Shumbachena

October in Southern Africa. What a month to be out in the bush. This time of the year was known as the suicide month due to the extremely high temperatures and the corresponding rate of people taking their lives.

The sweltering heat makes your sweat attract bugs of all sorts, some stinging your skin. The heat haze lifting from the dry, cracking, baked earth reminds you that you are in an extremely harsh environment, one that is not to be underestimated. Through the haze, everything around you shimmers in the daylight; the trees swayed, and not from the breeze, the rocks shifted, and all the shadows appeared as though they are watching you.

The light, burning winds move through the tall golden, dry, tick- infested grasses of the vlei. Breathing in this hot air is like breathing in liquid fire. Your sweat runs between your shirt and back and trickles uncomfortably into your trousers. Everything you wear clings to your body and feels damp and humid.

In the distance, I can hear the constant cooing of the bush dove.

The local people say that the dove is calling out to them, saying,

"You have harvested all the corn and I am suffering from hunger.

Where is the corn?"

I am Adrian Riley and I am riding through the bush on my horse, tracking poachers. This might sound exciting; and it is to a certain extent, but it is also very deadly. The chances of being wounded or even killed are very high. However, I have been doing this for quite a few years now and I really enjoy working in the bush. The incessant insect noise is comforting, as it reminds you all is well. Butterflies flit about with not a care in their little world and the bush flies land and take off constantly, their buzz adding continuously in your ears. The dry earth kicks up a fine red mist as the hooves of the horses disturb it and the swishing of their tails tells me that the flies are just as annoying to them as they are to me.

I am employed by the 'Save the Rhino' campaign and I take my job very seriously. I have been forced to deal harshly with poachers before and will do so again if they try to kill my fellow rangers or me.

If you were to meet up with me now you would see me as an unshaven and unwashed mad Englishman out in the African sun. While we are out tracking, we do not have the luxury of being able to wash. The reasons, well, not enough water and without the scent of the wild the poachers would smell us a mile away. It wasn't pleasant but it saved lives.

There are five of us on this trek; myself, Tawanda, Farai, Sixpence and Joseph. These are some of the best in the overall team and I would put my life in their hands any day.

At the lead is Farai. He is the best tracker. We are on the trail of four poachers who had killed a female Black Rhino two days earlier. At this stage we have to be extremely careful as we believe our quarry are not too far ahead and could well be laying an ambush as they knew full well the extent we would be pursuing them to.