My portable radio gave a prolonged buzz. Mike the guide
had heard the shots upriver and asked how close they were to our camp. I told
him that I thought they came from about one mile up the Chongwe River. He said
that we should meet at the scout camp and provide transportation to the wildlife
scouts who are not provided with vehicles. Within minutes of each other, Mike,
Brett and I arrived. Unfortunately, there were only two scouts available.
Knowing
that we had to move fast, Mike grabbed three AK-47's and handed one to me and
one to Brett, we then mustered the two available scouts, loaded ourselves into
the Land Rover and headed out.
We drove up the Chongwe Valley, crossed
the river to the east side, parked, and decided to walk up the Muchinga Hills
in the direction of the pristine Chongwe Waterfalls. It had stopped raining, but
the ground was still very soft and the going underfoot was heavy. After beating
through the bush for a mile uphill, we found elephant tracks. The spoor proved
that there were several elephant and they were on the run. We backtracked the
spoor several hundred feet until the tracks divided in two. The two scouts headed
in one direction and Mike, Brett and I headed in the other. After tracking for
another mile or so, we saw signs of chaotic elephant movement. At this stage,
I was full of dread. There are times when you sense that there is something wrong.
There was no smell, sound, no movement, just stillness in the air that disturbed
us all. We squatted down on our haunches and peered through the bush for any sign
of poachers or elephants.
While looking around to the right, at an angle
slightly behind us, we spotted a dead elephant about a hundred and fifty feet
away. It was covered with freshly cut branches full of greenery. We were exceedingly
lucky to have found it because it was very well camouflaged with only a small
section of ivory visible to us. We waited for the two game scouts to return and
then resolved to hide in the bush to try and surprise the poachers if they decided
to come back. Two steamy hours later, nothing had happened and we were beginning
to melt in the heat. We decided to send Brett and one of the scouts for more help
and equipment so that we could at least salvage the tusks. Mike and I and the
remaining scout would continue hiding in case the sounds of our friends departure
would lure in the poachers. Unfortunately we had no such luck.
An hour
later, Brett returned with his father, a few laborers and a collection of machetes
and axes to remove the tusks. Brett's father had also brought a welcomed bottle
of iced orange juice. As hungry and thirsty as we all were, it was decided best
to remove the tusks, so that if the poachers did return, their efforts would be
lost.
We walked up to the elephant and began removing the branches that
the poachers had used to hide the carcass. As the top tusk was revealed I felt
a cold chill, we quickly removed more branches and my heart sank -- it was Big
Boy. His trunk had already been hacked off in the process of trying to remove
the tusks. I must admit that I became quite incapable of speech; I turned to say
something to Brett, but not a word came out. Mike on the other hand, had the opposite
experience, he began cursing and raving at finding this most loved elephant killed
and mutilated by poachers. Our shock was compounded when a barrage of gunfire
exploded from at least four different locations.