While exploring the west end of Chobe National Park, we lucked into a pack of African wild dogs, aka painted dogs in Zimbabwe, the name I much prefer.
I’d love to have the job of painting them! Does anyone know how one gets that job?
Pretty painted dog
Toward the end of a delightful day of wildlife viewing, we crept along a sand track, enjoying a group of zebras. We didn’t pay much attention to a safari vehicle that was stopped on a parallel track, but then the driver hollered and waved at us. My first thought was that he needed help. After some hollering and huh?-ing, we understood they’d just seen some wild dogs, and this friendly fellow was eager to share that news so we might go see them.
He appeared to be a guide/driver, and his vehicle appeared to be full of lodge staff rather than guests. I think he was going through withdrawal, seeing something so special and not having guests with whom he could share it.
As I’ve said over and over here, part of the fun of wildlife viewing for us is discovering the animals ourselves, so I don’t love being guided to game, but I wouldn’t want to miss this, either. I took the information pretty well, due, in part, to the fact that we were the only two vehicles on the scene.
At first, the pack of nine painted dogs were some distance from the track, moving toward a herd of zebras. Some crouched down as if hiding while scoping the scene, or maybe getting ready to pounce; although, there wasn’t anything close enough to pounce on, if you ask me.
All nine dogs in the pack are here. Can you see them?
I scanned the zebras to see if there were any vulnerable babies in the group. Then about eight zebras peeled off from the back of the herbivore group and walked straight toward the dogs. One lagging zebra (left in the image below) trotted to catch up with his brave pals and to add his striped skin to the defensive team.
The zebras were having none of the wild dogs’ shenanigans
By golly, the dogs backed off.
That surprised me. The whole thing: that some zebras would act so deliberately, and that such action would deter a pack of dogs; there were more dogs to play offense than there were zebras playing defense. Surely the pack could get around the defensive zebras to reach the rest of the herd. But the dogs gave it up, left the zebras, and headed our way.
Next, the painted pooches set their sights on a lake where a dead elephant sat half-buried in mud and water and a couple of live hippos were hanging out.
Psst . . . how long can an elephant hold its breath? Do you think we can take a hippo?
The wild dogs spent some time puzzling out the elephant and deciding it wasn’t an option. Then they turned to one of the hippos, which had turned its attention to them. The second hippo couldn’t be bothered; it stayed submerged, mostly facing away from the dogs.
The dogs paced back and forth, checking out angles and distance, consulting one another.
The hippo roared and splashed, “You want a piece of me? Come and get it!”
African wild dog vs hippo
Really, the dogs didn’t want a piece of that hippo, but they sure gave it a good long look, which gave us a good long look.
Prettiest girl in the pack–the one with the white on her shoulders and a very muddy hind leg
When they finally gave up, they trotted up toward our truck, around it, and off into the wilderness on the other side. Not one of them expressed any interest in us or the safari vehicle. We watched until the dogs were a fair distance away again.
As we drove away, we passed a vehicle headed to where we had just been. How lucky we were to be there at just the right time. I hope that other vehicle lucked into something cool of its own.
Twelve photos of our day, selected from 616 photos.
Last time we were here in Botswana, we didn’t spend a lot of time on the west end of Chobe National Park. This time, we’re spending several nights out here, so we can explore this area more thoroughly. We’re farther away from the Chobe River; the flood plain is now a plain plain, where zebra and giraffe play.
One theme of the west end is “fewer,” in a “less is more” sort of way:
There are fewer tracks to explore. Mike figured it would be a shorter day today. Mike was wrong.
There are fewer animals. Fewer than a gazillion, however, is still a lot.
There are fewer people. Awesome! In fact, we didn’t see another car until late in the day when we came back to the main track, and then we saw just a few.
The fun started as we signed in at the two gates. Not one, two.
The first gate is on the paved road connecting Muchenje to Kasane. It’s the main thoroughfare, but it goes through the park. The two officials stood outside the hut, and when we pulled up looking clueless, one pointed and made hand signs indicating we needed to go inside the hut and sign in. Mike and I both understood the signed message. I nodded and waved back.
