Poachers Arrests For The Month Of October 2013

South African National Parks (SANParks) announced a record number of arrests related to anti-poaching in the world famous Kruger National Park.
 
The Park has been under tremendous pressure from poachers, as it is home to over ninety percent of the global population of both white and black rhino that still roam in the wild. The animals are being illegally hunted for their horn, driven mainly by demand from South East Asia. Crime syndicates have been identified as the main culprits in recruiting those that kill the animals.

 Making the announcement, the Officer Commanding of the SANParks Rangers Corps, Major General (RET) Johan Jooste said the month had been a busy one with 213 tracks followed or spotted by field rangers, 30 shots heard, five contacts and four sightings.
 The total arrests for the month of October were nineteen individuals, the largest group consisting of seven suspects who were arrested on 11 October in Kabokweni, Mpumalanga, in an intelligence driven operation.

 Congratulating his team, Major General (ret) Jooste said “this has been a good morale booster for the entire team; though we still discover carcasses in the KNP we have been able to neutralize a huge number of poachers. We have also confiscated rifles, ammunition and poaching equipment in all operations. We are hopeful that the measures we are implementing will eventually yield the expected results, of bringing poaching incidents to acceptable levels”.

Jooste however reminded South Africans that the battle will be won outside the reserves, when the kingpins are brought to book. He urged those with information to make use of the Tip-off lines 0800 205 005, 08600 10111 or 32211; contact Crime Line where they will remain anonymous or their nearest police station with information. He also thanked his team for their commitment and dedication to the fight to save South Africa’s Natural heritage.

 Issued by:
 South African National Parks Corporate Communications

More Amazing Photo's From The Kruger National Park

Male Lion Having A Drink

Cheetah's Walking In The Bush

Elephant Charge

Hippos Fighting for Dominance - 21 November 2012 - Latest Sightings

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 25)( Page 5 ) Our Last Hunt

I was still laughing at him, when he stopped and turning sharply round made a snap at his side; and a few seconds later he did it again.  Then there was a thin sing of insect wings; and I knew that the Tsetse fly were on us. The only thought then was for Jock, who was still working busily round the sable.  For some minutes I sat with him between my legs, wisping away the flies with a small branch and wondering what to do.  It soon became clear that there was nothing to be gained by waiting: instead of passing away the fly became more numerous, and there was not a moment's peace or comfort to be had, for they were tackling me on the neck, arms, and legs, where the thorn-ripped pants left them bare to the knees; so, slinging the rifle over my shoulder, I picked Jock up, greatly to his discomfort, and carried him off in my arms at the best pace possible under the circumstances.  Half a mile of that was enough, however: the weight, the awkwardness of the position, the effort to screen him, and the difficulty of picking my way in very rough country at the same time, were too much for me.  A tumble into a grass-hidden hole laid us both out sprawling, and I sat down again to rest and think, swishing the flies off as before. Then an idea came which, in spite of all the anxiety, made me laugh, and ended in putting poor old Jock in quite the most undignified and ridiculous plight he had known since the days of his puppyhood when his head stuck in the bully-beef tin or the hen pecked him on the nose.  I ripped off as much of my shirt as was not needed to protect me against the flies, and making holes in it for his legs and tail fitted him out with a home-made suit in about five minutes.  Time was everything; it was impossible to run with him in my arms, but we could run together until we got out of the fly belt, and there was not much risk of being bitten as long as we kept up the running in the long grass.  It was a long spell, and what with the rough country and the uncontrollable laughter at the sight of Jock, I was pretty well done by the time we were safely out of the `fly.'  We pulled up when the country began to fall away sharply towards the river, and there, to Jock's evident satisfaction, I took off his suit--by that time very much tattered and awry. It was there, lying between two rocks in the shade of a marula tree, that I got one of those chances to see game at close quarters of which most men only hear or dream.  There were no snapshot cameras then! We had been lying there it may be for half an hour or more, Jock asleep and I spread out on my back, when a slight but distinct click, as of a hoof against a stone, made me turn quietly over on my side and listen. The rock beside me was about four feet high, and on the other side of it a buck of some kind, and a big one too, was walking with easy stride towards the river.  Every footstep was perfectly clear; the walk was firm and confident: evidently there was not the least suspicion of danger.  It was only a matter of yards between us, and what little breeze there was drifted across his course towards me, as he too made for the river, holding a course parallel with the two long rocks between which we were lying.  The footsteps came abreast of us and then stopped, just as I was expecting him to walk on past the rock and down the hill in front of me.  The sudden halt seemed to mean that some warning instinct had arrested him, or some least taint upon the pure air softly eddying between the rocks had reached him.  I could hear his sniffs, and pictured him looking about, silent but alarmed, before deciding which way to make his rush. I raised myself by inches, close to the rock, until I could see over it. A magnificent waterbuck bull, full-grown and in perfect coat and condition, was standing less than five yards away and a little to the right, having already passed me when he came to a stop: he was so close that I could see the waves and partings in his heavy coat; the rise and fall in his flanks as he breathed; the ruff on his shaggy bearded throat, that gave such an air of grandeur to the head; the noble carriage, as with head held high and slightly turned to windward he sniffed the breeze from the valley; the nostrils, mobile and sensitive, searching for the least hint of danger; and the eye, large and full and soft, luminous with watchful intelligence, and yet mild and calm--so free was it from all trace of a disturbing thought.  And yet I was so close, it seemed almost possible to reach out and touch him.  There was no thought of shooting: it was a moment of supreme enjoyment.  Just to watch him: that was enough.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 24)( Page 5 ) The Last Trek

