As if on cue, a gentle humming suddenly caught our ear, growing slowly louder as its source became visible. Both helicopters came into view flying in tandem, one in front of the other, first Gerry in his little R22, followed by Jacques in his bigger R44.
Produced by the Robinson Helicopter Company, these were the two models of choice in wildlife work, and I had seen them both in action. The R44, designed in 1992, was a four-seater helicopter, more stable and sturdy, but less manoeuvrable than its older brother, the two-seater R22, designed nearly twenty years earlier. The R22 was great for herding animals – it could come in very low, and keep up with the jinking, weaving and direction change of even the quickest antelope – but the R44 was the better craft for darting. The vet could sit behind the pilot and follow his line of sight as they came upon the animal, and the R44 would hold more steadily against the wind for the shot.
They circled several times looking for a safe landing spot, but with electricity cables running above us and trees surrounding the area there didn’t seem an obvious location. Jacques settled for somewhere on the other side of the farm buildings, but Gerry opted for a small clearing among a collection of macadamia trees, 20 metres from us. It was a tiny spot that in no way seemed large enough for a helicopter to fit through, but with pinpoint precision, propeller blades only a foot or two away from the branches, Gerry brought his R22 down. Johan and his capture team arrived shortly after the helicopters. They had parked the flatbed trailers and crane at the entrance to the farm.
With the whole team assembled, the plan was discussed. The GPS coordinates of the elephants’ current location were given to Gerry and Jacques, who discussed their plan of approach while Ben, Silke and I sorted through our equipment. Ben would be darting them from Jacques’s helicopter, Silke and I would then monitor them until Ben joined us, and once loaded onto their respective trailers we would each travel with an elephant, to monitor and maintain its anaesthetic for the three-hour journey. We would be using a drug called Etorphine as the main anaesthetic, a highly potent and extremely dangerous opioid and the most feared drug in veterinary medicine. A few drops injected into a human, in an open wound, in the eye or in the mouth, would be fatal without administering the reversal agent. Depending on the depth of anaesthesia and the size of the animal, a mere 0.2 or 0.3 ml injected into an ear vein every twenty minutes was all that was required to keep a 3-tonne elephant asleep.
I had worked with Etorphine before, but never quite like this; I would be riding on a flatbed trailer across bumpy, bouncy tracks trying to maintain my balance by wedging myself between the elephant’s tusks while attempting to draw up a dose of Etorphine that would easily kill me if I accidentally injected myself. The thought alone made me perspire nervously. It was going to require all my concentration and focus to keep the elephant asleep and not myself. It was probably best to lay off the coffee; I didn’t want to risk a case of the shakes.
With their equipment checked and a plan in place, Ben and Jacques headed to the R44, while Gerry returned to his R22. Moments later the two helicopters were airborne, mere specks in the sky as they ventured to the mountains in search of the three elephants. The rest of us loaded into our respective vehicles and made for the edge of the dense bush that surrounded the base of this mountain region. The plan was to bring the elephants down to this area to dart them, but even if it worked, we would still have to use a JCB to clear a path through the bush for the trailers. Once loaded, the trailers would be exiting across three fields to join the main track out of the farm. These were each about 100 acres, one of tobacco, one of potatoes and the third a recently ploughed fallow field. With each trailer laden with an elephant, getting stuck was a real possibility. Once out of the farm, the journey would take us onto the main road to Hoedspruit, 10 miles away, through the town, and then onto the arterial road (speed limit 70 mph) for 12 miles, before turning off to the game reserve where we would have another fifteen-minute journey to the airfield, where they would then be unloaded and woken up. There were going to be challenges every step of the way, and to list the whole host of things that could potentially go wrong would be paralysing.
Once we were all in place, it became another waiting game, only this time we could gauge some of what was going on by watching the helicopters in the distance scouring the forest below them. Despite the GPS coordinates that Michelle had given them, the elephants seemed elusive among the dense flora. Back and forth the two helicopters went, working together like a pair of collie dogs combing the Welsh hills for sheep, but after half an hour they still hadn’t located them. It dawned on me how difficult the task would have been without one of them being collared: a needle in a haystack, utterly impossible.
