Scent Of A Lion

On the Scent of a Lion We bumped along for hours through the rugged terrain of Damaraland to reach the middle of nowhere and Dr Flip Stander. As I contemplated the basalt rock outcrops and sprawling plains, my thoughts kept returning to Flip and the experience we had been looking forward to for weeks: fieldwork on lions. The heat felt like a wall each time we scrambled out of the car. August can

Dr. Flip Stander earned his Ph.D. at Cambridge University studying the desert lion. He now dedicates his life to their preservation. To finance his conservation efforts, Flip brings select tour groups along with him to track the lion , dart them, and record vital statistics. This is the story of one of his guests.

- Bettina Meinert

flaged sand grouse chicks. Discovered by Russell, our guide on this intrepid lion excursion. The frantic squawking of the parent birds feigning injury in an Oscar winning performance to distract attention from their brood, elicited overt admiration from my fifteen year old daughter, who herself thirsts after the bright lights on centre stage. A sea of yellow grass and shim-

behind an echoing silence. Finally we veered off the gravel road onto a small track and there he was, parked in the shade of a Shepherd’s tree. Russell had worked with Flip Stander in conservation for years and the two are firm friends. To us he is “the lion man”, a scientist who braves ticks and mosquitoes, conquers the desert for months on foot, by plane or in an an-

mering hills as far as the eye could see rippled in the slight breeze that failed to prise the shirts from our sweat drenched bodies. The scenery was harsh, forbidding and ….. breathtaking! Springbok watched our bumpy progress with skittish interest. Oryx, silent mirages in the gathering heat, stood firm and then turned, abruptly, to follow a herd of zebra escaping into the vast distance of the plains. The disappearing clatter of hooves on boulder fields left

cient Toyota 4X4 held together by string and planks and anything else that will do the job in an environment where the next convenience store is hundreds of kilometres away. Extreme temperatures and close encounters with beasts most only experience on the National Geographic Channel are all in a day’s, week’s, month’s, year’s work. And like his cats, he seems to have nine death-defying lives: malaria, micro-light crashes, near air disasters and hair-raising

Photo by Dr. Flip Stander

be hot as hell in Namibia. Not even a cicada braved the afternoon heat. The occasional breaks the long trip necessitated turned our attention to the view and the small treasures hidden along the roadside: beetles – miniature dinosaurs - that scuttled to safety from initial careless footsteps, termite hills and countless creepy crawlies that captured the imagination of my 12 year old gameboy touting cool dude of a son. There, too, a clutch of perfectly camou-

confrontations with the king of the beasts himself. Like a warrior he sports the battle scars of the bush: bumps and cuts and bruises and scratches gouged into flesh weathered into a deep tan by the merciless onslaught of a relentless sun. In a country known for its intriguing “bush” individuals, this Cambridge doctorate is a living example of the legend he has become in conservation circles. And this is his turf. Every wiry, bare-footed part of him exudes the confidence of a man who truly inhabits this desert world. Unflinching blue eyes crinkled into a smile of welcome as we gathered around him in the shade of the tree. The Desert Lion Conservation Project is the brainchild of Flip and has for years successfully directed its goals to the conservation of the “desert” lion in the Kunene Region. The project deals also with humanlion conflict management and is dedicated to the preservation of a species that has uniquely adapted to the arid and forbidding regions of north-western Namibia. But whatever illustrious name attributed to his projects, one thing is clear: his love of these unique carnivores, a passion we had come to the middle of nowhere to share! We had a drink that evening, in the desert that was Flip’s doorstep. And while we sipped and listened to lion tales, a family of jackals went about jackals’ business at a den close by, zebras barked and a full moon rose to the setting sun. I sighed and with a belly full of oxtail potjie contemplated the dying embers of the fire. It did not matter that I could not sleep that night in my domed tent pitched out here in the wilderness: tomorrow we were going to track lion and I was both terrified and excited and

exhilaratingly alive! Tomorrow was another hot day. We packed the vehicles under a clear sky: dart gun, branding iron, logbook, provisions, tents and bedrolls. Flip led our small convoy. The vehicles laboured across a rocky trail at a snail’s pace and we kept our eyes peeled to hallucination point. Every

stirring of grass, bird in the bush, zebra, ostrich and grazing antelope took on the shape of a lion. We saw tracks – black rhino too inhabited this harsh terrain! We found elephant dung! We stumbled upon giraffe, wildebeest and a hotchpotch of game that all eked out a living in

On the Scent of a Lion - Bettina Meinert (continued)

the desert. Anticipation surged to fever pitch when, suddenly, Flip veered off and bumped up a hill. We followed. I was convinced that he had spotted something, when he stopped, clambered onto the roof of his car with a gadget that looked like a TV aerial and brandished it in all directions. The telemetry. Alas no tell-tale blip. The trek continued. Stop. We found tracks, this time the clear imprints of the elusive predators we were so painstakingly trying to find, but frustratingly they were a few days old. Stop. Telemetry. Nothing. Every nerve end stood on red alert when we left the car to investigate a water hole hidden in a reed bed: lion faeces, perhaps a day or two old and some huge paw prints embedded in the mud. Plenty of adrenalin but still no cats!

