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Outside Magazine March 2003
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DESTINATIONS SPECIAL: The Scouting Expedition
A Trip is Born (Cont.)

Rush hour on the Lugenda: Briggs and Wilson power toward a complete first decent. (Joshua Paul)

Day 7, mile 178
A WILD 40 MINUTES. We rushed down a granite chute, our kayaks smashing through wave trains, and spilled into a quiet pool. Then the water erupted just behind our boat.

"Hippo!" shouted Clinton. "Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!"

The Hummer-sized creature submerged as we sprinted to the shelter of some boulders. I might have thought it was cute if I didn't know it could crush me and my boat in an instant. Highly territorial, hippos are said to kill more people than any other animal in Africa. Regrouped, we paddled past an abandoned fishing camp of a few thatched huts, drying racks made of sharp stakes, and an empty bark canoe on the bank. Had the fishermen fled at our coming?

"Shhh!" Clinton whispered.


"Hey!" Clinton shouted with alarm. "Get out of here!" Spray flew from his paddle and I heard a whump! whump! whump! as he struck a large crocodile sinking its teeth into his plastic hull.

He pointed to a forested island gliding by on river left. I heard a few sticks crack, then a sound like a wrecking ball through the branches.

"Elephants!" he whispered. "Don't move!"

We drifted silently, hoping to catch a glimpse. We'd seen plenty of elephant tracks, but no elephants.

"Hey!" Clinton suddenly shouted with alarm. "Hey, get out of here!" Spray flew from his paddle and I heard a whump! whump! whump! as he struck a large crocodile trying to sink its teeth into his plastic hull.

The croc let go. We cheered Clinton. Rod paddled up and slapped him a victorious high five: "Nice work, bru!"

"It was just a testing bite," Clinton said modestly.




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