Mhudi

by Sol T Plaatje

  He continued to help us monitor the leopard’s movements for a couple of weeks, with his co-operation and interest being of great importance. This continuity made all the difference to the value of our project, as otherwise there would have been a big blank in the timeline of the data. Joining the plotted points helped us complete the pattern of his movement, until he left the APNR area. His movements for the first two months after his release are summarised as follows. Three weeks after entering the Klaserie near the trigonometric beacon on Lisbon, the leopard moved back onto Olifants near the Rhino Pan area. I picked up his signal there again a week later. He then continued heading south into Venice, where we were unable to follow the signal any further. The timing couldn’t have been better, because we had used the receiver for longer than we were supposed to and reluctantly had to post it back to its owner.

  Both leopards came from the North West province, one from Stella and the other from Zeerust. Although Olifants is a leopard paradise, it has its own leopard population, and a new individual in it could theoretically mean the displacement of a resident. Personally, I feel this particular species is relatively unique due to its high degree of adaptability, and therefore if there was a disturbance at all, it would be absolutely minimal. Despite this positive prognosis and the minimal risk of displacing established residents, however, we cannot just continue to release problem predators into our system.

  We are working on finding other suitable areas for release programmes. All the same, Rob needs to be commended for his dedication to giving these beautiful predators a new lease on life, or at the very least, a fighting chance. Although he asks nothing for this thankless task, depending almost entirely on the goodwill of veterinarians and donations, I insisted on paying his transport and accommodation costs.

  Time went by and we heard nothing. Nobody reported seeing a collared leopard in the area, so we assumed it had simply melted into the population within the APNR somewhere. This was not so.

  Approximately five months after the younger leopard’s release, I received news of a badly injured leopard that had to be put down in the Acornhoek area. He had got himself caught in a poacher’s snare in an area largely dedicated to stock farming. As it happened, the animal was positively identified as the younger male we released on Olifants. The fact that it had a collar, even though it was no longer functioning, was the first clue, but the missing toes on his left front paw put his identity beyond any doubt. Two of his toes were amputated after his initial capture in a farmer’s gin trap. We have to assume that this leopard had tested all the suitable territories from our reserve through the Klaserie and Timbavati, only to find them occupied by other leopard. This in itself is an indication of healthy leopard numbers in the private reserves. He had moved approximately 65 kilometres due south as the crow flies, from his release site into hostile territory.

  After moving through the APNR, the leopard had to have also moved all the way through the Kapama and Guernsey blocks to reach its final destination. Obviously, we were saddened by the untimely and inappropriate death of this particular leopard, but he had been given a fighting chance, the dice had just not fallen as well as we had hoped.

  The large male leopard released in October 2001 wasn’t fitted with a transmitter, nor did he have any distinguishing features that could have identified him at a glance. However, given this leopard’s size advantage, I am convinced that he found himself a niche soon after being released. Subsequent sightings of a skittish male were recorded at Wild Dog Pan not more than two kilometres from the release site.

  As a final illustration of the infinite variations of adaptability evidenced in the release of captured leopards, we move to the mining town of Phalaborwa. It is situated on the boundary of the Kruger National Park, so it is not unusual to see leopard in the town’s environs from time to time. Unfortunately, some inevitably fall foul of subsistence poachers’ snares. A leopard caught in a wire snare on the outskirts of town was tranquillised, the snare removed and the wound treated. She was then taken down to the Timbavati Private Nature Reserve for release, a journey of more than 140 kilometres by road. It was thought that being a healthy adult female she would have a favourable chance at integrating with the resident leopards, or at least be tolerated while she looked around.

  A collar was fitted and the monitoring programme began. GPS plottings showed that point to point, the distance from capture site to release site was approximately 60 kilometres. After spending two months in the Timbavati, she decided to go home. Once her mind had been made up, no matter how many fences she had to negotiate one way or the other, she was back in town within a week. Why this leopard couldn’t find a place for herself in a large reserve like the Timbavati remains a mystery. The intrigue is further compounded by the fact that one would have thought an adult female would have been a prime candidate for relocation.

  I believe that either the call of home was irresistible or, possibly, she was pregnant and wanted to have her cubs in familiar surroundings. Whatever the reason, I suspect we will never really know what drives these enigmatic big cats to survive where they do. Maybe it’s simple, and there’s no place like home.

  Snare Removed from Elephant … Poachers Removed from Circulation

  Inspired by an October 2008 newsletter

  The curse of poaching has resulted in many calls for humanitarian and veterinarian help. In this case, we had been called in to relieve the plight of an elephant that had a steel cable snare on its left front foot. The young bull was estimated to be eight years old and was part of a breeding herd of fourteen elephant. The herd was reluctant to leave him, and their loyalty was unabated even though his attention was on pain relief rather than feeding. They waited patiently while he lingered in the soothing water of the river. The victim was the same elephant we had unsuccessfully tried to locate in the same area a year ago, but as he was smaller then, the snare had not cut in as deeply as it had now. Over time, he grew bigger and the snare slowly cut in deeper. The increasing pressure as the result of blood flow restriction must have been agonising.

