The Elephant with the Boot

                                 The Elephant with the Boot.

 

The young elephant had been suffering for more than a week when it was first spotted

by a ranger on foot patrol.  Elphas Mnisi knew something was amiss when he came

across the tracks of a lone elephant, much too young to be separated from the

breeding herd.  Judging by the size of the spoor, the animal was no longer a calf, but

definitely not old enough to be wandering off on its own.

Close inspection of the tracks revealed that the animal was dragging one of its front

legs, and Elphas immediately started tracking.

Five gruelling hours later, with the light fading fast, Elphas found the elephant resting

under a marula tree near the river.  Through his binoculars he could barely make out

the massive trauma to the leg, which the elephant was trying to keep off the ground. 

Knowing that the animal would probably still be in the same place by morning,

Elphas returned to base, and Ertjies Röhm, the head of Mpumalanga Nature

Conservation was notified.

This was happening in a game reserve managed by Mpumalanga Nature

Conservation, and therefore did not fall under the auspices of SANParks.

Not having the infrastructure of the Kruger Park, Ertjies has to make use of 

independent contractors in cases like this.  His call to Prof. Cobus Raath at about 8pm

resulted in a mad scramble to prepare for all eventualities.

  At the time Cobus was hosting twelve veterinarians from the US, UK,

Canada, Portugal and Spain, attending a post-graduate course in wildlife management

at his Ngongoni Lodge.   Understandably, the excitement was beyond fever pitch – the

young vets knew all about cats and dogs.  Horses, cattle and sheep were old hat.  An

injured wild elephant, however, was a totally different kettle of fish. 

Immobilising darts and muti boxes were prepared, and transport and a helicopter laid on. 

They did not know the nature or extent of the trauma, the size of the elephant, the

location where it would eventually go down – every possible scenario had to be

catered for.  There would be no second chances.

Excited anticipation saw to it that the vets got very little sleep that night.  Plus, of

course, the fact that Cobus had them on the road by 03.30 in the morning.  None of

them minded in the least.

First light found everyone in position at a picnic spot some five kilometres from

where the elephant had last been seen the previous evening. 

Shortly after sunrise the tiny Robinson helicopter made its noisy appearance.  With

their severely restricted budget, Mpumalanga Nature Conservation cannot afford the

luxury of the two Bell Jetrangers owned by SANPARKS.  They have to

make do with the least expensive rental available, in this case a Robinson, which may

seem more suitable for making scrambled eggs than serious flying.  But then, with

Danie at the stick, the little Robinson has been known to take on a life of its own. 

Cobus prepared three tranquilising darts with different dosages of A30-80, the new

drug developed by him and his pharmaceutical partners.  To safely dart the animal, the

dosage has to be matched to the weight of the animal – and Cobus didn’t quite know

how big the elephant was.

Finding the elephant was the easy part – it was still under the same tree as the night

before.  The terrain was difficult, uneven with high, dense vegetation.  Normal

procedure is to drive the elephant to an area where it would be accessible prior to

darting it.  But this elephant wouldn’t budge.  The high pitched whine of the giant

wasp and the whap-whapping of the rotors under strain failed to move it - a sure sign

that the animal was in severe pain.

Cobus had no choice but to dart it where it was.  Even then it did not attempt to flee,

and after three minutes it went down in its tracks.  By this time the ground crew had

moved in as close as they could get with the vehicles.  Danie put Cobus down in a

nearby clearing, and they approached the elephant on foot, one of the Nature

Conservation officials, armed with a .458 Winchester rifle, in the lead.  Sometimes

seemingly anaesthetised elephants have a tendency to get up unexpectedly and wreak

havoc.

The animal was lying on its side, and the first thing Cobus noticed was the

overpowering stench of rotting meat. A dense cloud of blowflies was droning in the

oppressive atmosphere, humming their familiar song of death and decay.  Through

long experience Cobus immediately knew that this was bad – very bad.  One look at

the elephant’s leg confirmed this.  The foreign vets stared at the grotesque mess with

revulsion – they had never seen anything remotely like this before.  In Africa it is a

common sight, which never fails to bring one’s blood close to boiling point. 

How any human being could inflict this kind of torture on an animal is beyond

comprehension. 

