Animal Encounters - First Elephant

As a Field Entomologist in Tsetse Control in Rhodesia (1967-68), much of my time was spent in pretty remote areas of “the bush.”  I would write to my parents, who were living in South Africa at the time and describe my employment as “working in a zoo,” only there were no cages. I had a camera with me, but took far too few photographs.  I also always had a rifle with me.  Occasionally I could provide a little fresh meat for our camp and only once did I almost have to use my .375 magnum to protect myself.

During the height of the rainy season, from December through March, movement in many back-country areas was limited by wet and often impassable roads. The weather from April through October was about as predictable as weather could be, sunny dry days, cool clear nights.

As anyone who has been “on safari” in Africa can testify, when around wildlife there is always an unexpected event or sighting around the next bend in the road.  It may not occur for many, many, hours, or even days, but it always leaves an indelible memory.  Just as you begin to wonder where the game is, it pops up to excite and amaze you. This was certainly my experience as a young, enthusiastic lover of all wild places and animals, suddenly finding myself in a professional situation that few have an opportunity to experience in their lives. Growing up through my teen years, I was able to join my dad on occasional hunts for small game. These were always enjoyable and taught me solid lessons, but I have never been, nor would I ever describe myself as a “hunter.” The main lessons I learned were how to shoot well and how to treat a firearm with great respect.

Being in Tsetse Control did not give anyone a license or permission to hunt.  We were able to shoot only in clearly designated areas and under strict guidelines. There was never an attempt to take on the role of the professional game rangers and wardens of the Department of National Parks and Wildlife Management.

One of the most memorable days of my life was the first time I saw elephant in the wild.  I had seen them many times in game reserves, from behind a fence or from the safety of a car but never while on foot.   I had spent several weeks on a spraying operation in a remote area on the southern edge of the Zambezi Escarpment due south of Lake Kariba.  These operations were conducted for 25 consecutive days, beginning on the first day of each month.  Everyone would go for “R & R” from the 25^th to the 31^st to make up for the weekends that we had worked. Field Officers would return to Salisbury (now Harare) for a well deserved break, and to re-provision for the following month. The laborers; most recruited from local villages, would return home to their families and their chores.

Elephant footprints (spoor) in sand

On this occasion, in August 1967, my boss Bill Casey had arranged to take me to a Tsetse Research station called Reckomechi.  I rendezvoused with Bill in the small town of Makuti and left my Land Rover at the local Government depot while we continued in his vehicle.  From Makuti, the two-lane paved highway descends almost immediately into the Zambezi Valley in long sweeping curves through dense bush.  The valley floor is flat and the most noticeable change in vegetation is the increased number of baobab trees; those huge grey hulks that seem as though they have been thrust into the earth upside down.  As the highway flattens out to cross the valley floor north to the Zambezi River and the Zambian border post called Beit Bridge, we turned right onto a dusty road heading east toward Mana Pools, the renowned Game Reserve.

The dirt road is straight, except for a few times when its geometrically perfect bearing was impeded by an old baobab tree; then it would bend just enough to skirt the obstruction.  After about 30 miles on this hot, dusty road we passed the turn to Mana Pools and soon arrived at Reckomtjie, a loose assemblage of metal prefab buildings which served as labs, offices and accommodations.  We met the Tsetse Officer in charge and his wife and as the late afternoon shadows began to lengthen, Bill Casey suggested we take a walk to the nearby Reckomtjie River.  So, we made our way through the small vegetable garden at the back of the house and followed a narrow path descending into the river.  The river, as is typical in this area, was lined on either side by huge, old hardwood trees, teak, ebony and ironwood.  The wide sandy river bed appeared completely dry although from the holes that had been dug by elephant, there was obviously water not too far below the surface. We reach the bed of the river and crossed a narrow sandy area before climbing up onto a large earth mound, about 10-12 feet high, fortified by a number of large trees. It was literally an island in the dry river bed which was about 40 yards wide at this point.

