Then, assuming the first two challenges have been overcome, there are the porcupines to consider, a sapling’s greatest predator. Porcupines will go anywhere and do anything to feast on a sapling, including dismantling elaborate traps and maneuvering through intricate obstacle courses of electrical fences.
The anti-porcupine strategy the rangers developed over time has been to plant within the lion’s camp. The strategy is not 100% successful, but the success rate is much greater with lions acting as natural guardians to the seedlings. It would take an especially courageous or insipient porcupine to attempt penetrating the lion’s camp, and they sometimes do.
In order to deter these insipiently courageous porcupines, saplings are planted deep within the lion camp, far away from the border, reducing the porcupine’s chance at claiming a prize, while increasing the porcupine’s own chance of becoming a lion’s prize.
Once the saplings grow into trees that can withstand a porcupine’s attempts, the lion camp will be moved, and reforestation will begin in a new area until, eventually, this land is returned to its original habitat. The only downfall to this strategy is that somebody has to go deep within the lion camp to plant, and today it’s us. This will be the most dangerous job yet.
We stop at the maintenance shed and load up thirty young trees. They’re about thirty-six inches high and ten pounds each. After that, we make a pit stop to top up the air in the tire. The Drill Sergeant eyeballs the tire, not bothering to measure the PSI.
“Shouldn’t you at least measure that?” I ask. How can he not take every precaution possible?
The Drill Sergeant laughs, tossing the air hose aside. He yanks open the driver’s side door and the handle comes right off in his hand. He grunts and chucks it in the back of Harrison. Harrison is not the only one slowly falling to pieces this morning.
“It’s an omen.” Things are getting worse by the second, I have to get out of this.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“The flat tire, the door handle, they’re all signs we shouldn’t go in the lion’s camp today.”
“You’re talking nonsense, woman.”
“It’s not just that. I have a bad feeling in my gut.” I don’t care if he thinks I’m crazy, I don’t want to get eaten alive by a lion because of a flat tire!
“Probably just gas,” he laughs as he jams Harrison into first gear. It’s not gas, it’s instinct, and it’s never wrong. He is driving me into a certain death. How can I get out of this? I have all but demanded he take me back to the tent camp, and I can’t exactly do that and keep some measure of pride. Stupid false pride.
Soon we’re driving along the perimeter of the lion camp, outside the fence line. I strain my ears to hear any roars above the whir of Harrison’s engine, but they don’t come. The voracious carnivores are nowhere to be seen, either. Perhaps, by the grace of God, the lions are occupied with a porcupine and won’t notice us when we come in.
We enter the first gate and wait in the holding pattern for it to close behind us. I try hard to release all fear and apprehension by breathing deeply and slowly. As soon as the second gate opens, my efforts are tossed out the window. My pulse quickens and my breath becomes shallow in anticipating what lies ahead.
Harrison loops around the long, muddy roads, going deeper and deeper within the camp. Now would be a great time for an urgent message to come over the radio, calling us away for a wildlife emergency. Please! Or even if the dark clouds looming above would just open up—that would be enough to pull us away from here. Instead it remains silent… and dry.
The Drill Sergeant parks in the centermost part of the camp, deep within a ravine, not far from where we deposited the carcass last week. I step out of the truck and look around. So far, no sight of the lions. Just a few feet away is the remnants of the carcass, nothing more than a skull, licked clean. Just off to my right, there is a cluster of sagebrush. It’s not very deep, but it is deep enough for a lioness to hide in. She is probably watching me now, patiently waiting for the perfect time to pounce on me and rip out my spine the way she did to that zebra, without even breaking a claw.
The Drill Sergeant gives me a pick-axe to use for digging holes; its non-ergonomic design mirrors every other tool I’ve used. It’s even heavier than the dung shovel. I practice swinging it overhead, should I need to use it to fight off a lion.
“Right, the quicker we do this, the quicker we can get out of here,” the Drill Sergeant says, noticing my mounting anxiety. Shifting my attention to the task, I begin.
Even though it’s been raining for several days, just under the surface, the ground is hard and brittle, making it tough to break through. On top of this, it’s interspersed with rocks that send electrifying jitters up the shaft and into my arms each time I make contact. It takes a long time just to dig a small hole.
“It is hard to concentrate on digging holes when you have to look out for lions, isn’t it?” Maybe the Drill Sergeant will agree and suggest we leave this job for the other rangers.
“Ah, by the time you saw her, it would be too late,” replies the Drill Sergeant nonchalantly.
Soon paranoia makes it impossible for me to dig anymore. Instead I scan the horizon, waiting, watching, ready to run back to the truck. It doesn’t take long until I spot something moving on the slope just above us, two lionesses.
“Look! There they are!”
“Ah yes, they’ve come out after all,” the Drill Sergeant says and quickly turns his back to them. He is more concerned with digging the hole before him than the fact that there are predators closing in on us.
“I guess we’ll have to come back another day, no sense in staying now,” I say, trying to hide my relief at the prospect of leaving.
He regards the lionesses, “It’s all right. We don’t have to go anywhere. If they get within five hundred feet, then we’ll get in the truck, but for now we’re safe. They’re just seeing if we have food.”
“Seeing if we have food? We are the food! It’s probably the smell of my fear that lured them here in the first place!” I shout, no longer trying to hide the panic in my voice.
“Just pretend they’re not there,” he says, losing his patience. “Let’s finish this, so we can get outta here.”
“But at five hundred feet that lioness would be here in less than three seconds! We should go, I mean it, I’m sorry but I think it’s best if we leave and come back another day.” Screw the false pride, I want out of here now.
The Drill Sergeant ignores my pleas like he always does. Instead, he continues to dig holes with his back to the murderesses. I, on the other hand, will not be so foolish. I will stand guard, and the second they move, I will alert the Drill Sergeant so we can get the hell out of here.
Oddly enough, they have taken a position near the fence. They appear not to be interested in us. I am not so easily fooled. Their plan is to make me comfortable with their presence, and just when I think it’s safe to turn my back on them, they will pounce, and then it will be me lying on the ground, spineless, like that zebra.