The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild by Lawrence Anthony (best motivational books .TXT) 📗

Peter found them in the early afternoon, just a few miles from the Umfolozi reserve’s fence and some distance from our position on the ground. They were moving along steadily and Peter knew it was now or never; he had to force them around before they broke into Umfolozi as he would be unable to get them back once they were within the reserve’s fences.

There is only one way to herd elephants from the air, and it’s not pretty. You have to fly straight at the animals until they turn and move in the opposite direction – in this case back towards Thula Thula.

Peter banked and then whirred down, blades clattering and coming straight at Nana, skimming just above her head and executing a tight U-turn, then coming back from the same angle again, hovering in front of the animals to block them going forward.

This is stomach-churning stuff, requiring top-level flying skills, rock-steady hands and even steadier nerves. If you fly too high, the elephants will slip through underneath and be gone; too low and you risk hitting trees.

At this stage the elephants had been on the run for more than twenty-four hours and were exhausted. They should have turned wearily away from the giant bird furiouslybuzzing them from above. That is what 99 per cent of animals – even a creature as mighty as an elephant – would have done.

The herd stood firm.

Again and again the chopper came at them, the rotor clapping with rhythmic thunder as it virtually kissed the treetops. Yet still Nana and her family refused to retreat, trunks curled in defiance whenever Peter came in low, judging his distance by inches. But they didn’t budge. He radioed to us what was happening, and I realized that my herd was something else. Maybe I was biased, but they were special …

Eventually, through superb flying, Peter inexorably wore them down. Inch by inch he edged them around until they were finally facing Thula Thula. Then he got them moving, herding them from above, deftly manoeuvring his machine like a flying sheepdog.

I started to breathe easier, daring to believe everything was going to be all right. Back at Thula Thula workers had spent the day mending the ruined fences, both at the boma and the border, and they radioed me to say everything was ready. We would still have to cut open a section of fence to drive them through, but we wouldn’t know where to cut until they arrived.

Finally after hours of tense aerial herding, we saw the helicopter hovering low on the far horizon. They were going to make it. I gave instructions to the fence team to drop a wide section of the fence to provide instant access into the reserve and prayed the frazzled matriarch would go straight in.

Then I caught sight of her for the first time, pushing slowly through the bush just below the thundering helicopter. All I could make out was just the tips of her ears and the hump on her back, but it was the most welcome thing I have ever seen.

Soon they all came into view, plodding on until they wereat the road. Just a tantalizing fifteen yards from the lowered fence, Nana tested the air with her trunk and halted.

The mood suddenly changed. From fatigued acceptance, the herd now was charged with defiance. Nana trumpeted her belligerence and drew her family up in the classical defensive position, bottoms together facing outwards like the spokes of a wheel and they held their ground with grim determination. Peter continuously buzzed them … goading them to make that last little sprint into the reserve. But to no avail.

Seeing he was getting nowhere Peter peeled off and put the helicopter down. Leaving the motor running he sprinted over to me.

‘I don’t like to do this,’ he said, ‘but the only thing left is to go up and fire shots behind them. Force them to move forward. Can I borrow your gun?’

‘No, I don’t like it …’

‘Lawrence,’ Peter interrupted, ‘we have spent a lot of time on this and I can’t come back tomorrow. It’s now or never. You decide.’

Gunfire was last thing I wanted. It meant more shooting around the already traumatized creatures, causing more distress.

But Peter was right; I had run out of alternatives. I unholstered my 9-mm CZ pistol, checked that the 13-shot magazine was full, and handed it to him.

He took it without a word, lifted off and hovering just behind the animals he started firing rapid shots into the ground.

Crack, crack, crack … the shots rang out, again and again and again.

He might as well have used spitballs. Nothing would move them. This was where they were going to make their stand. They were saying no more. It was something I understood with absolute clarity; a line in the sand.

Dusk fell, and in the glow of the strengthening stars I could see the murky shapes of the elephants still holding firm with iron defiance.

I felt sick with despair. We had been so close to pulling it off. Peter banked and flew off radioing that it was too dark for him to land without lights and he would drop my gun off at Thula Thula.

Realizing their ‘persecutor’ had left, Nana turned her bone-tired family around and they melted into the thick bush.

I groaned. Now we would have to do it all again the next day.

chapter five

Once again I was up before my 4 a.m. alarm rang, gulping down coffee strong enough to float a bullet, desperate to get going. It hadn’t been a good night.

David and the trackers were standing by and as the first shards of pink dawn pierced the darkness we picked up the spoor from where Nana and her family had made their determined stand against the helicopter last night. The tracks again pointed north towards the Umfolozi game reserve and we followed their new path through the thorny thickets, going as fast as we dared.

By now it