The Arabian Leopard, smallest and rarest of all leopards, is on the critically endangered list. Editor and wildlife vet, Maurice O’Scanaill, tells his tale!
The Arabian Leopard, the smallest and rarest of all leopards, is on the critically endangered list. Apart from being paler, and just half the size of African leopards, the nimr has different habits. For starters, it doesn’t drag its kill into trees. There are no trees, but also, its prey can be as small as birds, insects and lizards so it is often eaten in minutes. Besides, there are no bigger predators to rob it; in its tiny world, the nimr is king.
Top Priority
Despite the obstacles, we hurry. The leopard has already been in direct sun for too long. The trap needs to be in the open, visible to the observer perched precariously, for weeks now, on a high ledge almost a mile away. My orders from the minister, are clear: ‘Tabib (‘doctor’). When you get nimr call, go at once to Military Airport. Even if you are doing an operation!’ Luckily, I never had to make that difficult decision. But it has top priority. We’re a hundred feet up before I get my seat-belt fastened.
In the arid Arabian Penisula, only the Dhofar region is blessed annually by the Khareef, the outer edge of the monsoon. The Khareef doesn’t actually stretch this far inland but there are very infrequent torrential flash-floods and, in those wadis so narrow and deep that their floors never directly feel the merciless sun, dwindling rock-pools persist between flash-floods, enabling little ecosystems to survive, with the nimr as top predator.
In sight of the trap, we stop. Gauging the size and weight of a moving spotted creature through a 1.5″ iron mesh is difficult, but critical; I must get my anaesthetic mixture right: too little and we’ll have to just let the groggy nimr go (you can’t keep topping up); too much and I wipe out a significant percentage of the world’s tiny population. With no precedents, I use the same cocktail as for a domestic moggy, only seven times more; I use highly-concentrated drugs as they must fit into a tiny dart. Eventually, loaded and ready, we approach the trap, split up, and while Andrew distracts the nimr at one end, I sneak up behind, put the blow-pipe through the mesh and blow sharply. The dart hits home, and we withdraw. Five minutes later, our nimr is lying asleep, but right in the middle of the trap, facing the opening. So who’s going to crawl in and haul him out by the scruff of the neck? Maybe he’s just lightly sedated, ready to explode into furious life the instant he’s disturbed? In the end, I devise a very unscientific but effective method of gauging the level of anaesthesia – I navigate a long stick through the mesh and repeatedly prod him about the head. Getting no reaction, I pronounce it safe for ‘someone’ (the others have now arrived) to go in and haul him out, but eventually I am required to put my money where my mouth is and do it myself.
Getting Physical
The rest is easy. Rushing him into shade, I begin: overall examination, general health assessment; temperature, heart-rate, respirations; numerous blood samples, skin-biopsy, faecal sample. In the meantime, Andrew is weighing, measuring, photographing spot-patterns (the fingerprints of the leopard world) while my friend, Richard Ward, the wildlife artist (who just happened to be visiting for a few days from Ireland) sketches and photographs.
An hour later, we sit and, from a safe distance, watch my patient, now with a tracking collar fitted, amble groggily off into the sparse, dry brush.
Richard Ward’s portrait of His Majesty, Sultan Qaboos, using that trip as background, became Oman’s official stamp for Wildlife Year, 2002.