Then came one black day as we crawled slowly along the river bank, which is not to be  forgotten.  In one of the cross-spruits cutting sharply down to the river the second waggon stuck: the poor tired-out cattle were too weak and dispirited to pull it out.  Being short of drivers and leaders it was necessary to do the work in turns, that is, after getting one waggon through a bad place, to go back for another.  We had to double-span this waggon, taking the span from the front waggon back to hook on in front of the other; and on this occasion I led the span while Jim drove.  We were all tired out by the work and heat, and I lay down in the dusty road in front of the oxen to rest while the chains were being coupled up.  I looked up into old Zwaartland's eyes, deep, placid, constant, dark grey eyes--the ox-eyes of which so many speak and write and so few really know.  There was trouble in them; he looked anxious and hunted; and it made me heart-sick to see it. When the pull came, the back span, already disheartened and out of hand, swayed and turned every way, straining the front oxen to the utmost; yet Zwaartland took the strain and pulled.  For a few moments both front oxen stood firm; then his mate cut it and turned; the team swung away with a rush, and the old fellow was jerked backwards and rolled over on his side.  He struggled gamely, but it was some minutes before he could rise; and then his eye looked wilder and more despairing; his legs were planted apart to balance him, and his flanks were Jim straightened up the double span again.  Zwaartland leaned forward once more, and the others followed his lead; the waggon moved a little and they managed to pull it out.  But I, walking in front, felt the brave old fellow stagger, and saw him, with head lowered, plod blindly like one stricken to death. We outspanned on the rise, and I told Jim to leave the reim on Zwaartland's head.  Many a good turn from him deserved one more from me--the last.  I sent Jim for the rifle, and led the old front ox to the edge of the donga where a bleached tree lay across it...  He dropped into the donga under the dead tree; and I packed the dry branches over him and set fire to the pile.  It looks absurd now; but to leave him to the wolf and the jackal seemed like going back on a friend; and the queer looks of the boys, and what they would think of me, were easier to bear.  Jim watched, but said nothing: with a single grunt and a shrug of his shoulders he stalked back to the waggons. The talk that night at the boys' fire went on in lo -pitched tones--not a single word audible to me; but I knew what it was about.  As Jim stood up to get his blanket off the waggon, he stretched himself and closed off the evening's talk with his Zulu click and the remark that "All white men are mad, in some way." So we crawled on until we reached the turn where the road turned between the mountain range and the river and where the railway runs to-day. There, where afterwards Cassidy did his work, we outspanned one day when the heat became so great that it was no longer possible to go on.  For weeks the storm-clouds had gathered, threatened, and dispersed; thunder had come half-heartedly, little spots of rain enough to pock-mark the dust; but there had been no break in the drought.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 21)( Page 2 ) Monkeys And Wildebeeste

