April Showers Bring...Mud.

Impending doom over camp as I left Happy Zebra den

April was a different pace compared to my first few months here. We had much more rain, which meant a lot less time spent in the field collecting data. Rain also meant that the few times we tried to visit the hyena dens, the Mara made sure it was a challenge. Changing a tire at night only 100m from a hyena den as curious hyenas investigate the issue can be a little stressful. Fortunately, our second flat tire occurred during the daytime with no hyenas trying to assist, and when Noémie’s family was visiting, so it went much smoother.

My first week working alone in the Mara, I was unaware that a fuse had come loose in the fuse box of the Land Cruiser while driving in a rocky area one evening. So when I attempted to restart the car and head back to camp, I felt a surge of panic, but quickly regained my composure, knowing that all fuel and liquid levels were good and that the battery was still working. I now know that cars contain a fuse box... After waiting only 2 hours in the darkness standing on top of the vehicle, periodically waving a Maglight towards the glow of headlights on the horizon (with a visit from the South clan hyenas, including Clovis herself, lions fighting and/or killing something in the darkness and jackals and hyenas calling all around), I was graciously rescued by one of the Mara Conservancy mechanics.

My first week alone also included not only my first, but also my second time watching a bunch of hyenas on a kill! Obviously I was quite overwhelmed, especially since the second kill ended up being a different hyena clan than the ones we study, which explained my complete lack of recognition of any hyena! During the first kill, I witnessed Clovis (she seems to be a recurring them in my posts) drag an impala carcass into a mostly dry riverbed (called a lugga in Kenya, after many frustrating attempts to discover the meaning of this word) and then remove it a few minutes later. Intrigued by this behavior I did a little research. Apparently, the intelligent hyenas have discovered that if they cache their food in water, terrestrial predators cannot smell it, nor would they even think to search for it in water. Hyenas also seem to only cache food in small water bodies, not in crocodile-infested waters where they would quickly lose their meal. In March, after seeing a hyena swim across the low-level Mara River, we also discovered that not only can they swim, but they can dive and catch fish as well! These hyenas never cease to amaze us!

Clovis with an impala (dead, obviously)

My second week working alone included getting the tiny little Suzuki Maruti stuck in the mud, twice, but help was never far and both instances occurred during daylight. I am quickly learning to skirt around any area that looks even remotely squishy.

Despite not being out in the field as much, amazing animal moments still occurred! One morning, Noémie and I were overjoyed to come across a caracal! We probably spent more time following it than we should have, but then again, it was a caracal! Who knew when we would see one again? Well, 2 days later, I saw it again while driving back to camp one evening! One of my favorite moments this month, though, was when I was driving back from North clan’s den and came across a female cheetah, lying on a termite mound. I stayed there with her until after darkness when the cheetah left, because that moment was just too special for me to disturb with the noisy engine of the Land Cruiser. She now has a new litter of cubs! Hopefully they have better luck than the previous litter!

CARACAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The most impressive moment happened fortunately when Noémie’s family was visiting. 4 giant male lions were marking their territory in South’s territory and we could tell these big boys had nothing to fear. This was most evident when they had all sacked out against each other in the middle of the plain in the rain but none batted an eye when we drove right up to them for photos. 1 lion is impressive, 2 is incredible, but 4 was absolutely amazing!

Lastly, if any former Fisi campers or blog followers recognize this snake and can confirm that it's not dangerous, that would be very much appreciated considering it is climbing my tent pole in the photo! It was between 1-1.5m long, green scales with black skin underneath, yellow belly, excellent tree climber (slithered straight up the trunk!), and occasionally puffed up its neck like a long balloon, when threatened.

Even during the rainy season, the Mara still manages to entertain!

Those things can come out of nowhere ... #5

The last picture in the series was of "the most dangerous snake in Africa" according to the guidebook we have in camp. It is also know as the puff adder. I have been told that this species kills more people than any other type of snake in Africa. I believe one of the reasons is because it usually moves slowly, thus doesn't get out of the way when you are about to step on it. Another reason is that it seems to be quite bold. I saw a huge black-necked spitting cobra yesterday and the only thing on this snakes mind was to get away from our vehicle. Quite a contrast to the puff adder that needed a little prodding just to move one meter off the path.

I was walking down the path to Kay's tent and nearly stepped on this little fellow. My foot was about ten inches away before I saw it. I immediately pulled my foot back and a crisis was averted. After that it was time to get the camera out and try to resist the urge to capture it like Steve Irwin would have. Since I have never actually caught a snake before, this would obviously be a very, very bad one to start with. I had freshwater ecology teacher a few years ago that enjoyed diving after snakes. He actually knew what he was doing, so I think I will leave it to people with a little more experience.

Here is another photo of this magnificent little snake. Yes, magnificent, even though my mother probably thinks the only good snake is a dead snake.




