Cats at close quarters

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Issue 31

Two of Africa’s big cat species – cheetahs and lions – are in danger of extinction. Human pressures are largely to blame. Thanks to their remarkable  adaptability, leopards seem to be to hanging on for now, but in recent years they too have been threatened. Could responsible tourism be the key to the big cats’ future? Predator conservation programmes have a crucial role to play in changing negative attitudes to carnivore behaviour in Africa – and by welcoming tourists, project leaders hope to generate enough revenue to fund vital research and rehabilitation initiatives. To find out more, we visit three big cat projects: Emma Gregg heads for Namibia’s AfriCat Foundation and Claire Foottit drops in on the researchers at the Laikipia Predator and Kilimanjaro Lion Conservation Projects in Kenya.  On the trail of leopards and cheetahs, by Emma Gregg Nothing can quite prepare you for the thrill of being eye to eye with a big cat at close range. If you’re on foot, the feeling flies off the scale. At the AfriCat Foundation, a carnivore conservation project based at Okonjima Farm in northern Namibia, close encounters of the feline kind are commonplace. The rangers know that you might find this a little heart-pounding – so they break you in gently. Your first encounter is not on foot at all, but in a high-clearance open safari vehicle. You and your fellow visitors drive into a 150-hectare enclosure in the company of an experienced cat-tracking guide. You feel perfectly safe. Safe, that is, until fifty kilogrammes of cheetah bounds onto the bonnet. When this happens to us, I’m very glad that our guide, Dean Mafika, is quick to reassure us with a grin. “This guy is one of our rescue cats. He and his friends over there are mostly either orphans, or unwanted pets. He’s bigger than your average cheetah, but there’s no need to be alarmed. He’s so used to people, he’s practically tame. But because we never let visitors touch or feed him, he’s not going to come any closer than this.” Six of this cheetah’s companions have loped up to check us out. With their long, elastic backs and streamlined heads, there’s no mistaking the fact that speed is their speciality. They’re built like greyhounds, only bigger, stronger and, from the wily look in their amber eyes, a great deal cleverer. I’m fascinated by their gait. Eyes precison-focused, they pad forward, left legs then right legs moving in pairs, in a manner enigmatically different from the front-leg-with-opposite-rear-leg ‘dog walk’ common to most cats. It’s slinky and muscular; they’re like a group of 100-metre champions between races, pacing around in their running spikes. Cheetah feet are, I discover, rather similar to athletes’ spikes: tough-padded, they have highly adapted claws which are blunt and only semi-retractable, perfect for traction and grip during their trademark, full-throttle, 70mph sprints. Practical as cheetah claws are for running, Dean tells us, they’re pretty useless for pinning down and finishing off prey. This is bad luck for orphaned cheetahs. Strangely perhaps, individuals which haven’t been taught by their mother how to kill swiftly by suffocation rarely manage to work out the procedure for themselves. No wonder, then, that motherless cubs have little chance of survival in the wild. While they might manage to catch and trip a running gazelle, the ensuing racket tends to be more than enough to attract rival predators, ready to scare the young cat away and muscle in on the kill. For this reason, Willow and his fellow orphans and ‘ex-pets’ will never be released, but will remain here in their expansive enclosure, enjoying five meals a week of fresh meat and domestic cat food and earning their keep as a visitor attraction. Okonjima Farm is currently home to over 80 such cases. But keeping semi-tame animals is not AfriCat’s primary purpose – and breeding new ones is definitely off the agenda. The cheetahs in this group are implanted with contraceptives to ensure that their human carers won’t be diverted from their conservation and education programme by the patter of tiny paws. “What AfriCat sets out to do”, says Okonjima’s general manager, Tristan Boehme, “is to ease the conflict of interests that can arise between humans and carnivores. Wild cheetahs and leopards have a crucial part to play in the ecosystem, and they’re in trouble. Wildest Africa is shrinking – even in Namibia.” There are thought to be around 3000 wild cheetahs in Namibia – the largest concentration of this endangered species on the continent – and around 7000 leopards. You’d think that in this country of huge, wild, sparsely populated landscapes, people and cats would be able to coexist peaceably, but the opposite is often the case – the vast majority of the cats’ territory is owned by livestock farmers who view carnivores as vermin. Namibian cattle and game ranchers who are struggling to make a living in a competitive market can’t afford to be soft on big cats, even if they have any inclination in that direction. They are legally permitted to trap