White Apes and Ecotourists – Ecotourism – Gorilla trekking safaris and tours.
Just a short ascent later, Bill found himself following the gorillas’ track into one of the many tunnels of vegetation that wind their way around the ridges of Visoke. These tunnels are three or four feet high and are meticulously maintained by the constant movement of animals. On all fours, he crept in and then froze. Swaying back and forth, a silverback with pursed lips peered down at him from within the tube, which was just four or five yards away.
Bill was about to conclude that this wasn’t Stilgar—and that he certainly wasn’t looking pleased—when the mystery silverback let out a scream and sprang forward. Recognizing that this was no bluff, Bill prepared himself for a blow. Even as the gorilla’s enormous fangs dug into his neck, he felt nothing more than a heated, burning sensation—not a blow.
He was pulled or rolled about thirty feet down a small ravine, suggesting that the scuffle had more going on. However, the bite rendered Bill comatose. Nemeye was standing over him as he woke up. You sawa, bwana? Yes, bwana was unhappy and not alright. The only things he could remember were being laid on his back, having his shirt torn and his spectacles gone, and wondering where the large black vehicle that had crushed him had gone.
Bill marched ostentatiously back to the visitors, who were clustered about thirty yards away, while Nemeye located the spectacles in no time. Bill abruptly informed them that their visit was finished and that they were all returning home. They had heard the gorilla cry and all the excitement, so now they looked in startled silence. As he quietly berated himself, he swiftly took the lead in descending the mountain.
Even though you’re here as an authority on gorillas, you wind up being pounded by one. The guilt he felt for making the gorilla lash out in such a horrible way was overwhelming. Eventually, one of the pilots from Air France raised his voice. You are my sun, my old man. Oh, no. Blood. A bite on the neck. As Bill put his little finger into a shockingly deep gash—more than an inch wide and almost as deep—the memory of the assault, which had been wiped by adrenaline and panic, flooded back.
Across from the spinal column, there was a smaller puncture incision. Bill reacted with dread at the sight of the bites’ locations. While tending to the injury, he was presented with a lemon-scented towelette by one of the flight attendants, which caused him some discomfort. Elements of the fantastical started to creep into the encounter. Bill felt a sharpening of the ache in his ribs as he pressed on. The severity of his injuries started to sink in.
White Apes and Ecotourists
My memory of the ride back to the Visoke parking lot is hazy. Bill was transported to the Ruhengeri hospital on a bench seat that had been removed out of one of the tourist trucks. since a fast remedy, a bottle of red wine was supplied, since the French are seldom far from their cherished beverage. But nothing—not even a Gauloise cigarette’s strong nicotine or alcohol—could ease the painful fall down the fifteen miles of rough trail to Ruhengeri.
A physician at the medical facility first checked the two cuts on the neck. Next, he pushed down on two of Bill’s ribs like keys on a piano. The presence of fractured ribs was verified by an X-ray. An irate nurse scolded Bill for laying in bed while still wearing his filthy clothing and boots, interrupting his attempt to gather his thoughts.
Bill was then given a bed to lie on. His offending goods were removed and he was instructed to take a shower outdoors and down the hall. Bill blacked out as soon as the icy water pounded his neck. He seemed to pass the cleanliness test after being returned to his bed from the shower after being discovered asleep in the bathroom.
White Apes and Ecotourists
Pierre Vimont was dressed for the evening and Claude was wearing a glittering gown when Bill woke up. After hearing about the incident at a Kigali party, Pierre drove sixty miles in the dark up the escarpment road to Ruhengeri, setting a personal record. Seeing the worried expressions on the Vimonts’ faces was comforting, even if Claude’s pale complexion was likely caused more by Pierre’s driving than by seeing Bill with his bandages.
The good news that the injuries were not life-threatening reached Jean-Pierre von der Becke as well when he also made an appearance at the hospital. The news that Stilgar was not the attacker also brought him relief. The idea that Bill’s old census adversary Brutus had attacked him in the tunnel was taking root in his mind. Along with the brilliant silver hair on his saddle, Brutus was well-suited to the ambush manner of assault.
For the next several days, tourists couldn’t go anywhere while Jean-Pierre and the guides investigated the incident by returning to the path and its environs. Late the day before the assault, they discovered that Brutus’s Group 6 had actually advanced north to engage with Group 11.
The quantity of flattened vegetation suggested that the silverbacks were demonstrating an exceptionally intensive degree of behavior. Due of the close proximity of the two groups’ nests—just 100 yards apart—the communication may have persisted vocally all night long. The next day, Group 11 headed north, while Group 6 briefly stayed on our tourist route before heading west to climb.
