I am convinced of something after this past week. You don’t know what an adrenaline rush is until you’ve seen a peeved elephant dig her foot in the ground, flap her ears, and swing her trunk up in the air as if to say "I’m coming for you if you don’t turn around and back it up.”

Let me explain by going back a bit further. Here in the reserve, my aim is to hitch every ride possible that may lead me to an encounter with a rhino or elephant. This method has worked out quite well with the rhinos, but unfortunately, the 25 or so elephants on the reserve have proven to be a bit more elusive. A couple weeks ago, Alicia and I followed some broken water pipes, stripped bark pieces, and dung piles (a sure sign elephants have been gallivanting nearby) and of course, the sound of small trees being pushed over, until we spotted the main ellie herd down in a valley. We climbed as far as we could so as to get the best possible view of the giants without trees blocking our way, and I counted 17. This includes one VERY large bull, the matriarch, a few other adults, two infants, (probably born within the last 6 months to a year) and many juveniles. This leads me to believe the other, smaller herd consists of either the rest of the bulls that have been kicked out by the females as they got too old and feisty (girl power OOH RAH), OR one of the daughters or sisters of the matriarch started her own herd with a few females. Either way, watching these elephants from no more than 150 ft or so on foot was breath-taking and inexplicably rewarding. I started to identify the ellies with the help of Alicia, and I felt like I was becoming acquainted with the herd. However, I wanted more. Seeing these elephants from a truck or mountain ledge is one thing. But I wanted to be on level ground with them.

The bull with one of the juveniles

Then, just a few days ago, I got word that the elephants were nearby and on the side of the road. I ran out of my apartment in my pajama top, shorts and sandals, and practically jumped into Alicia’s bakkie while it was still moving. We caught up with them fast enough, and I took a couple nice pictures of a female and her calf, as well as the large bull from the truck window. But I knew I wanted to be on the other side of these ellies, away from the road and other people with their snapping cameras. I called my friends on the reserve, Paula and Martin, who also have a passion for these creatures. Within ten minutes I found myself walking through the bush in my birchenstocks, without any of the appropriate bush gear- except for my beloved camera. (Note: this is NOT how to go on an expedition in the African bush, but Carpe Diem I suppose.) We followed their tracks and some muffled trumpets until we came across the large bull, the matriarch, a young bull, and some young-adult females. We crept up to about 20 meters away from them (which, for all my non-metric using American friends, is pretty damn close) and I knelt down on one knee to watch these magnificent creatures. The wind was in our favor, blowing toward us so as not to bring our scent directly to the keen-sensed ellies, but nonetheless, they undoubtedly knew we were there. I picked up my camera and tried to focus on one of the females spraying red sand on herself with her trunk, while at the same time trying to keep my center of gravity and not fall over. At this point, they were tolerating us, but I’m not sure they were aware of exactly how close we were. Any stick- breaking or leaf-rustling could have startled them.

The female giving herself a sandbath

They had all turned their backs to us, a sure sign they were content and not nervous at all, and we assumed they were going to take an afternoon nap. I was just resigning to the thought that it may be time to go home and let these guys rest when the female who had been sand-bathing herself turned around so she was facing in our general direction. She put her trunk up in the air, a way to better catch foreign scents.  Something in me said we should turn around and start moving away immediately, but that was obviously far too rational a solution at such an exciting time like this.  Paula and her son behind me picked up on the sudden change in demeanor from the elephants, but they decided to wait it out and we all remained silent for another few moments. I put my camera to my eyes, not to take a picture, but to better see this female and what she was doing. She was shifting in place, clearly unsettled. Then, she turned and looked DIRECTLY at us, and she threw her trunk in the air and began pawing the ground, while Paula called out “OK, time to go! That’s our cue!” Now, I don’t know if the part of me that acted next is the adventurous tourist, the science nerd, or the just plain STUPID person, but instead of turning around and fleeing I started to snap my camera. I continued taking pictures for another couple of seconds, enough time for this elephant to take a few giant steps and for my stomach to drop to the ground. I finally turned and starting running in the other direction with Paula and her son, and when I looked back the ellie was still staring at us but she was already re-focusing her attention on a nearby branch with some tasty leaves.

The female in the process of mock charging

After that day my appreciation for these elephants, and really every wild animal, must have tripled. I have now officially been exposed to my first mock-charge (if that had been a real charge I would most likely be injured and/or a bit traumatized), and I’m starting to realize that I really know so little about this animals. What I do know is that they clearly don’t want confrontation, and they will give us- and any other beings- plenty of warning to take a hike. If pushed, however, the otherwise gentle, family orientated herbivores will come at you like a cement truck, thus deserving the utmost respect from both you and I.  I’ve read that in plenty of books, but I’m a visual and experimental learner, so I clearly had to test this statement myself. I concur that the scientists and behaviorists are right.

I apologize in advance if you thought I was done, because that was just one part of a long string of amazing events that have happened in the past couple weeks. Yesterday I awoke to a tiny infant bushbuck at my door. My friend Alicia quickly explained that she had found the baby in the nearby trash pit and its mother was nowhere in sight. I called Paula and she came to my apartment with some milk and a bottle, and the three of us spent the morning trying to get this terrified, confused baby to eat. I spent the afternoon alone with the bushbuck baby. The two of us sat in a nest of blankets I made in my backyard as I read my book with her in my lap, occasionally stopping to try to feed her or chase her around my yard when she suddenly remembered I’m not her mother and she bounded and bucked around me crying. By the end of the day she was quite used to me and I could calm her down just by petting her. JUST as Alicia and I had started to decide on a name, I got word that a bushbuck mother, that once was a pair with her baby, was spotted alone nearby. I brought the baby to her and they accepted each other back with nurturing licks. It was really the best possible ending to my little adventurous day, and as much as I would have loved to have been that little buck’s surrogate mother, I’m relieved she was reunited with her true, hoofed mom.

A Fish Eagle looking to scoop some fish for breakfast

A stunning rhino bull

After my encounters with the ellies, almost getting bitten by some hungry monkeys, getting snuck up on by a fairly aggressive male ostrich looking for his sweetie pie, and being a bushbuck’s mom for a day, I’m starting to grasp how little I really know about this bush (and subsequently, that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be). Every day I learn something new, and am modestly corrected about something I thought I already knew. This has been a very humbling experience in the sense that a degree can only get a wide-eyed American so far when she’s experiencing nature’s classroom first hand.  You can only learn so much from the Discovery Channel, and that doesn’t include, for instance, identifying the musty smell of a nearby elephant herd, or how to reunite a wild antelope and its young. With that said, my good friends, don’t call me Eliza Thornberry just yet…although I like to think I’m getting there. :)