Tanzania Journal - Day 8:Hippos in the Water; Elephants in the Mud

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Running Log, 12/31/10 -- 24 minutes in and around Dik Dik Campground

On the last morning of 2010, I awoke from a heavy sleep with the feeling that the world had regained its sense of proportion. The pounding in my head from the previous evening's entertainment had gone away, and everything was quiet and peaceful as the sun came up on another perfect day in the Serengeti.

Rob had described our agenda for the day as a "full-day game drive" through the central Serengeti area known as Seronera. We would discover that our vehicle was one of a hundred others bent on driving for the next twelve hours on the network of dirt roads that infiltrated this popular area. We would all be out there with the same objectve: see as many animals as we could before the sun went down.

We had a leisurely breakfast at Mbuzi Mawe, although nothing was ever completely leisurely with Rob reminding us that we needed to get an early start. After breakfast it took us almost no time to gather our bags and trek down to the parking area and load up the Land Cruiser. It was not yet 9:00 when we left Mbuzi Mawe in search of wildlife.

Our first stop was a bluff overlooking a wide and relatively deep pool formed by one of the shallow streams that ran through the plain. I don't recall the name of this spot, but it was known universally as "the hippo pool," because it was filled with submerged and partially submerged hippos seeking refuge from the sun and the heat of the day. Photographs do not do justice to the odd, understated grandeur of 30-40 enormous creatures packed into no more than a splash of muddy water like animate bowling balls in a bathtub.

Hippos are known to be ill-tempered and extremely dangerous when disturbed, and are responsible for more human deaths in Africa than any other mammal other than man. It was hard to believe that these massive vegetarians who seemed willing to sleep all day in the pool, shifting positions occasionally with loud and comical grunts, were deadly when roaming the land at night. I could have watched them for hours.



After leaving the hippo pool, our journey became more random -- at least that's how it felt to me. Sometimes it seemed that Rob had a definite destination in mind, but sometimes it seemed we were just circling aimlessly, waiting for something to happen or some animal to make an appearance. From time to time we would pull up next to another Land Cruiser coming from where we were heading, and Peter or Rob would exchange news with the driver. I assume they were talking about where the lions were, or the leopards, or the jaguars.

The big cats were very cool, that's for sure, but my favorite animals were the elephants. We were lucky enough to see a huge herd of 100-120 elephants, and spend a good hour in their company when they chose to come our way. Among the herd were babies and adolescents, and they put on a show for us, wallowing and playing in the mud as though they hadn't a care in the world.


Mud, mud, glorious mud -- nothing quite like it for cooling the blood.

Of all the animals we saw, the elephants (and perhaps the baboons) were the only ones who seemed free from the constant anxiety of having to hunt or avoid being hunted. Even so, we had reason to be grateful they were so good-natured, because when they came over to the Land Cruiser, any one of them could have knocked us over with little effort.

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It was late in the afternoon when we finally drove into the parking area at the Dik Dik campground. It must have been past six o-clock already, and the precious daylight was slipping away quickly. I had packed my running shorts and running shoes in my backpack for easy access, so while the others unloaded their bags, I was off immediately to change and get in that one last run of the year.

The layout of the campground would make this one of the more challenging runs. There were tents everywhere, and to have a running route at all I needed to make my way from the parking area along the edge of the background where it turned into bush, past the latrines and then up an access road that led to a second field, which was also full of tents and people. With a little creativity, I figured out how to make this a loop, of sorts, rather than a back-and-forth, and I set out to get in my requisite 20 minutes.

The first "loop" took about four minutes. As I passed our land cruiser, Rob looked on with amusement and maybe even a little pride. You see that mzungu running? He's OUR mzungu. He exercises every day, even on safari. I wondered what the other campers made of the sight of me gliding past their tents, forward and back, over and over. Surely there were other runners there. Maybe they were a little envious.

After the first loop, Joni fell in step beside me and we ran one circuit of the campground together. She ran in flip flops and civilian clothes, and it was great.



As with all of my short, repetitive, campground runs, it took forever to run the first 10 minutes, and then the next 10 went by quickly and easily. As I passed the 20-minute mark and realized that I had brought my year-long running adventure to a successful conclusion, a very happy, peaceful feeling settled over me. I celebrated with one final loop in the gathering dusk, speeding up as much as I could without terrorizing the other campers, and savoring the moment. It had been a long twelve months.

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A final note about Dik Dik. Back in 2007 when Joni was traveling in Tanzania with Liz Gleason, they stayed at the same campground, They awoke in the middle of the night to a low growling sound. It was the sound of lions walking slowly through the campground in search of whatever it is lions want at that hour. Joni and her friend lay in their tents in a paroxysm of fear. Eventually after what seemed like a very long time, the lions went away.

Joni wisely chose not to share this story with us until she was safely back in the United States. Still, it has become part of our family history -- we refer to it as the night Joni met the lions -- and we all had it in the back of our mind as we bedded down for the night in the exact same spot.

