2-27（在线收听）

27.

Towards the end of that summer I went to Botswana, met up with Teej and Mike. They’d recentlydone masterwork on the David Attenborough series Planet Earth, and a few other BBC films, andnow they were shooting an important film about elephants. Several herds, stressed by habitatencroachment and drought, were stampeding into Namibia in search of food, running straight intothe arms of poachers—hundreds, armed with AK-47s. Teej and Mike hoped their film might shinea light on this rolling massacre.

I asked if I could help. They didn’t hesitate. Course, Spike.

In fact, they offered to hire me as a credited, though unpaid, cameraman.

From Day One they talked about how different I seemed. Not that I wasn’t always a hardworker, but clearly I’d learned from the Army how to take direction. They never had to tell meanything twice.

Many times during that shoot we’d be riding around the bush in their flatbed truck and I’d gazeoff and think: How bizarre. My whole life I’ve despised photographers, because they specialize instealing your freedom, and now I’m a working photographer, fighting to preserve the freedom ofthese majestic animals. And feeling freer in the process.

More ironic, I was filming veterinarians as they put tracking devices on the animals. (Thedevices would help researchers better understand the herd’s migration patterns.) Until now, Ididn’t have the happiest associations with tracking devices.

One day we filmed a vet dart a big bull elephant, then wrap a tracking collar around his neck.

But the dart only nicked the elephant’s tough skin, so he was able to gather himself and chargeaway.

Mike yelled: Grab the camera, Spike! Run!

The elephant was tearing through thick bush, mostly along a sandy path, though sometimesthere was no path. The vet and I tried to stay in his footprints. I couldn’t believe the animal’sspeed. He went eight kilometers before slowing, then stopping. I kept my distance, and when thevet caught up, I watched him put another dart into the elephant. Finally the big fella went down.

Moments later Mike came roaring up in his truck. Good job, Spike!

I was panting, hands on my knees, bathed in sweat.

Mike looked down in horror. Spike. Where are your shoes?

Oh. Yeah. Left them on the truck. Didn’t think there was time to grab them.

You ran eight kilometers…through the bush…in no shoes?

I laughed. You told me to run. Like you said, the Army taught me how to take direction.