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Category — Animals/Nature

Jambo Bwana 7: A Week with Elephants

Monday, June 27
Ithumba Camp
Tsavo East National Park
Makueni, Kenya

We wake up at 5:20am, which gives us just barely enough time to throw our clothes on and make it to the trucks leaving at 5:45 for the 15-minute drive out to the relocation unit. It’s just before dawn, still pretty dark, and as we near the top of the hill where the watering hole and stockade are located, we notice large, very large, slowly moving forms and shadows in the misty, gathering light. As my eyes become accustomed, I realize it’s a herd of elephants. Big, wild elephants of all sizes. They are here, it seems, to hydrate at the two water holes and greet the orphans as they are released for the day. We spend some time watching them in the gathering light before and after the orphans are let out of their enclosures. The sun rises soon after six, and we begin to see more clearly a large number of variously sized elephants scattered among the two water holes.

Some of the elephants are wild, some ex-orphans who have returned to the wild, and after some kibbutzing around the water holes and the hay strewn near the stockade, the orphans and ex-orphans and wild elephants head out for the day together, accompanied by the keepers, who walk with them. They will wind up at about 11 a.m. at the mud and watering hole a few miles south and then back to the enclosures at 5 p.m. for the night. The elephants spend the rest of the day roaming, grazing and learning from the others how to survive in the wild.

Benjamin Kyalo is project manager of the Ithumba Orphan’s Unit, and he explains to us the process that allows the elephants themselves to decide when they want to leave for the wild herd. I immediately trust him, and we will spend the next four days watching this incredible story unfold under Benjamin’s expert direction.

We get our first view of a baby named Wiva. She was born to Wendi on October 15, which makes her eight months old. Wendi was brought to the Trust as a newborn left for dead in the Imenti Forest in 2002 and was hand-reared at the nursery in Nairobi. After coming to Ithumba, she made the transition and is now one of about 30 ex-orphans who remain in the area and are now part of the wild herd. Watch a video of Wiva and her guardians here.

She is an example of an elephant raised completely in captivity but now free, and she remembers the keepers who raised her and is friendly with them, even with the baby around. Elephants love baby elephants, and Wiva is tended by at least five other females, but we are introduced to Wendi right away, because Wiva is looking for mama’s milk. We will see them many times in the next few days. Geoffrey points out two wild dogs at the edges of the elephant gathering, but neither Billie nor I can see them.

Up close, we can see and feel their scaly bodies, hard yet somehow soft, too, and built to hold together their weight and withstand the rigors of the Kenyan outback. We can also observe up close the temporal glands behind their eyes, which secrete chemicals that we don’t fully understand yet but we are learning that it has to do with their emotions.

The mudhole at Ithumba was used by all the elephants at one time or another.

Their ears are almost paper thin, and the skin behind them very soft. One stops over to show us her trunk and how cool it is. We can also hear their deep, rumbling voices. Elephant researcher Dr. Joyce Poole has observed that “greeting rumbles or bonding rumbles, in particular, show an extreme range in the frequency of calls.” And many of their rumblings are too low in frequency for humans to hear. Elephants have also been found to “hear” rumbles from long distances through vibrations they feel in their feet.

There are probably 30 or 40 elephants here, and the big ones soon head over for the lucerne next to the stockade. It is meant for the young ones, but today the bigger elephants push the young ones out of the way, grabbing huge chunks for themselves and taking off to munch without interruption. Soon, they are heading off down the road in small groups before disappearing behind a ridge, and we climb back in the trucks for the drive back for breakfast.

Lois stopped in to our tent to talk about how the safari was going, and we have a good conversation. Overall, we tell her we are delighted at what’s happening. We are completely comfortable with the way things are transpiring. Breakfast includes eggs over easy with bacon, alongside cereals and fresh fruits, juices and coffee. We sit and watch some wildlife coming through the camp until 11 a.m., when we are driven out to where some of the wild elephants are again waiting for the orphans at the mud hole.

The water trucks were busy every day at the various waterholes.

Tsavo East is pretty dry, and it’s winter, so the Trust has built water holes of stone for the elephants around the area. They need to be cleaned and refilled, often more than once a day, and the Trust keeps them serviced with a truck that drives up to the water hole right into a herd of larger males. The elephants are obviously used to this, and they stand around waiting. The water truck is a constant companion here, either at one of the water holes or at the stockade or heading between them. The wild elephants are patient as the attendant fills up the holes.

We spend an hour just watching. The mud hole here is much larger than the one at Umani Springs. It’s a real mud hole, and there is elephant action everywhere: I’m standing looking at the mud hole, a pond with maybe a twenty-yard circumference and mud all around it, and elephants are splashing and throwing mud everywhere. At one point, the young orphans are coming in for their bottles stage right while the big males stand at left at the water hole silently gazing over at us.

It’s an amazing scene, the elephants throwing gray sludge on their backs until they turn a darker shade of grey. There is a kind of pecking order going on, with elephants waiting for others in some cases and not in others. At certain points it seems that some of the larger elephants are holding a class in mud slinging for the orphans to show them how it’s really done.

One friendly guy, taller than we are, walks right up to us. He’s an ex-orphan and friend of Benjamin, who’s also standing with us, and this male elephant is right next to us, checking us out with his trunk and talking with Benjamin while larger males eye us from about thirty feet away and another line of elephants passes just beyond us. I’m surrounded by elephants and as happy as I’ve ever been in my life.

A busload of Kenyan schoolchildren in their blue outfits are standing around the orphans, and some of the more adventurous get to feed the young orphans their bottles. Education at a young age is an important part of the Kenyan conservation effort, and I wonder to myself how many of these children’s families might be involved in poaching, or which of these kids might become poachers themselves, given the right economic circumstances. It’s a vicious cycle, and I find it hard to blame the local Kenyans hired to kill elephants for ivory, none of whom are the main beneficiaries of the wealth that comes from those tusks. (Watch the mudhole scene here.) On our way back to the compound, we pass a jeep with six rangers, all armed with machine guns, just a reminder that we are not in Disneyland and the elephants here are not necessarily safe.

Later in the afternoon, back at the stockade watching the young ones coming back in, I ask Benjamin if any keeper has ever been hurt by an elephant, and he says no. Elephants always announce their intent before charging, he says. And the keepers learn each of their vocal mannerisms so they can tell if an elephant is expressing pleasure or displeasure. Elephants, he adds, are smart and observant enough to know which humans to trust and which to avoid.

Wiva is a wild elephant born of Wendi, a Sheldrick orphan who returned to the wild.

A group of twelve comes walking in, a reddish stain running along parts of their backs. Six head right into the stockade for their bottles, and the keepers direct the others, probably ex-orphans, out to the water holes. I spend some time just watching one of them drink. I love the way the trunk can just suck up water and then deposit it in her mouth or anywhere else she wishes. One of the keepers says that larger elephants can take in up to five liters of water at a time into their trunks. He sucks the liquid into his trunk, then lets it rise above him, drops it into his mouth and then dips back down into the water. Very elegant.

Besides the milk formula and acacia bark, pellets form a big part of the orphan diet. I think they’re made of alfalfa, too, and they seem to be the same or similar to the ones we let the giraffes take out of our mouths or that horses eat in the states. The elephants love these little pellets. I spent a lot of time just watching them eat every last one they can get their trunk on. It’s time-consuming to keep grabbing one or two at a time, but they don’t seem to mind. This afternoon, one orphan moves quickly to chase another one off some pellets – she isn’t nice about this – before a keeper brings calm to the situation. God, do these ellies love their pellets.

And as I’m caught up watching one of them scrounge up the pellets, another one outside the compound comes up behind me waving his trunk. The others warn me of his approach, but I’m standing right next to a road grader, and with two steps I’m behind it in time to get a movie of the waving trunk before a keeper comes up and restores order by moving him toward the water hole. Hard to say, but he seemed pissed.

Later, the wild elephants move away from the water hole, and a lone baboon and a couple of warthogs take their turns, watching carefully and purposely in all directions each time before dipping their heads into the hole.

I wind up sitting and talking with Mondaii and Geoffrey about Trump – they can’t believe him, either — and about how much they want to come to America. Mondaii wants his youngest daughter, now five, to have the chance to be educated here. Geoffrey doesn’t have a specific reason, but he wants to see what America is all about. All they know is what they see on television.

On our way back to dinner, Mondaii drives us over to the water hole, where a couple of wild elephants are throwing water and mud over themselves as the sun is setting. It’s completely quiet, the only sound is the water falling around their shoulders in the fading light. A warthog behind them on the far shore completes the picture.

As we sit up on the balcony looking over Tsavo East with a glass of Amarula, it’s dawning on me the scope of what we are seeing. Wow.

Our stay at Ithumba continues here. Watch more videos of the elephants here.

June 21, 2017   1 Comment

Jambo Bwana 6: A Week with Elephants

Sunday, June 26
Ithumba Camp
Tsavo East National Park
Makueni, Kenya

After an early breakfast, we left Umani at 8:45 a.m. for the drive to Ithumba. Though it is no more than 60 kilometers as the vulture flies from Umani to Ithumba, our route takes us 240 kilometers, most of that distance on dirt roads of varying degrees of quality. That allows us to stop in a little village on this Sunday morning and then to meet Peter and Jambi at a point along the way to transfer the food (and more importantly, the Amarula! – we have all gotten a taste for it) for the four days in Ithumba. It takes us about four hours on thoroughfares that ranged from mediocre pavement to almost non-existent dirt road. For awhile, we are on the infamous A109, the Mombasa Highway, the main road between Mombasa and Nairobi. It is narrow, super busy, super hazardous, and even on Sunday morning clogged with huge trucks, cars, four-wheelers and motorcycles.

Beyond Nairobi, the two-lane A109 links the Kenyan coast to the land-locked countries of Burundi, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Rwanda, Uganda and South Sudan. More than half of all goods traded in the East African community come via this highway. Dangerous? In 2013 alone, 3,179 people lost their lives in traffic accidents on the combined Mombasa–Malaba Road. That’s ten times the number of highway deaths in the entire U.S.

This is along the main street in Kibwesi, a hub town on the Mombasa highway. The irony was not lost when I saw this.

We stop in Kibwezi, described by Mondaii as a hub town upon which smaller villages rely for goods and services. I would hardly consider it urban. Population of about 5,000. As we walk up the main street, many locals are decked out in their finest duds – it reminds me of going to church in the 1950s in America when everybody dressed to the hilt for services. We are the only white people I see during our short time there. After almost an hour, while some of the women in the group are buying dresses and material, my back is going out. Somehow Mondaii shows up with one of the rovers so Billie and I can rest our bodies.

