Mhudi

by Sol T Plaatje

  Seven old buffalo bulls are fed at Warthog Pan every day. These elderly gents used to number nine individuals, but as is expected of a senior gentlemen’s club, the membership inevitably requires replenishment due to the ravages of old age. If that had been the reason for the two missing bachelors, we would have been happy to allow nature to take its course. The remaining seven old timers could then have been left to chew the cud, while they dreamed of green pastures and cool mud wallows and on occasion when the main breeding herd moved through, they could cast a lustful gaze at the beautiful young heifers. Isn’t that what is expected of old bachelors the world over? In this instance, though, we were obliged to intervene, because man had a hand in the demise of the two old buffalo. This meant that remedial intervention was necessary to help prevent further unnatural fatalities.

  It has become something of a phenomenon that the railway line’s verges remain relatively well grassed far into the dry season. In certain areas, green tufts are present throughout the year, probably due to condensation from the crushed granite supporting the tracks. This, in combination with minute amounts of phosphoric acid spillage, has a positive effect on the vegetation in the immediate area.

  These old bachelor bulls knew on which side of the line the grass was greener, so to speak, so enjoyed ambling up and down between the tracks and the verge. Feeding mostly at night, they grazed, oblivious to the danger. Their dark non-reflective bodies made them nigh-on invisible to the drivers, until it was too late.

  In January 2003, one of the buffalo in this group was hit by a train and knocked head over heels down a steep embankment. Although he moved off and remained mobile for a number of days, his movements became progressively more laboured and slower. After humanely dispatching the old bull, a post mortem was carried out to reveal a damaged shoulder and a ruptured spleen. This particular incident is described in more detail later in the chapter titled ‘Not just another buffalo story’.

  Two months later, a second bull from the same group was hit. Thankfully, he died instantly, but one of his companions was not so lucky. The bloody stump of his horn was found on the road not far from where the dead buffalo lay. This meant that a second buffalo had been hit and we had to find him to ascertain the extent of the damage. We soon located the spot where the injured bull must have stood shocked and dazed while he collected himself, followed his tracks and found him four hours later. He appeared healthy in all respects except he was minus one horn and as a result had a large wound area that was now susceptible to blowfly infestation. In view of the fact that his limbs and general attitude appeared normal, we gave him the benefit of the doubt and left nature to heal the wound.

  For the next three weeks I monitored his movements, being especially watchful for any sign of maggot infestation. Blowfly maggots have the ability to migrate into the sinus passages and eventually into the brain. Signs to watch for would include sneezing and head shaking, with a combination of these two confirming sinus infestation. That would mean having to destroy the animal. Fortunately, no symptoms were noted, so again nature was left to continue doing her best. Eventually the old buffalo moved out of our area and I adopted the ‘no news is good news’ approach.

  A couple of months later, while I was up in a helicopter looking for a suitable buffalo bull to remove as part of our capture programme, I saw him once again, this time in the company of two other bulls. A neat round growth about the size of half a grapefruit had sealed off the jagged break. The best surgeons in the world could not have made a tidier repair and I remember thinking how fantastic nature’s healing mechanisms were. After hovering for a few seconds, I decided to leave these old bulls in peace and signalled to the pilot to pull out, so we flew off to try and locate another bull.

  Having experienced such a violent, painful ordeal, one would assume that the last place this old bull would venture was the railway line. Surely he would associate it with the trauma and avoid it. But, as the days got shorter and cooler and the grass in the veld got drier and less palatable, the old gents would cruise their old beat along the railway line. Grazing intently, without so much as lifting their heads as you drove by, they made me worry. This display of nonchalance and the thought of having to retrieve more carcasses off the tracks prompted me to start a supplementary feeding plan at Warthog Pan. It’s something I’m loath to do, but with supplementary feed I could keep them from going up and down the tracks in search of grazing. Although trying to stop them from crossing over from one side of the line to the other has been impossible, at least it is a lot safer and the results have been positive.

  Despite nature’s repair work, the growth on the jagged edge of the old bull’s broken horn grew noticeably bigger by the day. Red-billed oxpeckers pecked away at this ‘giant tick’ relentlessly. Each daily onslaught would open a wound that bled freely, the blood being eagerly sought and consumed by these birds. At night, the buffalo’s healing mechanism, fed with a rich supply of blood, would repair the damage by growing another thin skin of tissue, effectively increasing the size of the growth each day. The next morning the oxpeckers would re-open a wound and start it all over again. This continued until within the space of a few weeks, the growth was nearly as big as a ten pin bowling ball.

  The irritation and consequent continual attempts at chasing away the oxpeckers by shaking his head meant the buffalo bull was unable to function normally and over a few weeks he began losing condition.

  Nature had been given a fair chance, but this animal’s predicament was clearly the result of an unnatural injury caused by man, and so man was obliged to intervene to put right the wrong.