Inside the hut were four books clearly marked to sign in or out; one set for residents; one set for tourists. The two workers remained outside while drivers self-served. I was alone when I entered the hut, but I met a crowd as I came out. They were all going the opposite direction; none were coming into the park.
I had to register and sign in again a very short distance away at the park. I also had to pay 290 Pula (Botswana currency). I asked if they had change; although, I was pretty sure I knew the answer already. They did not have change. Yep, that’s what I figured. So I plopped my Ziploc of change on the counter. Two of the three people in the building gasped and asked simultaneously, “Where did you get that?!”
In this place where I am dazzled by multi-ton elephants and hippos and two-story giraffes, the locals are stunned by a bag of change. I pretty much always have a change bag on hand, even at home. It comes in handy, especially in remote places. I’d been collecting change during our three weeks in Maun.
As a woman filled out my permit, a man counted out 90 Pula in change to go with my 200-Pula bill. He deflated when I tried to thrust 20- and 10-Pula bills on him, and I asked, “You’d rather have the change?” He brightened and said “yes,” so I took the small bills back and let him count some more. That put a major dent in my stash, but we’re headed to Namibia next and won’t need Pula for a while.
I’ll grant ya, Muchenje is some distance from a bank, but it’s no farther than Glacierview, AK, is from Palmer. And no one has change. They didn’t have change at the Park office on the east end—and there are banks there in Kasane. I’m willing to cut the west end some slack, but not having change on the east end is lame.
And then we were in the park, exploring all the sandy and rocky 4WD tracks on the maps and our GPS.
We started with all the usual suspects: Impalas, warthogs, kudu, birds, etc. Just because I’m not showing pics of them doesn’t mean they aren’t important or appreciated, but the self-imposed 12-photo limit means I can’t show everything, so I’m sticking with the coolest and most important stuff. For instance, I’m sure you don’t want to miss this:
A Dead Giraffe
Haven’t seen one of these before
Watching animals die in predator/prey situations can be traumatic, but once an animal is dead, I find the carcass interesting. I was thrilled to discover this dead giraffe; I hoped it would satisfy my urge for a good size assessment. I keep hoping one will stand close beside the truck—or beside me at something like an Elephant Sands for giraffes.
But this didn’t work at all to satisfy that urge. It turns out a prone giraffe does not present a good idea of the size of a standing one. Would someone please stand this thing up for me?
It was still fascinating, though, to see it so close. I’m thinking this one just up and died on its own, as opposed to being killed by a predator. The neck and legs were uneaten, and I would expect a prey animal to be pretty well consumed. But I’m just guessing.
Did you ever think that maybe an animal carcass could make a nice house?
No? Then I suspect you’re not a skink.
“Mornin’, Ralph.” “Mornin’, Sam.”
I have to say, I like the idea of a picture book with characters that live inside a skull, go to school in a rib cage, and so on.
Based on my animal guidebooks, these appear to be two male striped skinks in bright mating colors.
Double Dung-Beetle Balls
Say it out loud: “double dung-beetle balls.” It’s fun to say, no?
You met Sisyphus, the dung beetle, in a recent post. We see a good many dung beetles, and have been known to turn them over when they get stuck and flail about on their backs after crashing into lights or other mishaps, but today we saw dung-beetle pairs. This photo isn’t a one-off. We saw a dozen or more of these today: two dung beetles on a baseball-sized dung ball. In every case, one dung beetle did the handstand and rolled the ball while the other rode the ball, round and round, wobbling this way and that, and sometimes being rolled beneath the ball.
What is up with that?!
Are these mated pairs? Just friends? Will these dung balls feed twice as many young? Is the rider navigating? Do they take turns pushing?
Inquiring minds want to know, right? As a result, I think there will be a solo, more in-depth post all about dung beetles. Although, I don’t suppose the local in the parking lot of Spar (grocery store) who scolded me for turning a dung beetle right-side-up will care to read it.
I’m not the only one who thinks dung beetles are all right . . .
They can’t see me—they can’t see me—I’m pretty sure they can’t see me . . .
. . . banded mongooses think they’re yummy!
None of these are actually eating a beetle in the photo, but all of them would.
