HARTBEESPOORT, South Africa — Many people associate vultures with death and decay. A couple of conservationists in South Africa are trying to show the public what they love and admire about these birds in an effort to save them. "No one's going to try to save a species if they don't love them," said Kerri Wolter. Wolter and partner Walter Neser run the Vulture Programme, where visitors can see the birds as they do: loyal mates, devoted parents and resourceful foragers, as well as spectacular fliers. Visitors to the Vulture Programme, a 10-hectare plot (about 25 acres) with spectacular views of the Magaliesberg Mountains near Johannesburg, can observe the birds feeding at "vulture restaurants" where they dine on carrion, and get close to a Cape vulture breeding colony located on an artificial cliff made from mesh, concrete and paint. The Cape vulture, with its 2.6-meter (8½-foot) wingspan, creamy feathers and golden eyes, is southern Africa's only native vulture. South Africa has the largest population of breeding Cape vultures with about 2,400 pairs, but their habitats are threatened by human encroachment, and the species is listed as vulnerable. Neighboring Namibia, where the bird is listed as critically endangered, is believed to have only about a dozen wild breeding pairs left. This time of year, visitors to the Vulture Programme can watch the birds eating and will see young birds on the verge of flight. During the Southern Hemisphere spring, in September and October, visitors might glimpse a pair of adult birds brooding over an egg. While the scene looks natural, it is the result of painstaking human intervention. To ensure as many successful hatchings as possible, Wolter and Neser remove the eggs from adult pairs, which mate for life, soon after they are laid, and replace them with wooden dummies. The real eggs spend most of the 54-day incubation period in a kitchen in an old farmhouse near the large bird enclosures. When the chick is ready to hatch, signaled by the sound of tapping from within the egg, Wolter takes over the role of hen. She has spent hours tapping and pulling at shells with surgical clamps, and uses a syringe to dampen the feathers of the emerging bird with a solution resembling a mother bird's saliva. In the wild, when overeager parents hatch their chicks too fast, the chicks can die of shock. Once Wolter's chicks are hatched and deemed strong enough, they are returned to their parents. The dummy egg is removed and the chick, under what looks like half an egg, is placed in the enclosure. The sound of its tapping stimulates the parents' instincts. "They, theoretically, hatch it again," Wolter said. "They don't recognize it as their own chick if they don't hatch it," said Neser, who has scars from ankle bites as souvenirs of his frequent visits to the breeding enclosure. Both parents share in building nests, hatching and feeding their young. The conservationists must strike a delicate balance. If they wait too long to place the chick back with its real parents, it may become too dependent on humans to be released into the wild. If they move too soon, the chick may be too weak to survive with its parents. Clumsy parents seeking to shelter chicks under their feet have crushed them. Some parents do not buy the elaborate charade of wooden eggs and half shells, and kill chicks they see as outsiders. Still, a successful hatching seems easy compared to the larger challenges. The conservationists' long-term goal is to re-establish viable breeding colonies in Namibia. But a strong threat is posed to the species there: cattle farmers who poison predators such as jackals to protect their cattle. A common method is to leave a poisoned horse carcass out for jackals. Vultures swoop down on the carcass. One poisoned horse "can wipe out an entire colony," Neser said. Members of vulture colonies fly together, watching the ground but also watching one another. If one swoops for food, others follow. "They have this pretty cool network going for locating food," Neser said. Wolter and Neser meet regularly with Namibian farmers, trying to persuade them to stop using poison. But conservationists acknowledge alternatives, such as bringing cattle into enclosures at night when predators strike, are expensive and labor intensive. "The situation where we are is, no, it is not safe right now to reintroduce vultures into Namibia," Wolter said. They plan to start slowly, reintroducing vultures into a Namibian nature reserve, although they realize it will be difficult to keep the birds from ranging far in search of food, and perhaps finding poisoned offerings. "They can easily travel 300 kilometers (nearly 200 miles) to go and feed and come back in the same day," Neser said. Vultures can fly into Namibia from South Africa. Poisoning is not as widespread in South Africa, but this country is more crowded and developed, creating other problems for the birds. Good Samaritans regularly bring to Wolter and Neser vultures who have damaged their wings crashing into power lines. Those that can be rehabilitated are released back into the wild. Some South Africans believe the birds are clairvoyant and kill them to use their body parts for talismans. Besides welcoming visitors to their conservancy — reservations are required — Wolter and Neser travel regularly to schools to talk about their birds. They stress that though they might not be cute and cuddly, vultures are nature's safety and health agents. The birds clean up carcasses before they attract flies, feral dogs, rats and mice, and thereby check the spread of diseases like anthrax. The Vulture Programme also offers paraglider trips for about $400 that allow researchers and the occasional special guest a chance to fly with the vultures. Neser says shaking human prejudice is not easy, and the future for vultures is "not really a very pretty or optimistic picture." Wolter steps in: "The idea is to try and make a difference for as long as you can, and not give up."
