The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild

by Lawrence Anthony

  Try walking in thick bush on a moonless or cloudy night without a flashlight and see what I mean. It’s so black you can’t see anything … and I mean anything. Unless you can navigate by the stars (provided there is no cloud cover) you’ll be lost, maybe even panic-stricken, within minutes.

  I once crashed on the quad-bike at night about four miles from the camp. I lost my flashlight in the accident and had to walk home in the dark. I still remember that journey with trepidation today. I was completely blind and walked through the bush with both hands in front of me so at least I knew if I was going to hit something. I could have fallen into a hyena den and wouldn’t have known until I woke up – or more likely, didn’t.

  It took hours to get back and I was a bruised, nervous, thorn-scratched wreck when I did. What concerned me most as I blindly stumbled along was that every other living creature around was watching my antics as clear as day. To any predator I would have appeared as a wounded or disabled animal. Twice, when the bush seemed to suddenly come alive, I frantically fired shots into the air with my pistol. I was lucky to get home.

  So how did our ancestors survive the eons without keenly developed night vision? I know plenty of scientists and not one of them has ever been able to explain satisfactorily to me how puny, tasty, night-blind Homo sapiens endured so spectacularly when everything around us had to have excellent night vision if they were to make it through a summer, never mind evolve.

  Yet despite my reservations, David jumped up on Gunda Gunda and set off into the dusk. It was only when he was gone that I realized he had forgotten his radio.

  I went back to the house, made some phone calls and then walked out and sat on the lawn overlooking the reserve trying to spot David’s flashlight blinking on the far boundary when I heard a low moan crescendo into a rasping roar that made my blood chill. Max also froze staring out into the dark, alert.

  ‘It can’t be,’ I thought, and then I heard it again, oscillating eerily across the wilderness. This time there was no mistake. It was the call of a male lion marking his territory. As we had no resident lions on the reserve, this meant an itinerant animal had broken in.

  But even worse, the call was suddenly reciprocated, a curdling growl that bounced off the cliffs. That meant there were at least two lions roaming on the reserve. And of all places, the roars were echoing from the western boundary – exactly where David was driving along without headlights. They must have come in through the fence while the power was down.

  Out in the dark every creature on Thula would have heard the ominous call, for it was death itself calling, beckoning out for you.

  Nana too would have heard it. I imagined her standing frozen, ears flared, trunk up, smelling the air to work out where the call came from and thinking of the youngsters in the herd. Her tactics and habits would now change, as would everything else on the reserve.

  I bent down and patted Max, reassuring him.

  It sometimes happened that lions broke out of the nearby Umfolozi game reserve and went walkabout, raiding cattle and generally striking fear far and wide in the villages. When lions are on the loose they totally control the countryside. They’re difficult to corner and find cattle or other livestock exceptionally easy prey. If they become too much of a problem, they are usually hunted down and killed by rangers.

  The breakouts are a result of pressure exerted, often forcibly, on young males by the dominant lion to quit the pride. An alpha male will not tolerate competition and once male cubs mature, they are chased off. However, with all territories in the reserve already taken by other resident prides, the youngsters are often forced outside the protected areas and into the human domain.

  These young males, usually brothers, are absolutely formidable and will stay out until they are older and stronger, all the while gaining hunting and fighting skills. They then go back into the reserve and challenge a patriarch for his territory and his harem. And at two against one, they’re often successful.

  I love lions, one of Africa’s most charismatic and iconic creatures, but I wished this pair had chosen somewhere else to do their ‘gap year’. We weren’t ready for them at Thula Thula just yet.

  However, my prime concern was for David. While he was on the tractor with its noise and greasy fumes he was relatively safe. But he was looking for an electrical fault, and to find it he would have to get off the vehicle and walk along the fence, sometimes for long distances. I knew he was carrying a small torch but no rifle, and walking in the bush at night unarmed with lions in the immediate vicinity is crazy stuff. If we had heard the lions earlier he certainly wouldn’t have gone out and I was hoping against hope that he had also heard the calls. But Gunda Gunda is pretty noisy and I couldn’t bank on that.

