The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild (24 page)

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Authors: Lawrence Anthony,Graham Spence

BOOK: The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild
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It was spring again and the landscape sparkled in emerald and jade hues animated by the radiant colours of birds, flowers and trees. New life was everywhere, and everything seemed as it should be. Trees blossomed and the herds of buck, wildebeest and zebra were starting to put on weight, glowing with health as the pregnant females prepared to foal. But spring also brings the inevitable storms.
I felt the wind suddenly shift with a vicious gust and looked up to the sky. High above the eastern horizon bundles of cumulo nimbus towered into the stratosphere. A storm was gathering, a big one. I radioed Brendan and the rangers to warn them.
‘It looks like a number. Let’s get everyone in before it explodes.’
An hour later and we knew we were in for it. The wind had come up and it was as if a purple-grey blanket was being yanked across the heavens. It had been as hot as hell for the last two weeks and the rain gods were going to fix it their way.
The first peals of thunder rumbled in the distance and Max collapsed. He really hated thunder so I carried him inside where he sat staring forlornly at the wall. I made a mental note that if I ever had to burgle a home that had Staffordshire terriers, I would do so during a storm. Bijou was safely ensconced on her feathered pillow and I hoped
her usual late-afternoon pre-snooze nap would not be disturbed too much.
Outside it was still darkening by the second when a jagged white bolt of lightning seared through the sky followed by an almighty clap of thunder overhead. I walked to the bottom of the garden and looked out over the reserve which was quickly disappearing behind the grey sheets of water rolling in over the hills. Watching a spectacular Zululand thunderstorm advance is an unforgettable experience.
The first drops splattered on the earth, exploding like little bombs kicking up dust. Then the full storm hit us; within seconds foliage that usually stood firm gave up and the wilderness sagged under the soggy onslaught.
The pelting rain formed into puddles and then streams swept across the ground taking the colour of the rich soil with them. These hundreds of rivulets fiddled along: moving, stopping, starting and merging with others, flowing, swelling then, raging down to the lowest point – the Nseleni River, which bisects the reserve.
I watched, happy, as it continued to bucket down. The dams would be full again and millions of little clefts, dips, fissures and depressions would trap the moisture that sustained life. We could never get enough rain. Despite its picture-postcard beauty, much of South Africa in reality is a land of long droughts punctuated by rain.
The house lights behind me flickered and then went out which was par for the course with a storm, and meant the phones were gone as well. Through the windows I could see Françoise lighting candles, even though it was still mid-afternoon.
I went inside and wrapped my two-way radio in plastic. I knew from experience that it would be our only outside link for the night.
An hour and a half later and my contentment was beginning
to be tempered by a touch of concern. If anything, it was raining harder than before and there were now brown streams surging across all the roads.
‘Brendan, come in, Brendan,’ I called on my radio.
‘Standing by,’ he replied.
‘How’s the river looking?’
‘Not bad. It’s coming up slowly but nothing serious.’
Brendan was at an outpost near the lodge keeping an eye on the Nseleni River. I have always longed for a gently flowing European-type river with steady banks, but this was Africa and our rivers are as volatile as nitroglycerine. One moment they’re barely moving, the next they’re a violent, muddy torrent that will sweep you twenty miles to the ocean in a heartbeat if you’re careless enough to get caught.
The sections of fence where the river entered and exited the reserve were particularly vulnerable to flooding. Here we had built sacrificial barriers designed to break away in a deluge, but until they were replaced they left huge gaps through which the elephants could escape. This meant we would have to move fast as soon as the storm was over.
Two hours later it was almost pitch-black, the rain was still bulleting down and everything had changed. Brendan’s voice staccatoed on the radio: ‘You’d better come down and have a look. The river is getting seriously out of control.’
‘How’re the sacrificial fences?’
‘Long gone.’
Françoise was sitting next to me. ‘I’m going down to the river to Brendan,’ I told her. ‘It’s come right up. I’ll go past the lodge and do a check while I’m there.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said, moving Bijou, who was now having her pre-nocturnal sleep, off her lap. ‘I’m worried about the guests with no electricity. Some of them are real city people and I should be there with them.’
We grabbed raincoats and made a dash for the Land Rover, pulling out onto the road, which was now just a
sloppy stream, causing the Land Rover to skid and slide all over the place. Above us almost continuous lightning illuminated in silver our savannah plains completely inundated with water.
As we rounded the last corner I got my first glimpse of the river. My heart jumped at the view of the seething torrent and I pulled over. ‘Good God! Look at that – it’s a monster!’
I reversed back and turned down the track to the river crossing, just above where we had been charged on the quad bike by Frankie, and played the headlights on the liquid mayhem roaring past.
A dead cow swept past in the gurgling waves, then another. ‘This is unbelievable,’ I said. Françoise just stared.
I slammed the Land Rover into reverse, but instead of going backwards the wheels spun loosely in the slimy mud and to my horror we started inexorably sliding forward, slipping down the slope into the hurtling river.
Just as I thought all was lost and we were going into the torrent, I instinctively swung the wheel and jammed the Landy hard against the right bank, wedging it into the soft soil.
‘Get out quickly,’ I told a wide-eyed Françoise. ‘The Landy could slip away again. Let’s go!’
She opened her door and disappeared from view as she fell into the mud. I clambered over to her side and helped her up. Then we slithered up the crossing back to the main track in the darkness, slipping and grabbing onto each other for support in the frictionless mud. Thankfully I had the presence of mind to bring the radio and a torch was clipped onto my belt. I called Brendan.