You know who else dines on these giant beetles?
Such cool colors!
Yep, these beautiful, bright birds snarf down dung beetles. I imagine that, like the mongoose, the bird doesn’t eat the crunchy exoskeleton, but rather breaks into the soft insides.
Down the hatch
Now check out this ground hornbill. See the black blob near the front of his open maw? This guy is throwing back a dung beetle, exoskeleton and all. Nom-nom-nom. Gulp.
Mmmmm, a delicious rat!
Since we’re on the subject of yummy food, including elephant poo . . . .
This is one of three pups following a mama jackal across the plain. The three little ones stopped for a few bites of fresh elephant poo, and mama kept moving right along. She disappeared in some brush and was gone for a while, returning with a long-tailed something—probably a rat—in her mouth. She dropped it on the ground in the vicinity of her offspring and trotted off again.
I don’t know how the three pups decided which one would get the rat—I didn’t see any rock-paper-scissors going on—but it was not shared.
Note: This also goes down as the first rat we’ve seen in Botswana! I wish I knew exactly what kind of rat it was.
Kudu and Babboon
“You kids kudus get offa my lawn!”
Okay, that’s just funny. Imagine this kudu in the babboon’s yard, browsing on lovely ornamentals.
This is a tiny babboon, not a giant kudu. I think the babboon looks Photoshopped in, but it’s not.
Not a hot pot or a crock pot, just a hot croc. The open mouth is a cooling action, but I have to believe it’s not as effective as submerging in the river, which, yanno, is Right There.
Giraffe and a half
When it rains, it pours. Here’s another sitting giraffe! Did my book lie to me? Is this not as uncommon as the book made it sound? I’m watching, and I’ll let you know how often I see giraffes sitting. This is twice now, four giraffes, total, which, given the number of giraffes we’ve seen, isn’t all that many. Huh. Maybe my book didn’t lie, after all.
Get a load of the giraffe head, looking up from under its chin. It looks a bit like a puffer fish, don’t you think?
Black-capped chickadees are year-round residents of Alaska. Those tough little birds survive our sometimes brutally cold winters by huddling together at night, same as penguins do in Antarctica, and many birds elsewhere. For years, I’ve been on the lookout for a huddled mass of chickadees on a cold winter’s night, but I’ve never seen one.
That’s part of the reason I was so excited when Mike discovered a small group of white-fronted bee-eaters roosting together on a flimsy branch in our campsite along the Okavango River.
Bee-eaters roosting on a skinny little branch
Mike was just looking around when he noticed a dark mass in the silhouette of a tree’s branches. A flashlight revealed this foursome. Shining the light around the rest of the tree revealed two more roosting pairs.
Those branches are long and skinny. When the wind blows, they wave and shake, and the wind blew, though never terribly hard.
The birds were still there the next morning when we got up. Yes, we get up early. And for the next three nights, at least one pair shared our campsite, usually in the same tree, but not always. We looked forward to seeing them in the evening.
A pair of perched pals
Now, it’s not all that cold here at night, not at this summer time of year, so I would guess this is more social than necessary for warmth; although, I don’t suppose they mind the extra warmth. I wonder if they roost in larger groups during winter.
And I wonder how many chickadees are necessary for a huddle to get through an Alaska night. Does anyone know?
That means 12 photos from our day . . . out of the 551 we took. Plus 29 videos. Yes, I counted. This is our second day in Chobe National Park, which should make it easy, right? Because we saw it all yesterday. What could possibly be left?
Kudu (and Impala)
Winner of the Best Antelope Horns Award
Kudu: The antelope with the milk mustache and pince-nez.
Many antelope have cool horns, but kudu have the coolest of the cool horns. They are popular decor items, as is, or incorporated into lamps and furniture. They are also hollowed out and polished into musical instruments and signal horns—a horn horn. Mind you, they’re not like antlers that fall off annually. Horns are on the animal until it dies . . . or is broken off, which happens.
Whoops! Crap, I’m going to be reminded of that mistake forever.
The barely-there stripes on the kudu’s back are either camouflage or frosting drizzles to make them more appealing to lions and leopards. Or maybe they’re . . . oxpecker (ahem) residue.
