The final countdown

That’s it. Now I’ve got exactly a week left in South Africa.

It strikes me every time I think how soon I’ll be home. I feel like the days are passing faster and faster. There’s no more “oh, I’ll do that later, I still have plenty of time” – now things have to get done. Wrap up the data in Excel, make sure it’s sorted right, put all the formulas in the comments and keep the values only. Put a festive ribbon around it and tie a note “ready for R” on it. Scary stuff.

But I rather finish my data management quickly so that over a day or two I can just sit outside, enjoy the warm sun and let my thoughts wander slowly over the past 4 months, recalling all the precious moments this park had created. How I got “stuck in traffic” because an elephant decided to feed intensively on an overhanging tree at the road, or how I was hiding behind a bush while my guard whistled away a group of white rhinos that had decided to spend their morning on my experimental plot. How I spend a day on the field under a constant watch of fifteen giraffes, ten zebras and a couple of warthogs or how I needed to stop weekly at a wild dog boma to collect scat from the enclosure while the dogs were running around me.

Or just the simple yet exclusive everyday life. Sharing the garden with lovely samangos, listening to their chatter and exchanging curious looks with their youngest, and going to bed with bushbabies screaming and elephants feeding and rumbling just outside my room.

One quickly forgets how lucky he/she is. Gets used to the luxury of everyday sighting of unique African wildlife and getting the first-hand experience of work in a diverse savannah environment with highly endangered species like rhino and wild dog. Has to remind him/herself to stop and appreciate the moment of seeing a wake of vultures drinking at the river or a herd wildebeest resting in the shade of tamboti trees.

The fact that the time literally flew past me proves that even though I got a feeling of monotony and weariness from time to time, that was not the case. South Africa always provided with high class entertainment, even outside the park – for example, last time we visited Hluhluwe town for shopping, we saw a truck with massive speakers playing loud electro-with-African-beats music and a proper crowd around it, selling toast bread. Or Cape Town, where “quick and painless abortion” leaflets can be found on the walls of the old castle and where pubs share their backyards with seals and penguins.

After all that, I can almost understand why South African bureaucracy is such a struggle. Why they have to make sure foreigners will not stay too long and even deport them if necessary.

Because if they spend too much time around, they will join the diversity, get a strong taste of the local lifestyle and meet wonderful, friendly, open-minded people. And they might as well fall in love with the place that offers a never ending experience. Which will make them want to stay.

Park-hopping

It was time for a little bit of leisure again. After all, Cape Town happened almost more than a month ago and I’ve been working hard on the field and in the office ever since. I was lucky – a South African friend of mine was on her days off so we teamed up. The deal was the following: she brings a car and a tent, I bring my pleasurable presence and freshly baked muffins. Swell.

First stop was Mkhuze reserve. We knew a bunch of people there that generously invited us to stay with them. Their hospitality was comfortable – camping in their backyard, boiling tea water in their kettles, brushing teeth in their sinks. As a thank you for their kindness, we fixed dinner. Sounded promising – take away pizzas from a highway pub, named The Baobab Inn. Or at least it said “pizza” on the menu.

(a cold plastic thing, united with the cardboard box)

Though, for the people that have lived in the bush for a while, even the worst pizza feels like Christmas. I have to admit, after a warm-up on the braai which added smoky flavour to the plastic cheese and having a couple of drinks, the food was actually acceptable. Such a pleasant dinner was apparently highly inspirational. Someone suddenly decided it’s a perfect night for clubbing! Of course, everyone else thought it was a brilliant idea – didn’t matter we were sitting by the fire in the middle of a nature reserve, surrounded only by acacias and giraffes, with closest village being about an hour drive away. It had to happen. So with the windows down and music volume up, singing and dancing to the latest hits from the East Coast Radio and almost hitting a passing leopard, we drove out to the local cricket club.

Which was closed.

Shock and disappointment that followed killed our party mood and by the time we reached the park gate everyone was asleep which meant the night was officially finished.

Three hours later, sun got up and off we went to explore the reserve. We walked a 18km long transect in the wilderness, counting all the impala, gnu, rhino, lion, giraffe and other animals in our sight. It was a part of the annual game count in the park, estimating species population sizes. Observing the wildlife on foot, noticing all the details, tracks and minerals in the changing landscape of open savannah and closed bushveld allowed experiencing Mkhuze in a most unique way. Feeling it could not get better than that, my friend and I decided to move on.

Walking was a priority and we choose False Bay as our next destination, a reserve with no dangerous game and with an odd name. Especially because there is a pretty, natural, real bay stretching over the whole eastern part of the park. I loved that place, it was a mixture of Sweden and Mediterranean. Not the leopard tracks and scat, or the black mamba watching from the shore and all the red duikers hopping on the forest litter. But the vegetation, the smell and the landscape. Felt like home.

We liked it so much we had to return the following day, and we persuaded another friend to join. After 16 km of forest trail, we put down a picnic at the lake and took a series of selfies. Good times.

When I go for a run

It does get a bit frustrating sometimes, being unable to just go out of the camp for a walk, climb a couple of nearby hills, follow the closest river. It’s absolute wilderness out there, with lions and crocs and elephants behind every corner. And I don’t have a permission for carrying a rifle with me. So I am basically stuck in the camp when I’m not on the field. Which doesn’t really improve your physique,  sitting at the desk for 5 days a week.

