“A few years ago I was on a secluded beach in the Tsitsikamma area, when I became acutely aware of repeated patterns in the sand along the edge of the water. There was a distinctly rhythmic quality in the way the sand dried out with each wave that retreated back into the ocean. It was accompanied by a rhythmic throbbing sound of the ocean, which was echoed by the cliffs along the beach. It felt as if the whole beach was pulsating and as if all the separate elements, the water, the sand and cliffs, were all part of one entity. I had never before or since had the same experience, even though this is a place I visit once a year. It feels as if I had a glimpse of how alive the landscape is.”

- Story & Images submitted by “Monkey”

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“Garkman” is the name the Yolngu Aboriginal people of northeast Arnhem Land given to all frog species, but most notably the totemic green tree frog (Litoria caerulea).

On a series of full-moon nights, Garman would emerge from the fence posts surrounding our research residence and perch there motionless for the entire evening -   just waiting for the right feast to come her way (or so we assume).

It was a poignant moment because a colleague and myself had been recently learning about the threats to Garkman – and Aboriginal culture – region from the invasive cane toad. And seeing her there, perched in calm defiance under the full moon was stunning.

The photo inspired me to write a short article about Garkman, the cane toad and it’s relationship to Yolngu culture, as researched by Boll (2004; 2006).

Image: Matthew Zylstra (Photos of the frog were taken without using a flash).

There was this one day in Plettenberg Bay, exactly one year ago, which I still find kind of bizarre, as multiple seemingly random independent events came together in an incredible ineffable kind of way.

The story of all that happened preceding the event is too much to include here for this simple little online entry. Yet, it is those very interweaving details which give this story all the personal meaning, and without which it would have ‘just’ been a wonderful sighting of orcas close into the river mouth.

Their sudden and unexpected appearance in the late afternoon just, sort of, – it’s hard to convey – but it’s like this package of events which were unfolding throughout the day were suddenly and immediately bundled together and sealed with his numinous ‘stamp’, as if giving the sense that some greater orchestration was at play, connecting all the events in preparation for this moment, this finale.

I still revere this day with the sense of incredibility, awe, power, privilege and being humbled by nature’s manifest forces.

One day I’ll try and write the story out in full – maybe in my eventual thesis – but there’s a part of it which you know will never quite be grasped by the reader. Because, unless you experience the threads which tied all of this day together, they may otherwise appear like silly unconnected events.

For now, the best way to express is through poetry:

Rare glimpse of an orcas breach.

On a wintery gusty grey sea
Dolphin pod huddles nervously
Surfers indecisive: do they hear
The release of orca breath so near
Transfixed the watchers now blink their eyes
Nature bestows another surprise
Soft amber light – radiant rainbow frames
Orcas graceful return to wild ocean rains
Who knows for whom else this day had power
String of emotions condensed in an hour
Guess it all comes back to what one perceives
Or if in ‘a something more’ one believes….

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“I was sleeping outside on the lawn of the house in the Drakensberg where our family used to regularly go for our winter holidays. The house…is very isolated, has no electricity, and is very rustic but also very comfortable… I like to sleep outside there even though it’s very cold in winter, but I usually sleep on the veranda and not on the grass. This time I slept on the grass though, and I woke up in the very early morning with the sudden awareness that something big was near me. It ran away immediately as I moved, and I saw that it was an eland bull, and that it had been standing or grazing right next to me. It didn’t go far, and I stayed awake as the dawn gradually broke, watching the great noble beast feeding from the ouhout trees around the edge of the garden, and eating the previous night’s charcoal from the braai. I felt deeply honoured to have been so close to this animal, especially as I have always regarded them as somewhat mystical, and can fully appreciate the Bushmen’s deep respect for them. I also felt that this experience was somehow very meaningful, perhaps symbolising the natural world reaching out to me in some way, but I didn’t analyse it too deeply.”

——————————-

Story submitted by “Sally”
Image: Matthew Zylstra
(Note the image of the eland was not captured as part of “Sally’s” story but at another location.)

