Predators I Have Known - Alan Dean Foster [58]
But of all Gabon’s mammalian wonders, none is more intriguing than the forest elephant. No, it’s not a predator, but its size, elusiveness, and temperament make it more of a real threat to visitors than the scarce leopard or gentle gorilla.
My sister and I were staying at the Tassi Camp, a tented facility located a full day’s drive over rain-soaked tracks from the main lodge at Loango. Tassi is situated on the crest of a gentle slope overlooking damp, muddy, flat ground interspersed with sizable patches of dense forest. A short drive westward leads to uninhabited coast that is in full view of the camp. I went bodysurfing there one day, the only recreational swimmer for dozens of miles in either direction, too content to worry about sharks and the far more potentially dangerous medical debris that arrives on the current from the mouth of the Congo River not far to the south.
Our guide had been brought in from his own well-established safari operation in Zambia to help expand and professionalize the still very new tourist facilities in Loango. Though hailing originally from New Zealand, he had long since joined the community of the African bush, a neighborhood that knows no nationality save Nature. Quickly discerning that I was not a fresh-faced insurance salesman from Des Moines embarking on his first visit to the jungle, he artfully shifted his ongoing narration away from tourist generalities and became more specific and conversational. It was not necessary for him, for example, to instruct my sister and me to avoid picking up snakes or going for a hike sans full water bottle and something to eat.
Tassi is a strange place to trek. Every step you take on the open, rain-saturated terrain, you are likely to see your feet sink into muck and mud that sometimes swallows you halfway to your knees. In every direction, clumps of forest beckon. The sodden air within their boundaries is no less humid than that out on the flat coastal plain, but at least the leaves and branches of the trees offer some protection from direct sunlight. It was within these mottled woods that one morning we caught a glimpse of stocky black shapes traveling in a line. Wild chimps. A big male glanced once in our direction, and then they were gone.
My experience in similar surroundings notwithstanding, our guide (like any guide) had his ground rules. The one he repeated more often than any other was, “Forest elephants can be almost invisible. If we should happen to surprise any, whatever you do, don’t run.” Along with a handful of other rules, this admonition was repeated every time we set out for a walk.
I soon surmised that the urgency with which this caution was repeated might have something to do with a local forest elephant the staff at the camp had nicknamed Cruella. While the other amiable members of her foraging family group were content to avoid the open camp, Cruella had concluded that there was food to be had within. Whenever visitors arrived, she would magically appear that same night to try and force her way into the food lockers. With no substantial structure at hand in which to secure supplies, the staff had taken to placing the lockers high up in a tree sturdy enough to be elephant-proof. This primitive but highly effective ploy did not sit well with Cruella.
Our first midnight at Tassi, we were awakened by the sounds of shouting and the repeated loud honking and engine-revving of our four-wheel drive. Fumbling for a flashlight, I stumbled out of my cot and to the entrance of our tent. It turned out that I didn’t need the light. Less than