November 1, 1996

African deserts evoke images of endless sand, dunes that fade to infinity, melting on the horizon in waving lines of heat. They bring to mind parched cracked ground and vast expanses of flat dusty land leading in all directions nowhere. And dust devils whipped by wind that pull dirt into bending horns that widen into a cloudless pale sky. Of course there are oases where palm trees sit, out of place on a circle of life-giving land, and last and appropriately least, there are images that do not exist. We saw them, the flat sheets of glistening water and we continually said, " We're almost there."

But two of the mirages turned out to be real. The first was a vertical mirage. John noticed it first. It seemed completely out of place. We had only been in the desert for two hours; had our minds already given in to the heat? "I think there's a fountain out there," he said. And sure enough there was. At least the mirage didn't play leapfrog as we approached; it got bigger and bigger. We watched big blobs of water fly into the air, hang still for a second and then plummet down. "I don't think mirages do that," John said.

The second non-mirage was a lake. It had all the features of a real mirage - flat, large, far away, glistening, but it had something else too - flamingos. We certainly couldn't dispute the mind of a bird - no, it to had to be real too. The lake sits in the middle of dry cracked earth near the desert town of Merzouga. We walked as close as we could to the water's edge and watched rows and rows of white birds. Occasionally a few would fly and then the pink under their wings would become visible as they stuck their necks far out and reeled in their long legs.

Our view was limited though to the lens of a teleconverter or the glass of binoculars. The lake was protected by a thick oozy clay. "I think I can get closer," I said. But that one step left me straining to pull my boot from shoe-eating goo. Within a second it was up to the top of my laces. When I did finally free myself, it was accompanied by one of those sucking sounds that you know can swallow a man whole.

On the drive back around the lake we saw another attempt by the lake to eat its visitors. A four-wheel drive Opel was slowly being devoured. Half of it's tires were already under mud and, based on the panic of the men around it, the rest of it was soon to follow.

My image of the desert is a bit different now; along with dry dirt there is water. Still, I think I'll keep my water bottle close by; you never know when your eyes will play tricks. "John, over there - do you see that? Is that really an Olympic-size swimming pool?" Time to go exploring again. "Drive faster John, it's getting away."