Talking Point: A close encounter with the secretary

SOMETIMES the most lasting holiday memory is not on the travel itinerary. It is the little unexpected piece of magic when you are in the right place at the right time. I can speak with authority, because all restless travellers have a treasure chest of these experiences. And the latest one of mine happened, just as these things do, in the most unlikely place, namely a dirt road outside the Free State capital city of Bloemfontein. I had taken the family to Sunday tea at an upmarket restaurant called De Oude Kraal, a few kilometres south of the town. The tea itself was disappointing, for reasons that have nothing to do with this story, although stale cake and afterthought biscuits play a large role. Therefore, it was in a state of relative disgruntlement that the family and I were on our way home along the afore-mentioned dirt road. And then it happened. A few hundred metres in front of us we spied a secretary bird making its ungainly way across the road. I have never seen a secretary bird in the flesh, and so we slowed down to exclaim over the sighting. A secretary bird, as I’m sure you know, is a comical crane-like creature. It has black leggings like a cyclist wearing Lycra shorts, the slow stately walk of a junior advocate making a point in court, large eyes with black rings that resemble horn-rimmed spectacles, and a quiff that could be an old-fashioned quill-pen behind its ear. And so we smiled as the bird strolled across the road, hastening its gait as we got nearer. Then it climbed up the steeply thicketed verge and disappeared in the long tawny grass at the top. As we drove past I glanced up towards where it had gone, and was startled to see a large wing sticking up in the air above the grass. It looked as if our avian sighting was in distress. Stopping the car and squinting up the slope, I gathered that the bird had tried to climb through a barbed-wire fence and got itself stuck. So, accompanied by excited children, I got out and we picked our way up over stones and through the high grass towards the fence. When I got there, it was to discover a sorry secretary indeed. In climbing through the fence, the bird had got its legs twisted in the strands. The wings were caught securely and the throat was hooked on a barb. In a few seconds, it had managed to get itself in a complete and utter fix. With not a little trepidation, I got up very close and had a look to see what I could do. The first thing would be to unhook the neck from that barb. I gently took the huge head in my hand and lifted it off the barb – luckily it was not injured, just caught. But as I did so, I looked deeply into the amazingly huge and yellow eyes of the secretary bird and it was like looking into twin pots of molten gold. For several seconds time stood still while the bird and I looked at each other, and if I was a fanciful person I would believe that the bird understood that I had come to help him. Once the head was free I half-expected to get several hearty pecks for my trouble, but the huge bird just lay against the wire and waited for me to unhook his wings and legs. I was thankful to see that no harm had been done – the barbs on the wire had not had time to do much more than hold the bird fast. But as soon as the creature was free it spread its vast wings and flew off with a swish. I felt the darkness as its shadow passed over me and it made its way to a clump of trees where it landed and folded its wings and once again looked like an unruffled and conscientious undertaker. I would like to think that, even if I did not stop to help the bird, it would have been able to free itself and not ended up suffering in roasting sunshine and being picked off by a nocturnal predator. But those seconds of contact had changed me in some undefineable way. This was not a comical lawyer-like bird with a dopey expression – it was a proud and beautiful creature that – through an accident – had allowed me to get close, touch those soft grey feathers and look into those vast golden eyes. I love the Free State – the big sky, the golden mountains, the fields of sunflowers. I enjoy the garden-like capital city. But – for the rest of my life – from now onwards Bloemfontein will always be the smell of dusty heat, the crackle of dry grass, and a huge soft grey feathery head with golden eyes, nestled in my hand. Niki Moore