IF I GO back fifty-five years, to mid-1968, I was a 17-year-old cadet game ranger in the esteemed Rhodesian Department of National Parks and Wildlife Management. I had joined after completing my schooling in Umtali, where I had not exactly excelled academically. All I wanted to do was work in the bush as a game ranger. They say your environmental upbringing can influence your career choice, if so, it was certainly a truism in my case.
Much of my boyhood was spent in Rhodesia’s remote Sabi Valley, before any commercial agriculture took over. Our home was on the majestic south-flowing river’s east bank. Elephant from across the river, were frequent visitors, with the plundering of crops high on their agenda. Most of my school holidays from about age 13, were spent camping on patrol in the company of the local game ranger, whose house was in the shadow of Birchenough Bridge, further upstream. Without doubt, it was those special times
