Frances Valdes--Elephants of the Hoanib

Elephants of the Hoanib

A Love Affair

Frances Valdes

Stumpy's herd. Photo courtesy of the author.

Stumpie's herd. Photo courtesy of the author.

In my dreams I see Stumpie. I see her where sand dunes gather at the base of mountains. I see her amongst small herds of springbok and oryx grazing on green bushes. I see her majestically walking, slow but assertive, along the dry riverbed. A walk saying ‘I am the largest mammal to walk this planet, you will move out of my way’.

We spent ten days with the Stumpie, her daughters and grandcalves last year. We accompanied them as they walked east in the Hoanib Valley, Namibia, and then returned west. Each leg taking two to three days. We trailed after them in them in our hired expedition land cruiser with its roof top tent; camping at a bush camp in the east, and wild camping in the west. Now, we were back for another two weeks of isolation and wonder in the wilderness of the Hoanib Valley. We were back to spend time in one of the most beautiful places on earth; back to immerse ourselves in the lives of desert elephants; back to find Stumpie and her family.

We had spent two days driving through the Palmweg Concession Area to arrive in the Hoanib Valley. The Concession Area is a four wheel drive, permit only, area of the Namib Desert. This year, it appeared more arid than before. The previously sparse vegetation had disappeared after years of drought, and with it, almost all animals. Although, we had received an unwelcome nighttime visit by a spotted hyena, making us grateful our roof top tent was just that - hyenas have been known to drag people out of ground tents. After days in the Palmweg Concession, the Hoanib Valley seemed lush.

Many millions of years ago, the Hoanib river cut a path through rising mountains. These mountains now contain some of the oldest rocks on the planet. Today, the river is ephemeral, but its occasional flow provides enough moisture for camelthorn, and ana trees. The trees provide enough food for springbok, and oryx. The antelope herds provide enough food for desert lions. And through it all, desert elephants amble.

Elephants can be elusive. They disappear into shrubbery in a way belying their size. We were therefore surprised to find Stumpie almost immediately we arrived in the Hoanib Valley. She had joined with another family of elephants, making the herd around twenty in total. It was a rare treat to find so many elephants, especially so soon after entering the Hoanib. The elephants were scattered across the sandy valley floor, grazing on trees and bushes. Small groups gathered under the wide branches of camelthorn trees, sheltering from the afternoon sun, eating its seeds. Elephants exude peace; perhaps it’s their slow movements; or perhaps it’s because they have few predators and no desire to become one.

It was mid afternoon when we arrived, the hottest part of the day, when all animals (and humans) get sleepy. Occasionally, a tired calf would stop and lean against a tree, shutting its eyes and wrapping its trunk around the bough. Sometimes, a calf would lie down, trunk first - a funny manoeuvre we only saw calves undertake. The adults would then stop and, using their bodies, shelter the calf from the sun; standing guard against the few predators posing a threat to an elephant calf.

The large herd included a very young, very cute calf who we named Short Shorts. It was a joke at the time, now I can’t remember what was so funny. We watched as Short Short’s mother walked down the valley, but Short Shorts didn’t follow. He lingered over a pile of elephant dung lying in the sand. I read (I read a lot about elephants) that dung sniffing is common among young elephants, it is thought to be a way of learning the smell of their herd. Later, when calves are older, they eat dung, probably to provide good gut bacteria. Short Short’s mother was not happy with his dallying, and walked back to him, swinging her trunk with irritation. She gave him a push moving him on. It seemed such a human reaction.

Short Shorts and friend. Photo courtesy of the author.

The herd walked down the valley and we drove ahead of them. We like elephants to come to us, so they feel in control and comfortable in our presence. We parked in the shade of a tree, away from where we thought they would go. Short Short’s mother was on a short fuse that day. Perhaps, the stress of  new parenthood was getting to her. The herd arrived, and Short Short’s mum spotted us. She started slowly walking towards us, ears out, with a swagger in her step. We reversed back to another tree, but she kept coming towards us; not in a threatening way, but assertively. We reversed back again, but this wasn’t enough. She continued towards us. We reversed a third time. This time she was satisfied, and she turned her back to us - clearly we weren’t a threat. She led Short Shorts to the tree we had been parked under. She had shooed us away from her desired tree, in the same way we corral hens in our garden.