 

The wire snare is the poacher’s preferred method of “hunting”.  A wire (for small

game) or cable (for larger animals) noose is set on a game trail or near a watering

hole, with the other end tied to a tree.  Ideally, the head of the targeted animal should

pass through the loop, which starts tightening when stopped by the animal’s

shoulders.  When the animal realises that it is trapped, the ensuing struggle

progressively tightens the noose, promptly throttling the animal.  This seldom

happens in real life.  In most cases the animal is doomed to a slow agonising death

that can take days or weeks.

Presumably this particular cable snare had been set fairly low on a game trail, where an

animal like a blue wildebeest or zebra would have to lower its head to pass through. 

Poachers can be highly ingenious at times, and often know the bush and the animals well. 

Snares and other traps are never set randomly or impulsively – the exact spots are carefully

chosen.

Our hapless elephant had somehow managed to get caught just below the knee of his

right front leg.  The power of an elephant, albeit a young one, is formidable.  It being

a cable snare, it cut through skin and muscle nearly down to the bone before the

elephant managed to break the cable. This must have happened a week or more ago,

as the rotting flesh was heavily infested with mature maggots.  The stench was

unbelievable. 

Ertjies shook his head with sadness and loaded his rifle.

“No”, Cobus said.  “I can save him.”

“Are you mad?  Look at it – this animal will never walk again.  Better to put him out

of his misery and get it over and done with.”

“No,” Cobus repeated. “We have an ethical obligation here – this problem is man-

made, so we have no choice but to try.  If it had been natural causes, I would have

been the first one to euthanase it.”

“Come on, Cobus, this animal will never walk again.”  A murmur of assent wet up

from the group of veterinarians.

Cobus donned a pair of surgical gloves from his muti box and examined the leg

carefully.    

“I can make it walk again.”

“Why do you want to go to extremes to try and save this one elephant when we

already have ten thousand elephants too many in the country?”

This is a sad but true fact.  Since the National Parks Board stopped the culling of

elephant years ago, the population just kept increasing.  At the time Cobus had still

been employed as the chief vet of the Parks Board.  With a team of experts they

devised a system for transporting and relocating fully grown elephants.  In an effort to

stabilise the growing elephant population, every available game farm and game

reserve was stocked with elephant. 

Experts have time and again pointed out the fact that the Kruger National Park can

only sustain 6500 elephant without endangering the habitat.  The population has now

grown to a nearly three times the carrying capacity.  All it would

take to set off this time bomb is a drought, which would probably transform the

Kruger Park to a tree-less savannah.  What happened to the Tsavo National Park is set

to happen to Kruger.  Elephant damage is already evident throughout the Park.  A

prolonged drought will diminish food supplies, and more trees and leaf-bearing

vegetation will be destroyed.  This would lead to mass starvation of all browsers like

the black rhino, kudu, giraffe and many more.  A disaster of epic proportions is

waiting in the wings….

The controversy is still raging.    

Even if culling was to resume immediately, it is probably too late to turn the tide.  At

maximum capacity the abattoir in Kruger (now defunct) could only process 800 carcasses annually. 

The elephant population in Kruger is increasing by 6% annually – that is over 1000

animals per year.

Sterilising elephant cows with porcine zona pellucida was tried, but for various reasons

it was not a viable solution. Cobus is in the early stages of working on a different

solution, but that is a story for the future.

“I simply do not have the budget for this,” Ertjies said.  “Trying to save this elephant

will cost a small fortune.  I would much rather spend the money where it would make

a difference.”

“Ertjies, my conscience will not allow me to euthanase this animal – the problem is

man-made.  We have to try.”

“Not on my budget.  If you want to do it at your expense, fine.  It’s your elephant.” 

Cobus was not really prepared for this.  He needed the Parks Board’s heavy

equipment and transport to get the elephant to his bomas at Ngongoni.  All he had

with him was a small crate on an open trailer.  There was just no way this elephant

was going to fit into the crate.  Just getting it out of the thicket without the right

equipment was going to be a major problem. 

“Deal,” he said.  To his students: “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

The door of the crate was removed, to be used as a skid.  The elephant was rolled onto

the door, and manhandled to a point where the winch cable on Cobus’ 4x4 could

reach.  This took two hours of backbreaking effort under the hot Lowveld sun. 

   The elephant had to be kept sedated and the vital signs monitored continuously.

With the help of the winch and the vehicle, the elephant was soon next to the trailer. 

The trailer was unhooked from the 4x4, and canted over backwards to create an

angled ramp.  Another hour of sweating, cursing and improvising later, the elephant

was loaded and the trailer hitched.

 

The journey back along the N4 highway had many a motorist gaping at the sight of a half-

grown elephant snoozing on the flatbed trailer. 