Thus, I consider my options (that are very few)

1. work out in an improvised fitness studio (which is a blanket on the floor of my room), using my own heaviness to carry out the toughest of the weight-lifting exercises

2. run around the (small) football court just outside the camp fence

3. risk my own – and someone else’s – life and run further, on the road going through the whole cluster of accommodations, surrounded by thick bush crowded with African wildlife

I avoid the first option as often as I can, and usually try number 3. I got more and more courageous and actually ran alone for a couple of times. I avoided late afternoon hours, when things start crawling out of the bushes, and it worked pretty well. I only met a couple of vehicles and sometimes even some park staff members on foot. 

One day, though, I re-considered solo-run. I’m practically wearing biologists’ goggles all the time. Meaning, I see the world differently, I look for signs, tracks, marks, structure, forms, life. Everywhere, always. So it happened I noticed these perfect (and fresh) tracks in the dust by the road, not far from the camp’s fence. Lion, or at least leopard (but I say a lion). Exciting!!! But hey, worrying too.

Next day, my (worried) friend voluntarily joined me and as we began running I enthusiastically started explaining where I had seen the tracks and how I was sure we’d find them again. Still in the vicinity of the camp, looking at the dust at my feet not to miss the pawmarks, full of fresh spleen, I suddenly got pulled back. A glance was enough to send me darting back to the camp. 

There was a massive elephant bull just in front of us – we were about to run into it if it wasn't for my friend alertness. So the run had to finish before it even started.

For a while, I (we) were discouraged, and it happened that my companion left before we could re-gain our self-assurance. Which brings me back to the beginning – I’m on my own now.

Today, after hours of computer work, I thought I’d have to accept the fitness option after all. There was a family of tranquil zebras in the middle of the football court that clearly didn’t want to be disturbed, especially by a sound of a rusty lead locomotive, so no. 2 was difficult. After deciding to be rudely inconsiderate, invading their privacy and feeling honestly bad about it, it turned out they were not even bothered by me. Well, the baby got up, its mother’s eyes stayed glued on me for the first 3 loops, but by the round 5, everyone was busy chilling again. So there I was, running around zebras.

:)

Until I heard trees breaking. And saw majestic white tusks contrasting the green foliage.

And I was gone again, sprinting to the safety of my room and to the option number one.

The Return of the Wild Dogs

In one of the previous posts I wrote about the wild dog situation in this park, or rather in South Africa. How they are kept in a boma while waiting to be translocated (taken into another protected area), under special care of people responsible for their well-being, and therefore the well-being of the whole species.

The boma received a pack of nine dogs, with a strong hierarchical structure and healthy relationships. It would have been an illusion to expect the events to turn into everyone’s favour, but no one had expected that less than half of the pack survived – at the end, there were only three of them left.

Misfortune had it all happen, from escapes from the enclosure to fights with outside packs and even other carnivores (hyenas and lions). The dogs were constantly under pressure, stressed out and anxious. The events created tension inside the pack and brought detrimental consequences. Dogs that made it to the end were no longer connected. They have forgotten they were once brothers and sisters, uncles and nieces. Final separation was a benefit for everyone.

The female dog, Luna, was released in the park. She was the youngest and the most beautiful wild dog I’ve ever seen. With such attributes, it shouldn’t be too difficult for her to find a mate and form a new pack on the already familiar grounds. The two males, senior Chance and young Calvin, were taken to another reserve where they would be bonded with local females and hopefully form a new pack together. 

At least at that point, things went well. All of them were found healthy, so Luna was running into the bushes soon after capture, and the boys were ready to be taken to their new home only a bit later.

With an endangered species such as wild dog, conservation is arduous. It’s like climbing Mt Everest in flip-flops, under a constant assault of screaming ravens. Wild dogs are not like other carnivores, such as lions, which can be kept in breeding centres and eventually re-introduced to suitable protected areas. To “breed” dogs, you need to consider their complex social structure, their dispersive abilities, the food and habitat requirements, the presence of other (competitive) carnivores, the origin, age and personality of every individual dog. Which needs lots of careful planning and involvement of an array of different people. From managers and park owners to ecologists, vets and pilots. 

Yet, all that effort can still not promise a happy ending.

The three dogs are now in a better situation than many others will ever be. Knowing they will be looked after for the rest of their lives by a team of dedicated monitors, gives me comfort. They will always stay in my mind as valuable example of the difficult but rewarding wildlife conservation in South Africa.

Photo by Courtney M., releasing the boys in the other reserve

The Wednesday sparkles

It was supposed to be a normal field day last Wednesday. And it was, except for some moments that made it slightly more interesting than usual.

It began with lions. Just as we left the car, roaring arouse from the environs. A closer look revealed its whereabouts – three big black-maned males were calling from the other side of the river, having a good overview of their kingdom, displaying their power. We stood there for a while admiring them through the binoculars, so mesmerized that we almost didn’t notice a lioness walking towards us. However, before we could decide whether it’s safer to retrieve to the car she already disappeared into the bushes, avoiding us smelly humans.

So we started field work, retrieving cameras and measuring visibility around the experimental plots. Soon the barking gnu was around, as always, telling us we’re not welcome on his sacred land and we should damn get out of there. He keeps a safety distance from us, but insists on his cause. It made me wonder.

When I first met the gnu I thought he was just upset with us because we took over his lunch spot, walked over his favourite resting place and invaded his privacy in general. But usually a gnu would just walk away and find a new place that suits it. The reason for that particular gnu to stay there, barking at us, had to be more personal.

And then I saw it. A skull, bleached and old, yet beautiful. The skull of his beloved, the one that was taken away from him before they could they could together chase the warthogs, party with zebras and stare at the full moon, hoof in hoof. So he stays there with her, with the memories and sorrow, waiting for them to come back and show him the way to the constellation where she awaits. Anyone else visiting their gardens is not welcome.

We kindly hurried up with work and left him and his grief behind.

