The mountain gorilla (Gorilla beringei beringei) population in the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park (BINP) has increased to an estimated 400 individuals, according to the recent released results of a three-week census carried out by the Ugandan Wildlife Authority (UWA) in September and October 2011.
This is an increase from the 2002 and 2006 censuses, which showed the total number of mountain gorillas in the region to be 320 and 340 respectively. The recent tally has revealed that there are 36 gorilla families and 16 solitary males living inside Bwindi.
It is estimated that there are now 880 mountain gorillas left in the wild. (A 2010 census in the Virunga massif region – made up of Mgahinga Gorilla National Park (Uganda), Volcanoes National Park (Rwanda) and Virunga National Park (Democratic Republic of Congo) – showed the population stood at 480; Bwindi holds the balance of the population.)
“The mountain gorilla is the only great ape whose population is increasing despite continuous pressure on its habitat,” said Dr Augustin Basabose, Interim Director of the International Gorilla Conservation Program (IGCP). This positive trend is due to the strong collaboration among the three countries where mountain gorillas live and the collective efforts on the ground by park staff, surrounding communities and local government and non-governmental organisations.”
The census teams moved through Bwindi twice, making use of new genetic technology and field methods to get the best results possible. “Even with evolving census methods, the results indicate that this population has indeed increased over the past five years, and that is very encouraging for this critically endangered species,” stated Maryke Gret, Technical Advisor to the IGCP.
Bwindi Impenetrable Forest is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is one of the most popular tourism destinations in Africa.
Note: While it was initially planned for the census to include Sarambwe Nature Reserve in the Democratic Republic of Congo, a protected area connected to Bwindi. increasing insecurity in the region at the time precluded entrance by the UWA team.
Ethiopia is the opposite of what the world tells us – there’s nothing that will prepare you for the beauty and richness of experiences this country has on offer. I certainly had no clue what was in store for me the day I visited Simien Mountains National Park.
The aim of my Ethiopia visit was to enjoy the rugged beauty of the Simien Mountains, also known as the Chessboard of the Gods. It’s also one of the best places in the world to view gelada monkeys up close. That said, just how close my encounter was going to be was certainly not in the brochure!
Finding a troop of gelada was not too hard. Essentially, once you have spotted one, you can expect several hundred in tow; they are gregarious and very social (no jokes!). They are also the last surviving species of a once widespread group of grass-grazing primates, living in some of the most complex primate communities and indeed requiring the most advanced and varied communication skills, which in gelada consist of an incredible vocabulary of grunts, barks and mutterings that is very audible when you are sitting amongst them.
Out of the blue, a small female ambled towards me and sat a foot away from me with her back to me. Scared to spoil the moment, I did what any great biologist in the world would do… NOTHING!
Annoyed by my lack of social skills, the female gelada turned her head, gave me the once-over with her beady eyes, and, placing her left hand over her right shoulder, tapped and shrugged it. The primal instinct in me knew exactly what I was being asked to do, and, letting go of all fears, I reached over and started to groom for the very first time. A total novice, I applied every move I had observed over the last few years and duly worked her fur and back from one shoulder blade to the next.
Gotta admit that I was petrified that on the next hair parting, I would find some “gogga” (ectoparasite) that would require me to pry it out and bite its head off. Luckily, my first-ever grooming partner was parasite-free. My eyes were aching, though, from keeping an eye on my chore and on the nearby large dominant males in case they objected to my actions.
Just as I thought I was off the hook, she turned her head to reveal eyes tightly shut and bright pink eyelids – signs of ecstasy. She motioned unequivocally with her hand and, by tilting her neck sideways, asked for a neck groom.
I worked her neck on both sides, her scalp, behind her ears, and her throat… and finally decided to call it a day. As I started to leave, she spun around on her buttocks and faced me, scanning for fur to groom. It was my turn, so I lowered my head and pointed at it; she rose in front of me and started working my curls, ears, neck, and sideburns!
Tables now reversed I still feared that she may find something in my hair. After all, she was a pro at this game and surely had a much better-trained eye than mine. But fortunately, it all ended in a draw – Ethiopia 0, South Africa 0.