The pictures below are from a fortunate situation that happened on Tuesday. Just another one of the once in a lifetime experiences I have had in Kenya. You may be able to find a hidden animal quickly, but can you tell how many there are?

Those things can come out of nowhere ... #4

The last post in this series was a picture of a deadly Boomslang creeping in the tree. Ben was first alerted to this snake by a bird giving an alarm call. We watched the snake for a few minutes and then it seemed to vanish into the tree right before our eyes. The cryptic coloration of the snake is very effective at making it blend into its surroundings. We have seen a few other green snakes around camp in the past few weeks, but have not been able to identify which species they were. We have had very little rain in the past month and most of the area is brown, rather than green. Most trees have managed to hang onto their green leaves, but if we don't get a significant amount or rain soon, the camouflage of snakes may not be so effective. Here are a few more pictures of the Boomslang.






Since I first arrived in Fisi Camp last year, I have been quite vigilant about searching for animals lurking around camp. When walking down the path, I try to look for things like siafu (biting ants), thorns that poke through my imitation crocs, or snakes in the path. For those of you that found the deadly Boomslang snake in the tree in the last hidden animal puzzle, you can see why I have been looking up at the trees and less at the ground lately. I also have a bad habit of walking at night without a flashlight, so that I can let me eyes adjust to take in the magnificent night sky.

A few days ago, I was reminded that I must not forget to watch where my feet are falling on the path. Shouldn't be too hard to find what I almost stepped on, but it may be more difficult to figure out what species it was.

Cobra pictures

We almost ran this black-necked spitting cobra over with the car the other night on our way home from watching the hyenas. Luckily, we didn't, and we managed to get a few photos before it slithered into the darkness. I thought it would be nice to put a face to a name given my recent post.

(Do you think he knows Stuart???)

Snakes on a Plain

Recently I went into my tent in the middle of the afternoon to check something quickly on my computer. As anyone who knows me is aware, my obsessive-compulsive nature makes me very diligent about closing the zipper to my tent, even when I'm only going in for a minute. I really don't like mosquitoes, and by being anal about keeping the zipper closed at all times, I've managed to go over three months without a single mosquito getting in (and I think it's safe to say I've now jinxed that track record...). The irony of this will soon be apparent.

So after taking my shoes off outside—another lovely aspect of my OCD-ness, I don't like tracking dirt in—I stepped in wearing my socks and closed the zipper behind me. For the next few minutes I stood at my desk, which is only about a foot from the zipped entrance, piddling around at my computer, happy as a clam and completely unaware of my own impending doom. Suddenly I heard the sound of something rustling on the straw mat I use as a rug, and simultaneously felt something touching my foot. I looked down, and lo and behold, what adorably fuzzy and cute creature was on my foot?



A BLACK-NECKED SPITTING COBRA, THAT'S WHAT.

Yes, yes, you read that correctly. A poisonous snake was touching my body. Right there, a few feet under my nose, slithering across my foot and under the desk. By the time my brain processed what it was—black, four feet long, couple inches in diameter, has no legs—it had moved off my foot and was coiled under the desk, seemingly as petrified as I was (is that even possible???). Miraculously, I neither screamed nor jerked my foot while it was on me (well DONE evolution! a special shout-out to all the people before me who took one for the team and were naturally selected out by doing either of those things). Instead, after coming out of my paralytic trance, I jumped backwards and leapt onto my bed, a few feet away from the cobra. We eyed each other for a moment before I began hollering for my labmate, Audrey.
"AUDREY!!! THERE'S A SNAKE IN MY TENT! PLEASE COME HERE!" I shouted from my perch.
"Oooo!" she yelled back. "Is it tiny and green?"
"NO YOU FOOL, IT'S BIG AND BLACK, IT'S THE %@$#*!& COBRA!!!"
"Oh. Coming!"

Now, one thing you should know about Audrey is that she grew up on a farm with loads of harmless snakes, claims to have been bitten by them "hundreds or thousands of times" (I believe it), and spent two years as a research assistant on a snake project. So snakes are just about Audrey's favorite things in the whole wide world. Well that's just lovely for Audrey, but sadly I have had none of those charming experiences, so I was freaking out. But I knew she wouldn't, which was why she was the perfect person to be my knight in shining armor.

Audrey came and stood outside as I apprised her of the situation. Me: on the bed. Tent opening: zipped shut. Cobra: under the desk, right next to the opening. "No problem," she informed me, "I'll just open the zipper and you can run out." Yes, yes, wonderful, I'll just DASH past the poisonous menace that is just waiting for me to commit such a blunder. But it was that or spend the next several years in a stand-off with something lacking arms or legs, so I decided to make a break for it. Audrey opened the zipper, held open the flaps, and I held my breath and took a flying leap off my bed, hurling myself out the opening and into the sunlight.

