Category Archives: Adventure

Image shamelessly stolen from marinebio.com … sorry but the likelihood of getting a shot like this in any other way is almost non-existent!

Tessa’s log, Earthdate 16 April 2012

The fishing group saw Gangetic dolphin – estimated only to be ca. 15 individuals in Nepal, in 3 rivers (Kosi, Karnali and Naraini).

Fishing with endangered species

The fishing group had also had a spectacular sighting.

They had had no less than three sightings of at least two gangetic dolphin.

According to Wikipedia, there are two species of South Asian freshwater or river dolphin. The Indus river dolphin, and the Ganges river dolphin. The latter is primarily found in the Ganges and Brahmaputra rivers and their tributaries in Bangladesh, India and Nepal.

Platanista gangetica gangetica, the Ganges river dolphin, is brownish in colour with a thick stocky profile, large, thin flippers and tail and a long thin snout. Unlike its more commonly recognised bottle-nosed cousins, it has no dorsal fin. Instead, it simply has a small triangular lump on its back where one might expect a fin. Having adapted to the murky waters of the South Asian riverways, it has no crystalline eye lens and is almost blind.

Rather oddly, the Ganges river dolphin swims on its side, it’s flipper trailing in the mud at the bottom of the river. This is documented on the World Wildlife Organisation’s website as being thought to be a way to find food. I find myself picturing this strange habit in my mind and wondering if it may be more a response to its blindness however. The image reminds me of a blindfolded person reaching out a hand to touch the wall, guiding themselves along.

Due to the construction of dams throughout its natural habitat, the South Asian river dolphin population has suffered a dramatic decline. As Tessa notes in her log, it is estimated that there are potentially fewer than 15 individual dolphins left in Nepal, throughout the Kosi, Karnali and Naraini rivers. According to the WWF website, there are only 1,200-1,800 individuals altogether.

The sightings by Peter, Angus and Rajan were therefore rather incredible. JBS was positively stunned and even those of us who were new to the conservation narrative of Nepal couldn’t help but be heartened at the news.

Tessa bounded around ecstatic.

It was a hugely fun evening over dinner.

The only downside was that the dolphin had, of course, frightened off all the fish so the fishermen returned with little reward other than their dolphin sightings. Rajan had caught one single mid-sized fish which was cooked and shared out among the fishing team. But Peter, who sat and ate his share of the prize at a small table next to Tessa and I, was rather quiet.

Lesson no. 19: it just doesn’t taste as good if you haven’t caught it yourself

Yes this pitiful, out of focus screenshot of a frog seemed like the most appropriate image for this blog!

Tessa’s log, Earthdate 16 April 2012

My group saw a tiger !!!! at crossroads where we had stopped to take coordinates.

Tiger, tiger focused right

Returning to camp that evening, having spent the afternoon visiting waterholes, my group found we were the last back. We jumped down from the jeep wearily and made our way down the sandy track between the trees towards the mess lodge and our tents beyond.

Before we had even got half way down the track we were met by an over-excited Sarah Armstrong. Her cheeks were glowing and her stride gave away her eagerness.

“Did you see anything?” she asked a little too quickly. She was clearly trying to simply be polite and double-check that we couldn’t top what was clearly a tale she was almost overflowingly thrilled to tell.

“Not much,” I said, recognising her symptoms. Jack however didn’t let her get away with it and began to list the significant birds – which may have even included one of his precious hornbills – and beasts that we had spotted, however small they were.

Sarah lasted about five species into Jack’s list before bursting.

“We saw a tiger,” she said.

“What?” cried Cathy. “We didn’t see a bloody thing! Tony was in your group wasn’t he? Did he see the tiger too?”

But having asked the question, she didn’t bother waiting to hear the answer. Instead, she was already covering the ground between us and the tent she shared with her husband.

Sarah, Jack and I grinned at one another. Spousal stress in tent no. 6!

“How cool!” I said. “Did you get any photos? Did Tony get video?”

“It was sitting right in the middle of the road,” explained Sarah. “But it was rather far off. Duncan got a great shot with his long lens though.”

I dropped off my dung samples at the science tent and was on my way to dump my camera equipment in tent no. 9 when I ran into a sheepish looking Tessa.

She’s truly wonderful. She really is. I could tell just by looking at her that she had her full game face on. She was desperately trying not to look smug – but failing miserably.

“I hear you saw a tiger,” I said, smiling broadly at her to let her know I wouldn’t crumble at the disappointment of not having been there.

She visibly relaxed. Relieved at not having to pussy foot around her own fantastic experience to save my feelings. It was rather nice for me in fact, seeing her visibly switch from ‘trying to be sensible and thoughtful’ adult mode to ‘excited kid who spotted her first tiger today’. And rightly so! How glorious. I was truly glad that I’d mastered  the ability to actually enjoy the joy of other people’s experience so quickly.

“Noone was supposed to have told you!” she muttered in a disapproving but still terribly animated tone. “We’d all agreed to have a big reveal at the briefing tonight.”

I laughed. “Nice idea but there’s no way that was ever going to happen.”

“I saw it first!” she said with absolute glee. “I saw it even before the driver.”

We began to stroll towards our tent so I could put my kit down.

Tessa went on excitedly, “We’d stopped at a crossroads so Duncan and Siv could take some coordinates for their map. I was just sitting staring off into space when I found myself focusing on a dark shape in the middle of the road some way up ahead. It was a figure of eight. I was just sitting there wondering if it might be a tiger, almost absent-mindedly I found myself pointing at it and asking if it might be a tiger when the guide looked and immediately called out ‘tiger’!”

“After that it was all cameras and video,” she said. “I managed to get a shot.”

She whipped out her camera and held the viewing screen in front of me. I saw an extremely blurry tiger coloured shape among an equally blurred road and forest coloured background.

“This is on full zoom,” she explained. “This is the best my camera could get. But you should see Duncan’s shot. If you look at his whole photo it looks exactly the same as mine but because of his long lens, he is able zoom all the way in and it stays in focus.”

“I wonder if Tony’s video recorder has enough zoom to be able to distinguish the tiger too,” I thought out loud. “I doubt it. Too bad really. Cathy could at least have seen it on video then.”

Later that evening in the mess lodge, I was lucky enough to see that shot Duncan had taken. It truly was magnificent. It showed a full-grown tiger, lying comfortably in the middle of the road, head up, and looking straight at the camera. Even JBS said it was one of the best photographs he’d ever seen taken during one of his expeditions.

Sadly, I haven’t got a copy of Duncan’s photo so you’ll have to put up with my out of focus frog.

Lesson no. 19: partners should stick together when on a wildlife safari – imagine having to listen to your husband’s story about his tiger sighting over dinner for the rest of your marriage!

So, we were at last managing to find and collect the precious dung samples that would enable Niall McCann and his team at Cardiff University to carry out an exploratory research project to record the DNA of the current wild elephant population.

The adventures of dung girl

As dung collection coordinator, it was my job to ensure each team had a representative armed with the knowledge and tools required to collect samples. Then all I had to do was persuade them of the importance of this project.