My troop and fellow travelling partners on this safari to Ethiopia now needed lunch, and her troop had drifted a few meters beyond… somehow we both knew to which troop we belonged and parted our ways. However, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wonder how she shares this story with others.
Start planning your Ethiopia safari with our safari experts.
On those cold, miserable winter evenings, when you were snugly tucked in front of the fire, Karoline Hanks was tackling the elements, on the lookout for toads.
It’s nightfall in Noordhoek. Angry black storm clouds shunt over the mountain and then clear temporarily to reveal a perfectly plump, full moon.
Right now, the rain is coming down in sheets, and that’s my cue to get togged up in a bright reflective rain suit and head out into the busy rush hour traffic.
I plug a cable into the cigarette lighter, fasten the revolving amber warning light onto the roof, slap two big magnetic decals onto the side and back of my vehicle, toss my clipboard, egg-flip and torches into the passenger seat and set off.
At an agonizingly slow 40 kms an hour, I cruise up and down Silvermine and Main Roads, wiper blades swishing and hazard lights flickering.
My eyes are peeled to the slick, shiny tarmac.
I do this for three hours. Fellow volunteer patrollers will be out scouring a different stretch of road, and a fresh pair of eyes will arrive to relieve me and scour my beat later in the evening.
A female western leopard toad on the verge, facing the opposite side about to make her perilous way across the road. She’s massive – you cannot miss her bright, shiny form against the dark road. I quickly move to the side of the road, stop the car, flash a torch up and down in the direction of the animal to warn speedy home-comers and dash across the road to pick her up and move her over. Very often, she’ll emit a grateful little grunt from deep in her belly.
This can happen up to 20 times on a single patrol.
I am very often just too late. On one particular patrol, I had to move (and record) as many as ten dead toads with the (rather undignified) egg-flip. This is done purely for statistical reasons. It is the most heartbreaking aspect of the evening. So often, it is a matter of seconds – skip a beat, and you reach the shiny twitching mess in the wake of an uncaring motorist.
These days, the endemic western leopard toad (Amietophrynus pantherinus) is restricted to small areas of the Overberg and a few isolated pockets in the southern peninsula. As an ‘explosive breeder’, the leopard toad only breeds during a specific window period towards the end of the rainy season. They migrate almost exclusively on wet, rainy nights and, more commonly, under a full moon.
The urge to breed comes with the overwhelming impulse to move. They face a hazardous journey from gardens to ponds – where mating and egg-laying take place. Decades back, this would have been perfectly hazard-free. Today, however, the spaces between breeding ponds are now crisscrossed with electric fences, walls, canals, driveways, swimming pools and, worst of all, increasingly busy roads.
The scourge of suburbia and development has resulted in a significant decline in populations of the western leopard toad. Introduced or exotic fauna and flora like domestic ducks, koi fish and algae also threaten the integrity of breeding habitats.
This is where the patrollers come in. We are there to help the males, females, and even amplexus (mating) pairs get from A to B without being pancaked by rubber.
There are many patrols in a single season (up to 430 this year). 2012 was a particularly long one in the southern peninsula, with the toads starting their movement much later than usual and keeping us on our toes well into September.
The 2012 season saw a total of 562 toads saved in the Noordhoek/Sun Valley/Fish Hoek and Clovelly area. Sadly, it also saw about 130 senseless fatalities. On the busiest night of the season, a staggering 101 toads were encountered on the roads – just on the Noordhoek beat!
The Toad NUTS group has been up and running since 2008. Under the leadership of two passionate local residents (Alison Faraday and Suzie J’Kul), the group has grown from strength to strength and has managed to attract an astounding number of loyal, dedicated volunteer patrollers who give up their time and energy every season.
When confronted by the cynics – and there are many about – one is challenged on the degree of dedication, time and effort put into saving one species. Why spend so much energy saving a toad, I am asked – when thousands of people down the road are living in squalor?
Or… why bother? They’re just toads. Sure….and over there, there are ‘just’ wild dogs….or blue swallows…or riverine rabbits. Who gets to choose what is more important – when, let’s face it….choices abound!
