Up at 05:30 for an early breakfast. The sunrise on the river is stunning. By 07:30 we are paddling against a light breeze, but it picks up by mid-morning. We manage to make 8km in the first hour. The current seems sluggish.

We pass through what Gary says is the first of several dense concentrations of hippos. Rosemary is a little nervous. Okay, so am I. Gary calls this spot "Hippo City". We zigzag from bank to bank to stay clear of them, then turn off into a narrow channel with lush grass on either side.

We come across a large herd of buffalo grazing off to port. Gary stands up in his canoe (I would never try that), cups his hands to his mouth, and imitates the sound of a lost buffalo calf. Incredibly, the herd raises its collective head and, as if on a string, moves toward him. He waits a few moments, then leaps out of the canoe into the shallows and splashes noisily toward them. Startled, the buffalo turn and run off. Twenty minutes later we see the same herd, and Gary pulls the same trick with identical results. Buffalo are not known for their smarts.

Back in the main channel, we encounter "Hippo Alley". The huge animals are everywhere. We thread our way between groups of various sizes. This seems to go on for kilometers. We start to relax, becoming accustomed to frequent hippos noises.

Suddenly Gary leaps up in his canoe and in one lightning smooth motion, raises his .45 Magnum pistol and fires into the water. Whoa! Later, he tells us that it was just a warning shot to scare off a big hippo that was just a little closer than he liked. Maybe, but I think he likes to let off a few rounds every now and then. I would. Regardless, I was impressed with how quickly he got the shot off.

Farther on, we stop on a shallow sandbar for a bath. Gary says that this is the safest place to bathe: too shallow for hippos, and easy to see the crocs coming. How comforting. Again, the Canadians go for the "Full Monty". These folks are terrific traveling companions, with a nonstop sense of humor. On the far shore, maybe half a kilometer off, some fisherman in a small boat are trying their luck. I moon them and our group erupts in laughter.

During the last section of the day's journey, we drift lazily side by side, legs sprawled across the gunwales to hold the canoes together. We are near the end of the canoe trip, and I'm missing it already. Not far ahead, around a few more bends, is Chewore, a small town.

We pull up onto a steep sandbank and pitch our tent on top of the dune. I go off to find a good place to shave at the river's edge. Crouching down, I hear a splash nearby. Perhaps a croc.

While fixing dinner, Gary tells us about his most serious hippo encounter. He unknowingly drifted into a resting hippo that was just below the surface of the water. The angry animal bit off the stern of his canoe, within inches of his butt. He says that's the only time in ten years that he's ever witnessed a hippo attack a canoe. That's a comfort.

That night we watch a myriad of stars before moonrise at 9:45.