The Travelling Vet

6

ELEPHANT

‘There is no creature among all the Beasts of the world which hath so great and ample demonstration of the power and wisdom of Almighty God as the Elephant.’

Edward Topsell

I was sitting in the driving seat of the Ford Ranger, seat reclined, feet resting on the frame of my open door, watching the interactions of two lilac-breasted rollers in the mimosa trees on the other side of the sandy track, lost in my thoughts. My two sleeping passengers were oblivious to this, as they were to the little duiker that moments before had darted across the track just feet in front of me, disappearing as quickly as it had come. For the moment, it was a waiting game. The two-way radio that lay next to the gearstick had been silent since Ben, Andres and Lyle had left three hours before.

We were in thick bush at the base of a mountain region just outside the South African town of Hoedspruit. Our objective was to find, dart and radio-collar one of three young bull elephants that had broken out of a game reserve several months previously. They had migrated 40 km from their home and had now settled in this region, hiding in thick bush during the day and then feasting on a local farmer’s mango and orange crops at night. Understandably, the farmer felt that the elephants had outstayed their welcome and was keen to have them removed from the farm before they destroyed his livelihood.

Over the previous two months various attempts had been made by helicopter, initially to herd them back towards the reserve, and then, when they had migrated too far, to move them away from areas where they would cause destruction, but both had failed. Now they had a taste for oranges and mangos, and seemed to have settled into their daily routine, making this area their new home, and only two options remained: to shoot them, or to relocate them. Fortunately, the farmer was keen on the latter if possible, and the charity, Elephants Alive, had stepped in to organize and fund the operation.

The logistics of relocating three bull elephants weighing in the region of 3 tonnes each, from a relatively inaccessible mountainous area, were colossal, so it was decided to break the operation down into two components. Fortunately, the elephants were sticking together, running as a small bachelor herd. So Phase One was to dart and collar one of the three elephants so that their movements could be monitored and they could easily be located for Phase Two, which would be the actual relocation. Phase One would also give the time for a proper understanding of what would be required for Phase Two. This was our second attempt at Phase One, the first having ended in failure a few days earlier, when darkness had fallen before we were able to locate the elephants. So today we had set off from Nelspruit at 4.30 a.m., in order to arrive at the farm for 7 a.m., to give us a full day to try to find the group, and collar one.

These elephants were completely wild, which not only meant that they were easily spooked, but also that they were potentially very dangerous, a danger enhanced by the fact that they were only accessible by foot. For these reasons, the plan was for a skeleton team to go in first to locate and dart one, and then the rest of the team would drive as close as possible, bringing in the equipment for the procedure, once the elephant was down and the area secure. This skeleton team consisted of Andres, the tracker, who was key to finding the elephants; Ben, who would dart the elephant; and Lyle, the third member of the team, who, armed with a rifle, would act as their bodyguard, in case the worst happened and one of the elephants charged them.

After an hour of trying to pick up a good lead on the elephants’ movements from the night before, we had got the two trucks as close as we could, and then Andres, Ben and Lyle had left on foot. It had been an extraordinary experience to watch Andres work. His vision for things that seemed undetectable to the rest of us was incredible. Water droplets on a sandy track 50 metres from a dam told him that they had drunk from there a few hours previously: walking away from the dam with their trunks down, the water drips out of them in a characteristic fashion. Dry sap from broken branches indicated when the branches were broken. Dung could be aged to the nearest few hours, and then footprints and trunk prints indicated the direction, time and speed of their movement. It was a completely invisible language to me, but for Andres it was as clear and as easy as reading a book.

It was now 11 a.m.; the team had been gone for three hours. It was impossible to know how long the wait would be; a call could come at any moment, or else not for another five hours. Looking in my rear-view mirror I could see the Elephant Alive team passing the time playing cards. This was not an unfamiliar scenario to them. Anyone with any experience of wildlife work quickly learns how to pass endless hours of waiting. It could infuriate some, but for me there was something magical and wonderful about just being out in the African bush and waiting for that call to action: the job you had come to do, and an experience that would become a treasured memory for the rest of your life.

The perfect peace and tranquillity was suddenly lost as a whispering voice crackled across the radio. It was Lyle.

‘We’ve located them, 100 metres in front of us. Ben and Andres are making an approach to get close enough to dart. I will send through our GPS location. Stand by.’

‘Roger that,’ I replied.