We were surprised to find Stumpie amongst the large herd. Last year we only saw her with her three daughters and three calves. It was easy to recognise Stumpie because of her eponymous half tail. Apparently, elephants often loose their tails in fights, or get them caught on bushes. She was called Stumpie by everyone we met (admittedly that wasn’t many people). Last year, we met an elephant researcher who angrily said the locals knew nothing about elephants, and cited the fact that her name wasn’t Stumpie (I can’t remember what he said it was, as she will always be Stumpie to us).

The reality is, none of us know what Stumpie is called. Research shows that elephants have names for each other. Stumpie’s real name is probably a series of rumbles and squeaks, which we can’t hear. Another elephant fact - they emit low frequency sounds imperceptible to the human ear. These sounds travel for miles, allowing them to communicate over vast distances, up to 10 km and in some circumstances further.

I wondered what caused Stumpie to join another herd that day. Was this a regular occurrence, or some kind of annual celebration? Do elephants celebrate? I know the females of a herd gather around a new calf. I know they acknowledge a dead elephant by touching its body with their trunks, and revisiting the place of death later. In a postscript to the book ‘The Elephant Whisperer’ by Lawrence Anthony (owner of a South African reserve), it was said that the day he died, the elephants he befriended arrived at his home, despite not having visited it for many months previously. They returned on the anniversary of his death for the next three years. I find it easy to anthropomorphise elephants. Their intelligence and social behaviour lends itself to comparison with humans but, bearing in mind elephants have been on this planet longer than us, perhaps I should be saying we emulate them.

The elephants of the Hoanib Valley are desert adapted elephants, and not a separate species. They have developed ways of dealing with their arid home, and have larger feet, longer legs and smaller bodies than their savannah relatives. In the Hoanib Valley, because of a lack in minerals, they don’t all have tusks. Stumpie had tusks, but one of her daughters didn’t. At the beginning of the last century it was believed there were about 3000 desert adapted elephants in North West Namibia. A survey in 2013 estimated there were only around 600 still remaining; of which Stumpie and her family made up seven. Sorry, that was a lot of elephant facts in just one paragraph!

After spending our first afternoon with the elephants, we made camp on an ancient river terrace, outside the main valley. Camping in the Hoanib is forbidden. In fact, it would be unwise because of flash floods, and possible encounters with animals higher up the food chain than us. Our land cruiser came with all the necessary camping equipment, allowing us to be self-sufficient for a number of days. This included a hot water boiler, and a 140 litre water tank. I am not a natural camper and cannot imagine going a day without a shower.

The Palmweg Concession and Hoanib Valley are remote, and driving is exclusively on rocky or sandy tracks. We did not come to this kind of trip lightly. Nigel, my husband, was born and brought up in Zimbabwe. He spent his formative years in the bush, sometimes camping, sometimes with the luxury of a tent. It was in his youth that he learnt how to drive over rocky, sandy landscapes, and through rivers. It was when he was young that he learnt how to track animals. I, on the other hand, spent my youth in the United Kingdom, loathed camping (until Namibia), and thought roughing it meant staying in a 3 star hotel.

Camping in Namibia was different from Europe, and to my surprise I loved it. I loved being alone in a primal wilderness. I loved waking up with the sun, kicking over the previous night’s fire to rekindle it, and drinking my first coffee as the sun rose over ancient mountains. I loved watching the sun get higher, illuminating previously hidden gullies, and bringing at first warmth then blistering heat into the desert below. Camping gave us freedom to go where we wanted, when we wanted, and take as long as we wanted. Also, if I’m honest, it was exciting being alone in a hostile environment, relying on our wits and resources - albeit with a hired satellite phone if our wits were inadequate.

On our second day in the Hoanib we went straight back to where the large herd had been. It didn’t take us long to find some of them. The herd had split and Stumpie’s family was no longer among them. We followed the smaller herd, which included Short Shorts, for a while before making a tactical mistake. We had driven ahead, but accidentally backed ourselves against a river bank just as the elephants arrived. One of the older calves spotted our vehicle and was curious. He came over to us with his mother following, but we couldn’t back away.  I have a theory, perhaps a delusion, that because I love elephants and would never harm them, they sense this and will return the favour. However, I did not want to test my theory. I have seen videos of angry elephants flipping cars and safari trucks over.

