Conservation Efforts in the Masai Mara
Mara is Swahili for “dotted hillside,” aptly named for the wealth of wildlife roaming the valley, especially during the fall when vast hordes of wildebeests are making their annual migration from the Masai Mara to the Serengeti. Yet, it wasn’t so long ago that this same wilderness area was rife with poachers aiming to bag their rhino, Maasai warriors spearing male lions as their gateway to manhood, villagers killing ostriches and impala for their meat, and mass tourism unchecked as 20 to 30 land rovers could often be found viewing that same lone leopard. Haji Ogle, who spent the bulk of his life working for the Kenya Wildlife Service battling poachers in the bush, still has his concerns. He worries about mass tourism and would like the number of visitors to the park each day to be limited by a national government agency, not the local county council that runs the reserve now. Yet he insists that the Masai Mara be open to everyone, keeping the admission price at a reasonable 500 Kenya Schillings or $6.25 US for adult residents of the country. Ogle is also uneasy about the growth of large wheat farms that are encroaching on the land from the east, yet he can’t help but remain optimistic. “Coming from where I was and where I am today, this is one of the enterprises that has been a success,” say Ogle. “Kenyan conservation is now widespread.”
Flyfishing for bones can be one of the most punishing sports known to man. You stalk the flats, cast your long fly with precision, and then watch in utter frustration as the grazing pod scatters every which way. Averaging just four to seven pounds, the bone is so easily spooked that the best saltwater fishermen will often remain mute and in place for hours in order to hook one. The wily fish can sense the boat moving, can feel you wading in the water, can hear you speaking. One awkward movement on your part and off they flee. Yet, a little patience, a graceful cast just beyond the reach of the school, and a bonefish just might take that fly and run off some 75 yards of line in a couple of seconds. You’ll get the feverish feel of what it’s like to be connected to a remarkably fast and furious fish. The reason why inveterate anglers will often tell you that if you “hook a bone, you’ll be hooked on the sport.” Winter is a great time to try your luck on the flats of the Upper Keys. There are a slew of guides. One of the best is 
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