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Event: Information on Expanding Horizons and International Funding Opportunities

INFORMATIONAL MEETING:
EXPANDING HORIZONS AND OTHER INTERNATIONAL FUNDING OPPORTUNITIES 

Monday October 16 2017 @ 5pm

Location- S1 222

Dr. Alex Travis and Dr. Jai Sweet will discuss the Expanding Horizons program and other international funding sources, for Cornell veterinary students interested in traveling internationally for research or clinical experience.

What is Expanding Horizons?
Expanding Horizons offers Cornell veterinary students a truly unique opportunity to experience veterinary medicine in a developing country.  The program provides grants to Cornell veterinary students who are interested in veterinary experience in developing nations. Students spend 6-10 weeks in a developing country engaged in either veterinary research or hands on veterinary experience.  Third years heading into clinical rotations may also do an Expanding Horizons experience during opportunity blocks!

Questions?  Contact Dr. Sweet by email: jr27@cornell.edu

Expanding Horizons Bio: Eric Teplitz (2020)

Eric Teplitz (2020) in Malawi through the Expanding Horizons program at CUCVM

My name is Eric Teplitz and I am a rising 2nd year veterinary student at Cornell. With an interest in infectious disease epidemiology, I participated in the Expanding Horizons Program with the goal of gaining applied research experience in the field. I established my research project with the Silent Heroes Foundation and the Lilongwe Wildlife Trust in Malawi, an organization that promotes wildlife rescue & research, advocacy, and conservation education. Illegal bushmeat and pet trading are prevalent practices in Malawi that are destructive to ecological health and biodiversity. The Lilongwe Wildlife Centre was established as a sanctuary for animals subjected to such crimes and aims to rehabilitate and release them into the wild.

I have been at the Lilongwe Wildlife Centre for the past seven weeks, and I have another two weeks before returning home. In my free time, I’ve had several opportunities to travel, visiting South Luangwa National Park in Zambia and Liwonde National Park in Malawi. I’ve also had the unique experience of scuba diving in Lake Malawi, which has a greater diversity of fish species than any other lake on Earth!

My research objective is to provide additional information for the Lilongwe Wildlife Trust’s primate release program. Release strategies of captive wildlife are based on several factors that determine if, when, and how an animal will be reintroduced. One such factor is the risk of disease transmission from reintroduced animals to wildlife populations and humans, as failure to evaluate these risks can lead to unintended disease communication.

Salmonella and Shigella are groups of bacteria that colonize the intestine and cause diarrhea and inflammation of the gut lining. They are spread via fecal-oral transmission – the bacteria are shed in the feces and subsequently ingested by another animal. These bacteria infect nonhuman primates and humans globally and are therefore critically important for both wildlife conservation and public health. Unfortunately, Salmonella and Shigella are difficult to treat medically, and consequently studying the patterns of shedding is important for informing disease management strategies through an understanding of transmission dynamics. At the Lilongwe Wildlife Centre, I am studying the shedding patterns of Salmonella and Shigella in primates.

The primary objective of my project is to identify temporal shedding patterns of Salmonella and Shigella as well as risk factors that affect shedding. Some examples include stress, age, sex, body condition, patient history, and concurrent parasitic infection. I designed a sampling schedule upon arrival, and currently I am collecting fecal samples for bacterial culture and diagnosing parasitic infections via fecal flotation. I have been evaluating stress through behavioral analysis, monitoring for behaviors that characteristically indicate stress in primates (such as pacing, self-grooming, and excessive scratching).

The project involves components of microbiology, primatology, and epidemiology, and the interdisciplinary expertise I gained during my first year of veterinary school has allowed me to conduct my research successfully. Designing and implementing an epidemiology study has been a useful learning experience as I find ways to adapt to logistical and technical constraints while in Malawi. Throughout the past several weeks, I have become more familiar with the procedures for primate integrations and reintroductions, which has guided my experimental design so that I can provide the most important information. In my remaining two weeks in Lilongwe, I will do my best to produce useful data!

Expanding Horizons

Expanding Horizons is an alumni-funded program that allows Cornell veterinary students to travel to developing nations and participate in summer projects.  Students design their own experiences (such as a research project or internship) at a hosting organization of their choice, and apply for an Expanding Horizons Grant to have their experience fully-funded!  In the past, student projects have ranged from evaluating nutrition in macaws in Costa Rica, cheetah conservation efforts in Namibia, and tick-borne disease in goats in Uganda, just to name a few!