  I called Bheki who was at the rangers’ house – he had also heard the big cats – and told him David was out alone. Bheki shook his head and clicked his tongue. I could see he was also worried.

  ‘We have to go to him,’ I said. ‘Please get my rifle and bring plenty of bullets.’

  I wasn’t looking forward to the march in the dark but there was a rough outside dirt track running parallel to the fence for much of the way where there was little danger as the big cats were inside the reserve. If we were lucky we would find David and the hole the lions had dug.

  Then we heard it again: that spine-chilling roar. It was close, perhaps a mile or two away. By now I was acutely alarmed – the lions must have scented the tractor, but would they also smell the human driver? And just how hungry were they? They may not have fed for several days.

  The answering roar came back – this time even closer.

  ‘Bheki, we must move faster,’ I urged.

  The Zulu grunted. He was as concerned as I was. David was extremely popular on Thula Thula.

  Gripping our rifles tight, we broke into a jog – well, as fast as you can go in the darkness. Even with flashlights it is always difficult out in the bush at night. Neither of us noticed our numerous trips and falls over rocks and bush roots. There was one aim only: to get to David before the lions did.

  About two miles later we saw a dim flickering light and to our intense joy it was David at a gap in the fence with Gunda Gunda chugging away close by.

  I was about to yell a warning, but he beat me to it.

  ‘Lion! Big ones!’ he shouted, then pointed to the hole. ‘They came in there. I left the tractor running to keep them away. Their spoor is all over the place.’

  Relief washed over me. This guy was indestructible. ‘Leave the tractor here for the night and walk back with us on the outside path.’

  We closed the hole where the lions had dug under the fence pushing up the wires and shorting the electrical strands, which got the power up effectively trapping the lion in the reserve, and walked home. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

  Telephone etiquette in the bush allows calls only after dawn. The sun was barely up before I had the Parks Board section ranger on the line.

  ‘Have you lost a couple of lions?’ I asked.

  ‘Ja,’ he replied. ‘Two got out day before yesterday and have been causing chaos around a couple of villages. They’re on the move, going your way actually. Have you seen them?’

  ‘They’re both on Thula,’ I replied. ‘Do you want to come and get them?’

  ‘We’re on our way. Try and keep tabs on them until we get there.’

  All the reserve staff were told to be extra cautious and the work teams were sent home. None of our employees had experience with lions so we weren’t taking any chances.

  While we were waiting for them to arrive I went out to find the herd. I picked up their tracks and shortly afterwards found fresh elephant dung within yards of fresh lion scat. They had crossed paths with the big cats but there was no real risk as an elephant herd is far too formidable for lions, however hungry they were. Provided of course the youngsters didn’t wander off.

  I couldn’t find them and went back to the house. Standing on the front lawn staring out into the bu
sh, I remembered a harrowing incident last year when a hunting lioness charged Craig Reed, the senior ranger at Umfolozi. He was out on horseback with his five-months pregnant wife, Andrea, when the giant cat suddenly charged out of a reed bed at them. Craig’s horse was spooked and bolted, but the lioness had already targeted Andrea and gave chase. An expert rider, she galloped through the bush at full speed. Scenting the danger, the horse needed no encouragement and was in full flight when Andrea’s foot suddenly slipped out the stirrup and she started sliding out of the saddle.

  As she fell she somehow managed to grab hold of the stirrup and was dragged through the bush as the horse galloped on with the lioness in hot pursuit. She watched horrified as the lioness got closer and closer until it was at her feet, and then, resigned to her fate, she let go. Amazingly, the lioness jumped right over her sprawling body, and got her claws into the horse.

  By now Craig had managed to turn his horse and frantically rode up firing shots into the air, scaring the lioness off. Thankfully Andrea was OK, although badly bruised and shaken, and in true frontierswoman tradition, gave birth to a fine baby boy four months later.