Gerry landed briefly to recheck Michelle’s map and confirm their current location and then was gone again, but this time they had more success. Reporting back, Gerry informed us that they were at the bottom of a ravine by a stream that ran down from the mountain. As we watched from a distance the R22 disappeared as Gerry took it down into the ravine in an attempt to get this small bachelor herd moving. From our vantage point a mile away it was impossible to know how dangerous the manoeuvre was, but Jacques said afterwards that there wasn’t enough room for the R44 to do it. Just another day in the office for a wildlife helicopter pilot.
The manoeuvre worked and word came back that the elephants were on the move following the stream down the mountain. Gerry said afterwards that the animals were clearly familiar with the route, and so he knew his best chance of keeping them moving was to let them travel this path at their own pace, only occasionally intervening with gentle encouragement. His technique worked well and with Jacques now flanking him on the right, the elephants maintained a steady pace down the mountain in our direction. Most of the fears for the job had centred on this first part of the operation: getting the elephants to an area where they could be darted and accessed relatively easily. It had gone incredibly well. Now it was time for the relocation.
‘The first one’s darted,’ Jacques’s voice crackled across the radio. ‘Stand by, we’re trying to keep the group together.’
Even without hearing that message, an onlooker would have known something had changed. A frenzy descended around the helicopters as their course changed. No longer travelling at a slow, steady directional pace, they were now nipping back and forth circling an area no bigger than a couple of hundred metres in diameter. Meanwhile Johan signalled to his team to get ready, as we jumped onto the back of the truck. I would take the first elephant.
‘OK, he’s going down, we need a team in.’
Johan didn’t need telling twice. Starting up his truck, he bulldozed his own path through the trees and bushes, oblivious to the hazards he was creating for his passengers on the back as we dodged the thorny branches that threatened to whip or impale us. Time was of the essence: if the elephant came down on his trunk, he could suffocate. We headed in the direction of where Jacques’s R44 was hovering, but seemingly through ever thicker bush. Then suddenly we found ourselves in a clearing and there in front of us was the elephant, lying on his side against some small trees, his trunk safely coiled out in front of him. Seeing our arrival, Ben gave us the thumbs-up from the helicopter hovering 50 metres above us and with that they left in pursuit of the next two.
The initial sight of the elephant was momentarily paralysing, but I quickly regained my composure, conscious that I now had to step up to my role. I assessed my patient. He seemed stable, and very asleep. His thunderous snores would have been intimidating if I hadn’t experienced them the week before, and I felt grateful for that experience.
Happy that he was positioned well and safely asleep, Johan gathered the rest of his team together to head back to wait for the other two to be darted. He turned to me.
‘You happy with him? First top-up is usually after forty minutes – he was darted ten minutes ago so in thirty minutes. Dumisum will stay with you, he knows what he’s doing, but if the other two bulls come back for their friend, then
hide behind this one, and keep quiet and still. The eyes in the sky should protect you.’
His words highlighted the potential danger of the situation, and my mind was racing with scenarios as Johan and the rest of his team jumped back into the truck and disappeared out of sight. I suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable. Dumisum’s reaction was very different. Sitting by the elephant’s head, relaxing and enjoying himself, he pulled out his phone and started taking selfies with the animal, then handed me the phone and asked me to take one of him with it. As I stood back on the path to get all the elephant into the picture I felt very exposed.
‘Have you ever been charged by an elephant?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘Yeah, a couple of times. The first time, he came out of nowhere, a full-on charge. I sprinted for the nearest rock, but I didn’t think I’d make it, then suddenly the helicopter came in low and scared him off. I needed to change my clothes afterwards …’ He laughed again at the memory.
Logic told me we were pretty safe with two helicopters in the air so I tried to put stray thoughts out of my mind and concentrate on monitoring my patient, but there was a base level of fear that proved somewhat distracting; my senses were on full alert.
