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A panoramic view of the grounds at Lion Encounter with the White House in background.

During the final week of our stay at Lion Encounter there was a small white frog perched atop the window curtain rod in our room. About three centimeters in length (I did say it was tiny, didn’t I?), when I first discovered it I thought it was dead until I got up close and saw its throat moving in and out ever-so-slightly. One of many roommates we shared our domicile with, our little guest never moved except to breathe. Every morning and every night I’d check on him and say “hello,” and in-between the salutations he never moved his position. Not even a millimeter. I was never quite sure what he was guarding, defending, waiting for or unmoved by, but I grew quite fond of our amphibian little friend and named him ALF.

On a nightly basis our room was literally abuzz with activity. Silence the noisy fan from pushing hot, Zambian air in circles over our bodies and you’d hear a lizard scurrying behind the dresser. Turn on the light and one, if not several, rain spiders would freeze in silence on the ceiling, carefully watching us with their many eyes. I was always happy to see our roommates because it meant I knew where they were  and so didn’t have to worry where they weren’t, unlike some of the other creatures that came party crashing into what was called the White House.

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About 10 kilometers west of Livingstone, nestled in the Mosi-oa-Tunya National Forest, lies ALERT’s headquarters in Zambia. It’s here on our first day at Lion Encounter that we took our first walk with Zamfara and Zaria along the banks of the Zambezi river. The two sisters are one of three sets of walking lions in the Stage 1 program here – the others being Madoda, Munali and Zambezi, and Dendi and Damara. All the walking lions are between 18-24 months and their size is a bit intimidating when you first meet them, but once we’re reminded how to “properly receive a lion” and subsequently get to know these kitties better over the next few weeks (and they us), the lumps in our throats are replaced by swelling hearts and it’s magical to watch the Zs romp and roam, frolic and play, and both frustrate and delight us on our daily walks – as only cats can do. An absolute privilege to spend time with them every day and see the world through their eyes.

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I learned that it is the weak who are cruel, and that gentleness is to be expected only from the strong.

-Leo Rosten

It’s a little after 6am on Friday the 31^st of August, and Kim and I are standing in line at JFK airport waiting to check in for our 16.5 hour flight from New York to Johannesburg. We’ve just gotten off a less-than-enjoyable six-hour redeye from Seattle and neither us are looking forward to this thrice-as-long second flight. Rubbing my eyes and trying to will myself awake while the line slowly creeps forward I look across the people gathered with us in the terminal. That’s when I notice the hunting rifle cases. About five feet long and standing a foot high, they sit quietly on the terminal floor. As I focus in on their owners – a group of aging, mostly fat white men, many of whom are wearing camouflaged caps, some sporting hunting vests, all laughing and joking with each other as the line shuffles along – it suddenly dawns on me that we’re about to board a flight on our way to Africa, on our way once again to volunteer in the name of lion conservation, alongside a group of men who will be traveling there in the hopes of shooting a lion, if not several.

And that’s how our return trip to Africa began.

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You either get the point of Africa or you don’t. If you can’t get past the fear of animals, of poverty, the juggernaut of nature, then you probably won’t. But if you do stand in it and smell it and listen to it, then it will be one of the biggest, most profound and powerful things you will ever feel. It will fill the wet evenings and the dark mornings. It will mark your card and have you on callback forever.

–A.A. Gill.

I’ve been here before. Staring at the empty space, trying to figure out how it’s all going to fit, wondering what will come leaping out when it’s opened upon our return. I should’ve left well enough alone. I shouldn’t have unpacked it to begin with. But it was a painful reminder after returning from our first trip that it didn’t belong, and because of that perhaps we didn’t belong. An admonition of where we’d been and where we weren’t. So its contents were emptied and it was quietly placed in the back corner of a darkened room with only memories to console itself with. Now it sits in front of me patiently waiting, while behind me our cats pace nervously. They’re decidedly unhappy at what they see and I don’t blame them. They know what’s coming. They’ve been here before too.

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Time spent in the wild reveals many stories and unravels many secrets. Like the first artists who drew bison and mammoths on cave walls, the nature photographer continues as a scribe and brings to light the joy and beauty of biodiversity, and the painful recognition that our planet, its creatures, and its wild untamed realms, are fragile and constantly under siege.

