Essay: "Predators"

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I recently took a three week trip to Africa which included a four day safari in Tanzania.  You have a guide who drives you around the national parks (including Ngorongoro Crater and the Serengeti) in a big SUV with a roof that lifts up so you can stand on your seat and look at the animals.  The animals are quite accustomed to the vehicles and so you can drive right up to them but they are otherwise living in an entirely natural environment.  Part of the magic of safari is that you never know what you might see (or, disappointingly, fail to see).

We were lucky and we saw all of the so-called big five animals.  Everyone has a favourite animal but, in general, most people seem to prefer the predators to the herbivores.




Herbivores are more plentiful, of course.  You can’t throw a rock on the Serengeti without hitting some kind of antelope (whether it’s an impala, a gazelle, or something else).  There are herds of wildebeests so large that they take up the whole plains.  Even giraffes, elephants and water buffalo are pretty common.

But I don’t think that totally explains the fascination people have for predatory animals.  There is something boring about herbivores.  They stand there and eat grass and look at the world placidly.  Predators, on the other hand, have to hunt their food, and I think people have the idea that they are, and have to be, fitter, stronger, smarter than the other animals, that the predator is at the “top” of the food chain because of its merit, that it has won some kind of talent contest (the survival of the fittest) over the meek herbivores.  As if there is almost a social hierarchy among the animals, with the lion (the biggest, strongest and most numerous predator) as the “king.”

And it's interesting to me how we seem to associate successful people, who have money or fame or success with the opposite sex,  with predators.

The problem with this analogy is that predators are not, in fact, "fitter" than herbivores at all.  They are, in fact, spectacularly lazy.  Lions in particular are the most epically boring animals on safari.  They lie on the ground, beating their sides with their tail, while antelopes gallivant less than a hundred yards away.  Their whole bearing is one of indolent power, not restless hyper-activity (although it should be noted that the cheetah, alone of the big cats, always preserves an air of repressed energy even when resting).

As for predators being faster than their prey, well, that is simply incorrect.  An antelope can outrun a lion without any problem at all.  Neither are they particularly stronger.  A giraffe can kill any African predator with a single kick.  A lion does not have the faintest chance against a full grown rhino or elephant or waterbuffalo.  Nor would I like a crocodile's chances against a full-grown hippopotamus.

And this brings us to the secret of the predator - that it is not in fact faster or more powerful than its prey, but instead simply chooses its opportunities very, very, very carefully.  A predator is as indolent as possible, even during the hunt, to preserve its energy.  A predator will attempt to separate a baby from the herd or target any animal that appears weak or lame.  A predator does not earn its position through strength, speed, or any other meritous quality, but only cunning and a relentless drive to choose the safest option, without any concerns for honor, nobility, or fairness.

And, because it’s just my personality, I can’t help but wonder, certainly unfairly, whether the scions of our early 21st century culture perhaps don’t own their success to such unglamorous methods, rather than their inherent superiority.  An ability to identify opportunities and pursue them relentlessly.  Malcolm Gladwell talks about this issue in an essay.  He writes, rather eloquently in my opinon, "the predator is often quite happy to put his reputation on the line in pursuit of the sure thing."

Perhaps the real message is we should be careful drawing analogies between people and animals.

On our trip, we didn’t see any big predators catch anything, although we did see a little jackal trot by with a baby antelope in its mouth, and we saw a cheetah chewing on the bones of its prey.  But we did see some predators do a little hunting.  They were hyenas, and their prey was an enormous stream of wildebeests.  They had a simple strategy, whereby they split up and one of them chased the wildebeests forward towards the other.  The wildebeests seemed more alert and nervous than afraid, perhaps conscious they were too fast for the hyenas, who are small and heavily muscled with powerful shoulders.  Still, the hyenas tried again and again, not discouraged, working at a low pace, not spending much energy.  Just seeing if one of their prey would break off from the herd, start to limp, stumble and fall.  Trying again and again and again.

The hyenas had trotted past us on the way to the hunt, stopping briefly to turn their heads and look at us with the faint but omnipresent curiosity of the predator.  Wondering, perhaps, whether our car would break down and one of us would step outside.  Whether that person would be a small child, or old.  One of them opened its mouth, only to pant, of course, but it certainly looked like a smile to me.