At the toll gate Cobus was confronted by an elderly gentleman who jumped out of his

vehicle and stuck his finger under Cobus’ nose.  The irate citizen had been under the

impression that Cobus was a big game hunter, carting his trophy off to the

taxidermist.  The perception did not sit well with the old guy, and he voiced his

feelings at maximum volume, not mincing his words.  This resulted in a minor traffic

jam, but after the necessary explanations the procession was soon under way again.

Once the elephant was offloaded in the bomas there was still some daylight left, so

Cobus and the team of vets immediately got to work on the wound.   Only once all the

necrotic tissue had been removed did the full extent of the damage become apparent. 

Cobus judged that, with a bit of luck, the blood supply to the extremity would still be

adequate, so he cleaned the wound and packed it with a special concoction of his. 

Layers of gauze packing was followed by many metres of bandage. 

Over this a sturdy boot was made, to hold everything together. 

 

After administering a massive dose of  antibiotics and painkillers, Cobus revived the

animal.  It was groggy, and the ordeal seemed to have left it in shock.  Cobus

monitored the animal through the night via the CCTV cameras in the bomas.  It was

not well, and stood swaying on three legs till just before dawn, when it laid down

again.  This was not a good sign, and Cobus was not a happy camper. 

By noon the next day, however, the elephant drank some water, which had everyone

jumping for joy. 

Over the next few days Cobus had an intensive series of lectures to work through with

his students – they were here on a two-week course on wildlife management, and

there was a lot of knowledge to be crammed in, in fourteen days.  But their hearts

were not in it – that young elephant out there in the boma, fighting for its life, was all

that occupied their minds.  By day three the elephant started eating, and that night

serious celebrations were in order, with lots of beer, barbecue and song.

The day before this group was due to leave, they sedated the elephant again to

change the dressings and inspect the wound.

They could not believe what they saw – there were still spots of dead tissue that had

to be removed surgically, but there was no sign of infection, and the wound was

actually healing!

The next day, none of the vets wanted to leave.  They had bonded with this African

orphan, and litres of tears were shed.  They made Cobus promise to send lots of

photos and to keep them updated.

The following Sunday a new group of students arrived, and on learning the history of

the elephant in the boma, the process started all over again.  By the third week the

wound was beginning to show signs of  connective tissue forming, and covering the

exposed muscle and tendons.

The elephant was eating and drinking normally, and apparently beginning to enjoy the

human company.  It was complacent, and could be hand-fed titbits like oranges,

sugarcane etc.

By the sixth week the bandages came off permanently.  The elephant had an ugly

scar, but not only could it walk, it walked without a limp.

Releasing the animal into the wild held too many risks and uncertainties.  The fact

that the elephant had lost its fear for man could lead to all sorts of problems later on. 

Cobus called an acquaintance who runs an elephant-back safari outfit, and when he

came to have a look at the animal, it was love at first sight.

This time the elephant had a proper, freshly painted transport cage, and there were no

further toll-gate incidents.

Novels by Leon Mare

            Poacher

            Cheetah in the Rain

            Fighting AIDS

            Show me a Reason

Available on Amazon, Apple, Sony, Kobo, Smashwords etc.

      

The helicopter, the Executive and the bridge

In some of the areas in the Kruger National Park helicopters were used to augment fixed wing aircraft for the annual game census.

In the far north of the KNP there is a bridge with several arches spanning one of the bigger rivers.

During winter, when the bush is less dense (best time for game census) the river levels are also low, making the arches slightly wider…..

I will refrain from naming the chopper pilot this time – Civil Aviation might want to talk to him.

At the time “Oom Johan” was acting head of the KNP.  An extremely astute man, with a wicked sense of humour. He made a point of always occupying the left front seat in the chopper on this particular grid. He also made very sure that one of the back seats of the Bell Jetranger was occupied by a rookie game ranger. 

On approaching the bridge just above water level, he would activate the footswitch to the communal earphones: (let’s just call the pilot Hugo, to make it easier for me to write this). “Hugo, which span do you think is the widest?”

“Umm…  Oom Johan, what about the one dead centre?”

“Looks good to me.”

The chopper would skim the surface, heading for the arch while Oom Johan would lean back in anticipation, watching the rookie in his peripheral vision. Invariably the rookie would perk up, watching the narrow space coming at him at him at high speed.  There was just no way….

