Rare Earth

By Colin P Smith

This is an expose’ of the global industry which kills animals for their horns, ivory and other body parts. It is a shocking revelation of mans greed, ignorance and callous disregard for defenseless animals and fellow human beings.
It explores the industrial scale of the trade in animal parts, from the top men down to the poachers on the ground. It reveals how the poached items are secretly moved from one country to another. It also discusses how ineffectual current methods are at preventing this vile trade and reveals novel ways by which mans revolting obsession for these materials could be stopped for ever, through the use of applied science and innovation.
Warning;
Some readers may find parts of the book to be upsetting as it graphically illustrates the cruel methods used by poachers to harvest ivory. Sadly, the reality is far worse than described in these pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: May 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483411941

Book preview

slaughter.

CHAPTER 1

Just as things couldn’t get much worse, it started to rain. Adam had the target in his sights. The hit was there, but then the rain started, and the visibility dropped. This was personal, he had to have a clear view to see his plan work and have the joy and satisfaction of seeing two of the most sadistic and revolting people he had ever met, permanently removed from the planet.

Still, at least they didn’t know he was there; he was too good for that. ‘It’ll have to wait for tomorrow,’ he said to himself. There was only one thing to do now: settle in for the night. It was going to be a cold one, even here in Kenya, but he was used to it. The long, freezing nights he spent under the stars in the Cambrian Mountains when he was a young boy were far worse than anything he would experience here in the foothills of Kilimanjaro; by comparison, this was a picnic.

He had a pee, crawled into his trusted Iceline sleeping bag, ate two Mars bars, and curled up for the night. The next morning was a glorious, crisp, bright, blue-skied day with a pure, white mist clinging to the valley. The peaks of Kilimanjaro poked through the clouds in the distance, a backdrop for the most breathtaking sunrise unique to Africa. It was going to be a good day.

Adam scanned the horizon in the scant hope that he might see some signs of his prey, but not surprisingly, there was nothing, not even the haze of a distant campfire or the call of the ‘go away birds’, warning other birds and animals of danger. But the spoor will be there. No matter how good their bushcraft was, there would always be a spoor, and Adam knew that their bushcraft was not that good, certainly not as good as his. They also had the burden of the fat and unfit Chinese man, Ding Cheng, who had decided to join this hunt, much against the wishes of Salim, the gang leader, and his men. But then, Ding Cheng was the boss of all the bosses, and they had to go along with it.

Adam should have been there with them, but he had emailed Cheng at the last minute to say that, regrettably, he was going to have to pull out. A problem had come up in his business, and he was very sorry, but it just could not be avoided. He had added that he hoped Cheng had received the full wardrobe of safari attire made of the finest cotton by his Savile Row tailor, which Adam had sent to him via DHL the previous week.

Although Cheng had been responsible for the mindless slaughter of thousands of elephant, rhino, and tiger around the world for years, he did it from the comfort of his penthouse office in Kowloon, Hong Kong. This was his first and, as it happened, his last hunt, and that was why Adam was pleased to be there.

CHAPTER 2

Adam Ross was born in the small village of St. Mary, in the foothills of the Cambrian Mountains. His mother died of breast cancer when he was six. His father, John, was a gamekeeper for Lord Hardwick, who owned the 12,000-acre estate nearby. Adam spent his formative years following in his father’s footsteps. By the time he was twelve, he was already a deadly but compassionate marksman and shared his father’s deep love and understanding of everything to do with nature and the countryside. From the time he could walk, Adam spent most of his time outdoors, often deep in the forest he loved.

During the school holidays, he was sometimes missing for days, living wild in the mountains – or to be more precise, thinking he was living wild. In reality, his father was never more than a few minutes away, but Adam was unaware of his presence, as his father was one of the best stalkers ever.

From his nearby hide, John Ross watched Adams every move. He was immensely proud of his son and hoped that one day Adam would take over his role as gamekeeper. He spent his time passing on all his years of knowledge to his son. On one of their adventures together, when Adam was approaching his thirteenth year, Adam felt the urge and confidence to stalk a stag on his own. Not to shoot it, but to get as close as he could. He didn’t discuss this with his father, as he felt this was something he had to do himself. Just thinking about the thrill of the chase, the anticipated rush of adrenaline, made him heady.

He knew which stag he was going to stalk before he left home – a magnificent white stag everyone in the area knew as Bwystfil (the White One). Bwystfil had eluded even the most-skilled stalkers for years. Adam listened regularly to the rumours and the chat between the locals at the Fox Inn. Although he was too young to be in a pub, in this part of the world, few took any notice; he was one of the boys, and what’s more, he was John’s son.