There is no pavement nor sidewalks, and you can see by the large gouges in the red dirt that when it rains, it just takes out more of the street. We pass shops advertising everything from a butchery (with a dog sitting outside the front door) to a photocopy shop, nail salon, electrical and electronic supplies, propane gas tanks, banks and clothing booths. Many advertised that they accepted M-Pesa, the phone-based money transfer service exploding in Kenya and Tanzania. Many Kenyans have cell phones, but there are few smartphones. Bars and restaurants line the streets, and there is a huge open area where people are walking and meeting and kids are playing. As we sit in the car, a huge herd of sheep pass along the way amidst the general clamor.

Another shot along the main street of Kibwesi.

At one point we are accosted by a thin, emaciated fellow with bad teeth who hadn’t taken a bath in awhile and was hefting a piece of metal pipe in his scrawny right hand. He is obviously not happy with our presence, and Geoffrey immediately takes him aside and reads him the riot act as we walk on. Mondaii also talks to him after he continues to shade us, and I watch later as he skulks around the outer edges of the group. Later the drivers tell us that he was an addict and upset that we weren’t giving him money. We are cautioned not to take pictures of people because they will ask for money.

We get back on A109 and head south, more heavy traffic in both directions. Mondaii talks of his wariness about the growing Chinese influence in Kenya and other African and Asian countries today. The Chinese government is providing funds to rebuild the historic railway, and as we head south we begin to see evidence of the train construction all around Manyani Junction as well as a rejiggering of the intersection with new infrastructure.

I had read about hijackers along the highways, and Mondaii said that a few years ago, when he was driving a van/type bus on A109, that thieves on the side of the highway threw rocks at him, which made him swerve and crash the bus. Although nobody was hurt in his case, these kinds of attacks happen here often, we are reminded. The thieves don’t mind killing people just to loot their bags.

When we stopped for supplies at Manyani Junction, we heard the Shiloh Tabernacle choir on Sunday morning.

Manyani Junction is where we hook up with Jambi and Peter before heading north to Ithumba. It’s a wonderful moment. You can see the new railway being built here, giant infrastructure changes and heavy equipment. Vans like the one Mondaii was driving when attacked, are lined along one side of the intersection, and Chinese motorcycles pass us in all directions. People are gathering at a restaurant on another corner. The highway is slowed in both directions. Across the access road is a large tent with Kenyan worshippers singing what sounds like American gospel music in Swahili harmonies. Large vultures with enormous wings take advantage of the winds above us. I manage to get a video of the junction before we climb back in and head for Ithumba. (Watch a video of our stop at Manyani Junction here.)

We leave the bustling highway, and from there it’s a long, quiet drive through the countryside, punctuated by encounters with lots of smiling people who wave as we pass. It reminds me a lot of the drive from Belize to the Tikal ruins in Guatemala. Mondaii is an experienced driver, carefully treading in some places where the road has washed out. I forgot to get a picture, but we went by one building that advertised itself as the World Trade Center. As we get closer to Tsavo, we begin to see strange volcanic rocks jutting up from the landscape like giant stalagmites. It is winter, and Tsavo, though not that far away, is a much drier climate than Umani Springs.

East Tsavo is a large park, 8,000 square miles, and it includes Kenya’s principal elephant population, currently numbering about 12,000. It’s the only park in Kenya that offers the space elephants need for any real quality of life.

Mondaii also stops a couple of times to show us baobab trees. It’s the most widespread of the Adansonia species, and he shows us a couple examples of their immensity and also to note that the wood is not as substantial as it appears, though they live a long time. They are symbolic in many ways of Africa, and they will become a presence in Tsavo in the next few days.

From the second floor of the Ithumba central building, you look down over the entire countryside over West Tsavo to the hills that finally point to Mt. Kilimanjaro, and it was easy to notice the baobabs sticking above the rest of the canopy of greyish, dry shrubs and bushes. No matter where you look here, you always see the baobab, filled with the legends and myths and mysteries of Africa.

The camp is great, much more like what I imagine a safari camp would be than Umani Springs, though it’s pretty cool to have both experiences. (And we learn there is another, newer Sheldrick camp on Ithumba Hill that is more modern and includes a swimming pool and higher views over the park.) Our tent sits off the ground, has nice rugs on wood floors, a thatched roof built over the tent, an area behind the beds to store gear and a zippered entrance to an outdoor bathroom with a six-foot stone wall surrounding it.

We loved our outdoor facility at the rear of our tent at Ithumba.

I was kind of dreading the outside toilet facilities. I get up at night, and I was concerned about sitting on the throne outdoors in an area where we know baboons, monkeys and other animals pass through day and night. But it turns out to be pretty neat. Taking a shower is a real pleasure, the water always perfect and Ithumba Hill looming behind, and our little enclosure makes a fine bathroom. Plus, we can see the Milky Way while sitting on the toilet. That just doesn’t suck. And we didn’t see any baboons, at least around our tents.

A thirty-second walk takes us to the large, open-air building that serves as dining room, living room and second-floor deck, a place where we can eat, relax and literally and figuratively, technically and mentally, recharge our batteries. Taking all these movies of the elephants eats the iPhone’s battery at a prodigious rate, but I’m able to keep ahead by recharging between each session and transferring the .MOV files to the laptop, and, so far, it’s been pretty easy to keep both phone and computer ready for all occasions. I wind up taking way more film than I planned. I’m still looking through it. But I’m really glad I did.

We go out to meet our new orphan friends for the first time at 5pm. This facility is a lot different from Umani Springs. The topography is completely different – there is no hint of forest here. The Ithumba Unit is one of two places (Voi is the other) where orphans reunite with wild elephants and other ex-orphans and make their way back into the wild. After they are transferred here, they continue to spend the nights in the stockade and days in the wild. It can take several years, but finally each one will one day decide to leave the stockade and not return. (Watch Sakuta greeting us here.)

The first group of five saunters past us into their pens for their bottles, all moving at a steady clip, and a couple of minutes later another group of five comes into sight and follows them into their pens for their milk. This is going to be fun. We get to spend time just watching them in their enclosures eating their pellets and stripping the bark from the saplings left for them to enjoy, which they certainly do.

The care of these orphans is an amazing, 24-hour-a-day process. Baby elephants need their mother’s milk to survive. After years of trial and error, Daphne Sheldrick came up with a formula that included cocoanut oil. To make these elephants welcome again after the trauma of losing their family and friends, the keepers feed them at three-hour intervals day and night, keep their colorful blankets and food available, play with them, console them and get them ready, ultimately, to become a wild elephant.

We aren’t quite as pampered here as we were by Peter at Umani Springs, but that’s not a complaint. The beef with several different fresh veggies are all prepared just right and are perfect after a long day on the road. And Lois and Renae, who each bought a colorful African dress in Kibwesi, give us a fashion show. Amarula and early to bed.

Our stay at Ithumba Camp continues here. Watch videos of our Kenya trip here.

June 21, 2017   1 Comment

Jambo Bwana 5: A Week with Elephants

Saturday, June 25
Umani Springs Camp
Chyulu Hills National Park

We wake up at 6:20 a.m., too late to make the early elephant visit – and the only obe we miss all week. Happy to report that Billie is feeling better. At breakfast, everyone says that the morning visit had a completely different vibe from yesterday, when the animals were friendly and quiet. The wild elephants in the forest visited the stockade last night, which apparently upset the matriarchs. Two females, Sonje and Murera, have become matrons to Mwashoti, and as soon as they were let out of their enclosures, they bolted to the young one, flaring ears and letting everyone know of their concerns.

The Umani facility is for elephants with special needs. Several, like Mwashoti, have been caught in snares, which limits their ability to stand up. One leg down makes it more difficult, but the Trust is still hopeful these elephants will someday return to the wild. After watching a video of the snare wound that Mwashoti endured just a few short months ago, it is amazing to see that this vicious wound is hardly visible except in a limp by now.

Elephants love their mudbaths.

We’re out for the 11 a.m. feeding and mudbath. Watching the orphans’ enthusiasm is just as exciting as yesterday, and I get that overwhelming feeling of great joy as they begin to accelerate to make it to their bottles of milk and the way they noisily make their way through the five liters and get a second. Though I have seen this before on YouTube and yesterday in the flesh, it’s still something that makes me so infinitely happy. And alternately, very sad since when these guys and girls get back into the wild, they might be hunted for their tusks, which become more prominent each and every day. One of them trumpets just before getting his bottle, and the unthrottled roar pierces the quiet. It is magnificent. (Watch this scene here.)

Researcher Joyce Poole writes of elephant trumpets: “The sound quality is highly variable and might be described as squealing like a pig, screeching, roaring, shouting, yelling, crying, and even crowing like a rooster.” (Carl Safina, Beyond Words: What Animals Think and Feel, p. 83) This one sounds like the squealing pig. We will hear many of the others throughout the week.

On the way back we pass the cement pond and finally spot the crocodile, a small fellow, who’s sunning himself along the edge. He slides into the murky water before we can get very close, but Angel got a photo that authenticates that it is not a monitor lizard. Our question has been answered over lunch today, the Kenyan version of pizza, with a crisp crust.

Geoffrey and Mondaii are worried about tsetse flies being around in the area of a planned nature walk, which would have gone up another side of the large hill where we went last night for the Sundowner, so that is cancelled, and we all spend some down time in the afternoon. At one point, I’m kinda lethargic in my swing. Idly scanning the mud hole area with binoculars, I spot Julia trying to get cell service. Nodding off, I wake up and, scanning the area again, see the big baboon we keep hearing at exactly the same spot. I wonder, “WTF,” before finding out Julia is now sitting nearby and fine.

Sometimes elephants can just be ... funny!

The 5pm feeding is great fun, and I get some videos of the gang arriving, and spend some time talking with Philip, the head keeper, about the animals here. As several of us are filming a group coming in, a baboon brouhaha takes place in the forest close to us. It’s really loud and sounds vicious and spiteful and nasty. With baboons, we find out, you never really know. As someone mentions, baboons will squabble about anything.

At one point, we allow the ellies to pick up pellets from our open hands, which gives you a sense of the power of the trunk, which has two main lobes, those “fingers” inside. I never tire of watching them incorporate these appendages, which they use much the same way we use hands and arms. Not as efficient, perhaps, but they have learned how to make the most of them. And maybe, they are more efficient than ours.

At the Sundowner everybody talks about their favorite moments of the day while we watch the mongooses and bush babies and the genet grab their snacks in front of the lights. I find out later reading Dame Sheldrick’s book that feeding these animals is a kind of tradition here – they do a similar thing at Ithumba.

Dinner includes some great mushroom cream soup. (A note about Kenyan soups. We are served cream soup every day, generally some kind of veggie turned into cream, and it’s always yummy.) Today’s menu includes pork spareribs and more of those fresh, crispy veggies, as always, exquisitely prepared. We find out there is a national school for safari chefs, which is not so surprising, since safari is a big source of income for the country and its citizens. Afterwards, we are all singing again before we retire, the three songs Mondaii is teaching us, especially “Jambo Bwana.”