At the very last moment Hugo would pull the collective and jerk the chopper up, going over the bridge with inches to spare.  Sometimes they had to land in the bush to make the cockpit habitable again, laughing their heads off.

Shortly before the next census Hugo clandestinely visited the Works Department, got the plans of the bridge, and started measuring.  Not much room to spare, but it could be done….

The scenario repeated itself, with Oom Johan watching the new rookie go catatonic with fear and disbelief as the bridge came rushing on. The moment for the gut-wrenching lift of the chopper came and went, and Oom Johan whipped his eyes to the front, the bridge looming.

Hugo made it with no room to spare, and there was hell to play.

There was also lots of laughter in the staff village at Skukuza that night.

Murder by Mamba

One of Eugène Marais’ stories that impressed me even as a child, was the one about the attempted murder of an infant by using a mamba.

The mamba is the most deadly and most feared snake in Africa. Specimens exceeding three metres are not uncommon, and it is known for its extreme aggression, especially during the mating season.

A maid employed on a big farm was pathologically jealous on the arrival of a new baby in the household. She made use of the services of a sangoma (witch doctor) in her quest to kill the baby.

The carcass of a female mamba would surreptitiously be dragged from the bush right into the crib and then removed. Male mambas find females by following the scent.

The presence of the first mamba in the crib was attributed to the snake seeking heat. The second one a day later alerted the father to the plot.

Fortunately the baby apparently never moved.

Such is Africa.

The First Poacher

In the year 2000 not a single rhino was poached in the Kruger National Park. 

In 2004:  7 rhinos.

Up to August 14^th  this year the tally was 345 rhinos in the KNP alone.

But it actually started long before that. In the late ‘80s, a senior game ranger in the Kruger National Park got hooked on gambling.  He was one of the pillars of society in the Park.  I will refrain from naming him.

In those years, gambling was illegal in South Africa.  However, it was a simple matter of just hopping across the border to the Kingdom of Swaziland (legally – not the way borders are hopped these days) for a weekend of fun and games. Every weekend would see lots of South Africans at the tables in the casino of the Royal Swazi Spa.

Our friend apparently frequented the place. Seems it was also a good place to meet people who would be eager to exchange rhino horns for cash.

His arrest sent shockwaves through the community. In a follow-up investigation the remains of long-dead rhino all over the Park were examined and the vicinity of the remains combed with metal detectors. Bullet points were recovered, and forensic tests linked them to the ranger’s rifle. Eventually he was linked to the shooting of 27 rhinos over a period spanning several years.

I believe he was sentenced to 12 years in jail.

What do they get these days?  A rap on the fingers, out on bail and back into the bush in 18 months.

Our Government not being able to put some brakes on this is a farce.

Raining vultures

I found this a very interesting hypothesis at the time:

At one stage up to 700 elephants were culled annually in the Kruger National Park. Culling is still a hotly debated topic, and I will be putting my foot in it (right up to the knee as it were) in some future posting.

The animals were gutted in the bush and the carcasses transported to the abattoir in Skukuza for processing. Nothing was wasted, except for the mountains of intestines left behind in the veld. These were polished off in no time by a variety of grateful scavengers and carnivores. The vultures even started following the helicopter.

Then there was a sudden decline in the vulture population.  Due to the fact that the vultures were now feeding exclusively on intestines instead of the leftovers of whole carcasses, they did not ingest sufficient calcium. The shells of their eggs became soft, and their bone structure became so fragile that they would break a wing in mid-flight and plummet to death.

Such are the unforeseen consequences of fiddling with Mother Nature’s scales, eh?

The chopper pilot and the outhouse.

Before the advent of Portapotties and before plastic pre-fab outhouses became the norm, the descriptive term ‘long-drop’ was the benchmark (pun intended) in Africa.

It was of very basic construction; a hole in the ground with a seat over it (with, of course, a corresponding hole), enclosed in a little corrugated iron building. Add a wooden door and toilet-roll dispenser (an optional extra) and Bob’s your uncle.

During extended operations in the far north of the Kruger Park, the game rangers, chopper pilot and other workers would pitch camp in the bush and sometimes stay there for weeks on end. Travelling back and forth on a daily basis from Skukuza was simply not feasible.

These men were tough outdoor guys and the camps were rather basic. There was invariably lots of banter, and a good time was had by all.

On one such a trip, someone had forgotten to bring the disinfectant powder for the long-drop. This is supposed to be strewn down the long-drop regularly, for obvious reasons.