  After deciding on intervention, a quick phone call to the reserve’s trusted vet, my friend Gerrit, had him wading across the Olifants River within an hour. We prepared the necessary darts as we knew the approximate location and this would speed things up. Arriving at the scene, we drove to within 20 metres of the bull and darted him. Approximately eight minutes later he went down, but his companions were too curious for comfort and needed to be moved away. We used the vehicle to effect this by gently nudging them off to a safe distance. Their reluctance to leave him was obvious and they took quite a bit of nudging before they were far enough away to allow us to work on the downed bull in relative safety.

  Once immobilised, the removal of the growth began. This was done by cutting through the horn using a flexible saw. This tool looks more like a garrotte than a saw, but does the job efficiently. I managed to cut the growth off in about five minutes, though it was a long five minutes. The more horn I cut through the more the blood flow increased, so I knew I had to do this as quickly as possible. Gerrit commented that he had never seen so many blood vessels in a de-horning operation, and that this could be as a result of the body’s healing mechanism providing a generous supply of blood to the affected area. The buffalo was losing so much blood, that the loss could be measured in pints per minute and I was very concerned. But, as always, our intrepid vet had a plan which was to prove an unorthodox yet effective procedure to stem the flow. If ever there was an example of necessity being the mother of all invention or ‘’n boer maak ’n plan’, this was it.

  We were lucky that a couple of shareholders were on hand to help. By positioning their vehicle as a barrier and keeping an eye on the buffalo’s two overly curious companions, the vet and I could focus on stemming the flow of blood. At Gerrit’s request, a box of matches was produced. The matches were sharpened and used to plug the more than 30 veins.

  When the last match was pushed into place and the bleeding all but stopped, I couldn’t help noticing that I was shaking a little, for I did not believe the buffalo would make it after losing so much blood and I had begun to question my decision to intervene. Any way, I went through the motions helping the preparation to bring the buffalo around, all the while, cursing myself for meddlin’ and fiddlin’ and fixin’ things that ain’t broke. After applying the Stockholm tar and gauze to seal the cut temporarily, long-acting antibiotics and anti-inflammatory
drugs were injected. All well and good, but it did little to ease my apprehension.

  I lifted a large vein in the buffalo’s ear which allowed Gerrit to slip the needle in easily. I watched dry-mouthed as the antidote to the immobilising drug was administered. I honestly did not expect this old buffalo to survive, let alone to get up and walk away. But, despite being obviously weakened by the loss of blood, the buffalo made a determined effort to get to his feet. Drawing on the reserves of power that justifiably gives the Cape buffalo its legendary reputation for toughness, he stood up. In fact, I have seen healthy camels make more of an issue getting up.

  Once on his feet, he slowly made his way to the other buffalo, who were still feeding, then walked past and headed for the waterhole. Sensing something was not right, his two old comrades joined him, looking back at us and snorting. The look which they gave Gerrit and myself and our surgical support team could have been interpreted as ‘what the hell have you done to him?’ One of the buffalo then proceeded to lick the Stockholm tar that had spilled over onto the patient’s ear and down his cheek. If you have ever smelled Stockholm tar, never mind tasted it, you will know that this was an act that demonstrated extreme concern and re-defined the bonds of genuine friendship. The temptation to say ‘ag shame’ was resisted in the face of professional composure.

  I was to be further humbled by what took place over the next few days. At the next feed, the ‘patient’ and his two companions were missing. As there was absolutely nothing to eat out in the bush I expected them to appear the following morning. They didn’t. When they had still not arrived by the third day, I was resigned to the possibility that they may have moved out of the area. Imagine my surprise, then, when on the morning of the fourth day a rather skinny, somewhat skittish but otherwise healthy, one-horned buffalo and two buddies came to the feed at Warthog Pan.

  So strong is the bond between these old gentlemen that not even four days of hunger caused them to desert their friend. What is so uncanny is that it appears that they knew he would be vulnerable to predation and could see he needed comfort and support. They ignored the lure of delicious lucerne they knew would be at Warthog Pan and stuck by him until they could return to the feeding area together. Initially wary of me when they returned, it appears that all is forgiven and back to normal now. I no longer get that glare that says ‘I have forgiven but I haven’t forgotten’ – or, as the author Robert Ruark so aptly describes, ‘buffalo look at you like you owe them money’.

  There are many hard-core conservationists who believe emphatically that nature should be allowed to take its course, irrespective of the circumstance, and I respect their view. I believe, however, that if the problem is as a direct or indirect result of human activity or influence, we are then obliged to exercise discretion and try to remedy the problem. There are not many true conservationists I know who can watch coldly as a noble animal dies slowly of starvation. This is especially true if its natural migration route has been cut off or hampered by the intervention of man-made barriers, or the habitat so manipulated by man as to be the prime cause or one of the causes of its predicament. I believe that nearly everywhere wildlife occurs, it will be affected by man to some degree or other, so it’s a question of compassion and discretion.

  Waterholes and Fire … a Practical Perspective

  In perpetuity

  We are repeatedly reminded by the eco-purists that even a bird bath in the bush constitutes an artificial watering point. Besides the elephant culling issue and the declining wildebeest numbers in the lowveld, nothing gets a conversation amongst ecologists and local conservationists going more than the debate on waterholes.

