THE MIGRATION IS ON...

If the natural world excites you then take a moment to pull out a map. Find East Africa; find Tanzania; find Serengeti National Park. Now point to the central plains and be impressed that right there at this very moment approximately 1½ million wildebeest accompanied by 250,000 zebra are passing through the area. Our planet’s greatest animal migration is on.

A couple weeks ago, in the Seronera Valley, we saw an endless line of determined wildebeest trotting south. Wildebeest make a deep nasally “hhhuuummm” call. Sort of like an oversized bullfrog. Amplify that 1,000 times over, throw in the incessant thumping of hooves on hardpan, and imagine a cloud of dust flying in all directions. Only then can you begin to appreciate this incredible event.
Observing the migration makes two things obvious: 1) wildebeest are by far the most numerous large animal in the Serengeti; and 2) an individual wildebeest is unspectacular. Looking at a wildebeest begs the question, “how can something so ungainly be so abundant?” After all, wildebeest do not have the speed of gazelle, the size or intelligence of elephants, the aggressiveness of Cape buffalo, the athleticism of impala, or the power of zebra. So, why are they so successful?

The answer, in part, has to do with their reproductive behavior. Right now, nearly every adult female is pregnant. Most will give birth during a three-week window in February when an average of 8,000 calves will be born everyday. Sure, marauding lions, hyenas, cheetahs, hunting dogs, and leopards take a few thousand but that leaves many more thousands unharmed. They simply overwhelm the predator population! Throw in the fact that newborn calves stand within four minutes and can run with the herd within a day and we can begin to understand why wildebeest are so successful.

A calf’s biggest danger is being separated from its mother as the heaving masses move towards greener grass. Because no calf will receive milk from another mother, separation spells certain doom. Calves, for their part, do not like to be alone. Their instinct to follow something is so strong that one lonely calf ran along side our safari vehicle as we drove by. On a couple of occasions I’ve seen lions feeding on a female wildebeest lying next to her dead calf. Presumably, the mother was ambushed, and with no other options, the calf hung around until it met the same fate.

Hundreds of thousands of wildebeest consume about 4000 tons of grass each day so they are in constant motion – always searching for new grass. This creates problems when the rains quite in June. The soils dry, the grasses brown, and the herds need to move north into Kenya’s Masai Mara. Along the way, they are forced to cross the Grumeti River where 16-foot crocs patiently wait for their annual feeding.

However, those are troubled times. It is raining now and there are endless fields of green nutritious grass. Adults and juveniles alike are sometimes seen “dancing.” They spin in circles, jump foolishly into the air, and kick their legs up high in what appears to be a “celebration dance.” It is this behavior that earned them the nickname “clowns of the Serengeti.”

This year, I was able to observe a part of the world’s most incredible animal migration. Observing this has shown me that wildebeest overcome horrific challenges and enjoy many successes. Because of this, I have developed a deep appreciation for them. But more profoundly, I take comfort in knowing that their 2,000-mile trek takes them across well-preserved and healthy ecosystems. I take comfort in knowing that this year wildebeest are doing what they have done for millions of years and today, like then, their fate is largely their own. Their annual “dance” ought to be celebrated by all who appreciate nature.

GRUMETI

Did you ever see that incredible footage where hoards of wildebeest and zebra attempt a heroic crossing through crocodile-laden waters? Most survive; others meet a terrifying end as they are snatched up and pulled under by those gigantic reptiles.



That famous scene plays out every year on the Grumeti River in the western corridor of Tanzania’s Serengeti Plains. I have always watched those documentaries with much fascination (often from a comfortable sofa under the protection of a nice sturdy home). Growing up, I never thought I would actually see, in person, the Grumeti River. So, last week when the opportunity presented itself, I volunteered to spend a night along the river at Grumeti Tented Camp.

I was supposed to spend the night at the luxurious Kirawira Lodge, but the place overbooked so I willingly packed my things and prepared for the ½ hour drive to Grumeti. At my request, the pleasant staff at Kirawira made me a grilled-cheese sandwich. They also provided me with a driver and an armed security guard to personally escort me to Grumeti.

Why the armed guard? …for protection from Serengeti’s wildlife, of course! This is no joke and these guards are not camp ornaments meant to romanticize the visitor experience. Every year tourists are killed by animals in this region. Last year, according to my friend and colleague Rachel Cirincione (who has been guiding safaris in Tanzania for nearly eight years), three tourists were killed. One was an 11-year old boy who was stalked, killed, and partially eaten by a leopard and another was a gentleman on his honeymoon who was crushed to death in front of his wife by an angry elephant. Rachel, herself, barely escaped death a few months ago when a 2,000-pound cape buffalo nearly ran her down along the walkway to Kirawira’s main reception. The bottom-line is, humans cannot carelessly walk around at night without the real possibility of being killed.


It was nighttime by the time my personal entourage drove me to Grumeti. As we drove along the dusty old gravel road we saw a hyena, a genet, a civet, and a humongous hippopotamus (standing on the road in front of our vehicle). My driver told me (in very broken English) to be careful tonight because a few hundred hippos and a resident pride of lions also call Grumeti Tented Camp home. He also informed me that no visitors or tourists were currently at Grumeti – I would have the place to myself! Suddenly, I was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea.


Soon enough we arrived at camp and my armed guard escorted me to my tent. I unzipped it, said goodbye, and went inside. He reminded me that he would return at 5:30am to pick me up. “I hope so,” I thought.

A few minutes later, I heard my escorts drive away. Then, for the next few minutes, I heard nothing. The silence and darkness was suffocating. Suffocating because I knew I was confined to my tent – walking outside alone would be suicide – and my only source of light was my headlamp, one candle, and the glow of the second hand on my wristwatch. It was 9:00pm and my watch was advancing very slowly.

I reminded myself that once upon a time I was a field biologist and quite experienced in nature. I pulled out my sandwich and began feeling at ease. Then, a loud splash and the unmistakable bellowing of a very nearby hippopotamus. This kicked-off an evening of splashing and incessant bellowing from what must have been dozens of nearby hippos. I thought about how funny hippos look and the board game I used to play as a child called Hungry Hungry Hippos – anything to improve the mood. Too bad I already knew that hippos kill more people in Africa than any other animal (except perhaps cape buffalo).


Before I finished my sandwich I heard a lion roaring in the distance. I wondered if he could smell my sandwich. Better yet, I wondered if he could smell me! I got up and re-checked the zipper on my tent – yeap! …it was closed all the way. But, the front of my tent was a mesh screen and anything with good night vision (such as lions) could easily see me in my tent. No privacy here.

I was being irrational. After all, I thought, why would a lion be interested in me when there are plenty of other things out there for them to eat? But none of that mattered to me at that moment. Three days earlier in the Ngorongoro Crater, I watched a lioness stalk a warthog. She crossed right in front of my vehicle. Her eyes were fixed on her target as she slid into a ditch. Soon enough the warthog came to that ditch for a drink and we all knew what was going to happen. She leapt out; the warthog flipped into the air in terror and desperation. There was a short chase before the lioness caught her victim. I could see the warthog’s legs flapping in the air and I could hear its terrifying screams and squeals. I couldn’t believe that after all of this time lions haven’t learned how to kill more quickly. The rest of the pride sprinted over and shortly after there were no more screams. The guy next to me whispered, “it’s like Jurassic Park here.” He was not smiling.



I kept thinking about that as I sat alone in the dark in my tent. I also thought that perhaps, someplace out there some kid is sitting on a sofa under the protection of a nice sturdy home watching a documentary on the Grumeti River. I looked at my watch, 9:08pm. It is going to be a long night. Long live sofas and sturdy homes.