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.