By day three one of the rangers travelled to the nearest tourist camp which boasted a swimming pool, and returned with a container of pool chlorine.  Chemicals were chemicals, and this was potent stuff. Seemed to do the job.

Early the next morning everyone was getting ready for the day in the bush, when nature called Piet Otto, the chopper pilot. Armed with his book and his trusty pipe he headed for the long-drop. He was wearing his customary Parks Board uniform, long khaki trousers and all.

Piet made the mistake of dropping his match down between his legs, into the pit.  The chlorine had indeed interacted with the environment, apparently creating a heavy, combustible gas.

The loud explosion was followed by Piet exiting the long-drop at speed. No harm done, except for the fact that he had torn his trousers beyond repair in his attempt to lengthen his stride with his pants down his ankles. The hilarity knew no bounds.

The taunts came thick and fast over the next few days every time Piet could be seen skulking off into the bush, armed with a toilet roll and a shovel whenever nature called.

Until one night, when the call came after dark. This was lion country, and one didn’t go traipsing around in the bush with a torch. So Piet left the fire and once again headed for the long-drop, conspicuously leaving his pipe behind.

The moment Piet was ensconced in his little safe haven, Louis Olivier reached for a rock the size of a cricket ball, and the chatter around the camp fire was replaced with anticipatory sniggers.

The moment the boulder hit the long-drop with an explosive bang, Piet once again exited with two half-trousers around his ankles, taking the door off its hinges.

I suppose conditioned reflexes are part of the training for chopper pilots

The leopard and the dentist - the story behind the picture.

                            
                                    This was no zoo leopard, it was a wild one - really wild.


Dr. Cobus Raath was still a youngster, and chief of game capture in the Kruger National Park. Irma Green (is still a youngster) was a junior reporter at The Lowvelder newspaper at the time.
“At the time” was a long time ago – Cobus has gone places (Prof. Raath nowadays) and so has Irma – she is now group editor at Lowveld Media.  And I’m still here – older and wiser.

Well, older anyway.

It started with a phone call by Cobus from Skukuza. A young male leopard had been looking for new territory in a place he shouldn’t have been looking.
When caught in a capture cage for relocation, the leopard freaked out and broke a lower canine in an attempt to fight its way out. The nerve of the tooth was exposed, and Cobus wanted to know “what now?”

Dental-wise it was a no-brainer. A dental abscess would develop, with potentially horrific consequences for both the leopard and any humans within reach.

Cobus had to bring the animal in to my surgery in White River for a proper root canal treatment and restoration.

It was crisis time and pandemonium reigned. The roots of a leopard’s canine teeth being considerably longer than those of a human, I knew my root canal instruments weren’t going to be up to the job. Fortunately I managed to procure the necessary veterinary files and reamers at short notice.
　
Irma somehow got wind of this, and informed me (informed me?!) that she would be at my surgery at 8 pm.
Cobus would transport the sedated animal in the capture cage (some 80 Km) and we would do the rooty while the animal was sedated. Seemed a good idea at the time.

The leopard saw things differently. It started waking up halfway through the journey, and Cobus phoned me. It would be risky to use more sedation, so we had to prepare for a full, general anaesthetic. Like in a hospital theatre.

Dentists don’t have Boyles machines and theatre stuff in their surgeries. Fortunately a local vet had a portable machine, and he obliged.

On arrival, the leopard was once again groggily raring for a fight. Those were sweaty moments long to be remembered.  Leopards have lots of sharp ends, and have no qualms about applying them.

To cut a long story short, we got it into the dental chair and did what needed to be done, while Irma was merrily snapping away and giving advice. Following the root canal treatment I would have preferred to restore the tooth with a gold overlay, for various technical/clinical reasons. This not being feasible, we had to make do with a trusty old amalgam filling. I will not go into technical stuff here, but if any dentist wishes to ask questions about it, please do so via email – I promise to respond.

I requested Cobus to keep the animal under observation for at least three weeks before releasing it, and to put a radio collar on it so that I could do a follow-up in a couple of months. One of his veterinary assistants decided after a week to release it without informing him – after all, the leopard seemed quite happy.

Just imagine some archaeological dig in the far distant future: A leopard, in an area that used to be totally wild, with a root canal treatment and a dental restoration. I can imagine the unbridled theories….

I hope the leopard reigned long and well in its new territory.

You and Hesperic Depression - the Sunday Blues.