My two passengers were instantly roused and ready to go. I climbed out of the truck to relay the news to the others. From the GPS coordinates we could plan how best to access them and how close we could get in with the vehicles. But there was no guarantee that this would be their final location. The elephants might spook, leading to several more hours of tracking, and even if darted, they could still travel about 2 km in the eight minutes it took for the dart to take effect. We had to be ready to respond instantly.

A further half an hour passed before we heard anything, but then Lyle came back on the radio.

‘They’ve just darted one. He hasn’t fled, but is moving off. Ben and Andres are following him – but come to the location I sent you.’ The relief in his voice was evident. It was difficult to speculate what exactly had happened, but it had obviously been a very tense time.

I passed on the information, and then jumped behind the driver’s seat. As we set off I pulled over to let Jess, who was driving the Elephants Alive team vehicle, take the lead. They had been patrolling the area for over a month now and had an intimate knowledge of the arterial network of tracks in this thick maze of bush and rocks – though to call them ‘tracks’ was a generous description. They were more like an area in this thick bush where there was slightly less flora and a few more rocks.

Within moments the truck in front was invisible amid the haze of dust it generated. Jess wasn’t hanging about, and with large boulders partially blocking the route in places, it took all my concentration to navigate these obstacles at speed to stay on her tail.

Ten minutes later we arrived at the GPS location. Lyle was standing by the side of the road, gun at the ready.

‘He’s gone down over there.’ He pointed off into the thick bush to our right. ‘Fortunately, he only travelled about 200 metres after he was darted, so he’s just a few minutes away by foot. The two others seem to have fled, but I’ll escort you just in case they decide to come back for their mate.’ It was a matter-of-fact comment, but the way he left it hanging conjured images in my mind of what that would be like, and I knew it would be utterly terrifying.

Even the ostensibly simple job of placing a radio collar on an elephant required a fair amount of equipment. For starters, the collar itself was about 6 inches wide, half an inch thick and 10 feet long. Then there was the counterweight, weighing in at about 15 kg, which would be attached to the collar on the underside of the elephant’s neck to stop it slipping when the elephant moved. Not to mention the portable angle grinder, an electric drill, and lengths of metal cable and cable ties that were all essential for making the job as quick and efficient as possible. The danger was extreme – not because the anaesthetic might fail, but because every passing moment that this bull elephant was separated from his fellows increased the risk of their returning to find him.

We headed into the bush lugging the boxes of equipment, with Lyle directing us from the rear, gun at the ready, as he carefully and systematically studied every direction for signs of imminent danger. Fortunately none came, and after five minutes of negotiating trees, bushes, a ditch and thick undergrowth, we arrived at the darted elephant. At about twenty-five years of age, he was a sub-adult, but at such close quarters his size was still formidable. Lying on his right side, trunk fully extended, he had gone down perfectly in a small clearing and was sleeping soundly. With every breath came a booming snore that reverberated through his trunk and filled our otherwise silent surroundings. Ben and Andres had already covered his upper eye with his large leafy ear to minimize external stimulation, and placed a carefully constructed twig in the end of his trunk to keep it unobstructed and to ease his breathing.

Once we had absorbed the initial beauty and majesty of the animal sleeping in front of us, we set about fixing the collar. First, the metal cable was fed under his neck, using cable ties to secure it to the collar itself, which we were then able to pull back through, under his neck. Next, we measured it for size, ensuring the transmitter would sit on the top of his neck, and allowing a gap of two hand-breadths between the collar and his neck so that it wasn’t too tight. The counterweight was then fitted and bolted to the collar, the excess length of the bolts and the collar were removed with the angle grinder, and the job was done. It took no more than ten minutes in total. While Ben, Jess and I had been fixing the collar, the others had been gathering various data on the animal for Elephants Alive’s records and database, our safety all the while guaranteed by Lyle’s careful patrol of the area.

The equipment was finally gathered up and people started heading back to the trucks. Drawing up the reversal drug into a 2-ml syringe, Ben handed it to me.

‘You can wake him up now.’

‘OK,’ I replied. I waited till everyone was a safe distance away, then found one of the large ear veins and injected the Naltrexone into it, before heading back in the direction of the truck to join Ben by a tree 100 metres away, from where we could safely monitor the elephant’s recovery. Within a minute he was attempting to lift his head and gain some purchase on the ground with his feet. He had a few failed attempts at lifting his head, rocking himself onto his chest, but within a further minute he had done so and from there he was soon on his feet. Happy that he was alive and well, and with the collar secured, we scurried back to the truck, and rapidly withdrew.