After arriving to Mbuzane, I had a fascinating conversation with another researcher. She was telling me about her work - about rhino defecation habits and extracting smell from objects like their dung. I learn that the same substances found in their poo are used in food industry, just in different proportions. In other words, you can re-create rhino poo smell by using food flavours they use in production of, for example, Pringles. Good to know.

Still processing the thought, I see Sporro, the Jack Russell terrier living at Mbhuzane camp, walking proudly towards us, carrying something in his mouth. Maybe a dead bird, or a toad? No. He was bringing us a pair of testicles. Our reaction must have discouraged him as he embarrassingly lowered his head (still holding his treasure) and left our giggling group, confused by our disapproval and disappointed by our ungratefulness.

Freshly impressed by those bizarre moments, I almost forgot how that day had started. But as the sun went down the three lions started roaring again. Meaning they stayed at their viewpoint for the whole day.

Either they were too lazy to move or they couldn’t come to a decision of where to go fetch the next meal – the hopeless gnu or the juicy carrion around our camp…

A typical day on the field

I go to the field two times a week. I set up new experimental plots and retrieve data from my camera traps. Sounds easy, but actually it’s quite some work. Besides, my experiments are running on the other side of the park, iMfolozi. It’s almost as far from my home, Hilltop, as possible – so far, that the landscape transforms from hilly to flat and the weather changes from warm and moist to hot and dusty. It’s (only) about 40 km distance, but driving slowly through the whole park makes the daily commute quite a journey.

Luckily, I have a possibility to spend a night at another research station in iMfolozi, called Mbuzane (which I still don’t know how to spell correctly since it’s a Zulu name), reducing the time spend in the car and allowing me to be a little slower on the field. 

So I pack food, pyjamas and socks and say goodbye to Hilltop for the 2 days. The same do my companions, a guard and a helping colleague.

We hit the road just around sunrise, which means we're basically having a morning game drive. Early morning is best time to see the animals and we are guaranteed to see common stuff like impala, nyala, zebra, giraffe and rhino. However, it happens sometimes that also African icons such as lions, elephants, kudus or wild dogs cross my path!

(Though, I don’t like to see elephants that much, because they often block the road with their massive butts and you can stay trapped behind them for hours.)

When we reach the area where we’re about to work, I pick a location that looks suitable for my experiment (an open grazing lawn). Since I’ve been doing that for 2 months now, I can not only decide on suitability of a lawn from the driver’s seat but also if the grass looks appropriate. With cameras and poles, measurement tapes, datasheets and a panga (South African version of machete), we leave the car and set up the experiment. We basically spend the day deciding where to put the cameras, pretending to be elephants and dragging dead logs around, and trying to identify species of completely dried out, trampled and miserably-looking tufts of grass.

Finally, with the cameras running, we leave to Mbuzane.

It’s a station powered by a generator, with little (if any) hot water and extremely basic room for researchers (furnished only by three beds). However it offers much more than meets the eye – close feeling of the wilderness, spectacular views and relaxed, friendly atmosphere. It’s a good place to be in after a day of hard work in thorny, hot and dusty savannah, to chill out and have a sundowner (such as cold cider) on the rock, enjoying the view of the buffalos gathering at the iMfolozi river on the background of magnificent African sunset.

Morning brings another day of work and with the bakkie (a pick-up truck) full of equipment, we go back to the field, pick up the cameras from an old plot, do some more boring measurements and drive back North, already looking forwards to come back to the field again the following week.

Pinotage

One thing a visitor of the Western Cape should definitely have on its to-do list is wine tasting. This is not only my personal judgement, the tasting is an activity approved and suggested by several tourist guides to South Africa. They find it essential and dedicate at least a few pages to describe what a unique experience each Capetonian winery offers and how each of them deserves attention of the thirsty visitors, both local and foreign.

Just outside the city of Cape Town, the coastal rocky landscape transforms into a land of vineyards. Rolling over the hills and valleys with only individual wine estates interrupting the grapevine lines and little historical towns like Franschoek nested between the mountains, they reach further than the eye can see.

After reading through a thick brochure representing each wine estate as absolutely necessary to visit, we picked two that we found most intriguing and most different. Both were presenting their wine collection in a very professional way, using sophisticated vocabulary (most of which we didn’t understand) and offering the wines with a selection of chocolates, cheeses and salamis. In turn, we posed questions about the grape shapes, barrel colours and estate maintenance. We swirled the wine, judged the colour, sniffed it and took a sip, discussed the aftertaste and rated it like professional wine tasters.

Wines were amazing – even though most of them were mixtures of three, four or even five different grape sorts. I was especially impressed by Pinotage – rich and smoky, with notes of tropical fruit. A real jewel among South African wines.

After we couldn’t fit any more bottles in the car trunk, we continued the journey over the mountains, back to the eastern coastline and towards the city. The main arterial towards Cape Town was constructed on a sandy beach, with the ocean almost spilling over the road. White sand dunes with tufts of lush green grass and famous fynbos, and seagulls foraging for crabs among them. However, the view offered by the opposite side was highly contrasting.

Shanty town made of plastic, metal and cardboard, a mesh of electricity wires above it and swirls of smoke rising from burning rubbish piles. People slowly moving in the shadows of the sheds and avoiding laundry lines stretched across the roads, living on a minimal income, earned only once a year by doing some kind of seasonal job. One like harvesting wine grapes...

And Pinotage suddenly got a darker tone of redness.

Breakfast with penguins, supper with porcupines and a glass of wine with seals

At the very tip of the old African continent, sheltered by the mighty Table Mountain and the rough Atlantic ocean striking its coast, lies Cape Town. The colourful city where I believe Mr Tutu got the idea of the calling his people “the rainbow nation”. There’s everything for everyone, not only for the locals but also the tourists. So I decided it would be nice to see that wonder with my own eyes.

