"Survival" Camping

First of all, a big thanks to everyone who commented on my previous post... some kinda record, for me at least. (If you haven't taken the quiz yet feel free to do so.)

So, I recently spent 4 days and 3 nights living by myself in the White Goat wilderness, armed only with a set of clothes, a sleeping bag, a lighter, a fishing rod (with spinners) and a butcher knife. (No tent, food, and so on.) I am now much thinner, and much wiser. Here are the things I learned...

Physical fitness is largely mental. "Only a total princess couldn't hike up this hill" is great motivation for going fast.

Getting eaten by bears is not a big problem. Getting cold, is. It IS possible to stand ankle-deep water in an ice-cold mountain lake, and still have your feet warmer than your hands.

It is, in fact, possible to a make a natural shelter that keeps rain out. I burrowed under the roots of fallen tree, leaned some logs against it, and filled the gaps with moss. Shockingly, it kept out rain. Un-shockingly, it was less comfortable than my matress.


It is also possible to fix a pair of crotch-torn shorts using a stick for a needle, fishing-line for thread, and a knife make the holes.

Fishing is much more interesting when you it is your only source of food. Especially for cutthroat trout, which seem to have two moods, "sit at bottom of lake doing nothing" and "insanely hungry." At one point, I got 6 fish on 6 casts. The first 3 came off the hook at my feet. I wanted to cry.


Contrary to popular opinion, fish does NOT taste better when covered with ashes instead of batter.


You can use a butcher knife for just about anything, from cleaning fish, to chopping wood, to stirring the fire, to sleeping with it in your hand because everyone else has made you paranoid about bears.


People suck. Especially the ones who disturbed my solitude by douseing my dry kindling in water and used my knife-chopped wood to make friggin' coffee. (Without malice on their part, but still...)


Gideon Bible pages are too thin to be good fire-starters. Now don't get worked up, guys, I only used the "introduction", not the actual pages of scripture... sheesh.


Human beings in Canada are wusses. This includes myself. I can't believe I missed salt, my bed, and the internet. Imagine, there are still people today who have to hunt/gather their daily food, and who go every day knowing a predator could eat them. It used to blow my mind that people in, say, Africa, could just sit around all day without dying of boredom. I think I could grow used to it, given time.

Unstabbed

Well, I am now back from Gemsbok/Oryx (same thing) capture. It was quite exciting; the whole thing takes at least 15 guys, a helicopter, a big game truck, and a huge funnel called a boma. The boma is made out of heavy canvas, attached to poles and trees, with curtains running crosswize along its length making ever smaller triangles when closed.

Herds of oryx are chased into the boma by the helicopter pilot. This is no small feat, he must drive the animals before him and get them right into the boma without turning aside. The wind must also be right; if the animals smell human scent they turn aside. Sometimes the oryx just stop, and he has to drop his chopper dangerously low to scare them into running again.

Once the oryx run into the boma, men hiding in the curtains pull it shut behind them. (Yes, this leaves them in the same enclosed space as stampeding animals.) The oryx are chased forwards into the “tip” of the funnel, made or corrugated steel plates and known as the “manga”. Once the oryx are chased into the manga a heavy door is slammed shut behind them and the animals are “processed.”

(Is all this making sense? If not, I’ll try to scan a diagram and post it when I get back home.)

A springbok, you may remember, is small and timid. An oryx is big and aggressive and built like a donkey, right down to the sandy brown coat, the stubbornness and the vicious kicks. However, unlike a donkey, it’s black-and-white head is armed with two straight, meter-long horns that it wields like a master swordsmen. Game catchers have been run right through by an angry oryx. You don’t want to mess around with these things; they can easily kill you.