The day he caught the monkey he was well pleased, and may possibly have told the truth. Baboons and monkeys, he said, can count just like men, but they can only count two!  If one man goes into a mealie field and waits for them with a gun, their sentry will see him, and he may wait for ever; if two go and one remains, it is useless, for they realise that only one has come out where two went in; but if three go in, one may remain behind to lie in wait for them, for the monkeys, seeing more than one return, will invade the mealie field as soon as the two are safely out of the way.  That was only Jantje's explanation of the well-known fact  that monkeys and baboons know the difference between one and more than one. But, as Jantje explained, their cleverness helped him to catch them.  He went alone and came away alone, leaving his trap behind, knowing that they were watching his every movement, but knowing also that their intense curiosity would draw them to it the moment it seemed safe.  The trap he used was an old calabash or gourd with a round hole in it about an inch in diameter; and a few pumpkin seeds and mealies and a hard crust of bread, just small enough to get into the calabash, formed the bait. After fastening the gourd by a cord to a small stump, he left it lying on its side on the ground where he had been sitting.  A few crumbs and seeds were dropped near it and the rest placed in the gourd, with one or two showing in the mouth.  Then he walked off on the side where he would be longest in view, and when well out of sight sped round in a circuit to a previously selected spot where he could get close up again and watch. The foremost monkey was already on the ground when he got back and others were hanging from low branches or clinging to the stems, ready to drop or retreat.  Then began the grunts and careful timid approaches, such as one sees in a party of children hunting for the hidden `ghost' who is expected to appear suddenly and chase them; next, the chattering garrulous warnings and protests from the timid ones--the females--in the uppe branches; the sudden start and scurry of one of the youngsters; and the scare communicated to all, making even the leader jump back a pace; then his angry grunt and loud scolding of the frightened ones-- angry because they had given him a fright, and loud because he was reassuring himself. After a pause they began the careful roundabout approach and the squatting and waiting, making pretences of not being particularly interested, while their quick eyes watched everything; then the deft picking up of one thing--instantly dropped again, as one picks up a roasted chestnut and drops it in the same movement, in case it should be hot; and finally the greedy scramble and chatter. I have seen all that, but not, alas, the successful ending, when trying to imitate Jantje's methods.  Jantje waited until the tugs at the gourd became serious, and then, knowing that the smaller things had been taken out or shaken out and eaten and that some enterprising monkey had put its arm into the hole and grabbed the crust, he ran out. A monkey rarely lets go any food it has grabbed, and when, as in this case, the hand is jammed in a narrow neck, the letting go cannot easily be done instinctively or inadvertently; the act requires a deliberate effort.  So Jantje caught his monkey, and flinging his ragged coat over the captive sat down to make it safe.  By pushing the monkey's arm deeper into the gourd the crust became released and the hand freed; he  then gradually shifted the monkey about until he got the head into the shoulders of the loose old coat, and thence into the sleeve; and worked away at this until he had the creature as helpless as a mummy with the head appearing at the cuff-opening and the body jammed in the sleeve like a bulging overstuffed sausage.  The monkey struggled, screamed, chattered, made faces, and cried like a child; but Jantje gripping it between his knees worked away unmoved. He next took the cord from the calabash and tied one end securely round the monkey's neck, to the shrinking horror of that individual, and the other end to a stout bush stick about seven or eight feet long; and then slipped monkey cord and stick back through the sleeve and had his captive safe; the cord prevented it from getting away, and the stick from getting too close and biting him.  When they sat opposite and pulled faces at each other the family likeness was surprising.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 19)( Page 5 ) Jocks Mistake