Once back at the farm, Jess got out her iPad to show us a map of the area, on which could now be seen the route the elephant had taken since waking up and wandering off. The tracking collar was working. Phase One was complete.

The following Friday we returned to the farm for Phase Two: relocation. The logistics of this operation were truly massive, including two helicopters, three flatbed trailers, a crane, a JCB, the capture team, the veterinary team, the Elephants Alive team, and a television crew. The local highways authorities had also been informed, and a road escort arranged.

When we arrived at the farm at 6.30 a.m. there was already a fleet of vehicles and a crowd of people milling around. It was such an exciting and rare event that the Elephant Alive volunteers, some veterinary students and friends of those involved in the procedure, had all come along to witness it. There must have been thirty people there already, and that was without the capture team, helicopter pilots and many of the other essential participants.

We headed over to greet Michelle, the senior member of the Elephants Alive team and key coordinator of the operation. We had met her at the first collaring attempt, but she hadn’t been at the second, successful one because she was attending the funeral of Wayne Derek Lotter, the great wild-life and elephant conservationist who had been tragically murdered two weeks before. Amazingly bravely, his wife and two daughters had decided to participate in this relocation as a way of honouring Wayne’s memory, and Michelle had asked them if they would allow the three elephants to be named after him. It was a wonderful gesture for a man who had worked tirelessly for twenty-seven years and ultimately given his life to protect Africa’s wildlife, and elephants in particular.

The news was frustrating: the team had been feeding the elephants all week to encourage them into a more accessible area, but the night before they had migrated back into the thick bush in the mountains. They were totally inaccessible by road so we would be completely reliant on the skill of the helicopter pilots to locate them and then drive them out of the mountains to a more approachable area where we could bring in the crane and flatbed trailers to load them. The fear was that because the elephants had already been exposed to helicopters several times they might just ignore them, staying hidden and inaccessible. If that happened the whole operation would have to be abandoned and rearranged at vast extra expense with further coordination headaches. No wonder Michelle looked tense.

As if on cue, a gentle humming suddenly caught our ear, growing slowly louder as its source became visible. Both helicopters came into view flying in tandem, one in front of the other, first Gerry in his little R22, followed by Jacques in his bigger R44.

Produced by the Robinson Helicopter Company, these were the two models of choice in wildlife work, and I had seen them both in action. The R44, designed in 1992, was a four-seater helicopter, more stable and sturdy, but less manoeuvrable than its older brother, the two-seater R22, designed nearly twenty years earlier. The R22 was great for herding animals – it could come in very low, and keep up with the jinking, weaving and direction change of even the quickest antelope – but the R44 was the better craft for darting. The vet could sit behind the pilot and follow his line of sight as they came upon the animal, and the R44 would hold more steadily against the wind for the shot.

They circled several times looking for a safe landing spot, but with electricity cables running above us and trees surrounding the area there didn’t seem an obvious location. Jacques settled for somewhere on the other side of the farm buildings, but Gerry opted for a small clearing among a collection of macadamia trees, 20 metres from us. It was a tiny spot that in no way seemed large enough for a helicopter to fit through, but with pinpoint precision, propeller blades only a foot or two away from the branches, Gerry brought his R22 down. Johan and his capture team arrived shortly after the helicopters. They had parked the flatbed trailers and crane at the entrance to the farm.

With the whole team assembled, the plan was discussed. The GPS coordinates of the elephants’ current location were given to Gerry and Jacques, who discussed their plan of approach while Ben, Silke and I sorted through our equipment. Ben would be darting them from Jacques’s helicopter, Silke and I would then monitor them until Ben joined us, and once loaded onto their respective trailers we would each travel with an elephant, to monitor and maintain its anaesthetic for the three-hour journey. We would be using a drug called Etorphine as the main anaesthetic, a highly potent and extremely dangerous opioid and the most feared drug in veterinary medicine. A few drops injected into a human, in an open wound, in the eye or in the mouth, would be fatal without administering the reversal agent. Depending on the depth of anaesthesia and the size of the animal, a mere 0.2 or 0.3 ml injected into an ear vein every twenty minutes was all that was required to keep a 3-tonne elephant asleep.

