Off the Beaten Track: Wildlife Safaris and Adventure Sports in Eldoret

Just two hours from Eldoret lies Rimoi National Reserve, a 66-square-kilometer sanctuary that feels worlds away from the more trafficked parks of Kenya. Unlike the Masai Mara, where safari vehicles cluster around single sightings, here our Land Cruiser was often the only vehicle for miles.

Our guide, Joseph, a Kalenjin elder whose family has lived alongside these lands for generations, possessed the kind of tracking skills that no formal education could replicate. 'The elephants moved through here before dawn,' he murmured, pointing to subtle depressions in the grass that my urban-trained eyes initially missed completely. His prediction materialized an hour later when we encountered a herd of 17 elephants cooling themselves at a watering hole, their massive bodies creating ripples that caught the midday light.

What makes Rimoi exceptional isn't just the relative solitude—it's the diversity packed into a compact area. During five dawn-to-dusk excursions, we encountered leopards, buffalo, countless antelope species, and over 300 bird varieties. The reserve's varied topography—from riverine forests to acacia-dotted savannas—creates microhabitats that support this remarkable biodiversity.

For serious wildlife photography, I found my telephoto zoom lens absolutely essential for capturing distant subjects without disturbing their natural behaviors. The lens's vibration compensation was particularly valuable during our bumpy off-road tracking sessions.

Perhaps most impressive was witnessing the reserve's elephant conservation success story. After nearly disappearing from poaching in the early 2000s, elephant populations have rebounded through community-based conservation efforts that Joseph himself helped implement. 'These elephants are our heritage,' he told me one evening as we watched a matriarch lead her family to higher ground for the night, 'their paths through this land are older than our oldest stories.'

My paramedic instincts initially fired warning signals when Daniel, our paragliding instructor, casually mentioned that the Kerio Valley thermals were 'particularly spirited today.' Translation: we'd be riding some of the strongest thermal updrafts in East Africa. But those same instincts have taught me to distinguish between actual danger and calculated risk—and this adventure fell firmly into the latter category.

The Kerio Valley escarpment rises dramatically from the valley floor, creating perfect launch conditions for paragliders. After a comprehensive safety briefing and equipment check that satisfied even my medical professional's scrutiny, we hiked to the launch point at 2,400 meters above sea level. The valley stretched below us like a living tapestry—patches of agricultural land interwoven with wild spaces, the silver thread of the Kerio River catching morning light.

'The Mi'kmaq have a teaching,' I told Daniel as we prepared our gear, 'that birds carry our prayers to the Creator. I've never been closer to understanding that than right now.'

Launch day requires nerves of steel. That initial run off the edge of the escarpment triggers every survival instinct, but then—suspension. The canopy catches air, your stomach drops, and suddenly you're soaring. During my 45-minute tandem flight, we rode thermals that carried us alongside actual eagles, their wingspans impressive as they regarded these strange human interlopers in their domain.

For this adventure, I relied heavily on my action camera secured to my helmet with a chin mount. The stabilization features captured smooth footage despite the dramatic air currents, and the wide-angle lens perfectly framed the sweeping landscapes below.

What surprised me most was the meditative quality of paragliding once the initial adrenaline rush subsides. The silence at altitude—interrupted only by wind and the occasional call of birds—creates a profound stillness that's rare in our noise-filled world. Several thousand feet above the valley floor, I found myself in that perfect state of flow where fear transforms into focused presence.

The highlands surrounding Eldoret offer mountain biking terrain that would make even seasoned riders pause to catch their breath—both from exertion and the sheer beauty of the landscapes. After arranging rentals through Eldoret Adventure Club (quality mountain bikes with proper suspension for the rugged terrain), our group set out on what would become a three-day biking odyssey through some of Kenya's most spectacular backcountry.

Our route traversed the foothills of Mount Elgon, following trails that connect remote Kalenjin villages rarely visited by outsiders. The technical riding demanded full attention—rocky descents, stream crossings, and occasional scrambles up inclines so steep that carrying our bikes became necessary. But the challenge made each kilometer earned that much more satisfying.

What transformed this from merely a physical adventure into something deeper were our nightly homestays in villages along the route. In the community of Kaptagat, we were welcomed into a family compound where three generations shared their evening meal with us. The patriarch, an elder named Kipchoge (no relation to the famous runner, though running prowess clearly runs in the Kalenjin blood), explained how these trails we were riding had served as trading routes for centuries.

'These paths hold memory,' he told us as we sipped fermented honey beer under stars so bright they seemed to hang just beyond reach. 'Each footstep adds to their story.'