Looking directly north, the sand ran straight into the shade of overhanging trees, as though disappearing into a tunnel.  Behind us, to the south, the river bed ran up against a vertical red earthen cliff as it turned to the left and began its ascent into the distant hills. I could imagine how it might be during the rains, when thunderstorms would build over the higher country and the rushing torrents would spill into the valley along this dry sandy highway.  Bill and I sat down on top of our “island” and enjoyed the peace and quiet for a few minutes.  Before long we saw the grey, ambling hulks of a herd of elephant begin to appear out of the shadows to the north.  They were walking purposefully, in single file, with an old matriarch in the lead. As they got closer, we could see there were perhaps twenty animals in the group, mostly females, with several calves and a few immature males.  It reminded me of the tame elephants I had seen as a young boy at Ringling Brothers Circus, when the elephants would enter the big top and walk around the ring holding each other by the tail.

Now of course they smelled us and the column slowed briefly. Then they separated into two lines, with one row passing on our left and the other to our right.  From our small hilltop, we could almost have reached out and touched them. As they passed, we were close enough for them to see us, and a few lifted their trunks to test the air.  I realized that, in the excitement of the moment, I had been holding my breath.  I also remember how quietly these huge, gentle animals were moving.  As the last one passed, we turned to watch them continue up-river and soon disappear around the bend below the cliffs.

This herd had come out of the vast Mana Pools Game Reserve and, had probably not been poached or hunted.  This explained their acceptance of the smell of humans and the fact that, despite the presence of young in their herd, we were not perceived as a threat.  In the near future I would encounter elephant in other parts of the country and in different circumstances where the smell of humans would throw them into a panic. The following morning, I walked up-river from this spot and saw where the herd had excavated holes in the riverbed and exposed pools of water.  During this time of the year, when rain would not come for many more months, elephants provide a source of water for many other wildlife species by digging into the dry river beds. 

Water revealed by elephant in a dry river bed.

It’s 44 years later and I still have the sharpest memories of that late afternoon in the Reckometjie River.  That was the moment when I began a love affair with elephants and started to develop an understanding of just how remarkably intelligent and gentle they are.  

Next - encounter with a Cape Buffalo, and then a black mamba and an eland.

A Glossinologist is born

Glossina morsitans - scourge of Africa (from:Wikipedia)

The Tsetse Fly is a pest. It resembles a horsefly in size but it is only found in Africa and it packs a really annoying and painful bite.  I learned about the Tsetse Fly while pursuing a Bachelor of Science degree at Rhodes University in Grahamstown, South Africa.  I experienced my first bite on December 26, 1966 while visiting Rhodesia for the first time.  I was driving my red 1300cc, Volkswagen Beetle from the small village of Makuti to Lake Kariba. My friend from Rhodes, Andrew Campbell-Watt, was sitting next to me and I suspect he will remember our road trip around Rhodesia as well as I do.

The Zambezi Escarpment near Makuti

As we descended the “escarpment” along the scenic two-lane highway into the Zambezi Valley the summer heat began to rise as the elevation steadily dropped; from 3,200 ft. to 1,590 ft (485M) at the lake.  The only air conditioning option was the open-window kind.  The rounded hills were covered with Msasa trees.  Today it is more common to call these areas Miombo Woodland, but back then the vegetation was called Brachystegia Woodland (from the tree genus Brachystegia).   These woodlands extend from Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) north through Tanzania and Kenya and serve as hosts to the amazing diversity of wildlife found across the vast African continent, south of the Sahara Desert.  We crossed many dry river beds over concrete bridges and causeways on the 48 mile (77km) highway.  

Famous mile-marker at Makuti - 2001.  Kariba 77km.

When passing through Tsetse Fly country it is risky to slow down and to drive with windows open.   In one of the low places we made the mistake of slowing down as we crossed a stream bed.  The vegetation in these low areas is thicker, and game populations tend to be more concentrated.  Tsetse Flies feed on the blood of wild mammals (antelope, elephant, warthog etc.) and also breed and congregate in dense numbers where wildlife populations are highest.  They also tend to rest in shady spots – such as the underside of concrete causeways over which people in red Volkswagens pass.