Usually, students participate in Expanding Horizons for 8-10 weeks, during the summer after their first or second year of vet school. However, students who would like to participate in an international project during their clinical rotations may apply for funding for a 4-week long international project.

Expanding Horizons is designed to train Cornell vet students to be international leaders in conservation, public health and clinical medicine. So… what are you waiting for? Information about the application process and deadlines can be found at the official website!

Click here to read posts from students about their Expanding Horizons projects!

See the markers on the map below for locations of past projects our students have done through Expanding Horizons and click here for descriptions by location.

Read about Expanding Horizons in SCOPES magazine:

Navigating Lemur Conservation in Madagascar

When I stepped onto the plane to Madagascar, I had no idea what to expect. Expanding Horizons has sent students on a wide variety of experiences, but never to this location. It is sometimes said that the only constant when working with wildlife is uncertainty; for me, that was an understatement.

I arrived in the capital city of Antananarivo with a definitive plan, developed along with Dr. Patricia Wright, primatologist and anthropologist from Stony Brook University. I would spend the first week at Centre ValBio, the research station founded by Dr. Wright in the continuous rainforest, observing and taking behavioral data on the lemurs that reside in Ranomafana National Park. Then, a team of Centre ValBio research technicians and I would travel to a remote area of forest fragments, dart and capture a group of greater bamboo lemurs, take biological samples for research purposes, and translocate the group of lemurs into the protected pristine rainforest of Ranomafana National Park. This project had three different goals. The first was a rescue mission for the threatened lemurs in the fragmented forest. The second was to collect data on this critically endangered and relatively unstudied species. The last goal was to increase genetic diversity in greater bamboo lemurs by introducing a new population to the two lemurs already in Ranomafana National Park. The rest of my summer would be spent processing samples and monitoring the group of lemurs as they adapted to their new environment, or so I thought.

Unfortunately, the trip to the fragmented forest was severely delayed, but I made the most of that time by working closely with my team in the design and management of the project and looking for ways to improve it. I met with the regional head of Malagasy National Parks, park rangers, and environmental administrators where we discussed the future of the national park in lemur conservation. At the research station I worked with researchers, veterinarians, and even botanists, both local and international, to assimilate their expertise into this lemur conservation project.

In the process of researching and networking, the scope of the project began to grow. We found funding for a humanitarian team to build a dam for the local villages near our target population and the botanists joined our team to examine the possibility of reconnecting the forest fragments with the continuous forest. We consulted the experts around us to figure out how to take full advantage of a single capture event by collecting a wide array of samples from each lemur. Together we set up a plan to establish long-term preliminary data prior to the translocation.

The overall goals of the project remained the same, but the timeline was elongated and incorporated more disciplines. Instead of doing the capture with sample collection and translocation all in one trip, an initial team would capture, sample, radio collar, and release the lemurs back into the fragmented forest. Then a team of technicians from the research station would remain at the site for at least five months to gather behavioral, nutritional, and hormonal data. In the future, once sufficient data is collected and it is deemed safe to transport the lemurs, another expedition will embark to capture the lemurs for translocation to the safety of Ranomafana National Park.

While I waited for the initial team to embark, I was lucky enough to join a different project where I operated small mammal traps to gather morphometric data on mouse lemurs and chased ring-tailed lemurs through the forests to collect fecal samples. This expedition took me to the undisturbed and utterly breathtaking Lost Rainforest of Crystal Mountain, which is even more Indiana Jones-esque than the name implies, but that is a story for another time.

