Elephants - The Misunderstood Gentle Giants of the Western Ghats, and their Role in Human-Animal Conflict

If you love nature and wildlife as much as I do, then ERC Davidar’s book, Whispers from the Wild, is a must-read. This masterpiece has the power to transport you back to the jungles, to the time when the forests along the Western Ghats were unmolested and a safe haven for all its wild denizens.

A lone tusker - Nagarhole Reserve

So much has changed since then. Reports of man-animal conflict in local newspapers are common and aplenty. Sometimes it’s elephants trampling passersby to a pulp, a leopard finding its way into the city, or tigers attacking forest guards. Davidar foresaw this problem much before it reared its ugly head and threatened to swallow South India’s green cover. A hunter turned conservationist, he dedicated his life to creating elephant corridors and checking trigger-happy tourists. Today, Karnataka’s pride, the Biligirirangana Reserve, Nagarahole National Park, and the Bandipur Tiger Reserve boast vast species of flora and fauna. From tigers and leopards, to elephants and various birds, it fills my heart with joy to see a thriving animal population in these jungles.

That said, the problem of man-animal conflict looms over our heads like an ominous cloud. The jungles need to be respected and revered. Sadly, this sentiment isn’t shared by everyone. I remember this incident when my husband and I were driving through the Bandipur Reserve, and we saw a group of young men taking pictures against the backdrop of an elephant herd. One of the men, the most foolhardy of the lot, got off the vehicle and stood with his back to the herd. Threatened by this, a female elephant let out a shrill trumpet and charged. Pandemonium ensued, as the terrified man took to his heels, scrambling to get into the vehicle. Thankfully, it was a mock charge, and no one was harmed. But things could’ve turned ugly, had the protective mother decided to go all the way.

Elephants are social and highly intelligent creatures. Their extreme intelligence drives them to do things for survival that are sometimes astonishing. A coffee plantation owner in the Kutta region of Coorg in Karnataka, once shared an amusing incident of elephants breaking into a patch of land that had jackfruit trees. Jackfruit, when ripe, give out a strong, distinctive odor. To an elephant, with its keen sense of smell, this invitation is too strong to resist. The plantation owner, anticipating this problem, dug trenches to prevent the elephants from picking the jackfruit. Two days later, when he visited the plantation, he was surprised to find great big clods of earth in the trenches. The clever pachyderms had filled a part of the trench with mud, walked over it and heartily tucked into the succulent fruit. Outsmarted, our friend put up an electric fence with mild voltage, to protect the jackfruit. Much to his chagrin, he found one part of the electric fence flattened by a massive log! The wily creatures had uprooted a tree, thrown it over the fence, and walked right through. The hungry, albeit smart, elephants had had the last laugh.

But not all stories are as amusing. Most often than not, man-animal conflict leads to serious and sometimes fatal injuries to one party or both. In Karnataka alone, over 26 people have lost their lives to elephants between 2001 and 2016. The figure, however, is debatable and the casualties are on both sides. Victims of rapid urbanization, elephants have died of electrocution from high voltage fences that are erected to keep them out or succumbed to cyanide poisoning by distraught farmers who have lost their crops. The root cause of this problem can be traced back to the 1960s when the Hemavathi Reservoir submerged crucial elephant habitat amounting to nearly 22,000 acres. Lush green forests were replaced by roads, railway lines, and agricultural land. Devoid of their natural food and living space, it’s unsurprising that elephants head straight to paddy and sugarcane fields to satisfy their enormous appetite. The areas surrounding Karnataka’s Hassan district have become the hotbed for human-elephant conflict. Despite capturing and relocating the rampaging elephants, they often come back to forests that are familiar to them. The personnel from the forest department are at their wit's end, trying to find a solution that works for the human as well as the animal population.

Destroying vital elephant corridors, human habitation around buffer zones, and disregarding the sacred laws of the jungle are among the biggest reasons for the grim state of affairs in our jungles. Today, the need of the hour is to find solutions, rather than lament over the damage that we’ve caused over the years.

Davidar’s dream of the Western Ghats, unmolested by man’s selfish needs, may be distant, but it is not altogether impossible. If each one of us strives to protect and preserve the natural world that we’re part of, it may not be impossible after all, to live in a world where man and beast exist in perfect harmony.