The Tsetse fly is a tough critter.  It flies fast and can land on your skin without you feeling it.  It’s the most amazing thing.  It will be sitting on your arm or leg or on the back of your neck and you can’t feel it.   And then there are its piercing mouth-parts, perfectly adapted over millennia to penetrate tough skin to tap a hot, juicy blood vessel.  The first clue that it is biting is the pain, like a hot needle.   They almost always seem to land on your body somewhere out of sight.  I was driving with both hands on the steering wheel and one of those annoying critters landed on one of my fingers, just about the nail and proceeded to stick its sharp little proboscis into my finger.  Ouch!  I nearly lost control of the car!

Once bitten you begin to imagine flies all over your body and you begin to fidget like mad, running your hands up and down the backs of your legs and over the back of your neck and shoulders, just in case one has come to rest and is about to stick its little dagger through your thin cotton shirt.   Andrew and I completed our passage to Kariba Town without more Tsetse Fly attacks, mainly by speeding up so the flies couldn’t catch us.

Lake Kariba on the Zambezi River - 165 miles long.

Over the next few years I would become very familiar with the Tsetse Fly.  Glossina morsitans is its name in scientific circles. During my first road trip to Rhodesia that December 44 years ago, two significant things occurred in my life.  First, I fell head over heels in love with that beautiful country and its people, and second I interviewed for a job as a Field Entomologist with the Ministry of Agriculture, Department of Veterinary Services, Tsetse and Trypanosomiasis Control Branch (Tsetse Control for short).  A few weeks later I received a letter offering me the position and I accepted without hesitation, but replied that I could only report for work in July 1967.  

I had already made a commitment to stay on as Senior Lab Technician at Rhodes University until early June, and then to volunteer as an Instructor at the Veld & Vlei Adventure (VV&T) School in Sedgefield, South Africa, later that month.  VV&T would become part of the worldwide Outward Bound organization a few years later.  Fortunately the good people of Tsetse Control agreed that I could delay my start.  The rest, as some might say, is history.

In July I reported for work in Salisbury (now Harare) and began playing a small role in trying to reduce the unbelievable economic damage and hardship that was, and still is, caused by this little insect, across the African continent.   My life as a Glossinologist would begin.

But more about that in my next blog.

Spiders - A true story

Scary spider story.  What would 007 do?

I am not a squeamish person. If I hadn't realized this at a young age it certainly came home to me in my first year of university Zoology labs. Eventually my majors were Zoology and Entomology - neither course suited to the faint-hearted. Along with many fellow students I saw the 1962 James Bond movie, Dr. No, in which the villainous Dr. Julius No attempted to eliminate Sean Connery by having the bad guys put large, hairy, poisonous, black Tarantulas in his bed. Being a student of the biological sciences I was one of the few in the viewing audience who knew that, in real life, Tarantulas are not deadly to humans, but the squeals and gasps of horror from most around me did cause me some discomfort and I later had a few restless nights thinking about it.

Fast forward about 15 years. I was serving in an Army Reserve Unit in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) and was bivouacked with seven members of my patrol in a partially constructed encampment in the Zambezi Valley. The Zambezi Valley was not our favorite destination for a 4 week military call-up in October. It is a remote, low lying, wild area, where daytime summer temperatures reach over 100 degrees often. As the summer rains begin to arrive, the afternoon sky fills with huge cumulus clouds and the humidity soars. October is appropriately called "suicide month" in that part of southern Africa.  

Before continuing with my spidery tale of horror I should describe the sun spider. In scientific circles the sun spider (or camel spider, wind scorpion, or roman spider) is known as a Solifuge (from the Latin meaning "fleeing from the sun"). Descriptions include phrases such as:
"A diverse and fascinating, yet poorly known, order of specialized, mostly nocturnal, cursorial (means "adapted to or involving running") hunting arachnids notable for their massively powerful two-segmented chelicerae (read "jaws"), voracious appetite, and tremendous speed."
"Solifuges vary from a few millimeters to 10 centimeters (4 inches) in length and look superficially like stout, hairy, fast-running spiders with an extra pair of legs (leg-like, sensory pedipalps, held out in front of the body)."