I had worked with Etorphine before, but never quite like this; I would be riding on a flatbed trailer across bumpy, bouncy tracks trying to maintain my balance by wedging myself between the elephant’s tusks while attempting to draw up a dose of Etorphine that would easily kill me if I accidentally injected myself. The thought alone made me perspire nervously. It was going to require all my concentration and focus to keep the elephant asleep and not myself. It was probably best to lay off the coffee; I didn’t want to risk a case of the shakes.

With their equipment checked and a plan in place, Ben and Jacques headed to the R44, while Gerry returned to his R22. Moments later the two helicopters were airborne, mere specks in the sky as they ventured to the mountains in search of the three elephants. The rest of us loaded into our respective vehicles and made for the edge of the dense bush that surrounded the base of this mountain region. The plan was to bring the elephants down to this area to dart them, but even if it worked, we would still have to use a JCB to clear a path through the bush for the trailers. Once loaded, the trailers would be exiting across three fields to join the main track out of the farm. These were each about 100 acres, one of tobacco, one of potatoes and the third a recently ploughed fallow field. With each trailer laden with an elephant, getting stuck was a real possibility. Once out of the farm, the journey would take us onto the main road to Hoedspruit, 10 miles away, through the town, and then onto the arterial road (speed limit 70 mph) for 12 miles, before turning off to the game reserve where we would have another fifteen-minute journey to the airfield, where they would then be unloaded and woken up. There were going to be challenges every step of the way, and to list the whole host of things that could potentially go wrong would be paralysing.

Once we were all in place, it became another waiting game, only this time we could gauge some of what was going on by watching the helicopters in the distance scouring the forest below them. Despite the GPS coordinates that Michelle had given them, the elephants seemed elusive among the dense flora. Back and forth the two helicopters went, working together like a pair of collie dogs combing the Welsh hills for sheep, but after half an hour they still hadn’t located them. It dawned on me how difficult the task would have been without one of them being collared: a needle in a haystack, utterly impossible.

Gerry landed briefly to recheck Michelle’s map and confirm their current location and then was gone again, but this time they had more success. Reporting back, Gerry informed us that they were at the bottom of a ravine by a stream that ran down from the mountain. As we watched from a distance the R22 disappeared as Gerry took it down into the ravine in an attempt to get this small bachelor herd moving. From our vantage point a mile away it was impossible to know how dangerous the manoeuvre was, but Jacques said afterwards that there wasn’t enough room for the R44 to do it. Just another day in the office for a wildlife helicopter pilot.

The manoeuvre worked and word came back that the elephants were on the move following the stream down the mountain. Gerry said afterwards that the animals were clearly familiar with the route, and so he knew his best chance of keeping them moving was to let them travel this path at their own pace, only occasionally intervening with gentle encouragement. His technique worked well and with Jacques now flanking him on the right, the elephants maintained a steady pace down the mountain in our direction. Most of the fears for the job had centred on this first part of the operation: getting the elephants to an area where they could be darted and accessed relatively easily. It had gone incredibly well. Now it was time for the relocation.

‘The first one’s darted,’ Jacques’s voice crackled across the radio. ‘Stand by, we’re trying to keep the group together.’

Even without hearing that message, an onlooker would have known something had changed. A frenzy descended around the helicopters as their course changed. No longer travelling at a slow, steady directional pace, they were now nipping back and forth circling an area no bigger than a couple of hundred metres in diameter. Meanwhile Johan signalled to his team to get ready, as we jumped onto the back of the truck. I would take the first elephant.

‘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.

With the other elephant now freed, lying on his side, and stable, Ben came over to touch base with me.

‘Good job,’ I said. ‘So far, so good!’

‘Gerry was insane going into that ravine, but he knows what he’s doing and it did the job. How was that other elephant?’

‘Sleeping like a baby. Silke’s with him now.’

‘Great. OK, so they’ll get the JCB to clear a path for the trailers and then we can load them up and head out. Oh, and I darted this one at about twenty past nine so he should need his first top-up at ten, in about fifteen minutes.’

‘Perfect,’ I replied.

All went well, and in less than an hour the JCB had cleared a wide enough path through the thick brush of trees, shrubs and bushes for the first trailer to navigate a way through with the crane. By around 10.30 the first elephant’s legs had been roped together, and he was slowly hoisted into the air, with two people supporting his trunk, and a team of others helping to direct his body into the right position so that he could be carefully lowered onto the trailer. Car tyres were placed under his head and hind legs to offer some cushioning, and once everyone was happy with his position he was strapped down. The straps were more to prevent him slipping during the journey than to hold him down; if he woke up, he would have little trouble freeing himself from them.