How the kudu got its stripes
The frequency with which we see oxpeckers on kudu makes this last explanation the most likely.
Wonder how that impala might have broken his horn? I have an idea . . .
It’s only fun until someone loses a horn
Or maybe he was kicked by a giraffe.
Or maybe he tripped over a log, got his horn stuck in an ant hill, and had to break it off to extricate himself.
Or maybe a croc bit it off while the impala was drinking.
We’ll just have to keep wondering, I guess.
And speaking of crocs . . .
Croc and Spur-winged Goose
Tiptoeing past the crocodile on the bank. Silly goose.
We saw a ton of crocodiles! Huh. I was speaking figuratively, but that’s probably literally true, as well.
Heart nose + Target tail = Waterbuck
A cow waterbuck. That seems like an oxymoron, and “bull waterbuck” seems redundant. Can’t we just call them waterboks, like steenboks, springboks, gemsboks, etc?
The “water” part of the name comes from the fact they they don’t wander far from permanent water sources, needing to drink daily. Apparently, they are also decent swimmers and will take to deep water sometimes when threatened. I’ll bet the crocs love that. We have, indeed, always seen them around water, but we’ve never seen them swimming.
Don’t you love the white heart around this lady’s nose?
Why are waterbucks always invited to birthday parties? So attendees can play Pin the Tail on the Waterbuck! Why do you think that ring is there? Du-uh!
As we cruised the Chobe floodplain, I recognized a dead and down tangled tree that I’d noted yesterday. It’s the kind of tree a gal can play on for hours, the kind of tree that ought to house some sort of animal, or perhaps an entire family.
I was so excited to see the tree, I might have missed . . .
It’s a boy!
. . . the lion outside my open window!
Luckily, Mike spotted him.
We’d just been glassing across the river to where a single lion remained, tugging on the now flat, hardly visible elephant carcass. Yesterday, Mike wondered aloud how long that elephant might last the lions. We have our answer: one day.
This lion was probably one of the four “lionesses” we watched through the binoculars yesterday, but—surprise!—it’s not a lioness: It’s a young male lion. His mane is starting to come in.
Still a bit muddy
As we watched him, another lion—a lioness—strolled down from the brush and sprawled out near him, in the open. It was a coolish, somewhat cloudy day, so shade wasn’t imperative.
Check out those giant paws
We didn’t find the two small cubs.
And we totally forgot to get a picture of that super-cool tangled tree, which I was asking Mike to do when he spotted the lion. Sigh.
Elephants, at Last!
Get back here, you! I’m not finished!
Ha! Found ’em! The elephants are on the west end of the park just now. It’s greener out there.
The ones closest to the road were youngish sparring bulls. So much pushing and pulling and harumphing, but all in rather slow motion.
When we were here three years ago, I occasionally found myself feeling worn out, saturated, overwhelmed with wildlife sightings. I couldn’t process them all.
That’s how I felt today. We drove through the entire park, east to west. After camping in Kasane as we explored the east end of the park, we pulled up stakes (literally) to camp in Muchenje while we explore the west end of the park. Today, we enjoyed nine hours of cool wildlife, beautiful scenery, and rough roads. Exhausting!
During the last stretch, when we thought we were past all the fun stuff, we happened upon a giant eagle-owl. Then, as we hurried to find our way in the last light of day to a not-well-signed place we’d never been, something ran across the road. We knew from the movement of the silhouette what it was, and of course we were going to stop and watch.
The thrills keep coming, even outside the park
But it was already hunting, watching the woods intently, never once looking our way. Then it dashed out of sight. We were okay with that; truly, it was enough.
We saw no elephants! Actually, I need to qualify that: We saw no live elephants. Our friends, Ali and Mark, have never been to the Chobe riverfront and not seen elephants, so I guess that makes this trip unique and us . . . lucky?
It does, however, give me a theme for the Daily Dozen photos: I’m going with the unexpected.
Ten feet long!
At first, Mike didn’t agree with my ten-foot-long estimation, but as we got closer, he came around. We figured a 12-inch circumference, at least, at the widest part. Note how quickly the tail tapers to nothing.