The calf reached the front of our car, and started to feel it with his trunk. We sat very, very still, and very quiet. The calf’s mother walked over to the passenger side, where I was sitting. When we watch elephants we always keep our windows open (unlike when we see lions!), as we want them to get to know our smells, and become used to us. The adult elephant stood next to my window and raised her trunk to sniff us. They both moved on, and we breathed again. It was a frightening, yet magical moment.

We decided to change direction, and go east to find Stumpie. It didn’t take us long. She was with one of her daughters and a grandcalf. At that time, we didn’t see the rest of her herd, but I’m sure they weren’t far away. Last year, one of the three calves in Stumpie’s herd was very young. It was either one month or nine months old, depending on who you asked. During the days we spent in the Hoanib we sometimes met guides from one of the two luxury lodges close to the valley. In the African wilderness, it is always courtesy to stop when you see another vehicle, check everyone’s OK, and exchange information. Guides are guiding, and have to provide ‘facts’ for their guests. We sometimes found these ‘facts’  contradicted ‘facts’ told by another guide.

So, last year, there was a one or nine month old calf with Stumpie. He didn’t have control of his trunk. He would shake and wiggle it, staring at it in the same way a baby sometimes finds their foot fascinating. This calf would bait the older calves, pushing them and pulling their tails. He had enough trunk control for pulling a tail, which may indicate he was older than one month. Another elephant fact; an elephant’s trunk has around 90,000 muscle fibres, but a young calf only has control of a few of these. This year, however, the calf didn’t seem so playful - he was growing up.

Towards the end of our stay in the Hoanib we met a guide who told us Stumpie gave birth last May, but the calf had died. The story about Stumpie’s calf was repeated by a different guide a few days later, so we thought it was true. Stumpie had a reputation for being irritable last year, but was calmer this year. If she had been 18 months pregnant, it could explain her irritability. Elephant nerd alert; elephants spend between 20 and 22 months pregnant, and give birth to a calf weighing in the region of 90 kg.

One guide said the calf died after two days because Stumpie gave birth far from water, and it wasn’t strong enough to walk to a waterhole. Another guide said the calf was born with deformed legs, possibly because the father was too close in kinship to Stumpie. Researchers had taken D.N.A. to check the latter theory. We thought the kinship theory made more sense. Stumpie was an experienced mother and it seemed unlikely that she would give birth far from water, especially as there are several manmade waterholes in the Hoanib Valley. As an aside, it was filling our water tanks from boreholes feeding these waterholes, which enabled our daily showers.

As our holiday continued we spent more days with the two elephant herds; one moving in the west of the valley, and Stumpie in the east. One day, we came across two adolescent bulls in the western herd. They were play fighting; locking tusks, and heads. Sometimes it appeared to get serious. When bulls get to adolescence they are exiled from the herd. It’s not known if this is because they become troublesome, or to make sure the gene pool is kept diverse. We wondered how much longer these calves would be allowed to remain with their female relatives. It is a difficult time for bulls when they are driven out of the family clan. He will try to find another adolescent bull for society, and an older bull to act as a mentor.

We were aware of one huge bull who was usually in the western end of the Hoanib. Perhaps he was the father of Stumpie’s calf. Last year we watched him take a dust bath. Unlike female elephants, who use dust lying on the ground, he destroyed a three metre high sandy bank at the side of the valley. He walked up to it, dug his tusks in, and released large clouds of sand. It was an awesome sight, revealing his immense power.

We had always wanted to know what the elephants did at night, and at Christmas I gave Nigel a trail cam. Every night we left it out, and every night it photographed nothing. It even missed the spotted hyena’s visit. Nigel wanted to leave it overnight at a waterhole known as the President’s Waterhole. This was on a large sandy plain a few metres above the Hoanib Valley. However, there was nowhere to attach the trail cam apart from a large flat rock lying on its side. Nigel stood the rock up, with a view to attaching the trail cam to it. In this part of the world, a strong wind always develops in the afternoon and evening. Nigel was concerned the wind would blow the rock over, so he left it upright overnight, as a test.

