The Phuza Moya Game Park in South Africa is one of scores of privately owned reserves that help protect the region’s fauna while giving landowners a more lucrative alternative to farming. If such ventures could be replicated in Central and Eastern Europe, they might be an avenue to protect such species as the endangered lynx of Macedonia By Pavel Antonov   Photo: GABOR HEVES   The author has a relaxing moment on the Crocodile riverbank, gaining an appreciation for why thousands of tourists from all over the world come to South Africa to experience its magic, unspoiled nature. "Are we going hunting today?" I ask, eyeing the 1.5 mm rifle slung over Steve's shoulder. This is the first time in my life that a hiking companion has shown up at the trailhead armed with a lethal weapon. "You ought to have one any time you' re in the bush, " Steve explains. On that ominous note the three of us start walking — Steve leading the way in brownish ranger shorts; followed by Eva, in her white trainers, and myself in heavy black combat boots. We go through a gate in the electric fence, leaving behind the security and comfort of the lounge. Ahead is the wildlife of South Africa. Steve has been running Phuza Moya, a reserve for the viewing, not the hunting, of indigenous animals, since 1991. Phuza Moya is one of many private game reserves along the periphery of Kruger, South Africa's oldest and largest national park, established in 1938 by the country's first president. Known for its immense biological diversity and vast territory, Kruger draws thousands of tourists every year from all over the world. "You don't make much money on a small farm. Running land like this as a game reserve brings more," Steve explains. Along with the tourist dollars, reserves like this get support from the government in recognition for their benefit to the environment. There are two kinds of reserves — ones for the personal use of their owners, and ones like Phuza Moya, run as commercial operations that serve as tourist attractions while also preserving indigenous plants and animals. "I prefer the second kind of reserve," says Steve. "It is much better when you have such a place to keep it running as a business — this gives it a future, and lets others enjoy nature." We follow a grey-brown pathway. In South Africa, August marks the end of   Photo: PAVEL ANTONOV   The rock fig (Ficus platypoda, but more commonly known as the as the rock-splitter), which spreads its stout white roots into stones. winter and beginning of spring, yet even now the savannah looks dry and dusty. Bushes and low trees spread out in the vast distance separating us from the Drakonsberg Mountains on the horizon. Sparse evergreen vegetation crops up here and there, and a few early spring flowers remind one that life hides all over the savannah. Our leader strays from the path to a thick-trunked tree that seems to have engulfed a huge stone. The shape of its leaves reminds me of my native country on the Black Sea. No mistake, it's a fig tree. But this is a special variety, one that grows among stones and is aptly named the rock fig. As the soil harbours little moisture, the rock fig wraps its roots around a single large stone, which serves as a solid base, then forces slender tendrils into the stone's cracks and crevasses to absorb water. Wildlife as business Phuza Moya used to be a personal estate with no public access. It cost Steve and his partner ZAL 15 million (about EUR 1.5 million) to develop the place, supply it with vehicles and fences, recruit staff, and build accommodations for 26 guests. The most important ingredient, the animals, were purchased from the national park administration. Over the park's quarter million square metres, which are bordered on one side by the Crocodile River, Phuza Moya has four leopards, seven buffalo, four rhinos, several hundred antelopes of various species and a smattering of giraffes, zebras, baboons and velvet monkeys. In the river and in three adjacent ponds, crocodiles and hippos take centre stage. "We have no lions here because the lions eat everything," Steve says. But he plans to purchase some elephants soon to bolster the park's profile. A startled giraffe twists its neck to look at us, then zigzags away from us through the bush. Eva wants to know how dangerous it is to walk around here. Steve acknowledges it carries a risk, but not a big one. Animals normally avoid humans, but if you get too close and leave them no choice, they'll attack. "They all have their personal perimeter that one should not cross, " Steve says. "If you' re on the street and someone comes up 10 centimetres from your face to ask the time, you' ll step back and get aggressive — it's the same with animals." Surprisingly, herbivores are responsible for most attacks on tourists, with the hippo the prime offender. A hippo can be very dangerous in a closed space or if approached too closely. It won't eat you, but its powerful bite can kill.   Photo: PAVEL ANTONOV   The Cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus) no longer regarded as an endangered species thanks to wildlife conservation work in South Africa. What makes Phuza Moya different from a zoo is the fact that the animals roam freely and feed and reproduce naturally. Steve says that the owners of a number of neighbouring game reserves have proposed removing fences and joining their properties. This would give the animals free range over a much larger area, and maybe even into the Kruger National Park. "There are technical obstacles to this idea, but it will work eventually, " Steve says. I wonder if a similar business model could succeed in Central and Eastern Europe. Despite all the economic, political and legislative hurdles that would be encountered, the CEE has the fundamental base of well-preserved biodiversity. Tourists would require something impressive to see, and the protected natural areas of CEE still harbour the large animals that fill the bill: wolves, foxes, deer and jackals are relatively abundant, while solitary bears wander around the mountains of Bulgaria, Serbia and Greece, and buffalo graze in Poland's and Romania's natural parks. And then there's the rarely seen lynx - a large wildcat native to the Balkans - that still hangs on at the brink of extinction. Mission impossible Being well familiar with the red tape and bureaucracy, the lack of law enforcement, the corruption and indifference of authorities back home, I am sceptical of the idea. But Steve is inspired. "Great! If you manage to bring back this cat in a game reserve, everyone's gonna come to see it, and the government, or some big conservation organisation will definitely pay for it," he enthuses. Possibly. There are new laws on protected areas in most CEE countries, and land has been privatised, so such entrepreneurship is possible. Steve's argument is persuasive. It is getting dark. A quiet, warm night falls quickly over the savannah and the riverbank. It is time to get home to the lounge. Looking back I see our footsteps being quickly blown away with the wind. We are in a place where human footprints are no more common than those of any other species. And I hope it remains like this here in South Africa, and back in Central and Eastern Europe, where I belong. September 7, 2002 Phuza Moya

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