Elephant Charges

I remember a very old joke from the 1960s rash of silly “elephant” jokes.  Question: What do you do when an elephant charges you? Answer: Put it on your American Express card. Or “what did Tarzan say to Jane when he saw the elephants coming?” “Here come the elephants.”

I have been asked many times whether I have ever been charged by an elephant.  The answer is yes, three times. All three episodes took place in the Gona-re-Zhou Game Reserve in southeastern Zimbabwe during the seven months I spent there in 1968.

The first time wasn’t especially exciting.  I was in my Land Rover, driving on a two-rut road across a very flat and open area when I come up with three bull elephants off to my right.  They weren’t too close but were walking parallel to the road about 100 yards away.  Suddenly, and without any provocation one of the bulls turned and began to run toward me.  I waited until he was about 50 yards away and was ready to accelerate away, when he raised his trunk and skidded to a stop, kicking up a cloud of dust. It was a “mock charge.” The bull trumpeted a few times, flapped his ears, kicked up some more dust, then lost interest, and turned to follow his two buddies. I was to learn later that a real serious charge could be recognized by an ears back, head down, full speed sprint towards the “threat,” which, in this instance, was me.  This fellow was just showing off.

The second charge was the scariest. As I have written before, the project I was working on involved rising very early and leaving camp by daylight.  We would carry out our 8 mile traverses and generally be done by the time it got really hot and return to camp by noon.  After a break for lunch, usually around 2:00 p.m., I would head out with my camp assistant Malvern Shumba to an area of the Mozambique countryside that we had not yet explored. I was using an old set of aerial photographs and some very outdated Mozambique maps to try and pinpoint target areas where the tsetse fly population would tend to be high. I was particularly looking for waterholes where elephant would always congregate. Because of the less than ideal conditions when the aerial photos had been taken, much of this area had been under cloud; so many waterholes had been obscured. During the many months I spent in this region of the country I was also compiling a record of the elephant I was seeing, mapping their locations, direction of movement and size and composition of their herds.

Malvern was a tall, lean young African man with a friendly demeanor and an urge to learn. He had a bright set of perfect, white, teeth when he smiled.  17 Years old when I met him, he had a 10^th grade education at a government school near the village where he had been born, close to the tiny rail siding and border post named Malvernia -  for which he had been given his Christian name.  He was particularly proud of his family name “shumba,” which means “lion.”  Malvern’s English was excellent and because he had been born near the Mozambique border he was very helpful in translating the local dialect. Malvern impressed me with his fluency in both written and spoken English.  When I would leave at the end of the month to return to Salisbury (now Harare) for five days, he would present me with a list of four or five books that he always “hoped” I could bring him. Many were school text books. Apart from being good company, he also was very skilled in finding his way back to the Land Rover when the day was cloudy and the sun wasn’t where it should have been in the sky.  On several occasions I know that, without Malvern Shumba along with me, I would still be wandering aimlessly through the Mozambique countryside while the sky overhead would be filled with vultures.

On one overcast and very windy afternoon we came across fresh elephant tracks (spoor) crossing the road.  We pulled off and began to follow them.  It seemed to be a small herd of 10 – 15 elephant, moving slowly through a stand of mopani trees and shrubs.  The thick, dark green, foliage made it hard to see more than a short distance of maybe 20 to 30 yards ahead of us. To make things worse, the brisk wind rustling the leaves made it difficult to detect any sounds of the big animals’ movements. As was my habit I carried a .375 magnum rifle strapped to my shoulder.  Up until now I had never had to use it in self defense. 

An elephant in thick Mopani shrub, Mozambique

After we had covered perhaps two miles Malvern saw the back of one of the elephants through the trees, so we were pretty close. The wind was in our faces and the ground was soft sand, so I rashly thought that the elephant had neither caught our scent nor heard us. Very unexpectedly we heard a crashing of branches and saw the top of an elephant coming at high speed directly towards us.  I forgot to mention that Malvern Shumba could really run.  I began to sprint after him as I caught a glimpse of the elephant’s head bobbing up and down as she charged.  As I ran I swung the rifle off of my shoulder and began to hope for an open space where I might have one clean shot at our pursuer or at least fire a shot into the air to scare her off.  Not too many seconds later (time really flies when you’re having fun) I slowed and turned to face her but she had stopped.  I can only think that she must have had a calf, as mother elephants will rarely distance themselves from their calves.  Her work done, she must have returned to her family group feeling somewhat proud of herself. Two very relieved but winded tsetse control employees returned to their vehicle with their tails between their legs.

