As I was chiefly responsible for determining which and how many rhino were to be moved, I needed to be reasonably sure that all the necessary, practical logistics to effect the operation were in place. I also had to ensure that the move be done with the minimum risk of stress or injury to these precious animals.
First in the queue of keen recipients was the young warden of the York region of Balule. He was so persistent and enthusiastic that you would have thought the rhino were to be his personal acquisitions. Rian Ahlers was not only there with passion and commitment, but had already come up with an unconventional yet practical alternative to house the rhino on York while they settled down. He proposed using some old ostrich pens that he would reinforce with three strands of electrified wire. These dilapidated pens looked like something that wouldn’t hold a determined turkey escapee, let alone an ostrich. So, in terms of the accepted design standards for pens able to hold animals as powerful as white rhino, they left much to be desired. But these facilities were all there was; it was them or nothing, so we shifted the emphasis from fortification and strength to space and comfort. If we could create an environment in which the rhino felt happy, they would not try to break out, and thus there was an outside chance we could pull it off. The one consolation was that this region appeared to be suitable habitat for white rhino, and that if they did break out prematurely, they could feel right at home and stay in the area anyhow.
Rian went to work immediately, and within a week he was ready to receive his new guests. He had converted the pens into a welcoming environment complete with mud wallow and drinking trough and had extended the enclosure to include two shady acacia trees, where the mud wallow was sited. The mud was brought in by tractor and trailer from miles away, but proved to be well worth the effort. Shade cloth was placed on the ‘busy’ side where curious onlookers might gather, this to give the rhino a measure of privacy and reduce stress. Now all that remained was to identify which rhinos to capture. My main concern was compatibility, as it was essential that these animals got along well with each other, particularly as they’d be tested under relatively unnatural, confined conditions.
Fortunately, we were feeding nearly 30 rhino on Olifants at the time – one group at Rhino Pan and the other at Hide Dam. This would make selection and capture so much easier and less demanding; at the same time, reduced capture-stress followed by compatibility once in the pens would ensure a high probability that the rhino would settle down quickly. So we settled down to study the rhino and their interaction with each other in their natural state. Rian and his fiancée, Melodie Bates, were actively involved in the preliminary monitoring and then with the capture and translocation a few days later.
We decided on a group of three young rhinos who were conspicuous by their closeness. They would arrive to feed together and eat without aggressive interaction, and during the heat of the day, the three of them would lie up together in the shade.
Although the sex ratio wasn’t ideal, comprising two bulls and a cow, in all other respects we could not have made a better selection. This was proved when they were placed in the ostrich pens together, where they appeared to draw comfort from each other in this strange new ‘cage’. Fortunately these rhino were also familiar with those thin wires that ‘bit’ you if you touched them, as the electrified Klaserie fence was right in the middle of their old home range. So, unless they were extremely unhappy and made a concerted effort to break out, I was reasonably confident that Rian’s meticulous preparation of the enclosure should be enough hold them.
Rian slept at the pens in the back of his pick-up truck, which Melodie didn’t mind, knowing how much the success of this project meant to him, and that he wanted to monitor the rhino until they were completely settled. Within a week they had got so used to him that he was able to stand in the pens and spread their feed, while they patiently waited a few metres away. A week after that he was able to touch the one bull, an incredible experience. The mud wallow proved to be just what the doctor ordered, as well. They loved it, and spent a lot of their time wallowing in it. After several weeks, the rhino were apparently well settled, so much so that as soon as the grass had grown enough from the first rains, Rian felt confident enough to release them, which he duly did.
The three rhino were passively released by simply cutting the wire enclosure of the ostrich pens. That same night they moved out, making their way back to Olifants, where they spent the next couple of days sussing things out. After having a good look around the Palm Loop area, they came onto Warthog Pan, where they drank. From there they made their way across the railroad, back to where they remembered being fed, only to find we had stopped feeding a month before.