-Bruce Colin

I am watching wildlife photographer and conservationist Bruce Colin and I’m absolutely spellbound. For several days now I’ve been quietly shadowing him whenever possible, absorbing his photographic expertise and generous personality where I can. But what he’s doing that has my undivided attention has nothing at all to do with either wildlife or photography.

It’s September 10th, 2011 and a number of us are at an orphanage in Gweru, Zimbabwe bringing much-needed supplies and, more importantly, stickers, treats and a few laughs to the children there. I’ve just gotten done being screamed at by a young boy I’ve nicknamed Lil JB for attempting to hold onto his extra candy while he concentrates on what he has in hand — or in mouth, as the case may be — and I’m feeling a little flustered when we walk around the corner into the back courtyard and I see Bruce holding court with about a dozen children, all of whom are completely enthralled by his every move. He has them laughing and clapping along to a version of patty-cake, and then seamlessly switches gears and somehow keeps them all involved in a game of tic-tac-toe with just a single pencil and piece of paper. By the time the game switches to “guess who’s holding the camera lens cap” the group has grown larger and even the older girls, who have been aloof for most our visit, are smiling and involving themselves in the games. The ease and genuine warmth with which Bruce invites everyone in as welcome equals and keeps their attention with the simplest of games is beautiful to watch and I am absolutely spellbound.

Having gotten to know Bruce a little better since that orphanage visit, none of this comes as a surprise. The heart he brings to the less fortunate among us, the patience he shows people when answering the most pedestrian of camera questions, the contagious enthusiasm he displayed when I was lucky enough to be alongside him photographing the Ngamo Pride, his dedication to humanitarian and wildlife issues. He’s one of those people — one of those people — and the world is a much better place for having him around. Bruce is also a ridiculously talented photographer who has spent years traveling the world to hone and refine his discipline. So when the opportunity came to share some of his travels, expertise, and enthusiasm with our readers, I couldn’t resist.

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I’ll never forget, at one point during the trip we came across a police roadblock stopping cars and trucks to allow the butterflies to cross the road safely.

-Mark Clayden

It’s a warm evening in July and I’m standing with Mark Clayden on the western shore of San Juan Island watching the sun slip behind Vancouver Island to the west of us. Framing the horizon the island’s mountains have become a darkened outline separating the sky from the sea as sunset rolls out its magnificent carpet, and it’s quiet except for the sound of the water lapping up against the shore. In the growing darkness we see an elderly woman walking towards us. When she reaches us she stops and simply says, “Can you hear them? They’re coming,” before walking away.

For a full minute Mark and I stare at each other dumbfounded, trying to make sense of her statement and wondering if we’ve somehow found ourselves in a David Lynch movie. Then a noise in the far distance catches our attention. “Did you hear that? It sounded like a huge sigh.” Silence, and then we hear it again. Another enormous sigh, and then another, and another. It’s then that we see the outlines of a pod of orcas slowly swimming their way south down Haro Straight, their jet black silhouettes passing by us alone or in small groups. As they breach the water to exhale and redraw fresh air it sounds like one huge sigh of exasperation. Which I guess is what it is, really. Silent but for the sound of their breathing it’s an immensely moving moment; powerful yet intimate, and one that will stay tucked close to the heart until, as Mark likes to say, the parachute doesn’t open and you need something to pull out and hold close as you hurtle your way towards an imminent death.

While Mark is best known as the founder and bassist for British noiseniks Pitchshifter, and now finds himself running the Bristol Institute of Modern Music, what many people don’t know is that he has a deep passion for some of the smallest and largest creatures that grace our planet. Mark’s also one of the nicest and most down to earth people you could meet, and I love hearing him retell his latest nature adventures about Mexican hillsides jammed with millions upon millions of butterflies, or being able to see his own humanity in eye of a blue whale only meters away from the boat he’s on in the Indian Ocean. I count myself lucky to have him as a friend, and feel even luckier to have joined him on a few of his whaling adventures over the years, so it’s a great pleasure to profile him here and share a few of his stories with you.

Can you hear them? They’re coming.

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Remember: Africa is going nowhere and is awaiting your return.

