Open Writing

Two novels that I’ve read recently referred briefly to elephants.
Nora Roberts, in ‘Key of Light’, described a big, clumsy dog as ‘trying to inch his way toward them with the same stealth as an elephant tiptoeing across the African plain,’ while Tess Gerritsen in ‘Keeping the Dead’ describes a character’s progress through the woods as being ‘as loud and clumsy as an elephant’s’.

Until one has been in the African bush or on the plains, one cannot conceive how inaccurate, for the most part, those comparisons are. Elephants are amongst the quietest of travellers through the bush and across the plains. There is an elusive African legend that tells how an ant saved an elephant’s life; since then, elephants always walk gently so as not to tread upon ants…

There are many fascinating websites that give facts and figures about elephants. The following quote comes from http://www.indianchild.com/african_elephants.htm ‘Despite their great weight, which in African elephants reaches 15,400 pounds (7 tons)…, elephants walk almost noiselessly and with exceptional grace, their columnar legs keeping their bulk moving forward in smooth, rhythmic strides. A thick cushion of resilient tissue grows on the base of the foot, absorbing the shock of the weight and enabling the animal to walk high on its hooflike toes. Elephants normally walk about about 4 mph (6.4 km per hour) and can charge at up to 25 mph (40.2 km per hour).’

Two weeks ago, Leon and I, with several family members and close friends, made our annual pilgrimage to our game lodge, Ntwane, at Welgevonden Private Game Reserve. From the main gate, we drove in Ntwane’s four-wheel-drive, ten-seater game-viewing vehicle to the lodge. This part of the journey usually takes about forty-five minutes, depending on how often we stop to view game on the way. We saw a herd of wildebeest, some zebra, several lovely birds. As the lodge came into sight, about five-minutes’ slow drive away along the circuitous and steep sand road, Daniel, our guide and driver, stopped the vehicle.

“Elephant,” he said quietly, pointing ahead. Uphill and around the bend, we saw the gray, rock-like shape of an elephant’s back. “In the road,” said Daniel. The elephant’s humped back moved a little, and Daniel edged the vehicle a few feet forward, until we could see the animal, which was by this time standing profile-on to the road, munching at a bush. He continued his meal, sprayed dust on his head and shoulders to cool himself, lifted his tail and defecated, turned to look at us, shook his head and flapped his ears, then walked on a step or two and repeated the whole process, progressing along the road in tiny increments. By the time he moved past the turning to Ntwane, leaving space for the vehicle to finally move away from him, it was forty-five minutes later… a very long ‘five-minute drive’ indeed. Our guests were thrilled at this close encounter.

We didn’t immediately move down the final few metres to Ntwane’s gate, but sat watching the elephant. He was a large, mature bull in musth. According to http://www.animalbehavioronline.com/musth.html ‘Bull elephants annually cycle between a state of heightened aggressiveness, called musth, and non-musth. A musth elephant is primed to mate, and fights other bull elephants, attacks other animals, and may destroy inanimate objects in its way. Musth bulls produce a distinctive low-frequency vocalization, the musth rumble, have thick secretions from their temporal glands (the duct from the temporal gland opens between the eye and the ear), and continuously dribble urine. Testosterone levels are at a peak in musth males and probably regulate this extreme form of reproductive behavior.’

We could certainly smell the musth, which dribbled down his wrinkled grey cheeks. He was very aware of our presence, and shook his head and ears at us several times. Luckily, he was more interested in the trickle of water seeping down the hillside than in us. He drank, and sprayed himself, and offered numerous photo opportunities. When he’d cooled down enough, he briefly turned his full attention on us, extending his trunk towards us and flapping his ears, taking a step in our direction, before deciding that we weren’t worth the effort. He turned and tiptoed down the back road away from Ntwane, vanishing without a sound.