Poet, doctor, scientist, researcher, lawyer, all-round genius. 
Born in 1871, Eugene Nielen Marais was probably the most gifted South African who ever lived.
His work on white ants and baboons put him half a century ahead of his time. "Die Siel van die Mier" (The soul of the White Ant) was plagiarised by a European Nobel Prize winner.

Anyway: The Sunday afternoon blues. Know that feeling of malaise and just a general feeling of depression when the sun sets on a Sunday? That I-don't-want-to-be-alone feeling. (Yeah, I'm writing this at 03.30 on a Monday morning).

Marais was the first to coin the phrase Hesperic Depression. During his research on the Chacma baboon he noticed that a general sense of malaise and depression would settle on the whole troop at sunset. This seemed to happen every time the troop settles down for the night. Baboons sleep in the highest branches that will bear their weight, or on steep, inaccessible cliffs.
They fear nothing more than their nocturnal enemy, the leopard.

He postulated that the depression stems from fear and uncertainty about the terrors that might lie ahead in the hours of darkness. Hence the term 'Hesperic' (Hesperos = Venus, appearing as the Evening Star). They hope to survive till first light.
Marais extrapolated that to human behaviour. We don't fear the leopard anymore, but we have a similar subconscious fear - the week ahead.
To modern society, the weekend is our dawn and our sunlight. It is something we look forward to, getting away from the stress of earning a living, interacting with people and work we don't necessarily want to interact with. We don't want Mondays to happen. The baboons don't want to see Venus.

Family, eh?

Who is this guy?

"Wait till my mother hears of this........."

As Cobus Raath features in so many of my blogs I frequently receive enquiries about him.
In short, the man is a legend in his own time. He has the temperament of a solid-fuel rocket - once ignited, there is no stopping and no slowing down. Back in the 80's and 90's we used to phone each other at 4 AM just to make sure the other guy is working, and not having a lie-in.

‘…Dr Cobus Raath spent over 11 yrs of his veterinary career in the National Parks Board of South Africa, stationed at Kruger National Park. He left Kruger National Park in 1996 and since then has established four (4) companies. In 1996 he started Wildlifevets.com, a veterinary company that specialises in the Capture and Relocation of Wildlife, Clinical Services, Disease Investigation and Control, Contractual Research, and Training and Information Dissemination. During this process Ngongoni Game Farm was developed and Terra Luna Lodge was built. He then established Wildlife Pharmaceuticals SA in 1997, a company dedicated to enhance ethical wildlife management practices through product development, registrations and sharing the information through publications, books, lectures and personal contact. In 2007 Dr Raath Established Koeger Science, a specialist chemistry company focussed on the development of synthetic pathways for new pharmaceutical products. Dr Raath is the author is three (3) books, has many published papers and is an adjunct professor at both Murdoch University and Texas A&M…’

He is also Prof at the Onderstepoort veterinary faculty of Pretoria Universty.

Construction on his ultra-modern pharmaceutical manufacturing facility is to start soon.

You will get to know him well on this blog.  Some of the things we did were pretty wild ("..don't try this at home...") and some were outright hilarious.

The Lion at the Sperm Bank.

                                           The Lion at the Sperm Bank.

As with everything else, techniques and drugs for handling wild animals are refined

and improved upon all the time.

These days things mostly go according to plan - in the early days they sometimes

didn’t.

The techniques for darting lions vary according to the purpose.   Enticing the lions

requires bait, coupled with a sound track of lions and hyenas in a feeding frenzy.  This

usually brings them to within range of the dart gun.

Standard procedure is to shoot a large animal like a zebra.  The carcass should

preferably be left out in the sun for a couple of hours to start ripening.  It is then

transported to the lions’ territory, where the belly is cut open, allowing the entrails to

hang out.  It would then be tied behind a 4x4 and dragged for several kilometres,

laying down a scent trail leading to a carefully selected spot where the operation is to

take place.

The ideal spot would have a big solitary tree with some dense vegetation at its base,

and as little other cover as possible for quite some distance.  The vegetation is cleared

on one side of the tree, and the carcass chained to the tree to stop the lions from

dragging it off and consuming it elsewhere.  More branches are cut and stacked

densely on the opposite side of the tree, making it impossible for the lions to approach

the carcass from behind the tree.    A caravan is then backed up to within fifteen

metres of the carcass, and the large rear window propped open as wide as it can go. 

The caravan is usually stocked with spare batteries for the spotlights, coffee and

sundry snacks – these operations can sometimes become all-night vigils, during which

the lions never show up.  The spotlights are equipped with red filters, making the light

invisible to carnivores.

