10:58, Sunday, 7 August, 2011

Friday dawned like autumn; it was cool and windy. Even the cloud cover felt like fall. The last few days have remained windy, making our tent canvas flap and sway.

Ever hear the story of “The Ugly Beesty”? A light-colored baby giraffe, probably only about six or seven feet tall (yes, that’s short in giraffeland) was hanging out all alone in the middle of a group of wildebeest, no other giraffes in sight. She looked so lost, but clearly will turn out to be the most beautiful beesty of all when she grows up and learns she’s actually a giraffe.

The hyenas were amusing a bunch of tourists because they had acquired a little white toddler’s booty and were chasing one another over it. Hyenas sure seem to love shoes. I think a few of the tourists were under the impression that perhaps a hyena had gotten a hold of a child, because they kept driving up to see what we thought of the situation. We assured them that there is a lot of takataka lying around, and the hyenas will just have picked it up from somewhere, e.g. outside of a tent in Serena...

We’ve been doing a lot of prey censuses lately, counting mostly wildebeest, which can be extraordinarily difficult. For Dave’s dissertation we can’t estimate, and I ended up counting a group of 427 (a modest number) very clumped beesties just yesterday. For consistency, some of the censuses have to be done by nine AM. We forgot to do Friday’s until the last minute and had to speed count on the move, stopping only when we discovered a dying wildebeest with a missing eye. It was breathing hard and slow and cracked my heart. However, I didn’t feel upset or the need to look away; death takes on a strange sense of comfort when you are constantly among nature. It becomes peacefully natural, the stage of a life’s surrender.

Later in the afternoon, Lia and I decided to investigate the horrible stench that had been growing around our tent, only to find a dead dog some thirty meters in the bush behind us. Ugh, it was awful! The Josephs were champions and dragged it away. The interesting thing is that they think a baboon killed it! Supposedly baboons are known to injure dogs, and the lack of serious puncture suggested their fowl play. Poor dog. How much would your pride be injured were you killed by a baboon?

It was a gorgeous evening, pure blue sky. Lia and I stayed behind from obs and so enjoyed it in camp; we needed to get away from guys for a while. Three creepy old balloon pilots had been around for the greater part of the afternoon. We were disgusted; I have never had anyone talk about such things in front of me before, and I never intend to again. Trust me, my anger is legitimate. I only wish my dad, brother, and uncles had been here. Eli apologized and said he wouldn’t have invited them had he known they were going to act like that, but we still required some space (not to mention I had an awful headache).

Kelsey came around while we were waiting for Brian and Eli to return for dinner. She touched noses with me while my head lay on the table, and allowed me to stroke her tail without even a flinch. During dinner the bushbabies showed up, and my heart completely melted when Triple B held my thumb in his little hand while eating the food I had offered with his other. I’ll never forget that tiny grasp. And, bushbabies have thumbnails!


12:35

Yesterday we awoke at 4:30 to go to Prozac; I may or may not have slept the entire way there. Platinum came out to say goodbye! I’m really happy I got to see her again before I leave.

We found some new Prozac lions; one was a cute adult male. Most adult males are more majestic than cute, but this one was pudgy with a unique face that would elicit Aunt Marge cheek pinching. He can’t escape that baby face even with his ridiculously large and ink-black mane. He was with a female who has a huge puncture wound in the side of her face. I think Lia is right; it probably got into a scuffle with a warthog. The lioness left the male oddly rubbing his face in a bunch of bushes (alone in his old imaginary world like our Albus?) to part the Red Sea of wildebeest, merely teasing them. They were all turned towards her and kept a wide berth as though she was a magnetic charge and they the iron shavings.

A cheetah romped around on its own, rolling in the grass and jumping in the air. We found a hartebeest baby, such a beautiful sandy-white thing. I always wondered what they looked like when small, having only seen slightly older ones. A bunch of Marabou storks and vultures were gathered around a kill, but it was the aftermath and many of them were sacked out full. Storks sit so curiously! They look like a chair. Their knees bend the opposite way that ours do, so they’re just chilling out as though at a dinner table, the leg below their knee stretched out in front. They have to hoist themselves up, and do so with surprising speed. How fascinating! I had no idea.

Brian wanted to see the Mara/Talek Confluence before he left, so we had a camp guide walk us down to water level, where he left us to marvel. The flowing Mara curved around in a great loop to the left, and the calmer Talek entered from the right, so that there were three branches that joined around a middle arc of land directly opposite us. A crocodile lay in the shallow water between a group of storks and hippos; in the lazy late-morning everyone seemed to understand no one would cause trouble, including us. Another group of hippos in front of us released great intermittent bellows, and amongst them was the tiniest, most adorable hippo imaginable. A slightly bigger baby followed its mom up onto a dirt island, and they stood there looking at us for a bit before reentering. It was the dictionary definition of picturesque, trees on top of the steep bank and a clear blue-sky backdrop, cool breeze. One of the bush-like trees on our side had a root that extended downward just in front of the bordering sand like a large beet-colored carrot. None of us wanted to leave, and we prolonged the moment as much as possible without overstaying our welcome.

I’ve mentioned boxing giraffes at least twice before, but never experienced it like on the way home. A strikingly dark giraffe and a lighter one of about the same height stood with their butts and inner legs together, balancing by shoving into the other with outer front legs extended. All of a sudden, SCHWOOM! The dark giraffe lam-blasted the upright one’s neck, making a sickeningly loud whack upon contact with its midpoint. The light giraffe returned the blow, and they both got in a couple more whacks before sidestepping to the left, still in position, and taking a breather. I guess they can do some serious damage by way of internal bleeding, and there was only one more round before the light one retreated with the victorious Mohammed behind. Wise choice, Light Spots.

Lia and I found an ancient elephant skull while exploring the Talek river rocks below camp! It was so decrepit that it all but fell apart when we tried to pull it out from behind its bush. I only knew it was an elephant by its enormous lophodont, conveyor-belt teeth. We salvaged two of the giant teeth to take back and show everyone. They are heavy as five-pound weights; the dentary is peeling, but the roots are still in good smooth shape. Crazy awesome.

I drove on night obs, always making for an extra bumpy ride. Tracking is even more fun in the driver’s seat! I felt so proud after following the sound this way and that to nail Samburu’s location. It also started to rain so that I experienced sliding through the Mara mud. It was similar to driving during a Michigan winter. Two brilliant rainbows touched the ground to our right, and the elephants walking through the rain comprised every painter’s dream.


Shy Mama Kelsey got spoiled at dinner; she was the only one who showed up.