Whop-Whop-Whop

                                                                                                 By Dan Wise

 December 17 1985

Whop-whop-whop--
Very softly.
Whop-whop-whop--
 A helicopter?
A medivac? .....or just a dream.
Whop-whop-whop--
or an enemy gunship?
I sit up, suddenly awake with a pounding pulse.
Whop-whop-whop--It really is a helicopter!
 It is almost day light out. What time is it? And where is the coffee?

 I look around in the dawn light. I am in bed at a luxury game lodge in Northern Botswana, and was trying to sleep a bit before having a big breakfast with the rich German clients.
 Whop-whop-whop. What on earth is a helicopter doing over Savuti at this time of morning? The Sun isn’t up yet. The clients won’t be happy about the early wake up call. We had spent most of the night watching lions hunt impala.
 There are only a few helicopters in Botswana, and my first thought is it must be bringing someone who needed a fixed wing pilot and aircraft urgently. Savuti is a long helicopter flight to the nearest hospital. The Cessna I had flown the Germans here in yesterday, would be much quicker. I get up, and shake my shorts, and t-shirt, (to get any critters out), put them on, and wander out of the tent toward the toilet, the helicopter, and coffee. All three calling me with an equally strong attraction. 
 The helicopter lands, and I walk towards it. Three guys get out and walk to the dining area to talk with the camp owner. I see that no one is in panic mode, so my walking diverts from the helicopter and dining area to the other important task.
 The camp toilet is under a big Acacia tree. It used to be the only flushing toilet for 100 miles, but during a drought, the elephants had broken it up to get the water out of the cistern, so now it was just a fancy long drop with burlap sacking around as an attempt at privacy.  It is OK for squirrels, birds, and small reptiles to watch us ablute. We humans only want privacy from our own species.

 Next task is some coffee. The Savuti cook makes early coffee in a typical bush manner. First stir and spread last nights coals from the fire, and put on a pan that looks like a big wok. Then throw in a hand full of ground coffee, and pour some water into the wok. Wait. Then carefully scoop up some liquid off the top, so not to get too many crunchy grounds. The cook does all this to get the staff their first caffeine fix, and then makes some fancy filter coffee for the clients. I sneak around back to the kitchen and gently scoop up some coffee from the wok.
 Coming around the kitchen, I see the three guys from the helicopter looking at me, and the camp manager pointing at me. The guys introduce themselves. I know the helicopter pilot. The other two are a veterinarian, and an electronic fundi. The word “fundi” is Zulu/Swahili/Bantu for an educated expert in something.
They explain that they need someone who can sit in a helicopter all day, bouncing in turbulence, with some occasional low level maneuvering, all with out puking his guts out. Also someone who was comfortable around dangerous animals, and can work hard, doing physical labor. 
 None of that sounded like me at all.....Nope.....
 Then they said they needed someone to dig tunnels under elephants.
 Oh...Now that sounds cool...I smiled. This will look so great on my resume.

 We all grab some toast and more coffee while they explain things to me. The plan is to fly around Chobe National Park looking for large herds of elephants. Herds of elephants are always females and babies. Males are either alone, or in small groups. We will then fly around the herd causing them to run. 
 The vet will select the leader of the herd, the matriarch, and the pilot will fly close to her and the vet will shoot her in the ass with a tranquilizer dart gun. We then back off till she gets drowsy and falls down on her side for a nap.
 We will land close to the matriarch and jump out. The pilot will take off and fly around keeping the other elephants (and hopefully lions, buffalo, hyena, wild dogs, and other malicious wildlife) away from us.
 The vet will make sure the elephant is OK and not having a bad reaction to the drug. He will then check for any injuries, or sores, and then start taking measurements for the records.
 My job was to put a wet cloth over the matriarch’s eyes to keep them from drying out, then start digging a tunnel under the neck of the elephant. This is not as easy as it sounds, because the elephant is usually laying on its ear. Just digging a tunnel will damage the ear.
During this time the electronic fundi is preparing a collar that has a radio transmitter on it so the Wildlife Department will be able to track the herd. An elephant collar is not a wimpy thing. It was very thick, and stiff leather. Hence the need for a tunnel to get it under and around the elephant’s neck.
 Once the collar was on, and buckled tight. The electronic guy would test the radio. I would take off the eye cloths, and both of us would run to the landing helicopter. When we were safely on board, the vet would give the elephant a wake up shot in the vein behind it’s ear, and run for the helicopter. About 15 seconds later the really upset elephant would stand up. We wanted to watch this event safely from up above.
 After 3 elephants our total time was down from 15 minutes, to under 10. The less time the elephant is out the better. My back was sore, and I had blisters on my hands. But this was kind of fun. It was afternoon now and very turbulent. We all felt nauseous. The pilot said he was burning more fuel than he had planed, so next time after clearing the area, he would land instead of circling, but would keep the engine running, and the vet would have a radio to talk to the pilot if there was a problem.