An hour later, having unpacked and settled into the lodge, we clambered back into the vehicle and set out down the back road for a happily-anticipated game drive. Five minutes out, we came across our mountainous elephant friend once again, still ambling slowly ahead of us, stubbornly staying on the road. The smell of musth and urine wafting in our direction was incredibly strong. An elephant in musth should not be challenged, so we chugged along behind him. Of course, we were out to view game, and this elephant was particularly large game. But Max, as we named him, was becoming rather boring. When he moved a little way from the road, ambling parallel to the river flowing a few metres away, Daniel moved the vehicle next to the elephant and then edged ahead of him.

Elephant and vehicle were on a collision course for a ford in the river, the vehicle very slightly ahead of Mountainous Maximus …who sped up as if this were a race, head up, eyes glittering, trunk and ears waving threateningly. Daniel put his foot on the accelerator and we entered the ford a few steps ahead of Mad Max, splashed through the water and wheel-spun in the dust on the other side. For a few seconds we collectively ceased breathing as Max, very quietly, strode at frightening speed towards the rear of the vehicle, shaking his head at the dust being kicked up by the uselessly spinning wheels. As the tyres gained traction and the vehicle shot forward, we heaved a collective sigh of relief and left the elephant in our dust. He decided, once again, that though we were a nuisance, we weren’t worthy of his wrath and left us to go on our way.

After a beautiful ‘sundowner’ break on the plateau, under a large, yellow, horned moon, we returned home, passing the elephant at a slight distance near the junction to our back road.

Perhaps Daniel was keeping an eye on this elephant, perhaps the elephant was keeping an eye on us: during our six days at the reserve, we repeatedly came across him. He covered a huge distance in those times. On at least three occasions we saw him in the distance. However, the final encounter was on a particularly badly-eroded road. We were approaching a bend when we came face-to face with Mad Max, striding in a very annoyed fashion towards us. Very carefully and as fast as possible, Daniel reversed away from him over lumps and bumps and ditches, pausing a couple of times when the distance between us was, he felt, safe, to watch this angry and unpredictable animal. We were all nervous to varying degrees.

There are many accounts of elephants attacking vehicles for very little reason, and we were directly in Max’s path. Eventually, Daniel managed to turn the vehicle away from the pesky pachyderm, and we drove away.

We had another rather tense encounter when a ghostly herd of elephants decided to cross the road ahead of us at dusk. Knowing that separating a mother elephant from her young is a dangerously foolish action, liable to spark extreme aggression, made us rather nervous. We were in the middle of a breeding herd, consisting of some babies, many inquisitive youngsters, some very big Mommas and a huge Big Daddy. We sat still, barely breathing, and watched them pass to our left and then cross the road ahead of us and disappear into the trees. Several youngsters, aware of us in the road, turned to flap their ears and sniff at us, while we held our collective breath. We didn’t hear a sound as they passed.

Late on our last afternoon out, in glorious golden sunshine, we watched a herd move across a tree-dotted plain. They were sandy-coloured, having recently dried off after a mud-bath. It was probably the same breeding herd we’d seen in the dusk a few days earlier. They were browsing; two youngsters tussled in the distance, tangling trunks and pushing each other as youngsters do. We heard low rumbles, one of elephants’ forms of communication, which they can hear across many miles. We were fascinated to note that each time we heard a rumble, the herd changed direction.

We watched them enjoying themselves for some time before turning and driving away.

Of course, elephants can, on occasion, be extremely noisy. If an elephant is close-by and eating, branches can be heard snapping, trees are knocked down so that the elephants can reach the tender roots, and the crunching of vegetation can be heard as they forage. If an elephant is angry, it will trumpet, squeal and thunder out of the bush, to all intents emulating the proverbial bull in a china shop. Perhaps my authors were referring to these aberrant behaviours in their comparisons?
For the most part, though, when an elephant walks, no sound can be heard at all.

Until next time…. ‘here comes Treble!’

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by Isabel Bradley

http://www.wildlife-pictures-online.com/african-elephant.html.