“The capture team is on their way, last minute call.” Musa tells me half excitedly half apologetically over the phone. “They will be here in half an hour, not enough time to collect you at Forest Lodge, sorry man.” Twice cancelled already due to rain and the first time we’ll get to see game capture, we’re not going to miss out! Minutes later the little, white Tazz flashes through the sand forest from home, scoops me up, and Kristal and I are bulleting down the sand roads (except around the corners) down to the junction of Mountain Access and the Sodwana Bay Road, some 15km to the south.
The rendezvous point is hard to miss. A huge truck to load the animals in is parked on the verge. Another, smaller, crane truck lingers closeby. A handful of Landcruisers, a drum of fuel and a very dinky-looking Robbie 22 chopper complete the picture.
The animals we will capture have been bought by a game farm about 100km from here. We will try for ten today, but it is already 2:15pm. The game capture team consists of veteran vetinarian Chap, big boss Grant, small boss Michael, chopper pilot Craig, truck driver, crane operator and about 20 or so pairs of Zulu hands. Grant is the middle man and so the capture is done by his team. We are just there to observe.
Dart-gun in hand, Chap climbs in next to Craig, and in gust of prop wind they dive up into the sky. Two of the animals were spotted just down the road. We all pile into the back of the Landcruisers and take off down the road. Ranger trainer Dale has joined us on the Phinda vehicle. Ahead of us, from the back of the bakkie, two long white scarves trail in the wind, in hands of two of the capturers. We wonder what for.
We hang back and then the radio call comes in, two darted, down and secured. We speed up the road and then, there, next to the side of the road two monstrously large Cape Buffalo lie in the grass. Both are already blind-folded with the white “scarves” and many hands, push and pull until they both are on there chest, the pressure off their internal organs. Kristal is quickly recruited to take notes of the buffalo, noting the micro-chip number that Chap reads out and recording the horn size – buffalo are sold by the inch.
Once all the info is gathered, the animals are rolled onto their side, a metal stretcher placed underneath and then they are rolled back onto their chest. An easy-sounding task made difficult by the weight and power of the drugged animals. Easily a ton of raw power. Many hands is the only way, and I pile in to help push and pull.
No less than two men at the head. One horn each. At all times. This keeps the head up and the airway open, and the people around a little safer. Chains are fastened to the first stretcher, and the crane and one buffalo and two head men are hoisted into the air and placed onto the bed of the truck. Another buffalo and another two men soon join them.
We get ready to drive the kilometer or so back to the rendezvous point. “Would you like to go back in the chopper?” Kristal can clearly hardly believe what Grant has asked her.. There is only one answer to such a question and she jumps in with Craig, smiling from ear to ear.
We get back and soon the crane truck arrives with its cargo, pulling up behind the large transport truck. The first stretcher, with head men and buffalo is hoisted and then wedged in the open half-doorway. A little tilting and some pushing and shoving and soon the animal is inside. He is pushed deeper into the cavernous compartment, to make space for his friend, who soon joins him. The antidote to the drug is injected and the blindfolds removed. The animals are soon on their feet, we can hear, and from the safety of the roof Chap coaxes them to the back of the truck with an electric cattle prodder.
In the mean time Kristal has landed from her first chopper flight, with a bigger smile than when she left.
We race off again. Three more buffalo are down. I’m helping to roll one onto a stretcher. “Careful of the dart wound, there is M99 mixed with the blood. It can kill you.” Craig cautions me, “I suggest you wash your hands.” I look at my hands, covered in blood, hopefully with not too much M99, and get Musa to pour some water over my hands. I think I can feel my neck going a bit numb and there is a weird twinge in wrist. Uh oh! But all is fine.
I join the head men, and this particular buffalo is not so drunk. He swishes four of us around like little rag dolls. When I look down at that huge, powerful neck, I’m not surprised. Musa cautions that his testicles might get squashed, followed by laughter. And then a debate breaks out. What is the correct name for buffalo balls in Zulu? “Isende” Balls, argues Musa. “Ibele” Udders, argues everyone else from the capture team.
All the buffalo loaded, back at the transport truck and still the debate continues, with no resolution.
The clouds are closing in, “A chaotic sky” Craig tells us is what they call this. He’s not worried about the rain, he’ll just get wet he tells us, but the truck may get stuck.
The decision is made to push for another two, part of the little herd from which we’ve just pinched three. Soon the next two are loaded, under the curious eyes of guests on their way to stay at Mziki.
We all take off, up north, to offload in the buffalo boma, just past forest. Musa calls Umnobonobo to bring the tractor. Just in case. Half an hour later we are standing next to the loading ramp, with the transport truck doing his best to line up with the ramp. In the dark now, and in the deep sand. The truck gets to within a foot, too far for buffalo to safely hurdle. He gives is another go and then gets stuck. The tractor powers him out and the hugely skilled truck driver comes back, at speed. It has started to drizzle, the sand is wet. A chorus of shouts and whistles stops him just short of the ramp, just too short. He rams it further back and the thick, gumpole shoot of the loading ramp shakes as he crashes into it. Almost perfect, there is slight angle, a gap, and the team uses some logs, a spare tyre and canvas to block up the gaps. We all plan out escape under the truck if one of the buffs happen to test the flimsy canvas wall.
The half door is opened and from the roof Chap brings the cattle prodder into action again. One out. Then two. Three. Four. Five. But the last two don’t want to oblige. Chap curses from the roof. Kristal and I move up next to the side of the truck. A small, open sluice allows us to look in. It is eerie. Hoofs scraping against metal. Snorting. And long shadows. Horns. Cast against the cold metal walls by flashing torches. And then behind the shadows, finally, the buffalo comes out.
Seven buffalo, safely in the boma. Their fate, and price, depends on the results of the TB and Foot and Mouth tests, which will be taken in the next couple of days. So far no injuries, to captives or captors. The testicle debate continues, and remains unresolved as the capture team pull away.
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