This blog was written by Chané Jansen, a Bushwise International Field Guide student. Each student takes a turn as camp manager, and writing a blog is part of the experience.
4 min read
The Sabi Sabi students have all taken turns as ‘Camp Manager’, but I was the one holding the title during Sam Patrick’s 7-day Track & Sign course and assessment. While those first few days were filled with nerves, apprehension, and thoughts like, ‘I don’t have any professional bush experience; what if I can’t do this?’, my tune soon changed when I realised I’ve been training for this for many years – I just didn’t know it.
My background and education in design and fine arts had, all this time, been rewiring my brain to identify shapes, scale, and patterns. And what do you know? That’s exactly what track and sign is. Tapping into my artistic skills took me from zero to Level 3 Tracker in just 7 days.
When Sam arrived that Sunday, I knew next to nothing. My first ‘baseline’ test score is not something I’ll be bragging about, and it shook my confidence to the core. Over the following week, we would be learning to identify the tracks (footprints) and signs (dung, markings, evidence) of the animals and critters in our area. Living in the heart of Sabi Sabi, the list of wildlife we could encounter was extensive, and by day four, our species count was over 45. From paws to hooves, snakes to beetles, a multitude of bird feet, and even frog tracks on assessment day, track and sign tests not only your knowledge but also your observation skills, problem-solving, and critical thinking.
Staring down the barrel of track and sign suddenly made me question how qualified I really was, and self-doubt began to creep in. I have a degree in graphic design with a minor in fine arts – what on Earth am I doing here? The things I know exist on a computer screen or a stretched canvas. The delicate, technical skills I’ve acquired throughout my life felt miles away from the wild South African bushveld I found myself in now. After all, what could something like still-life drawing or logo design possibly have to do with staring at the ground?
Information overload doesn’t begin to describe the first couple days. Our schedule looked something like this every day:
6:30am to 10:30am: finding, mock testing, and discussing tracks out in the field.
2:00pm to 3:00pm: lecture-based class on tracks and signs.
3:30pm to 6:00pm: another round of finding, testing, and discussing.
Amidst the hectic schedule, it was a flurry of toes, pads, lobes, claws, hooves, edge profiles, points, angles, registering, gait, and stride. I never realised how much information could be gathered from marks in the sand and the vast variety of marks possible. Just as you begin to feel comfortable, a new track, ever so similar to one you’ve already learned, throws your groove off entirely. It was simply a matter of putting your head down and trying.
Slowly but surely something was happening – like a camera lens sharpening its focus on a once-blurry subject, click by click, track by track, I was starting to see things clearly. The hooves that just two days ago all looked the same were each their own distinct shape. The round toes were glaringly different from oval toes, and gait seemed obvious. Rather than an endless list of feet I had to memorise, I was seeing shapes, patterns, and the subtleties that differentiated one spoor from another.
One moment from day four stands out to me vividly – walking up to yet another circled track in the sand, as we had been doing countless times each day. But this time was different. I took a single glance at the track – no more than three seconds – and without hesitation, I confidently said, “that’s a duiker,” already turning to walk away before the thought had even fully registered. It was only when I stopped and turned back that I realised what had just happened, my own confidence had caught me off guard.
I took a moment to go through the process of elimination we had been learning: a relatively small hoof, a slightly curved outer edge profile, a slightly blunted point, and the tracks directly registered. The length of the hoof was more or less equal to the width. All signs point to one answer: duiker. But what struck me wasn’t just the accuracy of identification, it was how instinctive it has become. This track simply looked like a duiker. Instead of painstakingly dissecting each print, I began to just know. Know the shape, know the pattern, know the scale. Within this moment, I recalled something Sam had said on the very first day (that I didn’t really hear through all my internal self-doubting): “Track and sign is just shapes and patterns.” It seems silly looking back how long it took me to realise that what I know best is exactly what we were learning here, just in another form.
By the time assessment came around, I walked up to tracks with a smile on my face. Not only had I learned so much in just a week, but I also finally tapped into what I already knew. As my journey in the bush continues, I want to remember that all my skills, whether I realise their relevance or not, can only make me better. I want to encourage anyone thinking about a course with Bushwise or a career in the bush who feels uncertain about having the “right” skills or enough experience. Let me assure you: there is no one-size-fits-all field guide. Whatever knowledge or skills you bring, from any discipline or area of life, will only add to your strengths and make you a unique, well-rounded guide. Embrace what makes you different – those are the very things that will set you apart and allow you to thrive in ways you never imagined.
Ready to turn your unique skills into bush knowledge? Explore Bushwise courses and apply now to start your journey in wildlife guiding!