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There is little doubt that anyone who witnesses turtle nesting gets something from it, no matter how little. And it really varies from individual to individual. In looking at visitors’ memories of wildlife tourism, Ballantyne et al (2011: 773) document the following experience of “TV” who went to Australia’s Mon Repos:

The lump-in-the-throat experience of seeing these huge turtles lumbering out to sea after depositing the eggs, the baby turtles emerging from their sand home and going out to the wide unknown world of predators and hopefully survival, the majestic way they went slowly back to the sea…A sense of privilege at seeing the baby turtles burrow out of the sand and head for the sea as possibly one of only a very few humans ever to see these turtles. Overall, the sense of privilege and awe will stay with me. (TV)

And that powerful experience can subsequently be transformed into future actions aimed at safeguarding the welfare of the species:

…I was shocked that some of their [another country subsequently visited] gorgeous beaches (where the turtles come up to lay) were covered in plastic bags and rubbish! So me and a friend spent hours cleaning bags in an effort to prevent the local turtles from possibly ingesting them. (TV) (Ballantyne et al 2011: 776).

But back to Ostional, I personally took away many lessons from that visit. One of these was documented in last week’s meaningful nature experience – The Energizing Effect.  Much of it centred around the fact that I had been going through a quite a bit of inner turmoil prior and during this holiday. I had been intensely struggling with various things – kind of emotionally depleted – and this entire experience had such an uplifting effect on me.

I think one thing just came up in its lucid clarity, was that sense of “pushing on” relentlessly and unquestioningly, even throughout the struggles and barriers. And these female turtles epitomized that with their sustained efforts. That primal urge to create, to bring new life, to do what’s instinctively as part of the genetic (or grand) design overrides any human type of ego sense of “What if I die doing this? What if I fail? What’s in it for me?”  They just do it, because that’s what they are urged to do.  And then to be finally laying all those eggs, only to see vultures, crows and people preying on the eggs at the same time – whilst in that moment of birthing….I mean wouldn’t you just want to give up with a “bugger this” mentality?  You wonder what their awareness is of the situation around them – have they mastered the Eastern (i.e. Hindu, Buddhist, Zen) art of non-attachment to outcome?

And then seeing the young hatchlings, faced with a myriad of dangers the moment their heads pop out of the sand, just go for it in that mad instinctive scramble to the water…. it puts a lot of things in perspective. And you realize that you’ve got it good, and that your problems are self-created and not nearly as huge as one’s own survival. But even if it was related to one’s survival, there comes that acceptance of it all being part of that huge never-ending cycle of life and death, beginnings and endings- which is the essence of all that is. What does that little hatchling think and feel when, after only 2 minutes of life, it is scooped up by the bird of prey?

The other huge learning experience was watching the local harvest the turtle eggs, and just reflecting on that in terms of sustainable community-based management. I ended up writing a little article on that.
So, for sure, nature events like this hold up a mirror to us and invite unparalleled introspection.

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The local security guard at Playa Ostional (Costa Rica) gingerly walked out onto the beach and took a seat nearby us. Being the centre of one of ‘nature’s wonder’s’, we felt compelled to question the gentleman about everything we could in relation to Ostional’s fame for being one of the few locations in the world which is home to the periodic mass nesting of the Olive Ridley Turtle. Though it was not the information which we received which energized us back to ‘waking life’…

http://eyes4earth.org/the-energizing-effect/

We were teaching a field-based conservation course in a one of my favourite nature reserves in the Eastern Cape, South Africa. It is expansive, scenic, quiet and rarely on the average tourist’s must-see list.

One afternoon, ourselves as course instructors had to briefly leave the students at picnic spot in order to race back to our “base facility” to pick up another vehicle to transport the students to our next destination. It is at least a 45-60min round trip and we couldn’t afford to delay.

