The following day we got on the road around 8:00 AM with a daunting journey ahead of us. Add in stops for provisions, health breaks, food, a quick vehicle repair, and picking up a fellow traveler and it would total close to 14 hours. Somewhere around two hours into it I started feeling bad, not terrible, just bad. As the day progressed so did this feeling. The only thing I managed to consume was water and electrolytes, which I did so liberally. Further into the journey I was feeling nauseous, my head was pounding, and I ached from head to toe. I decided to keep all this to myself because I had no clue what was wrong and didn’t want to alarm anyone. At around the seven or eight hour mark the nausea was getting the best of me and left me no choice but to grab Jacques by the arm and mumble “please pull over”. He turned to me with a confused look but didn’t ask any questions as we skid to a stop on the shoulder. After a few minutes on the side of the road I had gathered myself and the feeling passed. On we went.
After what seemed like a week, we finally turned off the paved road and pulled over for a quick health break. As I stepped out of the vehicle my head swirled and the nausea racked me. I fought it for a moment but this time I lost the battle and the inevitable happened. As the heaving subsided, Jacques approached with a fresh bottle of water and insisted that I take all the time I need. My condition had continued to get worse, but I still didn’t tell the guys how bad it really was.
The cruiser pulled back out onto the dirt road and I felt a small sense of relief thinking we were almost there. Little did I know but we still had over 90 long, dusty miles left to travel. Three very quiet, very miserable hours later we finally pulled into camp and were greeted with singing, warm face towels, and the offer of an alcoholic beverage. I managed a smile for the duration of the event but declined the drink as well as the invitation to dinner that followed.
As I collapsed onto the bed the two ladies that had escorted me to the tent disappeared quietly. A few minutes later they returned with my bags and asked if I needed anything. All I could think was water, lots of water. Just as they left, Jacques tapped on the tent and unzipped the flap in almost one motion. His first question was, “how are you”? As I struggled to sit up he didn’t wait for a reply and asked whether or not I had evacuation insurance. This was a sure sign that he now knew the reality of my condition. My affirmation probably made him feel a bit better but did nothing for me. Earlier he had explained that the normal wake up call for these hunts was 4:30 AM. I was quite relieved when he pulled the zipper down to leave and said he would request breakfast at 7:30 and I should “come out when I can”.
The night crept by as I prayed for any relief and just a wink of sleep. None came. The sounds of the night in remote places have always fascinated me however in this case I couldn’t enjoy them. Even though the nausea had left me after a couple of hours the body aches and pounding head were constant and had only been christened by a constant trickle of sweat. The only relief I had the entire night was when an occasional breeze would move through the tent and cool the sweat. Around 4 o’clock the camp slowly began to stir. Over the course of the next hour or so I listened as the activity increased with my mind spinning. All I had ever been told about hunting elephant was that there was a price to be paid and the only currency was boot leather and sweat. With that thought playing over and over in my head a cold, harsh reality began to sink in. I am in no condition to hunt……
