Yahoo News Travel on Trial: The day we got to talk to the animals on a VIP experience at Woburn Safari Park
This year was an unusual one in our house. For the first time, both children (aged 10 and 7) had no idea what they wanted for their birthdays. They’d outgrown their latest obsessions (unicorns and Cars 3 respectively) and, anyway, we had no more room for either soft toys or race tracks. So we took their only joint (and remaining) passion – safari animals – and wondered what we could do with it. Preferably without leaving the country or spending thousands of pounds.
And so, one cold, damp spring morning, off we headed to Woburn Safari Park for a VIP experience that promised to get us “up close” with a vast array of animals. The car buzzed with the junior issues of the day as we drove in the drizzle – Who would we meet? What would their names be? Would they poo on Daddy’s feet? – while the grown-ups couldn’t help but grump at the weather and wonder just what we had let ourselves in for.
Not for long. Our host for the day was Ranger Bob, a wiry, weathered, Tigger-esque Woburn veteran of some 38 years. Stories fell over themselves to be told by him, infused with just enough love for the animals, humour, gore and, yes, poo, to entrance the children from the word go. And us, come to think of it. Our chariot was Big Foot, a brand new safari vehicle with a full-length “sun roof” of which Bob was rightly proud.
First stop was the lion house, where we admired Joco, a sprightly seven-year-old with paws the size of my head. He appeared cute and cuddly, but this was the cue for one of Bob’s frequent reality checks: Joco is a wild animal, fed as he would eat in the bush (one feed day to three starve days) and is not to be messed with.
Then it was on to the rhino house – designed to bear the weight of these mammoth creatures hurling themselves at walls at more than 30mph. “They didn’t necessarily need this amount of space,” said Bob, gesturing around the cavernous, mostly empty enclosure. “But the boss wants the best for them regardless.”
This, it seems, is symptomatic of the approach of the “boss” – the current Duke of Bedford – whose focus is on animal welfare, the environment and comfort and not return on investment. It would take decades, Bob said, to achieve payback on the millions of pounds spent on the rhino house.
Kai, a handsome fella brought to the park to breed, seemed blissfully unconcerned by this – or that after eight years of rhino heaven he has yet to earn his keep by, ahem, making baby Kais. He ambled over for a back-and-ear scratch from us (“rough and hairy but surprisingly soft behind the ears, Mummy!”) as we marvelled at his horn, so much coarser than I had imagined.
And so began the “drive” part of our day. Despite having 500 acres of the 1,000-acre estate at their disposal, several of the elephants had conveniently gathered at the perimeter fence of their holding area. We giggled at the female scratching her bottom on a fallen tree, and cooed over her seemingly smiling baby.
When we came across the Amur tigers in the next enclosure, another of Bob’s talents emerged: that of wildlife photographer. “Shoot now!” he whispered urgently as I fumbled with my phone, rendered fingers-and-thumbs clumsy by Minerva’s sheer majestic beauty. “And now!” No sooner did I have my shot than Minerva deemed us of no further interest, and with a haughty flick of her tail, sloped off to pastures more interesting.
There were no bears to see – they were still hibernating. On the brow of a hill, however, we were treated to the sight of two wolves, each savaging a joint of meat as crows waited for scraps. Excitement reached a crescendo for Charley, seven, when we came face to face with his namesake cheeky monkeys. Big Foot’s sunroof really came into its own – we could see their feet and (cue hysterics) bums as they clambered across the roof.
Over in Desert Springs, a mob of hungry meerkats waited. After a safety briefing – both for our benefit and theirs – we were liberally sprinkled with food pellets as they scrabbled all over us. It was too much for Charley who preferred a more distant view, but for 10-year-old Amelie (and me) it was nothing short of magical. They instantly displayed different personalities and characteristics.
A safari park was the last place I expected a stonking afternoon tea, but the new Lookout Cafe’s selection of sandwiches, patisserie and sweet treats – for a much-needed sugar rush – was outstanding.
And finally – be still my beating heart – our appointment at the giraffe house. I’ve always loved giraffes, from their sweeping eyelashes to their lolloping slo-mo gallop, but standing on a platform eyeball-to-eyeball, theirs a belashed tunnel to their souls as they mercilessly stripped the leaves of the sweet chestnut branches we proferred, was emotional to the point of real tears.
In the end we had to tear ourselves away to allow the animals – and their handlers – a well-earned rest. But before we said our sad goodbyes, there was one last important stop – the park shop. Even magic needs a souvenir, and ours was a 6ft giraffe called Savannah. If we had any trouble squeezing her into Amelie’s room, there would be space for her in mine…
Claire Irvin was a guest of Woburn Safari Park. Admission from £16.99; VIP experiences from £99 per person.
