INDIA

CONTINENTAL DRIFTER
11th Stop: Mysore, India by Elliott Hester
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The massive elephant took two steps forward, raised its trunk high, blew an ear-shattering trumpet blast, and then charged. I dropped my camera. The woman beside me screamed. Along with three other tourists, we stood in the back of the jeep, frozen with fear and disbelief. Elephants aren't supposed to attack nature lovers at wildlife reserves. But this elephant apparently did not know the rules.

Moments earlier the massive mammal had been fifty yards away, stripping tree bark with its powerful trunk and eating greedily. Then suddenly – and seemingly without provocation – it charged straight toward us.

In the days leading up to this predicament, I boarded a train in Delhi and survived a 35-hour, 1,500-mile journey to Bangalore. From there I caught a bus to Mysore which lies 3 hours to the south. A hired car took me 50 miles farther south to Karapur, home of Nagarahole National Park (also known as Rajiv Gandhi National Park).

This 400-square-mile animal reserve is perhaps the best remaining habitat for the endangered Indian Elephant. Strict protection from poachers allows an estimated 4,000 elephants to roam unmolested through Nagarahole's undulating forests. Having no other natural predators, elephants can live here happily for up to 60 or 70 years.

In addition to elephants, the park is populated by a host of interesting critters: gaur (the world's largest wild oxen), sloth bears, spotted deer, wild dogs, crocodiles, tigers, leopards, cobras, and nearly 300 different birds including Black eagles and Shaheen falcons.

On the first day of my 2-day visit, I checked into a cabin at Kabini River Lodge (www.junglelodges.com). A private hunting lodge for the Maharaja of Mysore until 1955 when the national park was created, the property sits on the bank of the Kabini River near Nagarahole's southern border.

After tea at the Gol Ghar, a circular open-air restaurant overlooking the river, I hopped in the back of a resort jeep for a wildlife tour of the park. While our driver wheeled the jeep along the dirt track, a naturalist sat beside him, providing information about the park and its inhabitants.

"The wild dogs have to work together in order to survive." He said this as a pack of wild dogs leapt across the trail ahead, their red coats and bushy black tails bobbing through the forest conspicuously. Their pet-like appearance is deceptive, however. Hunting in packs of 8 to 12, "they will even attack tigers if confronted."

We bounced along the trail, stopping to gaze as interesting animals appeared. I saw strutting peacocks that neglected to spread their colorful feathers. Langur monkeys leapt from tree to tree, their long tails dangling perhaps 4 or 5 feet. A lone gaur bull stared from the shade of a bamboo tree. Neon-blue Indian Rollers (Blue Jays) flew overhead, flashing the forest with brilliant color. I saw bison, owls, even a hooded cobra that slid across the trail and disappeared into the bush.

Dozens upon dozens of spotted deer leapt gracefully away from the approaching jeep. Some watched from the forest as we drove by. Others grazed in the distance, rump to rump with their unlikely brethren: the wild boar.

"The deer and boar are very good friends," said the naturalist. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it. Wild boars are ferocious creatures. Weighing as much as 400 pounds and with razor-sharp tusks, they are extremely aggressive and have been known to gore tigers to death. Yet boars graze peacefully among the spotted deer, one of Nagaraholeís most defenseless inhabitants.

I did not see any of the purported 70 leopards that inhabit the park. Nor did I see any of the 60 tigers. (Both cats are extremely shy and only show themselves occasionally.) But I saw elephants. Perhaps 100 or more.

In the distance, a small herd of elephants kicked up clumps of grass with their front feet. I watched closely while they used their trunks to grab the clumps and shovel the grass into their mouths.

Farther along the track, we came upon a heard as it tore bark from trees. The naturalist explained that elephants need to eat around 400 pounds of food daily in order to remain healthy and satisfied. The matriarch, not the bull, manages the herd. Although cursed with poor eyesight, elephants have a keen sense of smell and are quick to protect themselves when threatened.

From the safety of the jeep, I pointed my camera and pressed the shutter again and again. Speaking in a whisper, the naturalist noted that the matriarch had begun to move in a circle around the herd. "She's teaching the baby how to charge," he said.

Charge?

The elephants stood shoulder to shoulder with the baby flanked by the two largest ones. The naturalist then did something that in retrospect he probably shouldn't have. He got out of the jeep.

He told the driver to keep the engine running and then took a few cautious steps toward the herd. "Watch this," he said, and took another step.

Suddenly, the matriarch raised its trunk and let loose a knee-wobbling shriek that will haunt me to the grave. Then the elephant charged. It moved quickly, like a sprinter out of the blocks. I can't say that my life flashed in front of me, but I dropped my Nikon and nearly soiled my shorts.

The naturalist casually open the car door and got in. As if on cue, the elephant stopped abruptly and returned to the herd.

"That was a 'mock' charge," he said, noting that the pursuit lasted only 2 or 3 seconds. Apparently, elephants sometimes pretend to charge when other animals get too close. But when you're standing at the receiving end, there's nothing "mock" about an elephant running toward you.

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Next stop: Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

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