  Man-made waterholes providing a constant source of drinking water for wild animals in the lowveld is thought to be the root cause of numerous ecological problems facing managers today. Among the more noticeable negative effects has been the declining roan and sable antelope populations in the Kruger National Park and the rapidly dwindling wildebeest numbers in adjacent private reserves. Mainly, these alarming statistics have been attributed to the supply of permanent water which then promotes the proliferation of water-dependent species like impala, buffalo and elephant. They, in turn, are deemed responsible for the retrogressive heterogeneity of the surrounding vegetation. Essentially, through their feeding habits, these animals create conditions that are unable to support the diversity of vegetation necessary for the survival of certain other species. The details of the various ecological inter-dependencies are too complicated to go into here, but we can be assured from what little research has been done, that the closing of artificial water points will improve habitat biodiversity.

  There can be no doubt that in a pristine ecosystem where only seasonal drinking points were previously available, artificially supplied permanent water will have a detrimental effect, and depending on the size and number of waterholes, the effect may or may not be immediately evident. Suffice it to say, any manipulation by man of a completely natural functioning or pristine ecosystem will invariably prove to be ecologically unsound to some degree. So, yes, I support the move to reduce or close waterholes. My standpoint on this issue is, however, conditional.

  If all artificial waterholes are to be closed and we revert to the natural pans and rivers to supply the water needs for our wildlife, then the system needs to have self-sustaining populations of game. These animals must be able to move and migrate unhindered, as and when climatic conditions dictate, in order to source their requirements necessary for survival. Unfortunately, there are very few areas left in Africa where these criteria can be met and, more specifically, there are no privately owned game reserves in South Africa that qualify. In the words of RN Porter, who compiled an ecological report for the Timbavati in 1964: ‘No game reserve in the world is an ecological unit or embraces a complete system.’ That was nearly 45 years ago and I am still inclined to agree with him today.

  The establishment of the Association of Private Nature Reserves (APNR) and the subsequent opening up of the private reserves to be included in the Greater Kruger Park can be described as an ‘ecological milestone and a step closer to minimal management’. Olifants is now part of Balule, which subscribes to the APNR Management Plan that lays down the guidelines for ecological management in an area of 165 000 hectares. As impressive as this figure is, and even if you add a further two million hectares of the Kruger’s area, we’re still a tiny part of a vast ecosystem that existed in Southern Africa at the turn of the century. In the context of where we now fit into the picture, it is clear that Olifants is not an ecosystem in its own right. Therefore we are obliged to artificially manage the reserve in order to maintain as near as possible a natural balance between all the component factors of the environment, not the least being ever-controversial water management.

  Does this mean we just close water points and monitor the effects? That could be an option in an area that is large enough, relatively speaking, as was done in the area of Kruger where the roan and sable antelope populations are in rapid decline. The scientists there closed all the artificial water points, hoping to discourage some of the water-dependent herbivores, which would also reduce the competition for fodder and in turn, limit those predators dependent on them.

  It was thought that if these results could be achieved, the prevailing conditions would then skew the environment in favour of the threatened roan and sable. This concerted effort did have a limited measure of success in this regard. The closing of the water points resulted in conditions which promoted a habitat more favourable to help turn these declining populations around. Unfortunately, despite this, Kruger’s roan and sable numbers continue to decline at a rapid rate. It was clear that abundant artificially supplied surface water was not entirely to blame; there were bigger influencing factors.

  In a less radical and relatively simple experiment, a 2 000 hectare block was securely fenced off from the surrounding bushveld. The main aim was to keep the larger predators out. Sable and roan antelope were then placed inside the
area. A fair sprinkling of other plains game was inadvertently caught up when the fence went up and they also made this enclosure their home. The result has been steadily climbing numbers all round, particularly the sable and roan. Hello! The lack of predation MUST be a major factor. What has also been of interest is how this exclusion area, which was also inaccessible to elephant, stands out in terms of vegetation production, tree canopy density and herbaceous cover. In winter the contrast is most dramatic. Aerial photos taken of this enclosure and the surrounding area reveal what looks like a green postage stamp stuck in the middle of a brown envelope.

  What was thought to be ecologically correct 25 or 30 years ago is now outdated; this is scientific progress and we accept it. The concern has to be that there is still way too much ‘chucking and chancing’ even amongst the so-called boffins. How much trial and error can a natural system tolerate? And to what extent are we able to reverse the damage done to an ecosystem by what we thought was the right thing to do at the time, but has since been proved wrong? Nobody knows.

  An excellent example of this was a couple of years ago when Air Force fighters were used to blow a dam wall to smithereens in a world famous national park. The pilots got good practice and the ecologists were ecstatic, whooping with joy as the concrete crumbled and the river system was restored to its former state. The ecologists who built that dam all those years ago would have refused to believe you if, at the dam opening ceremony, you told them that in 30 years’ time this beautiful dam they had just built would be blown away by ecologists currently in nappies … and that this would be done in the interests of conservation! All I can say is, thank goodness nature is as resilient and forgiving as it is!