The Untold Psychological Toll of Conservation
Discover the hidden mental battles faced by anti-poaching rangers on the frontlines of wildlife protection.
Geoffrey Phillips/Heike Claudia Petzer
May 10, 2025 - 11:25 AM
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When people think of anti-poaching efforts, they often envision armed men in camouflage, reminiscent of soldiers at war. But as Geoffrey Phillips, conservationist and founder of TAC TRAC, explains in this exclusive interview with V24, the reality is far different.
Phillips, who has lived through the daily grind of protecting South Africa’s wildlife against an enemy that never sleeps, offers a rare glimpse into the true dangers and challenges faced by those on the front lines of anti-poaching.
Inside the Fight Against Poaching
“I dropped out of school early and went into anti-poaching training," Phillips says during our conversation. "We learn everything from firearms to medical work. But what pulled me in was the animals. This is real conservation. It’s hard work, but it matters.”
Phillips recalls how rhino poaching exploded in 2010 and escalated rapidly, reaching a crisis point by 2012, a year known in the conservation world as “Hell in Hoedspruit,” a poaching hotspot near Kruger National Park. He stresses that this isn’t just about men with rifles in the bush; it’s a sophisticated, high-stakes criminal enterprise. “It’s like James Bond stuff,” he says. “These guys are sharp. Sometimes all they need is the GPS location of a rhino, that alone can earn them R50,000.” The real enemy, he warns, isn’t just the poacher on the ground but the powerful crime syndicates pulling the strings behind the scenes.
He explains that other forms of illegal hunting, including abalone poaching and snaring, have plagued South Africa for much longer. These aren’t isolated crimes; they are part of deeply rooted, highly organised operations.
Anti-poaching is dangerous work, Phillips explains. “You deal with heat, the Big Five, armed suspects, and even spears and pangas,” he says. “There are women in anti-poaching, too. It’s not just a man's job. And believe me, it’s honourable work."
While many private game reserves can afford protection and invest heavily in rhino security, Phillips points out that the majority of rhinos are found in underfunded, understaffed government-owned national parks. "Private reserves often pay anti-poaching units. Many national parks can’t afford it. There’s not enough money to protect animals worth less than what it costs to hire a team," Phillips adds.
The Silent Killer: Snaring
In our discussion, Phillips highlights the lesser-known threat of snaring. “Snaring is unbelievably cruel. It’s the silent killer,” he says. “Animals can walk for days with a wire cutting into their flesh. Sometimes it wraps around a deer’s leg and rips the foot off.”
Snaring, Phillips explains, is cheap, common, and often goes unreported. He says, “One illegal hunter can lay out 300 to 500 snares in a single night. Yet this issue rarely makes headlines. Animal activists focus on trophy hunting. But the real horror is what happens quietly, every night, on the edge of the bush.”
Phillips also explains how the COVID-19 pandemic has exacerbated snaring, with meat prices soaring. He says poachers from impoverished communities and foreign countries like Mozambique and Zimbabwe are often tough to track. “These guys grew up trekking past lions. They can run circles around people who didn’t grow up in nature,” he says.
The Mental Toll of Anti-Poaching
Throughout the interview, Phillips opens up about the heavy psychological burden of anti-poaching work. He’s lost friends to suicide, a tragic reflection of the pressure, danger, and isolation that come with the job. “Everyone deals with it in their own way. For me, it’s the love of nature that keeps me going. If I didn’t do this work, it would be worse out there.”
Even when poachers are caught, the justice system often lets them walk free. “You catch the same guys over and over. It gets thrown out of court. It's a marathon, not a sprint. We do Private Investigator work. We gather evidence. But getting a conviction is hard,” he explains.
On top of that, there’s the threat of community backlash. “If I shoot someone who’s been hunting like this for generations, the whole community might turn against us. They might come for the land, or make it political.”
Technology offers some hope, especially thermal drones that can spot poachers by their body heat at night. But Phillips points out the catch: “A proper drone setup costs around R250,000. Most teams can’t afford that. But it makes a huge difference.” In a war where rangers are often outmanned and outgunned, tools like this can tip the balance but only if they’re within reach.
No Heroes, Just Necessity
For Phillips, these tools are just one part of a relentless, often invisible fight. He urges people to let go of any romantic ideas about anti-poaching. “It’s not about being a hero,” he says. “It’s about standing between the wild and those who wish to destroy it. It’s not always clean. It’s not always thanked. But it’s necessary. Because without it, the silence of the bush would only grow louder.”