‘Standing by. Where’re you?’ he asked.
‘At the lodge crossing. The Landy’s stuck at the water’s edge. Can you get the tractor down as fast as possible? Or we’re going to lose it.’
‘Shit, what you doing there?’
‘What do you think? I was about to go for a swim but changed my mind when I saw the dead cows.’
‘Yeah, I saw them bobbing like corks. Even worse, I think I’ve also seen a body or two as well. Not sure, though, with the dark. Sorry but I can’t get to you – our vehicles are up to the axles in mud. I’ll try and work out how to get Gunda Gunda down.’
‘Françoise is with me. We can’t stay here, we’re going to walk to the lodge.’
‘OK …’ He paused. ‘Just remember the
ngwenyas
.’
Knowing Françoise was listening he had purposefully used the Zulu word for crocodiles. I silently thanked him.
The entrance to the lodge grounds was only about a hundred yards away, with the lodge itself another hundred after that. But between us and the entrance were two deep pools, one on each side of the road. Just yesterday Brendan and I had noticed that two huge crocs had taken up residence, one in each pool. Unusually, I hadn’t brought a gun and now I really wished I had. Not to shoot the reptiles, but to frighten them off.
I surveyed the way ahead. The pools had overflowed onto the road between them and merged into a small lake. I knew exactly where the road went but it was swamped, about a foot and a half deep – easily enough to hide a crocodile in the dark.
We stopped at the edge and I played my torch over the water and found one almost immediately, its red eyes reflecting back at us. Then I saw the other. They were together and had left the deluge and moved away about thirty yards to a ledge on much higher ground. They were far enough away and, praying that the duo hadn’t been joined by a third mate since we last saw them, I took Françoise’s hand and we waded through the flow.
Emerging on the other side, it suddenly dawned on me
that even the crocodiles were instinctively seeking higher ground. How much bigger was this river going to get?
A few minutes later we were at the lodge which was in complete darkness. Françoise cleaned herself up and went to some of the guests who had left their rooms and were in the bar area putting on brave faces. I grabbed the security ranger and we walked down the expansive lawn towards the Nseleni valley. We were barely able to hear each other speak, such was the roar of the river, and then I felt water sloshing through my boots. These were no mere rain puddles.
A flash of lightning showed me the truth. The river, about a hundred yards away, was so swollen it had overflowed its banks and was starting to surge across the lawns. I immediately turned and ran back past the lodge down to near where we had passed the crocodiles in the pools.
As I suspected both pools were now completely submerged by a new river that had broken away and surged around the rear of the lodge grounds. And then I realized that we were completely cut off; the rampaging Nseleni River in front, and a flash flood at the back. This was why the crocs were seeking higher ground. The lodge was in danger of being engulfed.
I vaguely heard the radio cackle. It was Brendan: ‘Come in, come in …’ he was calling repeatedly.
I thumbed the button. ‘Standing by. Sorry, I didn’t hear the radio with the river noise.’
‘We got the Landy out, but only just. I’m afraid we can’t get to you. The river’s jumped its banks.’
‘I know. There’s not much we can do, we’re trapped at the lodge. We’ll have to sit it out here. Stay in touch and let’s conserve batteries.’
‘Roger and out,’ said Brendan and a few minutes later I saw his vehicle lights piercing the gloom a mile or two away as they headed back to the house.
I returned to the lodge where for three nerve-wracking hours I watched as the overflowing river inched closer and closer to the buildings. Thankfully the rain had stopped and just as I thought we would have to start getting my guests onto the lodge roof, the water stopped rising. We were safe. Françoise had found us an empty room. I had a warm shower, then told the night ranger to wake me if the river rose higher.
The next morning I was woken at dawn by Brendan on the radio issuing instructions to staff. The storm was over. Looking out of my window there wasn’t a cloud in the sky … after all that drama last night. The sun was beaming and the river was dropping, but we were still cut off.
‘Hi, Brendan, what’s the damage?’
‘Well, we measured six inches of rain and then the gauge overflowed. The Nseleni broke its banks for five solid miles. Our problem is, it didn’t only take out the sacrificial fence, but another 500 yards on the eastern boundary as well. It’s gone, like it was never there.’
‘Where’s the herd?’
‘No idea. But if I know Nana, she’s taken them to the top of the hills.’
‘I hope so. That fence’s going to take all day to repair and you still have to cross the river somehow to get to it.’
‘Don’t tell me. We’re going to try and string a cable across, as it’s still too wild to swim. I’ll let you know how it goes.’
‘OK, but put some guys on the lookout for the elephants. We need to know where they are.’
‘Will do, out.’
Luckily when the herd was eventually sighted they were on the opposite side of the river to where Brendan was working, unable to access the gap in the fence even if they wanted to. I told Ngwenya to find a high spot and keep an eye on them.
The flash torrent behind the lodge had now dropped and a ranger drove my Land Rover down to rescue us – and not a moment too soon as I got the call I had always dreaded. It was Ngwenya.
‘Mkhulu, Mkhulu! Come in! Come in quickly, the elephants are out. They are outside.’
I grabbed my radio and answered in a flat spin, ‘Where? What’s happened?’
‘On the northern boundary. They’re walking along the fence, but on the wrong side.’
The northern boundary was not too far away and thankfully on high ground. I jumped into the Land Rover and called Musa the fence ranger, instructing him to follow me on the quad bike and we sped off, skidding on the barely passable roads.
We arrived twenty minutes later and I saw Nana right away. But she and the others were inside the fence; what was Ngwenya on about?
Such was my relief that it took me a moment to realize that something was indeed seriously amiss. Both Nana and Frankie were pacing back and forth as agitated as all hell. Every few seconds they would stop and stretch their trunks over the top electric wires and shake the fence poles, the only part they could reach without shocking themselves.

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