The flashlights appear again as we begin to walk to our lodges. It’s so wonderful to be so well taken care of, and we are sad that we must leave Peter and Lefty and the others tomorrow, but happy to continue our journey with Geoffrey and Mondaii in the drivers’ seats of the Land Rovers.

We head for Tsavo East National Park here. Watch videos of our adventures here.

June 21, 2017   1 Comment

Jambo Bwana 4: A Week with Elephants

Our first morning with the Umani Springs orphans was pure magic.

Friday, June 24
Umani Springs Camp
Chyulu Hills National Park
Kibwesi Forest, Kenya

People go on safari for different reasons, and there are enough to accommodate diverse palates. The most common and best-known are the “Big Five” or “Big Six” safaris. In Kenya, that means going to the savannahs of the Masai Mara or Amboseli National Park and spending the day in trucks marking off the Big Six list: generally, lion, leopard, rhino, elephant, buffalo, hippopotamus. It’s similar to what we did in Yellowstone in the years we spent watching wolves and grizzlies.

(Mondaii tells us a great story about a group that wanted to see the Big Six. It took him less than an hour to find examples of each. They took photos and were ready to come back to the camp and hang out the rest of the day.)

This week is different. Instead of trying to see all the animals, on this safari we get the chance to see one species up close and personal. (The second week of the safari heads to Masai Mara, where you get those amazing photos of the sun setting with a giraffe or lion standing before it.) And when I first realized, while riding to and from the elephant stockades, we wouldn’t be going on game drives or seeing other animals, I was a little disappointed. But not for long.

We have done adventures before, with mind-bending results. In 1999 and 2000 we traveled to Brooks Falls and McNeil River, respectively, two areas in southwest Alaska where dozens of brown bears gather and tolerate each other and the humans gawking at them while they fatten up on the salmon bounty at both areas. We spent a total of eight days over two trips in the wild with the great bears in their native habitat doing what grizzlies spend most of the time doing, and I learned that it doesn’t include chasing and eating people – unless provoked by said humans.

We felt privileged to sit among brown bears at McNeil River and Brooks Camp in Alaska in 1999 and 2000.

And we spent half a dozen Octobers in Yellowstone chasing the wolves in the early 2000s after they were re-introduced into the park. We were able to observe animals in a pack and how they relate to their surroundings and each other. One incredible, cold morning, on a hill overlooking the Lamar Valley, we watched for an hour as a mother grizzly and two cubs overcame seven wolves and took over an elk kill site. Powerful stuff.

So the chance to see another species, especially the largest land animal, up close was persuasive. Like brown bears and wolves, elephants dominate their ecosystems. I had left Alaska understanding that humans, especially since the advent of the repeating rifle, are the apex species – no doubt about that – but that we might not be the smartest in the sense of how we have adapted to our environment, and we loved seeing that kind of thing in nature.

Brown bears just want to be left in peace. Any so-called “attack” is nothing more than a living being protecting itself and its family or near enough starvation to actually entertain consuming a human. Brown bears can and do kill people if necessary, and so do elephants, but both, for the most part, are pretty docile. And when there is conflict or competition, animals always pay the price for their actions.

The final reason why I succumbed didn’t dawn on me until later. It goes back to seeing those first films of those orphans run for their bottles and watching their absolute joy for life as they went through their day. It reminded me that I was orphaned young, too, and how much I hated that word, how much I wanted to rid myself of its stigma, of that dread feeling of not being part of something. Seeing them become reintegrated into society with family and friends is a big part of it for me.

We’re up early today, and I grab a quick cup of strong Kenyan tea Peter has ready for us so we can be out at the elephant stockade at 6am as the guys and gals are let out for the day to roam the forest with their keepers. Just before we get in the Rover, I notice that a bunch of ants had gotten into my left shoe. I spent a little time ridding myself of the intruders, and it was the last insect incident of the trip.

When we get out to the stockade, I notice that the bark has been perfectly stripped from every tree limb that was placed inside their enclosures last night. They head off in a line, and as we leave the stockade behind the elephants, they all turn left at the gate and head for a small clearing the keepers have filled with lucerne, or alfalfa, which has nutrients that the ellies love.

Standing there in the forest in the hay, we have our first experience actually up close and personal with them, and it is amazing. (Watch the scene here.) Dawn is creeping into the forest, and here we are, eight tourists, two drivers, six keepers and 11 elephants in a pretty tight area. And we just walk around among them in wonder, feeling their trunks, scratching their ears, looking into their eyes, watching and listening to them eat, asking questions, learning to stay out of their way and just marveling that we are actually in the wild more than 9,000 miles from home communing with another species. This is what we came to do, and it feels soooo good.

The keepers seem as gentle as the elephants, able to communicate with words and gestures, keep order and put up with our insistent questions, and we have many. They are always calm and collected; I never see one of them panic at any time. Philip, head of the Umani unit, is the first of two keepers to tell me that elephants are as smart as humans, maybe smarter, and yes, the keepers get very attached to the animals, and yes, the animals get attached to certain humans. These elephants have been traumatized. Some were rescued while circling their dead mothers and screaming, “WTF?” and then brought back to an unfamiliar place, the nursery.

Think about it. These animals have no good reason to trust humans, knowing our treachery, and here are these men who walk with them, talk with them, feed them, sleep with them, comfort them when they’re lonely in the darkness, in effect becoming their surrogate family. Keepers are moved around in sleeping quarters so animals, or keepers, don’t get too attached to each other. We are witness to so many instances of the marvelous interaction between these humans and animals. I don’t believe in reincarnation, but I would seriously consider giving up the ghost right this minute if I could come back as a keeper in a green Sheldrick tunic.

By the time we return for breakfast, dozens of vervet monkeys have taken over the lodge area, playing and jumping around in the bushes, along the edges of the swimming pool and out on the lawn. Scientists have studied vervet communication, and the species, which is widespread in Kenya, has been found to incorporate extensive patterns of communication. Young ones learn vocalizations from older relatives and siblings, which one to use to say “watch for a snake,” for instance, or “watch for another predator.” No doubt all this is taking place, but for us, it’s just thirty minutes of sitting and observing the entire troupe, which must number at least fifty, sweep through the area, over the deck chairs and around the pool, often with little outbreaks of action, before finally dispersing into the trees.

After breakfast we take an hour-long hike to the actual Umani springs, the underground aquifer that supplies the water here, before heading over to the mud bath in an open area a short walk from the lodge at 11 a.m. Soon, we can see the orphans at the edge of the forest, each one spotting the keepers and beginning to run for the milk formula bottles. I’ve said it before, but watching the pure joy emanating from every ounce of these creatures as they head for their prize are still perhaps the best moments of the entire experience. It connotes unabashed, overwhelming enthusiasm for life itself, and it just overwhelms me. Some of them get the bottles from the trainers and then hoist them with their trunks, others pick them up themselves and suck in the full five liters – it takes about thirty to forty seconds to drain one — before trumpeting for another. Orphans finding their way back into real life. (Watch the orphans run for their bottles here.)

Then they make their way over to the mudhole, where the orphans step in and slap mud onto their bodies. One just splays himself out into the natural sludge and works his limbs clumsily while trying to cover his body. The hole is not that muddy, and it’s not easy for them to cover themselves. But once they do, they walk over to a pile of dirt nearby and throw it on themselves happily before disappearing with the keepers back into the forest.

One of the keepers mentions again that since these animals can be here for a few years, the keepers switch off so that the animals don’t become attached to one trainer over another, which can be dangerous for the animals and complicate their return to the wild. It’s hard on the keepers, too, to keep from becoming too close to the animals for whom they are father/mother/matron/friend/companion. When I ask about intelligence, he says, “very intelligent, more so than humans.” No arguments here, so far.

The cement pond: Did a crocodile or a monitor lizard slither into the cement pond? Inquiring minds need to know.

Back at the lodge, lounging around before lunch, I look up just in time to catch something slither into the little cement pond on the front lawn. Some of the others got a longer look and identified it as a crocodile. At lunch Mondaii argues that it was a monitor lizard, which I never knew would have existed here, but they do. Peter, the chef, contends that it was a crocodile, and at dinner it becomes a kind of meme for the group: Step up and give your opinion: Was it monitor or croc? Most are going with the latter. I’m not the only one to think Mondaii is putting us on.

One thing we notice is that Peter, besides cooking great food, also makes our napkins into animals, a different one each meal – he tells us later that he has 30 choices so he can do a different one for every meal for longer than a week. Lunch today is a ham sandwich, spinach lasagna and a dessert made of raspberry and mango with the same salty chocolate cookie we got yesterday with vanilla ice cream. Billie is a little tired and doesn’t come for lunch. Peter is concerned and takes her a plate of food.

The Kenyans’ general warmth, friendliness and gentle ways are infectious. We get the chance to really get to know Geoffrey and Mondaii, our two drivers. Geoffrey is 33 and has been a driver/guide since he was 19. Mondaii is 49, with a wife and four kids, the youngest about kindergarten age, and who he really wants to be educated in the United States. Since I’m the only other male in our group of eight, the three of us develop a pretty close bond, and I like them immensely. Miss them both.

Not a bad place for a shower.

There are a couple of swings hanging from the acacia trees that surround the main building, and I take advantage any chance I get to just swing. During the afternoon siesta, I keep hearing a loud male voice outside coming from different locations. I’m guessing that it is the caretakers keeping the elephants in line, but I learn at dinner that it was a large male baboon out near the mud baths trying to find his mates. On our ride out to Umani, we had driven past a small village that had a dozen baboons running through the area, and we are getting used to expecting animals to be around. Baboons are known thieves, and someone tells us that they will run from men, but not from women. Huh?

It still feels surreal to be in a place so nice and modern. Umani Springs was opened just a few years ago, and apparently one of the British royal family has stayed here. Lois says it’s nice enough that some people get here and don’t want to see animals just because it’s such a nice resort. I could see that. But the Trust runs this as an adjunct to the orphan rehabilitation area. In order to stay here, you must pay for the entire resort, which allows only eight people, and bring in your own food, which is prepared by a safari chef trained for this experience. In that regard, Peter is the best, serving us an array of dishes that are tasty and plentiful.

At 5 p.m we are back at the stockade for the arrival of the orphans. I spend some more quality time with Mwashoti, and he seems to warm to Lois and I, sticking his trunk out to check us and letting us pet him and talk with him. I get so caught up in filming him taking his milk, that I’m not paying attention and quickly turn around to another group coming in right behind me, passing on their way to their pens, milk and saplings. Two of the “troublemakers” follow the others into the wrong area, and the keepers bark at them and point him in the right direction while we scramble to stay out of their way as they find their own enclosures. (Watch the whole scene here.)