“Mike, go lie down next to it so we have a size reference.”
There is no zigging and zagging for locomotion, just undulating. Check it out below or at YouTube. The video is seventeen seconds long.
These clowns, with their colorful heads, are seemingly everywhere. This is a species that lead-footed bus drivers slow down for (along with goats and cows—but not donkeys, who are, apparently, reliable) because they are prone to sudden stupid, panicky movements when wandering along roads. They need to wear helmets.
Because “helmeted” sounds like “helmet head,” I just call them “helmet heads.”
The red, turquoise, and spots are lovely, though, aren’t they?
Cape Glossy Starlings
If this bird has never been hunted or farmed for its feathers—or followed closely as it’s preening—I don’t know why. They are iridescent and gorgeous, perfect for fashion and decor, and worn best by those with yellow/orange eyes.
This adult has no time to preen, though, with hungry offspring to feed.
I spy with my little eye . . .
What do you call an overweight slender mongoose? No, I don’t have the answer; I’m asking you.
These guys appear weasel-like to me, but apparently they’re more closely related to cats and hyenas.
Not exactly a perching bird
It cracks me up to see these long-legged birds—nearly 5 feet tall!—perching in treetops, and they do it a lot.
Of course, they’re also beautiful . . . to their mothers.
Look at those spiny tortoise legs!
Say “tor-twa,” not because it’s right, but because it’s fun.
I love these guys! (Okay, yes, I love most of the animals we’re seeing.) They just look so . . . interesting! I think someone had some fun with the “liquify” filter when designing the species, grabbing and stretching the animal’s cheeks in several places.
Many of our photos show the upper tusks, but this one shows the lower, smaller tusks, too, which I think adds to the whole smiling look.
You probably know that elephants and rhinos have been and are hunted for their ivory tusks. Well, these guys are, too. Warthogs, however, aren’t an endangered species. I still think the ivory looks best on the living, snuffling warthog.
This is one of many monkeys at a rest area in the park, one of very few places (the only place?) visitors are invited to get out of their vehicles and picnic. We didn’t see them at first, but they crawled out of the woodwork the instant we got out of the car. The windows were open, and we both moved to defend our sides as a dominant male lunged toward the car. It was enough to fend him off, but only just. When I made a big move to try to scare him off, he then fake-charged at me instead of running way. The cheek! Of course, that just ticked me off, but let’s be honest, who wants a nasty monkey bite? On the other hand, I am human, hear me roar—or in this case, hiss.
Mike managed to get the key in the ignition and the windows up before any monkey could zip past either of us, and they didn’t have the guts (thank goodness!) to have a go at the back when we got fresh beverages out of the fridge. One was on the roof, checking out the side windows, while we were at the back, though.
Monkeys doing their wild things are cute, habituated nuisances . . . not so much. Well, maybe they’re still a little cute.
What do you think, effective camouflage or no?
Camouflage at work! Interesting, no? How many giraffes do you see here?
Muddy Lions with their Quarry
Muddy lions with their elephant quarry
Here it is: The only elephant we saw on the Chobe riverfront. A young one. Dead. Killed during the night by these mud-covered lions. You can’t see them in the picture—which is shot from far away—but the feline dining crew includes two small cubs. One swung, carried, and played with the detached elephant’s tail. From our distant vantage point, it appeared to be a group of four lionesses and the two cubs. Other than the one playful cub, they were quiet, still, and undoubtedly full.
Jacana and Hippo
Um . . . excuse me . . . Sir? . . . Are you awake?
If you had asked me what second animal we were most likely to see here on the Chobe riverfront, I would have said, “hippo.” They did not disappoint.
Ever wonder where the Greeks came up with the Sisyphus story? Wonder no more.
Watch this video here or at YouTube; it’s less than a minute long.
The swamp sausages are out on the Chobe riverfront
We got an early start but had to turn around before we got far down the road to return the keys that remained in my pocket.
Today we are headed to Nata Bird Sanctuary and Elephant Sands. We weren’t far out of town when we spied our first black-backed jackal and then giraffes on the road.
Giraffes on the road. We don’t see that in Alaska!