Staying for a month in KwaZulu Natal was already quite different from my first African experience (Kenya), however Cape Town brought me straight back to Europe. With the city structure, shops, parks, markets, lifestyle and food. 
But I was told there’s more than that, I heard rumours about wild penguins, whales, great whites and seals! Knowing that, the city life was almost boring. Climbing the Table Mountain didn’t bring much excitement – the Proteas were out of bloom, the weather was horrible and the view…well it was a view of a city. Only dassies (fluffy giant-hamster looking creatures with a rat character) improved the impression. Our squad of biologists therefore decided to move on to the Cape peninsula for some close encounters with the wildlife. And we got quite close indeed!

In Simon’s Town, we had breakfast with penguins. We bought fresh buns, some cheese and fruits and drove off to Boulder’s Bay, a place that is home to a decent colony of jackass penguins. Some of them even had babies! So we enjoyed our first meal of the day a few meters from them – the day could not have started better.

The next wildlife experience happened unintentionally. We were desperately in search for a bar to be a bit social and simply hang around people – because most of us were used to living with a very restricted group of conspecifics Just before giving up finding any signs of life, two locals sent us to Polana. That was a bar with a view. But not any kind of view – the bar was only a couple of meters away from the sea shore, where fat Cape fur seals were chilling after the whole day of fishing. Waves crushing on the rocks made a fair background to the view and accompanied with few glasses of good South African wine and soft blues music, the atmosphere was simply enchanting.

Other days included visiting Cape Point Nature Reserve where we walked to the southern-most point of Western Cape (we could almost see Antarctica!), admiring stunning sunsets on the sandy beaches, driving on panoramic routes and enjoying each other’s company while hiking around Chapman’s peak.

All that was unforgettable, but what I will definitely stay in my head forever was an evening with a local family. I was lucky enough to be invited for a dinner by one of my local friends and spend an evening with the whole family. The house was positioned on the foot of the mountain with a spectacular view of the ocean, the food was delicious, we had live music and even some extra guests joined later in the evening. Dogs announced the visitors by upset barking, but the guests never came in. They were porcupines, happy with feeding on composted leftovers outside. Apparently they come around often and are regarded as an everyday sight in Capetonian backyards.

Cape Town therefore gave me the best of its off-tourist season. Wonderful company, nice memories, good times.

(though that was not the end of my travels in the south. Some of the guys had to return to work and only few of us continued, following the east coast. A topic for the next post :))

The Hilltop Gang

When I’m not on the field, I stay at the camp and do the so-called “office work”, creating endless Excel sheets of field data and watching hundreds of videos from my camera traps. If I’m lucky, most of these videos show African wildlife in action – impalas peeing, honey badgers scratching about, hyenas curiously sniffing at the camera, gnus fighting, lions passing. In the opposite case, I get waving grass. Unfortunately I can’t just skip footage of moving vegetation – every single caption has to be watched from the start to the end to make sure no impala ran into the shot at the very end of the recording. Which doesn’t seem much regarding the length of it (30s), but after the 486^th same video of pure nothing, you feel truly miserable and start questioning your role in this cruel game of science.

Despite the mentioned drawbacks of the above mentioned data analysis, you enjoy the benefits of the office work. Safety of your room – no elephants sneaking up behind your back and no bizarre, creepy sounds coming out of the bushes – allows inattentive attitude. Most of the times, it brings no bad consequences, but yesterday that was not the case because it was the day when The Hilltop gang of vervet monkeys decided to pay us a visit.

Vervet monkeys are not just regular monkeys, they are a bunch of little demons. Samango monkeys, for example, are around our camp all the time and are a nice-looking, pleasant and well behaved company, keeping their safety distance from us inhabitants and happily eating fruits of the trees. Vervets, on the other hand, think they can do whatever comes on their little minds. They won’t hesitate breaking into the kitchen, stealing a pack of sugar, ripping it open and running away with it to get totally sugar-high behind the closest evergreen bush. Also, they won’t aim strictly for the kitchen – they will rather make sure that none of the doors are hiding any treats. Which means they’ll closely inspect every single room in the camp. Even if there’s someone sitting inside, busy watching videos of waving grass.

So it happened that I suddenly noticed a little monkey-shaped creature staring at me through the open window, ready to jump in the room and trash my stuff looking for sweets. 

Yelling at it didn’t help (nor doing so in Slovenian), clapping hands and waving at it did neither and only getting as close that closing the window requires kept it outside my room. With my windows and doors shut, the monkey tried its luck elsewhere. Soon I heard a scream next door - one of the vervets fearlessly ran towards the open door, showing its teeth ferociously to the person standing there, defending its belongings. One can just guess how the assault would end up if the monkey hadn’t been chased away with a chair. That’s how rude the vervets are, no respect for personal property, no respect whatsoever.

Luckily the gang was gone by the afternoon, and we were all relieved to see the Samangos back in the trees before it got dark. Let’s just hope the vervets weren’t satisfied with the treasures that this place offers and that next time they will rather stay at the Hilltop tourist resort, where people are naïve and food is plentiful.

The Roar.

Today was a beautiful day. We were on the field early, as usual, to avoid the intolerable midday heath and to enjoy the morning view of the hilly landscape, shining in soft, orange light.