Let’s Talk Leopard

Having grown up on a healthy diet of Jim Corbett, my love for the jungles only grew when I switched to Kenneth Anderson, followed by Hugh Allen and Valmik Thapar, nearly 6 years ago.  So when I met my husband a decade back, we connected instantly over our passion for wildlife and the drive to explore the Indian jungles.

Blessed as we are to have visited most of the Tiger sanctuaries in Karnataka, we realized over time that most naturalists and promoters of ecotourism in India have a single-minded obsession – spotting the majestic tiger. Although still on the endangered species list, it's heartening to know that the tiger population in India has grown substantially over the last few years. What’s disheartening, however, is that in a bid to save the tiger, other critical species, which aren’t necessarily on the endangered list, are often ignored.

Mahadesha - The Tiger

On our recent trip to the Bandipur Tiger Reserve, we informed the naturalist that we’d like to observe all animal and bird species, to which he raised a quizzical eyebrow and asked us if the striped feline wasn’t on our list. Well, of course, it was. We’d love to observe a tiger in its natural habitat, as we’ve done many times before, but we’d also like to take in the different sights and the sounds of the jungle.

We started off on a cold January morning. As we ambled along, our naturalist pointed to our right and whispered excitedly, “There’s Mahadesha!” Following his gaze, I expected to see someone from the anti-poaching squad walking along the fire trail.  What I saw made my jaw drop. There he was, a fully grown male tiger, lazing around in a nearly dry water hole. The excitement in the safari jeep was palpable, the cameras clicking away furiously. After clicking some pictures, I put the camera aside and watched ‘Mahadesha (also known as the Basavanna Katte male)’ yawn and stretch. He rose in all his magnificence and melted into the thicket, as we continued to gaze at the spot where he’d just sat. It was an excellent day indeed, and we were just getting started.

 As we prepared for next day’s safari, I wondered what surprises the jungle had in store for us. Little did I know of the thrilling experience that awaited. 

It was around 4 in the evening and the naturalist told us that it’s unlikely that we’d spot anything at this time of the day. Indeed, the part of the jungle that we were to cover that evening lacked the usual deer and langur population, and we were quite certain that this wouldn’t be anything more than a peaceful drive in the wilderness. The drive was lulling me to sleep, and the delicious lunch a few hours before didn’t help. Just as I was about to slip into a sweet slumber, one of the guests exclaimed, “Leopard, leopard!”

I was instantly awake. Indeed, less than 70 meters from our jeep was a fine male leopard out on his post-lunch stroll. Leopards are shy and difficult to spot in the wild, so we were fortunate to have seen this one up close. His movements unhurried, his body sinewy, the spotted, smaller cousin of the tiger gave us a cursory glance before doing the vanishing act. But my excitement isn’t something everyone will share. Considered a nuisance by many, leopards are vital to maintaining the ecological balance. While studies show that there are four leopards for every tiger in India, the alarming reality is that these cats are often poisoned, trapped in snares, or simply shot. The future perhaps isn’t as grim for the leopard is it appears for the tiger, but at the rate at which these creatures are dying, I certainly hope they don’t meet the same fate as that of the tiger.

The Tiger Tank Tigress of Kabini

A cold, winter morning in November. The jungle is still, and the only sound that emanates is the cracking of bones. None of us move, afraid that the slightest movement might spoil her appetite. She’s seen us alright, this undisputed queen of the Indian jungles, but pays no attention. Enthralled, we continue watching, sometimes through binoculars, sometimes through the camera lens, or just directly, drinking in this magnificent sight.

The Tiger Tank Tigress

The Tiger Tank Tigress, as she was christened, tore a piece from the chital carcass, and swallowed.  We heard the “crack, crack,” again, as she breakfasted on a succulent morsel from the carcass.

I’ve heard from many wildlife enthusiasts, that in the tiger’s presence, one fails to notice everything else around them and focuses single-mindedly on this beautiful, sinewy beast. That morning in the jungles of the Nagarahole Tiger Reserve, this theory was put to the test. For nearly half an hour, we watched the Tiger Tank Tigress enjoy her meal. Not once did we notice a pair of elephants, slowly inching towards the tank for a drink of water. It was only when they got too close for the tigress’ comfort did we know of the pachyderms’ presence. The tigress, obviously thirsty from her meal, didn’t welcome the intrusion and snarled in warning. The elephants hesitated for a moment, before beating a hasty retreat. This was her territory, and she could come and go as she pleased. After all, she wasn’t called the Tiger Tank Tigress for nothing.