 We found another big herd, and the vet shot the matriarch. She went down in a plain with very tall grass. Long grass is bad news because things can sneak up very close before you see them. We joked about the book “Death in the Long Grass” by Peter Capstick, but it wasn’t really funny.
The pilot had trouble getting close to the downed elephant because the tall grass would damage the tail rotor. The pilot finally hovered over an big termite mound, and we hopped out on to it. The vet was worried because the elephant had now been out for several minutes. We went straight to work. The pilot found a place about 200 yards away to land. I wasn’t happy in the tall grass without the helicopter overhead.
 I was digging away, when I heard a snort. All three of us were looking around with large eyes. I was ready to hit something with the shovel, and the vet had his syringe, and the radio guy was armed with his test box. After a few seconds the vet said to get back to work because the elephant had been out for too long.
 Then I heard a roaring sound, and saw a puff of dirt. I did a superman leap over the elephant, and collided midair with the radio guy. We crashed to the ground between the elephant's legs, and cushioned the fall of the vet when he landed on top of us a split second later. He was yelling into the radio “Mayday-Help-Mayday-Help!”
 There is a joke about when you are confronted with an animal that’s going to eat you, you should reach behind you, pick up some dung, and throw it at him. Some one always asks, “What if there is no dung?” The answer is “Don’t worry, it will be there.” That’s how I felt.
 Ever so slowly the helicopter rotor spins up, and ever so slowly it comes our way. There has never been a more lethargic Whop-whop-whop.
 Finally the helicopter appears overhead. It is making lots of what must certainly be animal scaring noises. I hope that the lion/buffalo/hippo/bear/dragon or whatever, now has it’s own dung to throw.
 The pilot flies around a bit, then moves off so we can hear him when he talks on the radio. He tells us we must be on drugs, because there is nothing there except us and a sleeping elephant. We peek over the top of the elephant, and see nothing, then a snort, and a big puff of dirt. I swear my heart stopped.

 I hope that, whatever it is, will get full eating the elephant first before eating me. I remind myself to breathe. The pilot again assures us there is nothing there. He hovers up real close, I can see him looking where we think something is. He shakes his head. The others push me to go look. They must have selected me because I am armed with the shovel.
 I crawl around the elephant and look where the snorting is coming from, and find the end of her trunk in the long grass. She is snoring. Each loud snort makes a puff of dirt. I wave the guys over, and we grab her trunk and pull it straight so we can see the end. We quickly finish the collar, and run for the termite mound and get in the helicopter. The vet injects her and runs. He gets in just as the elephant stands up. We are all covered in a thick mud layer, from all the sweat, and dust kicked up by the helicopter.
 We decide on a lunch break, and to let the pilot refuel. We did one more collar that day, and three the next day. We all agreed: No more tall grass! 
 I learned a few things. An elephant’s neck is huge, and the ears really get in the way. And I’ll always remember to pull an elephant’s trunk out straight before digging a tunnel under one.
 That night, we were standing around the fire, listening to lions and hyena, there was a sudden primeval feeling of ...of what? We froze, and didn’t move.
A herd of elephants then walked right by us, and through the camp.
 Dark gray and silent.
 The locals call it Ghosting.
 The elephants walked right between the tents, in the dark, and never touched a tent, tent peg, or tie down rope.
 It was a midnight ballet by one of God’s greatest creations.