To keep the oryx from killing each other in the confines of the truck (they fight when cramped) it is necessary to put plastic piping on their horns. We heat the heavy plastic pipe over a fire, scramble up the outside of the manga (there is a bar to stand on) and lean over the teeming herd of terrified oryx. The horns need to be grabbed, and the pipes shoved on securely and pounded into place with small hammers. Luckily, an oryx is built to stab forwards, not upwards, but it’s still pretty exciting flailing around in a sea of flashing horn-points. Naturally, they don’t appreciate hot dripping plastic and hammer blows raining down on top of them, and they do their best to resist (mostly just by moving their horns out of the way.) Once all the oryx are “piped” they need to be loaded. They are just too big and strong to be wrestled on board to the truck like a springbok, and they tend to be stubborn; the oryx backs itself into a corner, lowers his head, and dares you to get him out.

From the top of the manga, we make noise, thwack the oryx with pipes and zap them with cattle prods until they finally go up the ramp into the truck. The trick is to prod them right in the anus; that’s the only thing that really gets them moving. To direct them, two brave men (the workers argue amongst themselves to NOT get this duty) push them forwards with a heavy metal “pressure plate”, a massive shield/barrier that keeps the oryx moving forwards while deflecting the horns (even piped they can deliver a nasty blow) and some seriously scary kicks. Luckily, since the oryx like to stand in one spot, they don’t actively run after you (unlike, I’m told, a sable antelope. I’d LOVE to go sable catching some day. Must be a thrill.)

My game catching time has come to an end, since my uncle has no more work until next week. I return to Cape Town on Sunday, to wrap things up before taking the “lovely” flight back to Canada.

Springbokkies!

So, I’m now in Namibia, back from a 3-day springbok transporting trip. Already I remember why I love this country. Although Namibia lived in Apartheid-like conditions until their independence in 1990, there’s a palpable decline in tension between the races once the border is crossed. Violent crime is uncommon here. And many people speak German! Namibia has a tiny population and vast natural areas; there can’t be many other countries on earth where every farmer you meet complains that the cheetahs got into their antelope again. I could totally live here, and people who do concur; this place gets its hooks into you and you don’t want to leave.

The arid conditions of Namibia make farming difficult, so many farmers have decided that instead of (or in addition to) domestic stock, many farmers keep game. They then offer this wildlife for trophy hunting, tourism, and live to other game farms. Voila, you have nature conservation that is actually profitable! Once sold all this wildlife has to be moved, of course, and that is my uncle’s job, so off we went to transport 108 springbok from one game farm onto 3 others, whose previous herds those darn cheetahs had eaten.

The springbok had already been “passive caught” for us, which means you build a coral out of heavy canvas and corrugated metal (called a boma) around a water hole, wait for animals to get used to it, and then shut it behind them. The springbok are chased into a narrow corridor in the boma funneling into the back of my uncle’s game truck (a massive semi with a huge metal box, divided into compartments, for holding the game) and another door is shut, trapping them. Here the fun begins, with the loading and off-loading. Naturally, the terrified antelope don’t want to get onto the truck, and once on they often don’t want to get back off. Springbok are small enough (25-40 kg) to be handled by hand, and it’s pretty exciting.

In the confined spaces, trapped by man, the animals resist to the stress in two ways. One of which is to lie down and refuse to move, in which case you have to drag or even carry them where you want them to go. The rest start jumping around like crazy as only a springbok can (wonder where they got the name?), trampling all over the “lying down” ones and scaring the crap out of rookie springbok wranglers. The trick to controlling a springbok is to grab the horns. This provides an excellent handhold with great leverage, and has the added benefit of keeping those horns out of your flesh. The springbok can then be “persuaded” to get onto the truck, off of the truck, into the designated compartment or whatever else is needed. The scary part is barring the exit; every so often a springbok will see daylight behind you and make a flying leap towards it, in which case you throw up your arms a legs and hope that a) it doesn’t get out and b) it doesn’t get you. (At least that’s what I do, the professionals are probably more technical about it.) We even had to transfer the antelope from one truck into another in near-total dark when ours broke down, but it went surprisingly well.

