Wild Dogs and African Nights: UVM Students Interact With the World

Published February 26, 2008

By Colin Lucas

Impala flesh does not detach quietly from bone. Before my eyes in the pitch-black African night the teeth of a wild dog ripped meat from its freshly killed prey with the most sickening and exciting noise to have ever reached my ears. Ribs crunched, the exposed bone clashing violently with the dog’s sharp canines. The flesh put up an audible fight before tearing off in stringy, bloody shreds. We had missed the kill by only a few minutes.

The dog bit and chewed for a short period then darted around the carcass, ears perked to listen for larger predators such as lion and hyena, which would be happy to snatch up the antelope for their own dinners. Another wild dog, its muzzle painted red with blood, stood watch while its pack-mate attempted to get its fill.
Chobe National Park regulations strictly mandate that all vehicles be back in their camps by 6:30 pm. We stumbled upon the carnage at 6:35 and could only watch the feeding for two or three minutes before Adam Hedges, our safari guide, dropped his right foot and left a trail of dust in the darkness behind us.

No sooner had the Land Cruiser hit 3,500 RPMs than he had to slam on the brakes – a bull elephant was shrouded by shadows in the middle of the road. We stopped only a yard from its ivory tusks. My heart was pumping at a near inhuman rate as I looked into the face of the elephant from my rooftop seat on the vehicle. Startled, the bull sauntered into the forest aside the rutted track. Only minutes before, I had been enjoying one of my most peaceful moments in near memory – a black-and-white contrast to predatory carnage and near collision.

After a two and a half hour pontoon boat cruise up the Chobe River, during which we identified 26 bird species and saw at least 75 hippos and elephants, the Land Cruiser met us on the bank. We drove a few short minutes to a sunset overlook and enjoyed the most vibrantly colorful moment occurring at that point in any place on the planet. Across the river, in Namibia, a massive brushfire’s flat smoke blanket stretched for miles across the horizon and conspired to black out the sinking sun. But the sun would have nothing of it, projecting a perfect circle until taking its last breath beyond the edge of the earth. The smoke cloud absorbed the fiery rays and turned a deep, venous purple that reflected amongst the flaming hues which overtook the river, commandeering its current with a sea of orange and reds. Small fish rising to the surface to feed on water-bound insects interrupted the mirrored rays by sending circular ripples into the water, only to be dissipated within seconds. Pratincole silhouettes darted through the fading light, their quick pointed wingtips cutting the air like razors.

My sandaled feet left marks in the sand among those of buffalo, hippo and elephant. Looking down at the footprints, then up at the setting sun, I wondered how I had come to be standing on this Botswana riverbank worlds away from my home in New England. Before I had the time to answer myself I heard the diesel engine kick behind me and climbed onto the roof before we sped into the bush.

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