The story of Rory

Elephant Tales- by Rory Mackie

This is one the most hectic stories I have ever heard. Ror has told it many times- the details changing depending on how many beers he’s had and who the audience is. But here is the original version. Before the beers and before the legendary story grew tails.

Rory is from Zimbabwe: “where they breed us tough” he would always say. Rory and I lived and trained together for 2 years at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs, USA and my home in Stellenbosch, South Africa.

Rory, young and eager, always tackles the bull by its horns (he still lives in Harare despite the utter chaos thanks to despot Robert Mugabe)  He used to be the most reckless on this bike down mountain passes, he would hit the track workouts 110%, we built the biggest potato gun in Colorado, and oh yes, Ror won the under 23 ITU Duathlon Worlds Champs in 2003.

We are both adventurers, but this time Ror took it 1 step too far…

He wrote this piece in 2003- shortly after his release from hospital- instead of getting ready for the Athens Olympics- where he should have been representing Zim in triathlon.

We have many interesting, read “hair raising” stories- and great memories – surely to be included in my autobiography one day, but this one takes the cake. Sensitive readers, go get some hankies…

“As I am finally sitting down and writing my story I am still sweating from my first training session. It has been 8 weeks since I have been able to exercise. I call it training but it was only a 15 minute ride on a spinning bike, but man it felt good, there were times when I thought that this day would never arrive.

I made a promise to myself two years ago that I must do an “adventure” at least once a year somewhere in Africa. Even now I do not intend to break that promise. Last year (November 2003) the “adventure” was in Chizarira National Park, what an adventure it turned out to be. Chizarira is one of Zimbabwe’s most remote and un-spoilt Parks and it also has an emotional significance to me. When I was 4 days old I was flown out to Chizarira with my Mum and Dad, as my Dad was the warden of the park at the time. It was for these reasons that I had chosen to go to Chizarira. Shayne, one of my best friends was coming along on this trip, he had already been on my first adventure which was a canoe trip down the Zambezi. Our relationship is one of constant arguing, teasing and most importantly “one up man ship”. This helps to explain how we landed ourselves in a heap of trouble. Shayne always needs a voice of reason or else he gets himself into trouble. I am no different and we certainly don’t provide each other with this voice. It was very ironic that in the days prior to the accident we had already coined two phrases of the trip “only the tough need apply” and “DEEP”.

It was a bit of a miracle that we had been in the park for 3 days and nothing had happened. We had done two epic walks, picked up some blisters, seen some of Zimbabwe’s most spectacular scenery, nearly died of dehydration, got lost, then learnt how to map read, bumped into several elephants and buffalo and climbed down a 20 meter waterfall using vines. All this armed with a panga and a shovel. In our defense we did try and get a Scout to accompany us but none were available and we weren’t going to let this trivial little detail get in our way of having a great time.

By the fourth day in the park our water supply was running low and the Busi River where we were camped was bone dry. The evening before we had found an area in the riverbed where the elephants had been digging for water. We dug our own water hole nearby and we found water about a meter and a half underground. The next morning we went back to the hole to make it a little deeper. Then we decided to do a short walk while we waited for the silt to settle so the water would be clean enough to drink. Shayne and I made our way up the bank and thought that we would just walk to the top of a nearby conical hill; with one very prominent large green tree on the very top. Shayne assured me that this tree must have some good stories to tell besides it was my turn to carry the pack so he was looking for anything to make my life harder.

We hadn’t been walking long when we heard the breaking of bushes ahead of us. Judging from the loudness of the noise we knew straight away that it was a group of elephants. Elephants have an exceptional sense of smell, good hearing but very poor eye sight, generally, if you are downwind and at a distance you are safe. I tested the wind, it was swirling around. We carried on in the direction of where we last heard the elephants only to hear them move off once again. The bush was getting thicker and thicker, I can clearly remember thinking at the time that we shouldn’t be going any further. Instead I got my camera ready, Shayne turned around and insisted that I lead and I happily obliged.

