"You will die if this drug gets into your bloodstream," the veterinarian tells us without fanfare. He's holding up a hefty rifle and a wickedly large dart filled with M99, a drug 10,000 times more potent than morphine and strong enough to bring down a rhino in minutes.
We know his warning is a serious one (just 0.001 milliliters can be lethal to humans) but we also know we're in excellent hands: this is Dr. Dave, the same wildlife veterinarian involved with Lawrence Anthony in the attempted rescue of the northern white rhinos from Uganda in the book The Last Rhinos.
With his words ringing in our ears, we go through a run-down of the equipment: the darts with their gaudy red tails, the vials of antidote, kits for sampling blood, clippers for ear notching, a cordless drill, a supply of tiny microchips. We are on a game reserve in South Africa's KwaZulu-Natal province, for a day of identifying and notching young rhinos to protect them from the rapidly escalating threat of being poached for their horns. In South Africa alone, 1,004 rhinos were killed by poachers during 2013: that's almost three per day, every single day. So far in 2014, 172 have been killed there. Since March 2013, all remaining rhinos in Mozambique have been killed: there are simply none left. The rhino is truly on the brink of extinction because of this savage trade.
To join the team, we get up at 4:30 a.m., slurping down a quick coffee and rushing off to a bumpy bush airstrip. A tiny white helicopter takes off, sending our hair and clothing flying in all directions. The veterinarian, Dr. Dave Cooper, is on board to search for and dart a sub-adult rhino. The ground team, including us, is left to load up all the necessary gear and follow in two trucks. A suitable rhino calf is quickly spotted and we race through the bush to catch up with the chopper. It's not easy co-ordinating things: the rhinos can be anywhere on the 23,000 hectare (56,800 acre) reserve. Not only is it like looking for a needle in a haystack, Dr. Dave must also find a very specific needle, namely a young rhino with "clean" ears, one that has not yet had its ears notched and tagged for identification.
The race is on and time is of the essence. Once darted, the rhino must be found and worked on within 15 minutes. The youngster is blindfolded to protect the eyes and sluiced with water to keep cool in the increasing heat. Blood samples are taken. The small scraps of flesh removed from the ears by the notching are taken for further testing. Microchips are inserted into the horns so the animals can be tracked and located, and also to provide vital evidence in poaching cases.
The animals are measured and checked for any wounds, which are quickly slathered with antibiotics. All this is done with practiced efficiency while several incredibly brave men from the Anti-Poaching Unit stand guard between Mom, her infant and us. It's an unnerving experience for both animals and humans, but given the ferocity of today's poaching gangs, it is necessary if these splendid creatures are to survive in the wild.
The thwock of the helicopter tells us where the airborne team is waiting for us to catch up. There's an urgency in the ground to air communications: they have found a black rhino, lighter on its feet than the white rhino and arguably feistier. "Dart's in! Dart's in!" comes the call and we rush in, straining to see where the woozy calf will break through the vegetation. It falls, its breathing shallow and rapid, and the team sets to work. Fifteen hectic minutes later we retreat to our vehicles, waiting for the youngster to come round. Seeing him up on his feet, the vehicles lurch away through the thick bush to allow a mother and child reunion.
"It's hurry up and wait, just like the army," jokes a team member as we sit in the blazing sun while the chopper scouts the savannah for another rhino youngster. This time, a white rhino mother and calf are found but must be gently herded away from a group of four or five other adults. They are in an area of bush full of thorny young acacia trees which attack our arms. Thorns draw blood as our legs disappear into thick, scratchy grasses: ticks are a constant plague. The darting is successful, the work quickly completed, the ignominy of lying unconscious in the veld soon over for the female calf. She gazes around in confusion, surprised by the ring of vehicles and humans. She stands for a couple of minutes then ambles off towards her mother as if nothing happened.
The day is now hot and there are concerns that we will not be able to find and work on a third calf in these increasing temperatures. Despite the huge costs involved in putting these teams together and renting the helicopter and pilot, a decision is made to hold off the next darting until the relative cool of the late afternoon. By then, the skies have clouded and it's extremely humid. Team leader Simon drives like a man possessed, rocketing over the rough dirt roads to meet up with the chopper. Standing in the open flatbed back of the truck is no time to start thinking about insurance cover, we realize: our spines are being seriously abused, our knees creak and our fingers ache from our white-knuckle grip on the grab bars.
The airborne team locates a final white rhino mother and calf, but this is a truly dedicated mother. She's anxious and dangerous and must be chased off repeatedly. We crouch beneath the hovering chopper, hands over our ears, while Dr. Dave resorts to using a blaring klaxon to keep Mom away. The calf is a male and, luckily, is tranquilized right next to the dirt track: given Mum's attitude, the team must be really quick this time and when the antidote clicks in and the calf is up on his feet, we all want to be well clear of the site. The mother is back on the scene within seconds as we cling to the sides of the Land Cruiser, hoping that all her concentration is on her baby - not on us. The calf isn't even wobbly as he comes round from the drugs and the pair canter off into the deep bush, instantly lost to sight.
Dr. Dave packs up his rifle, stows the vials of M99 away and says his farewells. For him, it was just another day's work. For us, it will be an indelible memory. We come away saddened that the rhinos must be treated like this, tranquilized, poked and probed. We're angered that poaching is such a tragic waste of these beautiful animals. Tell all those rhino horn users to go chew on their fingernails: both rhino horn and fingernails are basically keratin, so the aphrodisiac or health effects would be about the same. But we are immensely heartened by the fact that there are people who care enough to do this work and we are fervently praying for their success.
