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A true conservationist is a man who knows that the world is not given by his fathers, but borrowed from his children.

- John James Audubon


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Travel

Dec 07, 2018

The Lilayi Elephant Nursery: The Story of One Orphan, and 11 Years of Conservation.

The Orphanage provides a sanctuary for defenceless calves, who are the victims of poaching, human conflict or, occasionally, natural abandonment. The catalyst was a single elephant called Chamilandu.

WRITTEN BY

Sarah Kingdom

2007, South Luangwa National Park, Zambia.

A one and a half-year-old elephant is left alone and helpless when her mother is shot dead by poachers. The orphan calf is taken to what is now the Game Rangers International, Kafue National Park Release Facility to be raised. Healthy, but understandably traumatised, Chamilandu, as she was named, struggled to come to terms with the loss of both her mother and extended family. Suffering nightmares that had her screaming aloud in her sleep, it took a great deal of love and attention from dedicated keepers to give her the reassurance she needed to adjust to her new life.

In the intervening years, Chamilandu has grown into the matriarch of the orphan herd. Mothering and comforting the younger orphan calves as one tragedy or another has brought them to the orphanage. She has recently started to demonstrate her desire to live independently in the bush; going on longer and longer forays alone, away from the release centre. Seen interacting and mating with a wild bull in the park, a positive sign that she is ready to create new ‘family/friendship’ bonds and is preparing herself for a life in the wild… the ultimate goal of her rescuers all those years ago.

Learning new skills

We first saw Chamilandu on a game drive in Kafue National Park, Zambia’s oldest and largest national park and one of Africa’s wildest. We were on our way to the Release Centre to see the orphan herd coming in for their lunch break after a morning in the bush. The group were close to the road and the keepers were tucked out of sight, allowing the small herd to graze freely, but still be under their protective surveillance. Chamilandu, wearing radio collar in preparation for her anticipated ‘move’, was in a playful mood. Getting closer and closer to us, shaking her head from side to side in a slightly comical fashion, as we slowly reversed the car. Eventually slipping past the herd we went ahead to await the groups’ arrival.

one elephant killed every 15 minutes!

Met at the Release Centre, we were first shown the ‘kitchen’ where bottles are filled with the correct ‘recipe’ for each youngster and then escorted to the main Elephant Boma from where we could see the orphans ambling ‘home’. ‘Home’, an enclosure of about 10 hectares, is located on the bend of a river and fenced to make it predator proof. Once the elephants got close to the boma, they picked up speed and were soon clamouring at the gate, to be let in for their bottles and piles of pellets that form their lunchtime feed.

Elephants in Africa are under serious threat, primarily due to large-scale poaching for ivory and also as a result of conflicts arising from elephant/human interactions. It is estimated that 25,000 elephants are being killed in Africa every year… this works out at approximately one elephant killed every 15 minutes!

Bonding time… forming new relationships

Having visited the older orphans in Kafue, I was keen to visit The Elephant Orphanage Project’s Lilayi Elephant Nursery, which is situated on a 650-hectare game farm on the outskirts of Lusaka. When under the age of three, young elephants are extremely vulnerable and dependent. Most will not survive without both their mother’s care and her nutrient-rich milk. The first port of call for any orphan rescued anywhere within Zambia, is the Lilayi Elephant Nursery, and it is here that these fragile babies are looked after twenty-four hours a day – a milk dependent orphan requires a bottle of its special formula every three hours! Trained keepers care for and watch over their charges constantly; taking them on daily ‘bush walks’, feeding them and staying close at hand to provide reassurance when the babies are in the stables at night. These keepers play a vital role in the emotional and social recovery of the young elephants, and become the ‘mother figures’ the babies desperately need. Elephants are tactile and highly sociable and the keepers become the orphans’ ‘new family’, maintaining physical contact with the babies, talking to them and showing them the same affection their wild elephant family would. As the orphans gain more confidence, human contact is gradually reduced and they are encouraged to turn to the other elephants for comfort, rather than the keepers. This is an important part of their rehabilitation.