So you might understand that I was a little apprehensive and edgy as night fell. Returning from the latrine with a flashlight just before turning in for the evening, I met a couple standing on the edge of the campground looking out into the bush. "You can see eyes," they said. Sure enough, when I pointed my flashlight out into the darkness, I could see the unmistakable gleam of yellow eyes staring back at me from perhaps 50-60 yards away. I didn't mention this to Ann until the next morning. I wanted to make sure that at least one of us slept well that night.

NEXT: Lions as Role Models; Lake Nduto

Tanzania Journal - Day 7, Part 3:Mbuzi Mawe

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At Klein's Gate, it took Rob about twenty minutes to secure our permit to enter the Serengeti. I should mention that this was only the latest example of the routine delays we encountered traveling through different administrative districts. In the past two days, there had been several times when we had found our way blocked by a small gate across the road manned by some local authority. Usually there would be a few shacks nearby, perhaps a village. Peter or Rob would get out of the car and go talk to someone for a while. I was never clear as to the exact nature of the conversation -- whether it was social, official, or something else. I was never sure whether any money changed hands, or whether they were just checking the status of our permits. The first time it happened, I was apprehensive. But after a few times, I just accepted it as normal and found a few more reasons to be glad we had experienced guides.

In any case, it was about 4:30 when once more, and for the last time that day, we all climbed into the Land Rover and drove through the gate.

Almost immediately the landscape changed from scrub forest to rolling hills and grassy plains, dotted with acacia trees. We were traveling South now, and the sun was sinking lower in the sky on the right side of the car. With Rob encouraging us, we all started scanning the bush for birds and animals. At first, Rob would be the one to call out to Peter to stop the car, and then he would point out an exotic bird perched in a tree or a "bachelor herd" of antelope or a lover's triangle of hyenas. We stopped frequently, sometimes letting the engine of the Land Cruiser rumble on, and sometimes shutting it off, letting the vast silence of the plains roll over us.

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The sun had already set when we arrived at the Mbuzi Mawe tented camp. Until then, I really had no idea of what was meant by a "tented camp," but I suppose I thought it would be like, well, a CAMP... with TENTS. In fact, it was quite a bit more than that and I was unprepared. For me, at least, after two nights of roughing it, I would have been ecstatic with a hot shower and a clean bed. That, a bottle of beer, and Henry's incomparable cooking would have seemed like paradise enow.

But those simple pleasures were not on the menu at Mbuzi Mawe. As soon as Peter had pulled the Land Rover into the graveled parking area and we had climbed out of the vehicle to stretch our legs, uniformed porters appeared and whisked our bags away. Then Rob informed us that he, Peter, and Henry were heading off to the guides' quarters for the night. This came as a shock to me as I had assumed we would all be sticking together. But no, moments later more porters came and escorted us away up to the main lodge.

I was still feeling disoriented trying to figure out how we would get along without our crew when we walked through the doorway into the main building of the camp. On our right was a concierge sitting at a rather elegant wooden desk. On the left were couches with comfy pillows, coffee tables with magazines and board games, and open french doors leading to a veranda. A few more steps into the lobby, or whatever it was called, and one could see there was a gift shop, a bar, and beyond it, a well-appointed dining room. As we stood there dazed, someone offered us glasses of mango juice. "Karibu, karibu! Welcome to Mbuzi Mawe!"



Pictures from the promotional web site for Mbuzi Mawe Tented Camp

The way the camp was set up, guests stayed in these very luxurious, very large "tents," furnished with hotel-like beds, writing desks, electricity, flush toilets and yes, hot showers. I suppose they were tents because the walls and roofs were constructed from heavy canvas, but had we been at the Ritz it could hardly have felt more opulent. The only thing to remind us that we were in the midst of wilderness was the rule that after dark, guests were not to walk from the tents to the main lodge without an escort from the camp staff. Although the walk was probably no more than 150 feet along paved walkways, it was a strange feeling, indeed, to make this walk behind a camp employee wielding a flashlight.

Back in the main lodge, things kept getting weirder.

After finding an electrical outlet where we could charge camera and laptop batteries, Joni and I collapsed on a couch and waited for the others to return from washing up. While we sat there wishing for nothing more than peace and quiet, another hotel employee announced to us and the other guests milling in the lobby that we would be treated to an entertainment program before dinner. This consisted of twenty minutes of dancers and acrobats performing to tourist-friendly songs and music. When that was over, another camp staff member set up a laptop computer with speakers and began playing American country-western standards. It was not welcome, and became much worse when it turned out that there were only two songs on the laptop and they were to be repeated all night. As soon as the others arrived to rescue us, we fled into the dining room, pursued by the voice of Kenny Rogers singing for the third time "You've got to know when to hold 'em..."

Sitting at a table with the others, reading a menu, ordering wine, I felt a deep discontent. I was probably just very tired after a long day, but I couldn't shake the feeling that this gilded oasis in the Serengeti was a caricature of our privileged tastes and appetites. It was as though someone had held up a mirror and in it I had seen an image of myself that wasn't very flattering. Surely no effort had been spared to make us feel "at home," but the result was that I felt more out-of-place than at any other time during the trip.


Daytime picture of the dining area.

I suffered through dinner, allowed myself to be escorted back to our tent, brushed my teeth with bottled water, spent five minutes with my Swahili book before I realized that I wasn't paying attention, and finally turned out the light and waited for sleep.

