Close Encounters: Face to Face With a Rhino in South Africa

The horn is the rhino’s great asset—and its biggest cause for peril.

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In spite of all their brute force, rhinos are now endangered. Photo: Boyd Matson

Brett du Bois isn’t the first guide in Africa to tell me, “The rhinoceros has terrible eyesight,” but he is the first to try to prove it by using me as a human eye chart. The plan—and by plan I mean a spur-of-the-moment, wild impulse you would never consider if given a night to sleep on it—is to hop out of our vehicle and stand behind a small clump of fallen acacias in the path of two white rhinos headed for a watering hole.

In fairness to Brett, he will be standing beside me. But I immediately sense a flaw. If we’re the rhinos’ eye chart, Brett is the small print, eighth line—in other words, the rhinos would need the equivalent of 20/20 vision to see him. At six feet five inches, I’m the big E. I’m thinking they would have to be blind not to see me. Being spotted could give new meaning to the expression “on the horns of a dilemma”. The dilemma being up to 3,000 kilos of rhinoceros charging toward us—led by those huge dagger-shaped horns—at 40 to 50 kilometres an hour or, more significantly, at least three or four times as fast as I can run. Yet in spite of all their brute force, these prehistoric-looking creatures are now endangered. In recent years, the threat to their survival has dramatically increased. In 2007, only 13 rhinos were illegally poached in South Africa. In 2013, the number was 1,004. In January 2014 alone, 86 rhinos were slaughtered.

Rhino killers aren’t interested in the meat; they just want the horns, which are ground up for use in traditional Asian medicines to treat everything from fevers to gout to cancer. No medical evidence proves the effectiveness of the material (which mostly consists of keratin, the same stuff found in human hair and fingernails), but economic growth in China and Vietnam has created a surplus of cash for luxury items, inflating the price of illegal rhino horn and bringing new recruits to the poaching business. By some estimates, the street price for rhino horn is much more than the price of gold and, in many cases, cocaine. (Still not impressed? On average, a white rhino’s horns weigh 5.5 kilos.) In 2011, the Javan rhino was declared extinct in Vietnam. Considering 80 per cent of Africa’s rhinos roam South Africa, it’s no wonder the poachers have come flocking.

To better understand the crisis, I too have come to South Africa, to the famous Kruger National Park, where the majority of the poaching is taking place—the safari destination lost 252 rhinos in 2011 alone. I’m staying at nearby Sabi Sabi, a private game reserve that, so far, has successfully protected its rhinos. Sabi Sabi occasionally offers walking safaris through the bush for the adventurous few who the guides determine aren’t likely to freak out and run screaming at the first sight of a rhino or elephant, a reaction that could trigger a new reality show: Slow Tourists, Fast Animals.

But the guides won’t invite their guests to do what Brett and I are about to do—to see how close we can get to wild rhinos without their noticing, even when they’re looking right at us, an experiment to see just how easy it would be for a poacher to sneak up on a rhino. The wind is in our favour, blowing away from the rhinos and toward us, so they shouldn’t pick up our scent. Brett whispers, “Don’t make any noise, and don’t move.” The rhinos slowly make their way past the trees providing our minimal camouflage when they come to a complete stop, turn, and look straight in our direction. All that’s between the pointed ends of two horns and us is maybe 30 feet of very thin air and what I hope is some very, very bad eyesight. For nearly a full minute they stare, a tense assessment as to exactly what species Brett and I might be.

Finally they start calmly walking in our direction to get to the water behind us. Brett again whispers, “Don’t move! Don’t move!” That’s when I realise I’m not even breathing, and I’d better move my lungs before I pass out. The first rhino passes ten feet to our right, but the second, larger one picks up our scent. At five or six feet away he stops, suddenly recognising the big E on the eye chart. Fortunately his next reaction is to jump to his left, away from me, and trot toward his buddy and the water. I ask Brett, “Is it okay now to move? Because my legs would really like to shake.”

Though I’m armed only with a camera for my close encounter, the experience makes it clear that evolution has not provided the rhinoceros with an adequate defence against men armed with guns and dreams of big money. To save the rhinos, poaching must carry a higher price tag, and huge fines and mandatory jail sentences must be applied all the way up the line, from low-level hunters to importers. Even then, these massive creatures built like tanks will still need bodyguards. At the parks that are most successfully protecting their populations, rangers follow rhinos with automatic rifles and a shoot-to-kill policy. That’s a price that should give most poachers second thoughts. Such a solution may sound drastic. But if something isn’t done soon, man will do in, say, the next 60 years what the planet couldn’t do in the previous 60 million: push Africa’s last remaining rhinoceroses into extinction.

Appeared in the March 2014 issue as “On the Horns of a Dilemma”.




  • Boyd Matson is a journalist and adventurer for National Geographic U.S. and hosts the radio show National Geographic Weekend.


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