I watched the tigress enjoy her meal, thinking it was one of the best tiger sightings of my life.
Little did I know that a treat awaited me the following day.

It’s a common myth that a tiger will instantly charge at a human when confronted. As I’ve mentioned in my blog on tigers earlier, these majestic jungle cats are shy and prefer to stay hidden in the presence of humans. A healthy, young tiger, with plenty of game to stalk and kill, will never molest a human. There have been instances, where annoyed tigers have killed humans when provoked, but never ate so much as a bite. Occasionally, thanks to the effects of rapid deforestation, which has resulted in a sharp decline in the deer population, tigers are forced to kill cattle from the villages nearby. Should an angry villager raise his staff at the hungry animal, he might find himself on the menu. But that’s rare. I believe that every time we battle the city traffic, we are more at risk of dying from road accidents than being eaten by tigers.

That said, the following evening, we set off once again towards the jungles. Content with spotting a tiger, wild dogs, elephants, plenty of birds, gaur, langur, and the Malabar squirrel, among other denizens of the forest, we focused on tracking the elusive leopard. Fervently scanning treetops and rocks until my neck ached, we finally settled at a spot where a herd of gaurs grazed peacefully. The gaurs, mostly comprising adult females, didn’t mind the intrusion and continued grazing and grooming their calves. One of them even came close to the jeep and promptly sat down to masticate.

Gaur

A few minutes later, the female gaur stood bolt upright and focused intently on the lantana shrubs ahead. Her body still and alert, she sniffed the air suspiciously and without warning let out a high-pitched guttural sound. It was nothing like I’d ever heard before. On cue, the other females in the herd surrounded the calves protectively, while a second female broke off from her family and joined the first one, adding to the strange cacophony. This continued for a minute or so, before the two alert females charged into the thicket, warning whatever was in there to back off.

Our highly experienced driver, who doubled up as a naturalist, was convinced of a leopard’s presence in the vicinity. However, the gaurs’ warning bellows had given it away, and we were certain that the spotted cat had disappeared into the vegetation. Any leopard, with some bit of common sense, will not take on a fully grown gaur, leave alone two. It was an amazing experience, though to watch the gaurs graze contentedly one minute, and take on an aggressive stance the next.  We still had 30 minutes to go before heading back to our camp. So we drove to the Tiger Tank once more, only to find two adolescent male tigers lounging lazily on the bank. My jaw dropped open. These were the Tiger Tank Tigress’ cubs! Their coats were a deep yellow-orange, and the stripes dark. It was a sight to behold!

One of the cubs though vanished behind some trees the moment we arrived. The bolder of the two stayed and rolled on the grass playfully. As the cameras went berserk, he majestically stretched and made his way to the tank’s edge. Never taking his eyes off us, this handsome, mesmerizing animal quenched his thirst against the backdrop of a lush, green, jungle. We stayed on until we could before our driver reminded us that darkness was fast descending.

We drove back in silence, each one of us quietly replaying these unforgettable experiences in our minds.

As the tiger population in India steadily grows under the protective umbrella of Project Tiger, we must not forget that other animals are just as critical to the ecological balance and harmony of the forests. To me, the sight of elephants tearing into a bamboo grove, or a pack of wild dogs chasing deer is just as important as watching a tiger cross my path. While my affair with the Western Ghats continues, I can’t help but dream of seeing the lions and wildebeest in Africa someday.

An Incident to Remember

I wasn’t a big believer in things like pepper spray. Neither did I carry umbrellas with pointy ends, which can double up as objects for self-defense. I, like most people, believed in the simple principle, “This cannot happen to me”. Until it did.

If you’ve read my blog, 800 Kilometers, and 1 Bike, there’s one incident that I didn’t mention; an incident that was, in part, an outcome of our stupidity and lack of research. So, without further ado, let me share a rather unpleasant, but valuable lesson that my husband and I learned that day.

 The last leg of any journey is always the toughest, and nobody knows it better than us. I remember that fateful day when we were soaked to the bone, our muscles aching from the 5-day motorcycle ride through the Western Ghats. This, coupled with a massive backpack that I carried because I completely lacked common sense, only made things worse.

