It was another ten minutes before Derik’s voice came across the radio.
‘We have a hit and confirmation the dart has discharged. We’re hovering in pursuit, so you have two minutes from now!’
Instinctively Bjorn started his stopwatch, knowing the exact time from impact could prove crucial.
After hours of leisurely inactivity, we were suddenly catapulted into a frenzy of action. The hugely experienced capture team who, moments before, had been laughing and joking without a care in the world, were now focused and determined, but discernibly anxious. No two captures were ever the same and so much could go wrong in the space of seconds. Everyone knew that the slightest mistake could be fatal to the giraffe or result in serious injury to one of the team. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I had never felt an adrenaline surge like it.
The bakkie’s engine kicked into life without warning and we accelerated off towards the helicopter, trailing a cloud of dusty African soil. Perched on the back, we instinctively knew we had to hold on for dear life. There were no niceties now: engage your brain, anticipate, or one way or another get hurt!
We did one final check to make sure that we had the required drugs – the reversal, Diprenorophine, was the most essential and several of us carried it, so whoever reached the giraffe first could immediately inject it into his jugular vein. Once the animal was down, we only had seconds before the respiratory depressive effects of the Etorphine and Thiofentanyl could prove fatal. There was also an antibiotic injection for the dart wound, anti-inflammatories and a multivitamin injection to help prevent any muscle damage.
The capture team readied themselves with the ropes, blindfolds, earplugs, gaffer tape and the halter. At the first sign of the animal’s unsteadiness on his feet, two of the team would jump from the bakkie in pursuit. It was their job to intercept the giraffe, throw a rope around his chest and then use this to stall the giraffe and control his fall. All this was usually done while the giraffe was still in full flight, albeit in a slightly drunken state. The theory was great, but in practice, if the leap and chase from the bakkie was timed too soon, they could be chasing the giraffe for a mile, and if too late, the giraffe might crash to the ground unassisted and severely injure himself. And even if they successfully roped the giraffe’s chest, attempting to break a 1,500-kg giraffe travelling at 30 mph through the African bush was obviously fraught with danger, to both man and beast.
We came to a clearing, the helicopter hovering 400 metres ahead of us. It was then that we got our first sighting. Our quarry was still moving at a fair pace, but there were unmistakable signs that the drug was taking effect. Two minutes and ten seconds had passed. Bjorn shouted for his men to disembark, but they hadn’t needed telling. By the time the order came through they were already a good 10 metres clear of the bakkie and in full pursuit, having bailed out while we were still travelling at speed across the unforgiving terrain. The rest of the team were throwing themselves from the truck as Bjorn brought it to an abrupt stop. Seconds later, it stood abandoned, the engine still running and its doors open. We were focused on one thing, and one thing only: the swaying animal skyscraper a few hundred metres ahead of us.
With the Thiofentanyl rapidly taking effect, the giraffe was now unaware of the direction he was heading. Stumbling and swaying, he was travelling at reduced speed, but nevertheless he still easily outpaced us as we struggled to negotiate the hostile terrain. With a sudden change in the giraffe’s direction, the urgency to catch him escalated: he was now heading straight for the perimeter fence, which, at 6 metres high, and with copious amounts of barbed wire, would spell complete disaster.
Less than 100 metres from the fence, the capture team were now rapidly gaining on the giraffe, but were still too far away to secure him. Bjorn, still sprinting, was frantically gesticulating to his team to try to influence his direction of travel, but the giraffe wasn’t able to process the human deterrents and his course persisted unaltered, despite the best attempts of the helicopter pilot overhead. The impending impact with the fence seemed inevitable. I could see the panic on Bjorn’s face, helpless despite all his best efforts to control the uncontrollable. In the wildlife-capture business, skill and expertise are vital, but luck counts for a hell of a lot, too.
With 60 metres to go, we suddenly got our luck. As the giraffe broke through the bush onto one of the dusty tracks, he lost his footing, slipped and fell, and within seconds the capture team were on him. Working slickly and efficiently, they had already fixed a blindfold, earplug and head collar on him by the time we arrived only moments later. Three of the team saddled his neck to prevent any attempt by the giraffe to stand. For any animal lying on their side, the neck is the point of leverage to sitting up and then standing; immobilize the neck and the animal is effectively immobilized. By now the effects of the Thiofentanyl had been fully realized and he was unable to struggle against the hive of activity that surrounded him. His breathing and heart rate were stable at this initial stage, but until he had been given the partial reversal, the Diprenorphine, his life was on a knife edge: he could stop breathing at any moment.
The ability to be able to reverse any of the anaesthetic drugs used when dealing with wild animals is crucial. Partial reversal not only stabilizes the cardiorespiratory effects of the drug, but also enables an animal to be moved, manipulated, loaded and transported with minimal stress. A full reversal is essential before release into the natural environment, since a sedated animal wouldn’t survive an hour in such a fiercely competitive environment, where rivals or predators would ruthlessly seize any opportunity to take advantage of their weakness.
It was actually Derik who, having jumped from the hovering helicopter as soon as the giraffe had gone down, was first on hand to administer the reversal. With the giraffe secured, stabilized, and with no obvious injuries, I could briefly relax, leaving it to others to variously remove the dart, inject a long-acting antibiotic into the associated wound, administer a multivitamin shot and anti-inflammatory injection, and monitor the animal’s heart rate and breathing. Meanwhile, the transport trailer was brought within 20 metres of the patient, the ramp lowered and preparations made for loading him.
With all necessary procedures completed, Bjorn took the lead rope, and the rest of the capture team assigned themselves to the array of other ropes that to my untrained eye resembled a tangled mess on the floor. The three team-members holding down the neck now removed themselves in a single, swift movement and within moments the giraffe was once again towering above us. As the assembly of rope holders took up their positions, the previously confusing tangle of rope unfurled into an organized arrangement, with two ropes looped round the giraffe’s neck and passed behind each forelimb. Bjorn had the lead rope and a final rope passed high up behind the back legs. With this set-up, even the most stubborn giraffe could be encouraged to move forward, one step at a time, as the team worked together, first pulling on the left foreleg, then the right, while the two on the rear rope goaded from behind. Fortunately, this giraffe was very amenable, and within minutes he had been safely led onto the trailer, where another flurry of activity secured his position with a series of metal bars that were fed along the two sides to form a wedge. The tailgate was lifted – and there was a palpable release of tension in the air, as backslaps, high-fives and general congratulations were exchanged. We had safely caught one giraffe. Only two more to go, then …
As Moses, a member of the capture team, was making his final adjustments to a metal bar on the truck, we were all given a stark reminder of the power of this animal. Objecting to his temporary incarceration, the giraffe lashed out with a hind leg in the direction of the noise and Moses suddenly found himself eyeballing the splintered remains of one of the truck’s wooden panels, now complete with a hoof-shaped hole in it. My mind went back to my first trip to Africa. We had come across a male lion on a game drive whose lower jaw no longer occluded with his upper jaw and one canine tooth protruded at an obtuse angle through his cheek. Our guide informed us that a female giraffe had inflicted the injury with a kick in defence of her calf. Giraffes are generally perceived as graceful, elegant and gentle animals, but that day had reminded me of the danger they can pose. In fact, these wooden panels were deliberately designed to minimize injury to the giraffe – better that they splinter than the giraffe’s leg – and it wasn’t unusual to find several such hoof-prints after a relocation exercise. The vital thing to remember was that the safety zone was not the trailer itself, but the giraffe’s extended kicking range.