The third incident was probably the most dangerous but also the most amusing, if you can look back on a scary situation and joke about it.  The top man in the Tsetse Control division had come to our border camp to have a look at progress and see the area first hand.  Desmond Lovemore was an exceptionally talented biologist and administrator and had earned his reputation through a dozen years of hard work and achievement.  He had arrived in his Land Rover station wagon to spend a few days “in the field.”  On his way through Chipinda Pools, the local Tsetse Control field headquarters, he had picked up the local man-in-charge, Jim Pasqual. Mr. Lovemore wanted to take a drive through an area to the south of our camp that we had not visited. On the map there were three rivers indicated, named respectively Number 1, Number 2 and Number 3 Rivers.  After breakfast five of us got into the Land Rover. Along for the ride was one of the South Africans working with us, Alex Kritzinger, me, my immediate boss, Alec Robertson, Jim Pasqual, and Desmond Lovemore. Thinking back now, it is amazing that I have recalled each of the names but I suspect it is partly a result of the unusual incident that we all shared for several minutes 53 years ago.

Road along the Rhodesia-Mozambique border, May 1968

We followed the border fence (Rhodesia/Mozambique) southwest from our camp for about 20 miles until we came to Number 1 River.  It was a river on the map but in reality it was a dry river course that would only hold water after heavy rains.  I was sitting in the back seat on the right side behind the driver.  Next to me was Alex Kritzinger and behind him in a little side seat right at the back was Jim Pasqual, the smallest of the group.  He was also the most easily prone to hysteria. (My personal assessment.)  We were driving slowly over smooth sandy ground following very faint vehicle tracks.  To our left we could see a sparse tree line, where the river would undoubtedly flow if, or when, it might rain. The trees were dry and leafless, as this was during August, mid way through the winter dry season. 

We were talking among ourselves and not paying too much attention to what seemed a pretty unexceptional and featureless landscape.  Quite suddenly we saw an elephant cow coming out of the trees to our left and heading directly toward us. It was all the more unexpected because it was the first elephant we had seen that day and usually females do not leave their herd groups. She was a fairly young cow, probably eight to ten years old.  She was running at full speed with her ears flattened against her sides and her head down. Mr. Lovemore accelerated and the cow tried to adjust to our movement as she came to a slight rise coming up out of the river bed.  The change in direction and the slight rise caused her to stumble and she went down to her knees in a cloud of dust directly behind us.  We all let out a collective sigh of relief, thinking that was the end of it.  But to our amazement, she clambered to her feet and came after us again. Before we fully realized it she was pulling up right behind the vehicle continuing her hot pursuit.  I looked back as she came to within a few feet of the back window of the station wagon, her head bobbing up and down at a furious rate. By now we must have reached at least 30 miles per hour and she seemed to be keeping up!

I turned quickly to look ahead and felt a sinking feeling when I saw a large dead tree had fallen across the track. From a distance the faint tracks in the sand seemed to go right under the tree.  I turned back to see the cow’s progress begin to slow, as she lost ground.  At the last minute, the tracks led us off to the right of the tree and we were able to cruise around the obstruction without losing speed.  All this time, Jim Pasqual, from his little seat in the back of the vehicle was repeating, hysterically, “he’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming.”  As quickly as it had begun, the threat was gone.  For a long time afterwards we tried to speculate why a lone female elephant would have charged a moving vehicle, for such a great distance, and with such incredible persistence.  It may have been that she had been wounded by a poacher or that the sound of a car engine was associated with some traumatic event in her life.

All of the people that I was with that day were far more experienced in animal behavior, particularly elephant behavior, than I was at the time. I was fortunate that this wasn’t something that had happened to me on one of those frequent occasions when I was alone.   It would have been a tough story for anyone to believe. This episode reinforced the adage that animals in the wild can be, at times, completely unpredictable and that elephants really can move at speeds up to 25 mph (40km/hour)!

Snakes in Africa

There seems to be a sense among most people who have never been to Africa that it is heavily populated with snakes.  In my 25 years on that continent I rarely saw a snake, although I learned a little about them as a Zoology student.  I’ve never had too much interest in snakes but I have never been particularly afraid of them either.  During 1997, in the Gona-re-Zhou Game Reserve in southeastern Rhodesia, not far from the Mozambique border, one of the Senior Tsetse Field Officers with whom I worked, came across an eight foot long python that had swallowed a small impala. It was a comical event in several respects. 