My co-instructor jumped in the bakkie [4x4 ute/pick-up] and off we drove at somewhat of a hurried pace. We gambled on a back road which is quicker in distance but can get a bit rough after rain. Given the lack of rain at that time, it proved to be passable. He knew the roads well and drove them at a slightly unnerving speed.  Unlike the slowly attentive drives we did with the students, on this occasion our attention was unfocused on the surroundings; we were absorbed in “shop-talk”, notably the challenges that reserve management faces and related frustrations.  It wasn’t the most desirable of conversations and we were both getting fired up (emotionally charged). In the back of the bakkie was another colleague sitting quietly and taking in the scenery. Little did I know at the time but her thoughts were absorbed elsewhere.

We wheeled around another corner of dense thicket vegetation and then screeched to a sudden stop. My mouth was agape, words left dangling mid-sentence.  The sight of a rhino “right there” was extraordinary. My heart raced. I had never seen a rhino at such close range – let along a black rhino – and I knew what they were capable of. All the stories of frenzied charges at people or vehicles had definitely left its mark in my mind.

Photo: P. Lent

The beast was immense. It just seemed bigger than I could have previously conceptualized. Although we were later to learn that this was probably ‘only’ a sub-adult.

It stared at us. We stared at it. It was a staring standoff. Neither of us moved. In the meantime, my colleague had the presence of mind to pull out his camera and take this photo. I was waiting for the head to drop and the charge to begin – that would make an ever better photo. My adrenalin surged. But then the unexpected happened. The rhino started making its way toward us, but not in any aggressive or defensive kind of manner. It was a gentle lope, almost a trot, in our direction. The head was raised and, if anything, it was more of a curious approach. It casually moved closer and closer and then at about two metres away from the front of the vehicle my co-instructor tapped the side of the bakkie with his hands.

The rhino jerked out of its hypnotic amble and skidded into a 90 degree change in direction. The noise had sufficiently alarmed it to want to hastily trot off into the thicket off the back of the bakkie. We edged our way forward in the bakkie and looked back. It stood there a little longer looking our way before deciding to keep heading off into the dense thicket.

We were awed. It took us some moments to come to make a more normal sense of awareness and process what had just happened. I couldn’t help  wondering about what might have happened had my colleague not tapped on the bakkie. At what point would have the rhino stopped? What were its intentions? What made it approach us? We will never know of course.

I put my head out the window and asked my colleague in the back of the bakkie how the experience was for her.  After all, she had been much closer to the action than myself, without the added sense of protection from behind the windscreen. She said it was awesome as well as  frightening and then she added something else, “You know what I was thinking as were driving along?”  “What’s that?”   “I was wondering about how safe I would be in the back of the bakkie should we encounter a rhino at close range, what would I do ….”

Later, she reflected some more:

“That was a powerful one. As were driving I felt there was a big animal close. I was in the back of the bakkie and I felt that something was close and I was just looking and searching. And I just knew. I don’t remember if I knew there was a rhino there but I felt something was there and I was on the back of the bakkie and sometimes you just know. Like that feeling of I am sure I am going to see something and that something came and it was a rhino. Then the rhino started approaching, maybe just to be caressed! [laughs]

But unfortunately it never got that far for us to find out…

Text: Matthew Zylstra

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So coming across a herd of white rhino about half an hour into our walk was an awesome surprise. As a fairly newly arrived foreigner in South Africa, it was my first encounter with rhino and to be on foot made it exhilarating. The sense of knowing they knew we were all there watching and wondering how they would react to us was all pretty new to me.

Photo: N. Daamen

As it turned out, the rhinos were pretty chilled. The path we need to walk was actually exactly where the rhino were grazing and our guide gently approached them and they were content to eventually scurry off over the hill.

But that’s where for me this experience got extra special. If the rhinos were unexpected, I could have never guess what else was in store. As the rhino trotted back up and over the hilltop, we were momentarily stunned with the manic shake of the wildebeest head suddenly appearing from behind the hill crest…and galloping amongst the retreating rhino heard.