Compared to the York region, there wasn’t much around this neck of the woods, so they programmed their inborn direction finders, turned around, and headed straight back to York, to where an anxious Rian was waiting with open arms.
To upgrade the ostrich pens had cost R7 000; the translocation and capture costs amounted to R30 000 and the feed was another R5 000. So, for a total outlay of R42 000, three rhino valued then at over half a million rand were successfully introduced to another region of Balule. The credit for this success can be attributed almost entirely to an enthusiastic young warden and his passion for white rhino. Rian demonstrated that not everything needs to be done by the book; that there are times when old-fashioned enthusiasm wins through. In fact, the young rangers I have employed throughout my career can be placed in two categories: the academics and the enthusiasts, rarely a mixture of both. Enthusiasm, I can honestly say, more often than not, won and produced the goods.
Recent sightings in the York region indicate that up to seven rhino have been recorded by game viewing operators in the area. It appears that not only are they happy with our assessment of what we thought was good white rhino country, they have gone and communicated this to other white rhino.
All they needed was to be brought there and shown the place, nature did the rest.
How ‘Tau Kopje’ Got its Name
July 1998
What’s in a name? Why do we name certain locations or features in the bush? Well, before GPS co-ordinates, they were all we had as reference points to get around or to calculate relative positions. Also, I suspect that this naming syndrome was and is a perfect excuse to use an exotic or onomatopoeic name that has a traditional or African ring to it. Despite the significance of most place names whose origins were born of association, or were appropriately pertinent at the time, the passion inevitably wanes. Over time, they merely become points of reference, without too much thought as to why that name was given in the first place. Others, however, will linger in the significance of their meaning just that little bit longer. Then there are those places whose names will never fade.
One name in particular that comes to mind, and is indelibly etched in the minds of nearly every South African, is a small town known as ‘Tweebuffelsfontein’. This name is the shortened version of the original ‘Twee-buffels-met-een-skoot-mors-dood-geskiet-fontein’, which is Afrikaans for ‘Two buffaloes shot stone dead with one shot Fountain’.
The reason this name will be remembered and talked about is not only because of its unusual length, but also because of the feat it commemorates.
Imagine a bullet from an old single-shot muzzle-loading gun being responsible for this legendary achievement. The projectile was in all likelihood a home-moulded lead ball, a little bigger than a marble, driven by black powder at a muzzle velocity of around 350 metres per second. In terms of ballistics and modern standards, this is so slow you could almost watch its trajectory, and so inferior that you would not be legally permitted (without back-up) to hunt buffalo with such weaponry. The projectiles of modern hunting rifles are more accurate, better constructed, and leave the muzzle at more than twice the velocity and energy than that of a muzzle loader.
Even so, duplicating this feat today, using the most modern hunting weapon, would be extremely difficult, so, two buffalo killed instantly
with one lead ball was indeed hunting’s equivalent of David and Goliath!
Returning to naming matters closer to home, when neighbouring landowners and Olifants shareholders, Miles and Jetje Japhet, acquired the adjacent farm ‘Klipheuwel’, they created a beautiful reserve which they called ‘Dinidza’, the Shona word for Pel’s fishing owl. These magnificent birds are specialised hunters whose habitat requirements are quite specific, and although a relatively common sight on Dinidza and on the Balule section of Olifants River, they are uncommon elsewhere. So it is an appropriate name, fitting in every respect.
The property has a generous river frontage of some three-and-a-half kilometres, with a wide floodplain and associated riparian vegetation. As a counterpoint, most of the area inland comprises hilly bushveld, consisting of Commiphora woodland, studded with intriguing outcrops of granite or soapstone boulders. The diverse topography is rugged, featuring numerous hidden valleys and incredibly interesting nooks and crannies with unique vegetation. Needless to say, Dinidza is anything but monotonous to explore. Over time, some of its more prominent or interesting features were given names, usually inspired by endemic animals or birds, or as was the case in the following instance, by association. The most significant and most popular lookout-cum-viewpoint on this reserve is undoubtedly ‘Tau Kopje’, and this is how it got its name.
