morning flight

I had a fun adventure this morning. Schalk recently learned to fly a gyrocopter and bought one. He uses it to check the property--game counts, poacher watch, checking the fences and waterholes.

And he took me up this morning!

I hardly know how to describe it. As you can see in the picture, it's small and there are no doors. You sit, strapped in, and have full access to the open air. We flew pretty close to the ground in order to see things, so I got a good look.

We flew around about half of Harnas' 10,000 hectares (about 38 square miles, if my figuring is right). We saw herds of kudu, wildebeasts, springbok. We saw baboons, warthogs, zebras, giraffes (including the downed male). It gave me a new perspective on just how big Harnas is and how it's laid out.

I have to admit that I love flying--especially in small aircrafts that really give you the sense that you're flying, not like the big jumbo jets that don't feel any different usually than being in a house. This vehicle was amazingly stable. I thought it would be more battered around by the wind, but it felt secure and smooth. Schalk's take-off and landing were smooth, too. For a beginning pilot, he flys like a pro.

It makes me want to fly! Is this next on my list of adventures?

the biggest and the smallest

Here on Harnas--as in the wild--life and death are close to the surface, unlike in the urban and suburban worlds where we like to keep ourselves separate from the gritty aspects of living, eating, and dying. With 400 animals living in approximately 38 square miles, both predator and prey, things happen. Animals come and animals go; birth and death.

Having said that, I have two sad deaths to report--one, especially, is hard because I just wrote a blog about him. DooDoo the owl was killed on Monday night by one of the 45-plus cats that live here. For 8 years, DooDoo has lived in Marieta's kitchen, but that night, a cat broke through one of her screens on a window, and in the morning Marieta found DooDoo's body. The volunteers buried him yesterday in the animal cemetery close to the lapa. As you can imagine, those who knew DooDoo are very upset, and Marieta claims if she finds the cat, he'll be joining DooDoo (but she doesn't mean it). The kitchen seems so quiet now, and in truth I miss the drama of wondering if he'll swoop by and grab some of my hair.

So one of the smallest is gone, and this week we also lost the largest animal on the property: the big, wild male giraffe. Apparently, during a storm he walked underneath a power line. The line was high enough not to hit him, but I was told that during storms, the electricity can spread out up to a meter in any direction. He was found dead the next day. He was enormous! I saw him just a few weeks ago at the end of the airstrip, and he was truly a giant. Klippie, a female and not fully grown, looks like a miniature giraffe next to him. He is too big to bury or move, so he will stay there until the other animals make use of his body. That's the way things go in the wild: an animal dies and others live because of--or in spite of--it.

I don't want to leave with a sad note, so let me give you some happy updates. Jessie and Coco are completely recovered from their injuries. They are jumping around like acrobats, swimming in the pool, and basically making mischief. I took Jessie for a few hours last night, and I'll include a short video of Jessie and me (and Pickles) hanging out on my bed.

The new caracal, Zinzi, is also adjusting. She let me pet her some last night--only hissing and striking out halfheartedly when I got too close to her belly or paws. And by the way, one of Harnas' best friends, Cornelia, pointed out in a comment that I wrote the former owner "unfortunately got married." Sorry about that! I swear it wasn't a Freudian slip! I meant it was unfortunate that she had to move to an apartment with her new husband BECAUSE it meant giving up her pet caracal. (I did laugh out loud, though, Cornelia!)

So literally, life goes on here at Harnas. And the loss of animals reminds me how precious and wonderful each moment is at this magical place.

local color

I went to church yesterday. Some of you are now gasping, hand over mouth, worried about the people who attended with me. I can assure you there were no thunderbolts coming through the ceiling, and everyone walked away fine. Calm down, now.

In the past decade Marieta lost both her husband and oldest son, so she had a small, open-aired church built here on Harnas to honor them. It has a stone frame, tin roof, and simple wooden benches inside. It's really quite nice. Every Sunday at 11-ish (African time) the Bushmen gather there along with any volunteers who want to attend, Marieta, Frikkie, and anyone else who wants.

There's no director, but somehow they start singing. Of course, most of the Bushmen are illiterate, so they just do it from memory. It's really quite amazing. Then at some point a Bushman preacher gives a short sermon (translated line by line into English by Frikkie), then more singing. Then they load themselves back onto the trailer pulled by a tractor and sing all the way back to their village.

It's the only church I know of that allows animals in. As the singing began, Klippie the giraffe showed up, drawn by the noise of people (remember that she thinks she's a human), and she hung out for the whole time eating leaves off a tree to the side. I'll include a picture.

I filmed some of the singing. It's really great how they all sing parts without any music in front of them. Clapping, swaying, dancing around. It was very cool. (And again, no human or animal was injured in the making of this film.)

a new caracal

Yesterday afternoon we had one of those sad/happy moments. A woman came to drop off her caracal, Zinzi, whom she had been keeping as a pet. Unfortunately, she got married and moved to an apartment where she can't keep her. So she brought Zinzi to us--and of course Marieta took her in. She never says no to an animal in need.

Caracals are closely related to the American lynx--big ol' cats around 45 pounds with tufted ears. They can be easily tamed if you have them from their birth, which means people take them in as pets. Never a good idea.

But we have another tame caracal, Tammy, who lives here with her friend, a tame African Wild Cat (irony noted) named Malcolm. We're hoping the three will become friends--in time. It takes awhile for cats to get used to each other, as anyone out there with a housecat knows. I got to spend a long time with Zinzi yesterday evening, though, and she eventually stopped hissing at me and let me pet her.