The helicopters seemed to be getting closer now. I looked down the track towards where the noise was coming from. I could see the R44 and … was that an elephant in the thicket below it? My whole body tensed nervously, crouching next to the rump of my patient. Surely this track would be the obvious route for his escape. Any moment now I might see him emerge, heading straight for us. I tried to maintain my composure in front of Dumisum as I focused on the elephant-like object 200 metres away. I was looking for any movement to allow me to positively identify it before I sounded the alarm. As the seconds passed and the helicopters moved away, I realized it had just been my mind playing tricks on me.
Panic over, I found myself relaxing into the role. I recorded his breathing: 4 breaths a minute. I found a pulse from an artery in his ear: 44 beats a minute. No trunk movement. I lifted up his ear to check his eye position and palpebral reflex. I jumped in shock to find the eye staring straight back at me. In most species the eye looks down when an animal reaches a good plane of anaesthesia. All my other tests told me he was stable and in a deep sleep, but his eye position was unnerving. This had to be normal for elephants, I thought, as I replaced the flap of his ear to cover the eye, mentally resolving not to scare myself with it again. I looked at my watch. It was 9.20 a.m. He had been darted at nine, so it would be another twenty minutes before his first top-up was due. I just had to wait and watch, but for the time being I had nothing to do. Somehow that didn’t seem quite right, so I did my checks again. Breaths: 4. Pulse: 44. Unsurprisingly, they hadn’t changed in the last two minutes. I reached for my radio to check it was on. It was; I hadn’t missed anything, no one had been trying to get hold of me.
Pull yourself together, I told myself. Your patient is stable; the other two will be darted shortly, and then the crowds will descend. Enjoy this moment while you can; being out here on your own in the African bush, with an anaesthetized elephant. This was something I could have only dreamt of as a fresh-faced eager nineteen-year-old veterinary student; seventeen years on, I was living that dream. As the realization sunk in of where I was and what I was doing, I smiled to myself and gently ran my hands over the elephant’s thick, leathery hide down to his feet, just letting all my senses soak up this experience.
Absorbed in the moment, I was unaware of when exactly it happened, but slowly it dawned on me that silence had descended. The helicopters had landed, which could only mean one thing: the other two elephants had been darted and the teams were with them. I knew it would only be a matter of time before our relative tranquillity was interrupted. I checked the elephant’s parameters again. Respiratory rate was now 5, and pulse was 48 beats per minute. Then Dumisum pointed out a slight curling of his trunk. I checked my watch: 9.40 a.m. He was obviously just getting slightly lighter, which corresponded with Johan’s time frame. I drew up my first dose of Etorphine – 0.3 ml – found the vein and injected it. I was grateful to be giving the first dose in this calm, quiet environment. I could focus fully on what I was doing, undistracted, but I knew the next time would be different. The elephant took a deeper breath, and then nothing for what seemed like an age. He was already responding to the Etorphine; his respiratory rate dropped to 3 breaths a minute and his heart rate down to 40 beats. This was the normal effect of the drug, and it was reassuring to see it. If the anaesthetic followed this pattern, my job would be a lot easier and less stressful.
The engine of a JCB suddenly broke the silence, followed by the cracking of trees as it ploughed a path towards us. Silke’s voice came through on the radio.
‘Jonathan, how are you doing? Is he still asleep? Is he still alive?’ The air of humour was evident in her tone.
‘All good,’ I replied. ‘Still asleep, he hasn’t walked off yet.’
‘Good. Have you topped him up yet? I’m on my way over to you, I need to swap elephants.’
‘Yeah, he had his first top-up a couple of minutes ago. He’s stable for you to take over.’ The rationale for the swap eluded me, but I wasn’t going to question it.
Moments later Silke joined me. I briefed her on the anaesthetic, and after she had pointed me in the direction of the other elephants, which had been darted together, I headed off to find them.
The scene that greeted me there couldn’t have been more different from the quiet serenity I had just left. There were people everywhere, maybe fifty in all, some with chainsaws, some with ropes, some moving rocks and branches, some gathered round the fallen elephants with clipboards watching every breath or furiously taking notes, others just spectating. It was organized chaos.