Nata Bird Sanctuary
Friends, Ali and Mark, launched their boat at the Nata Bird Sanctuary in May when the water was high and birds were nesting. Three hundred millimeters in rain in February was a boon that brought the water level up to an impressive level, and they were eager to see how far it has receded. About a meter, they figure, based on our photos.
When we stopped at the gate, the woman tending it said, “You won’t see anything; it’s too hot.”
We’ve heard that before . . . and then been gobsmacked by the quantity and variety of wildlife spotted. Of course, this woman is used to seeing the place full to the brim with birds and other animals, so to her what we saw probably was “nothing,” but we measure with a different scale. We have never seen the place before, and the few animals that remained were fun and satisfying to see. They kept us entertained for a quick two hours. Besides, we were partly there for research purposes, to see how much water was in the pan in early December.
The surrounding area was dry, dry, dry. In fact, a number of fires burned nearby, hemming us in with stacks of black smoke. We thought twice about our plan when we saw orange/red flames. The wind wasn’t blowing toward the road, so we kept going. I don’t know if those were wildfires, maybe caused by lightening, or if they were deliberately set to clear the land of dry brush. No one was attempting to put them out.
Wildebeest, Ostriches, Flamingos, and Pelicans
Winding our way through the parched, sandy landscape of the sanctuary, we first saw wildebeest in the distance. A steady breeze created a Krummolz effect on the mohawks of the wildebeest, which I thought was striking and funny. As we crept closer, one wildebeest walked apart from the group and stood huffing at us, making a sound like blowing across the skinny top of a whiskey bottle. I couldn’t decide if it was a sound made for us or simply a heat-related panting sound. He continued to make the sound as we moved off, so I’m leaning toward the latter explanation. We found yet another group enjoying a small pan of water.
Wildebeest at the water hole, Nata Bird Sanctuary, Botswana
We also spied ostriches, males and females. These are females.
Female ostriches, Nata Bird Sanctuary, Botswana
None of the animals were doing much, conserving their energy in the heat of the day. As we watched the wildebeest and ostriches, we scanned the pan and discovered a bunch of flamingos and pelicans, as well as terns, stilts, and other water birds.
A pod o’ pastel pelicans
The next stop and our destination for the evening was a private camp called Elephant Sands, which offers camping, chalets, a restaurant, bar, and pool. Oh yeah, and elephants. Wild elephants, but habituated to the place and people, to be sure.
According to rumors and advertising, there has never been a problem between the animals and people, and I find that amazing. Much credit to the elephants for their tolerance. Just driving in, we met two other vehicles also arriving. One was another group of self-drive campers and the other was a sedan with a large family. We came upon elephants in the road, and the sedan seemed flummoxed about what to do. Their windows were down and they were loud and excited, bouncing in their seats and gesticulating. I wanted to hush and still them. They backed up, seeming afraid to get too near, but when the other truck moved slowly by, the sedan followed. Except it sped by, or sort of lurched by, eager to get past the ellies ASAP, rather than moving slowly and smoothly. Oy. We watched a bit then slowly moved on. The elephants took it all in stride, loud people and uneven, unpredictable speeds, included.
The Elephant Sands water hole is human made and maintained. Right now, it’s a mud hole with a trough that is fed water. It seems the water-filling speed, however, is slow, slower than elephants can drink, anyway.
We arrived in the late afternoon, in the heat of the day. The dozen elephants milling about the trough seemed only able to drink from one end, in what appeared to be a small hole. Elephants—all of them male—jostled for position and access, rumbling, growling, charging, pushing, blocking, and intimidating others with stare downs.
Sharing nicely. Or not.
As we watched from the open platform around the pool, just beyond the open-air bar and restaurant, one bull clearly dominated. He didn’t budge from his uphill position by the hole except to lean on someone else to push him aside, or to occasionally growl and swing about to force everyone else to back off a little. He drank and drank and drank. Others squeezed in downhill and from the sides as they could.
See the elephants vie for drinking rights, or watch on YouTube. The video is 1:20 minutes long.
And then a more dominant bull arrived and the first Big Bully stepped away. He put up no argument at all, just moved around to the downhill side and staked out a new position there.
