must have been dreaming about game catching as, when the alarm goes at 5am, I find myself waking with a tune already in my head. It’s ‘Greased Lightning’ and although the title is appropriate the image of John Travolta poncing about on a candy-apple hot-rod is most definitely not. I try to fix the infinitely more fitting ‘Run To The Hills’ by Iron Maiden in my mind but unfortunately John and Olivia carry the day. Woe!

We have to travel over 30km to rendezvous with the catch team and by the time we get there, those of us on the back are chattering with the cold. Within 5 minutes the sun peeks over the peaks and our world is bathed in orange light. With the red sand redder than ever and every tree, bush and blade of grass glowing the same colour it’s like we’ve just driven the cruiser to Mars. (More images from ‘Grease’ again, damn it.)

However it’s a while before we get our martian orders, as the catch team keep us waiting. We’re starting to wonder whether we’ve been stood up and if we should stand down when they eventually arrive. We go from utter peace and tranquility to a maelstrom of noise and activity, exhaust fumes and dust. Among the gear they’ve got with them is a strange looking trailer which has a high towbar which attaches to a plate mounted on the middle of the bed of a cruiser. It has very high sides and looks like it could withstand a nuclear blast. Most odd!

Yesterday we were told we’d be catching Warthog today. I look at this trailer and, unless I’ve very much underestimated the athletic prowess of our humble ‘pigs’,  I would say there’s been a change of plan. My suspicions are confirmed when I’m told we’re going to catch giraffe. Two of ‘em.

Shortly thereafter I’m bouncing through the bush in the cruiser with the trailer on. In front is another cruiser positively bulging at the seams with people. A speck which I expect is the helicopter is dipping and swooping on the western horizon.

When we catch up, the chopper has already darted a young bull and has separated him from the herd. He’s pretty woozy but he’s not for stopping. The other cruiser is in pursuit and it’s a great illustration of how deceptively quick these animals are when I hear how hard the cruiser is revving to overhaul him. But overhaul him it does and then comes the attempt to haul him over. The backie slides to an abrupt halt and the crew spews from the vehicle. I see Tokmans giant form sprint across the giraffes path with one end of a rope. It was close enough that I was sure he was going to get flattened. But he makes it and suddenly both ends of the rope have or 4 bodies on. The giraffe barely slows and the whole lot of them are whisked away, their feet making contact with the ground every 5m or so, out of my sight into the bushes. Aghast, I turn to my driver who is nonchalantly picking his teeth. I can only assume that this is normal.

We find them a good few hundred metres farther on. The giraffe is down and is being pinned by what seems like the whole team but everybody keeps clear of the legs. It looks harsh when a hood is fitted over his head and his ears are taped closed. Ropes are then passed round him fore and aft and only after this is done does Janine administer a partial dose of “wake-up juice”. He’s prodded to his feet and I’m surprised to see how sedate he is. The rope passed round his rear is hauled on and he stumbles forward and up into the trailer. For the hundredth time I’m aware of just how easy these guys make it look but they’re not fooling me!

After the giraffe is secured we take off in pursuit of a second young bull. Seconds later and Janine has a dart in him and this time the animal seems to succumb much more readily. By the time we arrive on the scene with the trailer he is on the ground, prepped and ready for the shot that will bring him around enough to get him up again.

When he does get to his feet, this animal is animated. He whirls round in circles forcing everybody holding a rope to run around with him to avoid getting everything in a tangle. From where I’m standing (well back) it looks like some bizarre Maypole Dance. And in my head is “....go Greased Lightning, uh-oh Greased Lightning….” . It’s a surreal moment.

However, once up he quickly settles down and is coaxed into the trailer without incident. The team move out. Rather than join the press of bodies on the backie, we opt to walk back to the track where we will get picked up. As we walk back through the bush, something makes me look down and there, one step in front of me is a full-grown Horned Adder. I’m not sure yet how I spotted him as he was lying in the broken shadow of a tiny bush and has the most remarkable camouflage. I call the lads over and, wouldn’t you know it, they just have to catch him. As they do so they tell me about his Sitotoxic venom and his habit of burying himself in the sand. I’m just transfixed by the speed at which he can strike.

After having a good look at him and taking a few photos we let him go. In doing so Josh narrowly avoids a bite and a trip to Katu. Apparently the bites aren’t fatal but they sure hurt a lot. Me, I’m well chuffed as nobody in our group has seen one before. And if I happen to sound relaxed about the whole deal, did I happen to mention that a full-grown Horned Adder only measures about 30cm in length?

So we get picked up and join the catch team one last time. They have finished their contract at Tswalu and are leaving today. We say our goodbyes and watch them disappear in an enormous dustcloud with two giraffes heads sticking out of.

As they disappear we are joined by Gus. He invites me to join him and we go up to the North end of the reserve to check out a new Sable bull and check up on a Roan cow with pneumonia. After that we join the others back at the kraal and go down to the cheetah boma. Today, it turns out, is the day we turn out the male cheetah who’s been in the boma since well before my first visit. A couple of game drive vehicles with guests from the lodges tag along for this momentous occasion.

When we get there, I’m honored to be given the job of luring him out with a small warthog on the end of a rope. It so happens to be a very short rope. More like a lead, really. “Get up, Shep!” I say to the warthog but the humour doesn’t reach my eyes. I go into the boma and drag the warthog around a bit. The cheetah watches from a distance with total indifference. I drag the warthog closer and give him my “Pusspusspuss” call. Nothing. I try to squeal like a piglet. Nope. By this time I’m becoming very aware of the guests eyes on my back. “Be bold” I tell myself and drag the warthog closer still. In my minds eye I can see myself running from the boma, screaming like a girl and having lost possession of the pig to the cheetah and my dignity to the world. The cheetah stays put. “Good boy!” I whisper as I make my shaky way back to the gate.

Even when we tie the warthog to the towhitch and drive past him, the cheetah doesn’t move. At least he does us the courtesy of looking half interested, but that’s it. There’s something about the whole scenario that reminds me strongly of fishing. We resolve to try this again when he’s hungrier and call it a day. As we head for home the guests are taken off to see more of nature in the raw. Ahem.