By Jed Downs

Lying in bed and pondering the effects of jet lag, I heard a snort. Celestia, John’s sister, clearing her nose or throat I thought. Nope, next morning on the way to breakfast there were glossy piles of what looked like fresh cow patties. Indoor plumbing had saved me from my first way to die in Lewa: a wee hour’s encounter with a bull Cape Buffalo.

Robin, Anne and Celestia were on a game drive, safe in the protective bubble of a Toyota Land Cruiser. They learned two things: they could avoid dying from the bite of a puff adder if the puff adder is already half ensconced in the belly of a two-meter long black spitting cobra and that a spitting cobra can’t bite or spit venom if its mouth is already stuffed with puff adder

On a nature walk, Robert, the gardener and handyman, described seeing a python kill a gazelle. The snake wrapped its tail around a tree, for an anchor, then struck and immediately began to coil. The pressure from its coils increased the pressure in the gazelle’s brain to the point that blood vessels burst causing death by stroke (not suffocation as many presume).

On the window sill, we witnessed the life and death struggles of a fly as it tried to escape the grasp of a praying mantis. The mantis surgically separated the fly’s head from its beating wings, flailing legs and thorax before enjoying its meal.

We are not always witness to death. One morning while out exploring, we saw about eight large Ruppel’s Griffon vultures resting in a tree with more flying in. We speculated that there must be some carrion below, and then wondered why the vultures were in the tree? Perhaps they were waiting for a predator higher up in the pecking order to complete its meal. In the spirit of adventure we went to investigate. As we approached the area, a dozen vultures swooped down and a bloated zebra carcass came into view. Without taking time to say grace (or thank us for scaring off a larger predator- hyena or cat we will never know), the vultures started ripping the zebra carcass into bite sized morsels, sucking down intestines like a robin eating a worm, squabbling for position.

That evening we drove back to the scene, intending to observe an ecological system in progress, and hoping, maybe, to see a cat. But the only clues of the zebra carcass’s fate were a single hyena, slinking up the slope and going over a rise, and blotches of vulture crap on the rocks. No bones, no skin, no smear remained, only conjecture that the hyenas and vultures had torn the zebra asunder and dragged it to a different locale. Or, as hyenas are wont to do, they consumed it all, including the bones that would turn their stools as white as a vulture’s poo.

So far we have seen no cats, but we know they’re here. While running on the Lewa airstrip, I contemplated my options should a cat attack. The air strip is denuded of rocks; I could grab a stick and try to shove it down its throat, but even sticks are in short supply. My only means of defense might be to grab a wad of elephant dung to ram in the cat’s mouth as it swallowed my arm. I doubt it would be successful. Hopefully Anne and Robin (walking), or John (cycling) could bear witness that it was a good death.

Should I face a rhino as my nemesis (and we have seen many of these), I fantasize a different strategy. I would develop the agility of a Marvel superhero and as the animal barrels across the plain I run toward it and do a perfect Mary Lou Retton vault. Clearing the horns, I would neatly plant my hands on its shoulder, flip and land on my feet on excretory side of the beast.

Poachers run the risk of being tracked down by a blood hound named Tema and shot on the spot by one of Lewa’s armed, licensed to kill, rangers. We observed one of Tema’s training exercises and participated in a demonstration. I (the designated poacher) tried my best to outsmart the dog, running in circles and figure eights across the plain. A whiff of my foot print was transmitted to Tema via a gauze pad and within five minutes she found me hunkered down in a washed out pit. {photo}.

These are a few of the “1000 Ways to Die in the Lewa Nature Preserve”.