Our Sundowner tonight takes place on a wooden deck that faces the Chylulu Hills, a volcanic mountain range and national park that fills the sky to the south and west as the sun sets. The hills are volcanic and considered still active, the last eruption in 1856. The hills separate the Tsavo plain from the Amboseli plain to the west. We’re looking at the eastern flanks. The western side is operated by the West Chyulu Game Conservation owned by the Maasai.

The drive to the deck is brutal, even for Kenya. At first it’s almost straight up, with the Range Rover lurching and digging desperately for any traction during the first few minutes of the climb before it finally levels off nearer the deck, which is about halfway up the hill. At one point, the angle seemed so great, it appeared we might flip over. But Mondaii keeps the tires digging into the soil, and it’s worth it. The deck looks down into a gorgeous valley with the hills across from us, and the drama of the sun fading behind the hills as they turn different shades of blue and gray is just wonderful.

Peter has set up a table with snacks, drinks and ice that was packed in an old-fashioned looking wooden box. Very Out of Africa. What I called Amaret last night is actually Amarula, a South African liqueur with an elephant on the bottle, and it really catches on with everyone and becomes a big part of this trip’s lore. And we were so happy to find it’s available here in Boulder, too. Every time I sip it, I’m back on the deck here or on the second floor of the main building at Ithumba.

But the view also clearly shows that we’re not that far away from the rest of the world. As I find out later on Google maps, Umani Springs, as the crow flies, is only a few miles from the Mombasa Highway to the north and east. Giant power lines bisect the valley below, much as they do across the American West and many other wild landscapes we have visited, which gets the group into a discussion about landscape photography.

Lois explains both sides of the argument, how some photographers would eliminate the power lines from their shots, even by manipulation, to present a more wild picture, while others, like Edward Weston, would never alter a photo. I subscribe to the second view, since the power lines are important to understanding the landscape, too. But with cellphones and apps, that’s all kind of inconsequential by now—people can modify their photos simply and instantly. Later, we will find a poorly disguised cell phone tree on a hill overlooking Ithumba. And we’ll see more power lines bisecting the wilderness miles away on our breakfast trip to Tiva River there in a few days.

The Chylulu Hills are a perfect place for a Sundowner.

The drive down is sometimes almost straight downhill, but much more pleasant than the ride up. Dinner tonight is lamb with veggies, potatoes, green beans, carrots, all fresh and prepared perfectly. Dessert is a nice, fruit mousse, and afterwards, we sing quietly, with Mondaii and Geoffrey leading us: “Jambo. Jambo Bwana.” The crocodile/monitor meme goes viral with the group and will continue until we unravel the mystery of what’s lurking down there in the cement pond.

Julia took a photo at the mudhole, where you can sometimes get cell reception, and she showed us a leopard track that was yuuugggeee, larger than a human hand. Last night we heard lots of strange noises around the resort, including a couple of hyenas. We find out that someone watches the camp all night, both to make sure we are out of harm’s way and, perhaps just as importantly, to keep the roaming animals off the grass lawn, which they love and will destroy quickly if allowed to linger. Billie still isn’t feeling well, and Mondaii suggests we serenade her after dinner, which we do before retiring. It’s a nice moment to see her wave back at us while we’re singing.

Sunrise over the cement pond.

Our elephant adventure continues here. Watch videos of our trip here.

June 21, 2017   No Comments

Jambo Bwana 3: A Week with Elephants

Thursday, June 23
Umani Springs Camp
Chyulu Hills National Park
Kibwesi Forest, Kenya

We get breakfast early before hauling our bags up front and say our goodbyes to the cottages and the nice people who run them. Brian picks us up and takes us on a short drive to Wilson Regional Airport, where we’ll board a charter to an airstrip near our destination at Umani Springs. Wilson Regional services the safari planes and small airlines that operate within Kenya.

Jambi has gotten us there in plenty of time to store our hard luggage in the terminal. Last night, we transferred our stuff to smaller, lighter bags, which carry all we’ll need for the entire seven-day safari. Though we have been limited to 33 pounds each, we never get weighed, and there never seems to be a problem. As it turns out, there is laundry service at both places, so everything works out fine — we could have brought half as many clothes and gotten by.

We have some time to kill in the lobby of the small airport, so we order some coffee and Danish at the counter while watching several groups of Kenyan kids in their matching blue and yellow school uniforms on a tour of the airport walk by us, peering at the white people and waving at us as they walk out onto the tarmac to see the incredible array of prop planes parked near the terminal. We join in waving, and I will not forget easily the dozens of smiling faces in their blue uniforms as they passed by.

This was the Cessna Caravan that took us to Umani Springs.

We are using a charter from Safarilink, and we climb aboard a Cessna Caravan, a ten-seater built specifically to take off and land on dirt and grass airfields. The flight gives us a nice view over the rural countryside outside Nairobi. There seem to be equal numbers of estates, small towns and poor villages and huts. I am amused when we are given a little sack with a boxed fruit drink and a couple of pretzels for our 45-minute, 120-mile flight, which ends as we bank in just over the heads of Peter and Jambi and the drivers, who are there to meet us, before a rough, bouncing landing on a dirt-and-grass field that we never see until we’re right on top of it. Everybody loves it.

It took about a hour to fly down to Umani Springs Airfield from Nairobi.

Jambi and Peter, along with Geoffrey and Mondaii, our drivers for the week, have taken the land route in the two Rovers to greet us. Each will become valued members of our entourage. The vehicles are packed with the food we’ll take into Umani Springs, a self-contained lodge in the Kibwezi forest. In no time, our group gets into the two vehicles for the drive to Umani Springs while Jambi and Peter board the plane back to Nairobi. We get in the car with Mondaii.

That’s when we get some really bad news. Mondaii informs us that, even though it’s warm and it will be uncomfortable, the windows in the Land Rover will have to be rolled up tight because of the presence of tsetse flies, two words he spits out with particular distaste. That’s because these venal fuckers feed on blood, spread diseases like human sleeping sickness, and even one hit hurts like hell.

Mondaii is determined that none of us will get hit, and he says that once we arrive at the lodge area, things will be fine because it “has been sprayed.” It makes for perhaps the most unpleasant and stifling half hour of the trip, with my imagination going wild as the sweat poured off my head. One of my pre-trip fears was mosquitoes and other winged insects, but I hadn’t dreamed of tsetse flies, and here they are … literally attacking the car windows. There are dozens out there bombarding the car from all directions.

It’s so oppressively hot that we’re all literally about ready to pass out by the time we get to Umani Springs, but except for another 15 minutes when we leave this area, that will be the last we have to deal with tsetse flies, or any other kind of insect, for that matter. Billie says she’s been bitten more since we got back here in Boulder than when we were in Kenya! Ithumba, our second destination near here, is much drier, and we see no insects there at all. Mondaii has succeeded in getting us here sweaty but safe.

Almost surreal and very wonderful: Umani Springs

The setting at Umani Springs is surreal. It could be the set of a Hollywood movie. This is as close to jungle as we’ll actually get, and we’re staying in modern structures carved out of a magnificent forest. It’s just outrageous. There are three suites, each in its own building, with a central building that serves as living room, bar and dining room. One of the suites is a two-story building with balconies around the whole thing. Beautiful. Lunch is served by Peter after we get settled in. Nancy and I split a Tusker, beginning a lunch tradition.

We get our first real look at the elephants at the 5pm feeding. They are housed in a stockade near the resort, and we spend an hour with the gang, which numbers about ten animals.

Lois and I get some quality time with Mwashoti, a young orphan who almost lost a leg to a snare in February.

Umani Springs is the Sheldrick location for orphans recovering from a myriad of injuries and still not ready for Ithumba or Voi, the two areas where they are finally assimilated back into the wild. Mwashoti, for instance, who was brought here earlier this month, had part of his left front leg almost ripped off in February by a cable snare, a particularly nasty poaching implement. The orphan in the enclosure next to him had his genitals and tail cut by a hyena, and a U.S. surgeon was brought in to fix the damage. He pees sideways now, but he’s doing fine. I’m immediately drawn to these two, and this hour is a stunning and humbling beginning to our week with elephants.

After freshening up, we meet up again on the deck outside the dining room to begin a safari tradition: The Sundowner. It’s an old British ritual, customarily done with a gin & tonic, while the sun is setting, to sit and unwind with an alcoholic beverage and talk about the day. I find it mighty civilized, much like America’s happy hour. Lois and Jambi have added a uniquely Kenyan twist: they brought in a couple of bottles of an African liqueur that tastes a bit like Bailey’s. Amaret or something.

Just surreal.

We sit on deck chairs in a circle on the porch outside the dining room as the daylight disappears slowly around us behind the hill up against which the camp is nestled. Peter has set out some food in front of a lamp that illuminates a tree about ten feet from the deck where we are sitting. Soon a genet, a small Kenyan feline, is grabbing bits and pieces and quickly retreating to the surrounding vegetation to enjoy the bounty. At another tree, we watch a couple of mongooses helping themselves, and soon a bush baby joins the feeding cycle, leaping to a perch in the tree to enjoy her portion.

At dinner Mondaii begins teaching us a couple of Kenyan songs, including “Jambo Bwana,” a popular Kenyan song that translates roughly to “Hello, Sir.” We learn that not all groups eat and socialize with their drivers, but we insist. Geoffrey and Mondaii are a major part of the week’s activities. Both are intelligent, curious, funny, and bountiful sources of information about Kenya and the people here. The songs are a great ice-breaker, and I won’t forget the table of us trying to sing along.

Jambo, Jambo bwana
Habari gani
Mzuri sana
Wageni, Wakaribishwa
Kenya yetu Hakuna Matata

We had neglected to bring the flashlights that we received in our Bustani Safari gift bags upon arrival, we’ve had a couple of drinks, and it’s already really dark as we head around the swimming pool to our building. But just as we enter the darkness past the swimming pool, flashlights come on to help guide us home. The stewards have been waiting for our departure. Just wonderful.

We thank everybody and head in for the night. The mosquito nets have been put around the beds, and we sleep somewhat fitfully. The big windows, many of them with just screens, are open, so the blinds wave all night in the gentle breezes, the sound mingling with the animals that seem to pass us from all directions. Perfect weather. Visions of animals roaming through the compound, and trying to imagine what they are.

Our elephant adventure continues here. Watch videos from our safari here.

June 21, 2017   1 Comment

Jambo Bwana 2: A Week with Elephants

Kissed by a giraffe. Does it get any better than this?

Wednesday June 22
Karen Blixen Cottages
Nairobi, Kenya

Among the apprehensions we had about this trip were the plane flights to and from Kenya. Each end included a three-hour hop to another U.S. city and then two eight-hour flights, one to Amsterdam and then to Nairobi, with some, but not much leeway between plane changes.

