Beyond A Wild Horizon: Adventures of a Wildlife Veterinarian

By Mike R. Dunbar

Let your senses soar as the author takes you on an exciting journey into the world of wildlife conservation as seen through the eyes of a wildlife veterinarian. The author's descriptions of the exciting captures, the wildlife, scenery, colorful characters, and the ugly politics of his work are precise, vivid, and extremely entertaining and informative. His account of an African lion waking up while being attended to in the South Luangwa National Park of Zambia, Africa, and being stranded on top of an icy, foggy mountain in Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in Alaska, while working on Dall sheep, gives the reader a sense of the dangers. Go along with him to the mysterious swamps of southern Florida, the grassy savannas of Africa, the fringes of the Gobi desert in Outer Mongolia, and the high deserts of the American west to feel the excitement of the chase and the beauty of the country. Share the author's frustration as he attempts to help solve the mystery into the cause of the specie's impending demise. At times, it's a story of sadness, yet hope for all wild creatures that reside just beyond that wild horizon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491870310

Mike R. Dunbar

Dr. Mike Dunbar, born and raised in Oklahoma, spent nearly twenty-five years as a wildlife veterinarian, working with a variety of free-ranging wildlife around the world, and before that as a conservation officer, wildlife biologist and researcher. Dr. Dunbar received his Master of Science degree in Wildlife Ecology from Oklahoma State University and a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine and Surgery degree from Washington State University. During his 40 year career in the wildlife profession, he published nearly 50 peer-reviewed, scientific manuscripts and has lectured around the world on topics related to wildlife captures, health, disease, and new technology in the detection of diseases in free-ranging wildlife. Dr. Dunbar has also published two novels, "The Last American Cowboy" and "When The Sea Howls". Now retired, Dr. Dunbar writes and lives with his wife, Sherry, along the wild Salmon River in east-central Idaho.

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

ONE

SEARCH FOR A KILLER

TWO

WHITE SHEEP OF THE FAR NORTH

THREE

THE CATS OF BIG CYPRESS

FOUR

BLACK BRUINS

FIVE

WE CALL ’EM PRONGHORNS

SIX

SAGE HENS OF HART MOUNTAIN

SEVEN

THE GHOSTS OF MONGOLIA

EIGHT

THE MOST DREADED DISEASE

NINE

THE WILD DOGS OF AFRICA

EPILOGUE

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my wife, Sherry, without whose encouragement and love, these adventures would never have occurred and this book would have never been written.

INTRODUCTION

In this book, I take you on a journey into the world of wildlife conservation as seen through the eyes of a wildlife veterinarian. Along the way, I provide what I believe are entertaining stories of my adventures capturing and working with free-ranging wildlife. And, in the end, I hope you will have become more educated and informed of the science and politics of my work and that of anyone attempting to save wildlife from extinction. Although I tell my story in a series of episodes involving different wildlife species in different geographic regions of the world, the episodes are all related by the ever present need for good science and the inevitable struggle with politics, both necessary for species survival. I trust by telling my story in such a fashion it will not detract from you enjoying the book. The names of some of the people I worked with have been changed for various reasons.

Although now retired, for the past twenty five years, I’ve had the privilege to work as a professional wildlife veterinarian with a variety of magnificent species of wild animals in some of the most beautiful and remote regions of the world and with some of the most interesting and dedicated people. Although I’ve worked in several foreign countries, the most interesting wildlife and most beautiful areas were in the United States, which is where I focused my story. I guess it’s only fair to ask why I now choose to write my memoirs, or more importantly, why anyone would wish to read them. In order to answer that, it may help to first know why I chose such a career. The answer is simple. It was because I enjoyed it and believe wildlife are important.

I’ve often wondered why so many people have such a love of wild animals? I watch as they stare at them pacing back and forth in their cages in zoos. I see them stop their cars alongside busy highways to photograph and gaze at them, curious as to why they do the things they do. Wild animals seem to possess such a mystique about themselves that they arouse a sense of wonder and awe in us humans. I’m only a veterinarian, not a psychoanalyst, so I can’t provide any answers to my questions. I can only provide observations.

