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Eco-tourism
- turning dung into dollars
- James Clarke
It is interesting to see the way game rangers are
dealing with the relatively new kind of tourist - the
eco-tourist. An eco-tourist, as opposed to the ordinary
sensible kind of tourist, is somebody who would rather
be charged by a rhino than eat in a famous restaurant.
They'd rather see a hippo rolling in mud than watch
Margot Fonteyn dance Swan Lake. (What? Margot Fonteyn
is dead? Well, no wonder then.)
I joined a group of eco-tourists recently in the Pilanesberg,
a game reserve an hour or so northwest of Johannesburg.
Being a bit of an eco-freak myself, I joined a four-hour
bush walk at dawn led by a sock-less ranger named Wayne.
Wayne carried a .275 rifle which I knew, if I were
to fire it, would propel me backwards across to about
Parallel 31. But the sight of the gun was a great comfort
to two in our group - one a Hungarian and the other
a Hollander. Both were very nervous.
Because of the presence of lion, rhino and elephant,
only six people at a time can walk with the ranger and
they must at all times stay behind him. Wayne said that
if an elephant charged we should climb trees. From then
on everybody walked so close behind him that every time
he stopped they concertinaed into his back. If he said
anything loudly they all leapt up trees.
I realised on this walk how much time eco-tourists
spend staring at animal droppings. This is what is so
great about turning eco-tourism into a major industry
- one simply needs lots of different kinds of dung and
people will spend good money just for privilege of standing
around looking at it.
Wayne picked up a dry acorn-shaped dropping. "Giraffe!"
he pronounced. Everybody wanted one. Then he pointed
out shiny droppings like little olives - "impala!"
Everybody crouched over the shiny heap. At one point
he motioned us to stop. We were standing on a giant
and ancient heap of rhino dung - a grey heap of what
looked like grass clippings. Odourless and dry it was
soft enough to sleep on. The Hungarian ran his fingers
through it uttering appreciative sounds.
Wayne said white rhino defecate on the same spot each
time. Thus they form middens - enormous heaps of dung.
On this particular heap was a sub-heap consisting of
what looked like a wheelbarrow load of finely chopped
twigs. Indeed that's what it was. "Black rhino!"
announced Wayne. "Black rhino browse and have poor
digestive systems - hence the tiny pieces of twigs.
White rhino graze, hence the 'grass clippings'."
He caught a scorpion, pulled the sting off its tail,
and, after offering it around, ate it himself. Eco-tourists
love this sort of thing.
He explained that black rhino normally kick their droppings
around with their back feet before the stuff hits the
ground. The Hollander observed that this must take a
lot of practice. But sometimes, said, Wayne, black rhino
make little piles of manure on top of white rhino middens
just to fool eco-tourists.
It must also confuse dung beetles because one species
of dung beetle specialises in black rhino dung and another
in white rhino dung. The Hollander was surprised this
sort of discrimination still went on.
We came across a football-sized elephant dropping.
Wayne broke it open and stuck his finger in it.
"Still warm, he said."That means it's fresh."
We looked around for trees. The Hollander pointed to
one nearby and said "That's mine!" He was
serious.
Wayne pointed out elephant spoor and said "I
hope it's not the Breeding Herd." (I use capital
letters there because of the way he said "Breeding
Herd". The phrase is guaranteed to send a thrill
through foreigners.) He said there were about 30 cow
elephants with very small calves.
Proceeding very cautiously, walking about 2 cm above
the ground so as to make no sound, we looked fearfully
about us. Suddenly we were riveted by the snapping of
a twig. The Breeding Herd!
For a moment I thought there might be an instant human
midden.
In the event, we sat on a rock and watched the herd
moving across the hillside with their little rubbery
calves totally unalarmed by our presence.
We saw a pair of dung beetles rolling a ball of dung
along. Wayne explained how the beetles lay their eggs
inside the tennis-ball-sized spheres and so their kids
spend virtually their entire youth eating their way
out.
"Not a great start in life," mused the Hollander.
The Hungarian said it sounded a bit like his own upbringing
in Russian-occupied Budapest in the 1950s.
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