A warm, spicy breath woke me abruptly from my slumber, leaving my face warm and damp. Groaning, I pushed my cloth hat away from my eyes and looked straight into an open, wet mouth full of sharp, shiny teeth.

It was Nala, a Malinois dog, and she was obviously very bored. Since she thought it was unfair that she was the only one bored, she had decided to wake us all up – starting with me. The other two female dogs, Luma and the sheepdog Mpisi, simply dozed on after glancing up briefly, unimpressed by their frantic companion. I sat up, slid to the edge of the flatbed and let my gaze wander to the distant hills of the Amakhosi Reserve.

The private Amakhosi Game Reserve is located in north-eastern South Africa, just below Pangola and almost on the border with Swaziland. The reserve is so exclusive that only one lodge uses the area: the multi-award-winning Amakhosi Safari Lodge and Spa. But I wasn’t here for luxury and spa treatments, and dozing on a flatbed truck with three hairy, panting Canis Lupus wasn’t part of the lodge’s adventure programme either. I was here to explore the next element of the ‘Rangers’, the anti-poaching unit, or APU for short. Nala, who was only one and a half years old, her sister Luma and two-and-a-half-year-old Mpisi formed the core of the K9 anti-poaching unit, which I had joined for a few days. Together with rangers Pierre and Zander, they formed the backbone of the security apparatus in the nearly 5,000-hectare Amakhosi Reserve and were solely responsible for protecting the wild animals.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and rummaged around for my huge thermos flask filled with ice-cold water. It was almost noon and hot. Very hot and very dry, so that at 33 °C, the frantic panting of the three animals caused the entire beige-coloured pickup truck to shake rhythmically.

I screeched the lid off the thermos flask and was just about to make myself comfortable on the loading area again when I realised that Nala had already made herself comfortable in my old spot. She was now relaxing contentedly, her eyes half closed, in front of me.

‘Clever! So that was the trick. Not bad, but I can play that game too,’ I thought, jumping off the back of the truck and running energetically towards a bush about fifteen metres away.

My plan worked, and it took less than five seconds before I was surrounded by the three now extremely excited female dogs. I knelt down, cuddled the animals a little, and then slowly walked back towards the now empty loading area of the pickup truck. But just as I was about to lie down again, Nala jumped onto my spot and was about to lie down again when I pushed her aside with a friendly but strong arm movement and let myself fall onto the ground in front of my rucksack. But that was no problem for Nala. She simply laid her head on my stomach and closed her eyes contentedly.

Yes, the animals were very friendly at the time. A real warm, cuddly bunch. But that was only because we were all in well-deserved ‘relaxation mode’. However, our little ones proved to us just a few hours ago that they can also be very different:

When their ‘working harnesses’ and GPS transmitters were put on at 6:43 a.m., there was no sign of any ‘cuddle factor’. Focused and in no time at all, Mpisi picked up the trail laid for her by a ranger and led us dynamically through the thicket of the bush, across open savannahs, slippery river courses and pointed rock formations.

Completely drenched in sweat and with red faces, the wilderness violence march was over at around 9:30 a.m., after just over 2½ hours and 12.45 km. We, or rather Mpisi, had tracked down the three ‘poachers,’ consisting of three rangers from the reserve’s anti-poaching unit. With an hour and a half’s head start, they had laid a trail and had been waiting for 30 minutes, leaning relaxed against a tree, for the confrontation with the dog. So we had been quick and had made up a good hour! But the confrontation with Mpisi did not go as I had expected. I know guard dogs as ‘nasty beasts’ that like to ‘tear their opponents to pieces’ when the opportunity arises. But Mpisi and her colleagues were trained to follow tracks – not to attack.

‘The arrests are made by the local anti-poaching units. For example, these guys,’ Pierre explained to me as he threw a red ball, Mpisi’s reward, far into the thicket.

lurking crocodiles

Mpisi was fast, still full of energy, and I was really impressed. For 150 minutes, this dog had managed to follow a trail with focus and speed, still showing no signs of fatigue, while sweat was running down my forehead and I could slowly feel my knees and even my little toes. Despite the heat, Mpisi even ignored the first stream! But from the second stream onwards, after a few long gulps, she jumped into every conceivable waterhole with relish, mischievously watching us as we cooled off.

‘Yes, I’d like to do that too,’ I thought, just as Pierre shouted frantically at Mpisi:

‘Out! Mpisi! Get out of the water! Now! Come here!’

Mpisi reluctantly and deliberately followed her master’s orders and didn’t seem to understand why she wasn’t allowed to swim here. Too bad for Mpisi. And too bad for the crocodiles – whose territory we were in.

‘Mpisi is a machine! The other two female dogs aren’t as strong yet and usually only manage nine kilometres, but they’re on the right track,’ Pierre called out to me between throws.