Believe me, when you’ve been sitting on the back of an elephant all morning, or have spent the last few hours clinging on for dear life in the back of a jeep as it bounces over everything from sand to boulders, the last thing you feel like doing is getting out to prod about in a pile of elephant poo. More importantly, if given the choice between spending the next half an hour waiting in the jeep while two dappy scientists (me and Tessa) scout around the forest looking for more droppings or continuing down a road that might bring you upon a tiger or a herd of elephants round the next corner, which would you choose?

More than once I found myself defending the need to carry out the not-too-popular task of dung sampling. However, generally speaking the entire team was supportive and those who had agreed to carry the test tubes and undertake ‘dung duties’ were obliging. Throughout our visit we managed to collect no less than thirty-eight viable samples. Enough, I hope, to produce the evidence needed to support a funding bid for a longer project. Perhaps even a PhD.

“We could be supporting a three or four-year project for some young scientist,” I would explain on those occasions when it all seemed a bit much. “A few brief minutes for us now, could produce the data needed to persuade the right people to fund a much longer project. Some lucky sod might find themselves spending years out here, collecting samples that will allow them to continue to monitor and analyse the genetic heritage and movements of this wild elephant population. How cool is that?”

“Damn you dung girl,” would come the response. But any grumbles and teasing was always followed by the activity required to get the sample.

We soon became experts in spotting whether a pile of droppings were fresh enough to warrant our attention even without the help of the guides. Three days old or less and we’d use a stick to scrape of a few pieces from the surface of the droppings into one of our test tubes and mark that up with the a sample number, time of collection and GPS coordinates.

We could easily tell the difference between domestic and wild elephant droppings; the colour produced by their differing diets was very different. By the end of the trip, I could almost even tell the difference between elephant and rhino dung… almost – but not quite. Rhino dung seemed very similar to the droppings of young elephants to me.

You can tell a lot about what an elephant has been up to by looking at its dung. When we investigated the dung of the first lone bull we spotted on the Monday morning, it contained rice and lentils. This was a clear indication that the animal had been stealing food from nearby villages. Coupled with stories heard on the jungle grapevine, it seemed likely that this was the bull that was gaining a bad reputation with the locals and the soldiers working in the surrounding army camps.

Sadly, the success of the Bardia National Park’s conservation efforts means that the potential for conflict between the growing numbers of wildlife and those people living in the area is rising.

Tessa’s log, Earthdate 16 April 2012

Temperatures: 06:00  21°C light wind, some cloud, 14:00  34°C, 19:00  32°C

15:30

• Waterhole group – Barry, Mandy, Susannah, Sarah L, Jack, Cathy, Carolina
• Southern survey – Duncan, Siv, David DW, Tony, John E, Tessa, Sarah A
• Dam – JBS, Graham, David R, Villa,
• Fishing – Rajan, Peter, Angus

To the waterholes

That afternoon we split into different groups. A few expeditioners had particularly requested the opportunity to try fishing in the local river so, while the rest of us wet off in jeeps, JBS arranged for Rajan to take them out in an inflatable.

An afternoon fishing was something Rajan clearly relished and he persuaded his small team that midday was the best time to go out as the fish would be sluggish in the heat. So, while we were all still finishing off our lunch and keeping to the shade of camp, Peter Fraser and lead dentist, Angus, headed off in the direction of the river behind their very excited guide. The rest of us waited until 15:30 before departing under more reasonable conditions.

I had elected to go in the jeep that would be visiting the waterholes to the north of the camp. Tessa was heading south with the survey team; Duncan and Siv were using their skills to map new features, such as new roads, waterholes, army camps and watch towers, across the entire area.

Most or my afternoon was spent with my eyes peeled as the jeep drove us along roads I had never previously been down, or pottering around waterholes. Although we didn’t come across any wildlife larger than a deer, we did have some great fun making the skittering frogs skitter across the surface of the water. We also found many good animal prints including both elephant and tiger.

Jack was with the waterhole group too and he entertained me by bringing insects to film, trying (but failing) to educate me on the local bird life, and generally making me glad to have him around.

Barry and Mandy strolled around calmly. Both tall and elegant, they are a magnificent couple  and have an amazing relationship. Having met in their forties, I believe, they have spent much of their lives based in Oman, Barry as a pilot and Mandy as an air hostess. But not on the large, grubby planes you or I are used to. While Barry has now retired, Mandy still works. She nips off around the world on a private jet, sometimes for weeks at a time, at her employer’s request. How my father would cope if my mother left him at the drop of a hat, for random lengths of time, I have no idea. He would almost certainly end up living on fried eggs and cold beans, straight from the tin. But Barry is clearly used to this situation and tends to amuse himself by taking up high risk sports such as wind surfing or snowboarding – as one does when one hits the ripe old age of 70 something!

Susanna too was with us, quietly recording the butterflies that were flitting about everywhere. She too is a middle-aged mother who has recently reclaimed enough freedom, now her children are old-enough, to grab the opportunity to live this type of experience. An academic specialising in ecotourism, Susanna had a reflective demeanour about her. Aside from carrying out the butterfly study for JBS, she also had her own project that required interviewing ten members of the team to assess the benefits of ‘travel with purpose’. She aimed to write up the results for a scientific journal.

I liked Susanna very much. While her personal confidence had taken a bashing recently, she still carried a real sparkle around with her. I truly enjoyed watching the healing power of Nepal working into her world through the days we were there. Like the rest of us, she became more relaxed with every day that passed.

Carolina was also part of the group. During a lull, when others were busy drawing and measuring animal prints, I took the opportunity to do a quick video interview her. I asked her if she had children.

“I have two children,“ she said. “One is thirteen, the other is fifteen.“

“And they’re happy for you to be out here,“ I asked, trying to relate her situation to my own.

“Yes,“ she said. “They miss me, but they’re happy.“

“And your husband?“ I asked.

“He’s dead,“ she said bluntly. “I’m a widow.“

I spluttered an apology and tried desperately to draw the conversation in a different direction. I felt like a complete heel. Luckily Carolina was completely forgiving and went on to talk to me about how much she loved her husband. An Irishman, he had moved to Santa Cruz in Bolivia, and eventually became British Consul. Carolina had taken over this vital role following her husband‘s death, in addition to continuing to run her own dental practice, the local school which her husband had helped set up, and a riding stables. All of this, in addition to her travels to places like Nepal and motherhood! I was beginning to see Carolina in a whole new light.

Other than our guide and driver, the last member of our group that afternoon was Cathy. An ex-phys. ed. teacher, she now runs a grooming service for a particular breed of dog. I’m kicking myself for not being able to remember which breed – it’s at times like these when I really miss Tessa. She’d remember a fact like that! Despite her new career, Cathy still has all the hallmarks of a school teacher. She is kind and helpful, but also holds an air of authority about her and has a ‘no nonsense‘ tone of voice that can cut through general chit-chat like a ruler slapping a desk.

Cathy was an excellent member of my ‘dung team‘ and collected many good samples. She was also the first to let me know that dung collection could not always take priority. Which is fair enough, I guess…

…as long as I had plenty of dung samples by the end of the day.

Lesson no. 18: its discovering the identification of the elephants who ‘flung the dung’ that counts

Waking up from my second night under canvas in the Bardia Forest, I felt almost elated and was quickly up, washed, dressed, kitted up with camera and camcorder, slathered in suncream, sunglasses, hat, and out to grab some black tea and a peanut flavoured biscuit from the lodge within minutes.

