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One of the many great things about working at a research station is everyone's fascination with dead things. I realize that might seem a slightly weird and perhaps grotesquely morbid sentiment to most, and I assure you that I'm no necrophiliac, but there is something remarkable about having the opportunity to get up close and personal with an organism that would otherwise be impossible to observe at such close quarters. As a resident bird researcher, I'm often presented with dead birds because, well, apparently every organismal scientist loves to have their dead study subjects in hand.

This morning, however, I had the opportunity to admire something slightly more unusual, and dare I say more exciting, than a limp feathery mass: a very large, very dead hippopotamus that had been found in the river near River Camp. To avoid contamination of the river, from which water is pumped throughout the ranch and research center, a cable was slung around the carcass so that it could be hoisted and dragged, via tractor, to an undisclosed location to be taken care of by the bush's scavengers.

Fortunately we're a smart group, and it wasn't too hard to deduce where it had been taken thanks to the drag marks that only a 2-ton animal could leave behind. Strategically dragged far enough from the river so as not to "leak" back into the river's drainage basin, we found the hippo behind a small rise about ten meters past the end of a dirt road, resting on its belly as if it were, well . . . resting.

What. A. Beast. Massive, enormous, gigantic . . . beastly. Observing these creatures from afar, especially when they're in the water, it's difficult to truly appreciate their monstrous size. Within an arm's length, however, and it's a whole 'nother story.

At first glance, it didn't even look real, but more like a rubberized replica. Yet, at the same time, we were all poised for immediate retreat if it so much as quivered one of its tiny little ears. Confident that it was, in fact, quite dead, we approached close enough for some hands-on observation. It's not often one gets to inspect a wild hippo.

We immediately went to work trying to determine its demise, playing out a real-life scenario of the African bush-version of "CSI." The initial overall impression, and judging by the hide, was that this particular hippo was quite the mzee, or old male. Indicative of decades of territorial fights, the back was patterned in a ghastly network of criss-crossing pink and red scars. A closer look at the head, and . . . it was quite evident this mzee had been in one fight too many.

On either side of the dead hippo's massive head were impressive and undoubtedly fatal gouges and gashes, suggesting a rival male had, with jaws wide open, come down on top of his competitor's dome in one final and victorious chomp. While this wouldn't have crushed the skull, if you've ever seen a picture of a yawning hippo, then I'm sure you're aware of just how dagger-like their teeth are. These massive puncture wounds about the head are almost certainly what did this guy in.

Satisfied with our hippo external autopsy, we left with plans to return later in the evening to observe which of the bush's scavengers would make an appearance. I've since been back twice and, to no surprise, the hippo had already been torn apart by the first visit. We found it strange, though, that upon revisiting the hippo for the first time and finding it freshly opened, no scavengers were to be found. A closer inspection, however, revealed something slightly disturbing: the cuts in the skin and flesh were far too smooth and straight to be credited to an animal. People had come to cut, expose, and harvest the hippo's meat. While this is not unusual among herders and other locals when a relatively freshly dead animal is discovered, I couldn't fathom eating the meat from a carcass that had been soaking in the river. It does give you an idea, however, of just how precious of a commodity meat is in rural Africa.

Revisiting the carcass a second time was much less disappointing, as we were treated to a lone hyena munching, tearing, and gorging himself as much as hyenaly possible before any of his associates arrived to chase him off. And, as I sit here writing this, his friends are definitely on the way . . . throughout the bush, all I can hear are the whoops and chuckles of giddy hyenas.

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