NEXT: Hippos in the Water, Elephants in the Mud

All Seven Runners Count!

Some time ago, NNHS historian Josh Seeherman sent me a wonderful account of the 1995 Mass. Girls State Div I Cross-Country meet. That meet was remarkable for several reasons, not least because the top two teams -- Newton North and Newton South -- had identical scores after their first five runners had crossed the finish line.

I have been holding on to Josh's story, waiting for an opportune time to post it. This week seemed as good a time as any. Here in New England we are between indoor nationals and the beginning of outdoor track, while the rest of the world is preparing for the IAAF XC championships in Spain. Meanwhile, legendary coach Peter Martin is preparing to coach his final season.

So here is Josh's account. Although fall XC is still six months away, I hope the story resonates and reminds us what a great sport it is.


All Seven Runners Count!
by Josh Seeherman

This fall marked the 15th anniversary of the 1995 Newton North girls state cross-country title, the middle championship of the magical 1994-1996 three year run when Peter Martin's team trampled over the competition and won three consecutive state championships. While some emphasis is placed on the 1996 team, one of the best teams in NNHS history scoring only 44 points, it is worth recounting the 1995 story in that something absolutely impossible to replicate actually happened - Newton North tied Newton South in the scoring and won on a tiebreaker.

Throughout the early-mid 1990's, the two high schools from Newton sat atop the girls cross-country universe in Massachusetts, winning their leagues and defeating most of the other competition at the state level. Newton South had won the 1993 state title quite convincingly with 55 points, putting 4 in the top 25 including a 2nd place by Eliza Beardslee; Newton North turned the tables and won the 1994 title behind sophomore Senta Burton's sub-19:00 romp and an overachieving performance by junior Susan Duncombe. It was not surprising that NSHS and NNHS were once again 1-2 in the coaches' poll for the 1995 season, and both teams easily won their respective conferences. Newton South featured the speedy Shara Miller, a legitimate individual championship contender, while Newton North countered with what appeared to be (perhaps) a slightly deeper team.

At the Eastern Mass races, held at Franklin Park, both teams held serve in convincing fashion in their respective divisions. In Division I, Newton North won by over 130 points, beating Plymouth South 50-182 behind the efforts of sophomore Liz Aronin and now junior Senta Burton, placing 5th and 6th respectively. However, over in Division II Newton South had played copycat, defeating Woburn 53-159. Shara Miller had run unopposed for 1st place, winning by 18 seconds, and the top 4 runners were all in the Top 15 placings. However, Newton North's top 3, the third runner being sophomore Sarah Harrison, had all run faster than Newton South's #2 and #3. Combining the times in a dual meet fashion, NNHS had gone 2-3-4 for 9, while NSHS had scored 1-5-6 for 12. If Newton North could somehow replicate the same situation, they might take the title. However, with no realistic shot at Miller herself, if they could not get their 2-3-4 across quickly the Lions looked like the championship team. Additionally, Wachusett Regional, still in the Central MA division, had performed very well and rightfully believed they were just as good as the two Newton high schools. The state meet, held at Gardner, would be a three team affair.

As we now know after the fact, the stage was set for a historic race. Miller ran as predicted, taking third overall but snaring the first team point as the first two runners were individual racers. However, in the first "wrinkle," Liz Aronin came flying across the finish line in an unexpected fifth, running 17:48 for 2.9 miles. With the fourth place runner also an individual participant, Aronin had taken the precious second team slot and neutralized NSHS's top harrier. Wachusett then showed their prowess, placing their Top 2 runners in before either of Newton's 2nd. The meet scoring was very much up for grabs between these three teams at this juncture.

Newton South then made their most significant move of the day. While Senta crossed the line in 18:13 as Newton North's second runner, the Lions' second and third runners (Maggie Hillis and Anna Beardslee) approached the finish line having managed to move in front of Sarah Harrison by one position. Beyond this point, there was a slight gap, and it became anyone's guess as to who had won as the officials sorted out the individual scorers from the team participants. It took a heroic effort from Susan Duncombe as the fourth NNHS runner to keep pace with NSHS's fourth, Julie Farago, otherwise the meet would have been over right there, but North's fifth runner (Gillian Chiong) stayed in front of South's fifth. Both Newton teams had their fourth runners in before Wachusett's fourth, effectively ending the bid from the Central Massachusetts school.

When the officials were taking longer than usual to reveal the score, and then were seen consulting the rule book, everyone knew the meet was extraordinarily close. Finally, the scores were announced, an unprecedented tie; Newton North and Newton South had each scored 68 points, Wachusett had scored 98 for third. Although it had never been enforced before at the state level, the tiebreaker rule was simple - the team with the lowest placing sixth runner won the meet. In this instance, Newton North's superior depth had prevailed. Going down the scorer's sheet, the officials revealed that both the Tigers' sixth and seventh runners had finished in front of the Lions' sixth. Sophomore Becky Zatsman, previously an anonymous sixth runner, running in essence to "bump" other teams' fourth and fifth runners, suddenly found herself in the Boston Globe recap, having run 19:31, a full 40 seconds in front of Newton South's sixth. The championship trophy went back to Newton, but this time it was staying on Lowell Ave for a second year and not heading down to Brandeis Road.

