ANIMAL PASSIONS

 

You can’t beat seeing animals in the wild. But the real deal comes

at a price. Sarah Tucker finds that risk and reality are natural

companions on the wildlife holiday trail

 

Animals look best in the wild. That was what struck me when I first

went on safari some 20 years ago and watched them gradually appear –

zebra, giraffe, buffalo, lions – at a waterhole in the Addo National Park in

South Africa. Here, they said, I would be more likely to see an elephant than

anywhere else in the world. And I did. Now, I’m no David Attenborough, but

there is a happiness about animals in the wild which is quite foreign to those in captivity. True, from our human point of view, captive creatures have a certain appeal. One does not generally have to it long for them to appear – although I did once hang on for almost half an hour at London Zoo, waiting for some curiously shy polar bears to come out and take their bow, only to be told that they weren’t actually there at all. Perhaps there was a moral in the story: convenience should not be the prime consideration when it comes

to watching our fellow creatures at play. Perhaps the best place to see wildlife at its most interesting is the Galapagos, the wondrous, volcanic archipelago in the Pacific to which I recently travelled with my son. Here the giant tortoises and haughty iguanas lay side by side with cows

and other domestic animals in an utterly incongruous cohabitation. Stunning

though they were, the islands were overpopulated with camera-clicking

Americans, who splashed around with the turtles and seals and dolphins and sharks in their pursuit of the perfect shot. Yet the animals remained placid, as unenchanted by us as we were enchanted by them – and not a cage or aquarium in sight.

 

Of course, there are times when a degree of incarceration works wonders. I have always been dubious of attractions that call themselves ‘lands’, as if the world, in all its brutal beauty, could be made to conform to some sanitised blueprint of our own. So when I visited a place called Monkey Land in South Africa, I fully expected a Disneyfied destination where one could gawp mindlessly at the monkeys, as they delighted and amused us with their tricks and imitations of man.

 

What I actually got was rather different. Our guide became very animated as he led us round, explaining that the place was effectively a wildlife psychiatric ward. The monkeys, formerly pets or the sidekicks of organ grinders, had been abused by their owners not just physically, but mentally

too. No longer wild, they required protection from other animals in the

nearby forests, as they would otherwise be attacked and killed – more than likely by the baboons. To us they were ‘friendly’, wanting to be fed, and some rocked from side to side like toddlers in search of comfort in their pain. It made for a distressing scene. When one of our group remarked upon

the cruelty of the baboons, the guide turned on him, his face a sea of flame. The baboons, he said, were doing exactly what they were meant to be doing; it was the animals inside the fence who were sick, and we were the ones who had made them so. I left with the strong impression that our guide had more time for animals than for human beings. And I agree with him. I never cease to be horrified by the quaint little customs that countries exploit to lure visitors from abroad: bullfighting in Spain, throwing donkeys out of windows in Portugal and –sorry, but I have to say it – foxhunting in our green and pleasant land. Banned it may be, but its spirit refuses to go away. Seal culling in northern Canada may be a necessity, but the degree of brutality involved carries with it the stale odour of relish. And though I’m looking forward to visiting Japan, I loathe its attitude towards animals – especially dolphins and whales. Still, at least the Japanese treat their elderly better than we do.

 

Often holidays involving animals tread a very fine line between authentic and

commercial. I believe there is nothing wrong with that, provided the line is not crossed. Ranching done properly, with due care for the horses, is a good example of how to get it right. So too is real safari, where you could easily be eaten if you do anything silly. I like that. It’s somehow fairer; more respectful of the food chain.

 

But the best expression of this food chain logic that I have ever encountered

was in Canada, when I interviewed a forest ranger in the Yukon for TV. We’d been filming for several weeks and had already seen grizzly bear and moose, kayaked down the Tashanini Rivers and spotted bald headed eagles – of which, to the great amusement of Canadians, there are more in Canada than the USA. The previous year an English couple out walking had been attacked and eaten by a grizzly. The papers were full of it, and many Canadians feared that the British public would think that grizzlies had a cultivated taste for English blood. The local ranger, however, was unimpressed. Would it help, I asked him, if there were paths in the parks so that people couldn’t get lost? No good, he said: paths would destroy the environment. But they could have saved the lives of those people, couldn’t they? They didn’t have to walk in the park – no one asked them to. But they

wanted to see the wildlife, I reasoned. Well, they did, replied the ranger – it ate them. Yes, but, er, it’s not exactly good for tourism, is it......if the tourists get eaten? “The bears were here first,” was the ranger’s succinct reply.

The bears were here first. I like that answer. Animals may indeed be at their

best in the wild. The point is: we aren’t.