First, the unfortunate man was an energetic, very highly respected, African man of very small stature, standing about 5ft. 4in. tall, with a slight frame to match his limited height.  Despite his small size he was an excellent supervisor by virtue of a strong will, terrific leadership qualities and a wonderful sense of humor (humour).  He was leading a group of men in single file along a dirt path across a flat, sparsely vegetated, area of low mopani shrubs. It was July, in the dry season, when most of the leaves had fallen, so he would have easily seen the python had he not been talking and frequently turning to look back at his companions. In other words he wasn’t paying attention.

Second, most Africans have an innate and terrible fear of snakes of any kind, especially those that are bigger than they are. Encounters with even the smallest snake, chameleon or lizard snakes become the topic of conversation for weeks afterward.  Steven happened to look down as he was about to step on the python and suddenly launched himself into space, clearing the animal by about four feet. The other men scattered and only regrouped when they realized that the snake was almost completely immobilized by the large meal it had consumed and which was slowly being digested in its stomach. Most of the serpent was about six inches thick except for the great two-foot long bulge in its mid-section that was about 12 inches in diameter.

An 8 ft. Python photographed in Tanzania in 2005.

Over the following weeks the story of Steven’s great leap over the Python was embellished and exaggerated out of all reasonable proportions, always accompanied by raucous laughter and banter. I saw the snake about half an hour after the incident while it still lay where it was discovered, rendered completely harmless by its excessive appetite.

One of the most venomous snakes in Africa is the Black Mamba. A mature specimen can grow up to 12 – 14 feet long and they slither through the bush at great speed. Fortunately they are shy and tend to avoid confrontation.  A Black Mamba bite, before the development of antivenin, always resulted in death to a human in as little as 20 minutes. Its venom is both a potent neuro-toxin and cardio-toxin, making it doubly lethal.  I have seen a fully grown male Eland, weighing over 1,500 lbs, killed by the bite of a Black Mamba which it must of encountered by accident. 

Black Mamba - National Geographic photo

My only encounter with a Black Mamba brought us literally face-to-face.  I was working on a Tsetse Control assignment in Mozambique and one hot afternoon I was alone in my Land Rover and driving along a relatively smooth track, through an area of open bush, probably at a speed of about 20 mph. It was in late September when the days were almost always hot and sunny and the air was dry, so I had removed the metal cab and window frames from my vehicle and lowered the front windshield to benefit from the breeze. I had also removed the metal doors on both sides of the cab.

As I glided through the  bush (or “veld”) enjoying the cool breeze on my face, suddenly and very unexpectedly I looked to my right and saw a large Black Mamba approaching rapidly, with his head just about level with mine. Before I had time to react I passed in front of him, and at that moment he reacted by rearing back to avoid me and spreading his cobra-like neck flaps.  I reacted by hitting the accelerator and gripping the steering wheel.  Its head was about three feet from my face for an instant, and it was one of those moments in my life when I felt completely and utterly helpless. We passed one another so quickly that, had he had the time or intention of striking, he almost certainly would have missed me, so I can’t honestly say that I narrowly avoided death in the wilds of Africa on this occasion. 

In that one second I saw him up close and then he was gone, lost in the dust cloud my vehicle was creating behind me. I stopped some distance down the trail and looked for a while but he was long gone. There is a common seed pod of an African acacia tree that is 12 – 18 inches long, flat and dark in colour. (I can’t recall the exact species.) As it dries in the sun, it curls up, and on a windy day it rolls along the ground with a rapid spiral movement.  For a long time after my close-up meeting with Mr. Mamba, one of those seed pods would blow across the ground in front of me and, catching that movement out of the corner of my eye, I would cringe – imagining it was a snake.

Photo credits - The photo of a Black Mamba was downloaded from the National Geographic website and was taken by George Grall.  I took the Python photo while in Katavi National Park in Tanzania in September 2005.

For information about the Black mamba go to: http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/reptiles/black-mamba/

Tsetse - the silent destroyer

If you haven't read my previous post (July 17) then stop and go back.  

When I became a "tsetse fly controller," or Glossinologist, in 1967 I had only a rudimentary understanding of the insect and little appreciation of the total control this fly had on huge areas of the African continent.  In Rhodesia, as in so many developing countries, there was an unrelenting need for more land where the rapidly growing rural population could establish their rudimentary houses, grow crops and raise livestock. 