‘Remarkable,’ I thought, somewhat contrite, but glad that we had finally caught up with the three ‘pioneers.’ I was fit. At least, I thought so. I love walking, ‘hiking’ almost every day for 7 to 20 kilometres and, on the other days, pedalling my heart out on an exceptionally difficult ergometer. But with an average speed of 4.8 km/h and a top speed of just under 10 km/h – literally over hill and dale, up and down slopes, sweeping through thorny thickets, bent over or jumping over rivers – it was a completely different ball game!

It was also a completely different character to what I was used to from the walks in the Trails Guide training. There, the aim was to roam through the bush as quietly and safely as possible, which often meant very slowly. ‘Safe’ is the keyword here, because the point of trails guiding is to bring guests closer to the wilderness on foot and to create impressive experiences and unique encounters. As the nature guide is responsible for the (paying) guests, they are also required to carry a rifle with a powerful calibre. The K9 anti-poaching unit is completely different.

They also travel on foot in the Big Five Reserve, but only carry a 10 mm handgun (only slightly more powerful than the standard calibre used by the German police, 9 mm) for self-defence against people. Unlike the nature guides, they only have themselves and one goal: to follow the tracking dog as quickly as possible, which in turn is following the trail of a suspected poacher.

‘It usually takes us an average of 15 kilometres to find the poachers once we’ve picked up a trail,’ Pierre had explained to me yesterday afternoon as we completed our first training session with him and Luma. This was relatively short and was over after just 2.8 kilometres. But even then, it wasn’t just the sweltering heat that was causing beads of sweat to form on my forehead, soak into my long-sleeved shirt and dampen my long, sturdy functional trousers.

‘Put on long, sturdy clothes, we’ll be running a lot and fast through dense, thorny undergrowth,’ Pierre told us during the briefing shortly before the first training session. This was also a big difference from the trail guide, who was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt.

‘Aren’t you worried about running into one of the Big Five?’ I asked, a little surprised, pointing to the lonely Glock 22 on his belt, knowing full well that this pistol wouldn’t be much use against rhinos, buffalos and elephants.

‘No. Most animals keep their distance from us anyway. We make too much noise because we’re going so fast. But if things get dicey, I just look for a sturdy tree to take cover behind – that usually helps. Except with elephants,’ Pierre smiled mischievously, his eyes lighting up.

‘It’s true. It’s only when you’re out in the bush without a gun that you learn to run. And you only have yourself to look out for – no one else. Of course, you have to be alert – and always have a plan B.’

‘How many dangerous encounters have you had?’

“Oh, countless. I’ve been chased by buffalo, hippos and rhinos, and I’ve stumbled into a herd of elephants twice – that wasn’t so much fun. But overall, it’s just incredible fun, and the best feeling is when you actually chase a poacher and catch him. When the bullets are flying around your ears, the adrenaline rushes and you just do crazy things,” added Pierre, his eyes sparkling naughtily again.

Pierre was 24 years old, a slim, athletic man of French origin and obviously an adrenaline junkie for a good cause. He had a trimmed, rust-red beard and his olive-beige uniform was covered in holes and damage. He started out as a nature and trail guide and already made a name for himself during his training as the person with the most practical running hours logged in the trail guide course. He then worked as a guide at a lodge for a few months before deciding to train as an anti-poacher.

However, in South Africa, you don’t need any formal training to work as a anti-poacher. Viewed objectively, it is simply a job in the private security industry, and employers, i.e. the reserves, can set the necessary requirements as they see fit. In practice, however, most reserves adhere to established standards, and one provider in particular has made a name for itself as an extremely ‘tough training ground’: Protrack.

The training itself is relatively short and essentially aims to weed out the recruits. For six weeks, there are no mobile phones, no weekends and no time off. For six weeks, the participants’ resilience is tested and their willpower is shaped through all kinds of perfidious methods, while their physical performance steadily declines.

‘They try to break you with lots of drills and harassment, but the worst thing is being deprived of enough food and sleep. Hungry and tired people change – often not for the better. In the end, only those who really want it with all their heart survive,’

Pierre explained to me, visibly proud of his achievement.

‘Thanks to these six weeks of suffering, I know what I am capable of achieving and enduring. That makes me strong and confident when I reach my limits again – like in an ultramarathon.’ And I add in my mind:

‘Besides, no one goes through such hardships to then go poaching themselves.’

So that he wouldn’t always have to leave his little dog Mpisi alone, Pierre trained in K9 after completing his education and, at only 22 years old, set up a corresponding unit in the Amakhosi Reserve. Impressively young for a leadership position, but this mainly reflects the low average age in South Africa.