The orphans need to be watched over at all times; they need to be covered, with blankets when cold, rainwear when wet and natural sunscreen (like a mud bath) when out the sun, for the first few months of a baby’s life. Baby elephants are difficult feeders and their minders need endless patience to encourage them to drink sufficient milk for growth. Like humans, baby elephants also need toys and stimulation, and so distractions and entertainment have to be built into their daily routine. An elephant will only thrive if happy.

A muddy orphan waits for rescue.

As soon as calves can be weaned from milk (approx 3 years old) they are moved from Lusaka to the Release Facility in Kafue National Park, where they join older orphaned elephants. Here they learn to live more independently and spend much of their time wandering freely through the bush. The Kafue Release Facility is adjacent to the ancient Ngoma Teak Forest where there is a 1,000 strong local elephant population, maximising chances for the orphans to integrate with other elephants and gradually move back into the wild.

12th June 2018 and the latest rescue baby joins the Elephant Orphanage Project, with one of their most rapid response rescues to date. In the early hours of the morning, an alert was raised that a six-month-old calf had been found abandoned in Livingstone. The baby was quickly rescued and transferred to the nearby ‘Elephant Café’, where it was stabilized, fed, watered and calmed by the presence of the other elephants (who are resident at the ‘Café’). Meanwhile, the team in Lusaka worked rapidly to fly a purpose-built crate down to Livingstone. The baby was then mildly sedated and crated, ready for her upcoming journey; a two-hour flight to Lusaka followed by an hour-long drive to the Elephant Nursery, where she was safely tucked up in bed by eight-thirty that night.

The little calf initially known as #43, in honour of being the forty-third elephant assisted by EOP, has now been renamed Lufutuko (Tuko for short), which means ‘survivor’ in Tonga, the local language. She is still very vulnerable and traumatised. Safely in the orphanage, she is getting to know her keepers and being regularly fed specialized milk formula. Like all the young elephants at the orphanage, she has a long and difficult road ahead to overcome the loss of her family, learn how to integrate and socialize with other elephants and ultimately grow into a healthy adult who will hopefully ultimately walk free.

Spending some time getting familiar with the bush.

It costs a lot to raise an orphan and give them a second chance at life… a lot more than you might think… from a rescue, to release and beyond, including post-release monitoring and research. Rescues alone can vary widely in cost depending on the area the calf is found. In some instances special vehicles, boats or even planes need to be hired, add to that scout and tracker fees, then vet fees, which can include quarantine, sedatives, blood tests and various medications and don’t forget the cost of ‘manpower’. An ‘average’ rescue can be in the region of US$2,500. And once an orphan is rescued costs continue to mount. With a staff of 27 at the Kafue Release Facility and another 17 at the Lilayi Elephant Nursery, wages are not an insignificant cost to be factored in. Feeding, veterinary, maintenance, communications… the list goes on. There are 18 orphans currently being cared for between the two facilities, each costing approximately $35,000 a year… the Elephant Orphanage Project has an operating budget in the region of $600,000 a year, which is an enormous struggle to secure.

 

The Elephant Orphanage Project was established in 2007, with critical and on-going funding from the David Shepherd Wildlife Foundation, the International Fund for Animal Welfare (IFAW) and the Olsen Animal Trust, with the mission of rescuing, rehabilitating and releasing orphaned elephants back into the wild. The Elephant Orphanage Project is part of a conservation initiative developed and operated by Game Rangers International, a Zambian, non-profit NGO.

You can visit the Lilayi Elephant Nursery, which is just a 35min drive from the centre of Lusaka any day of the year between 11.30 and 13.00. At 11.30 a staff member gives a short talk about the orphanage and you can visit the viewing deck which is an ideal vantage point for watching the elephants feed and play. Note that given the ultimate goal of releasing the elephants back to the wild, visitors are not permitted to touch the elephants. Cost: Adults K50, Children ages 12-18 K20, Children under 12 free. Every Monday entry is free.

If you want to venture a little further off the beaten track, then you can visit the Elephant Orphanage’s Kafue Release Facility in the southern part of Kafue National Park, 12km along the South Nkala Loop from Ngoma (location of the National Parks and Wildlife Headquarters). The closest places to stay when visiting the release centre is Konkamoya Lodge or HippoBay Campsite and Bushcamp [email protected]

For further information about Game Rangers International and the Elephant Orphanage, in particular, visit the Game Rangers International Website.

