Since our last dispatch we have traveled mostly north from the Mambili River. Our objective: Capitale—the clearing of all forest clearings. I have flown over it many times in the past five years, but only dreamed of visiting on the ground. From the air Capitale looks enormous. We would see gorillas, elephants, two buffalo herds, and—most notably—a large number of male sitatunga, a rare forest antelope. Capitale looks like a classic “bai” (a Pygmy term) with a creek and elephant watering hole at its head. The water here is sweet and offers slightly higher concentrations of salt—a major draw for elephants. Lower down the creek grows a thick carpet of sedge, a rich source of scarce carbohydrates and gorilla food extraordinaire.

We cut a lot of trail to get here. Traveling on small elephant trails as we approached the bai, we hit a sharp descent and the trail became paved with large quartz cobbles like an ancient Roman road. Our spirits were high. We trucked along full speed ahead, unimpeded for the first time in months, free to gaze deep into the clear understory and not keep a constant watch on the ground for natural booby traps.

I was daydreaming, just enjoying the walk, when I sensed movement. The forest understory seemed to twist and turn in every direction. Whisps of breeze penetrated the forest canopy, reaching the ground. In that brief moment, I thought maybe a storm front was on its way. Elephant? No. Gorillas? No. Pigs? Guinea fowl? Crested mangabe! I could now see tens of these hyperactive, baboon-like monkeys clamoring for cover in the higher branches of a wengue tree. These ground dwellers had been feeding on fallen seeds when, from their point of view, we jumped them.

They darted every whichway, squawking “karako, karako” as they scattered. It reminded me of the scene in Titanic when the ship goes down—panic, confusion, every man for himself! Crested mangabeys (“agile monkey,” as the French call them) are rare. We’ve only seen them three or four times now in our more than 1,000 kilometers [620 miles] of walking.

I ran around to video some of the males, but the monkeys were fleeing and, as usual, I couldn’t get a clear view. As I looked around, a peanut gallery of several youngsters lined up on a low branch to watch me. They were probably thinking, “What is this guy doing running around like a madman?” After ten minutes or so they lost their nerve or got bored with me and climbed out of view. I packed up and proceeded—now awake—down the cobblestone trail.

I had the video camera out as we were descending the elephant trail. For some reason I stopped and zoomed in on a patch of forest down the way. Something was there, but I saw and heard nothing. Then loud roars made all other sounds disappear. A silverback gorilla had spotted us. As far as he was concerned, we were barreling right down on him. His roars were to let us know he was there, his fleeing that he wasn’t a threat. We walked on a bit. Then I heard branches breaking back toward where we had spooked the male. He had left his females and young up in a tree right where we ran into him.

Mambeleme and I walked back up the hill and there they were, stranded women and children. They were hand-clapping and giving their feeble female chestbeats. Dung and urine were now raining down from the canopy— [a sign of their fear]. I always feel bad watching stranded groups. It happens a lot when the silverback is on the ground. He runs for his life and leaves the women and children to fend for themselves.

Mambeleme called me over to see one gorilla, indicating she had an injured arm. I thought maybe she had broken her forearm or something. I arrived to see this horrible white-faced gorilla. Then I saw her arms. The hands looked crumpled. The forearms were atrophied and hairless and pocked with multiple open sores. She looked like some kind of grotesque praying mantis. The poor girl was, in fact, yet another victim of a terrible skin disease the gorillas have in abundance here in Odzala. We think it is yaws, just extrapolating from the Pygmies we see with this syphilis-related bacterial skin infection that variously deforms the afflicted.

The gorilla looked down at us with her bare, white face and gimpy arms. I felt real sad. She looked so lonely and helpless. She made a couple of feeble attempts to chestbeat and made her way toward the rest of the group. I recorded the hand claps and chestbeats for a while and made the Pygmies sit down quietly. It was now getting late. We needed to let the girls descend and rejoin the brave male who ran off. We also had to high-tail it to reach the headwaters of a creek far enough away from the bai that our fire wouldn’t disturb the peace.

We headed up a little hollow with a small, gravely creek where we could make a fire that wouldn’t be smelled by the elephants in the bai. During the night we could hear them trumpeting as they entered the bai. We were about a mile [1.2 kilometers] away, but the sound reverberated off the walls of the cobble-lined depression of the bai.

We also heard a hyena down there. Bizarre to have hyenas in the forest, but they are found here in higher numbers than leopards. They cruise the elephant trails and visit the bais at night. Their vocalization here is different from those I have heard in savannas—lower and shorter. The hyena leaves leopard-like tracks but three times as big. The Pygmies instantly perceived this animal as ferocious. They have no name for it in their language. They haven’t seen it. Don’t want to see it. And now venture only so far when nature calls deep in the night.