Wherever the tsetse fly occurred, rearing cattle, both as a source of meat and milk and as draft animals, was not possible without expensive prophylactic drugs administered every 30 days.  Almost 25% of otherwise fertile land in the country could only be farmed with hand tools, making it subsistence living or worse. The government had, over the years after WWII, put ever-increasing financial and manpower resources into finding ways of pushing the tsetse fly away from suitable areas planned for settlement.  Most of these efforts were restricted to the dry months of the year, generally from May through September; or, if the rains came late, the month of October could be included in that calendar.  The rains, from October through April, and sometimes May, were a huge impediment to field operations against the tsetse fly in Rhodesia.

The unique biology and behavior of the tsetse fly made it vulnerable to two primary control methods.

First:  it is very susceptible to insecticide.  It also tends to rest on the bark of trees along drainage areas which provide it with shade and sandy soil where it lays its already developing pupa.  These areas are where water sources for wildlife can be found and where wildlife tends to find shelter in the heat of the day.  The careful, targeted, application of insecticide to specific tree species could significantly reduce the populations of the fly.  It was possible to pinpoint these drainage areas by using aerial photographs. The targeted applications of insecticide also mitigated to a large degree the dangers of the widespread use of toxic chemicals on many other species of birds, insects and mammals.

Application of insecticide in a remote area in north Rhodesia.

In the 1960s there was a great sensitivity to the dangers of indiscriminate insecticide applications.  DDT had been banned in many parts of the world and it was in short supply locally.  We had turned to using Dieldrin which was more toxic than DDT but which could be applied in lower concentrations to achieve a similar result in reducing fly populations.

Second:  its preferred food source is the blood of mammals occurring in the wild.  In Rhodesia in the 1960's, the list of the top six preferred animals was made up of elephant, cape buffalo, warthog, bushpig, kudu and bushbuck.  All of these species were carriers of the disease passed on by the fly (trypanosomiasis or "tryps") but were resistant to its effects.  By establishing "controlled hunting areas," populations of these animal species could be selectively reduced or driven out by hunting.  Once these populations were reduced sufficiently the fly could not sustain itself in the area and would die out.  Depending on the success of controlled hunting in one area, resulting in the removal of the fly, the boundary of the controlled hunting areas could be moved each year, thus opening up new land for farming.

Another important consideration was that the tsetse fly could not fly long distances and would not, on its own, move across areas which were dry and did not have suitable shelter.  So their movement was greatly aided by the presence of animals which moved long distances - especially elephant and buffalo.  Tsetse fly were thought to be moved by resting on the skin of elephants as they traversed great distances to find water.  To inhibit the movement of these animals 7 ft. high game fences were erected across great distances, at considerable expense.

The two control methods discussed here, when coordinated with one another, would result in the removal of the fly from widespread areas of the country.  But how did we measure the success of these methods?  Checkpoints (or "fly gates") were set up at strategic points along the areas under attack.  The Tsetse Fly, attracted by dark colors and moving objects, would often rest in the wheel wells of cars.  A gate attendant at a "check point" would walk around the vehicle with a small net in hand and attempt to capture any flies.  These would be counted and recorded.  Over time, his daily log would be handed in and the figures added to maps back at Tsetse Control Headquarters.  These somewhat crude methods gave a good indication of the presence of the tsetse in those sensitive front line areas and helped to plan future campaigns.

A typical rural Tsetse Fly gate in 1960s Rhodesia.

Anyone who may have lived or traveled in Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) in the 1960s and 1970s will remember the Tsetse Control Check Point on the highway north leading to Zambia and Lake Kariba.  Every southbound vehicle had to pass through a large hangar expressly constructed for the purpose of capturing flies and monitoring fly numbers. (Unlike the photo shown here, which is a typical small fly gate in a remote area.)  When all the cars and trucks that could fit were inside, the large hangar doors at each end were closed, making the inside dark.  A hand held aerosol insect repellent was spayed into the car or cab of the truck and into the wheel wells of the vehicles.  Small windows were opened in the hangar wall to let in light through a trap.  Attendants would wave their nets around the wheels to stir the flies up.  Flies would either be caught in the nets or attracted to the light boxes in the hangar wall.  This hangar provided  valuable fly counts each month which gave excellent statistics to determine fly populations.