Looking back, the impact of this meet has somewhat been negated by Newton North's superior effort in 1996 and Newton South's historic performance in 2008, where they perhaps had the best team performance in Massachusetts history. Nevertheless, much like the fabled 1968 Harvard-Yale tie game, the 1995 meet still resonates for many who were witnesses. As Coach Martin said for the Globe, "cross-country is a team sport... you run as a team and finish as a team." The 1995 meet was a fantastic performance for both Newton teams, one perhaps just an ounce better on that particular day.

Tanzania Journal - Day 7, Part 2:Out of the Desert

Camels near Lake Natron

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We finally left the camp at Lake Natron at about 11:00 on the morning of December 30th. Rob had wanted us to leave an hour earlier, and we had dutifully packed all our bags the previous evening for a quick departure. However, while loading those bags into the back of the Land Cruiser, Rob and Peter had noticed a problem with the latching mechanism on the rear door, and it took a while to fix.

While they did, the sun rose higher in the sky, and what had been a pleasantly warm morning gradually became a very hot day. Like every other sensible creature, we sought out shade and waited patiently for the car to be ready.

For the first half hour after we left camp, the road continued more or less North, rising gradually through an arid landscape characterized by low scrubby trees and bushes. It was impressive that these trees were able to eke out a living on the modest amounts of rain that fell erratically in that region. It seemed an inhospitable place, and yet, every few miles we came across Maasai walking slowly in small groups along the road. All seemed to be heading in the same direction, back in the general direction of the basin. Perhaps there was a market somewhere, or perhaps they were making the long round trip for water or some other need.




Comenifera tree on the road from Lake Natron

Perhaps the hot sun lulled our crew into a moment of inattention, because we rounded a bend and suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a small village of huts and animal paddocks. Rob quickly figured out that we had gone the wrong way at a fork, and so we had to backtrack for a half a mile or so. Almost as soon as we were back on the right track, the road began climbing sharply. We were now ascending the escarpment, heading roughly Northwest toward the town of Loliondo. The terrain, which hadn't been smooth by any stretch, now became daunting. The Land Cruiser pitched and bounced, as we negotiated stretches of road with huge slabs of stone and ruts two feet deep. We would harrow through some particularly improbable section of road and think to ourselves that surely it couldn't get any more rugged, only to encounter a worse section a few minutes later. There were stretches when it didn't even seem we were on a road at all, just picking our way up a boulder-strewn slope trying to keep the wheels of the car moving forward.

It was here that we came to appreciate our driver, Peter. Up until now, Peter had been the overlooked member of the crew. Rob was the leader, gregarious and informative. He had planned the trip and consulted with us frequently about what was going on. Henry was our cook, and already we had begin to marvel at his ability to conjure large quantities of good food from whatever supplies had been packed and could be prepared in a camp. Peter had been mostly quiet, but as we lurched up the side of the rift, skirting disaster at every turn, his concentration and competence made us feel very fortunate and grateful.

I wish I had some pictures from that part of the drive. No one was thinking about pictures, however, since we were all hanging on to our seats trying not to careen up to the roof with every bump.

As we neared the end of our arduous climb, the dry red rocks fell away behind us, and the landscape became greener. As we gained altitude, the climate was changing before our eyes. Here, the condensation was greater and the foliage was thicker. We began to see cattle on the hillside. The road leveled out and became friendlier.

We continued to see people on or by the side of the road, mostly women and children. Invariably they waved at the car as it went by. Once in a great while we would see another vehicle coming our way. I wanted to warn them about the road they would be descending, but I'm sure they knew better than I did what they were getting themselves into.

At one point, we drove a mile off the main road into a little town where the people were not wearing the Maasai dress. We saw some teenage boys and I think I recall they were playing soccer in or next to the street. Most were wearing pants and t-shirts, very different than the the colorful shukas we had come to expect. Rob explained that these were not Maasai, but Sonjo, another tribe with different language and customs.

It must have been sometime between 1:00 and 2:00 that we stopped for lunch in a town called Wasso. I couldn't quite figure out what kind of place it was as Peter pulled the car to a stop in a large courtyard. It seemed like an official building of some sort, although it might have been a school. If Rob told us, I've forgotten what he said. Although Rob suggested we eat inside, we had been sitting in the car for a long time and preferred to stay in the open air. He seemed to consider this a little strange, but accepted it and went into the building to get us some soft drinks.

A word about soft drinks: other than instant coffee or tea in the morning, beer if we were lucky, and bottled water the rest of the time, the one reliable thing to drink was Coca-Cola and its sister products. There seemed to be an excellent distribution system that supplied recycled glass bottles of Coke and Fanta to every town, where they sold for what seemed like a very reasonable price of 500 Tanzanian shillings, or about 33 cents.

It was pleasant in this courtyard, but a sense of contradiction tugged at my consciousness. Here we were at this official-looking building in this big, important town -- at least big by the standards of Northern Tanzania -- and yet instead of bathrooms, there was an outhouse with holes in the ground, and no running water or soap to be had anywhere.

