Fresh mountain air just two hours away from Nairobi and sighting Narina’s trogans may be just what you need this weekend.
The lunch at Barney’s, the restaurant near the Nanyuki airstrip couldn’t be healthier – two red peppers filled with brown rice, nuts, cheese and spinach washed down with hot cappuccino.
A yellow wagtail stalks insects on the green lawn, having flown in from Spain to spend summer in Kenya. Flights land and take-off connecting passengers to Samburu and beyond.
Bursting with energy after such an energising platter, Jonathan Bending of Colobus Cottages, drives me to meet Daniel Ndoria, who is a leading environmentalist in the area for a forest walk in search of the colourful Narina’s trogons. It’s a path that will eventually lead us to the Mau Mau caves.
We’re on the west side of Mount Kenya, the leeward side, drier than the west end. Solomon Kithinji joins us because he takes people to the peaks of God’s mountain.
“This is the perfect time for the Narina’s trogon,” says Daniel. “They like to come out at this time when it’s cool.” So, we crane our necks to look up the towering trees for the rare resident with five colours, hoping to also catch sight of the leopards and elephants around.
“This is a second-generation forest,” explains Daniel as we inch our way up the mountain. The historical Mau Mau caves are seven kilometres away from the main road. “The caves were used as a hospital,” he says.
A thin tree sapling sprouts from the stump of a tree. “This is a brown olive,” explains Kithinji. “Many trees have been cut down by tree poachers. Luckily, what we see now is the forest regenerating because of improved security.”
A note echoes in the forest. “That’s an Hartlaub’s turaco,” says Daniel. The Hartlaub’s turaco has more scarlet on its wings, but not as colourful as the Narina’s, though it is more widespread in highland forests.
It’s quiet in the forest save for the occasional call of a bird. Dome-shaped elephant dung litter the path. They have been walking along not too long ago because the dung is still fresh; so fresh that we can smell it. Towering cedars stand in the glades; rod-straight earning them the nickname, pencil cedar. Some, so old with age, have fallen over where they will decay and enrich the soils.
“The cedar is protected under presidential decree,” Daniel continues. “But it’s still being poached because it does not decay in water or in the soil. Even insects do not eat it because of the smell from the tree, which keeps insects at bay. Also once cut, they do not regenerate. They grow from seed.”
The forest gets quieter and more peaceful. Light-coloured bouquets of yellow and orange flowers fill the thin branches of the Sand-olive trees. “These trees are so strong that it’s difficult to drive a nail through,” continues Daniel.
Holes pockmark the fat girths of the forest trees. “Elephants make the holes with their trunks. It shows that elephants have been here for many years.”
We reach a clearing in the forest and walk across a huge black-gray rock, which edges a gorge from where water cascades over the boulders. It’s the Burgeret River and we cross a rickety bridge over the shallow stream and stop at a pool of water for a stunning view of a waterfall framed by rocks – it’s pure art in nature. From a towering rock wall, more water falls over.
“This is where the ‘hospital’ was,” states Daniel.
The water is icy but refreshing. An otter’s tracks lead out. “It feeds on crabs, these are the droppings,” points Daniel to what looks like a broken eggshell.
We sit by the pool, enjoying the fresh forest air. It’s not hard to imagine why this was chosen as the ‘hospital’ for the freedom fighters.
“We all had family or friends who were involved in the independence struggle in the early 1950s,” the men say. “My grandmother supplied bullets to the Mau Mau from the (bullets stolen from) soldiers in the army (King’s African Rifles),” recalls Daniel. “The pool was also used during circumcision because the icy water numbs the pain. It is still very respected.”
We walk back over the rickety bridge and on to a glade of sand-olive trees bursting with flowers.
“That’s the call of the Yellow-vented bulbul. When it calls, it means that there is a cat or a snake around,” says Daniel.
It’s hard to see through the dense forest but it would be nice to have seen the leopard or whatever was watching us. Instead, we walk past rocks moved around by baboons searching for insects under them.
By Rupi Mangat