 “Must buy saddlebags,” I told myself, making a mental note for the hundredth time. My husband, maneuvering the motorcycle in the heavy rain, told me to hang in there just a little bit longer, for we were about 70 kilometers away from Bangalore city. My shoulders were raw from the pain, and my mood crabby, so I pleaded with him to stop at an abandoned bus stop for a 5-minute break. We would, of course, realize shortly that it was a very dumb thing to do.

No sooner had we stopped, then I took the heavy load off my shoulders and stretched my arms to restore circulation. My husband proceeded to exercise his legs as well. That’s when trouble arrived, drunk, on a dilapidated motorcycle. Eyes bloodshot and mean, he parked right next to us. Without getting off his motorcycle, he said, “You grazed my taillight and damaged by bike. Now, pay up for the damages!”

We were aghast. What was he talking about? I blinked, opened my mouth to say something, only a squeak escaping instead of words. Clearly, it was the alcohol talking. But at that moment, logic and reasoning had long since abandoned us. The realization that the drunk bloke was trying to mug us, hit us both at once. He groped into his jacket, trying to find something that would help him extort money from us.

My legs were shaky, and my brain had stopped functioning. All I could think was “Why did we have to stop here?”

Thankfully, my husband remained calm and responded, “You’re clearly lying. We didn’t hit anyone. We should let the police sort this.”

The man hesitated for a second, but wouldn’t let go so easily. After all, he was out of money and need his fix for the day. “I’m going to call my friends from the villages nearby” he threatened, waving a mobile phone in our face. The exchange between the two men had given me enough time to compose myself. “There are two of us,” I reasoned, “… and he’s just one person, and in a highly inebriated condition. We could easily overpower him and speed away.” From the look on my husband's face, I could tell that he had the same thoughts. But neither of us took the first step. Sure, it looks easy in the movies, overpowering the bad guy, throwing a few punches, and emerging the hero. But there were a lot of factors to be considered. Pushing, shoving or tackling someone who’s as inebriated as he was, could turn out to be dangerous. Besides if he had an accomplice somewhere close, then the situation could spiral out of control.

This was when he pulled out a knife from his jacket, the kind that’s used in the kitchen. I looked around frantically for help. Considering we were parked away from the main road, and that our mobile phones were tucked safely away in our bags, we didn’t have an option but to comply. Luckily for us, we never keep all our money in one place when we travel. I reached out for my wallet and fished out whatever I could find, which was around 800 rupees. He snatched it with amazing alacrity and looked expectantly at my husband, who proceeded to hand over whatever little that remained in his wallet, another 300 rupees.

Satisfied, the man shoved the money into his jacket, and thanked us, before speeding away. Now it’s not every day that you find criminals who’re polite, do you? Visibly shaken, but wiser from the experience, we headed home. Had it been for saddle bags, by back wouldn’t have hurt that bad, and we wouldn’t have had to stop for a break at that desolate bus stop. Needless to say, today, we’re proud owners of saddle bags and some essential common sense.

The Sounds of the Jungle

So obsessed are we, in the pursuit to spot the big cats, that we often forget to observe the beauty of the jungles that surround us. We hear, but don't listen. We look, but we don't see. We admire, but seldom appreciate.

The jungle, to me, is a place where imagination comes alive. A large rock sheltered by the bushes resembles a gaur or an elephant in the twilight. Twigs take on the shape of snakes, lying motionless, patiently waiting for an unsuspecting hare or rat to come by. Sometimes, on a moonless night, something scurries past, rustling a bed of dry leaves. And I find myself playing guessing games, wondering what it could be.

It was one such warm, moonless night, when I found myself in a dark tent, surrounded by acres of thick jungle. It was our third visit to the K.Gudi camp in Biligiriranga Hills or BR Hills for short. The fact that my husband and I were the only guests at the camp and the lack of electricity added to the excitement. At about 8 30 that night, after we were done with a delicious, but simple dinner, I decided to step out for a while to take in the familiar, soothing, sounds of the jungle. The cicadas, after making quite the racket, decided to take a break, giving the nightjar the perfect opportunity to make its presence felt. I felt myself being lulled into a stupor, my thoughts wandering all over the place. This blissful state of affairs continued for a good thirty minutes or so until the realization suddenly hit me that all the denizens had quietened down. Now if you've been to the jungles as often as I have, you'll know at once that a silent jungle can mean only one thing – a predator was on the move. I was alert, straining my ears for a faint rustle, or the rough, sawing sounds of the leopard.

