Uganda - At Eye Level

Uganda isn’t usually the first place people imagine when they think about Africa.

For us, it became one of the most humbling experiences of our travels.

In this episode of Explorations All Over, we journey into the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest for a mountain gorilla trek — an experience that demanded patience, effort, and a willingness to give up control. There were no guarantees we would see anything at all.

The climb was steep. The forest was dense. And the rules were simple: move slowly, speak softly, and remember whose world we were entering.

What followed wasn’t a safari moment or a wildlife spectacle. It was something quieter — a brief encounter spent at eye level with another living being, and the realization that we were not the only ones doing the watching.

If this episode stays with you, I’d love to hear from you. You can connect with Explorations All Over on Facebook and Instagram, or leave a comment wherever you listen.

Transcript

Season 2, Episode 4: Uganda

Deep in the jungles of Uganda live troops of mountain gorillas. They don’t announce themselves. They don’t perform. And most days, they are nowhere to be found.

Today, I want to take you into the jungle and into one of the most profound encounters of my life.

Hey there. I’m Russ.

Welcome to Explorations All Over.

[opening music]

I say Uganda.
 You say, “No thanks.”

And that’s fair.

My hope is that, by the end of this episode, I’ll have stirred the same curiosity that pulled Duncan and me deep into the wilds of Uganda — a country that felt completely removed from the Africa we thought we knew.

By the time we reached Sanctuary Gorilla Forest Camp, the world we’d come from already felt distant — softened, muted, almost irrelevant.

How do you prepare yourself for a close encounter with a not-so-other kind?

I felt anticipation. Fear. Reckoning.

We sat in camp, gin and tonics in hand, looking toward hills thick with so much vegetation it’s called the Impenetrable Forest.

Impenetrable.

What on this world is impenetrable except a fortress — something meant to keep people out?

I had to laugh.

On the Christmas Markets cruise, fortresses were built to fight and defend.
 In Antarctica, walls of ice rose like ramparts, protecting a continent from unwelcome invaders.
 In Israel, Masada stood high on the plain, its walls holding out against the Roman army.

And now here I was again.

A fortress — green, lush, rising overhead.

What lay beyond it?
 Mystery?
 Or terror?

That night, lying in bed, I could hear the sounds of wildlife moving through the darkness. I knew the gorillas were out there.

They weren’t waiting for us.
 We were waiting for them.

They were unaware of us.
 We were all too aware of them.

After a breakfast of who-cares-what, we were driven to the Impenetrable Forest base camp. There was a sense — unspoken — that we were being sized up. Watched.

How much effort could we handle?
 How far could we go?

We were placed into what they called the “high” group. No explanation. Just a quiet understanding that this would not be easy.

The scouts were already far ahead. They knew where the gorillas had been the night before — but sometime in the dark, they had moved on.

Trackers cut the terrain back just enough for us to pass. Vines. Roots. Branches. Ivy. Rocks slick with rainforest moisture.

Uphill.
 Sometimes at angles that felt nearly vertical.

Breathing became hard.

Finally, a stop.
 Sit.
 A sip of water — only a sip.

It was grueling, and we weren’t even carrying our packs. The local porters stood easily beside us, barely sweating, smiling.

Onward.
 Upward.

The sound of machetes. Heavy breathing. Feet sliding, losing traction. The cane in my hand offered little help.

We moved in single file.

Another stop.

Then — the crackle of a radio. Quiet. Insistent. Words spoken softly, in a language I didn’t understand.

The gorillas had been spotted.

Goosebumps.

Another gulp of water.

The lead tracker asked us to form a circle. We were re-briefed on what we’d been told back at base camp.

He told us about the troop.
 How large it was.
 How many babies.
 And, most importantly, who was in charge — the silverback.

We were told he would be unmistakable.

I wasn’t sure if that meant because of his size, his coloring… or something else entirely.

The instructions were strict.

These gorillas knew nothing of humans. They didn’t see us as a threat — but that didn’t mean they couldn’t feel threatened.

We were in their world now.
 This was their territory.

No loud noises.
 No screaming — no matter how frightened you might feel.

This was about silence.

We all had to agree that we understood. We acknowledged the rules and the consequences if we didn’t follow them.

This wasn’t a field trip.
 This wasn’t a zoo.

Our sherpas stayed with our packs, which we would thankfully discover later, contained our lunches.  Gorillas have senses that put ours to shame, one of them the sense of smell.

Lunch.  Gorilla.  Not a good fit.

The seriousness of it all settled heavily over the group.

We moved on.

The radio crackled again.

We were told to get down.

We crouched into the thick brush — vines slapping our necks, leaves brushing our mouths.

We waited.

It was almost the absence of sound.

The lead tracker stood and motioned us forward. Slowly.

There were the scouts.

And then — suddenly — there were the gorillas.

I couldn’t move.

Stunned into silence.

The head tracker waved us forward. We crept, gently.

The gorillas were everywhere.

Black as night.

Large and small.
 Up in the trees.
 Down on the ground.

Walking.
 Swinging.
 Climbing.

Sometimes you are in a place but you feel like no one sees you.

This was it.

We were all standing around taking pictures with our cameras, phones, and video cameras and the gorillas just went about their business.