With the first elephant successfully loaded, it was now the turn for our one. The first trailer was positioned so its crane could be used for loading him onto the second trailer. The timing was perfect: it was 10.45 a.m., and I had just given him his next top-up, which meant the stimulation of the move would be less likely to rouse him. The procedure was repeated, and within ten minutes Lotter (as he had been named) was safely loaded. I made sure his ears and trunk were positioned well, while others busied themselves securing him into position. The move had brought his respiratory rate up to 5 and his heart rate to 44, but this would soon settle down. I was joined by Andrew and Laura, Andrew noting the readings, and supervising the timing and dosage of the Etorphine, and Laura to monitor the animal’s breathing – and to inject me with Naltrexone if I accidentally injected myself. We settled ourselves down for the three-hour journey ahead.

Slowly we set off, the driver carefully negotiating his way along the newly created path. He drove hesitantly, constantly looking in his rear-view mirror to catch my eye to ensure that everything was going smoothly. He was clearly more used to transporting a cargo that didn’t run the risk of either suddenly getting off the trailer or deciding to join him in the cab if it woke up. After ten minutes we came out of the bush to a large clearing where we were shortly joined by the other two trucks. All three elephants had been safely loaded. The operation so far seemed to be going very smoothly, but the most dangerous stage was yet to come: taking them onto the open road.

Once again, people busied themselves around the trailers, with final checks on each elephant to ensure they were secure for the journey. Others took the opportunity to pour buckets of water over them in an attempt to keep them cool in the ever-increasing midday heat. Silke, Ben and I exchanged updates on our patients. Meanwhile Jacques had once again taken to the sky, this time with the camera crew to get some aerial footage. With everything set and everyone happy it was time to set off. Lyle would be at the front of the convoy with the escort vehicle, and now went round the three trailers in turn to give his final instructions: essentially that if we had any problems we should wave hysterically and get on the radio.

Then we were off, with our trailer taking the lead, but almost instantly disaster nearly struck. A hundred metres or so from the clearing, we had to negotiate a gateway that took us into the first of the three fields. As the trailer bounced over the ruts and potholes that marked the entranceway one of the elephant’s feet slipped forward, hanging off the edge of the trailer, as we approached the gate. The gap was so tight between the edge of the trailer and the gatepost that the leg was now in imminent danger of getting wedged between the two, with catastrophic consequences. Fortunately, we spotted the problem seconds before impact and frantically hammered on the driver’s back window. His response was instantaneous, and the danger avoided. My heart was pounding; I had imagined all manner of things that could go wrong, but something as simple as negotiating a gatepost was not one of them. I felt my whole body tense. It was exhilarating to be so actively involved in the operation, but everything had to go smoothly, and to plan, for me to enjoy the experience rather than endure the strain that I was now feeling.

With the legs safely repositioned we continued at a crawl. The other two vehicles, cautious after our close encounter, successfully negotiated the gateway. As we made it into the open fields, I became aware of the true beauty of our surroundings, as though seeing it for the first time: the majestic mountain range in the background starkly highlighted against the pastel blue sky, the dense African bush with the acacia trees forming its canopy, and in the foreground our convoy of vehicles negotiating their way across the copper red soil through the tobacco plantation. As I stood wedged between the tusks of this 3.5-tonne elephant, his rhythmic snores audible above the grumble of the truck’s engine, I once again contemplated this incredible experience.

The trucks trundled on, but we soon noticed that we had pulled ahead of the second truck, and it became apparent something was amiss. Lyle brought the convoy to a halt and went back to see the cause of the hold-up. The truck’s back right wheel had slipped into the furrow bordering the edge of the muddy road, causing the trailer to tilt at a dangerous angle. If the elephant should slide, he would topple the trailer and potentially take the truck with it. I couldn’t help remembering the final scene in The Italian Job: things were just as precariously balanced when Lyle arrived. Fortunately, the elephant remained securely positioned and with all the passengers moving to the left side of the truck to counterbalance the weight, the driver was able to correct the error and another disaster was safely averted.

