Or: “The Bit Where I Conference in a Skyscraper and Then Immediately Roll in Leopard-Scented Dirt”
This week’s edition comes to you from a slightly frosted Sunday morning at Buffalo Thorn Lodge, where the air has that delightful “icebox with bird sounds” quality and my fingers currently type at roughly the same speed as tectonic plates shift.
Last weekend I wore a suit.
Yes—a full-blown, actual suit.
I spent it conferencing at The Leonardo Hotel in Sandton, smack bang in the middle of what I can only describe as socio-economic whiplash. A productive weekend, no doubt, but by Sunday evening I was clawing at the windows like a Jack Russell freshly shampooed, itching to get back to the bush to go roll in metaphorical (and actual) dirt.
Me looking actually not half half bad you know…
So on Monday, I hurtled back to Pilanesberg like a migrating wildebeest in a rental car. The fuel efficiency figures were grim, but my sense of purpose was not. I spent that night catching up with friends at Black Rhino, and by Wednesday morning I’d re-emerged on the Manyane side, ready to kick off a fresh round of game drive madness.
Thursday began with the Eastern Pride attempting, and spectacularly failing, to unalive a herd of zebras. We watched them look confused and mildly offended by their own lack of coordination, then called it a morning.
And then Thursday afternoon happened.
A game drive that now sits firmly in second place on my all-time list—second only to the day I got to name a leopard, as some of you poor readers may recall from previous rants.
We went in through Manyane again and relocated the same pride. They were doing their best impersonation of throw rugs from far off, so after a while, as the sun started throwing red and orange paint across the sky, we set off to find something with a pulse.
Halfway to Thlware, a crackle on the radio.
“Leopard. Static.”
Naturally, when we arrived, the leopard was on the move.
Because of course.
But Debbie, exhibiting the sort of sixth sense that should be studied by Stanford, took a parallel route and positioned us exactly where he was heading.
Cue Khumo, the male leopard, strutting down a golden-lit path like he owned the park. Which, to be fair, he probably does. Rhinos passed by in the background. Impalas threw a tantrum in the thickets. It was the kind of scene you don’t even get in marketing brochures because it would seem too unrealistic.
Khumo – Male Leaopard
And then—as if choreographed by Attenborough himself—Khumo strolled past our car… and there, less than two metres on the other side, sat Kgodisa, cool as you like, watching him with mild disdain.
Kgodisa – Female Leaopard
Two leopards.
Ten minutes apart.
Practically on top of each other.
I turned to Debbie and said something along the lines of:
“You have to be shitting me.”
We gave the sighting over to others (because manners), got one final glimpse of Khumo, and decided to go check if the lions had decided to earn their keep.
Which, for once, they had.
The whole pride was up, on the move, and heading straight for the road with all the seriousness of a military parade. We followed them until the shadows got long and things started to smell like a potential hunt, then gave them their privacy and called it a drive.
We were now criminally late for dinner.
I turned to Debbie and said:
“Watch. With our luck, we’re going to get leopard-blocked on the way out.”
Well, dear reader, I regret to inform you that fate was listening.
One last male leopard, strolling down the road for a full 15 minutes, tail up, scent-marking everything with the swagger of someone who’s absolutely aware he’s the third leopard of the evening.
Three leopards. One game drive.
You cannot make this stuff up.
Friday I was off to Black Rhino, where I had time to briefly unpack and remind myself that laundry exists. Saturday morning, I headed back into the park. Our reward? Tale’s two subadult males from her previous litter, casually sitting on top of a sign cairn, scent-marking as if they’d read a book on how to make my guests scream with joy.
Add to that a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it visual of a fourth leopard for the week in hunting mode. Four seconds of pure chaos—and zero photos, of course. Because some moments are best enjoyed with your eyeballs and a humble heart, or whatever nonsense we tell ourselves when we miss the shot.
And the week’s not even over.
I’m back to Manyane today for two more drives, before heading to Kruger next week for another stint of “let’s see what breaks next.” After that, I’m off to Cape Town, where there will likely be wind, penguins, and at least one deeply traumatic airport experience.
So stay tuned.
The next one may involve Kruger magic, another leopard or six, and probably me having a slow-motion breakdown because something with spots climbed a tree 30 seconds before I got there.
Par for the course.
Wildlife Beyond the Lens 