The sun was just getting pleasantly warm while we walked through high lush grass, responding crisply to our movements and letting its morning dew soak into our clothes. The insects were having a blast, the air was buzzing and humming and every butterfly that flew past was the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. The birds were singing the year’s best autumn tunes especially for us, and we had to stop and listen not to disturb soft melodies with cracking debris under our feet. Around us, there were forbs that seemed to have just started blooming, even though African winter is coming from around the corner. Their flowers were brightly painted with pink, blue and yellow tans, together creating a bright rainbow curving around the green shrubbery. The light chilly breeze was bringing smells of wild mint and fresh flowers and we all stayed quiet and enjoyed having our senses tickled with those nature’s treats. As if it was the last time we were feeling, as if we knew we’re about to be introduced to Mr Grim Reaper.

I was just taking a photo of a big yellow-black freckled butterfly when I heard a deep rumble sound. Still focusing on the butterfly and the camera, I said “oh, a warthog” to the others, but didn’t get any reply. Lifting my eyes up from the camera, I repeated the question “there’s a warthog close, right?”, aiming especially to the guard. But when I saw his face I knew it was not a warthog. And by that time the grunting became growling and suddenly turned into a loud, angry, cat-like roar. At the same time, it was getting closer and filling us all with indescribable terror.

It was a lion and it was furious.

If there wasn’t for the guard to repeat those too-many-times-heard “don’t run” words, the basic instinct would take over and without standing a slightest chance of outrunning the perfectly designed predator I would have not been writing this post or any of the following ones. Instead, I fought a great battle with myself, a battle between my instinct and my mind – the first thrusting my body into flight and the second holding it back to stand still.

The lion ran towards us, roaring, the guard cocked its rifle, took his aim. I stood behind, looking away and – surprisingly – thinking who’s going to be eaten first.

But the lion stopped, extremely close, yet far enough. Immediately, we started to back up, slowly, carefully. We could still hear the growling and were shaking from the dreadful attack for the next couple of meters, wishing to run, but forcing our legs to walk slowly through the thick bush. It felt like forever before we reached our car. 

We walked into a lion’s den - literally. We came too close too soon. It must have had kittens, or a fresh kill. Otherwise it wouldn’t charge so suddenly, without any previous warning.

The reason for us to be there was actually the lions themselves. We were trying to find a lion kill site, get some clues about diet. Following a GPS with few days old lion location clusters, we mostly find some remaining prey parts that tell us what the collared pride ate few days ago, when the GPS data was received. And those few days are crucial not to walk into the lions when they’re still eating.

However, you can never be sure they’re actually gone. And that’s what we’ve proved today.

Hide and seek with the elephants

Once you get used to the fact that there are many things around you that can kill or at least considerably damage you, you stop being ready to fight-or-flee at all times (even while having a wee, because stuff can crawl into the bathroom). But being charged by an elephant, crossing rivers with crocs and then walking along fresh lion tracks on the river sand bars, finding a tiny white spider in your camera case whose bite launches you to the nearest hospital, or just forgetting to put on (enough) sunscreen and getting roasted by the African sun, quickly brings you back to reality.

The listed experiences are true, and you have to keep your eyes, ears and nose sharp at all times to avoid lethal consequences. Especially when it comes to those sneaky elephants. 

They’re big and they usually break things as they go so you’d expect to see or at least hear them coming. But the shrubs are really thick and their soft feet suppress even the loudest sounds of trampled trees, branches and grasses. So you don’t know they’re close until they’re right at you. 

Been there, done that – my guard on the watch, me busy setting up the transect line, elephant out of the bush. I was already running and whisper-shouting “elephant!” to the guard before he realized what was happening. Luckily, at that moment the elephant had already decided it scared us well enough and disappeared again. 

As if it was a common shrew and not the biggest guy on land.

But that was the second time I got surprised like that – the first time was a lot more terrifying, even though it happened while driving. Just after I made a turn, I saw a little red tourist car standing on the road. Nothing alarming, it is a completely normal sight here in the park; tourists stop their vehicles whenever and wherever they feel like, observe the giraffe kilometres away, study the map, have a cup of tea, change their babies’ dippers. So we slowly, carefully pass them (because for some reason they think they’re the only people in the park and you never know when they’d start driving all over the road again) and continue with our way. 

However, that that particular car had a proper reason to be motionless – it was on a look out for a large male elephant. Though, it didn’t realize the bull was camera shy. Just before the red car would become the elephant’s new football, another car (with me in it) drove around the corner and distracted the bull. He shifted his rage towards the approaching vehicle and started charging. And there I was, still in the process of overtaking the red car, suddenly being charged by a furious elephant. 

Break, reverse, full gas! With the bull just after (in front of) you, it’s too scary and too dangerous to be looking forwards, so I kept my eyes on the road behind me and kept on reversing until the car engine smelled bad. My driving skills did not let me down and the elephant and his bad mood got left behind.

I was thinking about those two incidents afterwards and came to the conclusion that the elephants were probably just playing. And their favourite game is hide and seek. I guess I lost because I found only two of them. But you never know, they might be very patient and still waiting there for me, hiding in the bushes.

Aaaaand action!

My first experiment is set up! Escape impediments positioned, grass measured, species identified, arms hurt, sweat drip, cameras work. And the meaning of all this?

The project I am working on is a part of the bigger programme about "the role of apex predators in the ecosystem" (basically why there must be large carnivores). Only recently have ecologists finally realized that large carnivores are not only one of the most charismatic species but that they are also essential for keeping the ecosystem healthy. What happened in Yellowstone was that wolves somehow modified the river behaviour. If they were absent, rivers suddenly changed their courses, meandering and eroding the banks. That was a disaster for the whole park and made managers’ hair turn grey and then fall out. And it happened when the wolves were not there (probably even hundreds of them digging wouldn’t be enough to change the way the river flows)! Magic!