I’m tired but happy. I’ve counted 14 different species, and there are literally hundreds of animals spread out before me, cropping the fresh emerald grass that is sprouting through the black ash left by a veld fire that tore through here a week ago. Zebras are braying everywhere, and between the jostling herds are rare species – roan, sable, tsessebe and a handful of eland. Last night more than 100 elephants ghosted through to drink at the three springs on the plain.
Where am I? Not in Tanzania, not Botswana, not Kenya. I’m in Hwange National Park, taking part in the annual game census organised by Wildlife and Environment Zimbabwe, formerly the Wildlife Society of Zimbabwe.
The game count has become the focal point of the travel calendar for my wife and me. This year’s was our 13th, and it’s a wonderful, unique experience that’s accessible to ordinary people.
Teams of volunteers assemble at Hwange’s three rest camps – Main, Sinamatella and Robins – just before the last full moon of the dry season, usually in late September or early October. Coordinators then dispatch the teams (typically two to four people) to waterholes, hides and pools in otherwise dry riverbeds across Hwange. Once in place, the idea is to stay put for 24 hours, from midday to midday, and to count and (if possible) sex anything that comes along. The full moon provides surprisingly good light at night, and if the sky stays clear, as it did this year, a fairly accurate count can be made.
The Hwange game count has been running since 1972 and is the longest continuous wildlife census in southern Africa. Results are tabulated in a professional report that is available to national parks and researchers. It’s particularly useful for keeping tabs on rare and endangered species such as African wild dog (painted wolf) and cheetah.
Zimbabwe has had good rains in recent years, but last year’s wet season was short and the effects are visible as we drive through the park. Hwange’s flagship viewing hides at Nyamandlovu and Masuma overlook teeming herds of game, but water around our base camp, at Robins in the northwest of the park, is in short supply.
That’s bad news for Hwange’s elephant population (estimated at between 30 000 and 50 000), and at several waterholes, we see elephants that have died of exhaustion. The flip side of this sad sight is that predator numbers are excellent; we see lions on six of the seven days we are here. Also, with wildlife clustering around the remaining water points, we know we’ll have a good count.
Our coordinator has assigned us to one of my favourite of Hwange’s hidden gems – the vlei behind the abandoned Deka Private Camp, way out to the west of Robins on the Botswana border. Driving through kilometre after kilometre of dry golden grass and mopane trees reduced to toothpicks by hungry elephants, a first-time visitor might think that there are few animals left in the park. This is a mistake.
Hwange is dry, and many of its waterholes are pumped, but there are also numerous natural seeps and springs, and these are where the animals seek sustenance when the temperature hits 40 degrees and the wind sucks the last of the moisture out of the remaining vegetation.
Deka Vlei is one such place. When we arrive, it’s like a mini Serengeti snapshot, with plains game covering the open savanna, shimmering in the heat. We set up our two Land Rovers on a rise and put up an awning to protect us from the worst of the sun. But there’s a breeze blowing, so it’s bearable by day and chilly by night.
Taking it in shifts, the four of us sit out the long night, and at five in the morning, a male lion starts roaring. He doesn’t pass us, but friends counting from the veranda of the old Deka camp, a kilometre from us, see his pride of 14 lionesses and cubs.
For a nominal membership and game count fee, I’ve been allowed to experience something magical, sitting under a full moon in the middle of the bush with only my wife and a couple of friends, contributing in a small way to something that we hope will be of use to someone.
For more information on the Hwange game census, contact Tony via his website www.tonypark.net
‘Legend’ is a word thrown around all too often in this day and age, but the term encapsulates the reign of the Mapogo lions in the Sabi Sands (Greater Kruger) to perfection. For the last six years or so, this notorious band of brothers has ruled the area with an iron paw. They are true warriors and have proved themselves time after time on the field of battle. During their prime, 6 of these magnificent specimens patrolled their territory, dispatching all competitors and striking fear into the hearts of all that found themselves in their way.
