With our destination a kilometre from the truck and Gerry’s arrival now imminent, I set off at a brisk pace in the company of Derek, Dumison and Sydney from the capture team. Minutes later we were in position. It was the first time I had seen the entrance to the boma and it was immediately apparent why this hilltop location had been chosen. The direction from which the animals would be approaching meant the vast majority of the enclosure leading down to the truck would be hidden from their view, as would we be thanks to the bushes and trees. The wildebeest would be contained within the boma before they even realized what had happened.
We briefly checked the curtains were drawing smoothly; any snagging could prevent us from being able to close off the entrance, which would hinder our capture efforts.
We were set! In the silence, I was conscious of my own heartbeat. I was by now accustomed to such moments, but never tired of them. While we were surrounded by an expert team of people who had performed these sorts of logistical operations hundreds of times before, we all knew the potential dangers of working with wild animals; catastrophe could be just around the corner.
After a few minutes the hum of the helicopter could be heard, getting ever louder and overpowering the noise of the approaching wildebeest. Uncomfortable as we were, crouched down in our hiding places and being harassed by flies and ants, we remained focused, acutely aware of our responsibility. I felt the ground shake beneath me and suddenly the wildebeest were upon us, the sound of their stampeding hooves deafening, the dust cloud making us cough and splutter – and then they had gone. The helicopter siren broke through the melee – the sprint was on! Disorientated, I used the curtain to guide me as I pulled it across the enclosure while navigating the unforgiving terrain, acutely aware of the implications a fall could have on the capture. But then as I cleared the dust cloud I heard the siren sound again, signalling the animals’ progression: they were now in the second zone and the imminent danger of their escape had passed.
My curtain secured, I headed with Derek and Sydney into the boma towards the truck to assist with the loading. The siren sounded twice more before the drone of the helicopter died away; Gerry had landed and the wildebeest had made it through the final curtain. As we jogged from one section to the next, we were joined by others in the team as they too completed their tasks. This capture seemed to have gone smoothly, but until the doors were closed on the truck, there was no room for complacency.
On reaching the final curtain, I heard a commotion coming from the other side, but my fears were calmed when I peered around the tarpaulin to see the animals being herded in a controlled way onto the trailer. Moments later the truck doors slammed shut, safely containing thirty-eight wildebeest. Several of us clambered up onto the truck roof to administer tranquillizers to each animal, injecting them through the roof hatches with a syringe pole. The drug would keep them quiet and relaxed for the journey ahead.
With the animals so subdued, the truck set off with its cargo for the more secure holding bomas a few miles away, where the wildebeest would be housed for a few days before being transported to their final destination under cooler conditions. A second truck took the place of the first in a seamless transition that reflected the routine nature of this whole operation.
After the first muster Gerry had joined the ground crew; despite over twenty-five years as a pilot, he still loved the other aspects of wildlife work and never wanted to miss out on any of the action. But now it was time for him to return to his primary duty. Knowing there were plenty of people on the ground and that I wouldn’t be missed, I asked if I could join him in his chopper for the second run.
‘Sure, Jono – hop in,’ he responded with his typical friendliness.
As I clambered into the R44 and secured my safety belt and headset, I felt an eager sense of anticipation at the thought of experiencing helicopter mass capture in a way I had previously only witnessed from the ground. This second run was sure to be much less time-consuming than the first, Gerry knowing exactly where the herd was located now, so even if the animals had taken shelter from the midday heat they would be easily extracted. Nevertheless, separating one species from a group and then a specific number from a herd requires an intimate knowledge of the animals involved and instinctive piloting skills. Gerry had both in abundance.
Rising quickly into the sky, Gerry banked over the boma and we were soon heading out across the open plain for the watering hole from where the previous group had come. Travelling at speed we could see the perfect shadow of our helicopter moving over the ground a few hundred feet beneath us. Moments later, the watering hole came into view. Frustrated by the earlier disturbance, the wildebeest had returned to the oasis to rejoin the herd of hartebeest they had left behind, and the two species were once again drinking contentedly, but our approach quickly sent them into a frenzy, conscious now of what the helicopter meant. Bolting into the open plain as a mixed group, it was thanks to Gerry’s skilful aerial manoeuvres as we descended over them that the herding instinct kicked in, causing a natural separation of the two species. Gerry had expected and so immediately exploited this reaction, coming in low and driving the hartebeest away. Rising up again and banking the chopper around we turned back to the wildebeest, which were now heading roughly in the direction of the boma, but the group was far too big for one truckload so needed to be thinned out. Although Gerry could instinctively tell where to divide the herd to split off the forty required animals, they were galloping so closely together that he was forced to come in low to drive them apart; I could almost reach out and touch them. The speed and altitude at which we were flying should have felt terrifying, but was instead thrilling, thanks to his relaxed demeanour.
With the separation complete, I did a head-count: we had a group of thirty-six; Gerry had been impressively accurate in his estimation. He radioed through to Bjorn and the ground crew our ETA; the herd was already on the move at their own speed so Gerry only intervened when they strayed off course, the sheepdog analogy proving accurate. Slowly and steadily we corralled the animals forwards across the open plain, the boma gradually coming into view as we approached the brow of the hill, its entrance shrouded by bushes and trees, once again justifying the location choice. Despite a wild animal’s instinctive sense for danger, the wildebeest were oblivious to the trap into which they were being driven.
After a final push, coaxing the animals into their enclosure, Gerry sounded the siren and curtains appeared seemingly from nowhere, sealing off the entrance. The helicopter continued to drive the group forwards, siren blasts at intervals indicating to the ground crew when to close off the next section. From the air we could see within minutes that the wildebeest had passed the last curtain before the entrance to the truck. Gerry circled the chopper and landed and by the time we reached the vehicle, the animals were safely onboard and simply required tranquillizing.
Two groups successfully contained, we only needed to herd one more today; after the slow start we had made good time.
‘Jono, I need you on the suicide curtain for this final run,’ Bjorn said to me while Gerry refuelled the chopper.