Or maybe not. Wolves eat elk, elk eats plants, plants “eat” nutrients from the soil. The richest the soil, the tastier the plant, the rather the elk will feed on it. Areas where such plants grow are exactly the river flood plains. Because the elk find these so irresistible, they would keep feeding if they were if something wasn’t holding them back. These areas are open and you can get quickly spotted from a distance. Good for a tourist, not so good for the elk itself. Elk must keep scanning the area to see an enemy (the wolf) before it comes too close. So elk can’t eat as much as it wishes which means the plants get spared when it is on the look-out. Like that, vegetation by the river is not destroyed completely and can continue growing when elk decides it’s time to leave. See the trick? Wolves make elk scared, elk feeds less and plants stays imbedded in the river banks, holding them strong and keep the river flowing straight. This magic is called Trophic cascade.

This is the main concept of “my” programme as well, but only a basis of my project. I will investigate how predators change the behaviour of their prey (like wolves & elk), but in a different setting. For a start, it’s Africa, not The States. Also, there are predators all over the place and I cannot just take the lions and wild dogs out and see if impalas and nyalas eat the whole park. I have to do it in a scientific-small-scale way. I have to use poo and set up the experiment on the available rich spots, grazing lawns (not river banks). They are basically lawns, surrounded by the bushes. Ungulates are lovin’ them, because there’s yummie grass, which makes them a perfect place to test if the impala’s greediness goes beyond its fear. But the fear factor in this setting is not only predators. They could get nervous close to the bushes that can hide the danger, or by the elephant-broken trees and branches over which you can trample while you’re running for your life. Or the combination of both. So I will first check how afraid are they of bushes and the pieces of wood. Then, I will add the wild dog scat and see if that makes them (more) afraid. And all will be carefully monitored by the hidden cameras.

Plenty of work, but the first experiment is now set and the camera traps are doing their job. Let’s hope it works and that the impala gets terrified of them scats!

The Queen of the Bush

I suffer from a mild version of arachnophobia. Mild because only certain spiders in certain places cause a strong emotional reaction from my side, potentially involving baffling speaking, screams of terror, goose bumps, shivers down the spine and uncontrolled arm-waving, expressing the anxious position I find myself in. Depends on the spider’s size and figure and the available help.

So, when I saw the Red-legged golden orb web spider, I was absolutely sure I was in the middle of a bad nightmare. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. It was all too real when the rope used for the field work got stuck around the main supporting branch of the spider’s web and almost broke the branch when we were pulling it back. The web was shaking, the spider got scared and I swear I heard it thinking: “S***, this place is going down, better get out of here before it’s too late!!!!”. I could see it happening – the spider running down the web, over the bushes and into the UNKNOWN. Which could mean anything – the lawn we were standing on, on the tree above us, in my backpack, on my head. Wherever it would feel safest and most comfortable.

My arachnophobia had then reached a completely new level. I was paralysed with the eyes wide open, not blinking or looking anywhere else than at the creature. But that day was apparently my lucky day after all. The branch held strong enough and gave the rope back without breaking. The beast soon got a fresh supply of butterfly prey which probably made it forget about the dreadful experience and convinced it to stay in its golden web and continue with its daily routine of preparing insect wraps for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Oh, I forgot to mention the reason for all this hysteria from my side. This particular she-spider was the most monstrously humongous spider I have ever seen in my life (though I think we might have an alcohol-preserved version of it at my old faculty in Ljubljana). Her body only was about 10cm long (and I’m being objective here!) and if you add the long, thin, very spider-like legs, it reached almost 20cm. She was shining and – decorated – with different colourful patterns. Her webs have a golden shine and are strong enough to last for weeks and catch all kind of things, also bats.

I think it therefore deserves to be addressed by a royal title, the highest of them all. To stay respected and feared of, by all things dead and alive. From this moment on, she will be called The Queen of the Bush.

The Queen preparing a wrap and not being aware of the secret lover behind her

More or less wild dogs

One of the first things in the park I was taken to was a wild dog boma. Boma means a corral, or an enclosure, and the word is used throughout Africa mostly in matters connected to livestock herding; shepherds keep their animals in bomas during the night, to protect them from wild predators. So how come a boma is suddenly there to keep the wild predators in instead of out?

I believe that most of you readers are aware of the human-carnivore conflict occurring where (mainly) large carnivores still persist in the human populated areas (which is pretty much everywhere around the world). If you are not, let me briefly give you the mildest example. Imagine what happens when a pack of wolves, for instance (since you’re mostly European), shares its territory with two local sheep herders. Wolves will sooner or later come across this naïve herd either while in search for food or just during patrolling their area. With poor fencing (if any) around them and no human or dog guarding, the sheep are easy meal. But the wolves will not take only what they can fit in their stomach, they will usually add a bit more. It’s their instinct to kill and domesticated sheep simply don’t know why and how to run away (which they can’t anyway if they’re fenced). Shepherds lose their source of income, they ask compensation from the government and want the wolves to never come back. In short, wolves cause trouble and they pay with their heads for it.

In South Africa, the same problem occurs with the wild dogs. They should limited by the borders of the reserves and parks in which they’re kept but fences are not always enough  – dogs break out directly into the communal land, where cattle and goats are free-range, and for the same reason as European wolves, most often fall under rifle shots soon after. Luckily, parks care a lot about their dogs and as soon as the news about the escapees reaches them, responsible people rush to intervene and take the dogs back before bad things could happen. Such people work 24/7 and dedicate their lives to saving these wonderful carnivores from extinction (wild dogs are an endangered species with a decreasing population trend). Once back in the reserve, the bad dogs are locked up in a boma to stay away from trouble. Sometime it happens they escape again, but the electrical fence usually holds them in. After some weeks of rehabilitation, the dogs are translocated to another reserve, to make sure they will not misbehave in the same way again. There they meet more dogs with the same fate and all together can start living new lives and (hopefully) forget about the past.