Legend has it that the Mapogo lions were responsible for killing numerous males, females and cubs as they stamped their authority on their domain. Whole prides have been wiped out in their relentless march for dominance, and challengers have been eaten as acts of defiance. A former warden of the Sabi Sands has been cited saying that he believes them accountable for over 100 lion fatalities, although the true number will probably never be known. Never before has the local lion population been so dominated, and it is stories like this that have elevated their exploits to legendary status.
These pride brothers may have a fearsome reputation, but in the world of the lion, they should be seen as the epitomes of what a successful coalition should be. The Mapogo lions have been labelled as sadistic and remorseless, to mention only a few adjectives assigned to them, and yet their exploits have ensured safe breeding grounds and stability in an area of unusually high competition. Their success has changed the dynamic of the lion population in this area forever, and it is no surprise that litters are becoming skewed in favour of male offspring. This is inevitable as nature attempts to balance the scales and provide a more level playing field.
In recent years, new and equally formidable coalitions have been responsible for whittling down the Mapogo’s numbers as territorial lines were drawn in the sand and crossed, and repeated battles were waged. The Majingilanes in the north and the Southern Pride males in the south have both had their say in shaping the new regime and now all that remains of the mighty Mapogo are two ageing specimens known as Makhulu and Pretty Boy.
Since being overthrown by the Southern Pride males, the last of the Mapogo lions legends have been sighted regularly on Sabi Sabi as they search for new territory or maybe just sanctuary as they live out the remainder of their days. At 14 and 11 years of age, they have surpassed the life expectancy of most male lions and carry the scars of years of conflict on the front line.
During my six years of working in the bushveld, I have been privileged to view and come into close contact with many different lions from different areas of South Africa and Tanzania, but I can honestly say that I have never witnessed such magnificent specimens as these two remaining legends. Perhaps the stigma attached to them accentuates their aura, but they are the most intimidating lions I have laid eyes upon. It is not merely their freakish size and musculature that raises the adrenaline levels and starts the heart pounding, but the look contained deep within their eyes.
Peering into those yellow abysses, one can truly feel the history and experience of many a hard-fought battle in which the deciding factor was power and a will to survive. Their eyes bore through you like no other lions I have ever seen, and I refuse to believe anyone who claims not to feel a slight pang of uncertainty when they stare back at you. The uneasiness of their presence is something that I have never felt before when watching the Kruger males. For fear of downplaying the current kings of Sabi Sabi, the last of the Mapogo make them look like kittens.
It is hard not to paint the Mapogos as terrifying, evil beasts due to the wrath they have rained down on the area, but I hope they are remembered as great rulers and protectors. They have raised the bar as to the expectations of male coalitions in so far as protecting territory and ensuring their genetic success. They should be seen as role models, not killers.
In conclusion, legendary status is hard to achieve, but ask anyone who has worked in the Sabi Sands for the last seven years, and they will tell you tales of the Mapogo. Sadistic tyrants or protective fathers? Both could be claimed true, but the fact is that their arrival heralded a new age of the lion population in the Sabi Sands. Love them or hate them; their exploits will never be forgotten. These tales will undoubtedly be embellished and exaggerated, but this is how great icons are born. Over time, these stories will become myths, and myths will become legends: a fitting legacy for the most famous lions of the modern era.
Find out about the Greater Kruger for your next African safari. You can choose a ready-made safari or ask us to build one just for you.
On a recent trip to the Cederberg with my 9-year-old son, I arranged to meet a young researcher working for the Cape Leopard Trust. I was keen to chat to her about the work of the CLT on caracals, and to try and expose my son to the blood, sweat, mud and tears side of scientific research and data gathering.
Unfortunately, on the day we had set aside to hook up, a fairly vicious cold front whipped in over the mountains, and the usually red-tinged rocks were being lashed by icy wind and rain. Our little mountain hut at Driehoek became the only viable warm, dry meeting place.
The diminutive, bubbly, French-speaking Marine Drouilly spent well over an hour with us, and we all huddled around her laptop, looking at all the incredible images from the various camera traps and learning all about her work.
The main objective of Marine’s project is to study the spatial and behavioural ecology of the caracal (Caracal caracal) in a fairly extensive area of the Cederberg, including the Cederberg Conservancy. Very little has been published about this elusive species, particularly concerning interactions with the area’s apex predator, the Cape leopard (vital natural regulators of caracals).