All of this, of course, is in between hour upon hour of driving, some of it at 20 kph before we realized the truck wasn’t going to heal itself. However, that’s all part of the business, and you can always amuse yourself by looking for game out the window. I feel like I saw more game driving through Namibia then I did at the Kruger park. We also ate lots of biltong, the world's manliest food. (Think of jerky injected with purest awesome). Next stop? Depending on how soon the truck gets fixed, I will either be catching oryx with my uncle, or going to Swakopmund to whine about how much fishing trips cost.

Safari Time

So, we are back in Johannesburg after a 6-day Safari to the Kruger Park and surrounding area. On Sunday, Kathryn goes back home and I am probably (but not certainly) heading off to Windhoek, Namibia.


Our trip to the Kruger was a mixed sucess. On the plus side, we stayed at a jungle paradise, in rustic but comfortable conditions in which food magically appeared on the table, and messy beds became made while we safari-ed. During the day, herds of nyala frolicked in the camp, along with clothes-stealing, crap-throwing monkeys. (Kathryn says: not at us, but at the annoying other tourists. The monkeys have a sixth sense about these things.) At night there is no light pollution, making the stars shine brighter than you ever thought possible. The eerie sounds of the bush made going to the bathroom exciting, especially last night when the raspy grunts of a leopard (sounds like sawing wood) echoed through the camp, very close to the sleeping quarters. We also went on two guided bush-walks. On both, we encountered solitary bull buffalo (they tend to be grouchy). Exciting...


On the minus side, the game viewing was- well, I think the technical term is "miserable". Forget big cats; even the herbivores were few and far between. The only exception was the numerous impala, (which are presently in mating season, meaning the males scream and roar and chase each other- and the females- around.) and lots of giraffes. To blame were late April rains, dispersing the herds (no need to come to the water hole to drink) and turning the bush and grass into a thick tangle to hide just about everything. However, the gods finally got tired of my whining... on visiting an Endangered Species Breeding program on a private game reserve, we were treated to a rare sight: free roaming wild dogs, who had recently entered the reserve of their own accord, had taken affront to the captive-bred wild dogs at the centre and were running up and down the fence, jipping and jumping and trying to assert dominance. (FYI "wild dogs" doesn't refer to feral domestic dogs, but the rarest and most efficient big predator in Africa.) Seeing these highly elusive animals next to their caged counterparts was very strange and very cool.


I just got back from my most incredible treehouse adventure. It was sooooooo cool. We stayed in reall thatched bamboo treehouses, with monkeys on our roof and, as we were reminded frequently, buffalo (the most dangerous animal of the big 5) roaming our camp at night. The game viewing sucked but thankfully we had gone to another game park beforehand and had seen other cool animals then. It was definitely a once in a lifetime thing.

Today we are in jo-burg again after a very long, unshowered drive. We have all day tmrw to hang out in jo'burg and do something I assume. Not quite sure but "we will make a plan" (that is very funny to anyone who has been in africa ever). (Jens says: "we'll make a plan" is a classic Africanism, the SA version of "Hakuna Matata". It is invariably said when a) no plan has been made and b) a plan is urgently necessary, right now, but will definitely not be made until much, much later.)

All I can say is I have enjoyed this trip immensely and I am very sad about my flight back (mostly cause it will be long and suck). I will be back in edmonton on monday night.

I keep thinking that, more for my own sake then for that of any reader who might care, I should come to some sort of conclusion about my time in South Africa. There are no easy words are answers: "It was cool" is an easy way out, and quite true, but the phrase doesn't cut it for. A couple of nights ago, as I lay in bed having stared into the bush all day at nothing to the never-ending commentary of some irritating Calgarians (we just can't get away from them) all the disappointments kept flooding to mind: no cheetah, no Greco medal,a strained relationship with a former friend, car problems, destructively ungrateful students and the never-ending mind-boggling permafrustration required to get anything done.