As Aldo Leopold, considered by many as the father of modern wildlife management, said in his book, The Sand County Almanac, There are those who can live without wildlife, and there are those who cannot. I am one of those who cannot. For Dr. Leopold, and many others like him, including myself, wildlife have an intrinsic value. Sadly, some view them merely as an economic asset. And, others couldn’t care less or even regard them as an obstacle, especially to land development. Regardless, even though most of us have a need and love for them, for various reasons, many species of wildlife have gone extinct and many others are on the verge of that fate. I discuss some of those in this book. Although we are the reason they can expect such a fate, it is only us who can avert such a disaster. For, in a democracy, it is the public who rule by their votes and with their pocketbooks.

Much of my work involved the capture of wildlife which was both exciting and dangerous. I attempt to have you journey with me into the wilderness of central Idaho and arctic Alaska as I capture wild sheep. I try to give you a sense of what it’s like to work on panthers in the swamps of southern Florida and pronghorns and sage grouse in the high, cold deserts of the American west. I attempt to give you the sense of danger as we captured wild sheep from a speeding, low-flying helicopter and worked with African lions in South Luangwa National Park in Zambia. And, I hope I give you the same sense of the mystery and intrigue that I felt as I worked with Saiga antelope alongside native Mongolians on the fringes of the Gobi Desert in Outer Mongolia and mountain gazelles in Israel.

I attempted to provide some details of the science of wildlife conservation, especially veterinary medicine, in hopes that you might become more educated on the subject. In my work, I was responsible for assuring that none of the animals captured were harmed or injured during the process as well as determining their health and any diseases that could pose a risk to their survival. But, I always was given one overriding task, which was to provide scientific information that would benefit in their well-being and survival.

The science was easy compared to the politics. Working with wildlife, especially endangered species, always involves politics. I hope you will find such discussions informative. When appropriate, I’ve discussed the political problems encountered while working with federal and state agencies as well as with wildlife conservation organizations and governments in foreign countries. I’ve attempted not to be too critical or cynical, but to give you a sense that some of these entities have priorities that may not place high value on free-ranging wildlife and wild places. However, we must realize that development and industry are necessary in a thriving democracy and they are what make a society economically stable enough to provide protection and space for wild animals. It’s a balance that many of us seek. And it’s a balance that takes constant vigilance and loud voices.

I suppose it’s only fair to discuss my qualifications to write such a book and even to inject some information about what is a wildlife veterinarian. I am a certified wildlife biologist and licensed veterinarian, so I call myself a wildlife veterinarian. That is a self-ordained title. There are vets who have gone through the rigors of additional education and training to become a board certified wildlife veterinarian, but they work mostly with captive wild animals—zoo animals. They deal with the health of individuals. I, and others like myself, are field wildlife veterinarians. There are only a handful of us in the U.S. We deal with the health of populations and meta populations of wild, free-ranging animals, as well as the health of the ecosystems they inhabit.

Anyway, I believe that I have a story worth telling and I hope you enjoy it. And, by telling this story, I hope it leaves an impression that no matter how difficult the task of saving wildlife from extinction may be, we all must continue to try. If we fail to act now, like tracks in the sand, endangered animals are here, then gone.

ONE

SEARCH FOR A KILLER

As I leaned back in my creaky, brown, army-surplus, office chair with my feet upon my grey, navy-surplus desk, I could only stare through the rain-streaked window of my office as a cold, drizzly rain began turning into large, wet snowflakes. I rationalized that the ‘Weather God’ didn’t have it in for me, but this is the norm for this part of west-central Idaho during this time of year. I had spent a tough night with a colicky horse and longed for warmth and an un-interrupted nap. Now, with little sleep to show for it, I didn’t expect any better of a day. It had turned out alright with the horse, albeit with the help of a miracle. The old mare had been down for several hours. The owner, Miss Simmons, had waited too long to call for help; as most owners usually do, praying for a miracle and hoping to avoid a costly veterinary bill. After driving my pickup down a wet, foggy, sloppy road, I arrived at a small, white farmhouse with a woman standing in the front doorway lit by a yellow porch light. She was putting on her hat and yellow rain slicker, and after a short greeting, with the aid of a dim, somewhat shaky flashlight, she escorted me down a narrow, briar-overgrown path into a muddy corral and over to a very sick horse. Miss Simmons was middle-aged with graying hair, rosy-red cheeks, and slightly rotund, yet had a pleasant disposition, who had apparently given up on the poor thing and was apologetic about having called so late in the evening on such a miserable, dark night. Listen, doc, please save my horse. Money is no object. I often hear that expression from those who have very little of the green stuff to pay their debts, especially to veterinarians. Not to worry ma’am, I do this all the time  . . . no bother, I said, non-convincingly.

