On safari!

A rare trip into the African night, with a kit full of tranquilisers.

OLIVIA POZZAN

It was almost midnight when the lions came.  We were safely cocooned in the cabin of a truck, wrapped in the dark void of an African night, deafened by the repetitive loop of insane laughter blasting out of the loudspeakers.  A routine spotlight check caught the lion pride feeding off the zebra carcass we had staked out before sunset.  They were less than 20m away but we hadn’t seen or heard a thing.  Someone switched off the tape, instantly ridding the night of the rabid concerto of hyenas in a feeding frenzy.

As we watched, a lioness swished her body in irritation, only momentarily distracted by the orange dart sticking out of her rump.  Two more darts found their marks and within minutes we were hurrying across the no-go zone with stretchers and highly strung nerves.  Tawny shapes flitted through the trees and every shadow seemed about to spring into life.  I clung to Dewald’s assurance that lions were too lazy to chase fresh meat when a perfectly good meal lay dead at their feet.  We loaded the stretchers but before we had reached the truck with our cargo I heard the crunch of bone and flesh as dinner was resumed.

We worked in the open, the three vehicles parked in a U-shape, giving us, or rather, me, a false sense of security.  Radio collars were fitted, girth measurements, blood and semen samples taken.  Up close and personal the trio were a motley crew.  Far from the glossy pages of a National Geographic spread, these lions were mangy, dirty and in desperate need of dental hygiene.

Under the effects of Zoletil, the lions grunted and twitched.  Darting isn’t an exact science.  Estimating bodyweights at night and hoping the full dosage is injected on contact can lead to exciting times.  Our bonus excitement arrived when a rival lion pride took a sudden interest.  As we carried our cargo back to the zebra carcass, the lion grunted and paced towards us.  In the glare of the spotlight his head and mane loomed out of the darkness, huge and damned impressive.  A wave of uncertainty charged through the stretcher bearers.  Dewald unholstered his pistol.  “Whatever you do, don’t run.”  In a career of global trekking, the short distance back to the truck was the longest and most unforgettable 20 metres I’ve ever covered.

Africa is the land of big game safaris where trophy hunters bag stag heads and zebra pelts and tall tales of near-death experiences.  With a handful of veterinarians from around the world I was on safari - with a difference.  Instead of hunting trophy animals with bullets we were using drug cocktails to dart big game on a 10-day Wildlife Capture Course in South Africa’s Kruger National Park.

Although buffalo are the most cunning and dangerous animal in Africa, and hippos account for the greater number of human deaths, lions rule.  Kruger has a lion population close to 2000.  A typical pride has 12 members and ranges a territory up to 400 sq km.  In Kruger the range is far less, usually 80 sq km.  Lions are opportunistic hunters.  An adult lion kills, on average, every three to four days and needs to eat 1500 kg of prey a year.  Such trivia sticks in your head when you’re cooking steaks on the braai, trying to ignore the hyenas and lions padding softly around the perimeter fence.  The six-ft wire mesh topped with a few spindly strands of barbed wire didn’t seem much of a deterrent.  Someone threw a bone over the fence.  It was devoured by a shadow. 

The Capture Course program varied with Park management practices and on-going research projects.  As Manager of Veterinary Services Peter Buss explained: “Animals are darted for translocation (movement between reserves), transportation to private reserves, treatment of injuries, collection of biological samples, culling and sales.”   The midnight lion hunt was more than a Daktari daydream.   Dewald Keet was investigating a growing incidence of TB in Kruger’s lion population.  TB was first introduced into the Park in the 1950s when Cape buffalo mingled with infected cattle herds from adjoining farms.  Now 40 per cent of buffalo in Kruger’s southern region are infected.  Passing up the food chain, lions contract the disease from eating their TB-spiced steak-du-jour.  Chronic illness leads to debility and emaciation.  Weak males become easy marks resulting in increased territorial takeovers, eviction of entire prides, and infanticide, not to mention a lingering death.  According to a 2005 report, 25 lions die each year from bovine tuberculosis.

Doing our bit to save the King, we took to the air in low-flying helicopters, rounding up and darting herds of Cape buffalo, transforming the sun-baked savannah into a wild west bison hunt. Etorphine (or M99) has a rapid induction but animals remain sensitive to external stimuli so ground teams tied blindfolds on the buffalo before monitoring vital signs.  Another spot of blood collection, a crane-hoist into the transport trucks, a top-up with the tranquiliser Azaperone, and the herd were on the way to a holding facility to be incorporated into a Disease Free Buffalo Breeding Project.  “This project,” Buss explained, “was established to breed buffalo calves free of Foot and Mouth disease, TB, Brucellosis and Theileriosis so that they could be moved out of KNP and used to populate other National Parks.”  Quarantine zones and radical culling of buffalo herds are other temporary measures while research into a vaccine continues.