It didn’t begin well. An otherwise uneventful hop from Denver to Minneapolis that was supposed to take off at 3:50 p.m. on Sunday didn’t actually leave DIA until 6:30. Without going into too much detail, the delay, which included replacing a malfunctioning air conditioner in sweltering temperatures after we boarded, two kids throwing up in the row across from us because it was so hot, a couple of trips out to the runway and back, a law-enforcement officer who demanded to be let off the plane followed by 20 other fed-up passengers who got off as well, including the mothers and two kids who threw up across from us, which meant all of them had to go through security and be accounted for.

What this meant to us was a long slog through the Minneapolis airport to barely make our Amsterdam connection. “We are closing the doors on this flight soon,” that airport voice droned through the loudspeakers while we were running along the terminal carrying all our shit. We just made it, and we wondered aloud if this might be an omen for the rest of the trip.

But the lengthy, cattle-car flights, all of which were loaded to the max, were our only real hassles of the entire experience. The flight from Minneapolis to Amsterdam was the easiest, our first eight-hour overnight, and I managed to watch The Revenant and Concussion while intermittently napping.

After the longest airplane taxi I can remember – more than 15 minutes – we deboarded into the Amsterdam Schiphol terminal and then walked at least that much longer before finally locating and checking into the Mercure Hotel inside the terminal. This had been suggested by Lois, our safari leader.

The eight-hour layover turned out to be a wise move, and it helped prepare us for the flight to Nairobi. We had a postage-stamp room with no window and a large bed. I remember a painting of a giant tulip on the opposite wall and falling asleep for a few hours and getting a good shower before we had to find our way to the Nairobi gate for our second eight-hour flight, both the longest each of us had ever done. Not fun, but we made it.

We had added a second day in Nairobi before the safari actually began, concerned about jet lag, missed connections and other nefarious things you think about when going somewhere completely foreign and far, far away. This turns out to be a wise decision as well. The jet lag isn’t too bad on this leg – perhaps it was that eight-hour layover in Amsterdam that made a difference, perhaps just our general excitement level — but the extra day in Nairobi affords us the luxury of visiting the Giraffe Center and the nursery run by the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, an organization dedicated to preservation of elephants and education about their situation, without having to rush.

Billie gets acquainted at the David Sheldrick nursery in Nairobi National Park.

Billie and I attended a Sheldrick-produced event at Denver’s Regis College in the winter of 2015. Both of us were knocked out, especially by a short film which explained the organization’s process for re-introducing orphaned elephants back into the wild again. Watching the elephant orphans’ joy as they sprinted for their bottles of milk really affected me. Couldn’t get those images out of my mind. Something stirred from deep within. But not even remotely enough to actually think about going there.

I remember Dumbo, though I only saw it once. But boy, do I remember.

My own interest in elephants has been minimal and intermittent. As a child I was smitten with their charm and immensity when I watched them checking us out with the trunks in their enclosures at the Kansas City Zoo, and Dumbo had a profound effect on me at an early age. But I can’t say I had any experiences or memories worth mentioning beyond that. Later I saw the documentaries that explained how, when an elephant died, other elephants remembered and returned whenever they were in the area, and the images of them turning over old bones with their trunks stuck in my mind.

But perhaps the thing that first really piqued my attention was a quote in 2003 by Dr. Harvey Croze, who studied elephants with Dr. Cynthia Moss in nearby Amboseli National Park. I had an email conversation with him while writing a story for the Daily Camera business section about QuickBird, the satellite company based in nearby Longmont that was promoting its business by following a herd of elephants in Amboseli National Park in Kenya with cameras 200 miles above the animals and donating the photos to the researchers in hopes of garnering publicity like my story.

The email exchange was businesslike and amiable, but when I asked innocently what had been the biggest surprise he had found in his research, I got an answer I wasn’t expecting:

“Where to begin? It’s like studying humans, endlessly fascinating, endlessly complex: the more you learn, the more you find out there is to find out. Let’s just say that elephants are right up there with the higher apes and whales and dolphins: a complex, fluid society, based on individual relationships and networking served by systems of communication that work along several dimensions, including something very close to a spoken language; high intelligence, both native and that learned from the social group during a childhood as proportionally long as humans; demonstrated insightfulness, compassion, altruism, low levels of tool making, evidence of self-treatment and herbalism, and, quite likely, consciousness of self. Cognition and self-awareness is an exciting emerging area, which the uniquely tranquil Amboseli elephants will hopefully shed new light on.”

Jesus. That got my attention: Complex, fluid society; “very close to a spoken language; high intelligence, insightfulness, compassion, altruism, consciousness of self.” That really stuck with me. It reminded me of newspaper columns written by local animal behavior researcher and author Marc Bekoff about how animals think and show emotion. His lectures and columns began helping me to think in a different way, and this particular exchange certainly piqued my interest.

Elephant orphans search for the right vegetation at the Sheldrick nursery in Nairobi.

Still, I was a long way from wanting to travel a third of the way around the globe just to see elephants in their natural setting. Billie and I had begun talking in early 2015 about doing something completely different, and the first thing that came along was the possibility of visiting Cuba before it becomes Americanized again. We did some research and attended a lecture/presentation at the Changes in Latitudes travel store in Boulder.

Then, in July while I was in Kansas City, Billie told me over the phone that she had put a deposit down on a safari in Kenya for the last week in June 2016. I was really surprised, dumbfounded at first, but after the initial confusion, it didn’t take long for me to get onboard. Our window of opportunity is closing, she explained, and we haven’t done any real “adventures” for a number of years, those kinds of things that get you completely out of your daily grind and into a new reality.

Our two Alaskan visits to observe brown bears at Brooks Camp and McNeil River and half dozen trips to follow wolf packs around Yellowstone’s Lamar Valley were all now more than a decade in the past. An African safari would certainly do that, though, frankly, I only knew vaguely where Kenya was, and the thought of going scared the bejesus out of me, and I think it did Billie, too.

As we contemplated the costs and the idea of traveling almost 9,000 miles in each direction to observe pachyderms in their natural habitat, we kept reading more about the serious decline in wild elephants, the uncertain future of the species and the deadly trade in ivory that is the foremost contributor to their demise. The more I read, the more I came around, and, keeping it 100, one of the main things that convinced me is because of our complete respect and admiration for the David Sheldrick Animal Trust and what it’s doing.

We both had reservations. Mine were pretty bizarre at times. I imagined impending tropical disasters: malignant mosquitoes, ant infestations and especially black mambo snakes dropping from the ceiling. When I checked Lonely Planet’s guide for Nairobi, the first sentence I read was: “Nairobi’s reputation for crime is well-known … ” OK. We updated our passports, and Billie worked out the details through the fall and winter and booked our flights while I tried to concentrate on work and the pros of the trip and not think much about the cons as time grew closer.

But Billie did a marvelous job setting up this adventure, and on this second day we’re beginning to fall into the never-forgotten and wonderful routine of travel. We stop down again at the outdoor breakfast area for some sustenance, fruit and eggs, this time over easy, with a little bacon on the side and plenty of mango in the open-air dining area. (We get offers of eggs scrambled or over easy with a little bacon or sausage on the side every day of the trip — perhaps an attempt to appease the Western palate?)

We spend some time in the old building that serves as check-in, office and living room of the cottages. It’s a former manor house moved brick-by-brick from downtown Nairobi to the Coffee Garden in 2008 to save it from destruction. The proprietors are friendly and helpful, and there’s a warm fire and international CNN blaring on the TV. I already want to turn it off. We will soon enough be away from this shit.

*****

In the afternoon, Brian picks us up for a drive over to our first official events, visiting the Giraffe Center and the Sheldrick Elephant Nursery, both not far away. Watching him negotiate traffic and talking about Kenya is really fun. I wind up liking all our drivers immensely, as much for their companionship as their  motoring skills.

Near the Giraffe Center was the exotic Matbronze Gallery.

We make a stop at the Matbronze Gallery, which has some fascinating works, including a green-eyed elephant in front, and a coffee shop. Just around the corner is the Giraffe Center. A non-profit operated by the African Fund for Endangered Wildlife, it is aimed at educating Kenyan youth, an important part of the country’s mission to appreciate wildlife and end trophy hunting. Kenya was the first, and still only one of two African countries (Botswana is the other) that has banned hunting, and teaching young people the importance of this is part of the education program.

I really liked this bronze elephant at Matbronze Gallery. A little large for the suitcase, however.

The Giraffe Center is a wonderful opener. Upon entry, we climb up to the feeding area and are immediately supplied with pellets to give the Rothschild giraffes, who come in and are used to the attention. (In fact, on occasion, people who stop feeding them or are careless get head butted, something you don’t want from these big boys and girls—those heads are enormous and powerful.)

The Rothschild giraffe is an endangered species, with only 1500 individuals estimated left in the wild. It used to be considered a subspecies of a singular Giraffa species, but thanks to a genetic analysis in 2016 released just after we visited, is now considered a nonspecific ecotype of the Nubian giraffe, a subspecies of the Northern giraffe. So there you go. They are gorgeous.

We followed custom, put pellets in our mouths and let the giraffes take it from us. We get to feel their tongues. Big, wonderful, kind tongues. Kissed by a giraffe. Nice.

Believe me, you don't want to get a head butt from a Rothschild giraffe. Very powerful. Wow.

Just visible off in the misty distance is Giraffe Manor, the old manse where giraffes come up to lodgers’ windows so they can actually feed them from their bedroom windows. Mick Jagger and Walter Cronkite are among those who have stayed there, according to the promotional material on the website (what, no Lady Gaga or Taylor Swift?). And we get to see our first warthog right down there below the giraffes, foraging on his front knees. It won’t be the last.

*****

Back in the cars for our much-anticipated visit to the Elephant Orphanage, the very place where the video of the orphans we watched at Regis College just a year and a half ago took place. It is operated by the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust. The connection to the Trust, as I’ve said, was a vital part in our decision, and it is hust beginning to dawn on us how incredible this week is going to be. Nothing, not even the videos, prepares you for the joy of seeing these orphans emerging from the forest and running for those bottles of milk held up by their green-clad keepers.

The Trust was established after the death of David Sheldrick, husband of Dame Daphne Sheldrick, who created and still runs the Trust. She tells her story in her memoir, A Life With Elephants. It’s required reading if you’re interested in African elephants, history or Kenya. It took Sheldrick years to finally stumble upon the formula that could sustain orphans deprived of their mothers’ milk upon which they depend the first years of their lives.

Two ostriches, including this female named Pea, were also at the nursery among the orphans.

Though it could take less, because of the long period of elephant adolescence, some of these animals could spend ten years in the program before finally returning to the wild, and we will see that entire process up-close-and-personal during our safari week. The project claims to have put more than 150 orphans back into the wild, which doesn’t sound like much in the grand scheme of things. But these orphans represent much more; their stories embody the future of the species and hopefully are helping to make a change in the way we understand and treat elephants. And their tales are getting out to the rest of the world, even an old couple from Boulder. The rest of our trip will be at Trust facilities, and the money we spend to do this goes to the Trust.

