Mosi-oa-Tunya, the Smoke that Thunders: Victoria Falls, Zambia and Zimbabwe
When the Zambezi River is in full flow, Mosi-oa-Tunya, Victoria Falls, is the largest curtain of falling water on earth. This was the season; I’d see the Smoke that Thunders – the awesome power of cataracts a mile wide surging over a cliff into a 300-foot-deep chasm so narrow you could almost throw a stone over it. Then, the entire Zambezi River that has just plunged over the cliff pounds into a gorge less than 400 feet wide, as if through the neck of a funnel. Next it hits a cliff face and circles in the Boiling Pot before it turns sharp again and flows under the Victoria Falls Bridge, to continue zigzagging through the gorges.
Dr. Livingstone, I presume?
Of course, David Livingstone didn’t discover the falls. He himself wrote that he was the first European to see the falls, not the discoverer. Livingstone famously renamed them for Queen Victoria when he reached the falls in 1855, and promoted them in his best-selling expedition accounts. But was he even the first European to see the falls? Probably not. As a Zambian guide phrased it, Livingstone was the first white man to see the falls and write about it. I asked what he meant. He said there were other whites here before, but they had no special interest in waterfalls. Who were they? Portuguese? Somehow, the cataracts had appeared on eighteenth century European maps, in 1715 (Nicolas de Fer) and 1750 (Jacques-Nicolas Bellin). I believe it’s likely that Livingstone wasn’t the first white or first European to see the falls. But he certainly brought the world’s attention to them.
One of the cataracts
Only 50 years after Livingstone, the English extended a railroad line to Victoria Falls. In 1905 the beautiful (now elderly) Victoria Falls Bridge was completed. The point of the railroad wasn’t solely to bring tourists to the falls, but the original Victoria Falls Hotel opened in 1906, offering rooms with spectacular views of the gorges. Falls tourism was launched.
A Walk by the Falls
Walking by the falls is why you’re here, and in May, it’s a wet business. The thundering smoke is spray from the falls that rises so high in the wet season that you can see it 60 miles away. And it’s much more than spray. I’ve read that air currents force spray droplets upward from the narrow chasm, condensing them to fall – and strangely, also to rise – not as spray but as a muscular rain. A 1930s guidebook quoted on the website tothevictoriafalls.com says:
Waterproofs – visitors are advised to provide themselves with mackintoshes and galoshes (boots) when traversing the Rain Forest or when exposed to the spray-clouds. . . . When spray from the falls is heavy, visitors will find it an advantage to wear a bathing costume only underneath the mackintosh.
Tourist with an iPad
Spray-clouds. I like that.
Walkways parallel the powerful cataracts, allowing visitors to view them face on, separated only by that narrow chasm. That’s exciting. And the walks are even more exhilarating because cliff-edge barriers are minimal, stone posts with slender rails slotted in. Also, possibly more hazardous. “Don’t lean on the rails,” said a guide as he launched a group on the path. The rails stay sodden and might deteriorate and give way before maintenance can intervene. I touched but did not lean. The rails were slippery with algae; water dripped from little algae stalactites on some. Along the path, I was bathed in the Zambezi spray-cloud; then air currents would shift, parting the spray, and I was surrounded by rainbows. Pure magic. Along with wetting down tourists, the spray has created the micro-climate mentioned in the old guide, a narrow strip of dense rain forest, which is also an enticing walk.
To the Knife Edge Bridge
I expect that everyone has a favorite place along the falls. Mine is the Knife Edge Bridge on the Zambia side. This footbridge parallels the falls at the brink of the cliff, crossing a deep fissure that cuts into the cliff face. On one side, the view is 300 feet down to the roaring water; on the other, down into the fissure. The rain came from all directions. Water ran down the sloped bridge. I was giddy, from excitement or vertigo? Some people were laughing; some looked focused. On my return crossing, a man caught my eye and we did a high five, a brief smiling moment with a stranger. Water ran down my arm as I raised my hand to his. There was no sound but the thunder. My shoes were soaked. I got water in my eyes and mouth, and suddenly thought about parasites. Could they live in the droplets? So I asked a Zambian guide. He pondered for a moment and then said, “You’re probably OK.” Good enough.
Knife Edge Bridge
Somewhere Under the Rainbow
Zimbabwe has more falls frontage than Zambia, but no edgy footbridge. However, there are exciting, wet stairs down to some of the marked view points. The path I took started alongside a fierce, narrow cataract that coursed around an island, then hurtled over the edge tossing spray. A rainbow dropped to the surface of the billows not 30 feet away, but no chance of getting that pot of gold. Farther along the path, turnoffs to numbered sites promised views – Devil’s Cataract, Main Falls, Horseshoe and Rainbow Falls, Danger Point (caution advised, says the map), and so on. I tried most. Devil’s Cataract was clear; dense spray and rain allowed only impressionistic views at other overlooks, always with that elemental sound. But just yards back away from the edge, the spray was a soft rain that glowed golden in the afternoon sun.
Rainbows, rainbows everywhere...
Nearly everyone I saw wore hooded rain gear, making them look rather monastic from behind in the mist. In Zambia, we robed up with a double layer of ponchos. In Zimbabwe, I wound up with a single, worn poncho that leaked and left me very wet. Water ran down my back; my pants were soaked to mid-thigh. This is when the “bathing costume” would have been handy. As I left the falls, I met other people on the path to the parking lot and inevitable gift shop. We compared who was wettest; I was a strong competitor. But there was nothing to be done and we dried fast enough on the warm winter afternoon. And who cares, anyway? This was Mosi-oa-Tunya, and that’s how it should be.
Trip date: May-June 2017