  The elephant was totally preoccupied with his swollen foot and was obviously in great pain as he rocked and swayed gently to and fro, placing absolutely no weight on the affected foreleg. One minute he would splash cool river water onto it, the next he would try to coat it with mud. Then, when these temporary pain relief measures wore off, he would lie down in the soft sand on the water’s edge. Apparently, he was getting some relief from the throbbing pressure, by keeping his heart on the same level as his foot for a while. It was a pathetic sight and human intervention was long overdue.

  We used his preoccupation with pain relief as an opportunity to call in a helicopter and our local vet, who had already been placed on standby. Some aircraft regulation glitch in Phalaborwa meant that the helicopter was delayed for an hour while the necessary paperwork was checked. When they did eventually arrive, our vet, Gerrit again, wasted no time in getting the dart into the elephant before it moved into the thick riverine bush and disappeared for another year.

  Besides the fact that this operation took place right underneath the four power lines, and there were a number of elephant involved, everything went according to plan and without interruption from the rest of the herd, including the old matriarch known as Joan.

  As though a co-operative part of the operation, the herd moved off to a safe distance from the immobilised elephant, enabling us to remove the snare quickly. At this point, even though tempted to, I’m not going to humanise the situation and say that I’m sure the ‘Mommy’ elephant knew we were trying to help her son and so didn’t bother us as these overprotective mothers often do. Seriously, though, this can be one of the biggest problems when working on a member of a breeding herd, so we were most grateful that it went as smoothly as it did and that we were able to alleviate an animal’s suffering.

  Among those witnessing the dramatic proceedings was a highly motivated group of conservation students out from Holland, all young women in
their late teens and early twenties, who were staying at a camp on one of the neighbouring properties. Thrilled as they obviously were to have been on hand to experience meaningful conservation at work, in stark contrast to the mundane anti-erosion work and exotic plant eradication exercises with which they had been occupied, they were hungry for more of the same. The image of our anti-poaching guys in their neat uniforms, rifles slung over their broad shoulders, prompted them to ask if they could accompany the unit on their next patrol.

  Initially, I was hesitant, because these patrols are not to be taken lightly. Anti-poaching is a very serious business … but I weakened, it being virtually impossible to say no to a beautiful woman. Confronted by six of them? All resistance crumbled. While I relented and condoned their involvement in the upcoming patrol, I did emphasise that it would be no problem as long as the risks and the conditions of this dangerous patrol were fully understood and accepted.

  Early the next morning, together with their camp manager and course leader, who took official responsibility for the students’ safety, the anti-poaching unit, followed by the students, crossed the Olifants River onto the northern bank. This area is notorious for poaching activity, and, as expected, it wasn’t long before fresh signs of poachers were picked up.

  Like a pack of bloodhounds the game scouts homed in on the clues, the ‘scent’, and pursued it with focused determination. The quiet efficiency this team displays when tracking ‘hot tracks’ has to be seen to be appreciated. The first thing is a perceptible attitude shift in the team. Then you notice a gear shift, a subtle urgency of gait, which tells you they’re getting close to their quarry. You can’t mistake the signs as the tension mounts, mouths start to lose saliva, and any attempt at speaking fails miserably with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. Then, without warning, the stealth of movement, hushed tones and sign language are abruptly discarded, to be replaced with absolute pandemonium. The apparent chaos that follows is in total contrast to the discipline and order of the previous two hours. Moments later, gun shots are fired, amidst much shouting and yelling and the odd dull thump followed by subsequent groans …

  Try to picture the scene and imagine the faces of these fresh-out-of-Europe young ladies, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as a poacher is physically apprehended while his accomplice dodges bullets and shotgun pellets to escape. Up to that point, these students may have thought they were being treated to a well-rehearsed bit of play-acting. But those thoughts must have quickly evaporated when they heard some real thumping and saw some real blood, as the reality of what they had witnessed sank in. Tracking, catching and arresting armed poachers is extremely dangerous.

  The fact is, they make their living from killing methodically and without feeling, so they wouldn’t hesitate to treat human interference with the exact same lack of sentimentality.

  When they are caught, they resist. When they resist, they are handled firmly and decisively. The young students seemed to have lost the power of speech, never mind conversation. I would describe them as being in a state of shock as they quietly and quickly made their way back across the river. Once back in the relative safety and comfort of their camp, they were able to reflect on the excitement of the morning, but even so, it was obvious they had had enough for one day, judging from the excited chatter around the camp fire that night. On the other hand, one can only begin to imagine the stories that were taken back home to Holland.

  I’m sure that tales of taking poachers out of circulation in the African bush would be more interesting than the usual European sidewalk café chit chat, whatever that might be.