We’re here for a private visit. In an hour there will be hundreds of people roped off and jockeying for position to even get near the orphans. But there are no barriers, nor any other people around, just the eight of us in our tour group with our two drivers and the keepers.

Edwin Luschisi, head of the Sheldrick nursery, talks about the mission with one of the orphans listening intently.

Orphanage head Edwin Lusichi spends a few minutes explaining exactly what is going to happen and how the orphanage works. (Watch Lusichi’s talk here.) Soon the young elephants begin appearing in small groups at the wood’s edge, accompanied by an ostrich named Pea, and take off running for their respective bottles. As they finish, the elephants mingle around, and it is our first chance to actually move among them, approach them and feel their skin and touch, and they oblige us while a sounder of warthogs watch us from the perimeter of the area, Nairobi National Park in the misty distance below them. I even get to meet the orphan I foster, Kamok. It’s pretty overwhelming and surprisingly calming.

And, of course, the ubiquitous warthogs, this time hanging at the edges of the nursery with Nairobi National Park in the background. They're literally everywhere.

Next, we are taken around to see the enclosures where the elephants are kept. There is some noise behind us and to the left, and I look up to see a huge, male baboon moving along the rooftops at a gallop, his feet banging the tin roofs like heavy rainfall, another, smaller male right behind him. The sight literally takes my breath away. Renae walks around the corner and says she just heard a lion roaring. Quick reminders that we are indeed in Kenya, and that the nursery is actually in the national park.

It feels wild and exciting, and even though two large baboons just passed above us, I’m beginning to feel more comfortable by the minute. Before we leave, we spend a few minutes with Maxwell, a blind rhino adopted by the Trust. He won’t be able to return to the wild, and his enclosure was just increased in size. He is enormous and wonderful to touch.

A black rhino, Maxwell is blind. His pen at the nursery was almost doubled in size just before we arrived, and he seemed grateful.

After that magical experience, we stop again at Utamaduni, where we shopped yesterday. I finish the marketplace before the others and order a cup of coffee at a little café next door set in a green paradise. I had been talking with Brian, the driver, and he has questions about America, and we have a great conversation about the U.S. and Kenya.

Tamambo Restaurant asked for our names when we sat down. This was dessert.

Dinner is at Tamambo, a nice restaurant just a short stroll from our rooms within the compound. Food is great. Dessert is a plate with a tiny dessert and our names written out in delicious chocolate. Back at the suite, I do a couple of FB posts with video of our visit to the Giraffe Center and orphanage just before the internet goes completely dark on us. Woo hoo. The safari begins tomorrow morning. Bring it on, brother.

Part Three of our elephant adventure is here. Watch videos of our week here.

June 21, 2017   1 Comment

Jambo Bwana 1: A Week With Elephants

Oh papa, don’t you say I can’t
I just want to see the elephant

-James McMurtry

Tuesday, June 21, 2016
Karen Blixen Cottages
Nairobi, Kenya

It is overcast and a light rain is falling as we arrive at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi. It’s 6am local time. Stumbling off the plane, I see Robert is there holding the Bustani Safari sign, and though we are dead tired, confused and jet-lagged, he shepherds us through customs, and we sign some forms, hand over our cash and obtain our Kenyan visas without hassle. We hook up with Nancy King, one of the six other members of our tour group who was on our flight and is also spending the first two nights at Karen Blixen Cottages. It’s misty and grey, but the breeze is warm as we step outside the main terminal to wait for the car that will take us to the hotel. It’s winter in Kenya.

Stanley, a smiling, 30-ish Kenyan with dreadlocks partially covered with a safari hat, is our driver, and we pepper him with questions as he patiently negotiates the intense lines of traffic on the four-lane boulevard in and out of the airport. It reminds me of the congestion in Denver and Boulder except that in Kenya, a former British colony, they drive “on the wrong side of the road.”

Actually, in Kenya, they drive everywhere. There are no middle lines or shoulders, and cars, trucks and motorcycles are turning in front of each other and switching lanes, much as we do here, only backwards. It’s really crowded, and some vehicles pull out behind us, drive along the shoulder and then pull back in front of us. Motorcycles are dashing in and out of traffic from all directions. Drivers taking incredible chances to get one car ahead. Just chaos. But somewhat amazingly, even though people are doing irrational things, nobody is honking. Stanley is the personification of driving patience.

To our left, just outside the craziness of the vehicle traffic, we get quick glimpses of Nairobi National Park in the gloomy mist. I have imagined, in my almost total ignorance, that this 43-square-mile national park, Kenya’s oldest, established in 1946 and located just a few kilometers from the city center, would be a jungle. Of course, it is nothing of the sort. It is a savannah, a grassy plain with a few trees, and the mist and the fence make it look even more exotic. Nairobi guidebooks say there are more than 400 species, buffalos, giraffes, lions, leopards, baboons, zebra, wildebeest and cheetah, out there in the grassland gloom, and they showcase dazzling photos of giraffes silhouetted against skyscrapers. But we see neither buildings nor animals this misty morning.

Somewhere in the park, just two and a half months ago, Kenyan President Uhuru Kenyatta set fire to huge pyres, turning a total of 105 tons of elephant ivory, 1.35 tons of rhino horn, exotic animal skins and other products such as sandalwood and medicinal bark into billowing smoke and ash, an in-your-face protest against ivory poaching, which is threatening the wild future of both elephants and rhinos. Ten percent of the entire world’s supply of ivory was torched that day, the fourth such event in Kenya since 1989.

Stanley is explaining that sometimes giraffes and lions come up to the fence along the road. Recently, he added, a lion made it across all four lanes of this airport highway and into the city. It’s not an uncommon event. We see no wild animals, but we do notice large numbers of pedestrians walking along muddy paths on the sides of the road and crowding the occasional pedestrian overpass. Sidewalks are non-existent. Mostly, there are just paths worn down through the shoulder weeds. Sidney says that people are going to work.

It takes about 45 minutes to reach the Karen Blixen cottages, a small group of one-story duplexes in a lush, tropical setting. The cottages are located in the midst of one of the oldest formal gardens in Kenya, once part of Blixen’s huge estate, and the grounds are thick with well-established, huge jacaranda, candelabra, cactus, bottlebrush and other trees.

This was just outside our suite at Karen Blixen cottages.

Just before we walk in, I notice a wonderful statue of an eagle on the surface of a tiny pond in front of our suite. Inside, there is a gift bag on the bed for each of us from Bustani Safari, our Kenyan shepherds/hosts for the week, that includes bottle openers, small flashlights and safari hats for each of us and a card welcoming us to Kenya and the cottages. A nice way to start to unwind and get ready for this adventure.

The Karen Blixen Cottages guidebook tells us they were designed after the Swedo House, a hunting lodge built around the turn of the 20th century on the property, and each duplex features Scandinavian-style hi-beam ceilings and fireplaces and stone floors, indicative of the early structures built by Europeans who settled in Kenya.

The Karen Blixen Cottages were a wonderful place to land after a series of cattle-car flights to Kenya.

As we check out the place, Billie notices lots of photos and paintings of cheetahs on the walls, and indeed, we find that we are staying in the Cheetah Suite. We stow our gear, and notice that breakfast is still being served on the grounds in an open-air area with a roof. We stroll down and are treated to an omelette with sausage on the side and a table with all kinds of breakfast goodies, including an abundant fruit plate that has fresh papaya and mango slices, two of my favorite foods, among the offerings. Soon we are eating and talking with Nancy and admiring the gargantuan plants on the cottage grounds. It’s like they’re on steroids. It’s misty and cloudy but nice, but there are a few well-placed portable fire pits that are moved around to ward off the chill. Much-needed showers in our beautifully tiled bathroom, and then we sleep.

Waking up in early afternoon, we are confused. We join Nancy and meet Renae and Angel, two other members of our eight-person safari, and as we’re all walking up to the main building talking about this, we run into Jambi.

It’s one of the best moments of the trip. Here is the person with whom we have been corresponding by e-mail for months, our safari contact on the Kenya side, and she immediately eases any and all of our concerns. We come up with a plan for the afternoon and evening. Her smile and demeanor are instantly comforting, and from that moment, I completely trust Jambi, which turns out to be the right thing to do. All we have to do for the rest of the trip is show up.

Brian, another likeable young Kenyan driver, is there with Jambi, and we head off to exchange money and visit the Karen Blixen house, now a museum, where we spend about an hour touring the grounds. The home is in wonderful shape, and it includes many of the personal items and furniture that Blixen brought with her.

Karen Blixen, aka Isak Dinesen, a Danish baroness and author, is best-known for Out of Africa, a memoir of her time in Kenya, where she lived, running a coffee plantation here beginning in 1912. The autobiography, especially her affair with Denys Finch Hatton, was featured in a film of the same name that starred Meryl Streep and Robert Redford.

Inside her home were lots of personal items Dinesen brought with her to Kenya.

At one point, we see, neatly folded on a hangar in a closet, the actual trousers that Robert Redford donned in his role as Hatton in Out of Africa. We know this, because, as it turns out, Nancy’s husband teaches tennis, and Redford plays at the same club and they are good friends. Nancy had found out that the trousers were here, and when she told Redford, he couldn’t believe it. There is no photography allowed, but when she asks for an exception to get a shot of the pants for Robert Redford himself, the guide acquiesces, watching the door to make sure nobody sees her taking the photo. It’s a funny moment, one that will never go viral on Facebook or Twitter.

Then we hit Utamaduni Craft Centre, a cool, local marketplace nearby with a dizzying array of small, high-ceilinged rooms filled with artists’ work, clothes, trinkets, books and souvenirs of all kinds. I manage to grab a guidebook for the animals of east Africa, which I figure might come in handy, but I lose it in my luggage and never find it again until we get back home.

It’s been misty and grey all day, and I’m thinking we are going to need the rain gear we brought. The drivers are all complaining about the “cold.” Located just below the equator, Nairobi’s winter season feels almost exactly the same as the late spring/early summer weather we just left Boulder on Sunday. Highs in the 70s, lows in the 50s. Nice. Winter.

By late afternoon we have driven all around Karen, a suburb of Nairobi which is on the higher end of the city’s economic scale, though it wouldn’t be considered that here. Some say Karen is named after Blixen because much of the area was once part of her coffee plantation, but there is some disagreement about that assertion that’s not worth getting into here. The dominant color is green, the vegetation varied, thick, dense, moist and pungent.

We see a lot of semi-modern apartment buildings, and many of the private residences and properties are large, and all share high stone walls with barbed wire strewn across the top. Almost all businesses and apartments have gates and gatekeepers. Dozens of tiny, make-shift businesses in tin-roofed shacks line the main intersections, where you can buy everything from fast food to cell-phone accessories during the day.

