Let me introduce you to 19-year-old me, back when I was doing my undergraduate degree in zoology and had a chance to work in the industry for a year. Most of my fellow students stayed relatively local but some of us chose to venture further afield. Pretty far afield, in my case: the middle of the Namibian bush, to conserve rhinos for the Rhino Momma Project.
There, my regular duties included patrolling the reserve to check camera-traps and search for signs of rhinos in the environment. One morning, I chanced upon some tracks leading into thick vegetation – too thick for my truck. This was black rhino territory, the more aggressive of the African rhinos, but they were hardly ever seen. So I decided to take a chance and follow the tracks on foot to see if they led to a water hole or evidence of mud-bath use.
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Tracking conditions were perfect: the sun was ahead of me, casting shadows into every indent of the footprints, highlighting a captivating trail into the wilderness. It was an intimate insight into the life of this elusive animal. It was also blinding me, but I didn’t worry too much about that. Neither did I fret that the tracks were leading me deeper into the bush and further away from my truck.
Then, suddenly, while shimmying through some thorn bushes, I heard a huffing from somewhere close by. (Side note for anyone unfamiliar with the sounds of the savannah: a huffing or snorting noise is often indicative of an angry rhino.)
I stopped, my senses heightened. Looking around was fruitless – to the front, the blazing sunshine burned my retinas, and in every other direction my view was obscured by thick vegetation. I listened intently to the soundscape: guinea fowl, crickets, hornbills, an annoyed zebra somewhere in the distance. No huffing. After a few minutes with no indications of a rhino present, I ventured forward, step by step, until I was stopped in my tracks by the startling sound of a loud huffing snort right in front of me. I looked intently into the sunlight, willing my eyes to take in every detail, and the huge shadow of an irate black rhino emerged from the glare about two metres from where I stood. Ahh…
I carried out a rapid assessment of my situation. My truck, armour-plated and capable of withstanding a rhino charge, was not an option. The closest high branches were too far away – the rhino would easily get to me first – and didn’t look particularly climbable, anyway. Running would be futile, as black rhinos can reach speeds of 55kph, much faster than my legs can carry me. My only option was to pretend to be a tree.
I stood stock-still and silent. I was struck by a sudden awareness of my body’s smallest movements: my leg swaying slightly from standing in an awkward position on the uneven ground, and my chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. Trees don’t tend to move like that. I calmed my breath and commanded every muscle in my body to remain as still as possible. My survival hung in the decision of this one animal: would it charge or retreat?
Seconds felt like minutes. Time dilated as a Mexican stand-off played out. The rhino stood frozen, staring me down, snorting its discontent. I knew they have poor eyesight but I was relying on this one having exceptionally poor eyesight.
In a moment, it was all over. The rhino turned and ran, disappearing into the bushes as if it had never been there. I released my breath, previously unaware I had been holding it, and walked away with a chuckle and an ever-increasing fondness and respect for nature’s wild animals. I went back to my truck, jumped in and continued my search for rhinos. Just another day in the African bush.
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Top image: black rhino. Credit: Jess Stevens