Interesting Confrontations With Elephants That Often Invaded The Kruger Park

With much that one observes, one can identify. Discipline, for instance, is exemplary. Naughty children get the stick – or, rather, the trunk, that very odd attachment, which is also a strong, multi-purpose and convenient aid. Elephants employ their trunks for diverse tasks. This “tail in front” can be used as a strap to control children. It plucks food, drinks water (at least 200 litres per day – the equivalent of about 600 cans of cooldrink), greets friends, touches loved ones and, playfully or in anger, flings sand, water and even stones at other elephants or targets of other species.

The usefulness of a trunk is not seasonal. In high summer when water is plentiful, elephants love to “snorkel dive”, bathe and swim. They can remain under water for quite long, with only the tips of the trunk visible – to act as a breathing apparatus. In times of drought, when water becomes scarce, they use their tusks and trunks to dig deep holes (“gorras”) in the mud-crusted soil. Sub-terranean water seeps slowly into these holes and elephants can quench their thirst.

When elephants fight, they fight with passion. When they play, they do so with contagious joy. That they have a pleasant sense of humour, I can report authoratively. Through my binoculars, I observed how six sleepy buffalo frantically jumped up, looked about them confusedly, and then irately trotted off, while two naughty young elephants drew water up their trunks and ejected powerful spurts in the direction of their targets.

Weak spots in the fence were often exploited by elephants to spy “illegally” in Sabiepark. Owners of homes along the river can tell interesting anecdotes about such “surprise packets” with the compliments of the family elephantidae. Stories about favourite trees that crack and fall, a dark colossus or two in the shadows, huge tusks that shine in the dark, and stomachs that rumble continuously a few metres away, are fairly common.

Gerrie Olivier of Oliviershoek, (erf 280 in Appelblaar Avenue) one Sunday morning discovered elephants on his property. He called a young visitor who was ignorant of the bush, to come and share the adventure with him. But the two friends were sadly mistaken in the semi-dusk as to the number of visitors. Suddenly they were surrounded.

The only way out, was to make themselves at home in a far corner of a neighbour’s tree-house. An hour passed, later two. Then the field wardens arrived, having been called by Gerrie’s wife to help search for the missing men. Safely on mother earth, Gerrie looked at his watch and announced: “Now we are late for church”. “But do we still need church?” the visitor enquired. “Have we not yet prayed enough for one day?” “Oh, did you pray a lot? So did I,” replied Gerrie.

Dup and Minnie du Plessis of Loeriebos – yes, of the lion siege – tell of two tourists who wanted to photograph an elephant in Ghwarriebos Avenue. Their camera was mounted on a tripod. Slowly and carefully, they tried to set up the perfect elephant photo. Then their “model” became fed-up, and rushed. The aspiring photographers left their tripod to the mercies of the gods and pushed one another out of the way in order to clear an escape route. They managed to reach the safety of the house just in time. Then purposely, the old satan took up a stubborn stance at the front door. The two were held captive for quite some time. Once Dup himself had to wait for half an hour to get past a menacing elephant in his driveway.

Elephants have caused considerable damage inside Sabiepark. At Hans Wilreker’s place (erf 336, off Wildevy Avenue) in 1998 (before the electrification of elephant cable), six large trees – among them marula, jackalberry and knob-thorn – were upended. The elephants also ploughed through 25 shrubs. Chainsaws had to be utilised to saw up the jackalberry stumps in Hans’s driveway.

One Sunday night, to us on the stoep of Tarlehoet it sounded as if Sabiepoark was under mortar attack. For at least an hour we listened in awe trees were devastated on both sides of the picnic spot. Two days later when the hikers’ trail was re-opened, a more detailed picture of the carnage unfolded. Hardly 20 metres from the starting point we found the first manure bombs, fresh branches and leaves. A little further on a broken tree trunk (at least 50 cm thick) formed an arch across the trail. We had to clamber over it. Then suddenly, we were surrounded by trees that were uprooted, pushed over, broken. On the closed bank, west of the picnic spot, the damage was probably worse, we guessed. Later when we learnt from Hans about his damage, we put two and two together. It was probably an extension of that evening’s plundering.

At Tarlehoet, we had not yet encountered an elephant ourselves. Jean Smythe told us how a “blasted elephant” had uprooted her only aloe, however. She was not amused. Since the demise of that lone aloe, Tarlehoet saw less of the cheerful scarlet-chested sunbirds. And those two photos in our lounge of an elephant with our blue swimming pool cover in the foreground? They were taken by David Zeller from our stoep, and sent to me in Melkbos with the following message: “Would it not be fun to watch an elephant from Tarlehoet’s swimming pool?”