  The moral of the story is always to treat these magnificent creatures with absolute respect. I pondered this over a hurried breakfast and then met up with Bheki and his men to follow the spoor from the hole where the big cats had come in. But Thula Thula’s hard clay soil makes tracking extremely difficult when it’s dry and after a few hours the trail had disappeared altogether. There also weren’t any vultures circling above, which meant the lions hadn’t made a kill last night. That would have made our lives much easier.

  The Parks Board arrived and we searched the reserve for two days, alternately picking up and losing the trail until a fence check revealed a big hole under the wire. They were gone. We later heard that they had returned to Umfolozi.

  A few weeks later I was in Umfolozi on a night drive, when I asked the driver to pull over for a ‘pit stop’, having drunk several cups of coffee. It was pitch-black and as I opened the door he said casually, ‘Better check first,’ and flashed a spotlight through the open door.

  There lying in the long grass, just ten yards from where I was getting out, were two big male lions. I swear they were the same youngsters that had been on our reserve – it was close to our boundary and I simply had that uncanny feeling. We had just seen the resident male, a giant beast sporting an impressive golden mane, with his harem less than a mile away.

  No doubt these two had returned from their walkabout at Thula Thula, hard and lean, to challenge him for the spoils.

  chapter sixteen

  The southern white rhino is very big. Surprisingly big – especially if you are on foot and one steps out of the bush in front of you. It’s the second-largest land mammal on earth and can easily weigh three tons. Prized by poachers for its horn, of which the one just in front of me had a particularly fine pair.

  We had just had three delivered to the reserve and this female, still doped from the sedative, had groggily wandered away from the other two. This posed a big problem. The elephants were close by and unknowingly she was ambling directly towards them. We had to cut her off – and trying to dissuade a mountain of muscle and horn still hungover from travel tranquillizers from going in her chosen direction was not something I relished.

  ‘David,’ I called into the radio. ‘I’ve found her. Can you bring the Landy across? We’re at the south end of the airstrip.’

  ‘Roger, boss,’ came the instant reply. ‘Thula Thula international airport it is!’

  I watched this beautiful creature not fifteen yards away walking unsteadily on short dumpy legs which could usually propel her into an unbelievably fast charge in no time. Clad in a prehistoric suit of armour impervious to almost anything except a bullet, she tottered along, completely unaware of my presence. A magnificent 40-inch horn like a sabre at the tip of her elongated head added gravitas to an already imposing form. This was the stuff poachers dream about.

  Max stood by me transfixed by the beast. Bush-hardened as he was, he was not used to rhino this close and apart from his twitching nose taking in the scent, he didn’t move.

  I kept a wary eye on the herd browsing upwind when I heard a soft sound behind me and turned to see Mnumzane coming up the airstrip downwind, testing the air.

  Damn it! Of all the bad luck … we were too late; he must have caught either my or the rhino’s scent and started to slowly walk in our direction.

  ‘David,’ I whispered into the radio, ‘Mnumzane’s right here.’

  ‘So am I, boss,’ he replied as the Landy bounced out of the bush onto the airstrip. Giving Mnumzane a wide birth, he pulled up next to me and jumped out leaving the motor idling.

  ‘Somehow we have to keep Mnumzane and the herd away from her,’ I said pointing to the dazed rhino. ‘They’re too close. I really don’t like this at all.’

  ‘I brought the horse feed you wanted. That should delay him for a while,’ he replied.

  ‘Yeah, but the smell might also bring the other elephants over. We’re going to have to shield the rhino with the Land Rover, put ourselves between her and any elephant that gets too inquisitive. But first let’s try and get Mnumzane out of the way.’

  David jumped into the back of Landy and sliced the first of the large sacks of horse pellets with his Leatherman knife. He placed the open bag at the tailgate and crouched down next to it. ‘I hope they like this stuff.’