As with all conservation projects funds are always in short supply, any donations can be directed here.

Finally, you can also follow the project on the Facebook page.

 

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Travel

Jan 15, 2019

Not Your Father’s Ski Trip: Jackson Hole, WY

Inspired by images of her dad’s Jackson Hole college ski trip, the author heads north to tour the Tetons and tack a few pictures to the family scrapbook.

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WRITTEN BY

Kela Fetters

The author’s father launching a cliff at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort cerca 1987

This film shot of my father going big on a set of ridiculously thin, twin-tipped K2s cerca 1987 instilled in me a deep gratitude for today’s fat freeride sticks and a sense of duty to keep the family’s cliff-hucking legacy alive. Scrapbook open on his lap, my dad extolled the terrain of Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, which he visited “back in the good ol’ days” at Colorado State University. He described a steep wonderland besotted with cliffs that beg for reckoning. After the past several seasons of wimpy Colorado snow totals whilst Jackson churned out foot-deep day after foot-deep day, I was enthused by the resort’s inclusion on my 2018-2019 Ikon Pass. With my own graduation looming in May, I figured the time was right for some Teton escapades. Like father, like daughter.

Car outfitted with a socioeconomically oxymoronic stash of ramen and expensive ski gear, I punched seven hours northward and arrived the night after a vicious storm cycle spat 20 inches of fresh flakes onto the mountains. The next day popped bluebird and my posse navigated the foreign slopes via trial, error, and the inexhaustible freneticism of college kids on vacation. We nabbed fresh tracks on Headwall and Casper Bowl, giggled down pillows on the Crags, and pinballed around the Hobacks. A ride up in the iconic Jackson Hole tram revealed a closed Corbet’s Couloir, ostensibly requiring another wave of coverage before its seasonal unveiling. I was forced to settle for a waffle at Corbet’s Cabin instead of matching my dad’s drop into the legendary chute. With the blood of my father and powder-fueled adrenaline surging through my veins, I willed myself over the most tantalizing cliffs on offer in Rendezvous Bowl.

The iconic Jackson Hole Mountain Resort tram, cerca 1987
Corbet’s Couloir: a timeless classic
Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, cerca 1987

In the words of the great Cyndi Lauper: Oh daddy dear, you know you’re still number one, but girls, they wanna have fun.

It’s part and parcel of parenthood to agitate over the safety and well-being of one’s children. I’ve subsumed backcountry skiing into my hobbiesnew territory for this family’s lineage. On my nascent out-of-bounds outings, my father, a textbook concerned parent, grumbled about avalanches, terrain traps, and my insurmountable naïvity. Several seasons of diligent education, one avy bag, and countless snow pits later, I’ve earned his reluctant acceptance, if not enthusiasm, for my backcountry pursuits.  In the words of the great Cyndi Lauper: Oh daddy dear, you know you’re still number one, but girls, they wanna have fun.

Finding deep snow on Headwall
Pillows aplenty on the Crags

After two days of charging in-bounds, my psyche longed for the solitude of the skintrack. Teton Pass, Grand Teton National Park, and the resort sidecountry make the area a veritable playground for backcountry enthusiasts. It’s a family affair in Jackson; a fraternal ethos is evident in the fact that 97% of the nearly 4 million acres of Teton County are federally owned or state managed. Locals are quick to mark their territory on Teton Pass with the exclamatory hieroglyphs of first tracks, but the terrain is ample enough to find virgin snow. After giving the snowpack several days to stabilize post-squall, we found wiggle room on north-facing aspects along the Mail Cabin Creek drainage. Our final line of Day 1 was the Do-Its, a bifurcated powder track that converges and meanders twelve hundred feet back down to the road. At the hill’s zenith, minute snowflakes collapsed into liquid and rolled from our hardshells. We stood atop a wind-plumped knoll and observed the gnarl of peaks, foregrounded by Mount Taylor and Mount Glory, tumbling into a horizon of exposed rock and liquescent white. The unperturbed flank below screamed for human contact. I was all too happy to oblige the siren’s call with a quick tuck into the void. My skis made that sanctified first contact with the snow below. A crescendo of polestrokes invoked a maelstrom of flakes to drown the world in white. Hips squiggling, mind locked to the minutia, dopamine and adrenaline flooding the nervous system, and a raven on high with a vantage point a ski cinematographer would kill for. Then I burned through the mountain’s vertical; the dance with gravity ended in an expository wave of white smoke. I looked back and the sublime evidence was a single, undulating track across the otherwise unblemished face.

