An Elephant Bull Called Elizabeth and Other Short Stories from Africa

Elephant Rescues

Who do you believe?  Jane Goodall or the purists i.e. the scientists that believe that to anthropomorphise in any way is wrong, it endangers true science, that animals run on instinct and human emotions and characteristics have somehow been parachuted in and bestowed on humans and not the animals we evolved from.  Jane Goodall seems like a sensible woman to me, especially if you have spent any time observing wildlife.  Take the case of the embarrassed elephant for example.  Now I love elephants and know them well which gives me the edge in deciphering their body language, quite possibly not everyone would agree with my interpretation of the animals emotions but read on and decide for yourself.

Lynne Thorniley and I were camping in Hwange National Park, in the quieter Robin's Camp sector.  This park revolves around water.  In the dry season all you have to do is sit at a water hole and watch the procession of wildlife coming to drink.  Whilst the game viewing is great, it is also a desperate time for the animals.  All around the water holes the vegetation is stripped bare and so, short on energy to begin with, animals are forced to expend even more energy traipsing large distances between water and suitable feeding areas.  

Foremost amongst those animals requiring almost a daily intake of water are elephants.  I have sat at The Hide Safari Camp and counted elephant coming to drink at the floodlit waterhole over the course of dinner, I have reached over three hundred.

Arriving at yet another hide at another time Lynne and myself got out to take up a position, settle in and see what might come down.  For once the waterhole was relatively quiet but, surely, that could not last for long.  It was then that we noticed a young elephant calf stuck in the water trough.  

As time has gone on the provision of water for wildlife has evolved and, I am glad to say, been improved.  This waterhole was of an older design, one of the ones we have learnt from, a deep cattle trough like structure that was filled with fresh water which then overflowed and trickled down to keep the waterhole itself filled up.  The idea was that the wildlife had clean water to drink and nice muddy water for the inevitable roll around like the proverbial pig in ...

The system worked well enough but, every now and then, an overenthusiastic animal would fall into the trough and be unable to extricate itself from the vertically sided swimming pool it found itself in, so it was this day. 

There was nothing we could do.  A young elephant might look small but that is only in relation to its mom; the youngster could easily weigh in at 200kg.  There is also the not so small matter of where its mother might be, we could not see her and whilst it was possible that the calf had been abandoned that would be a foolhardy assumption to make; she could well be within earshot, torn between keeping up with the herd who had been forced to move on in the continuing search for food and not wanting to leave her trapped calf.

Returning to Robin's Camp we informed National Parks of the problem.  They had no transport but did have three willing souls to help out or at least the warden said they were willing. For our part we were more than willing to offer transport and drive them back to the spot in order to rescue the little ele. 

Nothing had changed.  The calf was still in the trough and mom was still nowhere to be seen.  The National Parks personnel had one AK47 for protection and a hundred meters or so of thick blue plastic rope to aid their rescue efforts.  

Retaking our position in the hide, as instructed, Lynne and I watched events unfold.  The three men stripped down to their underpants as this promised to be a messy undertaking.  Folding their cloths carefully they left them in a neat pile taking only the rope and the firearm with them the last thirty or so yards to the trough.  All well and good then.

Standing around there was some discussion as how best to effect the rescue.  The plan, as far as I can tell, was to pass the rope under the belly of the elephant calf and then heave it out.  It was not a bad plan but it failed to consider that, the moment they touched the calf it screamed blue murder, my previous caution was not unfounded, mom was close by and, on hearing her offspring in distress, she came boiling in at a dizzying pace.

Three men in underpants scattered, driven before the incoming whirlwind.  Fortune favours the bold and for these three their luck was in, mom stopped momentarily as she reached her calf in order to comfort it, giving them a chance to escape.  Still, some display of displeasure was called for the female elephant was up to the task.  Spotting the rope she grabbed it somewhere in the middle, twirled it like a lasso and launched it as far as she could.  That dealt with she moved on to the men's clothing, kicking and trampling the neat pile, but that was not enough to get her message across, for a grand finale she ensured that every bit of clothing ended up in the muddy water before returning to her calf and standing defiantly, challenging anyone to dare approach.  It was hilarious to watch.

Regaining their composure, a difficult task when standing half naked and confronted by an angry mother, the three determined to try again.  The scout with the firearm led the way and they drove the mother off by firing over her head, clapping and shouting.  She was reluctant to go but was eventually scared enough to do so even if she did not go far and you could tell it would not take much for her to return.  With a limited breathing space in which to work there was only one thing to do; grab the calf, push and pull it out the trough then run like hell.  And so it was.  Of course the calf yelled again and mom decided she had to do something about it, so once more three men ran for all they were worth as an angry elephant charged into the fray.

This time however they were saved by mom's realisation that she was an idiot.  Her intention had been to storm past her calf and carry on chasing the culprits as, clearly, they had not taken heed of her earlier warning and had interfered with her child once more.  However, as she drew level with her calf she noticed something, he was out of the trough.  Slamming on the brakes she came to a halt and carefully checked the calf over with her trunk, it was all good.

Now an angry female elephant who has been shot at and whose calf has just been manhandled is not likely to be a calm elephant, especially when those that have aggrieved her are still in sight.  She would, at the very least, be standing tall, ears out to make herself look bigger, possibly even making short runs at her opponents to drive them off whilst checking, all the while, that her calf was behind her.  Not so now.  

There was no aggressive display, her ears flapped calmly against her side, her head was down and she took in the scene in front of her with a hooded glance.  There was no gathering her calf to her and making a run for cover instead she turned away from the scene and walked calmly away with her calf at heel.  Most telling of all, perhaps, was that the she never looked back.  No angry elephant I have ever known has had the confidence to, firstly, walk calmly away and, secondly, not actually check that you are not following.

You had to be there and you had to know elephant body language but, I can tell you this, there was a moment, as she checked her calf over that she realised the men had been trying to help and she had made fool of herself.  You could see the change in her demeanour, a slump of the shoulders and a coy lowering of the head, then the decision to just quietly leave and try pretend it never happened.