I’m standing in an Indian forest, sweat running down my spine, while somewhere
in the dense undergrowth surrounding me there lurks a 450lb killing machine
with 3in-long canine teeth and sickle-like claws.
This master predator can reach 35mph in seconds, so running is not an option,
and shimmying up the nearest tree won’t save me either. In light of all
this, the ancient rifle gripped tightly by the man next to me seems like a
waste of time.
Weighing 100lb more than the biggest African lion, the Bengal tiger is the
true king of the jungle, and the jungle in this case is the Bandhavgarh
national park in the central state of Madhya Pradesh. I’m told the big cats
of Bandhavgarh don’t yet have a taste for humans, unlike those of the
Sundarbans in West Bengal, which devour around 250 people a year. The
Bandhavgarh tigers only kill people if surprised or threatened, but rarely
eat the corpse.
At the turn of the 20th century there were more than 100,000 of the beasts
living in the wild. A century later that number is down to less than 5,000,
and reducing. Three subspecies — the Bali, Caspian and Java tigers — have
already gone for ever, and those remaining live under constant threat of
annihilation.
The highest concentration of tigers (Panthera tigris) is in India, and the
majority of those live in Madhya Pradesh. Here the market value of a dead
Bengal tiger is around £20,000, and in a land where the average wage is 60p
a day, 20 grand goes a long way. The poachers use high-voltage cables,
snares and cyanide to earn their stripes, spiriting the skinned corpses away
to backstreet traders in the railway town of Katni, two hours from the park.
Within days almost every part of the animal is sold: to China, central Asia
or Russia to prop up the flaccid egos of fickle men, and poachers aren’t the
only threat. Locals have been known to kill the beasts in revenge for stolen
stock, and all those television appeals by tearful actresses can’t stop the
killing.
That’s the job of the antipoaching patrol. Their boss, Asheem Shrivastava,
Bandhavgarh’s field director, is a man under siege. With 174 square miles of
parkland to patrol and scant resources, he’s adopted an intelligence-based
approach. “Most of the poaching is done by Bhardi gangs,” he explains.
“They’re a nomadic tribe traditionally employed by Hindus to kill wild
animals. If they turn up in a village around my perimeter, the chances are
they’re poaching, so I pay villagers to let me know.” Sometimes, however,
the poachers pay even more to keep the villagers quiet, and then, says
Shrivastava, “we hunt them down”.
This is why I’m out here, on foot patrol in a snake-infested jungle with
Captain Chaturpedimen and the men of antipoaching patrol number 23. But hard
as I try to concentrate on catching poachers, I can’t shake the thought that
the very animal we’re trying to safeguard might suddenly burst from cover
and kill one of us.
Specifically, I’m thinking about an alpha-male called B2. This 450lb cattle
rustler leaves the park whenever he’s hungry, kills a cow then wanders back
into the sanctuary. It could be only a matter of time before B2 decides
human intruders are easier prey. I’m just hoping that if B2 is anywhere in
the vicinity today, he will fancy an Indian.
With only 58 tigers in an area the size of a small English county, the chances
of a close encounter have to be tiny, don’t they? “Indeed, sir,” agrees the
captain, shaking his head. “It has been four days since we last saw one. If
you meet a tiger when on foot, stand your ground and stare him in the eye.
Break eye contact, or try to run, and you die.”
The only movement you should make, I’m told, is to slowly bring up your arm to
protect your throat. It can save your life in an attack. Any other sudden
gesture could be fatal. A villager challenged the rules just a fortnight
ago. He came into the park to steal wood, and they found his entrails in one
place, his carcass in another.
Suddenly, ahead on the ridge, langur monkeys are screaming, and the neurotic
chital deer, which are to tigers what baltis are to Brummies, are joining
in. “Alarm calls,” hisses the captain. A deeper bark joins the noise and the
captain shakes his head.
“Samba deer alarm. Definitely a bloody tiger, sir.” I notice that I’m exposed
at the back of the line, and start to creep forwards. But the captain stops
me, his finger on his lips. The alarm calls are becoming frantic and seem to
be coming from all around.
“B2, sir,” whispers the patrol’s lookout man. Oh marvellous; it’s not just any
tiger but the 450lb leviathan who dines out on whole cows and the occasional
villager. A white-skinned westerner would liven up today’s menu nicely. It’s
a humbling feeling, no longer being at the top of the food chain. The air
smells of sweat and fear, and I see the men subconsciously bracing
themselves for an explosion of tooth and claw from the bush. Very quietly,
ever so gently, I practise the movement I’ve been shown — bringing my arm up
to protect my throat.
Then the alarm calls move away, the cries of frightened animals fading like a
Mexican wave. We wait for 15 minutes, listening to the tiger’s progress
along the ridge, before the men relax, chattering with relief.
Then I notice them staring at me, smiling. Self consciously, I bring my arm
down from my throat.
How to have a working holiday and save wildlife
What Snow leopard conservation
Where The Altai mountains in the Altai Republic, central Asia
Your job From your base camp at 7,000ft you will monitor snow leopard
numbers, looking for tracks, kills and the animals themselves
When Regular 14-day expeditions throughout the summer, the first on
July 9
Cost From £1,290 excluding flights (www.responsibletravel.com/Trip/Trip100414.htm
)
What Work on a panda reserve
Where Panda conservation reserve in Wolong, central China
Your job Assist the centre staff with the feeding and everyday running
of the park
When All year round
Cost £1,495 for four weeks, excluding flights (www.frontier.ac.uk/?section=background&sub=about&
page=125 )
What Monitor sea life
Where Mahahual, a Mexican fishing village
Your job Aiding local and international scientists in their work
monitoring coral reefs and fish numbers around Mahahul; carrying out
turtle-nesting surveys
When Regular five and 10-week expeditions. The next begins on April 11
Cost £1,375 for five weeks, excluding flights (www.gvi.co.uk/
pages/expeditionDetail. asp?expedition=67 )
What Join a Greenpeace ship
Where Four vessels cover territory from the Pacific to the Arctic
Your job Sailing to remote areas to witness and take action against
activities such as whaling expeditions or illegal dumping of waste
How Apply by sending a CV to Greenpeace Marine Services, Ottho
Heldringstraat 5, 1066 AZ Amsterdam, the Netherlands (www.greenpeace.org/international/about/ships
)