-Kirsty Lynas

The first time I met Kirsty Lynas was during a Data Collection induction session early on during our stay at Antelope Park. In order for the African Lion and Environmental Research Trust (ALERT) to determine which lions in their Rehabilitation and Release Into the Wild program stand the best chance for release into Stage Two as an independent, self-sustaining pride, they first need to monitor them closely during Stage One. Which lions pair up well? Which notice prey species when out on bush walks? Which don’t? How far away was the prey? What was the ground cover like? Tall grass? Short grass? Trees? From which direction was the wind blowing? What time of day or night was it? How did the lions stalk the prey (assuming they noticed it and assuming they chose to stalk it)?

The only way to know which lions perform well, and just how well, is to continuously monitor their behavior and collect data on it all. A lot of data. And as a lion research technician for ALERT, Kirsty understands better than most the importance of collecting this data.

The second time I met Kirsty was during our first encounter with the Ngamo Pride. In the back of a Land Rover watching this very unique group of lions go about their daily routine, I spent as much time watching Milo and Co. as I did paying attention to Kirsty – how effortlessly she recognized each lion, her understanding of each lion’s place in the pride’s hierarchy, her unbridled giddiness at being witness to a long and luxurious grooming session between several of the lionesses, and the way she notated every behavior of each lion in detail. Meticulous detail. It was obvious Kirsty was in her element out in the Ngamo release site, and it felt like having pitch side seats at a cup final.

On the eve of returning to Zimbabwe to continue her duties as researcher for the Ngamo Pride, we caught up with Kirsty to learn more about her involvement with ALERT, her dedication to saving lions, and her love for Africa.

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Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or the darkness of destructive selfishness. This is the judgment. Life’s most persistent and urgent question is: What are you doing for others?

–Martin Luther King, Jr.

If it hadn’t been for fate Cliff Schmidt’s life might have ended up very differently. The former Navy submariner once had dreams of being a filmmaker, but a detour into software development led him to being a keynote speaker in 2006 for a multi-city software conference. During some downtime in Atlanta, Cliff decided to take the long way back to the hotel and found himself wandering on an arc through the city that, by chance, took him past Ebenezer Baptist Church, where Martin Luther King, Jr. once preached, and into the Martin Luther King, Jr. National Historical Site.

Walking around the grounds and taking in the life’s work of Dr. King, thoughts began building. And when Cliff rounded the site’s reflecting pool and stood in front of Dr. King’s grave, it all caught up with him. “Bam! That was the moment when everything changed for me. In that moment I felt really small compared to what [Martin Luther King, Jr.] chose to do with his life and how he changed the world.” Cliff didn’t have any regrets with his life thus far, but he said, “I felt that [Dr. King] wouldn’t be proud of me. I could be doing something different and more bold than what I was currently doing.” It was at that moment that the seeds of inspiration for the Talking Book and Literacy Bridge were planted.

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The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.

-Mahatma Gandhi

Although I left my heart in Africa last year a part of it now resides in Thailand, a country I’ve never been to, as I follow the day-to-day progression of events at two internationally respected wildlife sanctuaries.  The Elephant Nature Park (ENP), and Wildlife Friends Foundation Thailand (WFFT), have been repeatedly raided by armed government officials from the Department of National Parks (DNP) in what appears to be retaliatory actions for statements made by ENP and WFFT decrying the illegal wildlife trade in Thailand, and the Thai government’s suspected complicity.

It began on February 8, when ENP founder Sangduen Chailert, known as Lek, was asked to produce proof of ownership for the elephants at her sanctuary after an anonymous phone call claimed she was sheltering over 70 illegal, wild elephants.  Lek was able to produce the documentation for the actual 30-plus elephants at her sanctuary, most of them elderly and disabled from spending their lives in the logging and tourism industries.  Approximately 100 officials vacated the premises after reviewing her documentation, having disrupted the park for a full day with their presence.

A few days later, on February 13, approximately 60 armed officials arrived at WFFT, based on complaints that they had undocumented wildlife on the premises.  Founder Edwin Wiek and his wife Jansaeng Sangnanork, who is also the president of WFFT, were given just three hours to produce paperwork to prove legal ownership of the 450 animals at their sanctuary.  Despite their best efforts they couldn’t produce every document requested in the time they were allotted and Jansaeng Sangnanork was subsequently arrested for the illegal possession of protected animals (she was released on bail several hours later).  The DNP vowed to confiscate the 103 animals they did not see the paperwork on.  WFFT maintains they do have the paperwork, but that officials have refused to acknowledge it.

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