AFTER his travel diary following a visit to Zimbabwe in November 2009 [DAY 1; DAY 2; DAY 3; DAY 4; DAY 5], Scott Ramsay returned recently and travelled for four weeks in the western parts of the country, discovering deserted tourist attractions, plenty of welcoming locals and more than a few roadblocks.

Want to find out what it’s like to travel in Zimbabwe at the moment? Can you have a good time in the country? Are visitors welcome? Is it safe? Is there fuel? Is there food? How bad is the poaching?

OUR last week was to be spent in the massive Hwange National Park, the largest piece of land in Zimbabwe set aside for wildlife conservation. The size of Belgium, it actually forms part of an even bigger conservancy area -- 300 kilometres long and 150 kilometres wide.

Within this larger protected area are a range of national parks (including Hwange), hunting and photographic-safari concessions, and natural forestry areas. Bordering these lands are rural communities.

There are no fences between these different areas, so animal migration isn’t restricted. However, it also means that animals may roam onto hunting concessions – where they are shot – and onto communal lands where they can be dangerous or a nuisance. And in Zimbabwe, where food is in short supply and meat even more so, poaching to feed hungry stomachs is inevitable. More worrying perhaps is the increase in slaughter of megafauna by highly-organised, commercial poachers.

Sharon Pincott is Getaway Magazine’s “elephant ambassador”, and she showed me around one of the safari areas just to the east of the national park, called the Hwange Estate. It’s home to the so-called presidential elephants of Zimbabwe, which are becoming increasingly famous because of their trusting acceptance of humans. Sharon has spent the last 10 years informally monitoring these wild elephants, and deterring poachers and hunters.

For several days, she drove me in her beaten-up Range Rover around the 140 square kilometre property, which she now knows better than her “home” town of Sydney in Australia. She spends almost every day with the elephants, many of whom have come to trust her completely.

“They are my friends”, said Sharon as a group of young bulls approached us in her car. “Hello boy,” she said firmly to one particularly inquisitive bull, who stuck his trunk out to smell us. “Come here boy. That’s it ... come say hello.”

The bull approached closer and closer. He repeatedly touched the bonnet of the car with his trunk, his enormous frame casting a shadow over us. Bull elephants can weigh up to seven tons, and can exert a force three times that amount. To see a wild elephant at such close quarters is immensely impressive - and somewhat unsettling for novices.

While I shuffled nervously in my seat, Sharon was cool and composed, and clearly comfortable with the situation. After a few minutes, the placid elephant trudged off.

Sharon told me how prior to 1970 hunters had killed off most wildlife in the area. Elephants in particular had become terrified of humans and vehicles, running away as soon as they heard, smelt or saw a person. Former hunter-turned-wildlife-lover Alan Elliott fought for the area to be declared a photographic safari area and he succeeded.

By 1990, the elephants had started trusting again the sound of vehicles and human voices and it became possible to get within touching distance of the elephants – a rare occurrence on a continent where wildlife is generally wary of anything human.

Then, a magnanimous Robert Mugabe himself declared that the elephants on Hwange Estate were never to be hunted again, and gave them his official presidential protection.  But ironically, it was Mugabe who created the circumstances for them to be killed once more.

The government seizure of white-owned farms in 2000 extended to conservancy areas, which ministers claimed for themselves. Hunting resumed. Even the anti-poaching teams were banned from the area.

Sharon wasn’t shy to tell the government how wrong they were, and endured verbal and physical abuse from certain ministers and their cohorts. But she succeeded in raising enough awareness to halt the carnage – for now. “There’s so much apathy,” Sharon bemoaned. “I’ll send photos of snared animals to newspapers overseas, there’ll be absolute outrage for a day, and then everyone forgets about it. I have to keep pounding away.”

I spent my days with Sharon, and my nights at Ivory Lodge, where Sharon works as an elephant guide, taking guests out to get up close and personal with the elephants.  The seven separate chalets at Ivory look like tree houses, built as they are on stilts amongst false mopane, albizia and teak trees. Each looks out over the lodge’s waterhole. It’s an authentic, comfortable set-up, made more special by the tentative service and friendliness of the staff.

From the Hwange Estate, I packed my Toyota bakkie with water, food and supplies because I was heading into the national park itself. At almost 15,000 square kilometres, it’s an easy place to lose yourself if you want to. It’s famous for its vast herds of elephants, numbering about 30,000 in total – although this figure alternates with the seasonal migration across the border to Botswana.

There are no perennial rivers in Hwange, so in the 1930s, when the area was proclaimed a reserve, more than 60 boreholes were dug, providing water for the largest concentration and diversity of game in the country.

Joining me for my time in Hwange was Zimbabwean Mario Gomes and his wife Dolly from Bulawayo. Mario grew up in the town of Hwange to the north of the park, and is one of the park’s biggest fans, visiting it at least four times a year since he was a kid. And in recent years, Mario has been instrumental in helping the animals of Hwange.

The drought of 2005 came at probably the worst time. The country had run out of fuel, and the park had run out of revenue to maintain the pumps. Animals were dying of thirst. Mario, a plumber and boilermaker by profession, spent several months in the park fixing the pumps with the help of organisations like Friends of Hwange. Then Mario contacted Getaway Magazine in South Africa, which started a fundraising exercise called Save Hwange, which raised money from readers to buy fuel. Mario would drive around the park making sure the pumps had enough diesel.

Our first night was spent at Guvalala Platform, about 30 kilometres west of Main Camp. The small platform is built on high stilts, and overlooks a pan about thirty metres away. It can be used during the day as a viewing platform by any park visitor, but during the nights just one group of campers are allowed exclusive use of it. It’s a wild way to see a wild part of Zimbabwe.

Sitting around a small fire, we ate our braai meat under a full moon.  A never-ending procession of elephant ghosted through the lunar light to drink from the pan. Zebra and impala huddled close together. Something made us look up from our plates. A hyena stood watching us, not ten metres from our fire, then skulked away.

Mario explained how his work in the park landed him in some dramatic situations. He was once trying to fix a pump at Sinanga Pan, when – before he knew it – he was surrounded by a herd of thirsty elephants. Mario eventually got the pump to work, but before the elephants started drinking, they made a gap in the cordon for Mario to pass through. “They just seem to know who is helping them. It’s bloody exciting, and bloody scary!”

As I lay falling asleep that night, it was comforting to hear the slurping and gurgling of imbibing elephants. For now, the summer thunderstorms will provide enough water to drink ... the dry winter will be a different story, when the pans will have to be pumped.

The following day it didn’t stop raining, so we cooped ourselves up at Shumba camp. In addition to maintaining the pumps, Mario and his maintenance team also spent several weeks fixing up some of the park’s campsites, so that today Shumba (among a few others) are in good condition.

Toilets and showers are working, and are freshly painted. Hot water flows from a boiler. And importantly, it all looks relatively fresh and clean, thanks to hard work by camp attendants like Mixture Donga and Shamiso Sibanda.