I'm afraid I have to spend a little time on the topic of sanitary facilities. I was struck by how access to and use of the toilets was a matter of more-or-less constant concern for all of us on the trip. Other than Joni, everyone in our family experienced a certain amount of digestive distress when we got to Tanzania. We suspected that it might be related to the anti-malarial medication we were taking although it's possible that there was some other cause. In any case, in Arusha, we had running water at the hotel, but not when we visited Oju's family, and not when we visited Rose in Monduli. At Tarangire, the camp toilets were crude and we weren't even allowed to use those after lights out. At Lake Natron where it was safer, it was not measurably cleaner (although there were simple showers of not-potable water). Sanitation was always an issue, and we wondered what microbes were out and about, waiting to pounce on our poorly-adapted immune systems. I wish I could say that I got used to roughing it, but it would be more accurate to say that I endured the lack of plumbing the best that I could and was very happy whenever we got to use a western-style loo.

After our lunch, we got back into the Land Cruiser and began driving West. We would enter the Serengeti National Park at an outpost named Klein's Gate. Although it was not many kilometers, it took us a couple of hours to reach the entrance to the Park. On the way we encountered more horrendous roads, and passed through several small, isolated villages.

One village, in particular, left a strong impression on me. The town seemed to appear out of nowhere. We had been driving along, and all of a sudden there was a cluster of buildings, some with masonry walls. What was most strange was that there seemed to be a crowd of people in the center of the town, but it didn't seem like anything was happening. Or rather, it appeared that everyone was waiting for something to happen, but in a slow, listless fashion without any definite expectation. There was no market, no activity, just people sitting or standing or milling around.

The other strange thing was when we encountered a bus traveling in the opposite direction. It was inconceivable that a bus could pass on the roads we had just traversed, and yet Rob assured me that it was heading to Arusha. I couldn't believe it.

We reached Klein's Gate at about 4:30. While Rob went into the office there to pick up the necessary permits, we admired a herd of giraffe a few hundred yards away. These were not our first giraffe; we had seen some in Tarangire and near Lake Natron, but these were Serengeti giraffe, and we felt very excited to have arrived, at last.


We were very careful to observe Rule 3...

Forbes (19-5) Wins National LJ TitleNN Boys Set School Record in SMR

Newton North sophomore Carla Forbes leaped 5.93m (19-5.5) at the New Balance Indoor Nationals on Saturday to defeat a deep field and win the national title. Forbes will be out to defend her 2010 triple jump title on Sunday.

Forbes also combined with Amy Ren, Kayla Wong, and Steph Brown to take 8th in the shuttle hurdles.

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Newton North's boys sprint medley relay team of Isaiah Penn, Ryan Lucken, Ben Clark, and Ezra Lichtman set a new school record of 3:32.46 for sixth place. If anyone has splits, please post them!

The race featured a 1-6-7 finish from Massachusetts teams. Running in the seeded heat, Mansfield won the national title with a time of 3:28.99. Also in the final heat, Andover finished with the 7th-fastest time overall.

Addendum:

Penn also won the "Emerging Elite" 400m, running 49.62. That might just be an indoor school record. Josh Seeherman will know...

Results of the meet are here.

Tanzania Journal - Day 7, Part 1:Lake Natron

"Here it is the landscape rather than the animals that is the attraction - the area around the lake is dry, desolate and hauntingly beautiful." (www.moivaro.com)


"The lake is 35 miles (56 km) long and 15 miles (24 km) wide and contains salt, soda, and magnesite deposits. The lake’s warm water is an ideal breeding ground for the Rift Valley flamingos." (Encyclopedia Brittanica)

"Three-quarters of the world population of lesser flamingos live and nest in East Africa. All depend on Tanzania's Lake Natron as a breeding site. Food is plentiful, nesting sites abound – and above all, the lake is isolated and undisturbed." (www.rspb.com)

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Running Log, 12/30/10 -- 30 minutes in and around Lake Natron camp, including "hill repeats"

December 30th was our second full day of Safari and would be, in every sense, our longest. It would take us from the near lunar isolation of Lake Natron to a brazen island of Western luxury in the heart of the Serengeti. In between, we would traverse a stretch of road so uneven it would make our Land Cruiser buck like an enraged bull, with only our seat belts keeping us from repeatedly banging our heads on the roof of the truck.

Our longest day began before dawn with a sunrise drive to the mud flats on the southern end of Lake Natron. Rob had strongly urged us to an early start, and it was nearly pitch black when we staggered out of our tents, carrying flashlights to find our way to the toilets across camp. Henry had heated water for tea or instant coffee, and after a few minutes to linger over our cups, it was time to bundle into the Land Cruiser for the fifteen-minute drive to the Lake.


Giraffes at sunrise near Lake Natron

There were many things that I saw on our trip that left a general impression that has acquired detail over time as I have read more and been able to put the experience into some sort of context. The early morning wander among the flamingos at Lake Natron is one of those things. So forgive me if I take a few moments to digress and things I learned later when I sat down and read about this place.