Soon enough, the deathly, oppressive silence was shattered by the alarm call of a sambar deer. "Dhonk, dhonk, dhonk!" it went. I followed the direction of the sambar's alarm call, and mentally traced the path of the cat that must have walked around the periphery of the camp, barely 200 meters from the tent. Was it a tiger, or a leopard, I don't know. For I was as blind as a bat, my ears doing all the listening and seeing for me. I retired to the safety of the tent, as the calls continued well into the night. Sleep, of course, eluded me, for I was high on the heady mixture of thrill and curiosity. The sambar stopped calling eventually, signaling that it was safe for the denizens to come out of their hiding. A few hours passed, and I could hear the wild boars outside, sniffing and devouring any tasty tidbits they could find. My glow-in-the-dark watch showed that it was nearly 3 AM, and I decided that I simply had to get some sleep.

"Oye, wake up, wake up," someone whispered frantically. Groggy and confused, I grumbled at my husband for disturbing my sleep. "Listen, it's a barking deer!" he whispered, hardly able to contain his excitement. Sure enough, it was now the barking deer's turn to call out. Something was definitely afoot, moving stealthily about, but this time, the calls were from the opposite direction, indicating that the predator was returning to its lair, which clearly wasn't too far from the campsite. I imagined it to be a leopard, returning from its hunt to the comfort and safety of a tree. We passed, what was left of the night, listening expectantly for more alarm calls. They'd died down of course, and we found ourselves dozing off, as the first light of the dawn kissed the dewy foliage.

Thirty minutes and two cups of tea later, we were on the morning safari. I mentioned the previous night's alarm calls to the driver and the naturalist, and they weren't too surprised, but nevertheless excited.

"We heard it too!" they exclaimed, in unison.

"This particular leopard lives somewhere close to the camp," said the driver. "But, he's a master of camouflage, so the guests rarely get to see him."

No sooner had he spoken, we saw a rush of yellow and dark spots jump across the fire trail, and crash into the bushes. It was the leopard alright! My jaw dropped in awe at the fleeting glimpse of this beautiful creature, just before it vanished.

"You're fortunate madam," the naturalist said, grinning from ear to ear. "Most people only hear him, you got to see him too, albeit for a few seconds."

Lucky indeed! But I couldn't wait for nightfall, until I heard him again, in the alarm calls of the deer, and the silence of the cicadas.

Waiting for Shere Khan

Picture this – tall, dry grass beckoning languidly, clear blue cloudless skies, and the wind gently caressing you, as you wait patiently, ears attuned to every little sound.

Welcome to the Pench National Park, the jungle that inspired Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book. Named after the Pench River that divides the forest into nearly two equal halves, the Project Tiger Reserve is located in the Seoni and Chhindwara Districts of Madhya Pradesh. Unlike the jungles in South India, the topography of this tiger reserve is distinguished by grassy meadows, with large tree species like teak, amaltas, dhora, and conspicuous white kulu trees, popularly known as "ghost trees". Treated like the step-sister of the popular Kanha and Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserves (also in MP), Pench (among others) had been on my checklist for as long as I can remember.

Like a middle-aged couple, comfortable in our marriage, the jungles and I have grown to love and respect each other over the years. But every marriage has experiences that awaken you from the deep slumber of domestic bliss; similarly, every once-in-a-while the jungles offer an experience that remains etched in my memory until something better comes along.
What distinguishes Pench from all the other jungle safaris I’ve embarked on so far, is the fact that this time around, I learned to listen; keenly, and patiently for the innumerable sounds made by the various denizens that reside here. The high-pitched "meow" of the peacock, the noisy crescendo of the cicadas, the "whoomph" of the langurs as they leap effortlessly from one tree to another – these are the sounds that bring contentment to my heart and a smile to my lips. Until now, I’d only “heard” these sounds, never actually listened. The "whoomph" of the langur, for instance, varies in crescendo when it’s in a state of sheer panic, quickly transforming into high-pitched shrieks of sheer terror when one of the jungle cats is on the move.