Armed with up-to-date data and knowledge, effective conservation and management strategies can be designed and implemented. With a more solid understanding of the way these two species interact (with regards to interspecific behaviour, habitat use and prey preferences); it is more likely that local farmers will come to understand how critical it is to maintain ecological balance. Marine pointed out that there is a real paucity of data addressing even the most basic ecological questions for many of the smaller predators, not just caracal.
Thanks to almost a decade of tireless work by the Cape Leopard Trust (and with the support of local farmers), the level of leopard persecution by farmers has diminished significantly in the Cederberg.
It is fairly well known that livestock farmers throughout southern Africa are less than partial towards caracals or ‘rooikat’ and they are very often persecuted because of the suspected damage to small livestock. Tragically, these beautiful cats are even classified as ‘problem animals’ in this country – along with jackals, badgers and genets. Beyond the Conservancy boundaries, caracals frequently come into conflict with farmers, where livestock become opportunistic prey items. In most natural areas, natural prey animals are still available to these cats.
Marine went on to explain that the caracal is considered a ‘mesopredator’ – a term that refers to its trophic ranking. What is important in this study is to get a handle on what would happen if the apex predators were persecuted to the point where they were removed from the system. Would there be what scientists dub ‘mesopredator release’? There are catastrophic examples of this from all over the world – from the removal of wolves in Asia, bears and wolves in North America to lions and wild dogs here on our continent. Such negative impacts on apex predators can have devastating ecological consequences. The ripple-down effect can often lead to an increase in populations of the mesopredator, which, in turn, can negatively impact the ecology of the prey species.
So just how will Marine be tackling this big research question? How does one search for and analyse the proverbial needle in a haystack? These animals are notoriously difficult to study given their elusive, nocturnal habits. Through a painstakingly slow process of capturing and collaring animals (with GPS devices), vital data on their movement can be gathered, and mapping can begin to take place. Plotting movements, verifying how feeding ecology compares to other species and establishing the extent of their home ranges all form pieces in the giant ‘caracal jigsaw puzzle’. Once the pieces are put together, it will then be possible to find and suggest practical solutions to reduce the inevitable human-wildlife conflicts that play out between caracals and farmers.
Marine has been working in the area since March 2012. What struck me about Marine is her real love for these much-maligned animals. This is no hard-arsed researcher – here is a soft-hearted soul who really wants to be sure that the animals do not suffer at all in the process of data gathering and she makes sure that the safest possible capture techniques are used (and has gone so far as to try out one of the methods on herself!)
Marine explained that CLT’s founder, Dr Quinton Martins, began collaring caracal in 2008 to assess the feasibility of conducting a full-blown study on the species. Martins and his team collared 3 male caracals before Marine’s arrival. The team have since managed to collar a female.
The data gleaned thus far shows that territorial male caracals can have ranges that extend as far as 100 square kilometres! They have also established that caracal prey ranges from klipspringer, grey rhebok, grey duiker, grysbok, dassie, bat-eared fox to (surprisingly!) black-backed jackal. What I found particularly fascinating and pertinent was that of the 21 caracal kills located in 2009 using GPS points, only one was a lamb. Food for thought, indeed.
Marine also showed us an impressive collection of photographs taken with the dozen or so cameras that have been placed in the field. From large and small-spotted genets leaping high into the air in response to the flash, to curious baboons with their noses pressed up against the lens, aardwolf, porcupine, African wild cat, honey badgers, nightjars and even a striped polecat. Getting up close and personal with the hustle and bustle of the Cederberg night prowlers was a rare treat indeed.
The Cape Leopard Trust is the main sponsor of Marine’s caracal project. The use of the research vehicle, the 4 GPS collars, fuel and traps are all courtesy of the CLT. When you consider that a single collar costs R 20 000 and a camera can cost up to R 3 000, this is no walk in the park when it comes to funding needs! Very often, the cost of research equipment is what limits the extent of scientific research. The project recently received funding from the Wilderness Wildlife Trust to cover the veterinary fees.