Let's start with the name. I was a little put off by the name, which sounds harsh and forbidding -- so different from the Swahili and Maasai names I was learning. Wikipedia tells me that "Natron" is an English word (from a French cognate) that refers to a naturally occurring mixture of sodium carbonate decahydrate (hydrated soda ash). So Lake Natron is something like "Salt Lake".

Alkalinity in the large, shallow lake can reach a pH of 9 to 10.5 (almost as alkaline as ammonia), and temperatures can reach 50 degrees Celsius (120 degrees Fahrenheit). Who could love such a place?

It turns out that these conditions are ideal for salt-loving organisms, including Spirulina, a cyanobacterium that grows in water and makes its own food via photosynthesis. The bacteria have a reddish pigment that gives the open water of Lake Natron a deep red appearance. Flamingos feed on the bacteria, and the pigment makes the birds appear pink. In other words, pink flamingos aren't born pink -- they get that way by eating red bacteria.



The other advantage for the flamingos is that a lake whose water is so alkaline is no haven for predators. Other than a few giraffes off in the distance, the only traces of larger mammals we saw near Lake Natron were some bleached bones on the shore. It seemed to me that unless you were a flamingo, the lake was a place to go to die.

Near us, there were thousands of flamingos wading in the water, feeding. We spent a long time walking slowly out on the flats, taking a few pictures, picking up a few bones. I look at the pictures now and none of them seem particularly compelling. It was a quiet refuge, isolated and spare. After an hour or so, we headed back to the Land Cruiser for the drive back to camp.

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When we got back to camp, it was probably around 8:30 or 9:00 and breakfast was waiting for us. However, I had other plans. On the second to last day of the year there was no way I was going to pass up my one and only opportunity to sneak in a run. I told Ann to save me some food, and I slipped away to change into shorts and running shoes.

I didn't have high hopes for this run when I began my usual routine of looping around the campground. Even though the morning was pleasantly warm before the heat of midday and the grass and soft roads in camp were a pleasure, I expected to feel like a horse in a paddock. These pictures that Peter took sort of get that across.




However, after a few laps in the camp, and with Rob's assurance that there were no lions around, on my next loop I ventured out of camp and up the road that led past the Maasai village to the open plain beyond. I soon found a very runnable path that led up a decent hill and intersected the road we came in on. Thus, even without heading into the wilderness (I thought about it), I was able to follow a big lopsided figure 8 that combined small curcuits of the campground and large loops outside with a challenging climb to keep me focused.

The more I ran, the better I felt. At one point, I was joined by a Maasai boy and we ran together for a few minutes, a thrill for both of us, I think. In spite of the fact that I knew breakfast would be put away and that Rob would want to be leaving, I extended the run longer than the minimum and managed a good thirty minutes and some energetic charges up the hill. It would be my second favorite run of the whole trip.

Running, Aging, and the Heart

Some of us older folks made a decision somewhere along life's highway that we would keep running and competing as long as our legs held out. We would accept with as much grace as we could muster the compromises forced upon us by bodies that were no longer able to handle the really punishing phases of training. We would learn not to dwell on all the great times we ran when we were in our prime. We would slip back into the pack, motivating ourselves by now and again taking down some twenty-something who went out too fast, or by battling other geezers for age group prizes.

But mostly, we would commit ourselves to running as a "lifestyle" -- it's a blow to one's ego to even use that word -- and enjoy the heck out if it as long as we could.

In my case, I thought this decision was all about taking care of the aging sinews of my body -- the muscles and tendons that make up the running machine. I never really worried about the hydraulic system that made it all possible. I guess I assumed that my heart and lungs would continue functioning adequately, if not perfectly, or at least until my knees exploded or my feet and lower legs couldn't take it any more.

Well, hearts, too are vulnerable to the ravages of time and training.

Intellectually, I knew this, but it was underscored recently when I read an article in Wednesday's New York Times that described recent research on the hearts of aging runners who continued to compete at a very high level in endurance events (e.g., racing marathons and triathlons).

When Exercise is Too Much of a Good Thing

The article basically concludes that long, intense running is associated with increased risk of scarring of the heart tissue. I was careful in that last sentence not to say that the running caused the scarring. The research has not established cause and effect in humans. However, no one should be surprised that intense training and racing might carry some risks, as well as benefits, for the hearts of middle-aged athletes.

It would be nice to think that running is the formula for eternal youth, and it might be a better candidate than anything else we can dream up. But with aging, there's always a catch.

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On a side note, I continue to be fascinated by the extreme things that researchers make rats do in the lab. For example, in describing a study that seems to provide the first evidence of a direct link between heavy exercise and heart damage, the above-mentioned article says:

"Canadian and Spanish scientists prodded young, healthy male rats to run at an intense pace, day after day, for three months, which is the equivalent of about 10 years in human terms. The training was deliberately designed to mimic many years of serious marathon training in people..."

Does that sounds like the Kenyan training camp in Iten? I was hoping the article would go on to say which group of rats had the best treadmill marathon times, but they omitted that data.

