The camp consists of thatched rondavels, which are sited along the meandering river. Hardly one's idea of roughing it in the bush, each has wall-to-wall carpeting, attractive rattan furniture, colorful fabrics, a fully tiled modern bathroom, and a private terrace looking across the river and into the lowveld.

I unpacked my chinos, my father's ancient Abercrombie & Fitch safari shirt, and my Billy Martin lizard boots. While I'd heard that most everyone looked like walking Banana Republics, it turned out that was the way only the American guests dressed, complete with bwana wide-rimmed hats with tiger-striped bands. The European women went out in high-heels and white silk skirts, their husbands in polo shirts and shorts. Most of the luggage was Gucci and Vuitton, the accents German, the ambience restrained. The approximately 50 guests are truly cosseted by a staff of more than 150, and everything is mowed, trimmed and raked to perfection.

I browsed the gift shop-lots of tee shirts, some attractive and rather costly jewelry, and lots of bwana hats. I'll admit I was tempted, because of the rain of course, but luckily none of them fit.

The main building's ceiling is open to the thatch; fifty feet long with an attractive grouping of sofas and chairs around the fireplace at one end. The coffee table held a shimmering collection of butterflies. The walls are hung with magnificent trophy heads and paintings of the bush. On the riverfront is a long, half-covered, stone terrace. Steve was waiting for me, got me a Bloody Mary from the bar, and sat quietly by as I perused the guest book.

A neighbor from the Adirondacks, Mary Tennant, had been a guest in 1973. Hal Prince was here in '74; Walter Cronkite, various Rothschilds, Maurice Chevalier and Rod McKuen in '77; Barry Manilow and Rod Stewart in '83; Pat and General Al Haig in '84, and there was a photo of Mr. & Mrs. George Ball, our Under-Secretary of State who had visited The Point for two weeks of writing, my last summer there. Others included Gina Lollabrigida, Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player, Moshe Dyan, Jimmy Conners...well, you get the idea.

The Kudo horn sounded and Steve escorted me to table "eleven" in the fire-placed dining room hung with glorious watercolors of the Big Five. Already seated were three couples; we made up Steve's charge and would safari together in the Land Rover. My fellow hunters were a Danish couple that lived in Vienna; an Austrian lawyer married to a Hungarian gal, they lived in Vienna as well, and a Swiss engineer and his wife who lived in London. While most of the conversation was in German, one of my weakest languages, we laughed a lot, enjoyed a delicious buffet of Osso Buco, charcuteries, cheese and deep, dark, African coffee and looked forward to our drive. During lunch, Steve took the orders for wine and acted as our maitre d', as did each of the other five rangers at their tables.

Under clearing skies, I wandered to the pool. I'd learned at lunch that yesterday an elephant had come to take a look, and not too long ago a hippo had taken a plunge! Camera loaded, binoculars cleaned, I had a quick cup of tea and some wonderful chocolate cake on the terrace and clambered aboard our open, 8-passenger, Land Rover safari vehicle.

A loaded elephant gun rested loosely where the windshield would have been; other than that for emergencies, the only shooting allowed is with cameras. Steve got behind the wheel with a nod to the native tracker who sat up high in a special seat at the rear. Then crossing the river, wheel deep, we entered the bush.