The trackers found Icyi alone, wet, cold and weak, hunched at the base of a tree. The 3-year-old had been separated from her mother a week earlier after something (probably poachers) scared her family group and caused it to disperse. Without her mother's milk and body heat Icyi could not keep up.
We treated her that day and the next for dehydration and hypothermia, then carried her all the way back to the main group. Sadly, her mother showed no interest and the infant died that night. This was my first field procedure on a wild mountain gorilla, and it taught me a lot — including the painful fact that our patients are often very sick by the time we get to them.
Like Icyi, Agahozo was prematurely weaned when his family group splintered. Mindful of Icyi's death, we observed this little male daily for a week. At 3 and a half years old, he was able to hold his own, eating berries and leaves ravenously, trying to consume enough calories to replace those he would normally have been receiving from his mother's milk.
During this time he developed a swollen face and eyelids. We think the cause was his constant effort to stay warm combined with the loss of energy-rich milk. He also whimpered a lot and stopped playing. After three weeks, Agahozo and his mother were finally reunited. They bonded instantly and now he plays all the time.
Kwakane, a young silverback, lagged behind his group. A green discharge oozed from a wound near his right ear. If this infection involved the gorilla's inner ear canal, it could be life-threatening. We decided to treat him immediately and follow up with an examination under anesthesia two days later if he didn't improve.
Just as I hid the dart gun under my jacket, my heart pounding, Kwakane stood up to take a bite to eat. The flying dart filled with antibiotic hit him in the rear; he reacted as if he'd been stung by a bee and ran away. The next day, he was actively foraging for food and looked much better. We haven't seen him since.
I learned a second painful fact: you can't track a patient's health when he disappears.
Umurava had been in a fight and suffered a torn eyelid on the right side of his face. The young silverback ranked third out of five among the adult males in his group. A few days later he fought again, this time with an aggressive lone silverback. Then he disappeared.
When the trackers finally found him a week later he was near death. He'd suffered a deep wound to his neck and had pneumonia. Once again I found myself trying to help a dying animal. I anesthetized him, but had little hope that my treatments would work. Even if I'd been working in a modern veterinary clinic, rather than on the forest floor, his chances would have been slim. He died late the next day.
Igiti, an adult female, is in good health except for a persistent skin wound on her belly. Though it has improved, the problem will not go away despite two courses of antibiotic treatment by flying dart.
We've decided not to intervene further for a number of reasons. Igiti has an infant, for one thing. She also picks constantly at the wound, a behavior we're not likely to change in a wild animal. Nor do we have a miracle treatment that would resolve the problem under anesthesia. Moreover, Igiti and the silverback who leads her group are extremely wary. We field vets feel frustrated about this case. For now, my plan is just to watch and wait.
Icizere, an adult female with a swollen nose, turned out to be an easy case: she got better on her own. Though we had to drive for more than an hour and hike for nearly three more to get to her, she proved a perfect patient.
Icizere allowed us to observe her closely for minutes at a time. She ate, played a little, rested and glanced at us every once in a while, giving us plenty of opportunities to take photographs. We watched for a nosebleed, something the trackers had reported the day before, but saw no evidence of a continuing problem. I left with the impression that Icizere had simply banged her nose on something — maybe on a low-hanging branch.
Titus is a 30-something silverback, the oldest male among the habituated mountain gorillas in Rwanda. He rests more than the younger males and his ribs are more evident. He remains healthy and in charge — for now. The small wound on his left fourth finger is evidence of a minor scuffle, which he won.
Even so, Titus' age makes him more susceptible to the bouts of respiratory disease that intermittently affect the gorillas. He could develop age-related health problems, like heart disease, tooth infections and cancer. Together with the trackers and researchers, the field vets keep a close eye on this favorite old leader.
Two days before this photo was taken, Makuba, an adult female, had transferred from one group to another. She seemed amazingly calm, though I'd learned from the behavioral researchers that transfers typically get beaten up a bit when they first join a new group.
Sure enough, the next day several females and possibly one of the silverbacks showed aggression toward her. Her long, serene face swelled up with cuts above and below her right eye. But like most social animals, gorillas know how to make a point without causing lethal damage. Makuba healed quickly — a case in which letting nature take its course worked out.
Kabatwa is taking excellent care of her week-old infant, proving she's a good first-time mother. We watched as Kabatwa's baby nursed, held onto her mother with a good grip, and cried when she reached over its head for a piece of bamboo. At one point, the baby opened its mouth and we could see that its gums were a healthy pink.
I couldn't stop smiling during this visit — it's always an amazing experience to watch a mother and infant. But even if the newborn had appeared weak or ill, we would not have necessarily intervened. The dynamics within the group are most important, and it can be very disruptive to attempt treatment on a tiny baby. Luckily, everything looked fine.
We could see something on the face of this 3-year-old female, Ishejekeza, but the light was so bad it was hard to tell exactly what. No matter how minor the case, part of my job as a field vet is adding to the database with a decent photograph.
The playful infant hung on a stalk of bamboo to check us out while we peered at her face. The camera didn't like the dark, however; when I reviewed the image, it looked black. I gave up on photos and pulled out my inexpensive birding binoculars. Now I could see clearly that Ishejekeza's problem was not "gorilla herpes or some other skin infection, but a number of minor cuts and scrapes. (When I downloaded the photos later to my computer, I lightened this one.)
[Pictures: Lucy Spelman/MGVP]
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