After returning from the Lost Rainforest, I had a quick turnaround before embarking on my own team’s expedition to capture a group of greater bamboo lemurs. The journey was wrought with obstacles, both literal and metaphorical. These included driving three days over one of the worst roads in the world where the winches on our vehicles were exercised often, being stuck for five days in a hotel while we waited for a government official to send a single email that would allow us to progress, and almost being turned away by the villagers upon arrival to the fragmented forests. However, once we finally established our camp around the clay church in the village, we wasted no time in jumping into action. From the daily river crossings that required full pants removal to the herds of cattle that stumbled through our processing setup, nothing could stop us once we found our momentum. Our blowdart experts were bringing us lemurs faster than we could process them and we had a queue of lemurs patiently waiting their turn. Our processing team consisted of three vets (two from Germany and one from Madagascar), one parasitologist from the US, and myself and it only took us a couple of lemurs to become a well-oiled machine. Not only did we monitor anesthesia and conduct physical exams, but we also took a wide variety of samples including blood, hair, feces, swabs from every orifice, parasites, morphometrics, and even breath. In just two and a half days, we darted and processed 12 greater bamboo lemurs and it was glorious.

It was extremely fun and rewarding to work with the lemurs and to safely release them back into the forest, but what made the experience truly special was that we were actively championing the conservation of a critically endangered species. I hope that I am able to return to Madagascar next year to continue my work on the translocation of the lemurs, but even if I am unable to return, this past summer in Madagascar has been an extraordinary experience that I will never forget. As the Malagasy say, olombelona tsi akoho!


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Bekah Weatherington, class of 2021, is a Cornell DVM student from San Diego, CA. She has received her B.S. in biology and M.S. in biomedical sciences from Colorado State University. Bekah is interested in how veterinary medicine can be used as a tool in wildlife conservation. Her special interests include rehabilitation, aquatic species, and international field work.

Investigation of Peste des Petits Ruminants Virus in Chitwan, Nepal

Sampling goats in the local village of Lothar.

Gazing up through the foliage for the source of the growing sound, we find a group of Rhesus macaques, all seemingly distressed and aware of a presence in the jungle unknown to us. Suddenly, the reason for the commotion becomes starkly apparent. A full grown leopard darts down from its post in a nearby tree, swiftly landing on the jungle floor; it flees the scene in a matter of seconds. With our judgment slightly impaired from the recent spike in adrenaline and euphoria, we approach the tree to get a closer look. This movement spooks yet another leopard who races off on the same path. Unable to find our words, my guides and I exchange hugs and high fives in response to the amazing encounter we just experienced. This was thirty minutes into a four day trek of Chitwan National Park, Nepal.

Wild Bengal tiger spotted at a watering hole in Chitwan National Park.

I considered myself inordinately lucky to have spotted such rare wildlife on my first day. While this is true, Chitwan National Park is a haven of biodiversity, and offers one of the best opportunities in the world to see magnificent macrofauna, such as wild Bengal Tigers, Leopards, and Indian Rhinoceroses to name a few. Not only do these animals reside in the park, but they are flourishing and growing in number. In fact, the park has had to acquire more land to accommodate their growing tiger population, which was recently measured at 235 individuals. The success of the park in their anti-poaching regime represents an exemplary story in conservation. It stems from a partnership between the government, local communities and NGOs. Much of the forests bordering the parks have been granted to the surrounding communities, where the members act as rangers and stewards of their land. In concert with local villages, army presence throughout the park has also proven to be immensely effective in mitigating poaching. The park service deservedly boasts that they have been poaching free of tigers and rhinos since 2011.

Despite these incredible gains, the health of wildlife in this region of southern Nepal is not entirely secure. Most notably, transmission of pathogens from domestic livestock to wildlife has proven particularly insidious. Rhinos and elephants have been confirmed dead from tuberculosis, and canine distemper virus remains a looming threat for large cats. With growing human and livestock populations in the buffer zone villages, the threat to wildlife is increasingly imminent. This is why I did my Expanding Horizons Project here.

The focus of my research was to uncover the prevalence of Peste des Petits Ruminants Virus (PPRV) in domestic goat herds of five villages bordering the national park, and from this data, try and make connections between livestock health and risk of transmission to wildlife. PPRV is a disease of immense global importance, and is responsible for $2.1 billion USD in economic losses each year. In Africa, the Middle East and Asia, small holder farmers are often left to bear the brunt of the effects, since their livelihoods are inextricably linked to the health of their livestock.

Receiving the classic Nepali award (Token of Love) after presenting my research at the local Veterinary School.