Lion tracking is a hit and miss affair with no guarantees. We were lucky: we scored a hit. The unmistakeable blib of XPL – the code for lions in this area - 33. Then XPL34 made his presence known. So did XPL35. XPL17 had cubs and was with the pride. XPL22 and her cubs had separated from the pride, but were in the area. Suddenly the middle of nowhere had a name: lion country! And we were right in the middle of it! With the indisputable evidence on the telemetry the atmosphere felt charged. I told my children to stay close to the car and the men laughed good-naturedly. Now that we had located the cats’ approximate whereabouts, I questioned my motives. Why was I doing this? What if the children were hurt, or worse? And why could I not, like a normal per-

son, just be content to visit an Etosha National Park waterhole? Surely, what with internet banking, and modern technology in general, a generous electronic donation towards the project would have been enough to make me feel virtuous! Why then were we - city girl and two mall rats - here? I honestly did not know. But there was no turning back now, nor did I, for even a second, really want to. The temperature was hot and climbing. Still, it was a letdown to park off under a sandstone overhang in the dry riverbed for a light lunch. The wait felt interminable. Neither a cold drink and a sandwich, nor the exchange of what - to my feverish senses – sounded like banalities, nor the relaxed forms of the men stretched out in white sand in the

On the Scent of a Lion - Bettina Meinert (continued) shade of the cars could pacify my jangling nerves. I felt pumped! Flip’s timing was perfect. The bait was dropped. The lions lunged and At last Flip stirred. We were the world as I knew it shattered into briefed. The bait was secured. It a fury of fur and claws and teeth was time to go. and reverberating growls that punctured my own significance on a We followed Flip back into and up stage where I was nothing more but the dry riverbed. It was rough and a co-incidental backdrop. And slow going. There was no track and while brother turned on brother in a more than once Russell had to dis- show of greed and dominance Flip embark tobend back branches or took aim. The dart hit its mark. remove dead logs from our path. XPL34 grunted with rage, but high The late afternoon sun was low and on seething hormones, he put up a already long shadows began to fight. A second dart was fired and form. The air was dry and smelt of instead, a lioness vented her disapscorched grass and dust. And sweat. proval in a mock charge. And while Apart from the low rumble of the the drugs slowly coursed through car engines, it was eerily still. Sud- 34’s veins, the rest of the pride took denly Flip stopped. We were close. off with the lion’s share and the I became obsessively aware of the night again seemed ominously thundering in my chest. We quiet. crawled forward. Suddenly Flip motioned us to hang back. Then The young male - 190 kilos of musRussell breathed “Gotcha!” cle and yellow eyes wide open - lay motionless and, in his enforced stillMy eyes darted across the patch of ness, seemed, suddenly, disconcerttall grass in the riverbed. Then I ingly and crushingly vulnerable. He saw them. Two sets of round ears had to be moved. The pride loitered and the top of tawny manes, barely too close for comfort. Surrounding visible. The binoculars confirmed: bush obscured visibility. I was inthese cats were alert and watch- structed to keep watch. My hands ing…us! shook as I zeroed binoculars in on the rest of the pride. With the Flip inched forward and the two added camouflage of dusk, my unmales rose. Off to the left – a fe- practised eye failed to appraise any male with her cubs, six-week old comings or goings and my insides fur balls, playful and inquisitive, turned to jelly with the responsibilwhile the lioness watched, tail ity of it all. Russell and Flip and my twitching, a reminder that she too children! each grabbed a piece of knew we were there. A second sub- lion and grunted and heaved. And adult female rose from the grass and while my 12 year old literally had for a moment I was transfixed by the cat by the tail, the lion farted. the interaction between lionesses The men’s sniggers fuelled, preand cubs. My daughter shifted un- dictably, suitable exclamations of comfortably. The males had moved preteen disgust. The wind was brocloser and broke into a trot. They ken and my mind boggled at the came. I rolled up the window. It surprise of it all. Amidst the resultwas raw instinct. A third male broke ing camaraderie, my anxiety subout of the bushes. They were huge. sided and at last I too could enjoy Magnificent predators injected with the intoxication of this rite of pastestosterone and adrenaline and the sage into a world that ran parallel to primal instinct to secure a kill. my first world existence and had

until now been a shadowy realm drifting way beyond my daily cognizance. This other reality certainly far surpassed our comfort zone. That is, the kids and mine. We worked on XPL34 a safe distance away. Teeth, tail claw, chest, shoulder, body measurements and blood were expertly recorded by Russell and Flip and noted down by my daughter sitting cross-legged next to the beast that bore no likeness to Simba. My son, a vigilant sentry, perched on the roof of the car and stood guard with the spotlight. Russell lit a fire for the irons and with the branding the scalding bite of singed fur filled our nostrils. While the men worked I struggled to get a grip on my emotions. I marvelled at the touch of him. I marvelled at the fact that I could pet him like a housecat. I marvelled at the privilege of being able to do so. And I felt humbled that I could share this moment with a king that still roams this barren wilderness, free. I soaked up the musky scent of lion and, like a thief, stole a piece of his mane. Then we left him for his brothers to find. That night, as I lay in my bedroll and looked up at the stars through the flap of my tent left open to let in the cool night breeze, I had to pinch myself. I listened to the far-off calling of the pride, breathed in the smell of the African night and smiled! Because suddenly I knew! I knew that my contribution, our awareness, our just being there, played a small part to help preserve this circle of life in a wilderness that somehow just made the world seem an altogether better place. For information on how to take a lion tour like this one, or donating to the conservation fund, call (264) 64 461068