This entire situation only sounds odd if you know me at all. I am RUBBISH in the mornings. I mean, TOTALLY RUBBISH. So the mere idea of me being more that just awake within half an hour of an alarm going off, let alone almost bouncing up and out of my bed, is almost laughable.

Looking for elephants is clearly a good incentive!

Tessa’s log; Earthdate 16 April 2012

Temperatures: 06:00  21°C light wind, some cloud, 14:00  34°C, 19:00  32°C

06:30 Same elephant teams. Elephant safari starting from near old JBS camp 1999/2010. Elephant 1 and others found and documented a bull which seems to be Rajim. Dung inspection showed rice and lentils.

Scenes from an elephant’s back

By six thirty we were all back atop our domestic elephants heading out into the forest. We had been kept in the same teams as before. So I was once again on Saraswati Kali, elephant no.3, with Carolina and Barry. Hari, our guide, had asked Barry to sit up front this time however. This arrangement made a whole lot more sense. Barry West is tall and elegantly slender while Carolina and I are ‘wholesome’ forty-somethings with the type of figures that make the Nepalese men think we are well-off as we clearly both eat well.

As it turned out, sitting Carolina and I back-to-back in the houda had several benefits. Not only did it distribute the weight of us more evenly across Saraswati’s back, it also meant that Carolina was behind me. She was therefore less likely to chat directly at me, which made it easier to keep my temper with her. Moreover, because we were of similar heights and weights, when we wished to rest our backs we could lean into one another for support. This made our ride all the more comfortable over long periods of time.

The unseasonal storm during Saturday night had meant yesterday, our first full day in the jungle, had been relatively cool. Today however the Nepal sun found its foothold once again and by ten o’clock all cloud had dissipated, leaving the fiery globe to beat down through the trees and heat the world around us to oven-like temperatures.

We found ourselves wiping our foreheads as Saraswati carefully negotiated a path through the trees and thickets. Once again, the tiring effort of brushing away tree branches, brambles, vines and spiders webs had lulled us all into a quiet, zoned-out state. A turn that took us out onto more open ground came with mixed blessings. We could relax our efforts against the foliage but had to face the direct heat of the sun in exchange.

The tall grasses surrounding us were high enough to reach out and touch. Our great, grey mount had to pick her way through the tussocks, stopping once to avoid stepping on a mongoose – although this was another creature I failed to see.

I heard a brief discussion across the radios. Along with two of the other elephants, we were to cross the river and investigate an area where the herd had passed the day before.

Saraswati broke through a line of trees at the crest of a slope. Ahead of us now was a steep bank that led down to the wide, shallow Karnali river. Hari, standing on her haunches behind the houda as usual, braced himself and squatted backwards as she stepped out over the ridge and headed down the bank. I suddenly found myself, first staring straight downwards into the soft sand of the river bank as the foot directly below me took a forward pace, then upwards, towards the sky, as the opposite foot led. It was terrifying for about two seconds, then quickly turned into the next big thrill as my entire being remembered how much it trusted the elephant.

Elephants are incredibly sure-footed. Their ability to walk up and down slopes that even a human on foot might struggle with is a sight to see – especially if you’re lucky enough to be sitting in a houda on their back at the time.

As Saraswati reached the water at the foot of the slope she paused to enjoy a long, deep drink. And as she did so, her passengers had time to notice the other domestic elephants – one upstream, the other downstream – who had silently entered our line of sight only twenty or so meters away. Every time we crossed a river like this, it always amazed me how close the other elephants could be without my having heard a single sound from either direction. I believe this had as much to do with the elephants’ ability to move quietly as it did my hearing.

Having quenched her thirst, Saraswati grunted in satisfaction and ploughed forward, her great feet pulling through the water with a highly satisfying swishing sound. I watched as the ripples on the surface of the river rose towards my feet and wondered if I might get my boots wet. However, the water levels were low and never came higher than an inch or so below the plank that hung off the houda to support our feet.

Raj Kali, Saraswati Kali and Divya Kali crossed the river together, arriving at the opposite bank in unison. A team. Their huge footprints marking their paths up the even steeper slope into the forest on the other side of the river.

As the houda tipped backwards, I looked behind to watch Hari as he hung himself downwards in an almost gymnastic position, counterbalancing the weight of us to aid Saraswati in her quest for the ridge. It was impressive stuff, and kept my mind from worrying about our precarious angle of ascent.

Bullseye!

Less than twenty minutes later we were enjoying a rather comfortable ride through some lush green grassland, a result of a controlled burning some months before. This type of environmental control ensured there was enough fresh grasslands for the deer – affectionately refered to by the naturalists as ‘tiger food’.

“Elephant!” whispered Ram Charan pointing directly ahead.

This time we all had a clear sighting of the huge grey back that rose above the grasses about fifty meters ahead. It was a lone bull.

We sat in awe watching as the wild elephant turned towards us. I could make out his tusks curling up gently. His ears were flapping. He had heard us.

“Elephant three to elephant one,” whispered Barry into the radio. “We have spotted a wild bull elephant.”

The radio squawked awkwardly and we all winced. The bull elephant’s ears flapped harder.

“Elephant one to elephant three,” came the response. “This is Jack Barry. Please pass the radio to Hari so he can tell us where you are.”

The radio was dutifully passed over and Hari gave some rapid instructions in Nepalese.

We watched as the bull took a few steps forward. Saraswati began to purr and Ram Charan kept muttering to her, trying to keep her calm.

My whole being was almost vibrating with pleasure and excitement. My first wild elephant! I was here, less than fifty meters away from a wild bull elephant. At last! The experience was turning out to be as perfectly fabulous as I had ever imagined it might be.

Everyone in the houda gasped as the bull raised his trunk and sent a clear signal that he knew we were there and was not at all pleased by that. His ears flapped wildly.

Suddenly he was charging straight at us.

Ram Charan responded quickly. He turned Saraswati neatly and we moved faster than we ever had before away from our pursuer. The houda rocking back and forth madly, passengers clinging on, yet still trying to turn and watch the bull as it ran towards us.

A charging elephant can move at great speed and, if he had wished it, it would have been relatively easy for the taller bull, with his longer legs, to catch up with young Saraswati. But he gave up the chase quickly, realising that we were happy to give ground.

We stopped and turned back to watch him as he settled once again. Still only around fifty meters away but clearly aware that he was in charge and had nothing to fear.

Soon elephant no. 1, Raj Kali, arrived through the trees. She and Saraswati stood and allowed us all to take in the experience at leisure. JBS and Ram Din – on Raj Kali – exchanged words with Ram Charan and Hari. Jack spoke quietly into the radio, passing the message to elephant no. 3 who eventually joined us.

We watched and waited. The plan was to wait until the bull had moved off before following in his footsteps in the hope of picking up a fresh dung sample and a measure of his footprint – all the better to identify him with. Cameras clicked away constantly and my video recorder was spinning away happily. We couldn’t however see the bull’s feet clearly, which meant there was no point in taking a range finding. His distance from us would only become relevant if we could match it with a photograph that showed him clearly from shoulder to foot. With this information we could calculate his height. In this case however, his was waist deep in grass at all times.