Cloud inversion over the Teton Valley from the top of Mt. Glory
Top of Mt. Glory

My final day in Jackson came courtesy of Exum Mountain Guides, an 80-year-old Teton-based guiding service that offers instruction and adventure on rope and skis in North America, the Alps, Andes, and Himalayas. The service traces their lineage to local legends of the 1930s like Glenn Exum, Paul Petzoldt, and Barry Corbet. They’re the granddaddy of Jackson guiding services and the resident experts on Grand Teton National Park. Despite the government shut-down and limited National Park operations, dedicated employees were plowing the entrance road and ensuring access to some of the Tetons best snow staches. My guide for the day was Brendan O’neill, who informed me of the birth of his daughter Jessie three weeks prior as we puttered to the Taggart Lake Trailhead.

If newborn Jessie was taxing this new dad’s sleep and energy reserves, his athletic, assiduous pace on the skintrack suggested otherwise. I asked Brendan about fatherhood, hoping to glean some insight into my own dad’s relationship with raising a daughter. He hopes to have Jessie on skis the second she can walk; he would be thrilled if she took to alpine or nordic racing, but amenable if she chose not to compete; he is excited to show her the world beyond the boundaries of a ski resort. As we muscled up towards Amphitheater Lake, I mused that twenty years from now, Jessie might look at pictures of her dad guiding in far-flung locales and make plans to fill and transcend those footsteps. I wonder if Brendan knows how much she will look up to him and his accomplishments.

Exum Guide and new father Brendan O’neill

  Even the evergreens projected patriarchy: the tallest trees nucleated their sapling broods with paternal solemnity, each molecule of powder glistening in the shaggy green branches. We broke through the forest onto snow-covered Amphitheater Lake, a cirque bounded by the bald, mangled granite of Teewinot to the north and Disappointment Peak to the west. On a snack pitstop, we watched another party of skiers lay down tracks in Spoon Couloir, a steep, enticing chute on Disappointment Peak’s lower haunch. Brendan seemed to sense my desire to get after a big alpine line and suggested we bootpack the Spoon must have been his newly acquired parental mind-reading superpower. After crossing the lake, we cut a haphazard zig-zag to the top of the Spoon’s apron and transitioned to the bootpack. 500 feet of vertical boot-punching propelled us up the gut and bookended the nearly 5,000 feet of vertical notched from trailhead to objective. From our humble perch on Disappointment’s flank, an electric blue sky slumbered atop a soupy mass of clouds, hallmark of a Teton Valley temperature inversion. Backgrounded by this topsy-turvy atmosphere, I skied down the hard-packed snow of the spoon’s handle into its apron of softer powder.

The Spoon Couloir visible on looker’s left of lower Disappointment Peak (center)
Bootpacking up the Spoon

Grand Teton, senior pinnacle of its range, poised with patriarchal authority over Middle Teton, Mt. Owen, and all the rest

To redeem the remainder of our hard-earned vertical, Brendan led us through a mellow glade percolated with unrumpled pillows aplenty. Matching his cuts through the pines was reminiscent of a childhood spent following my dad around the resort as I learned to trust my edges and my body. As I ripped skins back in the parking lot, giddy with alpine energy, I turned to gaze up at the Grand Teton, senior pinnacle of its range, poised with patriarchal authority over Middle Teton, Mt. Owen, and all the rest. I owe this unforgettable trip to Jackson Hole to my father for choosing to raise and inspire (and generously fund) a skier.

Thanks to Exum Mountain Guides for making this trip possible.

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