Elephant Training in the Hermit Kingdom

Travel Story by John Regan

Seoul, South Korea

Sometimes, things that aren't supposed to happen just do. My brush with the unexpected began in June of 1997 when the Army sent me to Korea for a one year tour. I'm now in the third year of that "one year" assignment and having the most remarkable tour of my career - training elephants instead of soldiers.

After twelve months with the war ready 2nd Infantry Division I had a choice. I could return stateside or extend in Korea. An extension meant remaining at my current assignment or at another post somewhat further away from the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). The first part of the decision was easy. I wanted to stay. My wife is Korean and I'd very much grown to like the mountainous peninsula. But I felt the need for a change, so I took a job at the US Forces Korea Headquarters in Seoul.

I got change. The small town outside of my former duty station (Camp Casey) is nothing like the thirteen million people, twenty four hour frenzy of Seoul. My new job, however, was a difficult transition. No longer a combat soldier, I became a desk jockey in charge of a computer; a "chairborne ranger." My artillery and troops were gone, replaced by general officers and national level politicians. But not having several hundred soldiers to worry about had one distinct advantage - on most weekends I was free to do as I pleased. For a pleasant diversion I decided to volunteer at the Seoul Grand Park Zoo.

With the invaluable aid of my wife's linguistic skills, I worked my way into the office of Dr. Kim, veterinarian and head of the mammal department. Clearly amazed at the strange Miguk saram (American) in his office, Dr. Kim looked suspicious. Why would anyone give up his valuable time to do something for nothing? Zoo volunteers in Korea are as rare as unicorns. American Army officer volunteers are akin to flying dragons.

My wife explained my pre military experience with elephants, which included some time with Jack Hanna at the old Central Florida Zoo and a brief apprenticeship with Bill "Buckles" Woodcock at Ringling Brothers. As she recounted (and, as I later discovered, greatly exaggerated) my pachydermial abilities, Dr. Kim's initial surprise turned to interest. "Yes," he said, "I have a problem with the elephants. Can you help?"

I was delighted. I envisioned early morning arrivals and the smell of dung while I helped clean enclosures and learn the trade from crusty old elephant men. Just like the old days, I'd be apprenticed to the masters and enjoy perfect weekend diversions.

Dr. Kim escorted my wife and I around the zoo and took us to the ko-kuri (elephant) exhibit. Seoul Grand Park is not small. Built in 1983, it covers an area of nearly one thousand acres and consists of an amusement park, museum, botanical gardens, and zoo. Rolling out over a beautiful, two hundred and forty acre valley that rises between steep mountains the zoo exhibits over 900 animals. It's an amazing spread of land in a country that is densely studded with peaks and people. Korea is about the size of Idaho and 46 million Koreans squeeze into a landscape that resembles a storm tossed ocean suddenly frozen in place.

Dr. Kim's problem was not small either, at least not for me. Eight elephants occupied the exhibit: two African bulls and two African cows, plus three Asian bulls and one Asian female. My task was simple - separate a bull calf from the breeding pair where it had lived for five years, create an elephant act, train one of the elephants to give rides, and train a crew of unskilled keepers too.

I was a bit taken aback by his expectations. My wife assured me with simple logic. "After all," she reminded me, "You said you wanted to work with elephants." I swallowed the considerable lump in my throat and agreed to try, hoping that my government medical coverage would take care of the inevitable onslaught of broken bones.

Dr. Kim asked me how I would go about separating the calf. The keepers assured me that the task was nearly impossible. They claimed to have tried for the past two years, mainly by manipulating the gates between the indoor and outdoor enclosures. The calf, however, usually managed to stay between the larger elephants, making the gate shutting technique impossible. They had tried catching him on the rare occasions that he trailed his parents, but that proved no easier. The keepers asked for my solution.

I studied the situation, went for a walk around the zoo, and came back with a suggestion. Begin feeding the calf in a location progressively further and further away from mom and dad. Eventually we would feed it right into a crate and haul it away. Within two weeks the technique worked and the little guy was on his way to the Pusan Zoo as part of an exchange program.

But my triumph with the calf was deceptively easy - and short lived. I assumed that with my credibility established we could begin some form of training, or at least some overall improvements. I did not pretend to be an expert, but the elephant management program had some obvious shortcomings. At this point, though, I began to receive an education of my own.

It is typically difficult for Americans to understand other cultures, especially one as far removed from us as Asia. Brought up to love our pets, raised on wildlife documentaries, and nurtured in a system that generally glorifies and rewards kindness to animals, it is hard for us to understand why anyone would not share the same outlook. But Korea's history is drastically different than our own. Less than fifty years ago it was a devastated land. Forty years of Japanese occupation and three years of war had ripped the country and the people apart.

The Koreans rightly saw modern industrialization as the way out of their predicament. They set to work with a vengeance. By any measure they have succeeded. No longer a "Hermit Kingdom," modern day Korea is a wonder of skyscrapers and sophistication. But the people who built this Asian tiger did not have the luxury of saving real tigers. Environmentalism and concern for nature are relatively new here. Yet, like Americans, they want their children to have a better life. That better life, however, means a position with one of the major corporations; or a respected profession such as computer scientist or doctor. It definitely does not include an occupation as low on the prestige scale as animal caretaker.