The bull seemed determined to stay rooted in one place however and to entice him to move Ram Charan asked Saraswati to call to him. A young female, bellowing sweet nothings to the huge male. Unfortunately Saraswati wasn’t all that keen to entice this chap in her direction. Her call sounded rather half-hearted, even to me, and the bull was having none of it. We simply had to wait him out.

Eventually he did move off and we did get our samples and luckily, when we got back to camp that evening, photographs of his tusks and ear ragging meant we could be relatively certain that this was Rajim.

I believe Rajim means ‘holy place’ in Nepalese; a fitting name for my first wild elephant. The experience of seeing him certainly transported me somewhere I wished to spend more time in.

Lesson no. 17: never mess with an angry wild elephant

After our exciting first morning on elephant back, we returned to camp for lunch and to take cover from the midday heat. Following a debrief, during which we shared our individual group experiences from that morning, JBS asked if we would prefer to spend the afternoon in jeeps or on foot.

Tessa’s log Earthdate 15 April 2012

15:30 several jeeps and a walking tour went out.

• Group A Rajan, Cathy, David, Angus – to the north
• Group B Bhim, Duncan, Siv, John E, Tony, David DW, Graham – waterholes and survey
• Group C Ram Din, Carolina, Jack, Susannah, Sarah L – walking to the south
• Group D JBS, Hari, Raju, Barry, Mandy, Sarah A, Villa – jeep to army camp

Naturopathy with Ram Din

I decided a walk would be just the ticket for stretching out my back and knee muscles following the morning’s efforts and found myself grouped with Dr Susanna Curtin, Carolina and young Jack. We were to head south of the camp, on foot, and look for evidence of wild elephant while taking advantage of Ram Din’s knowledge of the local ecology. Carolina had been tasked with keeping a plant list and gathering information on the medicinal properties of the forest flora.

Armed, as was quickly becoming the norm, with both my stills camera and camcorder – each tucked lens down into a pouch that was both slung round my neck and looped through my belt as well as being individually secured by neck straps – I joined my designated group and we set off in single file, Ram Din up ahead and a second Nepali guide taking a protective position at the rear.

We walked at a relatively easy pace along the road before cutting into the bush about a kilometer out. Almost immediately Ram Din stopped to pick up a beautiful, glossy brown leaf from the forest floor at his feet. It was shaped symmetrically about its mid-shaft, its two large lobes forming a rough heart shape. He explained that it was called Bauhinia in latin and koiralo in Nepalese, but refered to locally as the camel-foot vine; a much better description of its shape of course. He gave it a quick twist at the stalk end, forming it into a cone.

“It is used as a cup,” he explained. “Also, women use it to create large hats for protecting themselves against the sun when the are bending over to plant rice.”

This was to be the first of many, fascinating botanical lectures that we enjoyed en route south. Ram Din was both knowledgable and a good teacher. He would stop at a particular tree or bush, pluck a leaf or indicate the bark or root and expound on its uses as a natural medicine. Most he was able to illustrate additionally with an anecdote of a time when either he, his father, or another close relative had taken said medication and been relieved of tooth ache, heart palpitations, liver problems and various other maladies. Each use was accompanied by a specific preparation. Leaves would need to be boiled in water to make a tea, for example, or a twig would require chewing. Most recipes seemed relatively straight forward. Until we came to the strangler fig that is…

We halted in front of what appeared to be a tall, elegantly sculpted tree trunk. Ram Din took his walking stick and poked it into a small gap in the outer skin of the great trunk in front of him.

“You see?” he asked. “It’s actually completely hollow.”

We all gathered round him and peered into the dark cavernous depths of this tree-like plant.

“It’s a strangler fig,” Ram Din explained. “It attaches itself to the top of the tree and grows downwards, wrapping itself around the tree, attaching its roots to the trunk and sucking the water right out of it. Eventually it covers the whole tree which slowly rots away, leaving this space in the middle of the fig.”

My brain suddenly realised it was looking, not at a tree at all, but at a very mature vine that had finally killed its host and now stood, petrified in the shape of the original tree. I was rather amazed and awed by this brutal act of nature. The result was extremely beautiful and rather eerie.

“This vine has many medicinal uses,” said Ram Din. “Its root is very good for low blood pressure and dysmenorrhea.”

“What’s that?” asked Jack innocently.

“Dysmenorrhea,” repeated Ram Din in his most teacher-like voice. “Dysmenorrhea, it is a period problem.”

Jack looked quizzical, clearly struggling to follow what Ram Din meant.

Ram Din, ever the patient teacher, continued; “Period not on time. Late. Early. Painful. Maybe clotted blood.”

“Menstruation,” I stated clearly, grinning as Jack’s brain suddenly understood what he was being told and his usually cheeky countenance faded into what was as close to a blush as I ever saw on him.

“OK. Ok,” he muttered, trying desperately to get Ram Din to understand that he had understood and needed no further explanation.

Like a naughty child at the back of class I spent the next ten minutes trying to choke back laughter so I wouldn’t interrupt the lesson or look immature enough to think this situation was hilarious. Ram Din was in full flow however (*smirk* pun intended) and simply ignored me completely.

Interestingly, unlike his previous cures which had each been relatively quick and easy to prepare, the recipe for the dysmenorrhea cure involved digging down about three feet deep at the base of the vine to locate a piece of root about two inches in diameter and two to three meters long. This then needed to be stripped clean, chopped up and boiled in water for several days before being ingested over several weeks.

As we walked on, Susanna, Carolina and I huddled and discussed the idea that, when suffering from period pains, Nepalese women were expected to leave their husband and children, come out into the forest, and spend three days digging roots and boiling them in water. Yes, we agreed. That sounded like it would work well. The whole root digging and boiling bit might be unnecessary however!

Jack

As previously mentioned, Jack Evans is only 19. Having spent the previous four months travelling alone across Australia and Borneo as part of his gap year, he had joined our expedition on a ‘leadership training’ ticket. A keen ornithologist he was a walking encyclopedia of Nepalese birds and had been given the task of keeping a bird list. He was also extremely interested in insects and could regularly be found poking at spiders webs, moth cocoons and beetles.

More than once I would be walking along in a daze when a tap on my shoulder would incite me to turn and find Jack with some small bug sitting on an outstretched finger.

While birds were his claimed focus, insects seemed to excite him more. I thought at the time that this may have been because he internalized his enjoyment of birds a lot more. Whereas, when he found an insect, he would immediately seek someone to share the find with. No doubt in the hopes that his audience would be creeped out. Although, when I think about it now it’s far more likely that he realised that I liked insects more than birds and I was seeing life from my own perspective.

I found Jack great company. He was funny and generally happy – although he had his grouchy teenage moments when tired. He is smart and will study chemistry at Durham University. Like me, he is a rather touchy-feely kind of person and craves physical contact, perhaps more so having been alone for the past four months. I was initially shocked when, during this first walk, he reached out and voluntarily rubbed my shoulders. However, he was a skilled masseur and I decided to enjoy the experience rather than make more of it than he had intended. It was plain that he was simply being kind and didn’t recognise traditional boundaries. I can relate to this. I find boundaries, especially those claimed by the British, to be a bore.

