Predators I Have Known - Alan Dean Foster [48]
I tried to make room and quickly found myself lying across the cot’s less than forgiving outside support pole. It was patently obvious that it was not the intention of the cot’s designers that someone should sleep half in and half out of their product. I so informed JoAnn.
“Neither one of us will get any sleep this way,” I pleaded.
“Fine! Then neither one of us will get any sleep. You’re on the outside. If they come through that wall, they’ll eat you first.”
And thus was established our routine for the rest of the night. Every time exhaustion grew so complete and overwhelming that I thought I might actually drift off to sleep, another lion would verbally assail the moon, or call to a mate, or exercise its lungs just for the leonine hell of it. Whereupon a freshly wide-awake JoAnn would give me a sharp nudge and declare insistently, “That was close, wasn’t it? How close was that?”
Four new bomas were under construction at the campsite—meaning they had not been touched in weeks. Thus far, each consisted of four walls fashioned of rough concrete blocks, a bare concrete floor, a couple of windows, a front door, and a metal roof. The second night at Tarangire that was where we slept—on the floor. And the most delicious part of our visit?
In all the time we spent roaming Tarangire, we did not see a single lion.
* * *
Mount Etjo, Namibia, October 1993
FELIX THE CHEETAH WAS THE only semi-wild animal at Mount Etjo, but he was far from the only big cat. The extensive Okonjati Wildlife Sanctuary was home to caracal, leopard, and, of course, lion. To ensure that visitors had the opportunity to see lions feeding, from time to time, a haunch of antelope or whatever meat was available would be set out. Such a procedure is not uncommon at private game reserves. What makes it special at Okonjati is that the feeding is done at night, when big predators tend to be more active, and that viewing is done not from the safety of a big Land Rover or Unimog, but from ground level.
Below ground level, actually.
A long approach ditch had been dug and covered with cut brush, and at the end of it is a transverse ditch like the cap of the letter “T,” which has also been covered and camouflaged. I’d seen such blinds before, but they had been built to allow quiet viewing of birds or herbivores. Not nocturnally feeding lions. When the setup was being explained to the visitors at the lodge, one gentleman from Germany raised a hand to inquire, reasonably, as to what was there to keep the lions from adding observing humans to the evening menu.
“They have the meat that’s been set out for them,” the guide explained. “Also, there’s an electrically charged wire running in front of the blind.”
“One wire?” the German gentleman asked.
The guide nodded. “One’s enough. They know not to try and cross it.”
To me this sounded not unlike the other guide’s remark about not knowing cheetahs didn’t like to be scratched between their front legs.
“Nobody’s been attacked while watching the feed,” the guide added. Seeing that some of the visitors were wavering, he did not add “yet.”
It was very dark. Little moonlight. Those of us who decided to go were bussed out into the bush and then escorted down the trench that had been dug to provide access to the main blind. No one asked if there was anything to prevent a curious lion from entering via the same artificial gully.
Once at the blind, we spread out. A couple of spotlights illuminated a chunk of dead meat from which protruded a single leg. In the reduced light, I couldn’t tell what ungulate it was from, but it was considerably bigger than an impala. The smell emanating from the carcass was profound.
We didn’t have to wait long.
Huffing and growling, the pride came in at a quick jog. If they sensed our presence they gave no sign of it. Their attention was concentrated wholly on food that wasn’t going to run away. Females began to rip off big pieces of flesh and carry them off into the darkness beyond the reach of the spotlights while adolescents hung around