We pass the famous children’s orphanage and a hospital that Jambi says is pretty high quality for Nairobi, but we also see people walking everywhere along the sides of the road. A line of motorcylists crowds the corners of every major intersection and little shopping areas at cross streets looking for riders.

Brian tells us they are boda boda, motorcycle taxis common in east African cities like Nairobi that have sprang up as alternatives to Uber and Lyft for Kenyans. The Chinese have invested in cheap, rather garish-looking motorcycles and selling them at low prices on credit to Kenyans, and like cannabis in Colorado, it’s given young people another way to make a living and, he says, a way to show off for their friends and girls, too. The motorcycle carriage business is also, for the most part, unregulated, and traffic accidents involving boda bodas are reportedly on the increase. We saw some that seemed to be carrying enormous, off-balance loads on that back, others that had girlfriends hanging on to the driver for dear life as they darted in and out of traffic. Babe magnets, those motorcycles.

There isn’t much speeding because the roads are so clogged, and it’s difficult to go very fast. Quite often, especially around schools and public buildings, there are really hard-assed speed bumps. These aren’t the kind like in Boulder meant to slow traffic in neighborhoods that most cars can glide over at 10 or 15 mph without much trouble. These force you to a complete stop and then a gentle plop over before starting up again. There are three or four bumps every 50 feet to negotiate in some places, like the hospital, which slows everybody down considerably.

The infrastructure is especially primitive. If you think right-sizing Folsom Street in Boulder was a nightmare, you wouldn’t believe Nairobi. In neighborhoods, there are only two-lane roads, no paved shoulders, nary a bike lane in sight, and we never saw a stop light and just a few stop signs in Karen. This means cars and trucks and garish motorbikes and bicycles are crossing in front of one another in outrageous ways, especially at the many roundabouts and intersections.

But again, this insanity goes on without the frenzy or indignation of Highway 36 commuters, and our drivers show a restraint that I immediately feel I should emulate when I get home instead of getting frustrated and screaming in traffic. Not once do any of the Bustani drivers show any propensity for irritation or annoyance.

And we get into the first of many conversations about the Chinese influence here. Besides motorbikes, China is invested heavily in Africa, building roads and even a major railroad that will link Mombasa, the country’s second-largest city on the Indian Ocean south and east of Nairobi, with the capital. (Later in the trip we will see parts of this ginormous construction project.) The country is investing in, to environmentalists’ consternation, Kenya’s first coal plant. China does $200 billion in trade annually with Africa, and many people, including all Kenyans we talk with about it, are very skeptical and afraid of China’s pledge not to interfere in politics or internal affairs. For them, it’s like the 21st-century Chinese version of The Ugly American.

We stop for a bite to eat after driving around all afternoon in the Blixen Cottage bar, where I get a smoked-salmon appetizer and Nancy and I enjoy our first Tusker, a Kenyan pilsner stronger than but much like Beck’s or Heineken, and perfect for my beer palate—Billie got me a Tusker t-shirt at Utamaduni. Though it is chilly – it’s winter, remember — there are those little portable coal pits that staff keeps moving around that keep things quite comfortable. I think I’m going to like it here.

The Karen Blixen Cottages were once part of Dinesen's huge gardens.

We freshen up, do a little internet through the Blixen Cottage server, which is slow enough to remind of the days when you twiddled your thumbs waiting for the dial-up to happen, before Brian picks us up for dinner at Jambi and Peter’s house. They are an interesting couple. He’s American, just a couple months older than me and retired; she is Kenyan, from an old family near here, and they live in Berkeley half the year and spend the other half here in Nairobi, where they run Bustani Safari, among other things.

We all have a great time talking and eating in an outside area just off the main house with colorful banners on the ceiling. All our safari companions are here together for the first time, and we get acquainted with Lois, our host, and the other members of our group, too. A chef has prepared lots of steaming, wonderful Kenyan dishes, a kind of first-class introduction to what we’ll be eating all week, but I’m still too jet-lagged to fully appreciate the feast.

Still, we are all sitting on couches in this little outdoor area decorated with large, colorful quilts. The air is chilly, but a firetender in one corner stuffs an oven with branches that helps keep us all clear of the chill. I’m listening to Peter explain why he, like everyone else who can afford it, has a large water tower just opposite the house. He explains that the city only supplies water from a line on their street once a week, so each residence has to have a water tank to store its water, a precious commodity that we take somewhat for granted in Boulder. And meeting their five dogs briefly is a real treat before Brian drives us back. We’re in bed early, my dreams of jet lag and confusion amidst gigantic plants in lush gardens.

Part Two continues here. Watch videos of our elephant journey here.

June 21, 2017   No Comments

Walking the Wild Trees Pt. 7: Fern Canyon, Prairie Creek Redwoods Pk.

Thursday October 13

Curley’s Motel

Crescent City CA

Here’s a photo album of our walk in Fern Canyon.

One of our best days ever. The waiter yesterday at the Japanese restaurant in Arcata mentioned that Fern Canyon was one of the best-kept secrets we had to visit. So we decided to do it this morning, not knowing much about it except that he suggested it, and a quick Google search said it was a location for the second Jurassic Park film.

By this time, we were euphoric as we descended into Fern Canyon.

We began with breakfast at some place not far down the road, the Good Harvest Café, where I had an actual chicken-fried steak and eggs. I have pretty much given up on reminding restaurants that deep-fried steaks aren’t chicken-fried steaks, so this time I just ordered without asking, and was surprised to get the first good chicken-fried steak I’ve had in years. A good omen, perhaps?

It was about a thirty minute drive to Davison Road, which took us on a slow, winding road through a wild redwood forest, much wilder than any we have seen so far. The forest floor was quite irregular, with deep gorges and hills and dales intersecting, the kind of area that Michael Taylor and Steve Sillett had bushwhacked to find the world’s tallest redwoods. Then we dropped down along the coast, paid the seven dollar parking fee and headed down along the coast past Gulf Beach for a few miles before we dead-end at the parking lot. We make the best decision of the day to change into our high-top hiking boots and wool socks.

Then we’re climbing into this dense, humid, wet jungle forest. A couple coming back looked at our boots and said we “should be all right” just before we finally have to cross the stream. It’s not too bad, but we wind up taking the coastal trail instead of the Fern Canyon loop, and we walked more than a mile out of our way before realizing that it was the wrong trail. So we walked back this muddy trail and began climbing awhile along another trail to a point near the top of the canyon in a redwood forest before finally finding the loop trail that dropped us down into the best part of the walk. All told, it probably took us about an hour and a half before we dropped into Fern Canyon proper.

These lush ferns covered the wall for much of Fern Canyon's length.

It was worth the wait and the walk. The next forty minutes we lost all sense of time as we moved along down through the stream, over logs and around fallen trees and debris. It was obvious from the start that there was no real trail. We must have crossed the stream twenty times. At first we tried to find the best place to cross to keep our feet dry. But after awhile, we realized that it really didn’t matter, and soon we just didn’t care, crossing back and forth with reckless abandon.

This became quite intoxicating. I felt like a little kid again, moving through a world that was equal parts Jurassic Park and Tarzan of the Apes. Any minute I expected a velociraptor to come into view. Or a half man/half ape with a chimpanzee at his side.

It was difficult to find a path through at several junctures. At one point, we ran into a fellow in his fifties who was trying to find a way around a particularly dense debris field created when an enormous redwood dropped into the valley. Knowing he was ahead of us working his way through helped a lot. The trip down was as exasperating as it was exhilarating.

Here’s the link to a photo album of our walk in Fern Canyon.

On the way home, I stopped for coffee at a little shop on 101. The woman there, when I told her we were going to Crescent City, said that when she was a child living there, they would go to the “north end of town,” where they would play among tree stumps that were enormous. After we got into town, I drove to the north end before realizing she had been talking about something that happened decades ago and that the directions were far too vague. But worth a try.

Finished off things with dinner at the Chart House, a short drive from Curley’s. It was close to the motel, and as we got out of the car and walked toward the restaurant, it looked like one of the docks in the marina was alive and moving. A close look turned up about thirty or more seals lying on the dock. Taking it over, in point of fact. Probably two or three dozen. They were also on other rocks in the harbor. Grunting, squealing, making noise. Like seals do.

Our dining companions in Crescent City. Click to enlarge and you can see construction in the harbor behind, where they're repairing damage from the Japanese tsunami earlier this year that hit Crescent City.

The seals – there are three species — have become quite an attraction at the Chart House. Noisy, smell and rude they are, but everybody loves them! All the seats with a view of the seals are already taken. Still, dinner was outrageously wonderful. I had fish and chips and a couple bottles of Alaskan Amber, first I’ve had in years. We drove over to get a look at the old lighthouse at the end of the downtown area and drove up the coast a bit, too. After extending our reservation for one more night with an old hippie dressed in black and silver, we fall asleep to a symphony of seals grunting and squealing.

One of the best days we’ve ever spent on the road — or off.

Next: Jedediah Redwoods State Park, Hiouchi

November 6, 2011   1 Comment

Return of the Datura

This datura flower lasted only one night.

The datura have returned to the yard this year, more a scouting party than a full brigade. They are volunteers, and they show up in only in a small area along a stone path just at the edge of the canopy of our spruce tree, so they exist in a place where they are shaded except in the afternoons. The plant has a way of wilting when the sun is intense and then rebounding after dark.

Datura bring forth mysteriously beautiful, often short-lasting flowers that bloom at night. Besides their natural magnificence, datura, when ingested, are both hallucinogenic and toxic, with a long cultural history. I have not ingested one of the enticing flowers, and after reading several accounts of people who did, I won’t be finding out for myself. But it makes the plant even more mysterious to me.

Last summer no volunteers showed for duty, after a banner year in 2008, when we had many blooms on several plants.

But this flower lasted only one night. The afternoon sun “melted” it, and it didn’t come back.

Click here to see a shot of our 2008 bumper crop.

