Sept. 8, 2003
SAL ISLAND, Africa — I saw her walk through the gate, so I know she's on this South African Airlines 747 jet somewhere. During a midnight refueling stop on Africa's Atlantic coast, I prowl the aisles, downstairs and up, first-class and economy, stalking a stranger I perceive to be a kindred spirit.

But to no avail. The Birkenstock-clad woman toting the Defenders of Wildlife backpack has vanished.

I slink back past my seatmates — both big game hunters — and buckle up. They've attracted a male crowd to our aisle with much bluster and boasting about trophy kills.

Having endured 10 hours of hard-core hunting talk — and facing 12 more before arriving in Johannesburg — I grit my canines and unpack the half-dozen conservation tomes weighing down my carry-on, the best of which are David Quammen's new Monster of God, about man-eating predators, and Riding the Tiger, co-edited by John Seidensticker, chairman of the Save the Tiger Fund.

I'm trying to get a handle on why the tiger, whose full-time job is hunting, killing and eating meat, is at the brink of extinction. But I keep getting distracted by my seatmates — whose hobby it is to hunt, kill, and eat meat.

Their day jobs must be pretty good ones. If they wanted to shoot rhinos in Africa, it would set them back $60,000 a pop (for guides, permits and licenses). But they're not after rhinos, says my seatmate who does not notice me flinch when he tells me he plunked down $6,000 for the privilege of shooting one cape buffalo.