Zander, Pierre’s colleague, was even younger: 19 years old and only six months on the job. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, it was with a very broad Afrikaans accent. I had gotten used to this accent by now, but I had to concentrate hard to understand him. Zander had very alert eyes and always had a friendly smile on his face. He, too, had only recently completed the six weeks of drill at Protrack, and I could still sense the strain he had been under.

bodyguards of the wilderness

For two days now, I had been accompanying my friend Tom and the two ‘wild animal bodyguards,’ trying to get an impression of life as a gamekeeper. In addition to patrols through the huge reserve – over hills, through streams and along rust-red tracks, with views of breathtaking, pastel-coloured, dull landscapes – much of the work involved running. Running in the bush. The bush of the Amakhosi Reserve was impressively diverse and the landscape changed constantly. Open, golden grasslands gave way to dense, silvery or dull green bushland or deep rust-red, stony open spaces. Even on foot, we repeatedly came across beautiful streams lined with large stones and reeds, which we even had to cross – so off with our boots and into the cool water.

Again and again, even in the driest places, I could now see small and large colourful flowers heralding the arrival of spring. Next to some huge middens, the dung piles of rhinos, we came across countless bone fragments and the typical white droppings of carnivorous lions, hyenas and leopards.

man cave

‘Those were lions,’ said Pierre, pointing to the punching bag he had hung up on the porch of his hut.

‘One morning, I was about to leave the house when I saw two lionesses taking a liking to the punching bag.’

I took a closer look at the bag and could see a few small ‘cut’ marks on the lower and even upper part of the bag. ‘Funny. That must have been a strong motive,’ I thought, and could literally picture the lionesses “gently” practising their ‘punches’ on the punching bag – a great image in my mind. The accommodation of the two anti-poachers also created a beautiful picture. When I first came across the two former hunting lodges the day before, my heart literally melted:

Next to the punching bag on the veranda, with a breathtaking view of a small valley with a stream and a rugged rock face, was Pierre’s stone, thatched hut, equipped with all kinds of training equipment for physical strength. After the conditioning bush runs in the mornings, the rest of the body could be steeled, strengthened and shaped in the afternoons, after the intense heat. Wonderful. The rest of the day was then filled with maintaining equipment, reading or simply ‘being’ and thinking – there was no mobile network and therefore no internet here. But there was constant hot water and electricity. At least!

However, the stone hut itself and especially the furnishings had seen better days. Termites or woodworm had already feasted on some of the beams, leaving deep furrows. The sink in the black-tiled bathroom, which had certainly been very trendy when it was built, was unusable due to a hole in the drain, and the toilet seat was only loosely attached. There were large cobwebs everywhere, and the bats, which enjoyed the open gable shape, had left their mark far and wide. Hygiene and maintenance were clearly not a priority here – but I was used to that from South Africa. And yet, this ‘man cave’ had a very special charm for me and it even felt a little like ‘coming home’ – even though I don’t have a ‘man cave’ at home.

‘It’s very simple, but I have everything I need and really can’t complain,’ replied Pierre, filling his cup with drinking water from a blue plastic canister and adding:

‘This life isn’t really suitable for a family.’

No, it certainly wasn’t. It was the life of a bachelor. The older anti-poachers who had laid the tracks for us also lived in a rudimentary camp, sleeping and cooking in groups of three in a large room in a square brick building. They lived like this for three weeks and then had a week off. Month after month, year after year. Always in the middle of the wilderness, always protecting the wild animals.

dinner with elephants

When we returned to our accommodation on the hill in the afternoon after our lunch break, there was a little surprise: while on the first day we had been greeted by a herd of buffalo right in front of the accommodation and I still had the story about the lions in mind, this time it was huge, thick-skinned elephants that did us the honour. Less than 70 metres from the veranda, five of them were happily munching on a bush, and even a large bull with huge tusks was not impressed by our presence. Neither was Pierre, who disappeared into the house with the words, ‘That’s normal, there are always animals here.’

But Tom and I enthusiastically took our seats on the veranda and watched the mighty, powerful animals while browsing and enjoying an after-work beer. For us, it wasn’t normal yet, and this place, these ‘everyday’ encounters with animals, were something special for us.

I let my thoughts wander a little and reflected on the last few days: the life of a anti-poacher involves a lot of deprivation and sacrifice. It is characterised by isolation and loneliness, constant danger and poor pay. But this life also offers an incredible number of privileges and exclusivity. Anti-poachers live where others are only allowed to visit briefly and then have to pay huge sums of money to do so.

By now I was lying in my sleeping bag and only the stream was babbling in the distance; otherwise it was remarkably quiet. Not even the hyenas said good night – they should be so grateful that the guys from the APU are there, I thought, and turned off my torch. The transistor in the UV system had caught fire in the afternoon, leaving Pierre, Zander and us sitting in the dark. These are also problems that a anti-poacher has to deal with.

Weitere Infromationen

Protrack: www.protrackapu.co.za

Amakhosi Safari Lodge and SPA: www.amakhosi.com