After conducting my routine examination, I concluded the poor beast had colic and only a fifty-fifty chance of survival, which I matter-of-factly explained. I could hear the woman’s muffled sounds of whimpering as she leaned over my shoulder. I always get teary-eyed when women cry and this occasion was no exception. I became more sympathetic and was determined to do my best at attempting to save the suffering animal. The poor mare was unable to rise, no matter how much prodding, so I proceeded to give my best treatment for such a case, under the circumstances. I gave her a special mixture of black gooey stuff through a tube into her stomach and an intravenous injection of an anti-spasmodic drug, and stepped back to explain that I would be back early in the morning to check on her.

As I explained what I had done for the beast, the animal’s head lifted from the ground. Then, suddenly, the horse stood, shook off the dirt and mud, and then began walking. I watched in amazement as the animal began to trot around the corral. As the mare trotted, she began to pass gas at an alarming rate and with sounds resembling that of a miniature ‘starting cannon’ at a foot racing event. Neither the owner nor I spoke; all we could do was watch.

The woman began crying, thanking me for saving her most prized horse. I tried my best to act matter-of-fact, but inside, I wanted to jump with joy and was desperately trying to explain to myself what was happening. I finally came to the only conclusion possible, a damn miracle was happening before my very eyes. I collected my gear and departed the farm mentioning that she should give me a call first thing in the morning to give me a full report on the animal’s condition. Now, sitting in my office, watching the snow swirl around by a blustery wind, I was awaiting that call with much anxiety.

The snow was now falling heavy with flakes as big as silver dollars when my receptionist, Linda, called out it was time for my first client of the morning. Upon hearing the door open and people being greeted, I walked into the waiting area to find a large, shinny, thirty gallon, trash can, with a lid duck-taped over the top, sitting in the middle of the floor. The owners quickly slithered out the front door, waving a meager hello-goodbye. After staring at it for awhile with an emotionless face, listening to the sounds of deep guttural hissing coming from the depths of the can, I looked up at Linda, bearing the same emotionless expression. Three adult, male ‘barn cats’ . . . all need neutering, she said politely with a wide grin on her face. I gotta find another way to make a living, I muttered.

The day progressively got worse, weather as well as work, and I found myself wondering if I had made the right decision about quitting my job, six years ago, as a wildlife biologist working for the Idaho Department of Fish and Game and getting my veterinary degree. As I pondered that question, watching the snowflakes fall and accumulating on the ground to nearly a foot, Linda hollered for me to answer the phone; she was busy combing her hair. It was my old friend, Gary Power, who worked as a regional supervisor for the fish and game. He explained there was an apparent die-off of wild bighorn sheep occurring on the Salmon River, downstream from the town of Salmon. Would I be interested in working for a few days as a contractor and attempt to determine cause of death? he asked. Sure, I said, not pausing to make any further inquiries. I’ll be glad to help.

It was the winter of 1988. I had worked with Gary when I was employed as a wildlife biologist for the fish and game before attending veterinary school. Gary and I had been friends for many years. I had graduated from veterinary school only two years earlier and now the bank and I owned a veterinary clinic in the small town of Cascade, just north of Boise, Idaho. I was working on domestic animals, but was hoping to get back to working with wildlife on a full-time basis.

Gary explained that while biologists were conducting game surveys from a helicopter, they had seen several sick sheep, most coughing as if they had pneumonia. They also had seen a few dead ones, now being scavenged by birds and predators. I knew it would be difficult to retrieve any good biological samples from such animals. I explained that we may need to collect samples from live, captured sheep, also one that we may have to kill for that purpose. That would be a sheep that was so sick, it probably wouldn’t survive. And, to complicate matters, some believed that a band of domestic sheep wintering in Pine Creek, the same area as some of the sick bighorns were seen, may have been responsible for initiating the die-off. I agreed to meet Gary in Salmon the next day. My wife, Sherry, seemed somewhat giddy about me being gone for a few days. I believe she needed some time alone, which I found a little difficult to understand. I informed Linda that I would be gone for a few days and to send all appointments to another vet who was a few miles to the north. As I was about to leave the office, Linda informed me that Miss Simmons had called to say that the horse was doing fine and that it may take her awhile to pay off the bill. I knew it, I said as I walked out the door into the wet, sloppy snow. I just knew it.