August 5, 2010   No Comments

The Story of BC-03-M-02, Traveling Lynx

The Story of BC-03-M-02, Traveling Lynx
Just reading a story here in the Denver Post about BC-03-M-02, a lynx that was found in a trap near Nordegg, Alberta, Canada, on Jan. 28. http://tinyurl.com/y47hhtk
The cat, which was nine years old when found, had traveled 1,200 miles of wilderness, interstate highways, rivers and other parts of civilization in the last couple years. It had been trapped near the place where it had been captured six years ago, flown to Colorado and re-released at the edge of the Weminuche Wilderness Area near Creede on April 16, 2004. (The Denver Post story says 2003, but trust me on this one.)
Because, as it happens, Billie and I were in that open meadow just across from the Rio Grande on that crisp morning when BC-03-M-02 and three of its brethren were released.  The Division of Wildlife had invited volunteers from environmental groups to witness this release, part of an ambitious DOW program that had begun in 1999 to reintroduce lynx, which had disappeared in the state at least back to 1973. As a volunteer for Sinapu, I applauded the reintroduction program as a step toward keeping our wilderness areas intact and healthy and a positive move by DOW that was well received by conservationists, hunters and environmentalists.
The DOW tracked BC-03-M-02, recording that he sired at least two kittens in 2005 and four in 2006. He was last heard from April 20, 2007. He walked farther than any lynx has ever been known to travel. (Fly from Creede to Nordegg on Google Earth for some idea of the enormity of the journey.) When he was found, he was in good shape, two pounds heavier than when released. And he was almost home.
Except perhaps in a cage, we had never seen a lynx. From my journal:
“It was about a forty-five minute drive from South Fork to this gorgeous setting in a small meadow along the Rio Grande. A high bluff rises behind us along the road, and a spruce forest before us stretches up a couple thousand feet. Off to our right are snow-covered peaks that stretch up the valley.
The two pickup trucks with the lynx park on a dirt road at the edge of the meadow. The cages, made of steel, are covered with white tarps. As we pull in behind them, a little ground squirrel is bouncing around on the grass in the meadow. He will soon have new friends.
More cars arrive, about ten in all, and perhaps forty people have gathered, including, for some reason, a member of Sen. Lieberman’s entourage. One of the new wildlife commission members is introduced, in a spiffy fleece jacket with a DOW patch on the right sleeve.
The crates are taken from the trucks and carried, four persons to a crate, out onto the grass, all facing the meadow with the humans all gathered behind.
DOW interim chief, Bruce McCloskey, gives a short talk and answers questions. The lynx, he ensures us, are in the best shape they can possibly be; they have been probed and checked and are healthy as lynx can be under the circumstances.
This quartet was captured in Quebec and British Columbia in late December and have been kept on private property near here that a donor is in the process of turning over to the DOW. The lynx have been in pens about four months
While waiting for the release, we chat with Laurie Harvey, who describes herself as a “lynx technician.” She says the lynx have been in separate enclosures that measure about 12 feet long, five feet wide and five feet in height.
They stay in their cages and consider them a “nest box,” she explains, a quiet place where they can go and be by themselves. They have areas to climb on and exercise, and the lynx take advantage of the chance to work out. They are fed mostly rabbits, and she said the animals exhibit no signs of cage stress.
The most interesting thing she learned about the lynx, she said, was the wide range of behavior they showed toward people, from one animal that would allow her to get close to it and work in the cage to others that would get defensive whenever anyone so much as touched the cage.
The lynx each weigh about 26 pounds, and their blood and body fluids have been checked. They are in prime condition for release, Harvey said. She is in her second year of working with lynx and plans to sign up again for next season, though she admitted the work is hard and that “you shovel a lot of shit.”
The meadow is free of snow, but little patches still hug the spruce at the edges. Spring is popping up. Two fellows who look like McCloskey describes them – “snowshoe extremists” — stand and tell stories of following lynx and putting new collars on them. They trap them with cages much like those that bore them out here, except that they have a guillotine door. When the lynx goes for the meat in the back of the cage, the door closes down on them.
They explain that the pine forest just above us is perfect lynx habitat, with plenty of snowshoe hares and cover for these sensitive predators. The DOW is releasing some more down near Durango later in the day, and McCloskey and a few other honchos are heading there after this is over.
These lynx are radio-tracked by airplane and followed on foot by these trappers, ready and seemingly eager to follow lynx tracks at 11,000 feet in snowstorms. Like the guy from Washington, they are in Western wear that look like they’ve worn the same clothes for a month.
Chief McCloskey, in overalls, and the guy from Washington who looked as if he bought the jeans and the bright blue bandana around his neck for the occasion, each spoke about what a great thing the reintroduction program is. McCloskey introduced the people who would be allowed to actually pull the last barrier off the cages and let the lynx loose. Then we all gathered behind the four cages.
The one at the far left went out first. The DOW officer cut the wire and took off the first door. Two people stepped up and pulled the second metal door up and out.
Within about ten or fifteen seconds, the first lynx walked out. It took one look back, and within about a minute it was out of sight off to the right into a grove of pine trees.
It seemed smaller than I expected from photographs, but the long ears and bushy tail grabbed my immediate attention. I could also see what appeared to be part of its radio tag around its neck.
The second one is freed about two minutes later. It heads off to the left into some trees in the direction of the picnic tables. The third goes straight ahead into some trees; the fourth can be seen walking past a wooden platform along an established trail.
All four vanished within a minute. Heading into a brave new world, hopefully one with abundant snowshoe hare and a sexual encounter with the patter of little lynx two and a half months later.
I looked around and noticed tears in some people’s eyes. I was welling up, too, proud to be witness to this. For one who believes that our wilderness needs predators for its general health, this is as sweet as it gets. We were watching standard-bearers for a new generation of lynx in Colorado, a foreign land for them, bound for their individual fates. Where will they wind up?”
At least now, for one of those, we have the answer.

Just reading a story here in the Denver Post about BC-03-M-02, a lynx that was found in a trap near Nordegg, Alberta, Canada, on Jan. 28.

A lynx released in April 2004 near Creede, Colorado.

The cat, which was nine years old when found, had traveled 1,200 miles of wilderness, interstate highways, rivers and other parts of civilization in the last couple years. It had been trapped near the place where it had been captured six years ago, flown to Colorado and re-released at the edge of the Weminuche Wilderness Area near Creede on April 16, 2004. (The Denver Post story says 2003, but trust me on this one.)

Because, as it happens, Billie and I were in that open meadow just across from the Rio Grande on that crisp morning when BC-03-M-02 and three of its brethren were released.  The Division of Wildlife had invited volunteers from environmental groups to witness this release, part of an ambitious DOW program that had begun in 1999 to reintroduce lynx, which had disappeared in the state at least back to 1973. As a volunteer for Sinapu, I applauded the reintroduction program as a step toward keeping our wilderness areas intact and healthy and a positive move by DOW that was well received by conservationists, hunters and environmentalists.

The DOW tracked BC-03-M-02, recording that he sired at least two kittens in 2005 and four in 2006. He was last heard from April 20, 2007. He walked farther than any lynx has ever been known to travel. (Fly from Creede to Nordegg on Google Earth for some idea of the enormity of the journey.) When he was found, he was in good shape, two pounds heavier than when released. And he was almost home.

Except perhaps in a cage, we had never seen a lynx. From my journal:

“It was about a forty-five minute drive from South Fork to this gorgeous setting in a small meadow along the Rio Grande. A high bluff rises behind us along the road, and a spruce forest before us stretches up a couple thousand feet. Off to our right are snow-covered peaks that stretch up the valley.

The two pickup trucks with the lynx park on a dirt road at the edge of the meadow. The cages, made of steel, are covered with white tarps. As we pull in behind them, a little ground squirrel is bouncing around on the grass in the meadow. He will soon have new friends.

More cars arrive, about ten in all, and perhaps forty people have gathered, including, for some reason, a member of Sen. Lieberman’s entourage. One of the new wildlife commission members is introduced, in a spiffy fleece jacket with a DOW patch on the right sleeve.

The crates are taken from the trucks and carried, four persons to a crate, out onto the grass, all facing the meadow with the humans all gathered behind.

DOW interim chief, Bruce McCloskey, gives a short talk and answers questions. The lynx, he ensures us, are in the best shape they can possibly be; they have been probed and checked and are healthy as lynx can be under the circumstances.

This quartet was captured in Quebec and British Columbia in late December and have been kept on private property near here that a donor is in the process of turning over to the DOW. The lynx have been in pens about four months

While waiting for the release, we chat with Laurie Harvey, who describes herself as a “lynx technician.” She says the lynx have been in separate enclosures that measure about 12 feet long, five feet wide and five feet in height.

They stay in their cages and consider them a “nest box,” she explains, a quiet place where they can go and be by themselves. They have areas to climb on and exercise, and the lynx take advantage of the chance to work out. They are fed mostly rabbits, and she said the animals exhibit no signs of cage stress.

The most interesting thing she learned about the lynx, she said, was the wide range of behavior they showed toward people, from one animal that would allow her to get close to it and work in the cage to others that would get defensive whenever anyone so much as touched the cage.

The lynx each weigh about 26 pounds, and their blood and body fluids have been checked. They are in prime condition for release, Harvey said. She is in her second year of working with lynx and plans to sign up again for next season, though she admitted the work is hard and that “you shovel a lot of shit.”

The meadow is free of snow, but little patches still hug the spruce at the edges. Spring is popping up. Two fellows who look like McCloskey describes them – “snowshoe extremists” — stand and tell stories of following lynx and putting new collars on them. They trap them with cages much like those that bore them out here, except that they have a guillotine door. When the lynx goes for the meat in the back of the cage, the door closes down on them.

They explain that the pine forest just above us is perfect lynx habitat, with plenty of snowshoe hares and cover for these sensitive predators. The DOW is releasing some more down near Durango later in the day, and McCloskey and a few other honchos are heading there after this is over.

These lynx are radio-tracked by airplane and followed on foot by these trappers, ready and seemingly eager to follow lynx tracks at 11,000 feet in snowstorms. Like the guy from Washington, they are in Western wear that look like they’ve worn the same clothes for a month.

Chief McCloskey, in overalls, and the guy from Washington who looked as if he bought the jeans and the bright blue bandana around his neck for the occasion, each spoke about what a great thing the reintroduction program is. McCloskey introduced the people who would be allowed to actually pull the last barrier off the cages and let the lynx loose. Then we all gathered behind the four cages.

The one at the far left went out first. The DOW officer cut the wire and took off the first door. Two people stepped up and pulled the second metal door up and out.

Within about ten or fifteen seconds, the first lynx walked out. It took one look back, and within about a minute it was out of sight off to the right into a grove of pine trees.

It seemed smaller than I expected from photographs, but the long ears and bushy tail grabbed my immediate attention. I could also see what appeared to be part of its radio tag around its neck.

The second one is freed about two minutes later. It heads off to the left into some trees in the direction of the picnic tables. The third goes straight ahead into some trees; the fourth can be seen walking past a wooden platform along an established trail.

All four vanished within a minute. Heading into a brave new world, hopefully one with abundant snowshoe hare and a sexual encounter with the patter of little lynx two and a half months later.

I looked around and noticed tears in some people’s eyes. I was welling up, too, proud to be witness to this. For one who believes that our wilderness needs predators for its general health, this is as sweet as it gets. We were watching standard-bearers for a new generation of lynx in Colorado, a foreign land for them, bound for their individual fates. Where will they wind up?”

At least now, for one of those, we have the answer.

April 24, 2010   No Comments