Through the invaluable aid of my Nepali partners, I was able to sample 218 domestic goats from 64 different households across five villages. For each household, we also conducted a questionnaire to gain information on husbandry, grazing patterns, and previous clinical signs. By pairing this data with the ELISA results from the goat serum, I was able to gather a much clearer picture of the local farming practices and risk factors for PPRV.  The most interesting finding from my work was the link between grazing practices and PPRV prevalence. For villages that communaly grazed, where individuals would take their animals to one or two locations in the forest or national park, PPRV rates showed 38%. However, villages that practiced isolated grazing, in which they would cut grass from the jungle and feed their goats on their property, had a prevalence of 18%. While there is inherently a level of error in my data due to imperfect sampling conditions, bias, and a relatively low sample number, this still remains a striking connection.

My time spent in Nepal was undoubtedly my most edifying experience to date. Not only did I get the opportunity to craft and execute a project in a field of veterinary medicine that I’m deeply passionate about, but I was also able to immerse myself in Nepali culture. All of my partners were local Nepali from the Chitwan region, and as a result, I gained practice in partnership and collaboration in an entirely different cultural context.

I returned from Nepal exhausted, but deeply moved, and with a clearer sense of direction and values. I am fervently committed to continue developing my skills, so that I can effectively promote wildlife health and conservation.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Born and raised in the beautiful rollings hills outside Charlottesville, Virginia, Daniel Foley (class of 2021) attended UVA for his undergraduate.  He was drawn to the Cornell College of Veterinary Medicine by the university’s opportunities and education in Wildlife Health and Conservation Medicine.  He is particularly passionate about conservation efforts in the interface between livestock and wildlife, and how such issues impact human health and the management of ecosystem resources.

The Bioethics of Wildlife Intervention

A young springbok prancing in the air, a behavior known as “pronking.” Photo via Wikimedia Commons, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

A one-day-old springbok rises on his gangly legs — the shriveled umbilical cord still dangling from his ventrum — and begins to boing around his new surroundings. There is plenty to discover in the vast African bushveld, which he proceeds to do with reckless abandon.

Suddenly, a group of jackals saunters from behind an acacia tree and one of them seizes the “bokkie” by the neck. Within seconds, a game reserve employee dashes out of his safari vehicle to shoo away the jackals, gingerly picks up the injured springbok, and races to the wildlife clinic. Thankfully, no puncture wounds are detected, only bruising — the bokkie is later returned to the original site. The veterinarian waits from afar, hoping the youngster will rejoin his springbok herd.

Adult male sable antelope (Hippotragus niger). Photo via Wikimedia Commons, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

A month later, an adult male sable is seen hobbling on three legs due to a severe hoof infection. Darting supplies and medications are loaded onto a helicopter, from which the sable is safely anesthetized. After sedation is achieved, the hoof is examined and subsequently treated with saline flush and antibiotics. A reversal drug is then injected into the thigh muscle, upon which personnel are instructed to vacate the premises expediently. Meanwhile, the veterinarian remains on-site to verify the antelope’s full recovery.

Clearly, there is never a dull day in wildlife medicine. As an aspiring wildlife veterinarian who plans to pursue conservation medicine, I have frequently encountered this bioethical issue in both my academic studies and fieldwork. The aforementioned circumstances were experiences I witnessed during my summer in Namibia, where I was conducting research and shadowing the resident veterinarian on a wildlife reserve. Although these individual scenarios involved many factors worth analyzing, the veterinarian plays a prominent role in each situation, often deferred to for coordinating the remedial actions taken and their outcomes.

The aftermath of the above scenarios: the sable gradually improved post-treatment, whereas the springbokkie was never seen again — and thus, presumed dead.

That begs the question: Was it right for the employee to painstakingly pluck the baby springbok from his herd after being attacked by jackals? Were his actions compassionate or officious? Although the infant was promptly returned, it was possible the bokkie was rejected from his herd since the human handling had now covered him in foreign scent. After failing to be adopted back into the group, he was left vulnerable to the pesky jackals once more.

As health care professionals, veterinarians are uniquely positioned to address complex ethical issues involving human, animal, and ecosystem health — a concept aptly known as “One Health.” This initiative governs the core of conservation medicine and reflects the interrelationship and transdisciplinary approach needed to ultimately ensure the wellbeing of all.