Jack and I quickly recognised a kindred spirit in one another and we were to spend the rest of the expedition testing each other’s boundaries. I thoroughly enjoy the company of interesting young people and Jack had a deep, quiet intelligence that reminded my of my younger son and a sparkle that echoed my eldest. He managed to remind me of both my children, and myself as a somewhat over-confident, fearless youth, all at the same time. I quickly found myself adoring him and, as I am want to do with those I adore, I began to try out affectionate nicknames for him.

“Ho! Jack Rabbit,” I called. “Can you be my cameraman for a few minutes?”

Hmmmm…. that wasn’t quite right. Although he did happily respond and turned out to be a very competent videographer. More interestingly, he was also a natural in front of the camera and happily brought insects to be filmed, explained paw prints and animal scratchings, or climbed trees to collect seed pods. A budding young wildlife presenter if ever I saw one. Although I’d never discourage the pending degree in chemistry either.

Several hours later we had just done another excruciatingly awful ‘to camera’ piece with me in front of the lens (I’m far from being a natural) and Jack on camera. I motioned a cut by appearing to slash my own throat and Jack stopped recording and bounded towards me.

“Thanks spratt,” I said. Yes. That was it! Jack Spratt suited him perfectly.

Dressed for comfort

Having reached the river bed to the south of camp, we scouted around looking for elephant prints or dung. Sadly we found nothing fresher than month-old droppings.

Soon the sun began to sink turning the distant mountains purple. Ram Din asked us to pick up our pace and took us back to the road. We then marched back to camp in what quickly became total darkness.

Being in the forest at night is exciting, although the insects become so thick you can feel them knocking against your skin as you walk. Luckily, I had elected to keep my long trousers and long-sleeved shirt on to protect myself from thorns and the sun. Having been treated with insect repellant before departure from the UK, my clothes prevented insect bites too.

Unfortunately, my left foot was suffering by the time I got back to camp. I was praying it wasn’t my beautiful new jungle boots – JBS had admired them back in Kathmandu and I loved them. However, there was no denying the large patch of blood on my left sock when I was able to eventually take them off that evening. I have to admit that I was so stiff at that point I couldn’t lean down far enough to see what was actually making my foot bleed so at some point after dinner, I snuck off and found the doctor.

Dr John Etherton, quickly refered to by us all as simply ‘Dr John’, has a wonderful bed-side manner and an incredibly soothing voice. He was able to administer to my foot without my being the least bit uncomfortable, even when the issue turned out to be as ridiculous as a badly cut toenail digging into the flesh of the longer toe next to it.

“Although it is recommended to cut your toenails straight across to avoid issues of ingrowth,” explained John in his gentle, almost cooing tones. “It makes sense to file off any resulting corners before going on long walks.”

When I think back on this I realise just how miraculous this man is. How on earth did he manage to help me out, file my nail down, and plaster me up to make me completely comfortable almost immediately without my being in the slightest bit embarrassed? It’s such a daft situation to find myself in that I should have been at least a little embarrassed! He really is a wonderful doctor and we were lucky to have him with us.

However, I find myself ahead of the story a little and must ask you – as readers – to turn your minds back to when we were walking through the dark towards camp, my foot still grieving me with every step.

The wanderers return

Ram Din, Susannah, Carolina, Jack and I all rolled into camp tired and hungry but hugely satisfied with our afternoon…

…only to be met by a bunch of zealous peers all jabbering over one another to tell us about the wild elephants they had seen!

Tessa’s log Earthdate 15 April 2012

My group in jeep with drove to the military post nearby where the soldiers informed us that elephants had just passed 10 minutes previously. On foot we soon found them on the opposite bank (in long grass), and then a big bull coming into the river from our side.

Great photo opportunity, plus dung samples taken, rangefinder measurements (66 m away) and footprints (21” diameter = 10´6”). Later identified from Adrian Lister´s elephant file as Bhim Gaj. He was clearly in musth.

The survey group arrived there soon after we had left to return to camp, and had a good sighting of the whole herd and bull in the river.

Grrrrr….

Here was my first lesson in learning to accept my own experience, rather than wish I’d been with another group who happen to have had what sounded like a more exciting time.

Tessa’s team had seen a lone bull. The survey group had seen an entire herd of females and young, followed by what was likely to be the same bull. The main lodge was stuffed with people discussing ear shapes (a good way to identify individual elephants). Past records provided by Professor Lister (a paleontologist from the Natural History Museum in London who had carried out previous studies of Bardia’s elephant population) and Tessa’s notes from a previous expedition were being researched, drawings of ear ragging and tusk lengths compared to photographs and names bandied about. Others sat with their noses pressed against other images counting the herd, close-packed and crossing the river.

“Count the legs then divide by four,” advised JBS, beaming from ear to ear. He was in his element.

Eventually it was decided that the bull was most probably Bhim Gaj, while the herd contained at least 17 individuals. The buzz was intense. The expedition was finally beginning to bear fruit. Tessa had even managed to collect the first few samples of fresh dung for our DNA study.

Those who had participated in the groups that had not been lucky enough to see the elephants had to listen to the excitement and live it all vicariously. It was easy to fall into the trap of being disappointed and jealous.

I let this matter sink in and felt my stomach tighten in frustration. But then my brain kicked in. I’d had a wonderful afternoon and had enjoyed every minute of it. It may not have had elephants in it, but it was a fine experience none-the-less. I became determined to appreciate what I had had. Not dwell on what might have been. ‘If only’s had no place on this expedition for me. If I was going to get the most from it, I had to learn to be happy that wild elephants had been found; not regret not having seen them myself or begrudge my fellow expeditioners for having had the pleasure.

On this very first occasion I learned to swallow the bile whole and became able to be genuinely glad for Tessa for having seen her bull, and glad that the survey party had seen the herd. Duncan was on the survey party and he had the best long lens. He had some fantastic photos!

This was possibly the most valuable learning exercise of the entire expedition. This was, of course, not the last time that others would come home with stories of sightings one might have wished to have shared.

Lesson no. 16: Suck it up and learn to be glad, even if you weren’t the one to see the elephants

Trust me, this grey blob among the leaves is a rhino. So much for the reality of my wildlife photography skills!

Tessa’s log, Earthdate 15 April 2012

Temperatures: 06:00  20°C, 12:00  28°C, 18:00  25°C

The morning was our first elephant safari – lots of birds, rhino and baby, tracking of tiger and cubs but no sighting.

First rhino sighting

OK. Now I’m going to allow myself the small privilege of being petty. This is my story after all.

Whatever you might have heard that evening in camp, and whatever you may read as a result in JBS’s account of this expedition; it was ME that spotted the first rhino NOT CAROLINA!!

Rant over.

The reality is that, the only reason I was the one who spotted the rhino was because I was facing squarely in the right direction and low enough down (unlike Hari who was standing up) to see directly through the brush and foliage in which she was sitting. HOWEVER, if Carolina hadn’t been busy, twisted round in the houda loudly offering a biscuit to Barry, she may well have been in a position to spot the rhino before me. BUT SHE DIDN’T. Hrmmm…. Sorry…. did I say ‘rant over’? Ooops! Well, perhaps I’m over it now.

“There!” I yelled in a loud whisper, arm springing out directly ahead of me.