  The poacher who did not get away and was arrested that day was convicted and sentenced to a fine of R 2 500 or five years’ imprisonment. Although his accomplice is still at large, I have a feeling he will be lying low for quite a while. Truth be told, it’s actually good anti-poaching PR to have a ‘survivor’ live to tell the tale and to spread the word among his comrades-in-crime about how he so nearly got caught, having to dodge bullets to make good his escape.

  The total cost of removing the snare from the young elephant with which we started this tale, including the previous year’s failed attempt, was R22 600, ten times the fine imposed on the poacher we caught. There is no doubt that the poacher’s wire snares had killed and maimed far more than just the one elephant we were able to help back to a good chance of a healthy future.

  One of the greatest rewards of this life here on Olifants is that our shareholders and so many of our neighbours see the protection of our wildlife and their ways of life as being beyond price. In this instance, by removing a snare from an elephant we improved its circulation while removing the poachers from circulation!

  Compassion … A Game Ranger’s Virtue?

  December 1979

  I was working for one of Africa’s premier game reserves at the time, and as we were in the bush for most of the day, meal times back at Mala Mala’s main camp were always a great time to get together with colleagues, to relax a little and generally shoot the breeze. The staff table had the best position in the dining room, right next to a large window. Our ‘looking glass’ presented us with an uninterrupted view out over the Sand River, so our meals were often pleasantly interrupted by something interesting happening in the bush beyond.

  We were on summer schedule at the time, which meant we went out into the bush at first light, while it was still relatively cool, and we returned for breakfast around mid-morning. Invariably, we were famished by the time we sat down to eat, so there wasn’t too much chatter between mouthfuls. I remember that on this particular warm, sunny morning, it was unusually quiet and there wasn’t much going on outside.

  Suddenly there was a loud thump against the window. A beautiful malachite kingfisher had flown straight into the glass, and it was stunned by the impact. We gently cradled the tiny bird in our cupped hands, and while we watched it slowly recover, the magnificence of its colours could really be appreciated. These delicate creatures are brilliantly clad in some of the finest feathers from nature’s wardrobe, so it was understandable that some of those around wanted to capture this beauty on film.

  As the bird got a little perkier, it was carefully placed on one of the stems of a purple nut sedge growing near the garden tap, the same plant that this little kingfisher often used as a perch. It looked perfectly normal as it sat there, though it must have still been somewhat dazed as it allowed the photographers to get really close and take some spectacular photographs. The photos must have been good, because one of them went on to win a prestigious award.

  Obviously the judges were none the wiser as to how the ‘model’ was so co-operative. Someone said the photographic technique was a knock-out.

  Despite the positive side of the foregoing little tale, in that we were able to capture the beauty of this bird for ever, it actually took the intrigue of wildlife photography out of the equation for me. It was this experience nearly 30 years ago that took away, in my opinion, the skill and challenge of photography and replaced it with luck and manipulation. This was a very simplistic and naïve view to adopt, I know, but I was very young and impressionable at the time. Perhaps unfortunately, though, the end result has been that I have never shown much interest in photography. On a practical level, I only ever use a camera to provide the back-up to a report or to record something I want to remember. My photo albums are more of a random collection of happy snaps and that sort of thing, not much more. I realise now what a huge pity this has been, because in my life in the bush I have seen things that would have been wonderful to share through the medium of photography. Except for the mental images I have stored, so much is lost for ever.

  To this day, that kingfisher ‘set-up’ still nags at my conscience to the point where, except for David Attenborough and one or two others whose work I admire, I have become quite cynical about the authenticity of some wildlife imagery. I am particularly suspicious about certain material employed in the production of wildlife documentaries. The lengths that som
e reporters and documentary photographers will go to for fame and awards are quite astonishing. How do you condone a film-maker who films a person walking down a street in Kosovo, when he knows there’s every chance the subject will be shot by a sniper within minutes; worse, the photographer knows where the sniper is hidden! This same lack of ethics in ‘getting the shot’, no matter the consequences, is sometimes applied to the making of wildlife documentaries. For example, there are documentary film-makers who will film the slow, agonising death of an elephant being eaten to death by a pride of lions and then, with a smile, accept an award for filming something else’s pain. Hell! That doesn’t take skill; it takes cold-blooded indifference and the ability to be able to sit immobile on your backside for long periods of time.

  Not to mention that in the good old days of actual film, it was too damn expensive to leave the camera rolling, while today, the advent of videotape and then digital recording has removed the accountant’s financial control from the equation, more’s the pity.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ I hear you say. ‘This is nature in the raw, get real, tough it out, it happens …’ Yes, I know it happens and I am the first to concede that the documentary evidence, however brutal, has value in a historical and scientific sense. But I draw the line when the subject predators are given the advantage of an easy kill by the prey being highlighted and then blinded by powerful spotlights! I also find it difficult to stomach the double standards evident in the industry. It’s no stretch of our imagination to envisage a film-maker getting up late the next morning, by which time, hopefully, our elephant example is dead, and while delicately sipping coffee and nibbling lightly buttered toast, to harangue anyone who will listen about the cruelty and questionable ethics of trophy hunting!