It was at that point that I became aware of a little thing called adrenaline. See, as many of you probably know, you're not aware of it at the time, because it usually only shows up in high quantities during times of extreme duress. So naturally, you're not thinking, "Wow, I feel so energized and all my senses are hyper-aware"—you're thinking, "Wow, I wish I could get this boulder off my leg," or "Wow, I wish I could save this drowning child," or "Wow, I hope I picked the right suitcase on Deal or No Deal." Or in my case, "Wow, I really need to not die right now." But the second the stressor is removed, you don't need all that adrenaline any more, so the levels of it come crashing down. [Editor's note: Leslie is by no means an endocrinologist. If you want real explanations of this, ask Robert Sapolsky.] So the second I got out of the tent and to safety, it felt like there were massive waves of energy all exiting my body at the same time (perhaps what Linda Blair felt like in The Exorcist, only my head didn't spin around and I didn't spit out pea soup). My muscles got very tingly and loose and I began sobbing and shaking uncontrollably—not because I was still scared, but because that was how my relief was manifesting itself. I hadn't cried or trembled when I was in the tent, but the second I was out, I couldn't stop either for about twenty minutes. Part of it was that I couldn't stop reliving that one moment where I looked down and the cobra was on my body, and that sensation of it moving against my foot.

So at that point, Audrey kept an eye on the snake while I went and fetched James, one of our staff who has been pictured in previous posts. In his own words, James "does NOT fear snakes," but he doesn't like them, either, so the next question became whether or not we should kill it. James and Audrey decided that they would leave it up to me, since it was in my tent and it was me that had been traumatized. Naturally, my first instinct was one of revenge, but then I stepped back a moment and thought: revenge for what? What had it done to me? It had gotten in my tent through a hole in the back that I didn't know about, probably looking for mice to eat. Upon realizing that this was not a mouse hole and where the heck was this crazy place and how could it get out again, the snake presumably got scared, which was why it was hiding in a corner. I had been standing less than a foot from it for several minutes before it moved at all, so if it had been interested in biting me, it certainly had had ample opportunity. But it didn't. It didn't bite me, it didn't spit in my eye (the signature move of the spitting cobra, shockingly), it didn't even flare out its hood and try to intimidate me. What it actually did was wait for me to leave, and when that didn't happen, it tried to get out of my way. Why, then, would I want to kill it? That just didn't seem to make much sense to me. Certainly not good karma for a biologist. So we opened the tent up as wide as possible and James poked at it with a stick from the outside until it recognized the exit and slithered away as quickly as it could manage. At the risk of anthropomorphizing any more than usual, it seemed like the cobra was about as glad to say goodbye to me as I was to it.

It's been a while since I've had any Life Lessons, so I think it's time for a couple:

Life Lesson #1: Most snakes aren't nasty jerks
First of all, most snakes aren't poisonous. Second of all, making venom is very energetically-expensive, so even poisonous snakes will often give what is called a "dry bite" (thanks to Audrey for all this information), into which they don't inject any venom. Given that humans don't at all resemble a snake's typical prey item, it's unlikely that poisonous snakes will see you and think, "Yum, lunch," so most aren't out to bite you at all unless they run out of other options. And even then, they'll usually warn you somehow that they're feeling agitated, whether it's with an open hood, or a rattle, or something else along those lines. They mostly just want to be left alone. Third of all, supposedly most poisonous snake bites don't result in death, so even if everything else goes wrong for you and you DO get bitten, your goose isn't necessarily coming out of the oven just yet. Key word there of course is "necessarily."

Life Lesson #2: You are not as tough as you think you are
If your reaction to this story was, "Wow, cool!" or "Awesome!" or "That's so exciting!" then you are severely delusional. Several people have responded to my story with those exclamations, and I'm sure many of you reading this are having the same thoughts. Well, I have one thing to say to all of you: WRONG. You are WRONG. It is not COOL, it is not AWESOME, and for crying out loud it is not EXCITING to have a potentially-deadly animal touching your body. It is SCARY, and I don't care HOW much wildlife experience you have, I don't care if you used to have a pet rat snake, I don't care if your favorite Harry Potter character is Nagini—unless your name is Audrey, when you have a black-necked spitting cobra slithering across your foot, your heart stops, even if just for a second. (And, for the record, if you're wondering what the appropriate reaction is, I can tell you, because many people did indeed give it: "Oh my god, that would have made me poop my pants right there on the spot.")

Sadly, I was too distraught to take any pictures of Stuart—I named the cobra Stuart, because what could be less scary than that? But I'm sure if you Google image search "black-necked spitting cobra," you can fill in those blanks for yourself.

And if you're wondering, yes, I still take an extra peek around to all the crevices of my tent when I step in, because fool me once....