or shoot predators which prey on livestock – and they do. It’s been known for gun-toting individuals to fly over their properties by microlight for the express purpose of picking cats off from the air. The fact that AfriCat has managed to save several hundred cheetahs and leopards since its inception in 1991 is a triumph of diplomacy. To persuade farmers that trapping and shooting cats is not the answer, the team has to appeal to their logic, not their sentiments. A generation ago, when Okonjima was both a cattle ranch and a hunting lodge, it had a puzzlingly high population of leopards. It was only when Okonjima’s owners, the Hanssen family, phased out hunting that the leopards thinned out. A counter-intuitive truth dawned: on a farm where leopards are hunted, the predator population tends to increase. This is because hunters typically like to bag the big, impressive dominant males. Whenever these are eliminated, their territory is left wide open for several smaller cats to move in. The Hanssens had also noticed that cats had individual hunting habits – and if a cat which rarely touches livestock is removed from a farm, there’s every chance that a cattle-killer might move in. Gradually they began to convince other farmers of the value of protecting their animals by alternative means, such as using guard dogs or donkeys, hands-on herders, and solar-powered electric fencing. The initiative seems to be paying off. “We try to assist and inform those farmers who are interested in restoring the natural balance,” says Donna Hanssen. A large part of AfriCat’s work is in animal welfare: rehabilitating and relocating leopards and cheetahs which have been causing problems in their home territory, and providing refuge and veterinary care for injured or orphaned animals. To fund this work, Okonjima opens to overnight visitors, providing superb hospitality and the chance to get close to the AfriCat cats. It’s an excellent formula. The accommodation at Okonjima’s Main Camp is homely and welcoming, while the newer Bush Camp offers rustic luxury at its most appealing. Both are designed to attract the kind of guests who are happy to invest a little extra in sponsoring the foundation’s work. At Bush Camp, sumptuous brunches and evening meals are served in a large, open-sided, afro-chic lapa that’s shaped like a camelthorn pod. You sleep in beautiful thatched rondavels, each one cleverly situated so that when you roll up its canvas sides to enjoy the view it feels as if you have the whole farm to yourself. Jars of birdseed are thoughtfully provided – throw out a handful and you’re immediately greeted by a flurry of chirrupping, twittering companions. Back to the cats. Our next cheetah encounter is going to be the real thing – we’ll be tracking radio-collared animals on foot, and when we meet them, there’ll be nothing between them and us but red sand and blond grass. The individuals we’re looking for are destined to be released into private wildlife parks, so it’s important that their habituation to vehicles, and people, is controlled. Once inside the Tusk Trust rehabilitation enclosure – a 4000-hectare expanse of game-stocked woodland and grass, perfect for hiding in – Dean starts listening for a signal on his receiver, parking as soon as he thinks we’re in close enough range. We climb down from the vehicle, ears twitching with each static click from the receiver, eyes smarting with concentration as we scan the grass for a black nose or a spotted flank. When eventually we come across Miney and Mo flaked out in dense shade under a young acacia, the blood is pounding in my temples. Those inscrutable amber eyes meet mine, then return to the higher task of surveying the middle distance. Later in the day, we go leopard-spotting. Leopards and cheetahs coexist in the rehabilitation enclosure as natural competitors, just as they would in the wild. This time, Dean tells us, leaving the vehicle will be out of the question. The AfriCat team take care to explain that leopard sightings at Okonjima are not guaranteed – and these strong, stealthy creatures are far too unpredictable to approach on foot. By now, the late-afternoon light is dappling the bush with deep shadows. We suspect a leopard may be somewhere nearby when we see flies buzzing over a recently deceased steenbuck, crumpled under a dry blackthorn tree. We move closer, the radio signal peaks, but the killer’s camouflage is so complete that it seems like forever before we spot her. “That’s MJ”, whispers Dean. “We’re very lucky to find her, because she’s got two cubs who are only a month old. Those, she keeps well hidden.” The cheetahs had treated us with insouciance, but this leopard is decidedly different: there’s an unmistakable look of deep distrust in her eyes as she watches us from the grass. She stares, stands, and saunters off with the grace of a supermodel. It’s a frustratingly fleeting encounter, but we don’t feel cheated. We’ve had a glimpse into the private world of one of Africa’s most beautiful and elusive predators – and that feels like a priceless privilege.

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