I have the impression--as one sees oneself in a nightmare--of a person throwing up his arms and calling the name of his child as a train passed over it. Jock lay limp and motionless, with the blood oozing from mouth, nose, and eyes.  I recollect feeling for his heart-beat and breath, and shaking him roughly and calling him by name; then, remembering the pool near by, I left him in the shade of a tree, filled my hat with water, ran back again and poured it over him and into his mouth, shaking him again to rouse him, and several times pressing his sides--bellows fashion--in a ridiculous effort to restore breathing. The old hat was leaky and I had to grip the rough-cut ventilations to make it hold any water at all, and I was returning with a second supply when with a great big heart-jump, I saw Jock heel over from his side and with his fore legs flat on the ground raise himself to a resting position, his head wagging groggily and his eyes blinking in a very dazed way. He took no notice when I called his name, but at the touch of my hand his ears moved up and the stumpy tail scraped feebly in the dead leaves. He was stone deaf; but I did not know it then.  He lapped a little of the water, sneezed the blood away and licked his chops; and then, with evident effort, stood up. But this is the picture which it is impossible to forget.  The dog was still so dazed and shaken that he reeled slightly, steadying himself by spreading his legs well apart, and there followed a few seconds' pause in which he stood thus; and then he began to walk forward with the uncertain staggery walk of a toddling child.  His jaws were set close; his eyes were beady black, and he looked `fight' all over.  He took no notice of me; and I, never dreaming that he was after the koodoo, watched the walk quicken to a laboured trot before I moved or called; but he paid no heed to the call.  For the first time in his life there was rank open defiance of orders, and he trotted slowly along with his nose to the ground.  Then I understood; and, thinking he was maddened by the kick and not quite responsible for himself, and--more than that-- admiring his pluck far too much to be angry, I ran to bring him back; but at a turn in his course he saw me coming, and this time he obeyed the call and signal instantly, and with a limp air of disappointment followed quietly back to the tree.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 19 )( Page 3 ) Jock's Mistake

Snowball was villainously slow and bad to lead.  He knew that whilst being led neither whip nor spur could touch him, and when loaded up with meat he dragged along at a miserable walk: one had to haul him.  Once-- but only once--I had tried driving him before me, trusting to about 400 pounds weight of koodoo meat to keep him steady; but no sooner had I stepped behind with a switch than he went off with a cumbrous plunge and bucked like a frantic mule until he rid himself of his load, saddle and all.  The fact is one person could not manage him on foot, it needed one at each end of him, and he knew it: thus it worked out at a compromise: he carried my load, and I went his pace! We were labouring along in this fashion when we came on the wildebeeste again.  A white man on foot seems to be recognised as an enemy; but if accompanied by animals, either on horseback, driving in a vehicle, leading a horse, or walking among cattle, he may pass unnoticed for a long while: attention seems to be fixed on the animals rather than the man, and frank curiosity instead of alarm is quite evidently the feeling aroused. The wildebeeste had allowed me to get close up, and I picked out the big bull and took the shot kneeling, with my toe hooked in the reins to secure Snowball, taking chance of being jerked off my aim rather than let him go; but he behaved like an angel, and once more that day a single shot was enough. It was a long and tedious job skinning the big fellow, cutting him up, hauling the heavy limbs and the rest of the meat up into a suitable tree, and making all safe against the robbers of the earth and the air; and most troublesome of all was packing the head and skin on Snowball, who showed the profoundest mistrust of this dark ferocious-looking monster. Snowball and I had had enough of it when we reached camp, well after dark; but Jock I am not so sure of: his invincible keenness seemed at times to have something in it of mute reproach--the tinge of disappointment in those they love which great hearts feel, and strive to hide!  I never outstayed Jock, and never once knew him `own up' that he had had enough.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 18 )( Page 4 ) Snowball and Tsetse