Adam had a rough idea where he may find Bwystfil. The other keepers in the area thought they had seen him in the past few days around Glan-Y-Nant. Adam spent the days under cover, picking up the spoor and then losing it. Then, on one frosty, moonlit night, he opened the slit in his small Terra Nova tent and saw what looked like a ghost of a stag glowing white in the cold, clear air, just 100 metres away. He was taken by the sheer majesty of this magnificent animal, standing there proudly with a huge set of antlers and steamy, white breath flowing from his wide nostrils. Adam quietly stalked him all night and into the early dawn. Staying upwind, he was able to get very close as the stag moved deeper into the forest, looking for somewhere to hide during the daylight hours. The closer he got, the more awed he became, to be so close to this beautiful animal and for it not to know he was there.

Getting even closer, he could smell the characteristic musk; he could hear the animal breathe as he stood behind a huge, old oak tree. Adam stayed dead still, and then to his astonishment, he could see the white breath of the animal coming from round the other side of the tree.

The stag was right there, on other side of the tree! Slowly, quietly, Adam slid round the tree and came right next to the flank of the stag. He was shocked by the size of the beast; its shoulder was at the same level as Adam’s head.

In a flash – and even to this day, he does not know why – Adam had the hilt of his Saji hunting knife in his hand, and he jumped on the astounded animal’s back in one huge leap. He leaned forward, grabbed the left antler, and without thinking, plunged the honed knife deep into the stag’s jugular vein. He turned the blade sideways, and just like a knife through butter, he slid the weapon through the windpipe and toward himself as far as he could.

The stag collapsed. Bright-red blood sprayed everywhere, and as the animal gasped for air through the severed windpipe, the blood was sucked in and sprayed out again as a bright-red froth. Adam jumped from the beast’s back and rolled over just as the animal fell on its side. Adam got to his feet and looked down. Slowly, the animal began to die, and Adam’s adrenaline started to wane. He stood there, covered in blood, and murmured, over and over again, ‘No, no, what have I done? What have I done?’

Another voice behind him said, ‘Yes, what have you done?’ It was his father. They stood there looking at each other, silently and mutually embarrassed. Adam’s arms hung down by his sides, the knife still in his hand. Neither of them spoke. Adam dropped the blood-soaked knife and fell to his knees as if in prayer. Inside, he was reeling with mixed emotions. He had just killed a magnificent stag in cold blood. Why did he feel so elated and yet so humiliated at the same time? Then he looked down at the poor animal. It was the eyes; it was always the eyes that haunted the hunter. Adam looked down at the nearly severed head, and the stag’s eyes focused on him. He could feel the burning rage, the hatred, and fear in those eyes that just kept looking at him until they slowly glazed over and the animal stared no more.

For the rest of his life, he would always remember that look, those eyes, the hatred, and the fear. He would also always remember his own reactions – the revulsion, the shame … the elation!

His father was also reeling with mixed emotions. He was proud that his son had come of age; he had killed a full-grown stag with his bare hands. And yet John also felt a burning rage, a rage that such a magnificent animal had been killed so barbarically, against everything John had taught his son.

He was about to scream at Adam and condemn him for this murderous slaughter of such a majestic animal, but then he tempered himself and in a flash realized that Adam had known little else for his entire life. From the time he was a baby, Adam had only known of hunting, killing, stalking, guns, snares, dogs, and testosterone-fuelled, macho bravery between John and his fellow hunters. Small wonder that, with this upbringing, Adam felt the need to demonstrate his skills; he had learned it all in those formative years.

Adam and his father silently buried the stag where it fell. They never spoke of the incident again.

CHAPTER 3

It was a cold January night. Adam, who was now 15, was snugly curled up in his bed, the north wind howling over the roof, when he heard the Motorola walkie-talkie crackle to life downstairs. His father was in the kitchen. Adam heard his father answer after the second ring; he was waiting for this call.

Poachers had been causing havoc in the area for the past few weeks. They had been driving down from the Midlands in big four-wheel drives and shooting deer in the middle of the night with silenced, high-powered rifles fitted with night-vision sights. Some nights, more than five deer were slaughtered and butchered on the spot. The meat was transported back to the Midlands where it was sold in the lucrative game black market.

John and the other gamekeepers had decided that they needed to catch the poachers red-handed, and a number of them and some volunteers decided to stake out the area and wait for the poachers. The arrangement was that anyone spotting any unusual activity would send a squawk signal