"Their head has a very characteristic shape with powerful jaws or chelicerae with which they seize and chew their prey."
"The whole animal is covered by long sensory hairs or setae which glisten in the sun.
"In some species retreats are located under rocks, logs and other debris which are merely scrapes in the ground made by loosening the soil with their chelicerae and moving it away with their feet."
"They have an insatiable appetite and sometimes gorge themselves until almost ready to pop. After subduing a prey item, some solifugids bite off the preys' legs, then proceed to eat it head first. They have an incredibly high metabolism and never seem to stand still for a moment. They are attracted by lights and are commonly found near campfires where they are more frequently encountered."

As a further warning I will tell you in advance that the sun spider that I encountered was at least 4 inches long and very soft and hairy. If you feel uncomfortable reading about fat, hairy, spiders please stop here.

Back to the story. My patrol had set up our folding stretchers in two adjoining rooms in a crude structure made from concrete cinder blocks. There were two window openings, with no frames, and one door opening, without a frame or actual door. The floor was smooth concrete. The roof was corrugated iron sheeting screwed onto wood trusses. The astute reader can imagine how this metal roof accentuated the 100 degree summer heat during the day. The unskilled builders who had secured the corrugated iron sheets onto the wood beams had located the screws in the lower part of each corrugation. The consequence of this would not become evident to any of us until it rained, when the water would pour through the screw holes into the rooms below.
In any event, day after day, the humidity continued to build and we hoped for a cooling thundershower. Eventually it came, preceded by incredible lightning flashes and deafening thunder. We had all gone to bed. As the rain began to fall, the water began to pour onto us from the misplaced, but evenly spaced, holes screwed into the metal roofing. Every 2ft 6in was a thin but copious stream of water. The four of us in my room raced to move our beds and our backpacks into the narrow spaces between the water spouts, and then jumped back onto our beds to wait out the storm.

The only place I could position my stretcher was with one end, the head end, against the rough cinder block wall. I lay down again and, because the air was cooler now, pulled the sleeping bag loosely over me. I was barefoot, of course, and wore (for the really curious reader) a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I was now able to settle down, with my small pillow and head against the wall and with the rest of me and my gear out of the rain. Apart from the frequent flashes of lightning the room was in total darkness.

Within a minute or two I heard scurrying sounds across the floor and on the wall near my head. I started to reach under my bed for a flashlight but was interrupted by a loud "plop" on my pillow. Suddenly my senses, especially my hearing, became acute and every movement of the sun spider near my right ear was magnified. My first reaction was to reach down with both hands and draw the two flaps of my sleeping bag up to my chin and hold it there as tightly as I could. I had a flash-back of James Bond and his Tarantulas and instinctively tried to prevent this large crawling creature that had joined me on my pillow from getting into my lower regions. What would 007 do?

As I lay completely motionless, the soft, furry, hairy creature moved onto my hair and up onto my forehead, coming to a stop with its body on my nose. Its rear legs were touching my closed eyelids and its forelegs were touching my upper lip.

Can you imagine how hard it was to remain motionless with a furry appendage touching my upper lip, or to resist twitching my nose? This 4 inch long, sun spider sat there for the longest time - probably just a few seconds. It then crawled across my chin and down onto my neck and, denied access to my sleeping bag, eventually plopped onto the floor to join its dozen friends and associates scurrying around looking for something to eat.

I threw my sleeping bag open, jumped out of bed and grabbed my flashlight with one hand and a boot with the other. The other men did the same and within minutes, the walls and floor of our little shelter were spattered with the goopy remains of almost a dozen sun spiders. Some escaped through the window and door openings through which they had entered. By now the rain had tailed off. I moved my bed away from the wall, made sure there were no spiders in my bedding, boots or backpack and lay down to sleep again. Another day in paradise had passed.

Over the years I have told this true story many times, enjoying the reaction it gets from arachnophobes. It is interesting to see that some of our troops serving in the Middle East have posted similar stories on the internet describing their encounters with a very similar "camel spider," also a member of the Solifuge family. So, when you go to bed tonight, sleep tight and don't let the spiders bite.