After hearing leopards and seeing wild dogs (game viewing is clearly more important to my emotional well being than is normal or healthy) I regained a more balanced perspective. I remember working where no foreigners (and few white South Africans) ever go, falling off a waterfall and catching myself on a branch, locking and painting a school, seeing lions and elephants close enough to spit in their faces (Addo rules), making new friends, catching ocean fish, FINALLY winning a provincial chapionship and spending time with my glorious girlfriend, Kathryn, who is currently reading this over my shoulder and laughing. In fact, our entire trip together was a huge highlight except for the two game drives of suck. (I'm still cool- says Kathryn.)

So that's it then, I hope; a few loose ends have to be tied up but most of the hassles are over. Hopefully my trip to Namibia will be a big, exciting journey. The lack of time on the internet and Kathryn laughing at me prevents me from thinking of something deep, insightful, or wise. I've grown more cynical here, certainly. (Didn't think it was possible...) Hopefully, I've also grown wiser, more experienced and closer to God, I guess. (Very hard to type- Kathryn trying to braid my hair.) I'll keep you guys updated. (Kathryn denying braiding loudly.)

Bye all!

PS Kathryn will post pictures when she gets back, I am much too stupid to hang onto a USB cord and I am without it again.

To Catch a Giraffe

From the Archives... this is from an email I wrote back home last time I was in Africa in 2003, after editing for legibility and relevance. At the time, I was priviledged enough to participate in giraffe capture. I post this because, well, giraffe catching may be the most fun I have ever had.

The really exciting surprise happened on Tuesday when my uncle said he had a job later in the week and I could go with him. You see, he has one of the most exciting jobs on the planet. Trained as a veterinarian, he decided to go into the game capture business. Game capture- catching wildlife- is a small but lucrative business in Namibia. Both the government-owned nature reserves and the game farms are constantly buying and selling and moving wildlife, but of course you can’t just tell the animals to go from one place to another so my uncle atches them. The animal we were going to catch is giraffes. A group of guys who capture animals for a living needed a vet (by law, a vet must be present when large animal tranquillizers are used, since they are 10,000 times more powerful than morphine, and lethal to human beings) and so he had to go off into the bush- near the Etosha pan, for those of you who know Namibia. Off we went.

We finally reached the farm we heard the whole story. The farmer was going to sell the farm and wanted all the giraffes- 10 of them- off of it so that he could sell them separately. It turned out the capture crew- a large group of small but incredibly muscular Africans- were experienced and fearless in game capture but had never caught giraffes. We soon fixed that deficiency. Even better, I got to be a part of the team and help with almost all the parts of the capture.

The giraffe is probably the most technically difficult and dangerous of animals to catch. The reason is that they don’t react well to tranquillizers- they die. However, since a giraffe is much too fast and powerful to catch without being drugged, the game capture guys have come up with an intricate system. A helicopter pilot will fly the vet (in this case my uncle) around over the land until they find a giraffe and then chase it towards the capture team- a bunch of guys waiting in a Landrover. This was especially difficult in our case because the entire area was covered in almost impenetrable bush, so the chopper had to chase the giraffe onto one of the various paths the vehicles travelled and keep them there, at which they were moderately successful. The chopper let us know where he was headed by 2-way radio, and we drove to the place at breakneck speeds, sitting in the back of the Landrover and ducking branches. Once vehicle, giraffe and chopper were close together, my uncle would shoot the giraffe with a tranquillizer dart and the fun would begin.

The capture team then has to catch the giraffe. This has to be well timed- if it goes after the giraffe too quickly, before the drug has taken effect, it will outrun them with ease, but if it waits too long the giraffe will fall on its own and might die. We wait until the giraffe is slowing down and stumbling (as if drunk, and indeed the Afrikaans word used to describe its condition is “dronk”) and then position the vehicle in front of it. Two guys holding a long rope run towards the giraffe, stretching the rope across his chest. As soon as that is done a bunch of other guys grab the rope as well. We then let it slide around the giraffe’s legs and, by pulling, take the giraffe off its feet. As soon as it falls one man runs to its head and holds it down, which keeps the giraffe from rising. Another puts a blindfold over its eyes. Meanwhile the vet has been dropped off by the chopper and rushes over to deliver the antidote to the tranquillizer by injection into the giraffe’s neck. Once that happens the giraffe is safe from poisoning, and we can afford to take our time. Of course, the recovered giraffe is now a lot more difficult to deal with.