The history of human-wildlife relations has experienced some challenges and backlash, but handling these interactions involves balancing valid concerns, prioritizing values, and adopting a hybrid perspective. We regularly wrestle with whether our actions are restorative or destructive, and reflect on a track record of gratifying wins and unsavory losses to learn from. Given our substantial roles in the fate of conservation, it is imperative to debate the significance of interventional efforts and whether they can be rationalized.

While the veterinary profession certainly paints a noble picture of treating injured and sick animals, conducting mass rescues, and mitigating human-wildlife conflict, the interventional aspect entailed in all these tasks suggest, to some, the controversial idea of “playing God.” Are the measures taken regarded as dutiful obligation or self-righteous interference?

On a more abstract level, such apotheosis is inevitable for any professional practicing contemporary medicine. However, the hubris of playing God is arguably heavier for veterinarians since more stakeholders fall within their jurisdiction. As an arbiter for animals, humans, and the environment, veterinarians are constantly confronted with clinical decisions involving life and death and must calculate the associated risks and benefits for multiple constituents. Tampering with the system may result in inadvertent consequences. Conversely, just because resources are available does not necessarily mean they should be used.

Though many have applauded scientific achievements such as GMOs, assisted reproductive technologies, and instrumental surveillance, others have perceived these fields as an exercise of human dominance. The idea of wildlife intervention engenders similarly conflicting sentiments. When physicians and scientists employ these seemingly “unnatural” methods, public fear arises around their potential negative — albeit unintended — consequences. Such discomfort may reflect an underlying mistrust of science and technology in favor of a powerfully unpredictable force of nature as the ultimate source of authority. When working on a free-ranging wildlife reserve that actively promotes conservation, there are various instances in which human intervention is utilized, sparking discussion of the decision-making principles that are applied and the degree of success achieved.

On one hand, the “Circle of Life” argument is commonly cited against wildlife intervention. Such critics support a laissez-faire policy that enables Mother Nature to take her course. Any meddling on the veterinarian’s part would thereby violate this principle. Despite one’s desire to aid the patient and provide necessary care for its survival, that may interfere with the operative principle of natural selection. In retrospect, with the bokkie case, a passive approach may have been best. Simply put, there are predator species and prey species; animals must eat to survive, and we cannot disrupt this instinct.

However, the “Circle of Life” argument fails to extend to veterinary work conducted with domestic pets — namely, preventative medicine. For example, routine vaccination protocols that keep our companion animals healthy are also employed in wild animals to prevent the spread of infectious diseases. If an emerging disease threatens an epidemiological crisis — especially if the pathogen is zoonotic, i.e. can be transmitted between animals and people — this must be addressed on a population level to prevent a mass mortality event.

Generally, the guideline regarding wildlife intervention is to act when the problem presented is due to human impact. Whether it’s gunshot wounds, lead toxicity, or hit-by-car cases, we are obligated to treat accordingly. We bear a responsibility to rectify anthropogenic consequences wrought on wildlife, simply because we caused them. Moreover, other factors warrant intervention, particularly if there is monetary value attached to a certain animal or species in need of saving. In fact, this factor supported the decision to intervene with the adult sable, who was one of three males on the entire reserve. For the purposes of his health and tourism value, treating this sable was deemed permissible.

As stewards and advocates of nature, we understand the precautionary principle of playing God, its inextricable social and ethical implications, and the requisite, evidence-based risk management of any impending decisions. While there is no absolutism with these difficult situations and exceptions can occasionally be made, moral reflection, consideration of all stakeholders, and development of our own self-knowledge may help us navigate this complex terrain.

This post is written by Elvina Yau and was originally published on Mongabay on October 8, 2018.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Elvina Yau, class of 2020, is a veterinary student from Long Island, New York. She graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in 2016 with a degree in Behavioral Neuroscience and double minor in Creative Writing & Biology. Elvina aspires to split her time between practicing Companion Animal Medicine in the U.S. and contributing to conservation efforts abroad both as a clinician and freelance photojournalist.

The Cheetah Chronicles: The Next Generation

“Teacher! Teacher!” a bundle of children would exclaim as I pedaled along the fence of the schoolyard and parked my bicycle at the front gate. These high-pitched utterances would engender a variety of sentiments on my part: melting my heart to be greeted so warmly every morning, crawling over to read a picture book with them in a pillow fort, clapping with joy at their mastery of multiplication tables, or closing my eyes in dread over the spilled juice on the classroom carpet.

