Zoology: The Gentle Gorilla

Tarzan has long since made pals of the chimps, but gorillas still have a terrible reputation. This is enhanced by the snorting, dust-throwing performances that they sometimes put on in zoos. But the picture of the gorilla as a beastly beast draws only tolerant smiles from Zoologist George B. Schaller. After two years spent among the mountain gorillas (Gorilla gorilla beringei) that live near Lake Kivu in the eastern Congo, Schaller is convinced that his hairy friends are placid, peace-loving creatures who seldom damage anything except edible plants. His book, The Mountain Gorilla (University of Chicago; $10), is crammed with more information about the great beasts than any nongorilla has ever gathered before.

Breakfast in Bed. In favorable country a trail four or five days old took Schaller to the gorillas within a few hours. Sometimes they fled when they saw him, but usually they showed mild interest and only slight fear. After a few encounters, Schaller and the animals were on the best of terms. He often crept close while they were bedding down for the night, and he slept less than 100 ft. away. He reports restfully that they never snore. But wide awake they are far from silent. Sometimes they purr like large contented cats, and for special occasions they make a great variety of noises: grunts, grumbles, barks, yips, whines, hoots and roars, and com plicated sounds that the adventurous zoologist describes as “bo-bo-bo” and “ho-ho-ho-ha-ha-ho.”

Gorillas awake soon after sunrise and spend three hours stuffing themselves with a heavy breakfast. Around 10 a.m. they take a long siesta, and by 2 p.m. are ready for another large meal. Food is no problem at all; gorillas’ tastes run to a great variety of tender vegetation. Sometimes they have breakfast in bed, simply reaching out their long arms and pulling plants to the nest.

When mating, the males make a special sound, “ö—ö-ö-ö,” and the females sometimes scream. But gorillas are not like monkeys, baboons or humans; sex is a minor matter in their lives. During all his study Schaller saw only two sexual episodes. Both were performed in full view of the band, which showed hardly any interest.

Away with Tension. The famous gorilla habit of chest beating is not a sign of rage, says Schaller, but part of an elaborate ritual. When fully played out, the display by a grown male begins with soft hoots. Then the male solemnly picks a leaf, puts it in his lips and rises high on his hind legs, hooting faster. He grabs a handful of vegetation and throws it high in the air. He beats his massive chest with both hands, so loud that the drumming can be heard a mile away. While drumming, he kicks one leg in the air and runs sideways, slaps at vegetation and tears branches off trees. The final act is a loud thump on the ground with the palm of his massive hand.

When a big male starts his ritual hooting, females withdraw to a safe distance; infants flee. Schaller is sure that the performance is mainly a way to relieve emotional tension. Humans, he reminds his readers, have similar rites. Females and infants usually know enough to take cover when an emotionally aroused male starts kicking the furniture, slamming doors or heaving the family crockery.