Posted in Africa, Elephants, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography, Travel

Toenail Sun

Morula Sucking Trunk

An Excerpt from my Book:

Morula drowses, lying on her side, falling asleep in the sun.  She catches the tip of her trunk in her mouth, as Doug rubs the bottom of her front foot.  Her eyes droop and her mouth slackens with pleasure.

As Doug continues to rub, the tip of her trunk slips from her mouth.  Her eyes nearly close.  She drools a bit.

I kneel down next to her.

Morula’s legs are folded together, bent at the ankle and knee, the same way I fold my wrists and elbows together in sleep.  She’s strangely voluptuous, even Rubenesque, with her rounded belly and nipple peaking out from underneath her right leg.  Her ear drapes like a leather cloak over her shoulder.  From this angle it’s easy to see how her right tusk pierces her upper lip.

People often mistake an elephant’s ankle joint for a knee, since it seems far away from the foot, but the locations of her ankle, knee and shoulder are clear from the way her legs are bent.

Except for their gray color, Morula’s toenails look pretty much the same as mine do, only bigger and thicker.  Human and elephant nails are made of tough, insoluble keratin, a semi-transparent protein that is the major component of hair, hooves, horns and quills.

Morula’s toenails grow at a rate that might be expected from an animal that walks twenty or thirty miles a day.  They are also highly polished from walking through sand.  In captivity, an elephant’s nails must be constantly trimmed, often on a daily basis; otherwise they become infected and ingrown.  And without the opportunity to walk long distances, the pads on the feet of incarcerated elephants thicken and grow hard, and must be frequently pared down.  If they’re not, the displacement of their gait will cause joint problems later on.

I take a photograph of the sun mirrored on Morula’s highly polished nail.

 

Morula's toenail b&w

Posted in Africa, Elephants, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography, Travel, Writing

How Much of the World Are We Missing?

Listening, really listening.
Listening, really listening.

 

Just at the edge of darkness, where the light of our fire does not penetrate, an elephant thunders by, trumpeting the whole way, like a locomotive off track in a dry forest, a classic illustration of the Doppler Effect, sound that condenses, rises in pitch, crescendos, blows by, drops pitch, recedes. 

We lift our heads in surprise.  Waves of sound undulate away from us, kin to ripples on a pond.  We use pulsed sound waves, Doppler Radar, to see rain, to know when we should run for cover.  There is no such radar for an incoming elephant.

Eventually his outrage is extinguished in our ears, but elephants a mile away are just beginning to hear it.  Resonance fills the night air around us, yet we are deaf to it, to the sounds just below our range of hearing.

How much of the world are we missing, circle upon circle?  Perhaps instead of placing ourselves at the center we should move to the edges where our skills are low and our learning curve high.  We should extinguish our fire and sit in the darkness listening, really listening.

Posted in Africa, Lions, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography, Writing

Bring on the Lions

Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana
Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana

Most impalas die of old age.  And most people die of old age, too.

But that’s not a very exciting story, is it?

What makes us want to bring on the lions?

Posted in Africa, Elephants, Morula, Nonfiction, Photography, Pleistocene

Footprints

Footprints

Our feet anchor us to the ground.  Just as my Pleistocene ancestors could read the tracks of mastodons, so I now gaze down at an elephant’s prints in the dust.  Her back feet are oval and her front feet round.  City slicker that I am, even I can tell the direction she is going.

 The sand beneath our feet  is the color of a lion’s coat, studded with brittle leaf litter.  Morula walks through it without making a sound.  Shock-absorbing pads on the soles of her feet cushion each footstep, smother crushed leaves.

I step on a dry leaf and it crackles into powder.

The brand name of my boots imprints within the outline of my soles; a clever advertisement made with each step.  All of my weight concentrates in two small points of contact with the earth, so I make deeper impressions than Morula’s footprints.  Each one of my steps applies more pressure per square inch; Morula’s weight spreads over four large footpads the size of a medium pizza pan.

She can step on a snake and not kill it.

Morula lifts her foot and grains of sand roll down slope into the crater of her footprint.

Following two paths, the one beneath her feet and the one in her mind, Morula strolls on.  Dust rises, a half shadow that marks her passage, before it collapses again to the ground.

There is a before and an after to each moment of our lives, paths we follow and paths we do not.

Posted in Nature, Photography

Let There be Light

 

Sunset, Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana
Sunset, Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana

From 93 million miles away, pitched straight at me, vibrating, ululating like an African cry of greeting, light from the sun hurtles towards the earth at 186,282 miles per second and eight minutes later slams into me like a jabbering, long-lost relative trying to make up for lost time.  It babbles everything, all at once, into my eyes.

Our eyesight is an electro-chemical reaction to a vibrating particle-wave gushing optical information splash into my brain.  I could shut my eyes to the wonder around me and be diminished.  I could shut my eyes to the atrocities around me and become hardened.

By opening my eyes, I give shape to my perceptions.  By opening my eyes I take responsibility for my vision, for what my eyes teach me.  By opening my eyes I learn that I belong to the world, not that the world belongs to me.

Our eyes are openings into and out of our bodies.  Are my eyes, as some would say, a window to my soul?