While the primary purpose of my summer placement in Namibia was to conduct intensive research on cheetah nutrition to enhance my clinical understanding of wildlife species, it was a tremendous honor to collaborate with the AfriCat Foundation to rewardingly extend that knowledge through educational outreach. AfriCat’s teaching philosophy is based upon the following quote from Baba Dioum: “In the end, we will only conserve what we love, we will only love what we understand, and we will only understand what we are taught.” The program itself aims to increase the students’ awareness of environmental issues, develop a sense of agency regarding their roles and the sustainable living practices they can engage in, and empower them to harness their strengths and passions to become ambassadors for wildlife.

Naturally, lessons were catered to the age group of the students. With kindergarteners, we created an arts & crafts activity to illustrate diversity in nature. Using a zebra as our teaching model and emphasizing the fact that no two individuals share the same stripes, we highlighted the beauty of difference and the importance of embracing and preserving that aspect in both the animal and human kingdoms. With middle schoolers, we would take the students out on nature walks and teach them about the bushman way of life. Bushmen are members of the indigenous hunter-gatherer groups that were regarded as the first inhabitants of various Southern African countries, including Namibia. I was amazed when learning about their sheer survival ingenuity, their profound respect for animals, and the deep spirituality that connected them with nature. Whether it was hollowing out an ostrich egg and repurposing it as a water flask, fashioning the fibers of the Sansevieria plant into a rope with exceptional tensile strength, or igniting a fire purely from dry grass and friction, the Bushman culture and its traditions are actively preserved by the Namibian people. Despite increasing modernization of society, the Bushman values, rich history, and practices continue to be shared with others.

With high school and university students, we would integrate more scientific concepts into the lesson plans and explain the evolutionary adaptations of animals we would spot on a safari drive. We often had comparative discussions between the big cat species and how their anatomical differences contributed to their distinct survival strategies. For example, the characteristic black tear tracks that run down every cheetah’s face is present in order to reduce the amount of light that gets reflected into their eyes. This is to facilitate their hunting endeavors, since cheetahs search for prey during the day. On the other hand, leopards have a noticeably bulkier skull due to the attachments of massive muscles of mastication. While cheetahs are built for speed, leopards rely on stealth and incredible bite force to strike their prey.

Though days were long and filled with instruction, there were definitely more laid-back, reflective moments as well. We would watch the brilliant sunset over a placid dam, roast marshmallows over a crackling campfire, and lie underneath the African night sky to identify constellations as our bodies rested gently in the sand. On some evenings, we would convene for dinner and do a traditional “braai,” a social barbeque feast where everyone gathered around a firepit to grill sausage and game meat as the Milky Way glowed above.

The educational outreach aspect was an invaluable part of my experience in Africa, as I truly enjoyed immersing in the local Namibian culture and building relationships with children of all ages, many of whom were inspired to pursue careers in conservation. Through such education and awareness in the Namibian youth, we ultimately hope to build a future generation that can one day competently manage the carnivore populations in Namibia, devise practical solutions to human-wildlife conflict, and balance the needs of endangered species with the economic livelihood of farming communities. Although tourism generates an appreciable amount of revenue to fund conservation projects, big cat populations are still threatened by shootings due to farmland encroachment, a response that mainly stems from a lack of education about how both parties can coexist peacefully. By inspiring young students, several of whose families actually own farms, to see the value of wildlife and ignite their passions for conservation, we are addressing the imperative that saving these carnivore species undoubtedly requires investing in the youth of Africa.

 

This post is written by Elvina Yau and was originally published on her WordPress blog, Elvina the Explorer, on September 3, 2018.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Elvina Yau, class of 2020, is a veterinary student from Long Island, New York. She graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in 2016 with a degree in Behavioral Neuroscience and double minor in Creative Writing & Biology. Elvina aspires to split her time between practicing Companion Animal Medicine in the U.S. and contributing to conservation efforts abroad both as a clinician and freelance photojournalist.

The Cheetah Chronicles: Boma or Bust

“This is a dangerous operation. Are you prepared for death?”

“Yes,” I nod foolishly.