The remaining journey through the fields, onto the farm track and to the farm entrance went to plan. We paused to recheck the elephants’ positions and the strapping. It was also now time to top up the elephants with Azaperone, a drug that counteracts the hypertensive effects of Etorphine. The drug had been part of the original cocktail Ben had used to dart them, but after a couple of hours, the network of blood vessels in the elephants’ ears were all much more prominent: a sure sign that their blood pressure had increased because the Azaperone was wearing off.

This done, we pulled out onto the main road, a convoy of about ten vehicles in total. From here on, we would be on public highways until we reached the game reserve in about an hour’s time. Any problems now would become harder to correct and potentially catastrophic. The change in speed was noticeable and with nothing but the elephant to hold on to, I found myself taking up a fairly undignified position around the trunk and tusks to secure myself, but it did at least free up my hands to monitor his pulse rate and administer the Etorphine when required.

With the elephants lying on the trailers, we were each wider than a normal load, which meant that our escort at the head of the convoy had to warn oncoming vehicles of the danger ahead and get them to pull off the road to avoid us. Mindful of the crazy accidents that occur on African roads, it was unnerving to have to rely on the common sense of other drivers for our own safety, but the journey proceeded safely. As we slowly approached the roadside stalls, the proprietors and customers looked on in bewilderment, but this rapidly turned to a feverish excitement when they identified our cargo. Whoops, claps and waves of approval were showered in our direction, creating a ripple effect as they passed down the line of stalls and then died away as our surroundings turned to forests, fields or game reserves. The reactions were even more exaggerated as we passed through Hoedspruit. Even for a town in a central game reserve region, this was clearly an unusual sight. The delighted surprise was replicated on the faces of the drivers that pulled up next to us at traffic lights, the pedestrians walking the streets, restaurant diners enjoying a quiet lunch, the shoppers leaving the supermarket or those filling up with petrol at the garage. It was all a weird if temporary form of eminence that once again brought home how privileged I was to be a part of it.

Leaving Hoedspruit, we turned onto the R40 for the final leg of the journey before arriving at the reserve. This wide, open road is the main artery from north to south on the west side of Kruger, but fortunately we were travelling on it at a quiet time and despite the occasional car whistling past us at 70 mph, the road was fairly deserted. And so at last, at 12.30 p.m., after six hours of hard and dangerous work, we turned off the R40 into the Balule Nature Reserve, immensely relieved that the journey had nearly reached its conclusion and we were off the highways. An expectant crowd had gathered at the park’s entrance to cheer us in. These three escapee elephants were very popular within the reserve and had been sorely missed, and as the weeks had turned into months, concern was growing that they might never be safely returned.

Silke’s voice came across the radio. ‘All OK with your elephant?’ she asked. ‘Apparently it’s fifteen minutes to the airstrip where we unload them.’

‘Great, thanks, and yes he’s all fine.’

‘Good job.’

A long, straight, undulating, dusty road lay ahead, flanked by the perimeter fence on our right and the bush to our left. The sun, now high in the sky, gave the road a golden colour, and with the full entourage stretched out in front and behind us, we looked like an important military convoy on the move. However intimidating we might have looked to human eyes, a female lioness basking by the side of the road barely acknowledged our presence. Up and down we went – this final stretch of road seemed interminable – but then suddenly Lyle turned onto the airstrip, a large expanse that opened to our right and the journey was complete: all three elephants, Wayne, Derek and Lotter, had safely arrived, still asleep and completely oblivious to the epic journey they had been on. One by one the crane unloaded them. The crowd probably numbered a hundred now. Admiring their size and beauty, people feverishly bustled around them for a last picture, a final touch of a tusk, or a feel of their skin, and then it was time to wake them up.

Lyle, Johan and Michelle took charge to evacuate people and vehicles to a safe distance, about 100 metres behind us, with the elephants facing the opposite direction. It was more than likely they would just wake up and head into the bush, but the possibility that one might turn and charge could not be overlooked.

Laura, Silke, Ben and myself were all who remained to wake them up. Determining the total amount of Etorphine our elephants had received allowed us to calculate the amount of Naltrexone we each needed to administer. This drug begins to take full effect within about a minute, so it was critical that we injected our respective elephants at exactly the same time to ensure that none of our patients woke up before we had all safely vacated the area.

‘Everyone ready?’ Silke enquired as the three of us stood poised over our elephants, loaded syringe at the ready.

‘Yup,’ Ben and I replied in unison.

‘OK, find your vein.’