Hari bent forward and down as Saraswati moved forward and spotted the round, black silhouette I was pointing at through the low bushes.

“Rhino,” he confirmed before loudly whispering in Nepalese to Ram Charan, getting him to stop and ask Saraswati to take a few paces backwards. Everyone in the houda was quiet at last. Poor Barry, on the wrong side of the houda in this instance, trying desperately to twist round and see what all the fuss was about. Sadly, there’s always a ‘wrong side of the houda’ during wildlife sightings. It’s a case of hoping they even out over time.

For a few seconds we could see the rhino’s great bulk rather clearly through the path she’d trodden into the thicket. I grabbed my video camera and switched it on, waiting as the damn thing got itself ready to shoot. She heard us and stood up, turning sideways on and almost disappearing among the leaves. It was, of course, at that moment my video claimed it was ready at last. I swore internally but hit the record button anyway. This is the way of wildlife photography it seems. Like fishing, we videographers come home with stories of those moments before the camera was ready, or when the batteries had just run out, and hours and hours of footage that shows little more than leaves and out of focus blurs in the distance.

To give her her due. Carolina was the one who realised that their was also a baby rhino standing quietly in the brush next to its mother.

A second elephant, having picked up our radio call out that we’d found a rhino, approached from the side. The mother rhino was spooked and rushed away, baby close behind her.

Then followed an exciting chase on elephant back, a pincer movement was coordinated by radio, JBS calling out instructions via Jack, his onboard radio operator. The rhino ran through the brush between Saraswati and Raj Kali, who slowly edged closer together, closing the gap. But the mother rhino was wise and elected to skirt rapidly up a more open path in order to make a sharp turn into much thicker forest. The trees closed in and the elephants struggled to follow. The mother and her young charge raced ahead, disappearing into the jungle.

Twice more I spotted the rhinos through the trees but it was my turn to be on the wrong side of the houda and filming was impossible.

Lesson no 14: more often than not, seeing them with your own eyes has to be enough

Tiger hunt

An hour or so later Saraswati’s passengers were beginning to fidget as the continuous bashing about in our houda started to take its toll. We had moved into a part of the forest which seemed full of endless low hanging branches that required us to negotiate our passage with every step taken by the huge grey pachyderm under our buttocks. The thicker branches threatened to bruise our shins, while the thinner ones might snap back, whipping our arms, legs, faces and into our eyes. My cheap sunglasses earned their keep – they came home full of cracks.

Every now and then a thorn-ridden creeper would drip down from the upper treetops like the stingers on a jellyfish, so thin as to be almost invisible. Ram Charan used a bamboo stick and his ankush to push these aside, Hari leaning forward and helping to pull them away from us. However, even with their constant help, we still needed to make an effort to protect ourselves. This effort, coupled with the constant movement of the elephant, makes elephant riding tiring. It becomes easy to drift off into an almost mesmeric state.

From somewhere deep inside my trance, I heard Ram Charan muttering something in Hari’s direction. Hari came rapidly to attention, his arm shot out; pointing straight ahead.

“Tiger!” he stated calmly and clearly. All passengers were suddenly wide awake.

Saraswati faltered and began to purr.

When an elephant gets nervous they make a constant, low purring noise that rumbles up through that great domed skull of theirs. This noise has to be heard to be believed. As a passenger you can not only hear this noise, but feel it too. As a result the elephant is able to transmit her emotions right up into your soul. The elephant’s anxiety quickly becomes your own.

The acrid smell of tiger urine became obvious even to those who had never smelled it before.

Saraswati grumbled and snorted in complaint. She did not wish to move forward. Ram Charan rocked rapidly on his hessian cushion. He appeared to be trying to push the animal forward with his entire being, as a child sitting on a push toy might. Saraswati understood but still refused to step forward. In fact, she even began to hesitantly retreat, threatening to take us backward through some nasty branches. Ram Charan thwacked the top of her skull with his ankush and gave the most direct command I’d ever heard him use.

Saraswati gave a clear shudder but did as she was told. She skirted around the tangled mess of brambles where Hari had indicated he’d seen the tiger. We twisted and turned in our seats, searching with our eyes and our ears.

We could smell tiger, of that there was no doubt. Then, an almost inaudible, low growl came from the direction both Hari and Ram Charan had indicated.

“I heard it!” whispered Carolina excitedly.

My heart was thudding in my chest. Adrenaline had flooded my system, every instinct telling me to run. Saraswati’s nervousness was making my own nerve endings jangle. Her purring vibrated through my bones, activating my flight responses. The houda kept me there. The forest kept me quiet. I trusted the elephant. My natural fear slowly turned to excited joy. I was experiencing my first tiger hunt. What a thrill!

The next fifteen minutes were spent slowly circling the site. I aimed my camera in the direction of the thicket. But all I saw was thicket. I kept shooting in the hope that on-screen at a later date I might somehow divine a tiger from the images. I’ll give twenty quid to anyone who can find the tiger in this screenshot!

Eventually Saraswati calmed and I realised the tiger must have moved away. Sure enough, Hari soon told Ram Charan to follow a track away from the initial site and we were now on a route that he believed the tiger had taken. The next forty-five minutes were spent tracking the animal, two of the other elephant teams joining us in the hunt. However, we never got close to a second sighting and eventually JBS reminded use that we were here to look for wild elephants, not tigers.

Lesson no. 15: don’t bring expensive sunglasses on an elephant expedition

Following a quick wake up snack of tea and biscuits, we all piled into the jeeps and headed off to meet the elephants for our first morning safari.

As we turned a corner there stood Raj Kali, magnificent in her calmness, patiently waiting for our arrival. As the jeeps lumbered to a halt in the clearing, a second elephant appeared among the trees at the top of the hill. Then a third, and a fourth. Soon we had dismounted the jeeps and were milling around the leaf-strewn road excitedly asking which elephant we were to ride on.

The evening before, JBS had assigned us teams. We knew our numbers, we simply needed to match a number to an elephant. All around us elephants were dutifully kneeling down, their phanits jumping off and placing wooden steps against their sides.

What an amazing feeling being among them all. So large. So sturdy. So serene. These animals simply oozed power, yet shed tranquility from every great muscle, their eyes pouring forth a sense of liquid peace.

I looked for elephant no.3. Found her. Greeted her. And followed Carolina up onto her back and into her houda. Barry West squeezed in behind me. It was an easy fit.

Tessa’s log, Earthdate 15 April 2012

Elephant 1 – Raj Kali with phanit Som Bahadur and naturalist Ram Din Mahato. JBS, Mandy West, Jack Evans (radio)
Elephant 2 – Dibya Kali with phanit Santa Bote and naturalist Tul Bahadur Bote. Duncan Sharp, Dr John Etherton, Siv Siem, Cathy Renfrey
Elephant 3 – Saraswati Kali with phanit Ram Charan and naturalist Hari Chaudhary. Barry West (radio), Sarah Lawton, Dr Carolina Hanley
Elephant 4 – Govt. elephant Jatra Kali with phanit ? and naturalist Raju. David Dancey-Wood, Dr Susannah Curtin (radio), David Read
Elephant 5 – Govt. elephant Lok Kali with phanit Bal and naturalist Rajan Chaudhary. Tony Renfrey, Dr Tessa Donovan-Beerman, Angus Gordon
Elephant 6 – Govt. elephant Santi Kali with phanit ? and naturalist Bhim Chaudhary. Peter Fraser, Capt Sarah Armstrong (radio), Villa Piche

Tremendous storm in the night – various tents had to be rescued from wind and rain.