Kruger covers an area of nearly 20,000 sq km  - greater than the size of Northern Ireland - running 350 km in a north-south direction along the Drakensberg Escarpment.  But with a width of only 60 km it forms a strangely narrow corridor of land.  Until recently, fences and barriers in this beanpole strip have disrupted east-west migrations across the low veld from the Lebombo Mountains and Mozambique fragmenting populations and, in turn, ecological patterns.  But in an effort to undo the damage of decades and restore the region’s eco-dynamics and biodiversity the fences are gradually coming down.

Given Kruger’s massive area, it was surprising that only a handful of vets serviced the Park, living in a small village in the southern region of Skukuza.  Lions and hippos made regular appearances in their front gardens and on the local golf course. 

Africa breeds legends.  I found one in Douw Grobler, a no-nonsense Afrikaaner tougher than a Wilbur Smith hero.  I remembered him from an action shot in a National Geographic magazine involving an angry buffalo and lots of adrenaline.  He reminded me of the legendary Harry Wolhuter, a park ranger in the early 1900s who single-handedly knifed a lion to death after it had pulled him from his horse.  Grobler taught us to handle a dart-gun, mix immobiliser cocktails, and face a charging buffalo.  His manner was brash but his methods effective. 

Each morning and evening we gathered near the waterholes, silent spectators to the golden flush of dawn and dusk as we waited for kudu, impala and wildebeest.  Zebra cautiously filed down the muddy banks, a coltish giraffe splayed its long legs in a semi-split, and hippo eyes ruffled the waterline.  Hours passed in a moment.  On safari, we drove past herds of antelope grazing in knee high grassland, Sabie River crocodiles slinking below wooden bridges, and elephants swaying to the unheard beat of the bushveld.  The birds seemed almost limitless in their abundance and variety, flitting from Mopane trees to Fever trees and Combretums.  In contrast to the iridescent flashes in the tree-tops, a Boab grew vultures from its leafless branches.  And even when we saw no signs of life I knew hidden eyes watched us until we passed out of sight.

Beneath a thorny acacia tree we bagged a bull elephant.  He staggered as though drunk on fermented Marula berries before dropping gracefully to the ground.  We recorded vital signs, collected samples and clipped on a radio collar.  His tusks were the colour of butter, his skin surprisingly smooth, the trunk far more delicate than I imagined.  60,000 muscles give the trunk its precision and dexterity, allowing an elephant to gently pluck a small leaf from between the acacia’s thorns.  As elephants can only breathe through their nasal passages a carefully positioned twig in the trunks’ external opening kept him breathing.  I felt inside his mouth, amazed that my outstretched hand barely covered the surface of his single molar tooth.

TB hasn’t spread to the elephant population but the park vets are worried that they might contract the disease from waterholes and vegetation contaminated by sick buffalo.  Infections have already been found in leopards and cheetahs.  Having observed the insidious impact on Kruger’s lion population since 1995 when TB was first diagnosed in the species, the vets are concerned of the far-reaching implications of the disease.  Endangered species like the cheetah don’t need another setback.  These cats might be the fastest land mammals on earth but their numbers are dwindling – fast.  With only 200 or so cheetahs in the entire Park, the Hoedspruit Cheetah Conservation Centre is busy with a captive breeding program.  A number of population bottlenecks and prolonged periods of inbreeding since the last ice age have left these cats with low genetic variability and high abnormal sperm counts.   In the wild, cheetah cubs suffer a high mortality rate due to these genetic factors as well as competition with other predator species.  Throw TB into the mix and the future looks far from sweet.

But TB and disease were far from my mind when we drove back to camp after the midnight lion hunt. The night was misty and silver, silent except for the sound of rubber on tarmac. We were riding the tail of an adrenaline high when the night got even better.  Two young lions having a cat-nap on the road ahead lazily watched our approach, unfazed by the proximity of the truck.  We stared at them in awe.  They stared at us without interest.  Through the open window I could have reached out to touch them.  One of the lions slowly rose to his feet, stretching majestically.  His friend did the same and with a disdainful look our way, padded down the middle of the road.  We kept pace beside them, drinking in their musky smell, revelling in their utter disdain at our presence.  They were the kings of Africa, and they knew it.  Suddenly, they veered off the road and were swallowed by the night, back into the arena of predator and prey.  No one spoke.  It was a powerful moment, forever suspended in time. 

Table 1: What goes in the tranquiliser dart?

NB: Hyaluronidase is often added to the immobilising mixture to increase drug absorption and decrease induction time.

Naltrexone is an opioid antagonist that decreases the incidence of re-narcotisation.