‘OK, he’s going down, we need a team in.’
Johan didn’t need telling twice. Starting up his truck, he bulldozed his own path through the trees and bushes, oblivious to the hazards he was creating for his passengers on the back as we dodged the thorny branches that threatened to whip or impale us. Time was of the essence: if the elephant came down on his trunk, he could suffocate. We headed in the direction of where Jacques’s R44 was hovering, but seemingly through ever thicker bush. Then suddenly we found ourselves in a clearing and there in front of us was the elephant, lying on his side against some small trees, his trunk safely coiled out in front of him. Seeing our arrival, Ben gave us the thumbs-up from the helicopter hovering 50 metres above us and with that they left in pursuit of the next two.
The initial sight of the elephant was momentarily paralysing, but I quickly regained my composure, conscious that I now had to step up to my role. I assessed my patient. He seemed stable, and very asleep. His thunderous snores would have been intimidating if I hadn’t experienced them the week before, and I felt grateful for that experience.
Happy that he was positioned well and safely asleep, Johan gathered the rest of his team together to head back to wait for the other two to be darted. He turned to me.
‘You happy with him? First top-up is usually after forty minutes – he was darted ten minutes ago so in thirty minutes. Dumisum will stay with you, he knows what he’s doing, but if the other two bulls come back for their friend, then hide behind this one, and keep quiet and still. The eyes in the sky should protect you.’
His words highlighted the potential danger of the situation, and my mind was racing with scenarios as Johan and the rest of his team jumped back into the truck and disappeared out of sight. I suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable. Dumisum’s reaction was very different. Sitting by the elephant’s head, relaxing and enjoying himself, he pulled out his phone and started taking selfies with the animal, then handed me the phone and asked me to take one of him with it. As I stood back on the path to get all the elephant into the picture I felt very exposed.
‘Have you ever been charged by an elephant?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘Yeah, a couple of times. The first time, he came out of nowhere, a full-on charge. I sprinted for the nearest rock, but I didn’t think I’d make it, then suddenly the helicopter came in low and scared him off. I needed to change my clothes afterwards …’ He laughed again at the memory.
Logic told me we were pretty safe with two helicopters in the air so I tried to put stray thoughts out of my mind and concentrate on monitoring my patient, but there was a base level of fear that proved somewhat distracting; my senses were on full alert.
The helicopters seemed to be getting closer now. I looked down the track towards where the noise was coming from. I could see the R44 and … was that an elephant in the thicket below it? My whole body tensed nervously, crouching next to the rump of my patient. Surely this track would be the obvious route for his escape. Any moment now I might see him emerge, heading straight for us. I tried to maintain my composure in front of Dumisum as I focused on the elephant-like object 200 metres away. I was looking for any movement to allow me to positively identify it before I sounded the alarm. As the seconds passed and the helicopters moved away, I realized it had just been my mind playing tricks on me.
Panic over, I found myself relaxing into the role. I recorded his breathing: 4 breaths a minute. I found a pulse from an artery in his ear: 44 beats a minute. No trunk movement. I lifted up his ear to check his eye position and palpebral reflex. I jumped in shock to find the eye staring straight back at me. In most species the eye looks down when an animal reaches a good plane of anaesthesia. All my other tests told me he was stable and in a deep sleep, but his eye position was unnerving. This had to be normal for elephants, I thought, as I replaced the flap of his ear to cover the eye, mentally resolving not to scare myself with it again. I looked at my watch. It was 9.20 a.m. He had been darted at nine, so it would be another twenty minutes before his first top-up was due. I just had to wait and watch, but for the time being I had nothing to do. Somehow that didn’t seem quite right, so I did my checks again. Breaths: 4. Pulse: 44. Unsurprisingly, they hadn’t changed in the last two minutes. I reached for my radio to check it was on. It was; I hadn’t missed anything, no one had been trying to get hold of me.
Pull yourself together, I told myself. Your patient is stable; the other two will be darted shortly, and then the crowds will descend. Enjoy this moment while you can; being out here on your own in the African bush, with an anaesthetized elephant. This was something I could have only dreamt of as a fresh-faced eager nineteen-year-old veterinary student; seventeen years on, I was living that dream. As the realization sunk in of where I was and what I was doing, I smiled to myself and gently ran my hands over the elephant’s thick, leathery hide down to his feet, just letting all my senses soak up this experience.
Absorbed in the moment, I was unaware of when exactly it happened, but slowly it dawned on me that silence had descended. The helicopters had landed, which could only mean one thing: the other two elephants had been darted and the teams were with them. I knew it would only be a matter of time before our relative tranquillity was interrupted. I checked the elephant’s parameters again. Respiratory rate was now 5, and pulse was 48 beats per minute. Then Dumisum pointed out a slight curling of his trunk. I checked my watch: 9.40 a.m. He was obviously just getting slightly lighter, which corresponded with Johan’s time frame. I drew up my first dose of Etorphine – 0.3 ml – found the vein and injected it. I was grateful to be giving the first dose in this calm, quiet environment. I could focus fully on what I was doing, undistracted, but I knew the next time would be different. The elephant took a deeper breath, and then nothing for what seemed like an age. He was already responding to the Etorphine; his respiratory rate dropped to 3 breaths a minute and his heart rate down to 40 beats. This was the normal effect of the drug, and it was reassuring to see it. If the anaesthetic followed this pattern, my job would be a lot easier and less stressful.
The engine of a JCB suddenly broke the silence, followed by the cracking of trees as it ploughed a path towards us. Silke’s voice came through on the radio.
‘Jonathan, how are you doing? Is he still asleep? Is he still alive?’ The air of humour was evident in her tone.
‘All good,’ I replied. ‘Still asleep, he hasn’t walked off yet.’
‘Good. Have you topped him up yet? I’m on my way over to you, I need to swap elephants.’
‘Yeah, he had his first top-up a couple of minutes ago. He’s stable for you to take over.’ The rationale for the swap eluded me, but I wasn’t going to question it.
Moments later Silke joined me. I briefed her on the anaesthetic, and after she had pointed me in the direction of the other elephants, which had been darted together, I headed off to find them.
The scene that greeted me there couldn’t have been more different from the quiet serenity I had just left. There were people everywhere, maybe fifty in all, some with chainsaws, some with ropes, some moving rocks and branches, some gathered round the fallen elephants with clipboards watching every breath or furiously taking notes, others just spectating. It was organized chaos.
Incredibly, these two elephants had gone down virtually simultaneously, facing each other like two drunken buddies commiserating with each other on how ill they felt before passing out. This was obviously down to the skill with which Gerry and Jacques had managed to keep them together, but it also highlighted the bond between the two elephants. Concerningly, though, one of them had gone down on his chest and was wedged between some small trees. In this position, all the abdominal organs were being pushed against his diaphragm, inhibiting his ability to breath, and if it wasn’t corrected quickly it could prove fatal. The chainsaws were being used in a desperate attempt to clear the area around him so he could be pulled onto his side. Ben and Johan were actively involved in that operation, so it was the other elephant that I needed to oversee. Laura had temporarily taken charge of him. With a respiratory rate of 4 and heart rate of 40, the same as the elephant I had just left, this one too was stable and sleeping soundly. I imagined the mayhem that would ensue if one of them woke up with all these people around. I checked the pouch round my waist containing the needles, syringes and drugs.