The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild by Lawrence Anthony (the ebook reader txt) 📕

she was upwind, elephants have such a superb sense of smell that they can pick up minute eddies swirling ever so slightly against the prevailing current.

‘Here we go,’ said David. ‘She’s smelt something. Either the rhino or the food, and now she’s inquisitive. Just pray that she doesn’t come this way.’

But of course she did. With the herd following, she started moving towards us, checking the air continuously, sniffing for the source of the scent.

‘Damn it!’ We now had the herd coming in on one side of the poor rhino and Mnumzane on the other. Even worse, they weren’t advancing in single file which would have been much more manageable. Nana was in the centre with Frankie, her daughter Marula and firstborn son Mabula on the left, while Nana’s young son Mandla and stately daughter Nandi spread out on the right.

Straight in front of them, still secreted in the bush was the woozy rhino, which to my dismay had begun settling down for a rest, making herself even more vulnerable.

‘OK,’ said David, ‘let’s do it again, draw them away with the feed.’

He leapt onto the back of the Land Rover and this time cut open two bags and got ready to pour a trail while I reversed in.

The reaction of the herd was interesting. They pickedup the scent and cautiously came towards us while David scooped pellets out as fast as possible. Mabula and Marula stopped and started sniffing at the strange fare but the rest, led by Nana and Frankie, continued on, slowly following the trail left behind the Land Rover.

Then – of all things – the Land Rover stalled and I couldn’t restart it. Thankfully the cabin rear window had long since lost its glass and with Nana almost on top of him David somehow squeezed his large body through the tiny gap and dived onto Max in the passenger seat in a tangle of limbs.

Then the elephants were on us. We were surrounded.

David turned and stared at the miniature window that he had somehow scrunched through. ‘Don’t think I could do that again,’ he laughed. ‘Amazing what a shot of adrenalin can do.’

Fortunately it was the feed the elephants were after and the two adults yanked the remaining bags off the back and tried standing on them to smash them open. Frankie, frustrated in her attempts to open one bag, grabbed it by the corner with her trunk and flicked it high into the air – thankfully in the opposite direction from the now-sleeping rhino. It sailed above our heads for at least thirty yards and landed with a thud, scattering its contents. Given that the bag weighed 120 pounds and she had only grasped it with the tip of her trunk, the height and distance of the throw was truly awesome.

The elephants loped off after the broken bag and while they were busy gorging themselves we were able to sneak out to fix the Land Rover. It was a disconnected fuel line and soon we restarted it. Now knowing that they loved horse feed I radioed for more and we were able to lay juicy trails of food leading the herd far away from our new arrivals.

We weren’t so lucky with Mnumzane. He had unfinishedbusiness with the rhino, and soon lost interest in the scraps of feed on the ground, walking back towards where she lay.

There was nothing left to do but get between them and keep him away as best we could. My heart jumped at the thought, for even at his age he could easily toss our vehicle over if he wanted to. Bull elephants don’t like to be forced to do something against their will.

I drove past Mnumzane up to the drowsy rhino and blocked his path, leaving the motor running. He could easily walk around us of course, so the plan was to keep moving in front of him, obstructing him from the rhino and hope he got the message without feeling he had been interfered with. And particularly without provoking a charge.

On he came until he was about ten paces away and then stopped and watched us guardedly, assessing the situation with elephantine intelligence. As we predicted he started making a wide circle around the vehicle. Now came the tricky part because not only would he be much closer, but he would realize he was being thwarted.

‘Hold on,’ I said quietly as I gently moved the Landy forward to block him.

Again he stopped, this time less than five yards away and then he changed tack. I reversed and as we started moving his ears flared out and he swung to face us head-on. He had taken up the challenge and the tension in the Landy ratcheted up as he took an aggressive step towards us, head held high.

‘Shit!’ said David quietly.

‘No! Mnumzane, no!’ I called out the open window, ensuring that my voice conveyed intention rather than anger, or worse still fear. ‘No!’

Again he stepped forward, ears belligerently splayed, tail up. This was no game.

‘No, Mnumzane! No!’ I called again, as I reversed in a tight semicircle to keep him away. ‘No!’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the rhino wake up, stumble to her feet and start moving off, giving us precious space in which to manoeuvre. Relieved, I swung the Landy around until we faced the temperamental elephant head-on with about ten yards separating us.

As we confronted each other he began swinging his front foot, a sure sign that he was going to charge. Without thinking I dropped the clutch and briefly lurched the Landy at him, and then again, challenging him directly.

‘Whoa!’ said David, gripping the dashboard. ‘Here he comes!’

Then as we braced for the inevitable charge, he suddenly broke and ran off at a gait, trunk held high. I had to press home our advantage and immediately followed him, goading him away until he reached thick bush and disappeared.

‘Flippin’ hell,’ said David, expelling breath with a whoosh. ‘That was a close one. I wouldn’t try