Tanzania Journal - Day 6: Water in a Dry Land

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Running Log, 12/29/10 -- 22 minutes w/Oju up and back the road at our campsite at Tarangire

I was very happy when it finally began to get light at Tarangire. It had been our first night camping, and I had slept fitfully. Our tents had been hot and stuffy and it took a while to figure out how to ventilate them properly. Ann had fallen asleep quickly, but I lay on my back for what seemed like hours trying to think cool thoughts and trying not to listen too carefully for the sounds of large animals in the night. It didn't help recalling Rob's words of caution should we happen to feel the "call of nature" before it was light enough to safely cross the campground to the toilets. I don't know know how the others felt, but being told that I was confined to the tent for the next eight hours made me anxious and restless.

So it was a relief to have the sun finally come up, and to be able to climb out of the tent, stiff and groggy but unmauled and ready for another day.

As far as running went, this would be a test, of sorts, to judge whether it would be practical for me to run while inside the parks. Both Rob and Joni had been skeptical, considering that Rob would not sanction me venturing outside the campground for any reason. I understood that he had no desire to lose a client to a freelancing lion who might pass by while I was doing my best impersonation of breakfast. It would not be good for business.

I had already decided that the morning's run would consist of running up and back the campground access road, a strip of soft dirt that extended perhaps 150 meters from our tents. On the near end of each lap, I could circle the tents and the small pavilion that the cooks used to prepare meals. On the far end, I could take a wide turn around some bushes on either side of the road -- not much different from the turns we used to run in the old Newton North SOA. Plus, I would have company. When I had described the plan the previous evening, Oju had said to wake him up for the fun.

So it was that as the sun rose on Tarangire, we set off together at a sleepy jog, our first tentative steps taking us away from the safety of the tribe towards the bush, and then, as we approached the edge of our tiny island of human habitation, turning back again to complete a lap. The goal was to continue for as many laps as it would take to log twenty minutes. All year that had been the informal minimum I had established to "count" as a run.

Our first lap felt pretty tame. Having to turn around so soon after we started was drudgery. Returning to circle the tents barely a minute after we had left made us objects of amusement for our traveling companions and crew. On the first lap, I felt self-conscious, but soon I had other things to think about. At the far point of our second circuit, I looked out beyond the road and realized that there were hundreds of baboons foraging in the bush not more than 200 meters away. A shot of adrenaline went through me, and I experienced the visceral sensation of the wildness surrounding us. There was nothing separating us but dry grass and a few acacia trees. It was, I thought, very fortunate that the baboons had no interest in us.

Newly alert, we continued our laps, even finding ways to make our run more playful. We started weaving through the campground, bounding up the steps one one side of the pavilion, crossing it, and leaping off the other side, then heading out to the end of the access road and the indifferent baboons, and then back a minute later. After twenty minutes of this, I decided we needed to do one more lap, so we did, and finished without fatigue or distress. Rob, who had been watching us with the same concern that a mama bear might have watching her cubs wandering away from the den, gave us a broad smile. I'm not sure he approved, but he seemed to accept that this was what we did to amuse ourselves.

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After breakfast, and after everything and everybody were packed back into the Land Rover, we left Tarangire and began to head North. Our destination for the day was Lake Natron, located along Tanzania's border with Kenya.

The previous day, we had spent the entire afternoon driving on bumpy park roads. I hated to admit it, but it was actually nice to leave the park and return to smooth pavement for a while. I had no idea at that point that the next few days' journey would challenge my very definition of "road." Knowing nothing of what was to come, I relaxed as we made the easy drive to the town of Mto Wa Mbu ("Mosquito River" in Swahili), where we picked up a few more supplies and said good-bye to Oju, who left us to catch a dala dala back to Monduli.

Leaving Mto Wa Mbu, we drove for a short way on the paved highway and then turned off onto an unpaved road, strewn with gravel and stones. I remember thinking that this must be a shortcut. Actually, it was the main route leading to Lake Natron and beyond it the Northern entrance to the Serengeti. It was very dry, this road, and the surrounding land appeared desolate and hardly habitable. Still, we continued to see Maasai villages, and occasionally passed Maasai men, women, and children walking slowly along the road, sometimes leading small herds of bony cattle.

Apart from the people, the most dramatic feature of the landscape was the East Africa Rift escarpment, a thousand-foot difference between the valley floor and the higher plain to the West that stretched to the North and South as far as we could see. The escarpment was a constant and impressive reminder of the tectonic activity happening here.


Maasai village with the Rift escarpment in the background
(Photo: Marc Gamble)

I remember that drive as having a timeless quality. It was the middle of the day, and no one said much as we bumped along through for what seemed like hours through that dry valley. After we had been driving for a while, the road began to rise and we could look out over the landscape of the Engaruka Basin. Here and there, the wind whipped up tall, slender dust devils that extended hundreds of feet in the air and presided over the basin like primitive spirits of the land.


Dust devil - Engaruka Basin

As we continued North, we had excellent views of Ol Doinyo Lengai, an active volcano and the third-tallest mountain in Tanzania. The volcano, whose name means "mountain of God" in the local Maasai language, has erupted several times in the last hundred years, most recently in 2007-2008, when it deposited new layers of lava and ash into the Lake Natron basin. Rob explained that the lava from Ol Doinyo is unique among active volcanoes, containing sodium and potassium carbonate that makes Lake Natron a "Soda lake" and that gives the surrounding area an appearance unlike anywhere else in the world.