While several people keep the animal on the ground by controlling its head, two ropes are looped around the neck. A second Landrover, pulling the giraffe trailer, gets as close as possible to the animal (easier said than done in thick bush). Then the giraffe is released, given a push, and everyone scrambles away as it gains its feet. Using the ropes around its neck, as well as a pair of long ropes tied to the trailer that are crossed behind the giraffe, we then get it into the trailer. This is often extremely difficult since the giraffe struggles, especially when feeling the unfamiliar ramp of the trailer beneath its feet. It is also dangerous for the giraffe, which can break a leg if it falls in the trailer. However, by using a whole lot of manpower, pulling on some ropes and loosening others depending on how the giraffe reacts, one can eventually wrestle it into the trailer. The giraffe is then driven to the larger loading trailer, while my uncle and another man hang on to the top of the trailer, manoeuvring the blindfolded animal’s head away from overhanging branches (and receiving some wicked slashes from thorns in the process.) The poor giraffe is, understandably, anything but calm and makes an awe-inspiring din as it tries to kick its way out of the cast-iron trailer.

Once the large main trailer is reached ropes are passed through the body of the trailer, which as bars like a cage. If there already giraffes in there, the ropes are thrown through one side of the cage and caught on the other. One rope is used to restrain the giraffes already present, two to pull the new giraffe in. The doors to both trailers are flung open and the pulling begins anew. It is pretty easy, though, to transfer the giraffe since it has no where to go but into the main trailer. Once it is inside the doors are slammed shut and some of the more nimble men climb to the top of the trailer and remove the blindfold from the animal.

Throughout all these complicated and difficult processes, the one all-encompassing and oft-repeated mantra is “don’t get kicked.” There is a good reason for this. Any nature book will take you that giraffes can kill a lion with one kick, and they can decapitate a person with ease. Giraffes are inoffensive creatures- they don’t attack people like a buffalo or a hippo might- but anything will defend itself when threatened and the giraffe does so very effectively. It can kick with any one of its four legs, and the hard, saucer-sized hooves slash with lightning speed

No two captures were the same, of course, but the one that will be forever etched in my mind was the fifth giraffe we caught, a big female. The capture should have been picture perfect- she was drugged and driven along a path next to the fence, and was too “dronk” to avoid us as we headed her off. However, the guy on the capture rope lost his nerve- not that I blame him- because the giraffe was huggin the fence, and he was in danger of being crushed by running around to that side. I was running behind these two guys, ready to help with the pulling once the animal was trapped. When the giraffe got past them I grabbed one end of a “head rope” (the head-roping guys run behind the original capture team), ran in front of the giraffe, spanned the rope nicely across its chest and dug my heels in. The result was predictable- I am not as strong as a giraffe.The giraffe tore the rope easily from my hands, but not before giving me wicked rope-burn on my left hand and causing me throwing me rather spectacularly onto the ground, twisting my right ankle. It did slow the animal just enough that the capture team could catch up to it and encircle it with their rope. This time we got it right, and with many people on the rope- I made sure to get my left, healthy hand on it- we threw the massive animal down. I felt a savage joy as it crashed to the ground.

