Last Chance to See

gorillas would be.
    But it wasn’t a gorilla itself that had attracted our guides’ attention, it was a gorilla’s bed. By the side of the track along which we were walking there was a large depression in the undergrowth where a gorilla had been sleeping for the night. Plant stems had been pulled down and folded under to keep the gorilla off the ground, which was cold and damp at night.
    One of the characteristics that laymen find most odd about zoologists is their insatiable enthusiasm for animal droppings. I can understand, of course, that the droppings yield a great deal of information about the habits and diets of the animals concerned, but nothing quite explains the sheer glee that the actual objects seem to inspire.
    A sharp yelp of joy told me that Mark had found some. He dropped to his knees and started to fire off his Nikon at a small pile of gorilla dung.
    “It’s in the nest,” he explained once he had finished, “which is very interesting, you see. The mountain gorillas, the ones that live here, actually defecate in their nests because it’s too cold to get up at night. The western lowland gorillas, on the other hand, don’t. They live in a warmer climate, so getting up in the middle of the night is less of a problem. Also, the western lowland gorillas live on a diet of fruit, which is another incentive for not shitting in their nests.”
    “I see,” I said.
    Helmut started to say something, which I like to think was probably something about having far superior types of gorilla dung in Latvia, but I interrupted him because I suddenly had one of those strange, uncanny feelings that I was being watched by a truck.
    We kept very quiet and looked very carefully around us. There was nothing we could see near us, nothing in the trees above us, nothing peering furtively from the bushes. It was a moment or two before we saw anything at all, but then at last a slight movement caught our eyes. About thirty yardsaway down the track we were following, standing in plain view, was something so big that we hadn’t even noticed it. It was a mountain gorilla, or perhaps I should say a gorilla mountain, standing propped up on its front knuckles so that it assumed the shape of a large and muscular sloping-ridge tent.
    You will have heard it said before that these creatures are awesome beasts, and I would like to add my own particular perception to this: these creatures are awesome beasts. It is hard to know how better to put it. A kind of humming mental paralysis grips you when you first encounter a creature such as this in the wild, and indeed there is no creature such as this. All sorts of wild and vertiginous feelings well up into your brain that you seem to have no connection with and no name for, perhaps because it is thousands or millions of years since such feelings were last aroused.
    I’m going to be a bit fanciful for a moment, because it is very hard not to be when your rational, civilised brain (I use the words in the loosest possible sense) experiences things it has no way of recognising or accounting for but which are nevertheless very powerful.
    I’ve heard an idea proposed, I’ve no idea how seriously, to account for the sensation of vertigo. It’s an idea that I instinctively like and it goes like this.
    The dizzy sensation we experience when standing in high places is not simply a fear of falling. It’s often the case that the only thing likely to make us fall is the actual dizziness itself, so it is, at best, an extremely irrational, even self-fulfilling fear. However, in the distant past of our evolutionary journey toward our current state, we lived in trees. We leapt from tree to tree. There are even those who speculate that we may have something birdlike in our ancestral line. In which case, there may be some part of our mind that, when confronted with a void, expects to be able to leap out into it and even urges us to do so. So what you end up with is aconflict between a primitive, atavistic part of your mind which is saying, “Jump!” and the more modern, rational part of your mind which is saying,
“For Christ’s sake, don’t!”
    Certainly the dizzy experience of vertigo seems to have far more in common with feelings of oscillating mental conflict and confusion than it does with simple fear. If it is a fear, it’s one we love to play with and tease ourselves with, which is how designers of big dippers and Ferris wheels make a living.
    The feeling I had looking at my first