‘I’m in,’ Ben replied moments later.

‘So am I,’ I followed.

‘OK, inject.’

I depressed the plunger and 12 ml of Naltrexone entered Lotter’s ear vein to flood his system. Each molecule of the drug would start displacing Etorphine molecules that occupied the opioid receptors throughout the brain and spinal cord and with that he would regain full consciousness. It was time to head to the safety of the vehicles.

Moments later they started to stir. Wayne was the first to raise his head, and quickly rocked himself onto his chest and then his feet; Derek and Lotter were slightly slower, taking several attempts to sit up. Concerned for his friends, Wayne wandered over to Lotter to help him up, and in the meantime Derek staggered up. The three of them took a moment to steady themselves, and then nonchalantly headed into the bush and out of sight as though the last four hours had never happened. As we turned to congratulate each other, I felt a tear roll down my cheek. That moving interaction between those three elephants as they woke up had been a special finale to what had been an astounding and unforgettable experience.

Elephants: fast facts

Loxodonta africana: The African elephant

Distribution: The largest of the three extant species, it is scattered across sub-Saharan Africa, with the greatest populations in the south and east of the continent. The other two species are the African forest elephant (found in the Congo Basin) and the Asian elephant (found in South and South-East Asia).

Names: The male is called a ‘bull’, the female a ‘cow’, and their young a ‘calf’. A group of elephants is called a ‘parade’ or ‘memory’.

Life span: About 60–70 years.

Habitat: Elephants live in a diversity of habitats, from dry savannahs, deserts, marshes and lake shores, to mountain areas above the snowline.

Diet: As predominantly browsing herbivores, they eat leaves, twigs, fruit and bark, but will also eat grass and roots, consuming as much as 150 kg of food and 40 litres of water a day.

Gestation: 22 months, with a calf being born every 3–5 years. Sexually mature males up to 25 years old enter ‘musth’, a state of increased testosterone around mating, which can last up to 4 months at a time, when a fluid is secreted from their temporal glands down their face and they become noticeably aggressive. The female’s cycle lasts 16 weeks, during which time a male will follow and guard her until she is in oestrus. A female reaches sexual maturity at 12–16 years, her fertility decreasing from aged 45 years.

Size and weight: A calf is about 120 kg at birth, growing to about 6,000 kg as an adult.

Growth: Weaning at 5–10 years old, they are fully grown by their late twenties.

Body temperature: 36.5 °C.

Anatomy: An elephant’s trunk is a muscular proboscis formed from a fusion between the nose and upper lip, connected to a bony opening in the skull. It is their most versatile appendage, allowing them to breathe, smell, touch and produce sound. It is capable of lifting a weight up to 350 kg, acts as a snorkel in water, allows them to reach heights of about 7 metres, as well as the ability to perform very delicate tasks such as cracking a peanut, as well as less subtle ones like uprooting small trees. Like horses, they are hindgut fermenters, their intestines measuring about 35 metres. The male’s testes are located internally near the kidneys, making surgical castration a very complicated procedure. Tusks are modifications of the second incisor teeth of the upper jaw, and ivory is the dentine layer that remains when the enamel wears off. Just like our teeth, the majority of the tusk has a nerve supply, and the pulp extends about a third of the way down the trunk. Removing the tusks is therefore as painful as extracting teeth. The poaching of elephants for their ivory has already led to the extinction of the genetic pool of so-called ‘large tuskers’: at the turn of the twentieth century it was common for tusks to weigh in excess of 90 kg, but now most are no more than 45 kg.

Interesting fact: Elephants are the only mammals that can’t jump.

Conservation: The IUCN lists African elephants as ‘vulnerable’: their 1979 population was estimated to be anything from 1.3 to 3 million; in 2012, this number had reduced to a mere 440,000 individuals – a decrease in the continental population of 66–85 per cent. Sadly, this decline shows no sign of stopping, with an estimated 100 elephants being slaughtered every day in Africa by poachers. At this rate, elephants will be extinct on that continent in just twelve years. Although populations are unsustainably diminishing in East Africa, in South Africa excessive numbers are leading to an increase in human–animal conflicts and habitat destruction for other wildlife. The charity Elephants Alive continues to do vital work in Southern Africa, striving to ensure the survival of elephants and their habitats, and to promote harmonious co-existence between man and elephants. For further information, and for ways to help the conservation of the African elephant, please visit www.elephantsalive.org.