However, this was not the end of the story. While we were still getting the head-ropes fastened, and before the trailer was positioned properly, the guys holding the giraffe down slipped and it staggered to its feet, shaking the blindfold off in the process. What followed was a truly incredible spectacle that I wish was caught on tape. Able to see, the giraffe decided that a good offence was the best defence. Lashing out with its hooves, shredding bushes like paper, it rushed towards the guys on one of the ropes, which fled for their lives. The giraffe would then turn and run towards another group of guys- remember, there were three ropes around the giraffe- sending them scattering while the team that had fled before rushed after the rope they had just dropped to stop the animal. All of us had our turn running and pulling and it was pretty intense. The giraffe soon rid itself of every rope except one, and it would have gotten clean away, but one of the guys wrapped the rope end around a tree, and while he and I and several others hung on, the rest of the team grabbed the capture rope and wrapped the giraffe up again. Everyone was relieved then when animal came down a second time, and once we got the blindfold back on it was loaded without further difficulty.

Wildlife Pics

1) Tiger stalks across the road
2) WAAYYY too close to comfort
3) Monkey business
4) sparring sambar


So, we are on the road again, which means I am glad to be male. In the cramped compartments of public transport train travelling, females have two distinct disadvantages:

1) Young men stare at them, shamelessly and openly. My beautiful blonde-haired blue eyed sister constantly attracts a gaggle of obnoxious admirers, who do everything but drool. Sometimes we glare back and it helps for a little while.

2) Toilets. There are "Indian Style" toilets that are a glorified hole in the ground, western toilets that refuse to flush, a hotel room toilet that sprays water all over the room every time you flush... oh yeah, and in lieu of toilet paper you wash yourself off with a bucket. Luckily for me, if there's one thing you learn tree planting, it is to poo in less than ideal situations.

We are currently in fort-exploring mode. Ranthambore had a truly spectacular, vine-encrusted and monkey-filled fort straight from "the Jungle Book". Tempes to Hindu, Muslim and Christian gods cover the top, and fearless monkeys boldly snatch wreaths from the worshipperts.Jaipur is filled with old castles, palaces and towers which are covered in grafitti but still radiate thje majesty of the mogul hordes whcih built them. Jaipur is fairly touristy, which means the locals make a fine living off the exchange rate. However, if you are willing to drive a hard bargain (walking away works wonders) you can get some pretty cool stuff.

Perhaps the best part of the day was when our autorickshaw ran out of gas on the road, and the one with my mom and sister in it promptly slammed into us. Undeterred, the "Back" rickshaw powered us to our location, a local sitting in the passanger's seat and pushing ours with his foot. Ingenuity, hilarity and a little excitement (we dead this into oncoming traffic) all in one.

Sorrry to make this post so short, but I had to re-start 3 times and it's dinner time.

India Report 8 from Ranthambore

ite INDIA REPORT # 8 FROM RANTHAMBORE

The tigress lay in the grass, long, thick limbs relaxed beneath her. She paid the stinking vehicles absolutely no heed... what harm did they do? Instead she focused on the deer. A herd of sambar were deep in the swamp, eating the lucsious water plants, 0blivious to the cat hidden in the grass. Herds of spotted deer- chital- and wild boar also ambleed past. On dry land lay a pair of truly enormous sambar bulls. In her younger days the tigress might have given them a go- her 250 kg of muscle were a match for any creature- but she had recently lost some canine teeth in battle with a 15 foot crocodile. She had killed the croc, but now found it harder to kill other prey.

A herd of wild boars stumbled by, oblivious, nervously regarding the vehicles. The tigress pressed herself into the grass, making herself flat, but she was painfully aware that she was visible from one side. The pigs came close... closer... almost... the tiger's explosivenes and power are equal to none, but once they hit full stride a pig or deer could outrun her. She shifted position, trying to hide in the thicker grasss, but the pigs saw her and galloped away, snorting in alarm.

The tigress got up, slowly, majestically. Every inch of her body rippled with he power that had made her the biggest and dominant female in the entire park, the power that enabled her to provide for 2 small cubsl with only one fang left. Using the vehicles as shields, keeping them between her and the sambar, the slunk closer to another patch of grass. The gawking humans above- clicking pictures and making awed faces- would have been easy meat, but she saw the trucks as one giant entity, made of rubber and metal, not meat. She gained the long grass encircling the marsh, but as she did a deer on the hill behind her saw the orange creature and snorted loud alarm. Instantly the chital that had been feeding in the vegetation scattered, and the hunter disappeared into the grass to wait.