‘Tau’ is Tswana for lion and ‘Kopje’ is old Afrikaans for small hill. Neither language is used much on Dinidza, and the naming had less to do with the criteria of suitability, location or language but more to do with incidental association.
Jetje wanted an elevated view of a lovely waterhole named ‘Nyosi Pan’ and the surrounding open plain. The discreet, non-intrusive viewpoint she envisaged could only be facilitated by building a short road to access the crest of a nearby hill. I was asked to take a look at their proposal for the location of the road and to advise if it would be possible to construct it for them. As this simple track would be used so infrequently as to have little or no negative impact on the surrounding ecology, I agreed.
Bear with me while I digress for a moment to tell you about the naming of this waterhole as well. ‘Nyosi’ means bees or honey in Tsonga, the language spoken by the local Shangaan people. The pan was christened when a resident hive of notorious African honey bees left us in no doubt as to who owned the spot. The swarm had established a hive in the hollow of a large knobthorn tree that grew on the edge of this pan. We accidentally disturbed it when the 17 tonne CAT 966 front-end loader we were using to deepen the waterhole accidentally bumped the tree. To the bees, the bump must have been right off their equivalent of a Richter scale and the disruption to the hive’s integrity must have been severe. Retaliation was instantaneous! The massive machine was set upon by the plucky insects, which were so determined with their attack that the operator had to have a net placed over the cab in order to get any work done henceforth. Since then I have noticed substantial traces of dried mud on the trunk of this knobthorn tree, indicating that the odd elephant had tried to use it as a rubbing post. I can only imagine that these unfortunate pachyderms were just as aggressively attacked as we were, and were then obliged to look for another back-scratcher somewhere else.
Although making a road to the point overlooking the pan would be a relatively simple job, I told Jetje that I wouldn’t be able to do it immediately, as I had promised to run a half marathon representing the Hoedspruit Running Club on the weekend. My alternative as a resident member of this local community might have been a suitable contribution of an impala carcass or a handful of game drives as prizes. Participation in the run was the least complicated option, I thought.
This ‘Wildsfees’ fair is an annual wildlife festival centred on game auctions, game farming, tourism and related industries in and around this part of the lowveld. For the small community of Hoedspruit, it is also an excellent opportunity to promote other traditional wares and local skills. It’s the time to see who has the best-designed braai grid, who has distilled the most potent ‘mampoer’ or who is the kudu poo-spitting champion, all that sort of thing.
The fact is, though, there’s serious content and intent over and above having fun, and that is the community’s focus on the marketing of live game and the promotion of eco-tourism. Having promised to support the local running club, there was no way I could let them down. So, bearing in mind my athletic commitments of the next day, I decided I would go out and mark out the planned road on Dinidza. It wouldn’t take too long at all, I reasoned, and getting it done now would mean my chaps could do the bulk of the clearing while I was away doing my community duty.
Following well-worn game paths, I made my way through some fairly open bush, and kept driving until I reached the base of the hill. Parking the vehicle in a spot of shade, I took off my windbreaker and threw it over my rifle, which was leaning, barrel down against the passenger seat. Then I pulled the backrest forward and grabbed my panga, which is always kept behind the seat and slowly moved up to where the proposed road would begin and started up the hill.
Using the panga, I began cutting smaller shrubs and bushes. This task went quite quickly, and as the road being marked wasn’t going to be more than 100 metres in length when complete, it wasn’t long before I approached the crest of the little hill. Here it opened up, and taking in the view, I could see exactly what Miles and Jetje envisaged. The site was spectacular, offering a commanding view over a relatively large open plain. Yet, despite the position’s prominence, it would create minimal, if any, disturbance to the game below as they approached from all directions to slake their thirst or wallow in the cooling mud on the periphery of Nyosi Pan. It also didn’t matter from which direction the wind came; the elevation was enough to ensure any scent would be carried over the heads of the game.