The scene where the die-off was playing out was in the rugged mountains of central Idaho, in a place known as the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. It’s one of the largest areas of wilderness in the lower forty eight states; nearly 2.3 million acres. It got its name from an Idaho congressional senator, Frank Church, who was instrumental in having the area, and the Salmon River that runs through it, protected as a wilderness. For anyone who has ever traveled down the river, it can easily be seen why it’s nick-named, The River of No Return. Members of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, in the summer of 1805, were the first white men acquainted with it and found it to be an impossible passage. They chose a difficult land route to the Columbia River rather than risk its dangerous rapids and the vertical, precipitous cliffs that rise thousands of feet above it.

We agreed to meet and start our work on a narrow, dirt road winding its way along the Salmon River, near Shoup, Idaho, a nearly deserted mining community, about 37 miles downriver from Salmon. The Shoup area had been a center of mining operations during the late 1800’s. With gold fever in the air, by 1882, there were more than 300 mining claims in the Shoup area with names like, Lost Miner, True Fissure, Spring Load, Humming Bird, Clipper-Bullion, and Kentuck. The scene of deserted cabins, abandoned mining shafts, and scattered rusty remains of mining equipment gives the place an eerie sense that the ghosts of long ago are still listening and watching.

We were to meet the helicopter and pilot a little downriver from Shoup and proceed up the small tributary of Pine Creek. Gary had decided to start there because it was where the biologists had seen several sick sheep and it was also the area where a band of domestic sheep were wintering. The plan was to sample the bighorns in an attempt to determine if the die-off might be related to the domestic sheep. If that were the case, it would provide ammunition for some to incriminate the sheep industry and might provide evidence that would force the removal of domestics from bighorn sheep ranges across the West. That could cause economic hardship for many sheep ranchers. Therefore, this could become a political hotbed and even before we started our work, some had incriminated the domestics. It was already in the newspapers and the media was beginning to become interested in our work. The state agency responsible for the health of domestic sheep and the welfare of the sheep industry’s economy, the Idaho Department of Agriculture, was also becoming interested.

It was cold and beginning to snow as Jim and I boarded the helicopter. Jim was a young, tall, handsome man, with a close-cut beard. He had spent several years working on elk as a biologist for the fish and game. He was experienced, very capable, and we got along well. The helicopter was a Bell Jet Ranger, well suited for the task.

After the pilot, who was also an experienced man who had flown helicopters in Vietnam, warmed up the engine, we took off in a whirl of wind and snow. We proceeded along the Salmon River and after a few minutes, flew into the Pine Creek drainage. Pine Creek, although rough and rocky, wasn’t nearly as treacherous as along the main river. And, it had a dim road running along it for a short distance which gave us a sense of safety in case we ran into trouble.

Although the temperature was cold, the sky was brilliant blue with a few wispy, white streaks of cirrus clouds scattered across the sky. There was little wind and it seemed a perfect day for flying. I found myself distracted, watching a golden eagle circling high above the snowy cliffs. But, it didn’t take long for us to spot several bighorns on the run. They were so beautiful with their dark, gray-brown coats and white rumps. They had heard the sound of the helicopter chopping the chilly skies and immediately began running for the safety of the steep, rocky cliffs. However, it didn’t take long for us to see that a couple of them were coughing and unable to keep up with the small herd. Jim motioned the pilot to get close enough for a shot.

Jim had the capability of using either tranquilizer darts or a net gun, depending on the situation. If he had to assure that the animal be stopped in his tracks, like on a ridge top, he would use the net gun. If he had a lot of space to work in, like on a relatively flat area, he would use the dart rifle. Most of the time, he used the net gun. The net gun consisted of four barrels, a charge and a projectile in each one, with one corner of the net attached to each heavy projectile. The net was woven nylon and was eight feet by eight feet. One door of the helicopter had been removed so Jim could get out and stand on the skids. From there, he would aim and fire the gun as the pilot maneuvered the helicopter into position. He was harnessed to the inside frame so he wouldn’t fall; it was dangerous work.

I selected the sheep I wanted Jim to capture, pointing to it as it ran ahead of us, and soon the