At Ngarendare Forest, you are at one with nature

First things first. Before stepping on the narrow mesh walkway, I did not, for keepsake, take me a selfie. I took a bathroom break. A nervy number one, to be precise. I released my tension in the bush toilet at the camping ground, near the canopy walk.

Uh-huh. That’s what people with acrophobia undergo when faced with worst nightmares; this time in the form of the springy canopy walk at Ngarendare Forest, situated roughly 30 minutes’ drive from Lewa Conservancy.

The 450-metre wire mesh and steel structure, with a couple of twists, was built eight years ago by soldiers from the British Army Training Unit in Kenya. They used helicopters to lower support pillars.

As I gingerly take baby steps, my stomach is running a rumbling marathon. Joy, who is walking right behind me, and is on attachment from Egerton University, gives a running commentary-cum-pep talk ...

“There is a tree here, whose berries fall into the swamp below. The berries ferment, turning the swamp into a drinking den. The monkeys know this little forest secret ... you should see the monkeys under the influence.”

“Joy, those aren’t monkeys,” I interject. “Those are the only species that can sniff liquor from the moon: Nairobians.”

In the forest, apart from sloshed monkeys, if you are fortunate, from your vantage point in the canopy, you will also spot elephants coming to quench their ginormous thirsts.

Community Conservancies

Ngarendare Forest is in the Northern Rangelands Trust, which works in partnership with Lewa Conservancy, and is one of the beneficiaries of the funds generated by the Lewa Marathon.

The trust is an umbrella organisation and don’t actually own land or have their own conservation areas, but is a support organisation for communities who want to establish their own community conservation areas.

Currently, under that banner, they have 33 community conservancies, from Ngarendare to Marsabit — with satellite areas in Turkana and Lamu — which cover 44,000 square kilometres.

To put that into perspective: that is bigger than Denmark. This, no doubt, has a massive conservation impact in northern Kenya.

“I’m so loving this!” Naomi, our team leader gushes. She stated, as we trudged up the wooden stairs, that white-knuckle activities are the hallmark of her holidays. “The cell phone network up here is deadly.”

“Hey, that last word should never be used under these circumstances, especially not when I’m taking a systematic desensitisation crash-course,” I mumble, through clenched teeth.

“What do you want me to say?” she teases. “That the network up here is a killer?”

I zip it. I know that, if I don’t shut my chattering mouth, Naomi will liquefy my last remaining kneecap.

Lithe-looking Tarn Breedveld is NRT’s Tourism Director. He says that, this year, his “ulterior motive” is to capture visitors coming for the marathon, and expose them to northern Kenya’s tourism panoramas.

“Ngarendare is an excellent example of a great tourism activity,” Tarn explains. “It’s less than an hour’s drive from Nanyuki. It’s very accessible.

“We want the general public to come here and experience this particular aspect. I hope to have tables and seats set up on display, and bring out more information on what else is out here in northern Kenya.”

He says the main focus is to start showcasing the central area of NRT conservancies and help build the tourism industry within that region.

“At the moment, conservancies are largely dependent on donor-funding. Which is not a sustainable model. We need to come up with mechanisms to make them self-sustainable financially.

“And tourism has got one of the strongest capacities to do that. But we’re also looking for other business models and conservation approaches that will make us financially self-sustainable.

“We work with different women’s groups in different activities. There are those who make bead artifacts, which are showcased and sold in a number of zoos around the world.”

In Maa, Ngarendare means a place of water for livestock. The forest stretches as far at the eyes can see. On the road to the canopy walk, we passed the remains of a bridge that was built by Italian prisoners of war in 1947.

The weather-beaten landscape, due to soil erosion, is any nature conservation’s concern, but it was a stage for the 2015 Safari Rally.

Staggering Monkeys

Speaking of stages, mine’s the canopy walk. Joy tells me I can’t pay heed to phobia. Not now. If I do, ignominy and memes await me.

For a visitor who absolutely loses it halfway through, a rope is harnessed around their waist and fastened to the canopy’s cable; then they are pulled all the way to the other end.

Which is why, if you are acrophobic, (and “borderline-incontinent”), take a bathroom break. Then take it one step at a time. Keep your head up. Easy does it. You also need a Joy-ish type of guide, to egg you on, especially when you reach where a tree grows out smack in the middle of the way, and you have to manoeuvre past it.

For adrenalin junkies, the only things they need are deep pockets. Because, with the bird’s eye view of staggering monkeys and water-slurping ellies, you will keep going back and forth, across the canopy walk.

If you can, grab a bite to eat at the platform, which is at canopy walk’s finish line. What’s better, there is a camping site nearby. And if you are the outdoorsy type, and you fancy sleeping bags and campfires, speak to Tarn’s team who will make your wish come true.

For the canopy walk, citizens pay 2000 bob, while non-residents chuck three grand.

How long did I take to complete my longest walk, ever? Sixteen minutes, 42 seconds.

That’s one down, and 99 to go, in the list of 100 things persons with acrophobia should dare before they die.