– Pilanesberg Never Sleeps
This week has been a month. And a rather brilliant month, at that.
I’m writing this from the deck of Buffalo Thorn Lodge in Black Rhino Reserve, parked next to the pool with five rhinos sipping politely from the waterhole, while hormonal impalas scream obscenities in the distance. Romance, Pilanesberg style.
Buffalo Thorn Lodge
We last left off with the two male cheetahs who’d just taken down an impala—before the guests had even arrived.
Well, somehow, things spiralled upwards from there.
Monday morning, still dazed from the cheetah frenzy, I made an abrupt detour to Johannesburg for a meeting—one of those meetings. Personal. Important. Horrendous traffic.
By Thursday, I was flung back into the bush like a boomerang with PTSD, barely enough time to breathe before heading out on an afternoon drive with Shefari Safari guests.
Now, most game drives begin slowly. A bird here. A steenbok there. But this one? Nada. Zilch. Not even a house cat. By the time we reached Fish Eagle picnic spot for sundowners, we were still gloriously cat-free but clinging to optimism. The sun was setting. Spirits were nervously high.
And then, because Pilanesberg operates like a scripted sitcom, the radio crackled: lions, on the road. We cheered.
Two seconds later: leopard, on the rocks.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. We hadn’t even unpacked the beer yet.
Debbie sprinted off to fetch the guests like a woman possessed. Moments later, we were back in the vehicle, in full pursuit of the lions. And there they were—nonchalantly strolling down the road like it was theirs (it is).
I was thrilled. The guests were thrilled. But Debbie, being Debbie, wasn’t going to settle for ‘just lions’.
“We’re going to get that leopard,” she said.
Off we went.
Naturally.
By the time we arrived, the leopard had vanished into thin air, as leopards do. But the baboons were losing their collective minds—which, in baboon-speak, translates to “still here, you absolute amateurs.”
Tension rising. Guests needed to be back at Bakubung Gate by 19:00. It was already 18:15. One of the German guests started giving his watch meaningful glances. I began mentally drafting my apology email.
And then—movement. The kind that could’ve been a branch. Or a trick of the light. But no. There she was. Leopardess. Poised like a feline Mona Lisa on a rock, staring at us as if to say, “Well, finally.”
Elation. Tears (mine, mostly). Pilanesberg, you magnificent, manipulative spectacle.
The next morning, just for fun, a cold front swept in and turned everything into a meat locker. -2°C. Even the elephant dung gave up.
Mankwe Lake looked like the intro to a fantasy film—mist rolling over the water, all very Lord of the Rings until my brain offered up something more traumatic: Black Mamba Man’s voice.
“Welcome aboard Benga Airways. This is your captain speaking. We’re gonna be low flying all the way to Kariba today.”
Cheetah reported. Cue frostbitten panic.
After some painfully frozen kilometres, we got there. But they’d gone full “flat cat” under a tree, 100 metres in. Of course. I turned to explain this to the guests—and realised my jaw wouldn’t move. Face frozen. Possibly dead. I think I suffered a minor stroke.
Still, we soldiered on. And it paid off. Not one, but two cheetahs later that morning—one perched on a sign cairn like Simba looking as far as the light can see. He sat there for what felt like hours, probably afraid to move in case he shattered into pieces on the tundra below.
What. A. Sighting.
Male Cheetah on the sign Carin Eastern Hipoo Loops – Pilanesberg
Surely this week couldn’t get any better?
Well… I shit you not—
Next morning, I headed out from Kwa Maritane with some fantastic local guests more interested in birds and trees than carnivorous drama. No pressure. No expectations. Just vibes.
And that, dear reader, is when nature shows off.
Down Tshepe, creeping past a riverbed, three lionesses materialised in the road. No one else around. No radio signal. Just us. Then, as if summoned by a director’s clapboard, the two Central Pride males swaggered in like bodyguards at a nightclub.
Thirty-five glorious, uninterrupted minutes. Five lions. One dumbfounded guide.
That afternoon? New guests. New wish list: lions.
So obviously—nothing. Not a sausage.
Instead, we got trapped by an elephant herd the size of a NFL team with support staff, and had to orchestrate our escape with Debbie and another guide, using hand signals, muttered swear words, and more luck than logic.
Exciting? Yes.
Stressful? Hugely.
Back at camp, just as we dared to relax, a guest messaged Debbie:
“Lions just drank water at the restaurant at Kwa Maritane.”
Of course they did.
Later, the same lions killed something in plain sight—for everyone else to see. Nature’s sense of humour is alive and well.
Sunday rolled in with the last of the Safari Rally crew. The morning kicked off strong—Central Pride on a zebra kill. One male strolled past my vehicle like a celebrity late for brunch.
Did I see the rest of the pride? Of course not. I was elbow-deep in a dodgy battery terminal, MacGyvering my way back into business while the main event unfolded elsewhere.
Still, I got my lion. Life, eh? Timed to perfection!
Later, we stumbled upon the teeniest, tiniest cubs I’ve ever seen. Absolutely microscopic. Ridiculous levels of cute.
The only problem? No camera.
Left it behind on purpose—I had a film crew on the vehicle and didn’t want to be that guy. So I made do with iPhone footage. Which is fine. Except it isn’t.
The week ended with a private boma dinner at Kwa Maritane for on the teams, executives and the ever-marvellous mayhem that is Shefari Safaris. Debbie, naturally, pulled out all the stops. The perfect end to two weeks of chaos, cats, and cold fronts.
A herd of elephants has just wandered into the waterhole as I finish typing this.
Anyway, I’m at Black Rhino for a few days filming some content, then it’s off to Cape Town for a bit.
Catch you in the next one.
P.S.
Running to get my camera—those Ellies aren’t going to film themselves.
Wildlife Beyond the Lens 