Inspired by an October 2008 newsletter
The curse of poaching has resulted in many calls for humanitarian and veterinarian help. In this case, we had been called in to relieve the plight of an elephant that had a steel cable snare on its left front foot. The young bull was estimated to be eight years old and was part of a breeding herd of fourteen elephant. The herd was reluctant to leave him, and their loyalty was unabated even though his attention was on pain relief rather than feeding. They waited patiently while he lingered in the soothing water of the river. The victim was the same elephant we had unsuccessfully tried to locate in the same area a year ago, but as he was smaller then, the snare had not cut in as deeply as it had now. Over time, he grew bigger and the snare slowly cut in deeper. The increasing pressure as the result of blood flow restriction must have been agonising.
The elephant was totally preoccupied with his swollen foot and was obviously in great pain as he rocked and swayed gently to and fro, placing absolutely no weight on the affected foreleg. One minute he would splash cool river water onto it, the next he would try to coat it with mud. Then, when these temporary pain relief measures wore off, he would lie down in the soft sand on the water’s edge. Apparently, he was getting some relief from the throbbing pressure, by keeping his heart on the same level as his foot for a while. It was a pathetic sight and human intervention was long overdue.
We used his preoccupation with pain relief as an opportunity to call in a helicopter and our local vet, who had already been placed on standby. Some aircraft regulation glitch in Phalaborwa meant that the helicopter was delayed for an hour while the necessary paperwork was checked. When they did eventually arrive, our vet, Gerrit again, wasted no time in getting the dart into the elephant before it moved into the thick riverine bush and disappeared for another year.
Besides the fact that this operation took place right underneath the four power lines, and there were a number of elephant involved, everything went according to plan and without interruption from the rest of the herd, including the old matriarch known as Joan.
As though a co-operative part of the operation, the herd moved off to a safe distance from the immobilised elephant, enabling us to remove the snare quickly. At this point, even though tempted to, I’m not going to humanise the situation and say that I’m sure the ‘Mommy’ elephant knew we were trying to help her son and so didn’t bother us as these overprotective mothers often do. Seriously, though, this can be one of the biggest problems when working on a member of a breeding herd, so we were most grateful that it went as smoothly as it did and that we were able to alleviate an animal’s suffering.
Among those witnessing the dramatic proceedings was a highly motivated group of conservation students out from Holland, all young women in their late teens and early twenties, who were staying at a camp on one of the neighbouring properties. Thrilled as they obviously were to have been on hand to experience meaningful conservation at work, in stark contrast to the mundane anti-erosion work and exotic plant eradication exercises with which they had been occupied, they were hungry for more of the same. The image of our anti-poaching guys in their neat uniforms, rifles slung over their broad shoulders, prompted them to ask if they could accompany the unit on their next patrol.
Initially, I was hesitant, because these patrols are not to be taken lightly. Anti-poaching is a very serious business … but I weakened, it being virtually impossible to say no to a beautiful woman. Confronted by six of them? All resistance crumbled. While I relented and condoned their involvement in the upcoming patrol, I did emphasise that it would be no problem as long as the risks and the conditions of this dangerous patrol were fully understood and accepted.
Early the next morning, together with their camp manager and course leader, who took official responsibility for the students’ safety, the anti-poaching unit, followed by the students, crossed the Olifants River onto the northern bank. This area is notorious for poaching activity, and, as expected, it wasn’t long before fresh signs of poachers were picked up.
Like a pack of bloodhounds the game scouts homed in on the clues, the ‘scent’, and pursued it with focused determination. The quiet efficiency this team displays when tracking ‘hot tracks’ has to be seen to be appreciated. The first thing is a perceptible attitude shift in the team. Then you notice a gear shift, a subtle urgency of gait, which tells you they’re getting close to their quarry. You can’t mistake the signs as the tension mounts, mouths start to lose saliva, and any attempt at speaking fails miserably with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. Then, without warning, the stealth of movement, hushed tones and sign language are abruptly discarded, to be replaced with absolute pandemonium. The apparent chaos that follows is in total contrast to the discipline and order of the previous two hours. Moments later, gun shots are fired, amidst much shouting and yelling and the odd dull thump followed by subsequent groans …
Try to picture the scene and imagine the faces of these fresh-out-of-Europe young ladies, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as a poacher is physically apprehended while his accomplice dodges bullets and shotgun pellets to escape. Up to that point, these students may have thought they were being treated to a well-rehearsed bit of play-acting. But those thoughts must have quickly evaporated when they heard some real thumping and saw some real blood, as the reality of what they had witnessed sank in. Tracking, catching and arresting armed poachers is extremely dangerous.
The fact is, they make their living from killing methodically and without feeling, so they wouldn’t hesitate to treat human interference with the exact same lack of sentimentality.
When they are caught, they resist. When they resist, they are handled firmly and decisively. The young students seemed to have lost the power of speech, never mind conversation. I would describe them as being in a state of shock as they quietly and quickly made their way back across the river. Once back in the relative safety and comfort of their camp, they were able to reflect on the excitement of the morning, but even so, it was obvious they had had enough for one day, judging from the excited chatter around the camp fire that night. On the other hand, one can only begin to imagine the stories that were taken back home to Holland.
I’m sure that tales of taking poachers out of circulation in the African bush would be more interesting than the usual European sidewalk café chit chat, whatever that might be.
The poacher who did not get away and was arrested that day was convicted and sentenced to a fine of R 2 500 or five years’ imprisonment. Although his accomplice is still at large, I have a feeling he will be lying low for quite a while. Truth be told, it’s actually good anti-poaching PR to have a ‘survivor’ live to tell the tale and to spread the word among his comrades-in-crime about how he so nearly got caught, having to dodge bullets to make good his escape.
The total cost of removing the snare from the young elephant with which we started this tale, including the previous year’s failed attempt, was R22 600, ten times the fine imposed on the poacher we caught. There is no doubt that the poacher’s wire snares had killed and maimed far more than just the one elephant we were able to help back to a good chance of a healthy future.
One of the greatest rewards of this life here on Olifants is that our shareholders and so many of our neighbours see the protection of our wildlife and their ways of life as being beyond price. In this instance, by removing a snare from an elephant we improved its circulation while removing the poachers from circulation!