We saw the tiger from the back of a canter, a kind of flat-bed safari truck were tourists sit in the bed, and yes, she did use it as as a shield from the deer. We waited for over and hour, tense, willing the tiger to make a kill. Several deer came close, but not close enough, and when she finally came out of the grass they took off. She made a half- hearted lope after them, perhaps hoping one was injured or lazy, but no deer was close enough to catch. Finally, the cat gave up and the canter drove us home, elated.

We have two safaris left, but it will be difficult to top this one." We had hoped to see a tiger, even just one, but never dreamed of seeing a friggin' hunt where the cat stalked by almost close enough to touch. (Oh yes, there will be pictures, when I find a computer where I can upload them. If you search for "tiger vs crocodile" or similar on google or youtube, you can see the tigress and her battle with the crocodile. (Thanks to our guide for providing background information on the individual animal.) The same guide also pronounced our sighting "the best one of the entire season." Not much else to say... that was sweet.

Rambling's from Cave-Man Land

(my mom has NOTHING to do with this post)

Looking up from a miserable streak of planting one day, I locked eyes with an enormous black bear. He was right across the dirt road, 30 odd feet away, looking at me. I cursed my luck, looked at him, and wondered what to do. Bears are common in Northern BC, and they usually don't bother you, but this one was very big and very close. I yelled for my co-workers (bears don't like crowds) but no one was in shouting distance. I wondered if they would be able to hear my screams as I was being dismembered. I looked longingly for the truck, but it was nowhere to be found. I tried to ignore the bear, but such a thing is hard to do.

Finally I screwed up my courage, smiled to myself at the absurdity of it all, raised my shovel and started yelling. Yelling screaming, making myself look big. I advanced a couple of steps, waving my pathetic weapon, and the mantra in my head was "please don't eat me please don't eat me". As I got closer, the bear rose to face me- for one wild moment I braced myself for the charge- and then with the fluidity that all wild things have, he disappeared into the bush. As my heart rate slowed down, relief began to flood over me, and something else... a tiny sliver of regret. So small you could almost ignore it, yet so foolish it borders on machismo. "I was ready", it said. "Why won't you fight?"

I'm fascinated by the concept of man-eating animals. Not a man-killer, who acts in self-defence or anger and takes a human life (such as a rampaging bull or an angry pitbull) but a true man-eater, who hunts down a human being for food. The black bear I encountered was obviously not one. In fact, every bear I have ever met has given way. Some dash off into the bush, some retreat more grudgingly, but I have never even been threatened. I have been circled by a yearling wolf, a lean and gangly thing, and as I wondered if my size could compensate for his speedI remembered that entire species- cheetahs, african wild dogs and North American wolves among others- have sworn off man-eating.

I have stared into the eyes of a shark from a shark cage ( see http://filth-man.blogspot.com/2006/08/instead-of-info-i-have-decided-to.html), looked down on a hunting lion from the back of an open jeep, fished in a crocodile-packed lagoon and observed an irate leopard through an open window. (For what COULD have happened, watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCAoIywxFk8. My leopard took off). These are some of my greatest memories. Perhaps my most memorable experience is catching giraffes with my uncle- huge, majestic creatures that are subdued by hordes of men with ropes- and the sheer exhileration of realizing it could- and wanted to- kick my head off but I was just out of reach.

The true man eater is rare. This is due to one of two reasons (and yes, they may both be true): Either a) animals have learned to avoid messing with man because he has guns and bombs and a long, bitter memory or b) because God has put man fimly in charge, as the book of Genesis seems to suggest. Man eating is very much location-dependant, which suggests that a) has a lot of truth to it. In Southern Africa, where proliferation of guns is a major social issue, leopards exist on the outskirts of major cities without ever being seen. In India, where peasants have no means of self-defence, they become a snack. Basically, predators eat people where they can get away with it.