What is truly heartening about this project is how farmers and landowners in the area (particularly in the Conservancy) have allowed for studying a self-regulating population of caracal and leopard over the years. This project stands as a real beacon of hope and an example of how (with just the right level of intervention) landowner attitudes and behaviour can shift and human-wildlife conflict can be avoided.
The above image was recently submitted by Vanessa Bristow, who called it ‘The Boy with Sapphire Eyes’.
Within minutes of posting this magical picture, there was an enormous flood of comments and feedback. Amongst much of the rumpus was a fair degree of suspicion, doubting and downright slander about the picture’s authenticity. Swoops of ‘blatant photoshopping’ were amongst the commotion. Most people came to their immediate conclusion that this photo was fake!
Let us set the record straight. The photo of the boy with sapphire eyes is not altered at all. Here is a comment from the photographer herself:
“To all of you DOUBTING THOMAS’ out there who distrust the originality of this photograph: It is NOT Photoshopped. I was in the local communal lands in Zimbabwe looking for my lost Dalmatian dog, and I stopped to ask his mother if she had seen it. While I was talking to her, her son, who was playing with his siblings and friends nearby, caught my eye. I asked her if I could photograph him, and this is the first picture that I took of him – it was possibly his first interaction up close with a white person, and his fascination in me, or the camera, is evident. I took a few photos of him at the time and a few more later during a follow-up. An ophthalmologist friend had this to say about his unusual eyes:
[quote]”The picture of the little boy with the blue eyes and dark skin probably represents Ocular Albinism or Nettleship-Falls albinism, or Juvenile uveitis. Both conditions cause the pigment of the iris to be less dense.”[/quote]
Thanks for all the support from those of you who like my picture.
The below picture of Theuns was taken a week or two after the first. This time, he was much more relaxed with me, and I let him “click” the camera a few times to get him to engage with me.”
Photo copyright Vanessa Bristow
Continues Ms Bristow: “I must say, when I first saw the photo, I initially thought that blue eyes sometimes occurred in black people because of a recessive gene. If you are interested in reading a fascinating book – I recommend ‘The Sunburnt Queen’, by Hazel Crampton. Based in the 1730s, the book is about a seven-year-old English girl who was washed up on the Wild Coast of South Africa and adopted by her rescuers. She grew to be a woman of astounding beauty and wisdom and became the wife of a prince; thus starting a dynasty that extends to many of today’s Xhosa royal families.
Because of her recessive gene in the bloodline, now and then, a black child in the area is born with bright blue eyes.”
Armed with a spotter plane and a LandRover in hot pursuit, wildlife artist Guy Coombes searched for the elusive spotless cheetah.
“I was told about this incredible ‘morph’ phenomenon that has not been seen for over 90 years. The last one recorded was shot in Tanzania in 1921. ‘Morph’ means a genetic colour variation; the most well-known being the ‘king’ cheetah, specimens of which have only occurred in South Africa and Zimbabwe. The Mughal Emperor of India recorded having a white cheetah presented to him in 1608, saying that the spots were blue in colour and the whiteness of the body also inclined to blue-ishness. There are also reported cases of melanism or albinism, but the latter does not apply to this spotless cheetah. The only reported cases of this morph, which scientists believe is a recessive gene like the king cheetah, have been in East Africa from the subspecies, acynonix jubatus raineyii.” – excerpt from Guy Coombes’ account with a ‘morph’ cheetah
Guy Coombes photographed this rare ‘morph’ cheetah in the Athi-Kapiti area of southern Kenya over a year ago.
Cheetahs are the fastest land mammals, with documented speeds up to 115 km/hour in captivity and 93 km/hour in the wild, but they cannot maintain such speeds for more than a few hundred metres. By comparison, sprinter Usain Bolt hits a top speed of 45 km/hour over a maximum of 100 metres.
They are found in a wide range of habitats, from dry forest and thick scrub to savannah grassland and arid deserts. Read more about cheetahs here.
Travel in Africa is about knowing when and where to go, and with whom. A few weeks too early/late or a few kilometres off course, and you could miss the greatest show on Earth. And wouldn’t that be a pity?
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