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[morgueatlarge] Melbourne Zoo
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morgue
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Aug 17, 2007 07:35 PDT
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Several months ago I went to Melbourne with Cal. It was great, and I
wrote a morgueatlarge email about it. I left the best bit out of that
email, planning to write the followup straight off. But I didn't.
Until now...
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I'm not a zoo person. Nor am I an anti-zoo person. I like looking at
animals, and I understand and appreciate the arguments for zoos as
bastions of environmental promotion and havens for endangered species.
Despite this, my interest in zoo-going has traditionally been
minimal.
On our first afternoon in Melbourne, Jen and Casey waxed lyrical about
the Melbourne Zoo. Go see it, they said. And I said... I'll think
about it. And Jen and Casey said, there are gorillas.
Truth be told, I was convinced from that moment on. I've always
wanted to see a gorilla. These may not be the elusive and desperately
endangered Mountain Gorillas, but none of the gorilla species are
doing too well, and they're such amazing beasts... yeah, I was sold.
Several days went past. In fact, it came to the last day of our
visit, and we thought, all right then. Lets go to the zoo today,
before we get on the plane. And then disaster struck and the heavens
opened and rain poured forth.
Actually, it wasn't a disaster at all, because Melbourne was in a
drought situation with water conservation high on everyone's agenda.
It was a wonderful thing for Melbourne. For our zoo visit, however,
it didn't bode as well. Did we really want to go trooping around
Melbourne Zoo in the rain? Well, the call of the gorillas was too much
for us to resist. We caught a tram and went up to the zoo and bought
our tickets and went inside and it rained on us but we didn't care. In
fact, by the end of it, we were grateful for the rain.
Because the rain made the animals come alive.
One of the reasons zoo visits were so consistently underwhelming was
because the real live animals always seemed, well, real dead. The
typical zoo animal spends the day in a prone position, settled in the
most inconspicuous spot in its enclosure. Zoo visitors take turns
pointing over the bushes and saying too each other "See? There is is,
do you see that little patch of orange? Look, that's a
tiger/lion/wildebeest!"
Well, know I know the secret. Go to the zoo when its raining. Those
animals will be up in arms. They'll be prowling all over the place,
curious and restless, and you will see great things.
Cal and I started our explorations at the big cat section, where we
saw snow leopards and cheetahs and panthers. The cats were all up and
moving, pacing sinuously right past us, just inches away, then
circling away to the far recesses of their space behind bushes and
trees, then making their way back. It was spellbinding to watch. The
rain had got them up and moving.
After spending lots of time here we went right to the far end of the
zoo to see the gorillas. I wasn't disappointed as we found ourselves
gazing up at a proud young male, perched on a central promontory from
which he could see everything in his enclosure, including us. He
watched us watching him, occasionally scratching his nose. Now and
then a loud noise sounded from nearby, and his head snapped around to
peer off towards it, but apart from that he seemed unconcerned with
anything. We spent a long time standing there watching him, enjoying
another side effect of the rain - it had dissuaded the crowds. We had
the place mostly to ourselves.
As did the gorilla. He was being given the run of the enclosure while
the females were closed up in the nursery/indoor space nearby, and
that's where we spent the next long while. At a big picture window we
had an up-close view of the youngest gorillas swinging and playing
with each other. One of them was eager for attention - she kept
swinging up to the glass and rapping it in front of our faces if we
spent too long looking at the older females. She was adorable,
dragging a big rag doll around with her, burying herself in straw and
then uncovering herself again, and rolling head-over-heels with a
cheeky grin on her face, all the while checking regularly to make sure
we were still watching her.
We were both reeling from the awesomeness of this experience when,
just around the corner, we encountered the source of the noise that
was spooking the gorilla. It was the tiger enclosure. In clear view,
a good dozen yards from where we watched through safety glass windows,
were three delightful tiger cubs that were gnawing away on hunks of
meat. These three cubs, Isha, Nakal and Satu, were about six months
old at the time. Their mother Binjai wasn't far away, drawing our
attention with a throaty roar. This was the same sound that the
gorilla was listening for one enclosure over. Binjai paced in a large
circle around the cubs, giving them plenty of space to stretch out and
have a leisurely feed. Binjai would disappear from view behind bushes
and trees, then loom into sight again, pacing warily, sounding a roar
now and then to let us know her cubs were protected.
The gorillas had been amazing, but this was one step above that.
These animals seemed completely comfortable in their redeveloped
habitat. I watched Binjai with Blake's poem going through my head:
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
Then Binjai turned and started walking towards me. With the same
steady gait she had used to circle her enclosure, looking directly at
me and yet right through me, she came closer. I felt my heartbeat
quicken. I knew that there was an inch of reinforced safety glass
between her and me, but when you see what I was seeing, the primal
parts of your brain start screaming. All I could think about was the
way her muscles rippled under her striped fur, and those eyes as she
came closer and closer. I don't mind admitting that it was completely
and absolutely terrifying. I couldn't move.
Binjai advanced until she was right in front of me through the glass.
Then, at the last possible second and without breaking her stride, she
spun about on her heel, lifted her tail, and sprayed directly at my
face. Big cat urine splashed off the glass directly in front of me.
Binjai walked away.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I say that I have never before been so
elated by being the target of urination.
Binjai *noticed* me. She was actually communicating with me. With
me! In her tiger brain, an idea of me had formed and she had decided
to act, to send a very clear message to me: Piss off puny human.
Wow.
We wandered around some more of the zoo with me on a high. The
elephants were lovely and the orangutans were great fun but my day had
peaked. It was just as well we ran out of time soon after, because
there was no topping that experience.
So. Melbourne Zoo. Next time you're in Melbourne, and the rain starts
to fall, you know what to do. Hit that zoo, and hit it hard. Play
with the gorillas and get sprayed by a tiger - how can you possibly
beat that for an afternoon's entertainment?
Peace to you all
morgue
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