Shocking Death of a Tortoise in Yzer.

At last! Settled down in our new home in Yzerfontein on the Cape West Coast, and back on the air.

Sadly, tragedy struck in our very first week here. 

Some background info about our little resort town:
Yzerfontein is situated in a large Nature Conservation area.  Unfortunately there's no big game, but wild ostriches and Cape grysbok wandering through town is a common sight.  There has even been a mongoose sniffing around on my lawn in broad daylight, and the birdlife is awesome.
And then of course, true to Africa, there's the snakes.  Lots of them.

There's only about a thousand permanent residents in town, and at least half the properties are holiday homes and as such are unoccupied most of the time.  Such is the house next to me.  The owner, apparently, is petrified of snakes.  He had three strands of electric fencing installed over the width of the security gate in his driveway.  The wires are about half an inch (1.25 cm) off the ground, and are meant to keep snakes out (??!!).  First time I've ever heard of something like that in all my years.  If a snake wants to get in, it will get in somewhere else.  What's the point of living in a conservancy, then?
The problem I have with the man's system is that there is a five inch (13cm) gap between his driveway and the bottom edge of the security gate.

A couple of days ago, we were working ourselves to a standstill unpacking cartons, hanging pictures and doing the things people do when moving in.  Just before dusk I sauntered out onto the lawn, and immediately heard the unpleasant rhythmic "crack, crack, crack" of  an electric fence short-circuiting.

What I found was a heart-breaking sight - with its shell scorched black, the dead turtle was still on the wires, and blue sparks were continuously snapping at it.  It had probably been there for hours, and was truly cooked.  I couldn't reach it, and pushed it off the wires with a broomstick.  Needless to say, its still there, and beginning to smell to high heaven.

It should be a fairly simple matter to pop rivet a strip of conveyor belting to the bottom of the security gate to stop this from ever happening again. 
Definitely to be strongly suggested to the owner at his next visit.

Update: Tom and the crocodile 30 years on.

Tom is living happily in the USA and it seems he is now completely pain free for the first time, thirty years after the attack.  It did, however, require another round of serious surgery.

Tom's new titanium knee.

Like always, there is forever something new to learn from this unique friend of mine:

Some twelve years ago he resigned as senior ranger in the Kruger National Park and emigrated to the USA.  People who knew him as well as I do were unanimous in their predictions that he would soon be back in Africa.  All of us were under the impression that anyone with such a passion for nature and the wild outdoors cannot survive anywhere else but on this dark continent.

We were all wrong.

I followed suit two years later, and in my ten years in the UK there was not a single day I did not dream of Africa.  I became totally obsessed - it was the most boring ten years of my life.  I simply had to come back or be institutionalised.

Only now do I realise that it depends on where you go and what you do. 

Tom has done a remarkable job of crossing the Rubicon.  I'm sure his love for lions, buffalo and elephant will never wane, but he has managed to immerse himself with great gusto in a different frame of mind concerning nature.
He has spent eight years doing research on the highly endangered Carson Wandering Skipper, and he does freelance work for both the California Department of Fish and Game, and the Nevada Dept. of Fish and Wildlife

Carson Wandering Skipper

He is also deeply involved in the rehabilitation of old military training areas and restoring large tracts of land to its former natural state.  Where there used to be unexploded ordnance and other nasty stuff, there are now bears, deer and butterflies.
It just goes to show - there is much, much more to nature than just the big and dangerous stuff we're all so keen on.

I am happy to note he is still creating the most awesome wildlife sculptures - do check it out on
www.thomasysselart.com.

If any of my friends in the USA should wander into Cabela's in Reno, you might get to meet the legend himself in the Gun Library.  Trust Yssel to do some freelancing in a place where he can fondle the occasional Greener, Rigby, Holland&Holland, Nitro Express and other old friends.  Not that he would ever find a use for them again, but it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he has acquired a considerable collection by now.

With all that said and done I still cannot help but sometimes wonder......
There is no stronger bond of friendship and trust than stepping into the dense reeds together, in pursuit of a buffalo wounded by poachers.
Reminds me of the old 1969 hit song by Peter Sarsted "where do you go to....when you're alone in your bed...."        Could it be Africa?

  

   

Lion in my face - the bad breath nightmares are made of.

Lion cubs are cute, cuddly little things.

Once teenagers, they should be handled with caution.

All lions in the wild are cautious of man by nature, and would normally go to great lengths to avoid contact.  This doesn't mean you should push your luck - in the bush, nothing is ever considered a certainty.

When lions turn into confirmed man-eaters, however, it becomes  a whole new ball game.  Different rules, different outcomes.....

