us to hear the resonant grind of his teeth.

Unaware of us, the large bull was snatching up great clumps of grass with his trunk and tossing them into his mouth. A squeak from a saddle, or maybe our smell on the breeze suddenly forced the elephant to stop chewing, turn his enormous head and take four giant steps towards us.
He lifted his trunk, inhaled deeply and spun off into the scrub. The next four hours were exhilarating
The pace of riding was fast — we galloped through shallow water, zig-zagged across forest islands with zebra and jumped over fallen trees. Between spurts of speed there were gentle walks, during which Sekongo and Scorpion shared the names and fables of the trees and birds.
While grazing our horses we watched a young male roan antelope perform an initiation ceremony to be accepted into a bachelor herd.
Despite the quiet aching of bones beneath wet jodphurs, I didn’t want the morning to end. It was a rude interruption to come upon a Land Rover parked by a deep lagoon — we hadn’t seen human life since leaving camp — until we spotted a large picnic table set with linen and glasses.
Staff from Macatoo stepped out from behind a bush, smiling and clapping their hands at our shrieks of delight. Grooms from the barn were also there to ride the horses home as we were handed cool flannels and offered a sweat-free set of clothes.
The sight of two ears twitching from the middle of the pool followed by deep, bubbling grunts of a wallowing hippo made the perfect brunch setting.
Such surprises became an almost daily occurrence, punctuating the morning and evening rides, delicious lunches and suppers and afternoons spent lazing beside the camp pool.

Though the standard of accommodation, service and food was as high as I’d experienced on other high-end safari holidays, the remoteness of Macatoo, in the far west of the Delta, served only by a private airstrip, coupled with the camp’s understated dining and entertainment areas, provided a bush experience that felt authentic.
Since the camp is unfenced, animals passed through most nights. I watched baboons and elephants foraging by moonlight through the mesh walls of my tent.
The deep rumbles and coughs of lions communicating many miles apart punctured my sleep and one morning we found their paw prints circling the barn where the horses are housed at night.
Despite its name, the African Horseback Safaris operation does offer a number of activities for non-riding guests. Game viewing on foot, by car and boat are available, depending on the time of year.
Fishing is popular among non-riders, and the Delta offers some of the best birdwatching in the world with more than 500 recorded species, local and migratory. With about six hours a day spent in the saddle, I was relieved on the third day when the fishing guide John suggested forgoing an evening ride for some gentle angling.
There can be fewer more instantly gratifying locations for fishing or birdwatching than the Eden-like Leopard’s Pool. It was only the second time I’d ever picked up a rod, so I was thrilled to have an early tug on my line. Nervous of my catch being swiped by the fish eagles shrieking overhead, I lost my first catch.
But I soon got the hang of it — and landed and released half a dozen fish by the time John spotted a breeding herd of elephants in the distance. This part of the Delta may be gloriously free of tyre tracks, but well-trodden elephant paths criss-cross its islands and floodplains, plotting routes that have been followed by generations of animals.
‘This pool is on the elephants’ route, so we need to get out of their way,’ John said, gesturing to our vehicle and a cooler box of wine. The sound of 20 or so elephants crashing through the waterways towards us sent me sliding down into my seat with nervous exhilaration.
Even the birds remained reverently in their trees. As they crossed the pool, a couple of the youngest elephants disappeared under the water, deploying their trunks as snorkels. The herd emerged onto dry land only feet away, led by a matriarch who flapped raggedy ears as she trumpeted a clear warning.
After a noisy approach, their exit into the bush was strangely quiet. On our last night, just when I  thought the camp staff had run out of surprises (pizza produced in a converted termite mound was my favourite), we were offered a game of Jenga — the table-top building game requiring wooden blocks — out at the Macatoo tree house.
Arriving at the elegant platform above the tree canopy, accessible only via a long ladder, we found burning lamps, made-up beds and mosquito nets set up for an unforgettable impromptu sleep out.
We crawled into our beds beneath a brilliant dome of stars and the rumbling of lions below.