A few seconds later the silence was shattered by the trumpet of a nearby, pissed off elephant, moments later I saw the white of ivory through the bush then not 20 meters away an elephant cow came into full view. I immediately crouched down on one knee. She had her trunk up in the air in typical elephant fashion when they know something is out there but are unsure of what who or where you are.

I remember turning around at this time, expecting to see Shayne right by my side. I did see Shayne; he was about 20 meters away with his back to me, in full flight, arms and legs pumping in a flurry of panic. I chuckled to myself; he was never going to live this one down. Still smiling I turned around to concentrate on taking some more photos. Just as my smirk was creeping off my face it was replaced with one of panic, the elephant that I thought was unsure of what who or where I was, suddenly knew exactly what she needed to know and gave chase.
I turned around and did my best impression of Shayne. It was not that hard when I was also being chased by a 3 ton wild beast that was running considerably faster than me and was intent on making sure that I end up looking like a piece of paper and it did not have to dodge bushes or worry about thorn trees. I remember turning around and not being able to see anything and being rather pleased with myself. I was unaware that Shayne had in fact been running away from another elephant that I had not seen. I was now running in almost his exact footsteps. I came to the edge of a small opening in the bush.

To my right, not 5 meters away stood an elephant looking straight at me.
“If I can just get under that bush over there, maybe I will be able to get away”. Those were the last thoughts that ran through my head. I turned to my left to try and get to the bush; in the panic I lost my footing, slipped and fell to the ground. It was a split second later that I felt the impact. That feeling was not easily forgettable or like anything else I have ever experienced before. I have fallen off my bike, even been hit by a car on my bike a couple of times, but nothing compared to the flesh on flesh feeling of that elephant pounding into me. I felt the wrath of Mother Nature. That is all that I can remember, from that point on. I was knocked unconscious. What happened next no-one will ever know, judging by my injuries I can only speculate as to what really happened. One tusk went through my pack, passing through a first aid bag inside the pack and then on into my back; another tusk went downwards into the top of my shoulder, penetrated my plural cavity and left a hole in the shoulder strap of the pack. Both my lungs were damaged, the right was damaged by the tusk and the left lung was damaged by contusion from the impact.

I also had grazes all over my face; the scabs that formed days later were very smooth in texture, they appeared to be from the rough nature of the elephant’s skin. The shorts I was wearing had several holes in them, but holes that you would expect to appear after years and years of wear, this was from the sand paper effect of the elephant’s skin. When Shayne reached me the pack was off my back so the elephant had somehow managed to shake it off me.

My first reaction when I regained consciousness was to stand up, quickly look around and make sure no one had seen me and then pretend nothing had happened, if I could just dust myself off I could say that I just fell over and no one would know anything about an elephant and how stupid I had been. That thought was dismissed as quickly as it came, I could not even get to my knees, let alone stand up and I could not see anything and I had trouble breathing. The first two I thoughts I had were: “You dumb f@$*ing idiot Rory,” and then:  “Bugger, this is a real hassle, we’ll probably have to cut our trip short and we were just starting to have so much fun.” All I could do at this point was just sit down with my hands across my knees and call Shayne. By this time I could feel myself bleeding but I could not quite work out from where. I then started calling Shayne for what seemed like an eternity and it probably was several minutes. He was not very enthusiastic about coming to see why I was calling him back into the bush; he could still hear that the elephants were nearby