But when the King calls, the jungle listens; all the other sounds fade into the distance.
Our jeep was parked at a "chauraha", the Hindi word for intersection or crossroad, in the jungle. Following the panic-stricken calls of the Sambar with our ears, we waited in complete silence for the reason of the Sambar's alarm to materialize. Surrounded by thick vegetation on three sides, and tall, dry grass that concealed any animal that moved through it on the other, we depended heavily on audioception to determine the direction of the animal’s movement.
The "oongh" was unmistakable. The grass, at a distance, ruffled with every "oongh". I could barely conceal my excitement. If you've heard a tiger call, you'll know what I mean when I say that it's mesmerizing. It transfixes every other creature in its tracks. It's a call that announces the arrival of a creature that’s so beautiful that it's terrifying. Even today, when I close my eyes and think about that day, I can hear the "oongh" coming closer and closer to our jeep. We stared intently, straining our eyes to catch one glimpse of the jungle cat, cameras ready. The screams of the Sambar faded away, as the grass parted finally. I stopped breathing.

Quick as lightning, the tiger bolted and leaped onto the opposite side of the fire-line, vanishing into the wilderness, even before any of us could react or move a muscle. We were aghast. The jungle seemed to have swallowed this beautiful creature whole, leaving us feeling cheated. The driver assigned to our jeep seemed apologetic, like a parent covering up for his favorite child’s mistake. "It isn't just the tiger we've come to see," we told him. "It's the jungle we want to experience."
And what an unforgettable experience it was, as we drove into the fading twilight, watching the stars twinkling brightly in the velvety night sky, as the creatures of the night woke from their long slumber. For their watch had begun, and they wouldn't rest until the first rays of the sun touched the dew-kissed grass once again.

Nature’s Ultimate Predators

"How was the safari?" I asked someone who’d checked-in a day earlier at the Kabini River Lodges near Nagarhole.

"Nothing great!" he exclaimed. "All we saw were some deer, bison, birds, and dogs. I mean, I paid so much to come all the way here just to see some buffalo-like creatures and dogs? No tigers, no leopards. Such a waste!"
It's this single-minded obsession to spot the big cats that prevents people from enjoying their trips to the jungles. Sure, I'd love to see the tiger in all its majesty, or spot the shy leopard lounging lazily on a rock. But what I enjoy the most is the proximity to nature. The calling of the peacocks, trumpeting of elephants, or the "whoop" sounds the langurs make as they swing effortlessly from one tree to another, is music to my ears.

But what I'd never seen, until the recent Kabini trip, is a hunt in progress. Two days, and four safaris; the pack of eight Asiatic Wild Dogs, or the dhole, were a familiar sight. Three out of the four times we spotted them, these fearless, diminutive killing machines looked anything but ferocious. Frolicking in the grass, chasing each other around, this pack would remind anyone of their playful neighborhood dogs. Until, you watch them hunt.
On our last safari, we ran into the dhole family, clicking pictures and watching them from a safe distance. Soon the pack grew bored, and began walking lazily along the jungle track. As we continued watching, we saw a herd of chital or spotted deer, grazing peacefully at a distance. Suddenly, this picture of serenity took on a completely different turn. Pandemonium broke loose the moment the leader of the pack spotted the herd. Emitting a barely audible whistle-like sound, the pack broke into a run, splitting into small groups in a smooth flanking movement, catching the chital by complete surprise as they scattered haphazardly.

Unlike tigers and leopards, these communal hunters don’t give their prey the luxury of time to warn the others of the impending danger. They simply attack, tearing off chunks even as the terrified animal continues to run, eating them alive bite by bite. It is said that even the mighty jungle cats steer clear of dholes. Weighing as little as 13- 17 kilos, these rust-brown carnivores are said to bring down a lone tiger if need be. That said, what’s concerning is that these highly endangered species are ignored by most conservationists and researchers. Perceived as pests, the common folk look at them with the same disdain reserved for street mongrels. Adding to their misery is the fact that they aren’t as beautiful to look at or enthralling as other predators.
Coming back to the hunt. As the chase continued, our jeep followed at a distance, so as to not interfere with nature’s plan. It was chaotic mix of dust and hooves, before the herd and the dhole family disappeared into the thick, impenetrable vegetation. Whether or not the dhole went hungry that day, is something I don’t know. But when a new guest asked me how the safari was, I replied, my eyes twinkling with excitement – "It’s an experience that's going to remain imprinted in my mind for a really long time!"