WATERHOLE. Elephants converging on the waterhole of erf 241, Leeuplesier, in Apiesdoring Avenue – deep in Sabiepark territory. (Photo: André Potgieter)

A stormy “fence-debate” was brewing in Sabiepark at that stage. The question was whether the old eleven standard fence of 2,5 kilometre between the park and the Kruger Park, which surrendered to the floods in February 2000, should be re-erected or not. David Zeller was not in favour of a fence. A little imp whispered in my ear that I should reply: “Would it not be a pleasure to have elephants in Sabiepark without the threat to life and property?” But I said: “Go away from me, Satan!” I then sent David a kind note: “Thanks, the photos will be added to my other precious Sabiepark souvenirs” – and they were.

On 8 July 2002, on the second Saturday of July as usual, the annual general meeting was held. On the initiative of the chairman, Hendrik van Nieuwenhuizen, it was decided to hold a referendum on the issue: a fence – yes or no. In both camps were passionate counsellors. Two representatives, I (for) and Chris Sevenster, a gynaecologist and honororay game ranger of Centurion (against), were delegated to plead the respective viewpoints.

The “no”-persons used mainly ecology and economy as bases for their arguments. Game fences were unacceptable, Sevenster argued, because they hinder the natural movement of animals during droughts and fires. The high costs involved in respect of catching and culling were prohibitive. Large predators could do nature’s work. Various creative justifications were unofficially advanced, such as that trees were “taking over” the park and that periodic “elephant attention” was essential. Some owners boldly declared that they did not wish to stay in a “sissy-camp”. Lion, elephants, buffalo, hippos, etc., at least provided some “excitement”.

The “yes”-camp replied that being without a boundary fence, would radically change the character of Sabiepark. Life-threatening danger would be a constant companion with every movement on foot. The fence was not only necessary for keeping dangerous animals out. It also serves to keep reckless people, especially visitors and children, away from the river with its dangerous hippo and crocodiles. And what if a herd of plundering elephants should invade the park? In a trice they could destroy the beautiful trees, as had happened in Ntsiri, Sharalumi and Mbabat, north of us. They could rip off the roofs of houses, demolish septic tanks (as had happened to a giraffe who died a terrible death) and damage expensive equipment such as water pipes. Noboy could say we didn’t warn them.

In November a special referendum edition of the newsletter was sent to every owner. A ballot paper was enclosed. Replies had to be in by 30 January 2001. As the devil would have it, intruder elephants became quite an issue during the time between the annual meeting and D-day. From July to September no fewer than five “across-the-border” visits took place. Up to six “guests” at a time filled the park.

WHERE’S THE BOSS? Two elephants grazing in front of the official home of Sabiepark’s manager.

Elephant photos were taken i.a. at the TV room (by George Lourens), at the waterhole of erf 240 Apiesdoring Avenue (by André Potgieter), at the home of the the park manager, a long way from the river (by Fickie Visagie) … and, of course, next to Tarlehoet’s swimming pool (by David Zeller).

At least 100 large trees and aloes, some of them decades old, were destroyed. On two occasions helicopters had to be hired to chase these intruders back across the river.

In September the management committee made an emergency decision

The elephant-shock fence (a single cable just high enough to make an elephant think twice) had to be re-erected immediately. The “yes” people were silently pleased. To their cause, the elephant activity and the reaction of the management committee were not detrimental by all means. When the result was announced, it was: for 98, against 74, spoilt papers 11. Certainly not overwhelming. But in at least 98 homes there were sighs of relief.

A series of elephant attacks on game rangers and tourists in the Limpopo province and in Botswana underlined the fact that we were not over-cautious. In the Sabi Sand Game Park, across the road from Sabiepark, an experienced ecologist was crushed by a female elephant. Pro-hedge support increased.

In April 2003 Dawie and Annatjie Strydom and their daughter Lientjie sat near the river, when 62 (correct) elephants, large and small, suddenly burst out from the hikers’ trail. The Strydoms were petrified as they watched the large herd rush through the river, and ascend the opposite bank in a cloud of dust. What a catastrophe could hit Sabiepark if 62 elephants invaded it!

In September 2002 Martie Nel of Trosvy (erf 127 in Jakkalsbessie Avenue) and her granddaughter Clarise, then 13, went for a walk along the hikers’ trail. The girl walked ahead; grandma followed. Suddenly Clarise just saw white, a metre or so ahead of her – the tusks of an elephant. One of three that appeared. Martie sensed the danger and shouted urgently: “Do not run!” Fortunately, Clarise stayed calm. She took a few long strides – slowly. The elephants, however, had as great a fright when the frail blonde girl boldly approached them. They plunged into the water and made for the opposite shore as if the savage green-skinned orcs of Azaroth in Lord of the Rings were released on them.

Just imagine what could have happened if the child had met the elephants on a road inside the park where she was not as vigilant. One shivers at the thought.