Thrills and Freak-outs: My First Two Weeks as an Elephant Conservation Volunteer

Mae Doom wraps the bottom half of her trunk around something greenish from between the flattened, harvested corn stalks. She tightens her grip on the bunch, curls it onto her tongue and does it again until she hears trumpeting. Junior’s freaked out. About what, I don’t know yet. But the outburst repels Mae Doom from her spot, sending her straight for the one-and-a-half year old calf who’s now skedaddling toward her, too.
The staff tells me she’s had her share of heartbreak. First, a miscarriage. Then a stillborn. Now she’s a fierce, protective auntie.
I’m too absorbed in the moment watching these two go from zero to light speed to grab my camera when it starts. Once they reunite, Mae Doom gently wraps her trunk around Junior’s little plump body. Not so much pulling him closer, just reassuring him she’s near.
It’s one of the most endearing acts I’ve witnessed two weeks into my stay at the sanctuary. I record the behavior on my research phone as a citizen scientist, ticking off the box for “elephant interaction” and marking down the time.

Interaction—there’s a lot of it lately. Having the last few days off from sanctuary work on this little R&R break has given me the space to process, reflect and form some semblance of sentences. I miss writing daily. I’ve been able to catch my breath away from group activities and let my brain arrive alongside the rest of me riding a steep curve crammed with brand new information, routines and ways of life. Always the most formative moments, aren’t they?
I came here to learn about the elephants and what I can do to help. And wow, am I ever learning about those complexities—both through magical moments in the field and insightful conversations with experts giving it their all. The data we collect, analyze and interpret will eventually reach the wider world in studies and reports to help elephants live a better life. It’s an incredibly cool mission to be a part of.
Turns out, I’m also becoming a fascinating study of my own.
For months, I've craved a sense of community as a nomad on the road. I’m realizing how that desire as well as a glimpse into a world I'm fascinated by also collides with a very real need for solo time and creature comforts to recharge as I plan for the six more weeks of eco-volunteering in field. And honestly, that contrast can be frustrating.
A little voice whispers, “Are we tough enough? Are we doing it right? Don’t we need a plan and two backups for how to move ahead?”
Right as I’m tempted to compare all the dilemmas and needs and things-that-need-tending-to with other giant issues exploding in the world (let alone my country) right now, I remind myself: there’s nothing frivolous about filling myself up to restore my power. An exhausted soul is one that can’t provide for itself nor others.
That’s when another voice swoops in. “Katie, you don’t need to be the hero. Just feed your needs.”
A Slice of Elephant Life
The day starts with a shrill rooster crow piercing an otherworldly scene involving a giant octopus in an aquarium unfurling its limbs around me. The image quickly fizzles as I realize that one of my ear plugs—nope, both—have escaped during the night. Now the village dogs start howling a symphony. I roll over and tap my phone screen. Five-twenty A.M. Thirty minutes till the alarm goes off.
I stare into the blackest of black blanketing my room. It’s bigger than I thought it would be and several homes away from my host family’s primary house. I’m grateful for the extra privacy. The part about hurling myself out of a warm bed draped under a mosquito net, fishing around for my headlight and traipsing the few meters to the outhouse in the cold dark never gets easier, even though I’d like to say I’m that person who doesn’t wince.

First to the toilet where I do the things I need to do and slosh it all away with a big scoop of water from the bucket, then directly to the shower stall next door. Roughly thirty percent chance I have warm water. Today I am lucky. But still, most morning showers consist of washing only the bits—a phrase I’ve borrowed from a friend when she suds just the necessary evils: two armpits, one groin, the face. I also add the feet.
By seven, we’re exchanging “Morning!” with each other at breakfast wrapped in blankets and hoods. I make myself some oatmeal with a dollop of peanut butter from the jar marked with my name I toted from the States, grab two hard boiled eggs and a mug that will hold my green tea. But first I order an Americano from Nee, the smiliest woman in the village who never complains when even she can see her breath in the morning. She whips up the coffee between orders of banana and mango smoothies from the others. Her little business in the corner of the base hut is thriving—just one of the ways eco-tourists support the local village. Which, in turn, also helps the elephants at the sanctuary.



There are six of them. All gorgeous. Too Meh, the matriarch. Her daughter, Mae Doom. Sri Prai, the most perfect-eared elephant of the bunch and her mate, Dodo—Mae Doom’s nephew who’s a big, vivacious boy with an extra wide trunk that’s often seen poking other elephants’ rumps. Their son, Junior, has been compared to a clumsy potato with legs by one visitor. And Boon Rott, the only one of them with tusks. He’s among my favorites, often seen on his own away from the group for solo time, joining the others occasionally when he feels like it.
All of them, save for Junior-the-oopsie-baby, have endured previous hard lives entertaining tourists. Since captive elephants are private property in Thailand, the sanctuary rents them from the owners who live in the village. It might sound odd, but through the extraordinary complications I’m learning about that require far more space than a single blog post, this is a healthy way to supply families with an income source that doesn’t contribute to a host of issues threatening elephants. Deforestation is a big one, with crop fields taking up valuable real estate of what’s left of the forest habitat needed for elephant food and housing. Logging has technically been illegal here since 1990, but still occurs in parts of the country. (This short film does an excellent job breaking down the sanctuary’s role. I enjoyed meeting the filmmaker, Fergus Hatton, this week as he returned for a visit.)

While most people slept on the plane en route to Thailand, my pen scribbled down question after question in one of five notebooks I shoved in my luggage. Yes, five. Curiosities about the elephant conflict, the sanctuary, misconceptions and other thoughts swirling in my spaghetti noodled brain. Things I resolve I’ll never know all of, but seek to know some of.
Squatting in the middle of that corn field high on a hill surrounded by forest, I dive into those questions. Most folks are pretty aware that elephants rank among the most empathetic animals in the world. But how, I ask the staff member to my right—a fountain of animal behavior knowledge— has she seen this play out between the giants?
She quickly thwarts the misconception that elephants cry. Instead, that secretion from their eyes isn’t so much tied to an emotion, rather practical reasons like removing irritants or lubricating their eyes (they have three eyelids!). Elephants grieve and mourn their dead, paying homage to fallen herd members by burying them with foliage. Her trained eye has also seen empathy play out in small ways. Like when one elephant slows her pace to let another catch up—much like a human would do on a walk with a friend.
They adjust as they go. Paying close attention is in their nature.
Finding the elephants requires hiking around four to five miles every morning roundtrip. I’m hardly ever at the front of the line, instead opting to hang near the back. My muscles like it slower, sure. But this also happens to be the place where I’ve connected with fellow quiet-lovers, introverts and high-feelers, too. There’s something about being at the caboose of the train that allows for more privacy, giving way to surprise aha moments within myself. And when walking side-by-side with another.
There’s quite a voyage ahead. I don’t know what it will entail, but I’m extra grateful for the folks who have slowed their roll to meet me where I am, leaving space to join them when I’m ready to forge ahead, too.
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