The thing I find most amazing about caracals is their ability to jump. Although they eat small ground rodents, they also jump up and catch birds in flight. You're doubting me, I can sense it. REALLY. As a matter of fact, I took a film of them jumping to catch their food. We have 7 wild ones and they get fed on the tour every day. Crazy cats.

Paula Devlin, you cat woman you, this one's for you.

Midnight Run--and Duck

I had an interesting encounter the night before last. Marieta is out of town for a few days on business, so I was sleeping with one of the baby 'boons (Marnus had the other). In the middle of the night, it became odorously clear that Jessie needed a new nappie (diaper), so I took my torch (flashlight) and walked across the courtyard to Marieta's kitchen where some were stored.

Halfway across her living room I got hit from above and behind, little thorns going into my scalp. I shouted (what I shouted doesn't matter, but be assured it was colorful), and ducked my head down. I saw a flash of gray swoosh by. I reached up--no blood, just my dignity in tatters.

It was a midnight attack by Doo Doo, the white-faced scops owl who lives in Marieta's kitchen. He's only about six inches tall but packs a powerful punch with those claws.

Doo Doo was rescued by some Bushmen who found him as a baby lying on the ground. They brought him to Marieta, who saved and raised him and then tried to free him. He wouldn't go. He likes Marieta's kitchen, perching on cupboard doors, curtain rods, and ceiling fans. And he likes his little bowl of raw meat he gets every day. So that's where he stays.

I'm going to include a short video so you can hear him. There's no "hoot hoot" from this guy. He "roars" like a tiny lion. Listen carefully and turn up the volume. The first, third, fifth, and sixth growls are me, trying to get him to talk. Listen carefully in between--the second and fourth ones. You'll see his feathers around his neck sort of fluff up as he does it.

He's hilarious--except when he divebombs you in the middle of the night. Very Hitchcock.

Audrey

I thought today I'd tell about a vervet monkey who lives here. Her name is Audrey. First of all, a few words on vervets: They're small and silvery-gray monkeys with a long tails and a black faces. (Males have blue private parts!) They climb like nobody's business and can sometimes be very aggressive (to make up for their size, I assume). Their teeth are like razors, and they love to bite ears, and the way they do it makes me suspect they're testing the humans to see if they can make them scream.

They can also be very naughty. When they escape their enclosure--running between your legs as you try to get out the gate--they are almost impossible to catch. Volunteers run around for hours, calling up to the branches, "Here, Etosha! Come come come!" When they get caught it's usually because someone snags their long tails.

Audrey is different, though. She was someone's pet, but the guy always kept her in a dark room--probably a basement. Then one day he decided to bring her into a sunny room without giving her eyes a chance to adjust. She went blind. Her eyes look sort of smokey blue--almost cataract-like.

So Audrey ended up here, safe in her own enclosure where she knows her way around. She can still bite like hell, but if she knows you--your voice, smell, and the fact that you're packing peanuts in your pockets--she'll respond positively.

So I visit Audrey quite often with the requisite peanuts. I call out her name and she will feel her way down a branch to meet me and take her bribe, so while she's eating I can pet her soft fur and hold her small human-ish hands.

A volunteer was around the last time I did it, so I had her film it. Watch how Audrey feels the peanut, smells it, and turns it around in her hands to orient herself to it.

Lots of different animals end up here--categories include injured, orphaned, former pets (like Audrey), and born on Harnas. The pets, I think, are saddest of all because people can be so unthinking. Sure--baby animals are really cute and cuddly, but what happens when they grow up and turn into the wild animals they're supposed to be--strong, aggressive, and needing lots of space and the companionship of their own species? They end up here--if they're lucky. If they're not, they end up being abandoned somewhere without the ability to hunt for their own food, or being put down by a vet.

Audrey was one of the lucky ones.

encounter with a giraffe

Nearly every morning I take a long walk. It's cooler than in the afternoon, the animals are usually close to the road awaiting their food, and I need to walk off all the good food they feed me (more on that another day).

Often I go by the lions' enclosures and have a chat with Elsa, the oldest female. She's a good listener and, even though she yawns frequently (what a sight!), I don't think I bore her too much.

Yesterday I didn't make it that far because as I passed one of the guest houses (Baloo), I saw Klippie, our friendly 2-year-old giraffe. (Her name means "stone" in Afrikaans, referring to the shape of the marks on her body.) She's often out where I can greet her, but this time she was sitting down, so she was about 5 feet more accessible.

I think the most dangerous part of a giraffe is her legs--which she can kick out if she is defending herself. She could also easily trample someone without really trying to or even noticing. But this time those legs were tucked under her nicely, giving me full and safe access to her head and neck.

I walked through the grass to reach her, calling her name to alert her that I was coming. She bowed her head and let me start scratching her nose, jaw, and neck. She bobbed her head a little and our eyes (one of hers, two of mine) came within an inch of each other. Hers are brown and huge and about the size of one of those big gumballs we all bought as kids. And her eyelashes are at least an inch long.

Then she did something wonderful: she put her whole head across my shoulder and rested it on me. And then she let out this sigh--kind of like a horse but more from her lungs than her nostrils. And she closed her eyes.

I spent the next 20 minutes rubbing her neck, her hair-covered horns, her jaw, under her chin, and her soft mouth. It was an encounter that left an immense mark on me. She completely trusted me and gave herself over to a good massage.

Of course I couldn't have taken a picture even if I had my camera with me. Her head was pretty heavy and had me rooted. So I just closed my eyes and tried to memorize every part of the experience so I could recreate it in my memory whenever I want. I'll include instead a short clip I took of her earlier when she was scratching her back and then gazing into the camera. It's these moments that make me fall in love with Harnas all over again.