The following morning we arrived at the waterhole and were delighted to see Stumpie and her family drinking. The elephants left the waterhole and went to a shallow dip in the ground, which had loose sand. The adults started to shower themselves with sand. The calves didn’t have enough trunk skills for a proper dustbath, but managed to suck up small amounts of sand and spray it in the general direction of their backs. Stumpie suddenly noticed the rock Nigel had left standing overnight. She swaggered over to it, trunk swinging, and put her trunk around it. She felt it for a bit, then pushed the rock over, laying it in the original position before Nigel interfered with it. She walked off!

After the dustbath, the herd walked away from the waterhole but something spooked them. They ran; and ran surprisingly fast (another nerdy fact -  they can run up to 40km an hour). I don’t understand why elephants gets so frightened when they have so few predators. A lion will kill an elephant calf, but couldn’t take down a grown elephant. At the edge of the plain, Stumpie stopped, did a 360 degree turn holding her trunk in the air, trumpeted, and then ran on. The herd ran down the sandy bank at the side of the valley and into some bushes. All seven disappeared into a small stand of bushes. There was a tree in the middle of the bushes, and it shook, as if the elephants were taking their anger out on it. It went quiet. Anyone driving by the bushes would never know there were seven scared elephants hiding in them.

A few days later we spoke with a guide about the scared elephants. The guide thought their anxiety could be due to three young bulls, who had recently moved into the valley. These bulls had been causing problems with villagers in another area - eating crops and breaking fences. The villagers chased them away using dogs and loud noises, which made the bulls aggressive. Their aggressiveness unsettled Stumpie’s herd. Another guide told us  “our elephants are calm, they are not used to that kind of behaviour”.

On, what turned out to be, our penultimate day in the Hoanib Valley, we failed to find any elephants. We were despondent, and returned early to our usual camping spot. The afternoon wind had not materialised which was strange, but a sand storm briefly coated everything with a fine dust, including a fat lion and her dead oryx. We started a campfire, and opened the beer. In the distance storm clouds, which had been growing over the last few evenings, seemed blacker, more forbidding, and perhaps a little closer. Above us the sky was clear.

The evening didn’t cool down, and we began to see lightning streak through the distant black clouds. The light show continued into the night. Inside our tent, I stayed awake watching the spectacle. At one point the van shook from a sudden gust of wind. In the U.K. this would indicate a gust front before rain, but here there was no rain.

The next morning was hot from the start. We went to the President’s Waterhole but there were only a few springbok drinking. A lodge vehicle arrived, and we drove over to speak to the driver. We told him where the fat lethargic lion and her dead oryx were, and he said there were a few elephants to the west. He told us that a couple of days ago, Stumpie and her family were seen going into the Skeleton Coast National Park at the western end of Hoanib Valley. This explained why we hadn’t seen her the previous day. The guide then told us a flash flood had cut off the eastern end of the valley, which was the main way to exit it. Floodwaters were making their way down the valley, and if we didn’t leave soon we would be cut off, unable to leave for days while the water died down, and the mud dried out.

On our last day in the previous year, Stumpie had taken her family out of the Hoanib onto some plains in the east. A few days later, we heard the valley had flooded. Now, Stumpie had taken her family to the west, a few days before a flash flood filled the valley. This behaviour is not unknown; it seems elephants sense when a flood is going to happen. Perhaps they hear distant thunder, or perhaps they sense increasing heat and humidity.

We could not afford to be stuck in a flooded Hoanib so, like Stumpie, we left. We left Stumpie, Short Shorts, and their friends; but they come back to me in my dreams, and we will return to them next year.

Frances enjoys writing short stories when she gets time, which regrettably isn’t often. A short story she wrote was runner up in the Scottish Sunday post’s short story competition. A flash fiction story was runner up in a competition and included in a book; another was listed for inclusion in a book, but the book wasn’t published. She has had two non-fiction articles published, one in 'Modern Farmer' magazine, and the other in a paragliding magazine. Frances is a keen photographer, winning the occasional competition, and selling photos through Istock by Getty images. She has had previous careers as a lawyer, and partner in her husband software business. Frances lives in Brighton UK with her husband and 3 cats

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