Next to the caravan is the “sound truck”, with a giant loudspeaker on the roof. 

Amongst all the sophisticated darting equipment there will invariably be either an air

rifle, or a slingshot with enough smooth round pebbles.  Hyenas often beat the lions to

the bait, and keeping them at bay without scaring off the approaching lions can be

tricky.   

Once the lions settle down to feed one should allow enough time for any stragglers to

join in, and then the diners are counted carefully.  Every member of a pride must be

darted and accounted for.  Once everyone starts wandering around, preoccupied with

whatever it is they are doing with the sleeping lions, a loose canon lurking out there in

the darkness can have catastrophic consequences.

Some fifteen years ago Dr. Cobus Raath was involved in a project concerning feline

AIDS.  The Kruger Park lions were to be tested.

All went well until one night, when a pride of some twenty five animals showed up

for the feast.  This was rather overwhelming, but the team proceeded with the darting,

counting with great care. 

When the dart hits a feeding lion, most of the time it would snarl and take a retaliatory

swipe at its closest neighbour, associating it with the incident, and then carry on

feeding.  But sometimes it would jump up and disappear into the darkness.  This is not

a good scenario, but there is nothing one can do about it.  It should, however, be noted

in no uncertain terms.

All twenty five animals were duly darted and accounted for.  Cobus, his veterinary

assistant Hoepel, and the game ranger, armed with a .375 Magnum rifle, ventured out

first, to make sure the area was safe.  Most of the lions were at the carcass, but here

and there strays were sleeping a little further out.  Everything seemed OK, and the rest

of the team left the caravan and they all got to work. 

Cobus was testing a new cocktail of drugs at the time, and he kept a very close watch

on the vital signs of the animals.  Some fifteen minutes into the operation, he realised

that the new drug appeared to be wearing off faster than anticipated.  Here and there

lions were showing signs of recovering.  This was not a serious problem, as Cobus

and Hoepel started roaming around with syringes, selectively injecting lions with

more anaesthetic.  As a rule, it would take up to ten minutes before an animal would

have recovered to an extent where it would become dangerous, so no-one was really

worried – it was no more than an inconvenience.

Until Hoepel spotted a lioness that must have been overlooked in the hectic activity. 

She had already started feeding again, albeit groggily.  Not thinking much of it,

Hoepel grabbed her by the tail to give her another shot.  She declined in no uncertain

terms – this lioness wasn’t nearly as groggy as she should have been.  She spun

around with a snarl, swiping at Hoepel.  But by this time Hoepel was already

accelerating in the direction of the caravan, and so was everyone else.  Being the

furthest away, Hoepel knew he wasn’t going to make it through the narrow door of

the caravan with everybody ahead of him heading that way.  With the lioness hard on

his heels he changed direction for the sound truck.  Had the lioness not been severely

slowed down by the drug, she would have caught up with Hoepel within the first five

yards.  She was, however, giving it her best, staggering from side to side drunkenly,

but coming on with determination.

Reaching the truck with the lioness hard on his heels Hoepel knew there would be no

time to open the door.  Fortunately the window was open, and he dived straight into

the cab.  Taking a swipe at the disappearing Hoepel, the lioness nicked his boot and

took the side mirror clean off the vehicle.  Hoepel had a severely sprained ankle, and

the mirror was later picked up some fifteen feet away.

                                                     *****

Something similar happened when Cobus was testing a new drug in the Crocodile

Bridge area.    

It was a smaller operation, and only Cobus, myself, the local game ranger and one of

his assistants were present.

Cobus darted a solitary lioness, and we took measurements and blood samples.  Once

the work was done, he administered the antidote.  Cobus had not even pulled out the

syringe, when someone accidentally stepped on the lion’s tail.  The antidote was

supposed to take ten minutes – in reality, the effect was immediate.  We departed for

the caravan post haste.  This time the assistant ranger had drawn the short straw – he

had the most distance to cover.  He also realised that, under duress, three big guys

may manage to get through the narrow door of the caravan simultaneously, but four

won’t make it – and he was going to be the last one in line.  He jumped onto the back

of the truck, then onto the roof, and then onto the giant speaker that was strapped to

the roof.

The lioness vented her anger on the closest object, in this instance the front tyre of the

truck.  Accompanying the hiss of the deflating tyre, we could hear the assistant’s

dismayed comment “hau, puncture.”  We did not find it funny at the time, but later on

we thought it was hilarious.