I know I will never forget that image. It is just engraved into my recollections. It was one of those indelible moments that have a certain something illuminating them. It was a combination of the sheer surprise, the first time of seeing a wildebeest, the fact that I’ve always been fascinated with that animal  – one of my African favourites –and all of that just infused into ‘a moment’ of perceptual focus and wonder.

This story unfortunately ends on a tragic note: Last year (2011) I heard that every single rhino pictured in this photo was callously slaughtered as part of the rhino poaching epidemic to hit South Africa.

I was devastated, especially because this time it was personal. This more than anything hammers home the realization of the implications of biodiversity loss. Over and above the intrinsic value of the rhino and their right to co-exist, what is the lost existence value and the knowledge that these creatures can and do shape memories and change lives?

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I took this picture back in 2007 when up at Nhulunbuy in Arnhem Land, Australia (land of the Yolngu Aboriginal people). At the time I was pretty obsessed with our initial flagship eyes4earth.org initiative called “The Question”, i.e. What did nature do for you today? It was an outreach program aimed at communicating the concept of ecosystem services to the broader public. So I was pretty active in taking pictures of diverse ecosystem services (i.e. benefits of nature for human well-being) to kind of raise awareness in various creative shapes and forms. The other thing I would try and do is to find question mark symbols, i.e. ” ? ” which naturally occurred in nature. For example, we had a gecko lizard which curled in the ” ? ” shape as well as a praying mantis, millipede, worms, roots of trees etc.

I was out one sunset and saw this dead fish on the beach. I am too sure what I had in mind actually. I guess I must have been getting pretty desperate for images to think I might be able to use a dead fish for promotional material. But for some reason I decided to go ahead and snap this fish as the water lapped up around it. I did this once, and in the low light with an average early series digital camera, I totally blurred it. I tried it once more and thought, “Oh, that might have worked.” I looked at the image on the LCD. Paused. Creased by brow. Looked again. Raised my brow “Crikey, no way…”

Maybe I had too many question marks on the brain but I was fully bemused at the resulting image: the water had lapped up and around this fish to form a near perfect question mark shape. Maybe I was the only one who could see it…. and maybe I still am! But it definitely was a moment which resonated with me. The odds were incalculable. I guess it kind of demonstrated that what rests at the forefront of your sustained focus and attention comes to manifest … not necessarily universally in “reality” (i.e. everyone else may not see or experience what I see or experience), but at least might manifest in one’s own (skewed) perception given the patience and that ‘right moment’, whatever recipe that might be….

So, as your looking at this dead fish, know that the ocean is asking you:
“What did nature do for you today?”

Might also be a good moment to give a gracious nod of thanks. I know I did.

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Living in a rural area of South Africa where it is rare to see people around but lots of animals you start getting curious about the animal kingdom. You start vibrating in a different frequency where you resonate more with the animals and take them more into consideration in daily living. One day we found a small ground cricket  living in the house. He likes living in the same spot by a basket, maybe it was a good place to hide and hunt. We were always careful when around the small basket, so the cricket would not feel threatened. After a few weeks when the cricket got more comfortable at the house, we saw him in different places… existing and exploring. Sometimes close to the stove other times close to the floor… we got to know each other better each day. One day I found him around the dirty dishes, I guess a good place to be for foraging. He moved quickly when I started moving the dishes and made himself present in the area…. I apologised and told him that he was safe, no worries that I just needed to get the dishes done.  While I was doing the dishes, he was watching carefully, I got curious and got a closer look… such a beautiful animal green and brown with such a detailed architectural body type. After having a good look I just realized that I had never heard this animal sing; crickets must make sounds, so I was doubting if this particular cricket could make a sound… After living with each other for about a month and seeing him almost daily, from the first day that he shed the skin and left it by his favourite basket to so many days later, I realized I had never heard this cricket sing or make any noise. So I continued washing the dishes and just a few seconds later the most beautiful and loud sound reached my ears. So loud that I could not believe that this small cricket could make such a powerful sound. I was speechless … Was he showing off? Seems that he just knew! Seems that he could understand and read my thoughts and he just decided to give me a lesson. I was so grateful for such an unbelievable moment.

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