Life finds a way … 2
My favorite character in the 1997 movie Jurassic Park is the quirky Dr. Ian Malcolm, ably played by the talented Jeff Goldblum. Dr. Malcolm is a bit of an eccentric, a devoted proponent of some mystical concept he refers to as “chaos theory.” The good Dr. Malcolm also has the annoying habit of being right just about all the time. In one of the movie’s most pivotal scenes he is egregiously and presciently accurate. He rejects Jurassic Park management’s insistent assertion that the dinosaurs they’ve generated are incapable of reproduction. After a rousing debate on the issue, he solemnly and thoughtfully declares … “life finds a way.” Discussion ended.
The eminent Dr. Malcolm was referring to life writ large, of course. But life on the grandest scale cannot “find a way” without isolated incidents of improbable survival. Life persists and, in fact, thrives in some of the earth’s most inhospitable regions. In the seething, sulfurous thermals along the ocean floor faults, 700 degree Fahrenheit gas vents into sea water with temperatures barely above freezing. In that boiling, methane-laced cauldron that never sees even a trace of sunlight, a variety of microbes have adapted and found a way to subsist. In the most implausible of spots, life has found a way. Our own remarkable species, much more physiologically complex, has existed for centuries in the icy world of the arctic and in the arid deserts on four separate continents. We too, have “found a way” in some unlikely places.
From time to time I’m reminded of life’s resilience when I’m in the field taking photographs. In 2010 I’d just finished a long and productive day in Ngorongoro Crater and was en route back to my lodge when I drove past a bull elephant on a steep hillside on the south rim. This big guy caught my attention for a couple of reasons. For starters, elephants don’t much like slopes. Their great bulk and flat-bottomed feet cause almost insurmountable balance issues on precipitous terrain. But the young bull seemed very much at his ease on the incline. The second anomaly was the animal’s trunk, which was visibly and curiously abbreviated. We stopped the vehicle near him to watch and learn for a bit. After just a few minutes in the elephant’s presence his predicament became clear. He’d lost the end of his trunk at some point in the distant past. He was most likely the victim of hyenas at a young age, maybe lions, or perhaps even an unfortunately placed snare. Regardless, the primary vehicle for delivering food to his mouth was completely inoperable. But the elephant had “found a way.” By braving the steep slopes he was able to use the elevation differential to his advantage. With the grass on the hillside at mouth level he could access the bushes and tall grass that would keep him alive. He was nearly full grown, and judging by his body mass, he was completely healthy. I think the photo above offers compelling testimony to his will to live.
There was another time. A couple of years earlier I’d been riding with my friend Chris McBride on the Kafue River in Zambia. On three successive mornings we’d seen a young male lion stretched out on the riverbank about a mile above Chris’ camp. He related the story of the animal as we cruised past on the third morning. The lion was apparently a creature of habit, a daily fixture on that stretch of the Kafue. Some time ago, – certainly not recently, he’d lost the better part of a back leg to a poacher’s snare. As the lion hobbled into the forest, Chris’ wife Charlotte told us how she’d come to admire and respect this disadvantaged animal. She’d reverently named him Triton after the trident wielding messenger of the sea. Triton’s case was particularly sad. His maiming was the direct result of human malice. By some miracle, he was physically healthy, probably having adapted to a life as a scavenger. On three legs he would never be a hunter. And although he was magnificent by most any standard, he would never become the patriarch of a pride and live the social existence that seems to be so central to the lives of lions. But he was alive… and that in and of itself was impressive.
Wildlife photography is, in many ways, the study of life. Above and beyond the desire to capture images, it is this disproportionate fascination with the creatures of the earth that keeps people like yours truly in a perpetual state of planning and preparation for the next trip. So I’ll end this with a note of respect for the bizarre character of Dr. Ian Malcolm. Life does indeed find a way, and the struggles of our fellow creatures must be acknowledged, understood and appreciated. And yes …. photographed as well.