There is a cold way of seeing that clips wings and stifles our words into faint echoes.  But there is also a way of seeing where the eye can be like a mouth, swallowing color, taking in the entire world with just one gulp.  Just the sheer fact alone that we see color should provide enough wonder to fill our lives, should stop us in our tracks, should keep our eyes wide open, devouring everything as fast as we can choke it down, leave us slack-jawed, gasping for air.

 

Somewhere behind my eyes, a world exists that I yearn to inhabit, dreams that might become real if only I could imagine them with my eyes wide open.

 

Posted in Africa, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography, Writing

Our Journeys are All the Same

Sunset

We tell old stories in order to see anew.  Each and every one of us takes the same journey from life to death, though our paths are never the same.

We begin as an explosion of infinite possibilities and then fall back upon ourselves, grabbing at some of those possibilities during our fall.

Our trajectory, which touched the very rim of life, descends toward the center, ending at zero, at what some see as a portal and others see as finality.

Falling, always falling towards the center of ourselves, the huge unknown universe within, our journeys are all the same.

Sunset at Doug & Sandi’s camp, Okavango Delta, Botswana
Posted in Africa, Elephants, Nature, Travel

The Most Useful Appendage That Ever Evolved

An excerpt from my book-in-progress:

Trunk in face

 

The tip of Jabu’s trunk hovers in front of my eyes, wet with mucous, dotted with sand, nostril hairs visible.

He blows into my face, gently.  I blow back, gently.  We exchange breath, distillations of our own personal atmospheres, particle-swarms of changed, exchanged air, brewed though all the cells of our bodies.

My lungs fill with the fragrance of crushed leaves, with saproots and spearmint-scented bark, all lightly fermented.  I think of the stagnant air that surrounds my daily life, air that is conditioned, filtered, deodorized, air that is bland.  Elephant’s breath is said to cure headaches.  And it just might, if I had one.

Jabu’s trunk tip investigates my right boot tip.  The scents I’ve picked up while walking tumble up two seven-foot-long nostrils – nostrils surrounded by nerves, arteries, veins and a staggering array of longitudinal and transverse muscles, the world’s biggest, longest and certainly most flexible schnozz.

A trunk is the most useful appendage that ever evolved.  Imagine having an arm in place of your nose, an arm long enough to reach to the top of a tree, and pluck a single leaf from its crown.  Imagine having a nose with which you could rip, tear, excavate, whack, and blow bubbles.  You could steal with your nose, suck on it, squeal, swat, poke and siphon with it.  You could take a shower, or reach over your shoulder and scratch your back with it.  You could even arm wrestle with your nose.

He chuffs, a hot gust of air directed at my feet.  Wet mist covers one boot top momentarily, then evaporates.

 

Posted in Africa, Elephants, Nature, Travel

Trunk Show

Morula trunk underside b&w

 

Funky jazzy trombone trunk.  Snaking snorkeling vacuuming trunk.  Showerhead.  Backhoe.  Slinky.  Shimmying sucking swigging trunk.  Empty pipe.  Water gun.  Periscope.  Plucking siphoning tenacious trunk.  Kazoo.  Tweezers.  Tentacle.  Affectionate handshaking pickpocket trunk.  Python.  Air hose.  Question mark.  Whistling snorting sneezing trunk.

 

Breathtaking

trunk.

 

 

Posted in Africa, Travel

The Deadliest Animal in Africa

The deadliest animal in Africa is not a snake, nor a leopard, nor a lion – it’s the hippo, those oddly comic, rotund herbivores that sound like submerged tubas.  Hippos kill more people in Africa than any other animal: several hundred per year.  In contrast, sharks kill only around ten people per year, worldwide.

Hippos don’t even eat the people they kill.  They’re vegetarians, emerging at night from ponds and rivers to eat grass.  Their beady, sherry-colored eyes don’t see well at all, but their sense of smell is acute.  Males defend territory, females their calves.  Both can outrun you, and you never know what might set off a 6,000 pound animal that can achieve a speed of 19 mph.

In 2002, I was traveling through the Moremi Game Reserve in Botswana on a mobile camping safari.  Six people in an open-sided Landcruiser focused their cameras on laid-back hippo blimps floating in a nearby pond.  It was that magic half-hour before sunset when the light is golden and incredible – perfect for photographs.  A short distance away a male grazed on flowers.  I raised my camera.

Without warning, the hippo opened his mouth in a threat gesture, displaying his long, razor-sharp canines.  A second later, he charged, head swinging side to side like a giant sledgehammer, running directly for us at a surprisingly clip, intent on slamming into our vehicle.

He was closing fast.  All I could see through my camera lens were those massive incisors, as the camer’s autofocus kept singing out zzzzt zzzt, zzzzzt zzzt.

Luckily, the engine of our vehicle started without a cough and the hippo just missed our back bumper.  He continued on into the bush for thirty yards before stopping to wonder where we had gone.  This is the only picture I have of him, right before he charged.

Posted in Africa, Travel

Something in the Way She Moves

She is beautiful in the way many large women are beautiful.  There’s something about the smooth sheen on her plump skin and the defiant stare she gives you that makes you fall in love with her, even when she’s eating.