We spent a few moments gathering together the strewn ropes and other remaining debris, and then Derik returned to the helicopter and we climbed into the bakkie we had abandoned barely twenty minutes before. As the chopper once again disappeared into the cerulean African sky, the ground crew reassembled in a clearing that gave us a good vantage point to observe the pilot’s progress. While preparations were made for the second giraffe’s capture, the air was thick with feverish accounts of the first. Then Derik’s voice crackled across on the radio.
‘We’ve located a small bachelor herd, we’re attempting to separate them and decide on which one to dart.’
Even this decision was complicated. Judging the size, age and health of a giraffe from 50 metres above it, and when travelling at 30 mph, took immense experience, and though the dart gun would be preloaded with a standard dose, it was up to Derik to decide which animal in the group was most suitable for it.
There were four in the herd, and as they made their bid to escape from the chopper, one giraffe was soon lagging behind the others. He might have seemed the obvious choice for darting, but in fact he was probably ailing and therefore a poor candidate. Attention turned to the remaining three. One was noticeably smaller than the other two; a standard adult dose might be excessive for him, so he too was ruled out. That left two suitable animals so now the choice was based on which would make the easiest shot. Prompted by a mixture of intuition and experience, Derik made his decision, then stuck to the cardinal rule: Never change your mind. He pointed out his quarry to the pilot, who immediately manouevred the aircraft to the optimum position, and moments later Derik pulled the trigger – a perfect shot with the dart embedding into the left gluteal muscles. The giraffe responded by breaking left, away from the rest of the group. The pilot managed to broaden the split and it wasn’t long before the other three were distant spots among the acacia trees far behind the helicopter. All this had happened within seconds of the herd being located.
Once again the confirmation of a successful darting was immediately relayed to the ground crew and we set off in the direction of the hovering chopper. Luck seemed to be on our side.
The preliminary gallop with which he took off after being darted slowed into a trot and then an amble as the Thiofentanyl dispersed through his body, reaching the opioid receptors in the brain and central nervous system where its effect was realized. Having initially been immersed in dense bush, his drug-induced disorientation fortuitously brought him to a halt in a clearing, close to one of the primary tracks through the reserve. So a mere two minutes and forty-five seconds after Derik had pulled the trigger on his specialist darting rifle, we had disembarked from the trucks and were just reaching the giraffe. In his confused state he stood his ground as we entered the clearing, trying to focus on what was unfolding around him, and this was the ideal scenario for the capture team, who quickly immobilized him with their ropes and successfully brought him to the ground.
Following the standard protocol, blindfolds, ear plugs, halter and ropes were all applied. This time Bjorn administered the reversal and I found myself monitoring his breathing. Things had gone well, I reflected, as I stood there watching the chest wall gently and rhythmically move up and out, and down and in, about eight times a minute. After the first animal, this one had been a piece of cake. He seemed perfectly stable, and the Diprenorphine would soon partially displace the Thiofentanyl, and the respiratory and cardiovascular effects would ease. ‘They can stop breathing at any moment,’ Bjorn had warned. Not this boy, though, I thought. He’s stable.
I turned to talk to Bjorn and for a split second was distracted by two of the capture team who were busily trying to untangle one of the ropes that had been caught in a bush as the giraffe had gone down. Turning back to the giraffe, it took me a moment to refocus on his breathing. As I stared at his chest time seemed to slow down – but there was no movement. I must have missed it, I thought. I carried on staring – nothing. On reflection, I suppose it must have been shock and disbelief, but for some bizarre reason the words just wouldn’t come out. And as familiar as I was with cardiopulmonary resuscitation in dogs and cats, I was suddenly acutely aware that I was way out of my depth here. Theory was great, but this was no drill – the giraffe had stopped breathing and every second counted.
People do often experience slow motion perception when caught up in extreme and unexpected events. I remember clearly feeling it when I was involved in a car crash at the age of eighteen. Despite braking frantically, the car wasn’t going to stop in time and that instant before impact felt like a lifetime. And now here I was once again, experiencing the same phenomenon. I stood up, mute, and turned to Bjorn. The confused alarm on my face immediately alerted him that all was not as it should be. He sharply asked me the respiratory rate, but all I could muster was a shake of the head. For Bjorn that was enough. In an instant he pushed me aside and, using one of the capture team for support, started repeatedly jumping up and down on the giraffe’s chest with as much force as he could manage. I had once attempted resuscitation on a cow by repeatedly and forcefully kneeling on it, but even to me this was a new approach. After five or six sizeable chest compressions, Bjorn stopped and evaluated progress. Nothing. He repeated the procedure, but still to no avail. My heart sank. Bjorn started up again, jumping up and down with such vigour that at one point he lost balance and came crashing down on the giraffe’s chest. Unfazed, he was back up immediately, continuing with his unconventional resuscitation technique.
After the fourth cycle, the giraffe finally took a short shallow breath – just one, but a breath nonetheless. We all stood around, our eyes fixed on the animal’s chest, praying and hoping. Another breath came, and then another, a bit deeper this time; and then another … He was breathing again, and the relief on everyone’s faces was clear to see. His respiratory rate soon returned to a healthy 8 breaths a minute.
With this drama now behind us, everyone once again busied themselves in preparing to stand and load the giraffe. The trailer was backed into the clearing, and slowly but surely he was led towards the trailer. This time the giraffe was quite clumsy on his feet and so every step had to be slowly and methodically controlled. Things progressed well until he reached the ramp to the trailer, where the concept of having to lift his feet high enough to follow the inclined gradient was simply too much. Attempting his first step onto the ramp, he buckled, lost balance and fell sideways off the trailer. Immediately Bjorn and the rest of the capture team were on hand, pulling the giraffe away from the trailer, giving him the space to stand again. Once up, he was led away from the trailer, turned round and a second attempt was made to load him. This time he made it halfway up the ramp, only to lose his balance again, now falling backwards into a sitting position. The force of the impact alarmed the first giraffe, who kicked out in disgust, inserting several more holes in the trailer’s side panels. Taking hold of the lead rope, one of the capture team climbed up to the front of the trailer to pull on the giraffe’s head while Bjorn and Derik pushed him from behind – a very dangerous tactic, because just as the giraffe found his feet, he lashed them out in remonstration. Fortunately, both Bjorn and Derik had anticipated the reaction, and just managed to retreat from the firing line in time. With that, the giraffe then stepped up and into the trailer and the tailgate was quickly closed behind him. We had now caught two giraffes.