Temperatures: 06:00  20°C, 12:00  28°C, 18:00  25°C

The morning was our first elephant safari – lots of birds, rhino and baby, tracking of tiger and cubs but no sighting.

Elephant no.3 and me

Elephant no. 3 was Saraswati Kali. She was relatively young; only 18 and had pretty eyes and a full tail brush. Her ears were still grey – without the pink of age, and had only just begun to curl over.

Kali, Lakshmi and Saraswati are the three manifestations of Mahadevi; The Great Goddess. While Kali is the goddess of power and love, or time and change, Saraswati is the goddess of learning, arts and cultural fulfilment. So Saraswati Kali was named for two of the trinity, and well named at that. She was quickly going to help me appreciate the art of riding an elephant, being part of my environment and relaxing into the world of the Bardia forest.

Phanit Ram Charan sat astride Saraswati on a hessian mat cushion, his bare feet up behind her ears. Naturalist Hari Chaudhary, wore flip-flops, yet still managed to stand in what appeared to be complete comfort for the next five hours atop her buttocks with one foot either side of her rolling spine, hanging onto the houda for support. We newbies shared the houda which was thankfully cushioned, Carolina face forward, Barry and I facing outwards, our backs against one another, feet resting on simple planks that swung down against the elephant’s flanks.

With a quick word from Ram Charan, Saraswati rose elegantly. And there I was at last, sitting in a houda atop an elephant!

Elegant elephant manouvering

Soon all six elephants were loaded and ready. JBS and Ram Din conferred and agreed on a six elephant march to a particular area where we would split into two groups of three and sweep through the forest.

JBS waved his hand in the air, Ram Din passed the word to Som Bahadur, who gave the signal to Raj Kali. With a whisk of her trunk, Raj Kali grabbed up some sweet grasses, passing them gracefully into her mouth, flapped her great ears a few times, turned elegantly towards the jungle and sauntered off. Elephant no.2, Dibya Kali followed with Saraswati skirting a few meters up the road before turning in behind Dibya. The government elephants, less used to this type of work, yet still highly disciplined, fell into line.

We were off!

Elephant driving is a negotiation between elephant and phanit. A trust is formed and a fairly complex language built up between them. A phanit will ‘steer’ his charge using gentle discussion and constant body movements, his feet behind the elephant’s great ears. But for the most part, the elephant is in charge of where she walks. The human simply guides her in the desired direction.

The few moments when an elephant’s instinct overrides her usually calm countenance (when she senses a tiger, for example) and she becomes agitated or excited, causing the phanit concern for her passengers, he may use a cane or metal ankush to thwack the top of her skull. The large dome on top of an Asian elephant’s head exaggerates this sound, making it rather alarming for those unused to hearing it. However, it doesn’t take long to realise that the elephant is clearly not hurt by this. Even the nasty looking ankush – a curved, metal knife used to cut through branches – is totally blunt along its outward edge. It is merely a communication tool. And it is used infrequently enough to be effective as an alarm call between phanit and charge, bringing them back into unison and keeping all aboard safe.

Carolina and the ants

I had been harbouring genuine concern that, however much I longed to love this expedition, I might in reality find elephant riding difficult on my back. As it turned out I quickly learned to relax into the great swing and toss of the houda as it shifts across the elephant’s spine with each stride forward. The only attention needed was the occasional replacement of the padding around the bar under my armpits as it would regularly twist underneath and become pointless.

As it happened, I did genuinely love riding elephants and, for that, I remain eternally glad. It did make me a bit less tolerant of my fellow passengers however. Barry was an angel; quiet and considerate. But Carolina was gregarious and loudly happy, reaching out to the phanit, the elephant and the world in general to enthuse and share her joy. Now, I am normally the first to appreciate this behaviour, and even tend towards similar habits myself under most other circumstances. But, we were here to find wild elephants and hopefully see other wildlife and had been instructed by JBS that this required silence and vigilance.

I was determined to be a good expeditioner and Carolina’s chirpy commentary was, in my opinion, going to foil that. Silly of me when I think back on it – because, while it took me days to realise, Carolina was an extraordinarily interesting character with a fascinating life story and a genuinely good heart. However, during those first three days, when I found myself sitting with her on the back of Saraswati, my thoughts towards her were mean. I’m now ashamed to admit it, but that’s the honest truth.

“Look at these wonderful orange berries!” cried Carolina, reaching out to grab a bunch from the high branches swinging passed our faces. “Can I eat them?” she asked Hari.

“Yes,” said Hari. “Monkeys eat them all the time.”

“I grew up in the jungles of Bolivia,” cried Carolina joyously. “We grow up learning to eat anything.”

She plucked the orange berries off their twig and popped a few in her mouth.

“Yum!” she declared. “Delicious. You should try some,” she yelled, turning around in the houda to proffer the berries, jamming them in the direction of my mouth.

“No thanks,” I said. Bright orange berries raised alarm bells in my mind, even if I did trust Hari. I noted that he too turned Carolina down when she offered them to him.

Her whittering had been constant for the past hour or so and it was beginning to grate on me. I wished she’d shut up and let me glide through the forest in peace, able to concentrate on looking for wildlife and avoiding the branches that threatened to whip out my eyes if I wasn’t careful.

Having eaten all the berries on her first bunch, Carolina reached out to grab another, especially large bunch as it swung past. She whooped in delight as she caught it. I tried to keep my frustrated tutting at inaudible levels. Hari, eagle-eyed, pointed at the handful of berries Carolina was about to throw into her mouth.

“You like ants too?” he asked, a great grin stretching across his face.

This time I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when Carolina looked down at the ants that were crawling all over her berries, screeched like a harpy and hurled the berries out, into the forest.

I took a photo of the next large bunch of orange berries.

“Why are you taking a photo of them?” asked Carolina suspiciously.

“To have something to show when I tell the story about Carolina eating the ants,” I said.

She laughed. I should have realised then that she was a better person than I was currently giving her credit for. I should have also realised that, even a still taken from video shot while the elephant was moving would be out of focus!

Lesson no. 13: even little girls who grow up in the jungles of Bolivia are averse to insects!

Saturday 14 April was a long haul across Nepal, my first meet and greet with a domestic elephant, and settling in to the rather luxurious jungle camp. That evening, after a satisfying dinner in the camp’s central lodge we had a group briefing from JBS during which we were allocated our elephant teams and agreed to a 05:30 rise for 06:00 am departure the following morning.

We all trooped off to bed, expecting that to be the last of it all until the morning…

…but that was not to be the case.

When the wind blows

Having settled into our beds, Tessa and I chatted for about thrity seconds before I turned over and let her read a few chapters of her book.

I think I slept, but I can’t be certain. There was so many great memories of that day to think through and cherish. I may have simply been lying with my eyes shut, reliving the best bits when the tent canvas began to flap violently.