When he finally reached me I clearly remember him saying from a short way off. “S**t Ror what happened?” At the time I thought that was a pretty silly thing to say, I was hoping for something a little more profound or at the very least something a little more compassionate. As he walked closer, I lifted my head and the severity of the situation dawned on him. A sense of urgency and a little panic set in. By this time I was regaining a little more of my sight and I asked Shayne to take a look at my back, he took my shirt off and I heard him mutter a couple of swear words. I asked him how it looked. “Ahh fine Ror not that bad”. Maybe I know Shayne too well because I knew he was lying. Apparently it was quiet a sight, he could see right to the bone and lots of muscle hanging out of the gapping holes http://cialisviagras.com/. Shayne picked up all debris from the tussle, my camera, my hat, the pack and then helped me to my feet. We walked side by side; Shayne held the back of my shorts and basically pulled me along. This gave me one huge wedgie, but that was the least of my worries at that time. This was where Shayne really kicked into rescue mode. He literally blazed through the bush; nothing was getting in our way all the time dragging a muttering and complaining me. The main thing I can remember from this time was feeling incredibly tired, all I wanted to do was to stop and have a rest. Shayne was having none of it; “You’re a triathlete you guys don’t need rest, stop complaining.” This went on for the whole walk back to the river bed. I think that he was secretly enjoying this, there was this fit professional triathlete asking a chain smoking, beer drinking couch potato for a rest because he was walking too fast. On the previous walks he had been begging me to stop and rest every five minutes. We eventually made it to the river bank, but we had a small problem we could not find a way down because the banks were too high. Eventually we found a spot that was low enough to slide down and we finally made it to the river bed.

Once we were at the relative safety of the river bed, Shayne finally gave me a rest. He put a bandage on my back wound which was now full of sand and blood, from the slide down the river bank. If I could just make it to the camp and the vehicle everything would be all right.  Shayne tried his best at a bit of comic relief and told me a joke, something to do with a tomato family and catchup, it did not go down too well, I think it was because I felt and looked a little too much like ketchup at the time. By this stage I really felt like I was getting a little stronger, I could see a little better and I had gotten used to my shallow breathing, things were looking up, maybe I would not have to go to hospital after all, maybe we could finish the trip after all. Later I would have two operations and spend three weeks in hospital.  Some of these thoughts may seem very strange, but at the time I felt very embarrassed about stupid I had been. I really didn’t want anyone to know what had just happened. While we were sitting there Shayne asked “What happened out there Ror.”  “Shayne, one day when you are old enough, I will have to tell you the whole story over a few Bohlinger’s.” Many Bohlinger’s have been drunk since and the story has certainly been told just as many times, not always the truthful one, but a story none the less.

We got moving again and made our way back to the camp which was still well over a kilometer away. The boiling hot sandy river bed made the walking hard and slow. Once we arrived Shayne set me down on a camp chair and I tried to drink a coke while he got the Hilux ready. We headed off to the Park headquarters, Dakar rally style; the only problem was that the roads in Chizarira are not vehicle or rally friendly and the Hilux suspension is not very comfortable even at the best of times. It is not a pleasant drive under normal circumstances so with two lungs full of blood it was a nightmare of a drive. I had to make Shayne take several breaks during the three hour drive. He was all in favor of these breaks as they gave him a chance to have a much needed smoke break. By this time I had started to spit up blood. If I can just make it to the headquarters everything will be all right. By this time it was getting into the heat of the day, we were thirsty and we had finished all of our water; (it was not the first time this had happened on this trip). Coke takes on a whole different taste when it is hot, it is not pleasant and not thirst quenching either, but that was all we had left. The sight of the Parks headquarters appeared almost like an oasis in a desert, unbelievable. Surely now everything would be all right.

Thankfully the Parks radio was working; they radioed a nearby Safari Lodge who in turn phoned MARS (Medical Air Rescue Services). Shayne came back to the car, “Ror, no problem, hang on a plane is coming from Bulawayo, 45 minutes”

Ok if I can just make it to when MARS comes everything would be all right.
Half an hour later “Ror there was a problem with the plane, they are sending an ambulance from Binga”
Ok so I will have to hang on a little longer.
Half an hour later “Ah Ror (long pause) mmmm there is a problem with the ambulance, the doctors and nurses are on tea break so it hasn’t left”
Another half an hour later “Ok Ror the ambulance has left Binga, two hours”
That was great but I could not help wondering what sort of ambulance they had in Binga and would it be able to handle these roads. I was picturing a two hour drive in the back of an old 1970 Peugeot 504 station wagon, sharing with a few other sweaty people who also needed lifts to Binga.
Another half hour later “Ok Ror a plane is on its way from Harare 45 minutes, hang on”
Music to my ears, ok just 45 minutes more and everything will be all right.