How does it work?
Strategically placed concrete pyramids with re-bar sticking out of them prevent elephants from walking onto the platform or getting close enough to the ablution blocks to reach inside to toilet tanks and shower heads. The system is rather like the spikes people put on window sills, roofs, and moorings to keep birds off them: These are spikes on the ground that elephants don’t care to walk on.
I know there’s another water hole in there!
Other than keeping the elephants away from buildings, though, there are no barriers. Walking from the vehicle to the platform or a cabin or an ablution block, you can cross paths with an elephant. An elephant can park anywhere a car can park. Elephants can even sit around the campfires or use the braais (BBQs) if they have a mind to.
No barriers between us and the elephants
Watch them come into the water hole here or on YouTube. The video is 1:12 minutes long.
We set up our tent with the truck on one side and a braai behind, giving us more solid barriers on two sides, in case, you know, an elephant couldn’t see the tent or something. On one hand, I was fairly confident that an elephant would walk around a tent rather than through it. We trust moose and bears to walk around tents in Alaska, after all. But we also own tents with bear prints and claw holes in them. Wild animals are a gamble.
Yep, that’s where we camped, right behind this elephant
The other two campers had roof-top tents, as many campers here do. While it’s true that an elephant isn’t likely to walk on a roof-top tent, it wouldn’t be protection from an angry elephant. An angry ellie could push over a truck or pull down a tent from the top if it were so inclined. I do not believe ground camping to be comparatively unsafe. Not at all.
We took several breaks while setting up our tent to hold still and be quiet as elephants walked by to the water hole. A couple were a mere fifteen feet away from us at times. At one point, I was squatted inside the tent, laying out the bedding, when two elephants having a tiff shoved one another our way. Mike suggested I get out when it was convenient, until they moved off. Getting shoved into the tent by a pushy mate . . . well, maybe.
And for the record, no elephant took issue with our tent raising, but one did turn to face, stare down and shake his head grumpily at one of the roof-top campers when the noise of the hydraulic lid disturbed him. So there. Clearly, elephants prefer ground campers.
We set up our chairs in front of the truck and spent the evening watching the elephant channel. The main ellie highway went behind the ablution block, but ellies wandered in and out from every direction, between cabins and tents, around the restaurant and platform, and fifteen feet away from where we sat. Seriously. That’s close! At one point, I was stading by the truck with my arms full of water bottles and I don’t know what, and Mike was coming back from the ablution block. I was watching the highway behind the block when Mike nodded at something behind me. An elephant approached from the other side of the truck. He walked casually around the truck and turned to face me head on. He, too, was a mere fifteen feet away, so close I was compelled to talk in my quiet, calm, calming voice, “Hello there, fellow. It’s all right. Everything’s fine.”
Watching elephants arrive on the highway
I wasn’t wrong. He appeared completely relaxed—more so than I, most likely—just checking me out, maybe saying hi. He didn’t pause long before turning and heading to the crowd at the water hole.
An elephant at rest
As night came on, more and more elephants arrived and left, arrived and left, with over 20 at the hole most of the time. With more elephants present, the pushing and growling increased. While we watched, none of the elephants stumbled blindly into the tent, alleviating Mike’s concern, so eventually we brushed our teeth and went to bed. We continued to hear close footfalls, more distant stomping, growling, and occasional trumpeting well into the night, but by cool morning all was silent, and the elephants were gone. We broke camp leisurely and hung around a bit but saw just two elephants before we left; each had the water hole to himself.
The second fellow had either an injury or birth defect toward the end of his trunk. It looked as though something had taken a couple of big bites out of it, though it was well healed now. At the top of the gap in trunk was a hole that went all the way through so that liquid spilled out when the elephant sucked water in or blew it into his mouth. At first, we thought he was just a messy drinker, but closer inspection revealed the flaw.
Old Leaky Trunk
Wow! What a treat to be so close to such enormous multi-ton wild animals. But I have a question: Why don’t other animals come into this water hole? Is the trough designed in such a way that only elephant trunks can access it? I should have asked someone there, but I didn’t. I’m asking you. Ideas? Anyone?