  ‘We’ll soon find out,’ I said, getting behind the wheel and driving slowly towards Mnumzane.

  David was making light of it, but this was a deadly serious business. Elephants will usually only bother rhinos if they don’t get out of their way – which rhinos invariably do. However, our latest addition was still shaking off the effects of sedatives injected to pacify her during the journey to Thula Thula, and thus would not be able to take in her surroundings. If she stumbled into Mnumzane or the herd … well, anything could happen.

  What we planned to do was divert Mnumzane’s attention from the groggy creature by giving him a taste of the protein-rich pellets and then enticing him as far away as possible by laying a food trail. It was dangerous work as David would be completely exposed on the open back of the pickup as he poured the feed out to excited elephants following just yards behind. Mnumzane was only a teenager, but he still weighed about three and a half tons and we had to be very careful.

  I cut across in front of the youngster then reversed back to where he stood confused and a little petulant about the noisy intrusion into his space. David chucked out some feed and I drove off a short distance. To my dismay, he ignored the offering and resumed his meander up the airstrip towards the rhino.

  ‘Reverse again!’ shouted David, holding the bag ready to pour. ‘But this time get much closer.’

  ‘OK … but be bloody careful.’

  I gingerly edged the vehicle backwards … ‘Closer, closer!’ David called, keeping a wary watch on the young bull.

  Suddenly, not liking what was going on, Mnumzane lifted his head aggressively and turned sharply towards us, ears spread wide.

  ‘Just a little bit more …’ said David ignoring the elephant’s blatant warning, and just as I thought we were too close he quickly tipped the bag and I slammed the vehicle into first, easing off with David laying a long trail of feed away from the rhino.

  Mnumzane watched us go; relaxing his flared ears and unfurling his trunk to smell the pile of pellets on the ground. He snuffled some into his mouth and a few seconds later he was piling in like a glutton. The ploy had worked.

  ‘That will keep him busy and we’ve plenty more chow if the others come across,’ said David hopping off the back and getting into the passenger seat, shoving Max between us.

  At the mention of the other elephants, I looked up to where they were grazing about forty yards away. As I did so, Nana’s trunk suddenly snaked up. Even though she was upwind, elephants have such a superb sense of smell that they can pick up minute eddies swirling
ever so slightly against the prevailing current.

  ‘Here we go,’ said David. ‘She’s smelt something. Either the rhino or the food, and now she’s inquisitive. Just pray that she doesn’t come this way.’

  But of course she did. With the herd following, she started moving towards us, checking the air continuously, sniffing for the source of the scent.

  ‘Damn it!’ We now had the herd coming in on one side of the poor rhino and Mnumzane on the other. Even worse, they weren’t advancing in single file which would have been much more manageable. Nana was in the centre with Frankie, her daughter Marula and firstborn son Mabula on the left, while Nana’s young son Mandla and stately daughter Nandi spread out on the right.

  Straight in front of them, still secreted in the bush was the woozy rhino, which to my dismay had begun settling down for a rest, making herself even more vulnerable.

  ‘OK,’ said David, ‘let’s do it again, draw them away with the feed.’

  He leapt onto the back of the Land Rover and this time cut open two bags and got ready to pour a trail while I reversed in.

  The reaction of the herd was interesting. They picked up the scent and cautiously came towards us while David scooped pellets out as fast as possible. Mabula and Marula stopped and started sniffing at the strange fare but the rest, led by Nana and Frankie, continued on, slowly following the trail left behind the Land Rover.

  Then – of all things – the Land Rover stalled and I couldn’t restart it. Thankfully the cabin rear window had long since lost its glass and with Nana almost on top of him David somehow squeezed his large body through the tiny gap and dived onto Max in the passenger seat in a tangle of limbs.

  Then the elephants were on us. We were surrounded.

  David turned and stared at the miniature window that he had somehow scrunched through. ‘Don’t think I could do that again,’ he laughed. ‘Amazing what a shot of adrenalin can do.’