National Parks were very good at operating the radio but that was where their expertise ended. They offered me a few panadol, gathered around the car and the only thing they could say was “Ahhhhh shame shame shame” shaking their heads in compassion. I think that in the time I was sitting there the entire station came down to the car to see the Marungu who was dying, and they all offered me the same condolences.

All this time the wound on my back kept on bleeding, I was unaware of how badly I was bleeding or how much my strength was fading. Shayne told me later that throughout the whole day my voice was getting quieter and quieter. The blood had been seeping through the seat and had collected on the floor of the car; he estimated that I had lost about 3 liters of blood over the course of the day. We drove off to the airstrip, luckily it was not far away, and still it was the longest 5 minute drive I have ever made. Shayne parked under a small patch of shade and we waited, and waited, and waited, and then waited some more. Then we heard it, the drone of a plane a long way off. Finally, everything will be all right. I should have known better, what we had heard was a plane but it was a commercial jet flying at about 35000 feet above us. And despite Shayne’s verbal abuse it was not stopping even for me. More waiting. Just as I was preparing myself for another night in Chizarira we heard the distant sound of a plane, then the most beautiful sight of all, a light plane flying at tree top, even then I never relaxed until I saw the plane actually on the ground. It had been a day full of surprises and I would only believe that plane was actually there if I could reach out and touch it. The sight of that plane parked on the runway filled me with an overwhelming sense of relief. I think I even smiled for the first time that day. Now everything would really be all right. For the first time in about 7 hours I got up out of the passenger seat, hobbled over to a nearby tree and had a wee, I didn’t need Shayne’s help with that, but Shayne did help me walk to the plane.

Once we got closer to the plane all Shayne could say was “Ror Ror check it out, hot blonde pilot” I managed a little look and I had to admit that this was the first time Shayne had made sense all day. I was hoping that we would be on our way to Harare right away. I was not so lucky. The plane was not the usual MARS plane, their two fully equipped pressurized planes were out on call and that was one of the reasons why there had been such a delay. This plane was not pressurized and I could not fly with collapsed lungs. The doctor had to put drains into both my lungs before we could go anywhere; I am ashamed to say that this small procedure was the most painful experience of the whole day.  The Hilux was reversed closer and the tail gate became a temporary operating table. Just as all this was happening the ambulance from Binga arrived, it did however turn out to be very useful. They provided us with some light because by this time it was getting dark. I had to call Shayne almost as earnestly as I had done earlier in the day to say good bye. He had given up on me and was concentrating all his efforts on the hot blonde pilot He gave me no chance, I was hoping to try with the whole sympathy angle. It was at this time that I had my first introduction to the wonderful world of Morphine. That flight was the easiest and quickest I have ever taken.

On arrival in Harare I was taken to St Anne’s hospital, which was the start of my three week stay. When I arrived they were not sure if I would make the night. The infection in my wounds was the major concern, if the infection had spread to my lungs I would have been in serious trouble. The loss of blood is what would have killed me out in the bush. Had I not gotten any medical attention, they thought that another hour or so  I would have died. It seems strange to me, especially now, that I did not once feel as though I was about to die or even being scared, the thought didn’t even enter my head. I didn’t see my life flashing past me, no pearly gates, no angels and no white light at any time throughout the whole day. The pilot had been able to call my Mum when we landed so I knew that she would be at the hospital waiting to see me. I also knew that I would have to put on the best bluffing performance of my life; I knew that she would be thinking the worst. “Ahh don’t worry Mum; make sure my bike is ready, I’ll need it this weekend”. I really didn’t want to see her crying as that would have certainly made me cry to. I couldn’t be seen crying; guys don’t cry, after all I had people to impress. I must have done a good job as she seemed very calm and collected, this made me feel better. It turned out that she had done the better bluffing job; nurses later told me, she had said that she thought I only had four more hours to live when she saw me that night.

I was told later that when I arrived I had: maggots in my shoulder wound, pus in the wound on my back, several broken ribs, two semi collapsed lungs, a broken collar bone, lots of scrapes and bruises, a guardian angel and one really great story. “