Incredibly, these two elephants had gone down virtually simultaneously, facing each other like two drunken buddies commiserating with each other on how ill they felt before passing out. This was obviously down to the skill with which Gerry and Jacques had managed to keep them together, but it also highlighted the bond between the two elephants. Concerningly, though, one of them had gone down on his chest and was wedged between some small trees. In this position, all the abdominal organs were being pushed against his diaphragm, inhibiting his ability to breath, and if it wasn’t corrected quickly it could prove fatal. The chainsaws were being used in a desperate attempt to clear the area around him so he could be pulled onto his side. Ben and Johan were actively involved in that operation, so it was the other elephant that I needed to oversee. Laura had temporarily taken charge of him. With a respiratory rate of 4 and heart rate of 40, the same as the elephant I had just left, this one too was stable and sleeping soundly. I imagined the mayhem that would ensue if one of them woke up with all these people around. I checked the pouch round my waist containing the needles, syringes and drugs.
With the other elephant now freed, lying on his side, and stable, Ben came over to touch base with me.
‘Good job,’ I said. ‘So far, so good!’
‘Gerry was insane going into that ravine, but he knows what he’s doing and it did the job. How was that other elephant?’
‘Sleeping like a baby. Silke’s with him now.’
‘Great. OK, so they’ll get the JCB to clear a path for the trailers and then we can load them up and head out. Oh, and I darted this one at about twenty past nine so he should need his first top-up at ten, in about fifteen minutes.’
‘Perfect,’ I replied.
All went well, and in less than an hour the JCB had cleared a wide enough path through the thick brush of trees, shrubs and bushes for the first trailer to navigate a way through with the crane. By around 10.30 the first elephant’s legs had been roped together, and he was slowly hoisted into the air, with two people supporting his trunk, and a team of others helping to direct his body into the right position so that he could be carefully lowered onto the trailer. Car tyres were placed under his head and hind legs to offer some cushioning, and once eve
ryone was happy with his position he was strapped down. The straps were more to prevent him slipping during the journey than to hold him down; if he woke up, he would have little trouble freeing himself from them.
With the first elephant successfully loaded, it was now the turn for our one. The first trailer was positioned so its crane could be used for loading him onto the second trailer. The timing was perfect: it was 10.45 a.m., and I had just given him his next top-up, which meant the stimulation of the move would be less likely to rouse him. The procedure was repeated, and within ten minutes Lotter (as he had been named) was safely loaded. I made sure his ears and trunk were positioned well, while others busied themselves securing him into position. The move had brought his respiratory rate up to 5 and his heart rate to 44, but this would soon settle down. I was joined by Andrew and Laura, Andrew noting the readings, and supervising the timing and dosage of the Etorphine, and Laura to monitor the animal’s breathing – and to inject me with Naltrexone if I accidentally injected myself. We settled ourselves down for the three-hour journey ahead.
Slowly we set off, the driver carefully negotiating his way along the newly created path. He drove hesitantly, constantly looking in his rear-view mirror to catch my eye to ensure that everything was going smoothly. He was clearly more used to transporting a cargo that didn’t run the risk of either suddenly getting off the trailer or deciding to join him in the cab if it woke up. After ten minutes we came out of the bush to a large clearing where we were shortly joined by the other two trucks. All three elephants had been safely loaded. The operation so far seemed to be going very smoothly, but the most dangerous stage was yet to come: taking them onto the open road.
Once again, people busied themselves around the trailers, with final checks on each elephant to ensure they were secure for the journey. Others took the opportunity to pour buckets of water over them in an attempt to keep them cool in the ever-increasing midday heat. Silke, Ben and I exchanged updates on our patients. Meanwhile Jacques had once again taken to the sky, this time with the camera crew to get some aerial footage. With everything set and everyone happy it was time to set off. Lyle would be at the front of the convoy with the escort vehicle, and now went round the three trailers in turn to give his final instructions: essentially that if we had any problems we should wave hysterically and get on the radio.
The Travelling Vet Page 10