Santa Rosa, Calif.: Getting wild in wine country
CALIFORNIA | 400 African mammals and birds from around the world call little-known Safari West home
SANTA ROSA, Calif. -- Lemurs and cheetahs and kudus, oh my!
That line mercilessly looped through my brain like some kind of Wizard of Oz-inspired mantra as my best friend, Shannon, and I arrived at what is surely the best-kept secret in Northern California: Safari West.
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COST: Tours are priced at $65 for adults and teens, $30 for children 3-12, $10 for infants 1-2. Reservations are strongly encouraged. Lodging costs $230 Sunday through Thursday, $245 on Friday and $255 on Saturday. Restaurant on site.
BEFORE OR AFTER: If you're going to spend time in San Francisco, you can keep the animal theme going at the pet-friendly Hotel Monaco. Don zebra and leopard robes, meet the director of pet relations, Monaco Maverick (an adorable Chocolate Lab), and be the recipient of some Guppy Love with a complimentary goldfish during your stay. Rates start at $199; (866) 622-5284, www.monaco-sf.com.
This 400-acre African wildlife preserve and safari tent camp -- smack dab in the heart of California wine country -- is home to more than 400 exotic African mammals and birds from all over the planet.
Shannon and I are both Bay Area natives, but even we had never heard of this Sonoma Serengeti halfway between Santa Rosa and Calistoga. Ditto for all our local friends. How could it be that in the age of viral advertising something this insanely off-the-chart --think summer camp run by Animal Planet -- was barely known? (One reason might be the lack of roadside signage.)
We parked our car and walked to the check-in area, a small building swathed in white Mexican evening primrose. A table held several pamphlets on what you can expect to find at Safari West.
"Would you like to go into the giraffe barn and feed a giraffe?" one brochure asked. Sure!
"Visit with a porcupine and feel their quills?" Why not?
"Meet Pumba and Miss Piggy, our African warthogs?" Why, yes.
Another pamphlet offered "private" animal adventures, such as having your photo taken with a cheetah. It went on to caution, "All animal encounters are dependent on animal behavior and based on availability." Shannon and I imagined Pumba and Miss Piggy being otherwise engaged.
Making our way to our tent, we came upon a small man-made island, where black and white tails whisked feverishly around tree branches. A guide was lecturing a small group of guests about lemurs. I learned that these curious mammals have opposable thumbs and are found only in Madagascar. I watched them spring from limb to limb, stopping suddenly to crazily lick one another. One particularly portly lemur held his arms open wide, directing his belly to the sun. I finally understood the appeal of the television show "Meerkat Manor."
Continuing up a hill toward our safari abode -- one of 31 South African-made tents scattered across the property -- we passed a sarus crane, with its long, elegant neck concluding in a bright red head. It's the tallest flying bird with a cry so harrowing it was chosen as the signature raptor screech in "Jurassic Park." (We got to hear it for ourselves later that night.)
We were happy to find that our tent was more safari chic than Grizzly Adams. Stretched over a raised wooden platform, it provided a cozy cover for two queen-sized beds, a desk area and full bathroom. We also had a large deck overlooking Catfish Pond, where we spent hours watching cormorants devour gargantuan catfish.
Safari West got its start as a private ranch for breeding and species propagation. It began offering tours to adults and children 15 years ago.
It's owned by Peter Lang, a 60-something, larger-than-life, Hemingway kind of character, and his wife, Nancy, who holds a Ph.D. in zoological biology. Over the years, Peter has embraced almost as many careers as mammals, from woodworker to cattle rancher and animal transporter. (He's one of only a handful of people in the country licensed to transport giraffes). For fun, he races Mad Max-style autos in the Baja 500.
Peter's love of four-legged creatures stems back to childhood. His father, Otto Lang, was a ski instructor with the good fortune to teach Darryl Zanuck, then head of 20th Century Fox, how to ski. Zanuck brought Lang to Hollywood and made him a director. Peter found himself baby-sitting a lion cub being used in a television series.
"I walked all over Santa Monica with him. Even took him on the bus," Peter said.
By the time Peter bought the land that became Safari West he owned a diverse collection of birds and hoofed stock as well as marsupials, primates and carnivores. Then he met Nancy -- on an African safari.