Even I benefit from this “boma” practice. While the dogs are kept in the corral, they are feed according to a schedule and it’s easy to predict when their digestion will start working. So I wait there patiently with a plastic bag before it happens, collect fresh scats (poo) when it happens and take them to the freezer where they wait to be used for my experiments.

Steve, Tobby the Spider and the Peppertick Family

After just a few days of life in the park, I already got a pet. Its name is Steve and he is a gecko. His favourite spot is top right corner of the curtain and he comes and goes whenever he feels like it. He responsible that my room stays spider- and insect-free and keeps me company while I work. He is a very clean, quiet and easy-to-take-care-of pet. I like Steve.

Maybe that’s why Tobby the Spider rather stays well hidden in a water tab. He is hidden so well that no one besides ground living creatures that keep their eyes turned towards the sky for some reason sees him. He made his webby house in one of the pipes for drinking water. In the one that the drinking water comes out. His silk is so finely woven that it resists the full gush of water flowing from the barrel through the pipe in the glass of a thirsty researcher, and keeps Tobby happy and dry on the other side. I don’t know if he stays well fed, but I guess juicy insects don’t hesitate to enter the tab for a drop of liquid after being exposed to the African sun for the whole day.

But neither of those hunters is cunning enough (or just doesn’t bother) to catch The Pepperticks. Their name is suggestive enough, and if you put them into a spice jar, labelled “ground pepper”, you would not check twice if pepper is the actual content. They are less than minute and they are numerous. Most likely they hang out in the tall grass where they wait for the dinner to pass by. The dinner of a human origin is their favoured choice. Researchers in the Dung Beetle Camp, including me, are coming back from the field full of those little monsters all over their legs and get bitten a little or a lot. Depends on the Peppertick’s appetite. Also, some of them are parasitized by a nasty Rickettsial bacteria that passes onto men and causes fever of various severities. African tick fever, it’s called.

But nothing to worry about, better to keep an eye on the grumpy buffalos and moody black rhinos and wash those little pepper-like things away as soon as you’re safely back from the field. And be kind to Tobby and Steve so that they stay nice in return.

Better late than never!

I actually made it. After a stressful, boring and miserable weekend of travel, covering everything from disgusting plane food to hoooooours of waiting at the airport on the most uncomfortable seats, I finally arrived to my first accommodation in South Africa, a villa in Durban.

The place had the fluffiest towels ever and was a welcome luxury after a long, dreadful journey. However, to get there was not an easy task – for a local taxi driver. He had quite some difficulties finding the place even though he knew the address, because the street names in Durban have just changed recently. The government decided to rename streets, the famous/important black people from the past were apparently underrepresented. So Fisher Street suddenly became Masobiya Mdludli Street. You can imagine that even blacks find it confusing.

Next day I had to go back to the airport (travelling from and to the King Shaka International with two massive pieces of luggage and another bag in less than a day, feeling like an idiot) where I got picked up by a Dutch family, visiting their son, a researcher, at Hluhluwe – which was my final destination.

The park is beautiful, the scenery amazing and the climate moist and warm. The facilities I’m staying at are a bit less of a sight, but a man gets used to everything. The damp mouldy smell of my room should slowly disappear even though I cannot freely let the fresh air, because cheeky monkeys are just waiting for a chance to inspect your luggage and maybe find a delicious piece of an old cookie. Also, the walls may get decorated by the postcards and cards I will receive over time (just a humble wish), or maybe even by some photos of the endemic grasses, titled by their Latin names, I should memorize.

In the meanwhile, I will enjoy the scenery of the park and the company of the people sharing the common places, such as kitchen, office, open-fire-place and football field. And try to get comfortable in an Isuzu.

“Too many cooks spoil the soup.” – an old German proverb

Applying for a visa is a tricky business. Especially if you’re a freshman/woman. You try to get help, you ask around, you google stuff. You get professional and amateur advice, from scientists and diplomats to parents and friends. In the end, you have more work with deciding who is more compassionate than is more trustworthy.  And yet, you stay alone when it comes to the final decision.

My Homo sapiens s. heart tells me I should take what I can atm, which is a 3 month visitor’s visa, and RUN. Also The Boss and embassy guy agree on that. But those two have already caused some trouble. One was too confident, the other too impulsive. Won’t go into details, but they are definitely to be at least partially blamed for this absurd delay of my travels.

My H. sapiens s. brain tells me I should struggle a bit longer, get more documents, make another D tour, wait another week. Because there has not been enough shit going on so far. To get an official research visa, the one that permits me to stay down there for full 5 (pardon, 4) months.

But what’s the best option now? I could get the extra papers until the end of the week and probably fly in a week aka in the beginning of April – almost a month (yes, a MONTH) after the original departure date, and stay in SA without no further worries. Or I could fly this week, meet The Boss before he’s gone to give me a blessing over my poop experiments (more later), and start, or continue dealing with the problem of visa extension. Oh and of course, I could finally start my thesis work.

I’d <3 to go to SA asap. But what if I am deported after 3 months because don’t manage to extend the visa?

I will consider the other’s advice one last time. I’ll take the quick 90day visa, pay another few hundred euros for the triple rebooking of my flight tickets and try to be in South Africa by the end of the week. And see what happens.

Wish me luck!

I'll bloody need it.

