MARTYN COLBECK: In 1990 I arrived on the plains below Mount Kilimanjaro. My intention was to record the intimate lives of one family of elephants over a long time – something that had never been done before. I needed to get close – physically and emotionally. One expert, Cynthia Moss, had already spent 20 years studying these elephants here in Kenya. I can still remember the first day that Cynthia Moss took me out and introduced me to a family of elephants, and it was extraordinary in two ways. One because we simply drove up and parked right in the middle of a family and they completely ignored us. So immediately you felt a very intimate relationship with the animals. The second was when she started telling me who they were. She knew every single individual, and there was a history to every single individual. That was the pivotal moment. It opened the door onto another world and I was immediately entranced. Echo, a 45 year-old female whose tusks almost touch, led this family. Their names all began with E. And within a few weeks of arriving in Amboseli National Park, I filmed an extraordinary event. I went out at dawn to find that during the night Echo had given birth, to a male calf. I soon realized something was wrong. A new-born elephant can usually stand within half an hour. My initial elation soon evaporated. The baby was unable to straighten his front legs. It was distressing to watch. Both Echo and her daughter Enid tried to get him to his feet. I was amazed how gentle they were. The rest of the family set off towards food and water, leaving Echo and Enid alone with the calf. Despite being over a kilometer away, I heard them communicating constantly, in low frequency rumbles. Echo’s daughter was clearly torn. Should she stay to look after the new calf or quench her thirst in the heat? The family continued to call. Raised feet betrayed their indecision. The stranded calf was becoming sunburnt and dehydrated. I felt helpless and unable to intervene. It looked like Enid might leave. I should have known better. As Echo tried again to help the calf to his feet, he screamed in distress. Enid spun round. Her rapid return revealed how close the family members were. I wasn’t optimistic about the calf’s chances. The following morning, I didn’t know what to expect. Incredibly, the calf was shuffling along in a kneeling position. Echo and her daughter paused frequently to let him catch up. His knees could easily become cut and infected. He risked a slow and painful death. The following day, there was another glimmer of hope. The calf seemed to be trying to stand. While the family rested, he never gave up. Unknowingly, I had recorded the first time this condition had been seen. The determined survivor was named Ely. He had been so big he couldn’t stretch out in the womb. Having been at his birth, I kept an eye on Ely’s progress over the next ten years. He was soon testing his strength with gentle sparring. As Ely grew he overcame other obstacles. For a short time he was partially paralyzed after eating toxic plants. When they reach their teens, young male elephants like Ely usually leave the family. He spent more time with other young bulls on the fringes until one day the family left without him. Ely was only ten. He was young to be on his own and at his most vulnerable. It was soon 3 years since Ely had last been seen. I was worried about him. Many young males don’t survive this difficult transition to adulthood. Bulls do sometimes disappear for years, only to turn up again. We looked everywhere, though I didn’t find him, which was sad, but maybe one day he will just reappear.

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