Ndloti, Tx for the info.
GT_Steel, I share that dream of yours.
Droopy, as stated previously, a photographic memory is all one needs.
BunnyHugger, I must admit, I am truly speechless!
By the look of it, seems as if you're not at all a spur of the moment guy? To each his own, and good for you, but hey, life is just too short and exciting to plan on which particular day exactly what number of eggs will be consumed, whether it will be fried, poached, cooked, scrambled, as an omelet (I suppose you also plan the fillings?), or used raw in a shake - let alone to pre-plan routes.
Quite frankly, I'm often amazed that food can rule visitor's plans in the Park. Have they never heard of 'padkos', i.e. chow on the move/sitting somewhere in the veld, surrounded by peace and quiet, observing some or other creature (whatever makes you tick) (pun intended)... where there's no other people around with their whaling babies, ADS children, the wild brat pack who came for a booze cruise and nothing else, Dad who's 't(y)elling' Mom over a distance of more than a 100 feet exactly where he has hidden the apple juice in the boot - usually behind the orange with neon green flowers-coolbag, the bag of shoes and his box of whipskey and the crate of beer? No, then I'll rather have my biltong and dry wors and what else underneath a tree, whilst observing a brown-headed parrot.
True story, I’ve overheard a hubby telling his SO that she should hurry up at a magnificent sighting of an antbear, or was it lions feeding on a giraffe?, as they will be late for breakfast at Tshokwane. Exactly what does late mean in the Kruger, excluding the opening and closing times of the gates? [Hey, before I'm getting grilled for expressing my opinion, please note that I actually like kids, ADS or not, (animals more), and that I am a firm believer of to each his own and therefore what's good for the goose is not always good for the gander!
]. So BH, go for it!
But definitely no pre-planning and checklists and what-you-may-call-it for me!
TheunsH – you sound like my kind of man, but hey, who’s counting?