The sun had long since submerged beneath the tree line, and the Bueng Pan ranger station was settling in for the evening. Smoke from the kitchen fire drifted over the grassland, and a radio burbled away to itself happily in Thai. The first nightjar of the evening began to churr unseen in the darkness, accompanied by the monotonous throb of rival frogs hidden in the pond margins. Enveloped in his hammock, Ranger Pond sang a quiet love song to amuse himself, while the moon materialized blood red through the haze of distant forest fires on the eastern horizon.

But there was work to be done and a night-long vigil ahead of us. Veterinarian Warisara Thomas stepped out into the darkness, a Yagi antenna held high, listening for the slow rhythmic tone of a transmitter through the static. Cycling through the frequencies, the slow chip-chip-chip told her that each of the traps we’d placed hours earlier lay undisturbed. All was well; no need for action.

We’d arrived at lunchtime after a long, bumpy drive through the forests of Phu Khiao Wildlife Sanctuary, crammed into the back of a pickup truck along with our baggage and an eager young patrol team of rangers.

Our objective was to capture a dhole—one of Asia’s least known and rarest carnivores—as part of a new study to help us understand the needs and threats faced by dholes in this corner of northeast Thailand. The project, led by Warisara and fellow graduate student Kittiwara (Tor) Siripattaranukul, was to become the focus of their PhD research and was designed to uncover key details (any details, really) on the health and ecology of these elusive, pack-living wild canids. Once captured, dholes would be fitted with satellite telemetry collars to reveal their movements and home range needs, and diagnostic samples would be collected to assess their exposure to pathogens and parasites. But first, we needed to catch one!

Success in wildlife capture requires a mix of experience and luck. In a bid to tip the odds in our favor, the team had murmured prayers and left an offering of fruit at the spirit house behind the ranger station. This little wooden structure housed a sun-faded picture of a long-dead pilot, whose helicopter had crashed in the forest many decades before. Yet his memory remained very much alive among the park’s rangers and researchers who’d stop by to leave prayers, fruit, and a squadron of tiny toy helicopters piled up alongside. With his blessing, and that of the other forest spirits, perhaps luck would swing our way.

We spent the afternoon laying traps at strategic points along trails and tracks that criss-crossed the wide forest clearing of Bueng Pan. Guided by Warisara and Tor’s knowledge of dhole capture in other Thai parks, we laid clusters of soft-catch foot traps around piles of fresh meat we’d purchased to lure the dholes within range. Remote cameras monitored events, and from each trap we strung a nylon line to a radio transmitter designed to signal the moment our trap was sprung, alerting us to a capture. With constant monitoring, we could reach traps in minutes, anesthetize our targets, collect samples, fit collars, and send them on their way as efficiently as possible. At least that was our plan….

But the dholes had their own ideas. Our radio crackled with a message from camp—a group of dholes had burst forth, dashing through the ranger station in our absence, as if mocking us for looking in the wrong place! With a mix of frustration and hope, we made our way back for dinner as dusk closed in.

We didn’t have long to wait. As soon as dinner was served, a loud squeal pierced the night as the transmitter signaled that a trap had been sprung! Grabbing her bag, Warisara swung herself onto a motorbike and, together with a ranger, took off into the darkness to investigate. They were back within minutes—a false alarm. Lured by the scent of our bait, a wild boar had trodden on a trap and fled unharmed and uncaptured into the forest with a squeal. With traps reset, we settled down to resume our vigil, taking turns to sit, wait, and monitor through the night….

With the retiring of the owls and the creaking of our joints, we rose from our sleeping mats and emerged into the cool light of dawn. Barring a second visit from the boars sometime before 4am, the night had been uneventful. With the sun’s arrival, we toured the traps, closing each of them and covering the bait to prevent inadvertent capture of crows or other scavenging birds. Footage from the cameras confirmed that no sooner had we retreated to camp the previous evening than the dholes had found the bait—but had been too smart to approach. They’d run rings around us! Clearly, this would take time.

We spent the day setting more camera traps, scouting for new capture sites, and visiting an old dhole den before returning to camp in the heat of the afternoon to await sunset and what we hoped would be a more fruitful night of trapping. The sinking sun lit the expanse of the clearing with a vibrant glow, sending lengthening shadows reaching for the forest. Small herds of lanky sambar deer emerged furtively from the treeline to feed in the open grass, and a sizeable gang of wild boars hurried across in a line, promising another night of disruption!

All was tranquil, and we dozed in the heat when suddenly, a dog-like yipping rang out through the haze. The deer, too, had heard it and were prancing with tails held high to gather in tight groups, alert to their surroundings. I jumped to my feet, binoculars to my eyes, straining for a glimpse through the evening shimmer. Then there they were, perhaps a mile or more away, the pack of dholes trotting out along the trail. Although their features were indistinct at such a distance, their cocky strut and carnivore confidence was unmistakable. Stretching out their auburn forms along the track, the older ones bathed in the last warm rays of the light, while three pups rolled and wrestled in the dust, completely unaware of the observers in the far-away camp.

I remained with Warisara, Tor, and the team for two more nights before reluctantly admitting defeat and withdrawing. After waving goodbye, they would return to the field to resume their vigil over many weeks, carefully laying their traps in a bid to out-think their targets. But for now, the dholes were the winners! They had mocked our feeble attempts and, in very real terms, had run rings around us. But in the end, maybe that is how it should be. The dholes don’t know that we are trying to help them, and for a species so perilously close to the edge, they need every ounce of their intelligence, cunning, and guile to survive in a world so full of challenges.

Stay tuned for Part 2…

This project, led by Kasetsart University graduate students, Warisara Thomas and Kittiwara (Tor) Siripattaranukul, together with rangers from Thailand’s Department of National Parks, Wildlife, and Plant Conservation, is a collaboration between Kasetsart University, the Smithsonian’s National Zoo & Conservation Biology Institute, and the Cornell K. Lisa Yang Center for Wildlife Health.

Dr. Martin Gilbert, our Wild Carnivore Health Specialist, leads and develops projects focused on understanding how disease affects populations of threatened carnivores and uses findings to identify practical measures to mitigate potential conservation impacts.

Photos and videos provided by Martin Gilbert, unless otherwise noted.