African Lions, the scariest animals I have ever seen- just look into the pitiless eyes of a big lion and try to feel no fear- are nonetheless safe enough that, when I was on Safari 2 years ago we slept in the Serengeti, the Okavango Delta and the Ngorongoro Crater in fabric tents. (Lion safety lesson.. a) stay in your friggin' tent at night. b) If a lion comes by be very quiet. c) if it tries to get into your tent, kick it in the face. d) If it really wants to eat you, you are screwed.) Sure the ocasional tourist gets nailed- usually because they are blatantly violating park rules (one moron tried to re-arrange some lion cubs for a picutre)- but all in all, if you are careful you are relatively safe. This is not the case in more primative areas, where human beings have the ablility to deplete a predator's natural food source but not enough technology to protect themselves. Some remote parts of India, for example.

Yes, this does tie into my upcoming trip: I was researching national parks in India to find one to visit. Specifically, I want to see a Tiger. I found out two things:
a) Most National Parks were created to protect diminishing Tiger Populations
b) These tigers eat a crap load of people.

Really... it's quite bizarre. The descriptions for some of the parks go into long explanations of how they have had, and continue to have, problems with tigers nailing locals. a year What a travel ad that is: "our locals get eaten by tigers. But come on in, you won't." ( http://www.india-wildlife-tour.com/wildlife-sancturies-india/dudhwa-national-park.html. and http://www.india-wildlife-tour.com/wildlife-sancturies-india/sunderbans-national-park-tiger-reserve.html are good examples)

I am fascinated. Fascinated by the whole idea of human beings still at the mercy of nature, who go to bed at night knowing (as I did that night in the Serengeti) that something bigger and stronger might drag you off in the middle of the night and there was nothing you could do. In bear country I sometimes sleep with a big knife, wondering if it would be completely useless in self defence. I have found a common theme amongst my outdoorsy friends- every one of us wants, deep down inside, the chance to fight a bear. Many of us even have a plan, from the truly bizarre (do a flip over the bear and stab it in the back??) to the masochistic. (A friend of my grandfather's, when attacked by a lion, grabbed it by the tongue. The lion ate his arm but was unable to get to his vitals before the man stabbed it to death.) Perhaps this goes back to our anscestral past when, like the peasants in some parts of Africa and India, a man's abilites really were measured by how hard and how fast he could throw a spear. (To make things even worse for them, most of the man-eaters come from national parks. Imagine being told the government is protecting the killer of your children.)

I do not write to incite fear in those who read this. Tourists are well protected- they, after all, bring money. I write to share my fascination. I think there is a little cave-man in all of us, a little primative sliver that feels resignation that wants to prove itself against the wild. In Southern Africa, the animals everyone wants to see are the "big 5": the professed five most dangerous animals, the lion, leopard, buffalo, elephant and rhinocerous. (I think they got it wrong though: hippos, hyenas, crocodiles and snakes would make my list). Much in demand are the Walking Safaris- a guided walk through big game territory. (My mom did one as a teen-ager. A hippo almost got her. She loved it.)

Peope in the Bible lived like this. Biblical threats are written in language the people of that time fully understood- hungry lions, bears robbed of their cubs, angry serpents. Imagine walking to your girlfriend's house, filled with thoughts of romance, and being jumped by a lion. A lion! Then imagine turning around, grabbing it by the head and tearing it apart.. and being so blase about it that you didn't even tell your parents. How cool is that?

Don't get me wrong, I am thankful- very thankful- to be living in a world of safety, where my life is not in constant danger. I do not want to get eaten, and if a bear ever does come after me I will probably wet my pants. But still... I can't keep thinking... how cool is that? I wonder how many other people (especially men, this might be one of those "guy things") agree?