The elephant keepers reflected this. To a man they were frightened of the animals in their care, and did not view them with a great degree of affection. Elephants were malicious, not to be trusted monsters out to do mischief at every turn. (In several cases they were correct!) Now, adding to their problems, was an American eccentric who insisted that they should not only get close to the beasts, but train them as well.

My first challenge was to prove that you actually could get near an elephant without necessarily getting killed, and to show what complex, intelligent animals they are. Fortunately, out of the seven remaining elephants there were two who suited my purposes: Konto, a twenty two year old Asian bull, and Achima, a twenty year old Asian female, the parents of the young calf I had separated. The others, due both to temperament and enclosure design, were too dangerous for my limited experience. But Konto and Achima, two animals who actually had good cause to do me harm, proved to be the perfect pair.

Now, I realize that approaching a bull elephant is not the wisest course of action for a novice, but I was up against it now. If I couldn't get near the animals, the keepers watching my every move certainly wouldn't. Without training we'd never get down to basic husbandry. And after observing Konto for a while I suspected that he was a lot gentler than the keepers claimed. I began by carefully hand feeding selected treats through the bars of the enclosure gate, the only location I could safely get near either of the elephants. Before long I started to stroke his trunk. This led to closer contact and eventually to brushing. All of this activity the big guy graciously allowed.

Achima was another story. Whenever I paid attention to Konto she became terribly agitated, screamed loudly, and angrily thumped her trunk on the ground or anything else handy. She was not adverse to grabbing me, either. At one point I thumped her on the head with the bullhook I had the zoo welding shop make. From that day forward I was persona non grata in Achima's book, but she left me alone.

But all of this was going nowhere. Although I could approach the elephants I was not able to actually train them. My experience as a trainer was many years in the past and inadequate to the task at hand. I could not rely on the keepers for help, and I wasn't about to jump into an enclosure with two full grown, untrained elephants and proceed to show them who was boss, especially since one of them had stated a sincere dislike of me.

For advice I turned to the internet and began broadcasting pleas for help. To my relief the elephant community responded generously. I am forever indebted to a member of Toronto Zoo for advice and numerous contacts provided, and to a member of the Indianapolis Zoo for introducing me to protected contact training.

Protected contact training was a revelation. Although I had unknowingly begun to apply some of the principles myself, some tape materials I received gave me the tools I needed to make progress. Finally, I could demonstrate training techniques that the keepers felt they could manage without risking their lives.

I was still stuck with the problem of training two elephants simultaneously, but I overcame this by working with Achima across the moat while one of the keepers (more usually my wife) kept Konto busy by passing food through the gate.

I began by capturing one of Achima's least enduring traits, her trunk beating tirades. I rewarded her for thumping the metal fence surrounding the moat. It made a satisfying "bong" and she caught on very quickly. I had already taught both of them to raise their trunks for a reward, so now I had a total of two tricks.

Achima's progress was surprisingly rapid. In a short time she learned to thump right and left, turn right and left, back up, trunk up and down, and hold a stick. This may not sound like much, but I was starting from ground zero and still encountering a lot of resistance from the keepers.

Something amazing began to happen, though. My little Sunday afternoon sessions became a hit with the Korean public. Soon we had quite crowd watching our training sessions. We began hosing down the animals after the session (Korea swelters in the summer). Needless to say, the elephants were delighted by this and put on a wonderful, uninhibited show. Then I'd bring out the brush and do the best I could while getting soaked myself. After that we'd throw in some tree branches. One day I brought in a couple of old tires and threw them into the enclosure. Konto went into an extraordinary display of elephant antics. If an animal could ever be described as being in "the throes of ecstasy," it was Konto and two rubber tires.

And talk about changing attitudes. Achima has transformed from a nervous, irritable animal, to a sweetheart who rumbles at the sight of me. Konto no longer grabs at the keepers. The keepers in turn are much more at ease in their work and are taking an active role in the training. The zoo management found new confidence in its commitment to improve. They installed a platform to make the cross moat training easier, and are now constructing a new enclosure where we can train from behind a cable fence. They have instituted positive changes and the trend continues.

Most of all the elephants have benefited. They get considerably more stimulation and care, and the branches add some needed variety to their diet. They are calmer and a lot easier to move inside and outside. The next step is to go beyond simple tricks and enrichment, and concentrate on husbandry procedures.

Yes, there is a tremendous amount left to do, and it's often frustrating. My methods are not of professional caliber. Everything I say must be translated by my very patient wife and the Army naturally gets the bulk of my time. But the experience is rewarding beyond belief. The Seoul Zoo has allowed me to do something I thought I would never again be able to. Management has been extraordinarily patient, willing to take risks, and spend a lot of scarce money to improve the life of their elephants.

It is an odd twist of fate all right. I doubt anyone in Korea will ever recall my military contributions. But I think I've done something for their elephants; something I hope will live on well past the day I rotate to another assignment.

Illustration by Bob Veon
(Bob Veon's Website)

Read more about the author of this story:
John Regan

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