Tessa and I had mutually agreed not to bother zipping up the outer flap of no. 9 tent. I had some vague romantic idea of waking up with a view of the river. However, this meant that the zip had begun to knock insistently against the central metal pole at the tent entrance. I got up in the dark and negotiated my way passed the insect net panel so I could draw the zip to the ground. I stood for a few moments pondering whether or not to bother securing the two horizontal zips along the bottom, but decided that was far too much hassle – expecially if one of us decided we needed to visit the ladies in the small hours. Instead, I simply pressed the velcro of the insect net closed all the way round and got back into bed.

Ten minutes later, the annoying zip noise having stopped, I began to drift off. Only to be awakened by a tremendously loud tarpaulin shudder as the entire tent seemed suddenly to be shaken in its entirety. My eyes snapped open instinctively and I pushed myself up onto an elbow to look through the tent window above my bed, just to check that it was only wind. All seemed well outside, although the surrounding vegetation was being blown about rather a lot.

I lay back down and allowed myself to feel slightly thrilled by what was clearly going to turn into a storm on our very first night. Almost to order – I had flung a comment out earlier that I loved being in a tent during a storm. Thunder rumbled in the far distance and the weight of the weather could be felt in my eardrums, sinuses and the rising thud of my heart.

The bouts of wind bashed across our tent with increasing violence. Lighting lit up the world, even through closed eyelids. I lay in my bed quietly smiling to myself, remembering the two strong trees outside, standing sentinal, supporting our tent with ease.

Rain began to fall. Vigorous and loud.

My mind wandered to our luggage on the floor at the end of our beds. Right next to the horizontal zips I hadn’t bothered closing earlier. “Should we get up and move it further in to the tent?” I wondered.

Tessa lay as quietly as I did. I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or also lying and appreciating the entertainment being laid on all around us. I left her. Our luggage would be fine. The rain would have to be falling almost sideways to get passed the reasonably extensive porch and through the bottom of the entrance.

I heard the storm lamp tip over and turned over in bed so I could open one eye and check for flames. Nothing. All was well in that regard. The storm lamp could lie on its side for the rest of the night without me worrying about it.

I lay and continued to listen to the chaos going on around us. The tent taking the brunt of it all as we lay inside, cosy, comfortable and dry in our beds. Only once did the situation reach such a frenzy that I found myself considering the possibility that the tent might actually give way. But that didn’t last. Soon the rain gave up, the wind died down and I fell asleep.

Our first full day in the jungle dawns

Tessa’s alarm buzzed us awake a neat five minutes before Ram Din’s wake up call. We rose and got dressed quickly.

We found our luggage had indeed got wet – but not so much that it worried us. The day would be hot enough to right all wrongs before we returned home at lunch time anyway.

I was first outside to check on the devastation left by the storm. The matting outside our tent had flipped over, neatly protecting my boots from the rain. What blessings! I collected up the plastic cup and our toothbrushes that had been tipped over, but again neatly, into the sink. I righted the mat and stood the storm lamp upright. Other than that, no.9 tent had taken no damage.

A few minutes later, both Tessa and I were tucking into peanut butter cookies, washed down with cups of tea in the main lodge. I say that, but for the record, Tessa hates peanuts and didn’t ever ‘tuck into’ one of those biscuits. However, there was little other choice most breakfast times so she ate what was on offer. Over this rushed breakfast snack we listened to the storm tales from our fellow expeditioners.

Carolina Hanley and Villa Piche, who had arrived together from Brazil and were sharing the tent a few down from ours, seemed to have faired the worse. Their tent would have completely collapsed had the night guards not come to their rescue. They had spent a damp night and had to get up and put on wet clothes this morning as a result. However, they survived their experience admirably and their tale gave me great faith in the night guards.

Whether the weather is hot…

Discussion soon unearthed the facts that this type of weather was highly unusual in this region at this time of year. The locals believed these unusual bouts of weather were a result of climate change.

Indeed, while we were working in Bardia, we routinely found ourselves walking through patches of burned grass, stepping over smouldering logs and even standing across the road or river from what was occasionally a raging fire.

Sadly, almost immediately after we left Nepal the unusually windy conditions helped fan the many small forest fires that were breaking out all across the park. On 26 April, the BBC reported that forest fires had broken out in 225 places across Nepal. At this point, some remote communities were already struggling to control the flames. Then, on 3 May, as I sat once again at my desk in the UK, I was devestated to read the headling; Nepal forest fires ’cause big wildlife loss’.

According to Navin Singh Khadka, an Environment reporter with BBC News, nearly 70% of Nepal’s Bardia National Park had been consumed by fire in the few days preceeding publication.

“We have not been able to assess the loss immediately because the fire is still raging at some places,” the park’s chief conservation officer Tika Ram Adhikari told BBC News.

“But given our past experiences, our estimate is that around 40% of small mammals, 60% of insects and significant number of birds have been lost in the fire.”  Extract from Nepal forest fires ’cause big wildlife loss’ by Navin Singh Khadka, Environment reporter, BBC News

Horror! Although it is gladdening to know that the larger mammals, including elephants, rhino and tigers, would have escaped unharmed.

I contacted JBS to ask if he might in turn contact our friends in Bardia and ask them directly for some news. I hoped very much that this report was sensationalising the situation. But sadly, this turned out not to be the case.

We received this email from Chandra Thapa at Tiger Tops:

“The news about the forest fire in Bardia National Park is true. As a matter of fact, there was fire at the Tented Camp where the group stayed after about a week or so of your departure that came from the hills on the northern part of the Park. Fortunately, no damage was done to the camp and the property. The staff were very active and doused the fire on time. I spoke with Rajan [at the Karnali Lodge]over the phone, and he confirmed that the forest fire they had in Bardia fortunately did not do much damage to the wildlife but reckon must have killed lots of insects, butterflies and not to mention the plant life.etc. It was good that the staff were still there at the Camp site as they hadn’t quite transferred the tents and other equipment back to the lodge. As you know this type of fire occurs mainly because of some irresponsible people throwing the cigarette butt or the burning match sticks into the grass.

You also must have heard about the flash flood north of Pokhara on Saturday that came as a result of land slide near the main source of Seti river where it blocked the flow coupled by an avalanche that triggered the flood. Near about 2 dozen people have been feared killed by the flood and approx 5 dozen are still gone missing including 3 Ukrainians. Experts say, the death toll may rise further. The flash flood came at about 09.00 hrs. There would have been more casualties had this flood came during the day time or the afternoon because the village people had gone up to the higher areas to attend some religious ceremony in the morning and were returning in the afternoon.”

Extracted from an email by Chandra Thapa, General Manager Tours, Tiger Tops, to John Blashford-Snell, 7 May 2012

This news is hard to hear. It is difficult to imagine all that beautiful forest burned and devoid of wildlife. However, there is hope that new growth will come quickly and nature has an amazing way of recovering. I only wish that might be the case for those poor Pokharan villagers who have suffered loss of life.

Sad news indeed.

Which makes me realise how important it is for me to continue writing about my wonderful experience while there, before these disasters occured. With the weather in a state of flux, and climate conditions still out of contol and threatening our current ecosystems, we really need to do everything we can to preserve and appreciate what we have now.

Lesson no. 12: nothing in this world is permanent