As someone whose own indigenous heritage has taught me to read landscapes as living historical documents, this resonated deeply. The next morning, Kipchoge's grandson James—a national-level cyclist himself—guided us through forest trails where he pointed out medicinal plants that immediately piqued my EMT interest. The bark of the prunus africana tree, he explained, has been used for generations to treat everything from fever to inflammation—knowledge now being validated by modern pharmacology.

The physical demands of these trails shouldn't be underestimated. We covered 30-45 kilometers daily over terrain that constantly shifted from smooth dirt tracks to technical rock gardens. Proper hydration became critical in the highland sun, and my hydration backpack proved invaluable for maintaining fluid intake without frequent stops.

Two hours southwest of Eldoret lies Koibatek, a dramatic rock formation that rises from the landscape like nature's own monument. What makes this climbing destination unique isn't just the quality of the routes—it's the fascinating intersection of modern adventure sports with ancient spiritual significance.

'These rocks have been sacred to the Tugen people for generations,' explained Chebet, our local climbing guide, as she skillfully demonstrated the first anchor placement on our route. 'Climbers here must respect both the physical and spiritual aspects of the place.'

As someone who has always approached wilderness with the reverence my Mi'kmaq ancestors taught me, this dual awareness felt natural. Before our ascent, Chebet led a brief ceremony asking permission from the ancestors—a practice that resonated with indigenous protocols I've experienced across North America.

Koibatek offers over 25 established routes ranging from beginner-friendly 5.8s to challenging 5.12+ lines that test even experienced climbers. The volcanic rock creates unique features—sharp crimps, unexpected pockets, and occasionally precarious flakes that demand thoughtful movement. Having climbed extensively in the American Southwest, I found Koibatek's routes distinctive for their combination of technical face climbing interspersed with crack systems that would feel at home in Utah.

My EMT background has made me particularly attentive to safety systems, and I was impressed by Chebet's meticulous approach to protection placement and anchor building. Still, I was glad to have brought my own climbing helmet given the occasional loose rock we encountered on less-trafficked routes.

The most memorable moment came midway up 'Ancestor's Path,' a sustained 5.10b route that follows a subtle arête for 30 meters. As I paused at a rest stance to shake out pumped forearms, I noticed ancient pictographs partially visible on a protected section of rock face—geometric patterns and what appeared to be stylized animal figures, their red ochre pigment still visible after countless centuries. Climbing became a form of time travel, my chalked fingers finding holds perhaps touched by hands hundreds of generations before mine.

My professional life as an EMT has always existed in fascinating tension with my indigenous heritage—Western emergency medicine alongside traditional healing practices. This duality made the three-day trek through the Cherangani Hills particularly meaningful, as it combined physically demanding hiking with profound cultural insights into traditional Kenyan medicine.

Our journey began in the market town of Kapsowar, where we met our guide Kipruto, a fifth-generation herbal healer whose knowledge of local plants rivals any pharmacology textbook I've studied. Before setting out, he helped our group prepare by ensuring we had appropriate footwear and sufficient water purification options. My water filter bottle proved invaluable throughout the trek, allowing us to safely refill from streams and springs along the route.

'The forest is our first pharmacy,' Kipruto explained as we climbed through montane forest zones where mist clung to ancient trees. 'Before hospitals, these plants kept our communities alive for thousands of years.'

The trek itself follows ancient pathways connecting isolated communities through varied ecosystems. We ascended from mixed woodland through bamboo forests to high moorland plateaus where the air thins noticeably above 3,000 meters. The trail conditions ranged from well-defined footpaths to occasional scrambles across rocky outcrops, with daily distances of 12-15 kilometers requiring moderate fitness levels.

What made this trek unique was Kipruto's running commentary on the medicinal properties of plants we passed. He showed us the bark of the African wild olive tree used to treat respiratory infections—something that immediately connected to my EMT knowledge of bronchodilators. Later, he demonstrated how to identify the particular variety of stinging nettle that, when properly prepared, helps manage inflammation and joint pain.

On our second night, we stayed with a traditional healer named Cheptoo in a remote homestead where she maintains a small but potent medicinal garden. With Kipruto translating, she showed me how certain plant combinations work synergistically—a principle increasingly recognized in modern pharmacology as well. When I shared some basics of wilderness first aid, the conversation became a beautiful exchange across medical traditions separated by continents but united by the common goal of healing.

The trek culminated at a sacred spring where local communities have performed healing ceremonies for generations. The geometric arrangement of stones around the spring—circles within circles—reminded me of the sacred geometry found in Mi'kmaq medicine wheels, a striking parallel across continents that speaks to how indigenous peoples worldwide developed sophisticated understanding of natural energies.