I could write at great length about the massive efforts to push the tsetse away from areas of settlement in Rhodesia.  These efforts continue today in many countries of Africa.  I personally would not trade my time in this effort for anything.  One benefit was that I was always working in areas with very high wildlife populations.  Over one seven-month period from April to October 1968 I lived on the southeast border of Rhodesia, working on a three-country control operation along the shared border with Mozambique.  Teams from South Africa, Mozambique and Rhodesia worked together on this huge effort which consisted of opening up an expensive new road system in the Portuguese territory.  This area of southeast Rhodesia would in later years become the Gona-re-Zhou National Park and may soon be extended across Mozambique into the Kruger National park of South Africa to create a massive "Trans-Frontier Park." The Gona-re-Zhou ("place of the elephants") is one of the most stunningly beautiful areas of Africa. When I was camping there I saw huge herds of cape buffalo and elephant. Two large perennial rivers, the Save and the Lundi Rivers flow through here which support rich game populations in the surrounding hills and plains.

On maps of this area today you can see a small dot along the border labeled "Border B" representing a gate in the fence line.  While I was planning the new road system (using aerial photographs) I selected that point along the fence for construction of a gate between the two countries. Because it occurred at point "B" on an expansive A, B, C, D grid system, I named it Border B Camp.  That name has stuck.  Maybe I should have called it Joe's Gate, or something more descriptive.

If I could have an opportunity to re- visit one part of Africa before I cash in my chips, I would like it to be the Gona-re-Zhou National Park. 

Next: Some animal encounters.

The senses of an elephant

Elephant rush to a water hole - Hwange Game Reserve, 1975

Gary Gerhardt wrote an excellent and informative article in the Adventure section of the Rocky Mountain News on Saturday 1st July, 2006, describing how animals have developed super-acute senses of smell, vision and hearing to give them a survival edge. (See "Elevated senses are common attributes.") The article reminded me of a personal experience in the 1960's that brought home just how sharp the elephant's sense of smell is. The elephant's vision is poor and its hearing is good but its sense of smell is amazing. 

In 1968 I was employed by the Government of Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) as an Entomologist in the Tsetse Control Branch (See note below.), and was on an extended, 7 month, field assignment in the southeast of that country on the border shared with Mozambique. A typical work day began about an hour before sunrise when leaving my tented camp and ended around noon. This avoided the hottest part of the day from noon until about 3 p.m. Returning to camp for a light lunch I would often go out later in the afternoon to explore the remote areas of Mozambique, looking for water holes and doing plant and game population assessments. 

Elephants were of particular interest to me. Tsetse Flies are always found in areas with specific vegetation types and where game densities are high. They can be carried great distances by elephant and elephant routes were important to explore. Elephants often engineer the primitive road networks of remote bush areas.

One afternoon I was by myself. Normally I would have a companion but for some reason on this particular day I had ventured out on my own. I drove along a rough track for several miles, took my bearings and left the Land Rover to hike to a prominent rocky feature I had seen on some aerial photographs. I left that rocky "outcrop" and crossed a 200 yard wide open grassy valley before stopping on another high rocky spur. The wind had been blowing from my left and when I was about halfway across I saw a small herd of elephant approaching from my left a considerable distance away. I knew they couldn't smell me because of the strong wind blowing from them toward me. 

Reaching the opposite high ground, I sat down and turned to look back across the open grassland and watch the herd, still walking at a leisurely pace toward where I had crossed. I could see the path I had taken quite clearly as there was a straight line of bent grass to mark my route. What happened next was remarkable. 

The instant the leading elephant reached my track, she halted abruptly. The others fanned out on either side of her and as each one "touched" the imaginary line my scent had created they stopped. It was as though an electrified fence had suddenly been erected in their way. Each member of the herd, about 12 or 15 in number, became agitated, sniffing the air with trunks extended, flapping their ears, and several trumpeted repeatedly. Their distress and confusion continued for about a minute, until the herd's matriarch turned and led them away at high speed back in the direction they had come. They absolutely would not cross the line I had unintentionally left with my scent. I was too far away for them to see me and they certainly couldn't hear me.

This was an extremely remote area but I had seen evidence of poaching. The game was undoubtedly familiar with human scent. What amazed me was the acuity of the elephant's sense of smell. With a strong wind blowing I would have thought my scent might have dissipated but that was not the case. I suspect the elephant's sense of smell is similar to that of the bears that Gary Gerhardt wrote about in his 2006 article.

Note: The Tsetse Fly carries the human "Sleeping Sickness" pathogen. This pathogen also causes "Nagana" which kills domestic livestock and is therefore of significant economic importance in Africa.