My good friend Tom Yssel (see Tom and the crocodile in earlier posting) had resigned from his post as senior ranger in the Kruger National Park after more than 20 years.  At the time he was sectional ranger in the Malelane division, and he lived alone in a big house in the middle of the wilderness.
As he was going to leave for the USA on a Saturday, some friends and I impulsively decided on the Thursday to pay him a farewell visit that evening.
After work we headed into the Park, coolers heavily laden with steaks and beer.

The huge yard was enclosed by a sturdy 10 foot high diamond mesh fence, topped by six strands of electrified fencing.  The fence was angled outwards to further discourage monkeys and baboons.

At sunset we built a huge lead wood fire in the braai corner, and we tucked in to the beer with gusto.
It was a warm evening with a full moon and no wind, and a truly great time was had by all.

Sometime before midnight I decided to call it a day, even though the party was still in full swing.  Tom warned me that our regular habit of bedding down in the open bush was no longer an option, as some of the lions in the area had started killing and eating illegal immigrants trying to enter the country from neighbouring Mozambique through the Park (see earlier posting).  He told me to pick any bed in the house, which I declined.  When in the bush, I need to be outside.

So I compromised by rolling out my sleeping bag in the furthest corner of the yard, between a dense shrub and the fence.  Fortunately it was a hot night, and I was sleeping on top of my sleeping bag, and not zipped up in it.

Despite the raucous noise around the fire, I soon drifted off with my one forearm leaning against the fence.

In deep sleep my subconscious mind screamed at me that there was a lion breathing in my face.

In my years as a practicing dentist I've come across some serious cases of halitosis.  Some even memorable.  None, however, gets imprinted as profoundly as that of a lion close-up.  This is probably the result of a long-dormant gene from our primitive ancestors.  One whiff, and you'll know. I knew instantly - I've worked with lions before.

When I opened my eyes I was staring right into the dilated pupils of a huge male over a distance of less than 18 inches.  Eye contact is not a good idea.

Time stood still, but everything probably happened in less than two seconds.

The lion lunged at me with a tremendous roar, kicking sand into my face.  In my mind the fence did not exist.  In retrospect I'm pretty sure I must have levitated - one instant I was supine, the next I was five feet off the ground, getting my feet under me and under full acceleration while still airborne.

When I skidded to a stop next to the fire, my dusty arrival was met with stunned silence. The scene looked like a still photograph. Nobody was looking at me - they were all staring at the distant corner, glasses and bottles frozen halfway to open mouths.
Smithy (Dr. E.Smith, best GP ever) broke the silence with a drawn out "Whaaaat the f...........ck?"
Then everyone joined in.
Once it was established that there was neither harm nor danger, the wisecracks started.
A tall brandy was pushed into my hand, and they all exalted in their own wit. Their observations, remarks and advice for future reference had no bounds.  After a while I grew rather weary of their hilarity and headed back to my sleeping bag under loud (albeit cynical) applause.  I knew that if I headed into the house, I would never hear the end of it.

After all, lightning doesn't strike in the same place twice.  Or does it?

Needless to say, I didn't dare close my eyes for an instant for the rest of the night. 

The Ethics of Hunting.

A sport or a killing spree?

Hunting is as old as life itself.  It is an integral part of daily life on our little green planet.  Spiders hunt, sharks hunt, lions hunt - all for sustenance.
There was a time when man, too, had to hunt to stay alive and procreate. 

But that was a long time ago.  We are now the apex predator, comfortably ensconced at the very top of the food chain.  We can now let the others do the killing for us, and ignore the fact that for every morsel of meat or fish on our plate, something had to die somewhere.  Ever visited an abattoir?  Don't be fooled - there is no such thing as 'humane killing'.  Killing is killing and death is death, but it is the only way to get the bacon on the table.

With that said and done, the question remains:  Why is it that there are still millions of keen hunters out there, raring to go?  Why do they spend fortunes on rifles, bows, reels and tons of other equipment and then hike to snow covered mountain tops and bug-infested bush under sometimes extremely averse conditions?  Just for the sake of killing something?

I don't think so.  In my humble opinion they are (most of them, anyway) the true lovers of nature and the wild outdoors.  What ends up on the plate or in the trophy room is a bonus - the best part is the hunting, not the killing.  The expensive equipment serves as justification for extended sojourns to where the air is clean and the water clear.  Even the silence out there is clean and clear.

For the record:  I am not a hunter.  Yes, I have killed, but for different reasons.  Never liked it, but I'm a realist.

The single most important word I can link to hunting is sustainability. 

Hunt in such a way that your children and grandchildren can, in the distant future, enjoy the same privilege.