Ol Doinyo Lengai

Throughout the trip, Rob gave a lot of thought to finding spectacular spots for our stops, and this day was no different. In the early afternoon, we pulled off the road and up to the edge of a huge caldera a kilometer across with a view of Ol Doinyo looming in the distance.



We must not have been the only travelers to ever stop in this place. A minute after our Land Rover pulled to a stop in the soft gravel, a band of Maasai women and girls appeared with bracelets, necklaces, and other trinkets to sell. None of us were interested in buying anything, and after a few words of Swahili were exchanged, the women left us alone and sat down in the shade of an Acacia tree. Our party sat down in the shade of another and we ate our lunch. It was impossible not to think about what we had -- our bottled water, the individual boxes prepared by Henry that each contained more than any of us would eat at one sitting -- and not think about our neighbors. We had no way of knowing whether food was scarce for them or not, but the option of throwing away the food was intolerable. When we were finished, Peter, our driver, took a box of untouched fruit and other items over to them, and then we left.


The Maasai have quietly asserted their authority by taking the best shade.

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It was fairly late in the afternoon, probably around 4 p.m. when we arrived at the Lake Natron tented camp. The camp was adjacent to a Maasai settlement that turned out to be the same village where Joni had stayed for a week as a student in 2004. Maybe she had mentioned this before and it had not registered with me, but it made the place feel oddly familiar, as though I had known it for a long time before arriving on this day.

Unlike everything else we had seen that day, the camp was lush with green grass and a variety of trees. The reason for this was a stream that flowed out of the high hills above the camp, down to the lake. Our plan for the end of the afternoon was to follow that stream backwards, hiking through the narrow gash in the rocks where the water rushed down until we came to what Rob promised would be a waterfall and pool where we could swim.

We were certainly ready to be out of the Land Rover, and the idea of swimming was very tempting. For our hike, Rob had hired a Maasai to accompany us. At first, I thought that the role of guide was an honorary position, a courtesy to the local population, but I soon changed my mind. After a short way on the trail, we began criss-crossing the stream, now stepping on submerged rocks, now plunging through the water. Our guide knew every step of the way, knew which stones were firm steps and which were treacherous. Although he was a slight man, perhaps 5'2", he was extremely strong, as I discovered at one stream crossing. He was standing knee-deep in the torrent, patiently helping each of us cross without mishap. When it was my turn, I put my foot down in the wrong place and stumbled slightly. At once he reached out to steady me. His arm was like an iron bar.

After a half hour of hiking in this way, we arrived at the waterfall, an astonishing extravagance of water in this dry place. While the older adults waded gingerly into the pool, Joni and Loren leaped in like seals and splashed about joyfully, washing away the dust of the long day's drive.


Hiking to the waterfall


Loren and Joni under the waterfall.

Thus refreshed, we walked back down the trail and took the short ride back to the camp. The sun was setting as we entered this oasis for the second time. It turned out that some of the camp personnel had a generator and had converted one of the tents into a "Club" with a satellite radio and a tiny refrigerator that held beer that was not actually warm. We splurged on a few bottles of "Safari" and settled down for our evening meal.

Next: Out of the Desert

NN Boys 4x200 Wins New Englands

(photo: Patrick Bendzick/MileSplit)

Newton North's 4x200 relay team upset Mansfield, New Bedford, and other schools with faster seed times to win the New England Championship last night at the Reggie Lewis Center.

Newton North, which, until yesterday had not won a 4x200 race all year (somebody check that and let me know if it's correct), finished 3rd at the Mass Div I meet (1:32.67) and 5th at the State Championships (1:33.19). That left them languishing in the fifth of six heats. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, allowing them to stay out front and out of trouble. Who knows? In any case, they won their heat, improving their best time by over half a second. Then they waited to see whether any of the five remaining teams would run faster. None of them did, and the Tigers were and are the champs.

If Old Blue Eyes or anyone else who was at the meet could provide names and splits, that would be fantastic. I'm guessing the personnel included Ryan Lucken, Ben Clark, Isaiah Penn, and Nate Menninger in some order. True?

In any case, congratulations to the team on a remarkable upset and a New England championship to remember forever.

In the shot put, Swardiq Mayanja threw a personal best 57-1, placing second to the 58-3.75 mark of Newtown Connecticut's John Wlasuk.

Results - 2011 Indoor New England H.S. Championships

Forbes, NN Girls Win MSTCA Pentathlon Title

On Tuesday, Carla Forbes added another championship to her growing resume of track and field achievements, winning the MSTCA Pentathlon with a total of 3072 points, over 100 more than her nearest pursuer, Wellesley's Karla Ganley. Forbes, along with Amy Ren and Lucia Grigoli, also helped Newton North to the top team score (combined score of three competitors).

Forbes held her own in the 55 hurdles (8.94) and high jump (1.47m or 4-9.75), and then built an insurmountable lead in the long jump (5.34m, 17-6.25) and shot put (27-5.25). She clinched the title with more-than-respectable 2:37 800m in the final event.


MSTCA Girls Pentathlon - Results