The game manager delivered the signal on his walkie-talkie, and within moments I heard a helicopter approaching. I walked past a tall, tarp curtain, gingerly stepping over a series of taut ropes, and assumed my designated position. I concealed myself within the folds of the curtain, keeping part of my head exposed so I could still surveil the landscape, and awaited further instructions. Minutes later, a group of men were shouting and running frantically while tugging on the ropes, dragging one side of the curtain along the zipline. The voices quickly stopped, and the manager beckoned me to come forward, motioning to hide with him behind a tree. The helicopter suddenly arrived and started to descend. When it hovered directly above, it enshrouded us in a sandstorm cloud in which our key senses were temporarily disabled by the chalky dust and deafening whirr of the chopper blades. Once everything cleared, a female oryx appeared, looking less than thrilled. My next move was critical—it determined the success of the operation and my own survival.

There is never a dull day in the field of wildlife medicine. One of our principal duties consists of mastering the art and science of animal capture. Such tasks are necessary in order to relocate certain species for management purposes, exchange animals with other reserves or facilities, or temporarily isolate an animal in order to perform annual health exams or surgeries. Evidently, wild animals do not exhibit the same level of compliance one can achieve with domesticated pets. Veterinarians have various ways to conduct such captures; the choice of method depends largely on the type of animal being sought and what procedure is being performed. Chemical capture via darting is one of the more common techniques, in which remote drug delivery equipment is used to sedate an animal from a safe distance. However, an alternative and perhaps more adrenaline-packed method is the use of a boma.

A boma is a large enclosure assembled with four solid walls that is traditionally used for livestock. The boma technique is sometimes preferred since it does not require chemical immobilization of the animal involved. However, this aspect is only suitable if the situation does not entail an intricate procedure or warrant major animal safety concerns. Additionally, if mass capture is the task at hand, bomas will usually be employed since it is not feasible to dart and sedate numerous animals at once within a limited timeframe. Bomas exist in several styles, but the ones constructed in the Okonjima Nature Reserve in Namibia consisted of tarp curtains strewn along a square wired perimeter. Some bomas can even be designed to attach to chutes, so as animals are guided into the boma, they continue to shuffle through the chute, from which they can load directly onto a livestock trailer. They can then be safely transported offsite without the added complications of having to sedate them.

After a boma is erected, game managers must then condition the resident animals—mainly hoofstock—to enter the boma. By leaving the curtain open and placing feed troughs inside the boma, the animals grow more familiar with entering this intriguing structure to eat. Once the desired animal is located within the boma, the curtain is slid closed and the individual is passively “captured.” The boma operation at Okonjima, which relied on coordination between air pilots and a grounds team, utilized a helicopter in order to obtain an aerial whereabouts of the desired animals, then goad them into the boma from there. Some animals can be particularly savvy and seem to possess an uncanny ability to intuit what you are trying to coax them into; they either persistently stay just outside the perimeter or start moving in the opposite direction.

Accordingly, any boma operation entails the utmost strategic planning, precise timing, and quick reactivity. Even details boiling down to one’s outfit must be carefully considered. To avoid attracting the wariness of especially astute animals, all staff must wear colors that blend in with the surrounding terrain—hence, your classic tan/khaki safari color scheme.

As it was wintertime at Okonjima and we were undergoing a drought period, we realized grass was becoming scarce and wanted to relocate several animals to a different section of the reserve. Another rationale for conducting this high-stakes boma procedure was to address the overgrazing that had occurred. While browser animals (e.g. giraffe, oryx) were content to munch on high-growing vegetation like leaves and tree bark, the more numerous grazers (e.g. zebra, kudu) populating the area had completely foraged the limited grass available. Shifting a proportion of these browsers and especially grazers to a different, unused patch of land would not only give them access to a more abundant food supply, but also enable the grass to regrow at the original site.

After briefly corralling the surly oryx and getting notified that all curtains had been slid closed, our next task was simply to get out of the enclosure. I then calmly and quickly sneaked past the curtains to escape an interior now teeming with rambunctious hoofstock, then continued to run a couple meters further before I finally relaxed. The reason behind my exit strategy: a still-fuming oryx could continue to charge at the barrier with its famously long, straight horns and impale an unsuspecting person leaning on the other side.

