Iain Douglas-Hamilton: Excerpt From Upcoming Memoir

With the news of Iain Douglas-Hamilton’s death, I found myself reflecting on the extraordinary day I spent with him in Samburu.

I arrived at Elephant Camp in Kenya’s Samburu region on what now feels like a destined day. Save the Elephants—founded by Iain Douglas-Hamilton, the godfather of elephant conservation—was alive with BBC crews filming The Secret Life of Elephants. I had come simply to visit, but that night Iain leaned toward me over dinner and said, almost casually:

“We’re re-collaring Anastasia tomorrow. Join us.”

His generosity touched me. But I would soon learn, this was Iain—warm, understated, and always willing to share the work he loved most.

Earlier that afternoon at this organization’s headquarters, he had shown me the GPS maps tracking elephants across ancient migration routes. “Collars are crucial for reducing human-elephant conflict,” he explained with boyish enthusiasm. Even after decades in the bush, his wonder was intact.

But for me, excitement mixed with unease. I’d spent my life advocating for animals, avoiding anything that caused them distress. The idea of being part of a collaring—however necessary—left a knot in my chest.

The next morning, the gunshot, sedating Anastasia, cracked across the savannah. Her massive body folded to the ground. The herd erupted into alarm—trunks raised, ears wide—as a Land Rover positioned itself between us and their instinct to charge.

“We have fifteen minutes,” the vet called out.

I knelt beside the fallen matriarch, my fingers holding a small stick in her trunk to keep her airway clear. Her warm breath brushed my hand—earthy, ancient. I matched my breaths to hers, hoping on some level she could feel safe.

Iain stood nearby, speaking quietly to the BBC cameraman.

“Each collaring is different,” he said. “And each carries risk. For us—and for them.”

That was the thing about Iain: he approached elephants with reverence, not mastery. His life’s work was built on respect. It was the same with my other hero, Jane Goodall. Both Jane and Iain had an understanding and love for animals that went beyond research, numbers, and cold facts.

Minutes ticked away. The team cut away the old collar buried beneath thick folds of skin and secured the new one. We stepped back as the vet whispered, “She should be getting up.”

But she didn’t.

She lay motionless. The air tightened around us.

Iain’s voice crackled over the radio:
“Let the herd come in. Maybe they can help her.”

The blocking vehicle moved aside. One of the elephants stepped forward, her trunk sweeping softly over Anastasia’s still body. A breathless silence fell….

Note: You’ve just read an excerpt from a chapter from my upcoming memoir.   I’ve purposely left out what happened next in the story.  But I can tell you this: I had come to Samburu to visit. Instead, I witnessed the heart of Iain Douglas-Hamilton’s work: courage, humility, and a devotion to elephants that asked us to be worthy of their trust.

With Iain Douglas-Hamilton’s death, the world has lost a giant.

But that day with him—brief, intense, unforgettable—left a forever imprint on me. Just as Iain has left a forever imprint on the African elephants he loved.

For more about Iain and other elephant conservationists, use this link.