There were only a couple of thorny saplings left to remove, and as I cut one of them, its hooked thorns somehow got snagged in my sock. I bent over and wiggled the offending sapling about until I managed to disentangle it. Then, gingerly holding the stem between two fingers, I straightened up sharply and turned to throw it over my shoulder and out of the way.
As I did this, the ‘Meaning of Life’ took a sharp right turn.
No more than a couple of metres away, totally unexpected, a lioness that had been crouching behind me got up out of the grass that had completely concealed her approach. Startled, she grunted with a guttural growl that seemed to come from the root of her tail, and then she bolted away downhill, collecting a second lioness on the way down. Their departure was followed closely by some choice expletives and my panga, which clattered harmlessly on the rocks behind them. Incredible, I thought, they must have been stalking me for quite a while. I wondered how long they had been watching me. I hadn’t a clue. What was chilling was the fact that they could have pounced on me at any time.
Fortunately for me, the lions got just as big a fright as I did and I was so relieved when they ran away, that I didn’t want to lose the advantage, so I maintained the false bravado, keeping up the momentum of my attack and the volume of my rhetoric. I kept my eyes on them, shouting the universally effective and as yet unchallenged, ‘Voetsek‘, as well as various unprintables while going down the hill in a side-stepping gait. Dry-mouthed with fear by now, my tongue was reluctant to detach itself from the roof of my mouth, and I felt a need to hurl things other than invective at the fleeing felines.
Every now and then I would attempt to pick up a rock but the preponderance of aptly named soap stones made it a pointless exercise, probably compounded by the perspiration that coursed across the palms of my hands. I was clearly trying to do too much.
Eyes on the lions and off the ground, too much speed, going sideways down a steep slope on rough terrain … I was an accident about to happen, it was inevitable.
I felt my ankle give way as I sprained it! I twisted it so badly that I actually I heard it go, not quite a snap, more a slower crunching kind of crack, like a wet sapling breaking, and I felt the heat and pain instantly. The
best of it was that I had deprived the lions of their breakfast. The worst of it was I knew my run in the Hoedspruit Wildsfees half marathon was over.
Driving home, I was preoccupied with the creation of a credible excuse to give the organisers of the marathon as there was not a hope in hell that they would believe me if I told them the truth. After strapping up the ankle and downing a couple of Voltaren, I took my children back to ‘Tau Kopje’ hoping we could find the lions, but when we got there, there was no sign of them, my evidence had departed. The next morning I informed a polite, but disbelieving, race organiser of why I couldn’t do my bit. He tried hard to conceal his unwillingness to accept my excuse, but his disappointment was poorly disguised by his expressions of concern. In a small community like ours, everybody knows everybody else’s business, and to this day I swear I still get that ‘look ’ that says ‘what a bullsh*t excuse!’
As to the christening, well, I think the name that Miles and Jetje gave this viewpoint is as appropriate as it is brief. ‘Tau Kopje’ sounds a lot better than ‘Ankle Sprain Hill’ or ‘Two lions with one panga and many dirty swear words chased away Hill’.
In the same vein, for some reason they haven’t renamed the Hoedspruit Wildfees half marathon, though I did hear a rumour that ‘Tall Story Challenge’ had been suggested.
‘The Gentlemen’s Club’ … A Lesson in Loyalty
December 2003
Older buffalo bulls are known to form lasting relationships in small bachelor groups of three or more individuals, usually fewer than ten. The largest bachelor herd on the reserve at the moment has 18 members but this is exceptional. These old buffalo are often referred to as ‘dagga boys’ (mud boys) because of their penchant for rolling in mud wallows. The mud adheres to their sparse coats in a crusty layer, cracking and flaking off in the sun as the day progresses, or when it gets rubbed off against a suitable rock or stump, invariably taking a load of unwanted, encrusted parasites along with it.
Mhudi Page 7