Tsetse, who in the ordinary way regarded the spur as part of the accepted discipline, promptly resented it when there seemed to him to be sufficient reason; and when Hall, astonished at Tsetse's unexpected obstinacy, gave him both heels, the old horse considerately swung round away from the river, and with a couple of neatly executed bucks shot his encumbered rider off the raised pack, yards away on to the soft grass-- water-bottle, rifle, bandolier and man landing in a lovely tangle. I then put old Snowball at it, fully expecting trouble; but the old soldier was quite at home; he walked quietly to the edge, sat down comfortably, and slid into the water--launching himself with scarce a ripple just like an old hippo.  That gave us the explanation of Tsetse's tantrum: the water came up to the seat of my saddle and walking was only just possible.  I stopped at once, waiting for Tsetse to follow; and Hall, prepared for another refusal, sat back and again used his spurs. No doubt Tsetse, once he knew the depth, was quite satisfied and meant to go in quietly, and the prick of the spur must have been unexpected, for he gave a plunge forward, landing with his fore feet in deep water and hind quarters still on the bank, and Hall shot out overhead, landing
half across old Snowball's back.  There was a moment of ludicrous but agonised suspense!  Hall's legs were firmly gripping Tsetse behind the ears while he sprawled on his stomach on Snowball's crupper, with the reins still in one hand and the rifle in the other.  Doubled up with suppressed laughter I grabbed a fist full of shirt and held on, every moment expecting Tsetse to hoist his head or pull back and complete the disaster, while Hall was spluttering out directions, entreaties and imprecations; but good old Tsetse never moved, and Hall handing me the rifle managed to swarm backwards on to Tsetse's withers and scramble on
to the pack again. Then, saddle-deep in the river--duckings and crocodiles forgotten--we
sat looking at each other and laughed till we ached. The river was about three hundred yards wide there with a good sandy bottom and of uniform depth, but, to our disappointment, we found that the other bank which had appeared to slope gently to the water edge was in fact a sheer wall standing up several feet above the river level.
The beautiful slope which we had seen consisted of water grass and reed tops; the bank itself was of firm moist clay; and the river bottom close under it was soft mud.  We tried a little way up and down, but found deeper water, more mud and reeds, and no break in the bank; there was not even a lagavaan slide, a game path, or a drinking-place.  There seemed to be nothing for it but to go back again and try somewhere else. Hall was `bad to beat' when he started on anything--he did not know how to give in; but when he looked at the bank and said, "We'll have a shot at this," I thought at first he was joking.  Later, to my remark that
"no horse ever born would face that," he answered that "any way we could try: it would be just as good as hunting for more places of the same sort!" I do not know the height of the bank, as we were not thinking of records at that time, but there are certain facts which enable one to guess fairly closely. Tsetse was ranged up beside the bank, and Hall standing in the saddle threw his rifle and bandolier up and scrambled out himself.  I then loosened Tsetse's girths from my seat on Snowball, and handed up the packed saddle--Hall lying down on the bank to take it from me; and we did the same with Snowball's load, including my own clothes, for, as it was already sundown, a ducking was not desirable, I loosened one side of Tsetse's reins, and after attaching one of mine in order to give the necessary length to them threw the end up to Hall, and he cut and handed me a long supple rod for a whip to stir Tsetse to his best endeavours. The water there was rather more than half saddle-flap high; I know that because it just left me a good expanse of hind quarters to aim at when the moment came. "Now!" yelled Hall, "Up, Tsetse!  Up!"; and whack went the stick! Tsetse reared up, right on end; he could not reach the top but struck his fore feet into the moist bank near the top, and with a mighty plunge that soused Snowball and me, went out.  The tug on the leading rein, on which Hall had thrown all his weight when Tsetse used it to lever
himself up, had jerked Hall flat on his face; but he was up in a minute, and releasing Tsetse threw back the rein to get Snowball to face it while the example was fresh. Then for the first time we thought of the crocodiles--and the river was full of them!  But Snowball without some one behind him with a stick would never face that jump, and there was nothing for it but to fire some scaring shots, and slip into the water and get the job over as quickly as possible.