 

This post is written by Elvina Yau and was originally published on her WordPress blog, Elvina the Explorer, on September 2, 2018.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Elvina Yau, class of 2020, is a veterinary student from Long Island, New York. She graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in 2016 with a degree in Behavioral Neuroscience and double minor in Creative Writing & Biology. Elvina aspires to split her time between practicing Companion Animal Medicine in the U.S. and contributing to conservation efforts abroad both as a clinician and freelance photojournalist.

The Cheetah Chronicles: A Whirlwind Week

The alarm beeps at 6:00 AM, joined by a howling chorus of distant jackals. I whip back the covers and hop out of bed, already dressed in scrubs. Grabbing my knapsack and walkie-talkie off the counter, I exit my quaint, thatched-roof hut and start pedaling away on my bike, my path illuminated by the glowing moon overhead. The clinic is located 5 km away, and we have quite the extensive agenda this week.

Although the terrain was physically challenging and signs were sparse in the African bushveld, you couldn’t beat this type of morning commute. The general path was hilly and mountainous, interspersed with sections of resistant, soft sand. At first, it was hard to identify certain landmarks, but eventually I got the lay of the land and developed my own system of navigational descriptors. My daily directions would consist of turning right at the 3rd termite mound, making a sharp left at the scraggly wooden log, and veering off the path once I spotted the distinctive trio of white rocks on the roadside—esoteric landmarks that reflected the unique topography of Namibia. Not to mention being greeted by dik-diks, warthogs, and impalas along the way!

This week was especially jam-packed as it was our designated “Vet Checks” period during which visiting veterinarians from Namibia and overseas collaborated to perform annual health exams on all the resident big cats. Boarded dentists, ophthalmologists, anesthesiologists, and other specialists were in attendance, and I was eager to work with and learn from all these renowned professionals. As a student, I was able to assist in these comprehensive health procedures on wild felids from start to finish. From darting and transporting the cats to anesthetic monitoring once the patients were fully sedated, from performing root canal procedures on fractured canine teeth to ocular ultrasounds and tonometry to assess for glaucoma, from practicing urine catheterization and jugular venipuncture to endoscopies to collect gastric biopsy samples for gastritis evaluation. The endoscope was connected to a separate TV screen which would display the interior of the cheetahs’ gastrointestinal tracts. It was mesmerizing to explore the various regions where we would pluck tissue samples from. As we ventured down, we would note patches of reddened, irritated mucosa, “white nodules” suggestive of inflammatory infiltrate, or areas of sand or grass impaction.

Clearly, each day presented its own excited itinerary. Whether it was darting and collaring a lioness to obtain GPS data or examining a leopard with an advanced cataract, no two days were ever the same. My experiences weren’t limited to just the big cats! One day, I was assigned to track a Cape pangolin, and found myself ascending a wobbly-rocked mountainside in pursuit of his signal. This was before I became truly acquainted with the flora of the African bush and knew about the wonders of ankle leather chaps. My radiotelemetry wire would constantly get hooked on thorny branches that I subsequently got thwacked by, and my feet amassed dozens of prickly burrs that required a painstaking amount of time and effort to remove afterwards, much like pesky lint. On a different occasion, I was tasked with assisting on a sable darting so we could treat a bacterial hoof infection. Yet another day, I had to climb atop a holding truck to help perform surgery on a kudu with traumatic oral injury, all against the stunning backdrop of a setting sun.

On my orientation day, my supervisor forewarned me that wildlife fieldwork is very unpredictable and definitely messy. By virtue of being a vet student, I had already encountered a fair share of similar work and felt up to the challenge. However, the intensive “Vet Checks” period was filled with numerous scenarios in which I needed to exercise flexibility, adapt on the spot, think creatively, and establish an ease with the fact that plans often change. In essence, I learned to get comfortable with being uncomfortable—a required skill for the fledgling wildlife veterinarian.

 

This post is written by Elvina Yau and was originally published on her WordPress blog, Elvina the Explorer, on August 31, 2018.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Elvina Yau, class of 2020, is a veterinary student from Long Island, New York. She graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in 2016 with a degree in Behavioral Neuroscience and double minor in Creative Writing & Biology. Elvina aspires to split her time between practicing Companion Animal Medicine in the U.S. and contributing to conservation efforts abroad both as a clinician and freelance photojournalist.