"She sold me a few scarlet ibises," Peter recalled. "But Nancy was the rare bird: smart, attractive and in the zoo industry."
Over time, and with Nancy's shared passion, the collection grew. Today, the couple runs the country's only American Zoo and Aquarium Association-certified facility with a purely African mammal collection.
"I really thought about the safari experience," Peter said. "So often there is no focus. Here, there is a clear focus."
The following morning we woke early and threw on the zebra and leopard print robes we got from San Francisco's Hotel Monaco. The handlers brought out a gorgeous cheetah named Thula. The smallest and -- at 70 mph -- the fastest of the big cats, she was so close we could hear her purr.
The robes might not have been the wisest wardrobe choice.
"I just realized that I'm dressed like a threat, and you're dressed like prey," Shannon whispered to me. Luckily Thula didn't seem to notice.
Eager for our first game drive, Shannon and I boarded an old, U.S. Army Dodge truck from the Korean War that's been reincarnated as one of the Safari West jeeps snaking through the Sonoma wild. Sitting on the truck's top -- the most coveted seats -- we were practically eye-to-eye with the giraffes.
The vehicle lurched and bobbed as we headed out on a several-mile tour. Within a few minutes we'd spotted several brown and white Watusi cows, whose massive horns have earned them the title "cattle of the kings." We also came across wildebeest and zebra, the most ill-tempered of all African mammals, according to our guide, Terry. The basis for Terry's conclusion was simple enough: There are millions of zebras in Africa -- and millions of people still walking.
It was hard to believe we were in Sonoma.
Bouncing and rattling up another hill, Terry asked if we knew how to tell an ostrich is in heat. I fessed up to this gap in my knowledge.
"Its shins turn red," he explained.
Wanting to see this odd phenomenon, I glanced down at its awe-inspiringly enormous feet, which are, Terry warned us, to be avoided at all costs. An ostrich can kill a lion with one swift kick. I became aware of another threatening ostrich part: its beak, which was undulating its way toward my head.
Making a quick escape around an oak-lined bend, we came upon one of Africa's deadliest animals, responsible for killing a disproportionate number of hunters: the Cape buffalo.
"It's when the hunters have already shot the buffalo and are sitting on its head, taking their prize shot, that the animal often turns out not to be quite as dead as they had thought," explained Terry.
I wondered how many widows possessed that proud last photo of their husbands.
After our safari, Shannon and I headed over to the aviary. The sun was making its way down the late afternoon sky as we watched hundreds of birds, from blood red scarlet ibises to great horn bills and white faced whistling ducks. We got to see the largest pigeon in the world: the victoria crowned pigeon, its body so plump, its blue-laced crest so elaborate and its eyes outlined in so much black, it looked more like Tammy Faye Baker than anything you'd find in Central Park.
As Shannon bonded with a white-bellied bustard named Turkey, something landed on her head. First one. Then two. Then half a dozen rainbow lorikeets parked themselves on top of her red mane, while miniature blue duikers -- the smallest antelope in the world -- pranced past. We were suddenly trapped in "A Midsummer Night's Dream." But when the kookaburra let out an "ooo ooo ooo, ahhh ahhh ahhh" laugh, it turned considerably more "Jungle Book." Meanwhile, Henry, the African vulture, was following Shannon around like a dog, occasionally nipping at her brown boots.
That evening we signed up for a "behind the barn doors giraffe visit." As we entered the building, a conga line of giraffes greeted us by bending their necks toward us. Actually, they were more interested in the apple pieces in our hands. My hand ended up smothered in copious amounts of giraffe saliva -- call it a manicure, Safari West style.
That night, as Shannon and I drifted off to sleep in our tent, a chorus of sounds began to ring out. With the cries of ruffed lemurs and sarus cranes to remind us whose home we were indeed in, I thought about how most vacations are about the relationships you make. This trip was no different. Only here, many of our new best friends just happened to have a few spots, a couple of extra legs and some flamboyant feathers. They were different, and that's what made them -- and Safari West -- so memorable.
Nicole Alper is a New York-based free-lance writer.