The trackers talked softly.  I’m not really sure what they said.  I wasn’t paying attention to them.

I looked over and there was a baby gorilla hanging over one woman’s head.  The baby dropped on to her and slowly climbed down her body.  She was, to him, a tree.  A could see a tear rolling down her cheek.  What a moment.

A very large gorilla walked out of the bush.  He owned the place.

We knew he owned the place.

He turned and sat down.  Before he did, you couldn’t help but see the brilliant gray stripe down his back.

This was the silverback.

The group just stood and stared.  He was massive.  He was passive.  He had no care but was cared for.  A female stood over him, grooming him.

What were we to the gorillas?

Nothing.  No threat.  No competition.  Honestly, I’m not sure what they made of us, if anything.

I looked down at my feet and, maybe 3 feet away sat a youngster with sugar cane in his hand, munching happily.  I stared at him.  Her.  Not sure.  Let’s go with him.

Hands like ours.  Feet like ours.  Eyes like ours.  Staring in wonder.

Me at him.  He at me.

I realized he had stopped chewing and was actually staring up at me, his mouth open slightly and eyes wide, sparkling with curiosity.

It was just a brief moment, but what passed in that moment I’ll never forget.  Somehow I had the wherewithal to take a photo.

Funny, I just looked at it again and the lump forms in my throat just as it had then.

Understand that groups are only allowed a limited amount of time with the troop.  Before long we were told it was time to go.

Quick pause — and then we’ll go right back.

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Okay.  Let’s keep going.

I could have sat with those gorillas for hours.

We began to make our way back down.  Not the way we came, so the trackers once again began the grueling task of cutting back the brush.

We were soaked in sweat.  I could feel it running down my sides, down my back.

The journey down was equally as hard as the one going up.  My legs were burning; calves, quads, glutes.

Down.  Down.  Over slippery rocks.  Through a small stream.

Down to a clearing where the sherpas were waiting, mine holding out the container of water I had filled at the base camp.

I’m not sure I had ever been that thirsty in my life up until that moment.  We were cautioned to take small sips, gradually, warned of the unpleasant consequences of taking too much too fast.

I wanted to gulp it all down but complied.

My sherpa reached into the pack and handed me a packet, which I unfolded to gratefully find a sandwich.  Up until that moment I didn’t realize how hungry I was.  Ravenously so.

I sat, for the first time in what had been hours.  That first bite was ambrosia.

As I ate I began to realize that I had no concept of the time.

How long had we been gone?  How far had we come?  How much farther did we have to go?  It all seemed so surreal, so disorienting.

We ate, and then we were moving again.

And that’s when it started pouring.

Not raining.
 Pouring.
 Drenching.

The kind of rain that gives the rainforest its name.

Someone handed out plastic ponchos — the thin kind you get at a stadium — and they worked about as well as you’d expect.

Within minutes, we were soaked through.

The funny thing was, we already were. The rain barely registered against the sweat.

At some point, the ground leveled.

The trees thinned.

And base camp appeared, almost without warning.

The sherpas said goodbye and headed down the road.

I remember thinking — do they do this every day?

Back at the Forest Camp, we finally stopped moving.

Wet.
 Exhausted.
 Still not entirely sure what time it was.

We had pre-booked massages for after the trek.

My legs were jelly. I don’t think I fully trusted them anymore.

I remember being deeply grateful we’d had the foresight to do it.

My masseuse’s name was Precious.

I’m not kidding.

She was a large woman with incredibly strong hands. The kind of hands that didn’t hesitate.

She didn’t ask many questions. She didn’t need to.

She knew what I’d been through.
 She knew what my legs had done.
 And she knew what they needed now.

As she worked, I became aware of every muscle I’d been using — not just in my legs, but everywhere.

Muscles I didn’t know had tightened finally let go.

It wasn’t indulgent.
 It was restorative.

That night, sleep came fast.

The kind of sleep where you don’t dream.
 Where your body simply shuts everything down.

Morning came with stiffness.

My legs ached — deeply — but they worked.
 They held me up.

The forest looked the same as it had the day before.
 Unchanged.
 Unconcerned.

Breakfast was quiet.
 Bags were packed.
 And before long, we were leaving Gorilla Forest Camp.

No ceremony.
 No sense of completion.

The jungle didn’t acknowledge our departure.

And then, we were gone.

I opened this episode by saying, I say Uganda. You say, “No thanks.”

I understand that response.

Uganda asks a lot.
 It asks for effort.
 It asks for patience.
 It asks you to give up control — of time, of comfort, of certainty.

But if you stay long enough…

“No thanks” starts to feel less like an answer
 and more like a reflex.

One you might want to question.

Because some places don’t exist to impress you.

They exist to meet you —
 quietly,
 on their terms —
 and leave you just a little different than they found you.

Before we go…

If this episode stayed with you — even a little — I’d love to know.

You can find Explorations All Over on Facebook and Instagram, and you’re always welcome to share what resonated for you.  I’d love your feedback.

These stories don’t really end when the episode does.

Thanks so much for joining me on this epic adventure.

I’m Russ and this is Explorations All Over.  I’ll see you soon.