                                                               *****

One night Cobus had to dart a solitary male to have a radio collar fitted.  The lion was

a magnificent specimen, and known to be a loner.  This was strange behaviour, and

researchers wanted to keep a close eye on it.  Cobus and the researcher laid out the

bait.  The terrain was not good, with clusters of dense mopani thickets, but the lion

was known to be in the immediate vicinity.  

The lion arrived on cue, and Cobus darted it with a perfect shot.  There was no room

for error, so Cobus used his tried and tested cocktail of drugs.  For this reason he was

not really worried when the lion jumped up and disappeared into a thicket, growling

fiercely.  They gave it ten minutes, and then went in search of the animal, armed with

high powered torches and the dart gun.

Cobus was baffled when the lion suddenly lifted its head from the thicket and snarled

at them threateningly.  “*%£$”*+%~#,” Cobus said.  There was no way this lion

could be a threat – not with a full dose of M99 in it.  “Keep the light on him, I’ll circle

around and give him another one.”  He circled around the thicket, trying to get a side-

shot at the lion.  As he got closer, the lion let out a deafening roar and loped off in the

direction of the next thicket.  Cobus ran after it full tilt, trying to get another shot in. 

The lion let out another deafening roar and accelerated. Running flat-out, Cobus

stumbled over something in the grass and fell flat on his face.  He got up and retrieved

the gun and torch, mumbling all sorts of comment about the drug.  When he shone his

torch on the object over which he had tripped, it proved to be his darted lion, sleeping

peacefully in the tall grass…….

                                                           *****

The basic technique is sometimes modified, depending on circumstances.          

A visiting professor from the USA needed lion sperm for a project “on genome

resource banking and biodiversity preservation.”  For this he needed fresh lion sperm.

Obviously, no respectable free-ranging lion of stature would be convinced to visit a

sperm bank for this noble purpose.  These gentlemen tended to have their own ideas

on what they wanted to do with their genetic material.

So Cobus had to improvise.

A warthog was shot and left in the sun for the best part of the day.  Post-graduate

research students supplied information on the whereabouts of roaming males, and

prides with patriarchal males.  After dark, when the tourists were confined to the rest

camps, the team would set out in two or three 4x4 trucks, dragging the carcass and

broadcasting the song of death.  This was carefully planned to happen in the South

African winter, which did make things easier.  Once the sun sets, the tarred roads

retained their heat for some time, so in the early evening lions tended to take a pre-

prandial break, basking on the warm roads and socializing. 

Some nights there were no hits, but on a good night up to three males could be

motivated to donate to the project. 

It was tough going on the researchers, as there was no such luxury as a caravan.  The

warthog would be left tied to the tow-hitch of one vehicle, while the second vehicle

was parked sideways to afford a shot through the window.  Hyenas and unwanted

females were a nightmare.

A male would be darted, and all unwanted guests chased away.  The lion would then

be loaded on to the back of one of the trucks, and taken back to the lab at Skukuza. 

The rest of the team would go off in search of the next donor. 

This sometimes entailed a round trip of up to a hundred kilometres.

On arrival at the veterinary facility, the truck would be backed into the lab, and the

lion subjected to one of those wild dreams young men sometimes have..

A tailor-made lubricated probe would be inserted into the anus, to a depth where it

was in close proximity to the prostate gland.  A couple of millivolt would produce a

spasm in the sleeping lion – it would arch its back, and make a handsome donation

accompanied by a satisfied grunt.

When lions mate, they do this every fifteen minutes or so for up to three days.  So

multiple orgasms come naturally (pun intended).  Thus the sleeping lions were treated

accordingly, and they donated generously.

The lion would then be returned to its territory.  My job was reviving them, and

guarding them against hyenas until they were capable of fending for themselves. 

Hyenas being accomplished opportunists, would attack anything showing the least

sign of vulnerability – even a drunkenly staggering male lion would be attacked

without hesitation.  This was a boring and tedious task.  At one stage I thought it a

good idea to leave the gentlemen with a memento for their magnanimous donation –

after all, if we contribute to a worthy cause on a street corner, we get a sticker on our

lapel to proclaim our benevolence.

So I tied a small raffia bow to the tail of every recovering lion as a memento.  I often

wonder what a tourist would have made of it, if one had ever been spotted.  In my

mind’s eye I could imagine the furore it would have caused on 50/50’s Veldfokus at

the time.