Hellabrunn vs. Kruger

Kruger. The capital of South African Reserves, famous around the world for offering its visitors an experience of Africa’s most pristine heritage. On an area almost as big as my home country, there’s something for everyone. From fancy lodges with fresh jasmine-scented linen to bush camping in the vicinity of rough dirt roads, from private safaris to 5-day hiking trips. But above all, the vast landscapes of most beautiful and bizarre wildlife. Banana bats, giant rats, bushbabies, clawless otters, pangolins and elephant shrews, to name only a few (besides the obvious, of course).

All that could have been my everyday life, since Sunday. It hurt too much so I decided to find at least a piece of that wonderful part of the world here – in the middle of Europe. Sounds impossible, but hey, it’s like roleplaying. Pretending to be driving in a 4x4 Toyota, searching for leopards in the tall grass. With binoculars at hand and the camera with the bigger objective on, ready to shoot. Oh, and I shouldn’t forget to mention the Field guide of African Mammals lying on my lap, full of bookmarks for “I want to see that one” species.

Did it work? Well, I got close enough. I visited the local ZOO.

I had to walk, and there were red squirrels and mallards - not really two typical African species - everywhere (not to mention all the lousy people with their drooling brood). And it smelled of pommes and sweet popcorn. Still, I wouldn't call it a failure. I got glanced by a wild dog and witnessed fight for the "kill" of the two teenage lions (that lasted exactly 2 seconds and did not involve any physical interaction, just a few angry cat noises). Made some nice pics and got to try out my new bins which brought things much closer and revealed some nasty personal details, like a face wound of a snow leopard, or the bare face of a bare-faced ibis.

Wasn’t exactly Africa, but someone told me Kruger isn’t going anywhere. Who knows, maybe one day I get another invitation for a scientific meeting in South African’s largest natural reserve. Maybe. One day.

A Slovenian in need for a South African visa in Germany.

Today I visited 2 authorities that could potentially help me with my visa issue. First, the Consulate of Republic Slovenia in München. After reading through all the tourist catalogues about Bled, Terme Olimija and Postonjska jama, it was my turn to describe – with real tears in my eyes – my miserable situation and desperately ask for help. Guess what, didn’t work. Instead I was explained that they’re not responsible for such stuff; they are only there (read: in Müchen) to assist Sri-Lankans with a wish to apply for Erasmus exchange studies in Slovenia. I didn’t quite get that but also didn’t want to waste more time there so I simply left.

Next stop, South African Embassy, just around the corner. A sweet guy behind the glass seemed very compassionate towards me and made my eyes dry. Sadly, he was not in charge of these matters, merely a secretary. The real guy, the counsellor, was stone-hearted, with a mocking smile on his face and ice cold words coming out of his mouth: “I don’t know why you Slovenians think you don’t need a visa. Happens repeatedly and we can do absolutely nothing for you.” Fine. Bye.

So I started considering my options. The best one seemed to be requesting a Canadian passport (I was born in Montreal, fyi), checking in faster than the airport assistant can say “a visa” and smiling hysterically while receiving a stamp in my passport at JNB International, like the rest of the world does (except the Slovenians).

However, before radically changing my identity forever, I made a call to SA Embassy in Vienna (the responsible authority for issuing visas to Slovenians). Turned out to be my lucky day after all! The nice guy on the other side of the wire didn’t see any problem with my over-90-days stay in SA and immediately sent me all the instructions for a visa application (apparently they’re really used to Slovenians forgetting about that). Just need to prove that I’m loaded and doing a badass research project. No problemos!

Though, I might still get a Canadian passport…just in case.

The International Women's Day. Also Slovenian?

Right now, I should be one of the passengers on a flight from London to Johannesburg. I should just be abandoning my seat and greedily replacing it for the whole (empty) row so that I could spend my night in a horizontal position, with sleeping mask over my face and earplugs in both ears, getting some appreciated hours of sleep knowing my journey continues with a 6 hour drive to Kruger NP. But no. It all had to go horribly wrong before it even started.

“It says ‘visa required’. I cannot let you take this flight, you need to get a visa first.”

Those were the words of a douche at the counter, telling me I am not allowed to fly to South Africa because – as a citizen of Slovenia – am required to travel with a visa. Unfortunately, I got false info every time I was told I do not need a visa for the journey, that I just get a stamp at the Johannesburg International for 3 months, as a tourist. Yes, this holds true for almost all EU citizens, and a loooong list of other nationalities around the world. But not for Slovenians, nah-ah. We need to apply for a visa via the Embassy of South Africa in Vienna. That’s right, we don’t even have our own SA consulate, Austrians have to do that for us. For extra time, money and effort, of course.  Why Slovenia? Why is Slovenia not on that list but, for instance, St Vincent and the Grenadines are? This is not a matter of international recognition, is it? Maybe it’s another paper we haven’t signed because of our shitty financial state. Or we simply got unnoticed while that list was made, as the case usually is. Perhaps South Africans find us threatening? Do we have some horrible infectious non-curable embarrassing disease, do we carry cooties?!

Whatever the reason, I got stuck in München. Surely it will take long enough to get that miserable piece of paper, re-book the plane tickets and transit myself over Europe to the Southern Hemisphere to skip the whole first week in South Africa. The week that should represent a kick off of my project – I’d be a happy, honoured participant of a conference on savannah ecology in Kruger NP. I’d be all ears at the scientific discussions during the day and screaming of excitement while watching lions, kudus and hippos on so-called Game Drives every time the sun went down.

Now I can only fix my eyes on the abstracts of the Kruger talks at day and listen to goodnight stories when it gets dark. No lion roars, only noises of cats mating. A privilege of Slovenians only.