I have a love-hate relationship with elephants. Well, to be truthful, it isn’t really hate. More like abject fear.
If you’ve never watched elephants in the wild, you probably have no idea what elephants are really like. They are nothing like the creatures you see in a zoo, or in a drive-through animal park, or even much like the animals in nature documentaries. I’ve spent many hours watching elephants in the course of several extended trips to South Africa, and the one true thing I can say about elephants is that they will surprise you. In more ways than one.
There are an estimated 400,000 African elephants (Loxodonta africana) remaining in the wild. Of these, about 20,000 currently can be found in just one reserve: Kruger National Park of South Africa. Indeed, it is difficult to drive anywhere in Kruger and not see elephants. They are especially numerous in the northern sections of the park, however, in the stunted mopane woodlands that stretch between Olifants and Mopane rest camps.
During an early trip, we watched a herd of nearly 200 elephants at the Klein Nshawu waterhole, about 30 km north of Letaba. The waterhole lies at the western end of a secluded, grassy valley. Zebra, giraffe, warthogs, buffalo, kudu, impala, wildebeest, and the occasional tsessebe come down to the waterhole to drink in the meager shade of an old ironwood tree decorated with the nests of buffalo-weaverbirds. A few hippos graze quietly on the bank or lounge in the water.
The elephants are engaged in every imaginable activity. The older elephants are grazing or mud-bathing, a few young bulls are sparring, youngsters are wrestling and chasing each other, and few babies are running about like toddlers after a sugar high. All the while a few older females, including the matriarch, quietly look on.
To our left, the mopane trees are split by two young bulls. One apparently takes umbrage at our presence, forcing me to back the vehicle about 20 meters as he stands defiantly, marking the spot where our car just stood with about a bathtub-full of urine. Properly chastised, we watch as the two bulls saunter down toward the herd.
Suddenly the valley is empty. Two hundred elephants have disappeared into the far treeline, leaving only a pair of hippos and some confused warthogs to greet the two bulls who just joined the party. It all happens without a sound and no other warning. I had no idea that elephants could move that quickly or respond as a group so efficiently.
The bulls, apparently not taking “no” for an answer, proceed past the waterhole and enter the trees at the far side of the valley. Then I hear what I can only describe as Godzilla. A blood-curdling roar issues from the midst of the trees. We can see the tree tops shaking and swaying back and forth, exactly like that scene in Jurassic Park: Lost World when the Tyrannosaurus is approaching. I’ve heard elephants roaring several times since this encounter, but I doubt I’ll ever get used to it. Evidently, the young bulls took the matter under advisement as well. They come trotting out of the treeline and quickly cross back to our side of the valley, disappearing into the mopane scrub.
The lesson: Don’t mess with Mama.
My comparison of watching elephants to scenes in Jurassic Park seems even more apropos after each visit. There is a scene early in The Lost World where Jeff Goldblum sums up every Jurassic Park movie. As a group of Stegosaurus lumber out of the forest, he quips, “Yeah. Ooh, ahh. That’s how it always starts. But then later there’s running and screaming.” That scene almost exactly duplicates many encounters I’ve had with elephants. You see them in front of the vehicle and you stop, appreciating what magnificent and fascinating creatures they are. Then you see a face looking out from the scrubby undergrowth beside your car, and suddenly there is a herd crossing the road behind you.
On another trip we stopped by the same waterhole for one last visit. The valley was empty. We waited for ten minutes or so, but nothing showed up. Abandoning our attempt, I switched on the ignition, put the car in reverse, and looked in my rear-view mirror. A whole herd of perhaps 50 elephants had somehow appeared behind the vehicle, blocking the one road that led away from the small parking area. We were surrounded with nowhere to run (but plenty of room to scream). Fortunately they took no notice, this time, and simply moved on.
Like I said, love ‘em, but respect ‘em. I’ll save the scarier episodes for a later post.
Scott R. Robinson 