Where Transport Modes Multiply, Elephants Throw Tantrums, and Leopards Have Family Drama
Monday was spent in what can only be described as a marathon of mechanical misery. First a plane, then a train, then a transfer, and finally a game drive — all in the space of 24 hours. When I’d taken the game viewer down to Kruger earlier, I’d left my car parked up at Debbie’s place, and somehow this “sensible decision” turned into a logistical masterpiece worthy of the South African transport ministry. I landed at OR Tambo on Sunday, was spat out onto a Gautrain on Monday, dragged myself across Johannesburg, and by some miracle still ended up in Pilanesberg in time for the afternoon drive.
Bull elephant in the river – Pilanesberg
Tuesday promptly decided to throw the rulebook out of the window. Winter? Gone. The bush woke up in full 31-degree summer, the kind that makes your steering wheel hotter than the surface of the sun. The air was dry, windy, and altogether unpleasant — which of course is exactly what elephants enjoy. And not just one or two. No, it was as though the entire male population of Pilanesberg decided Tuesday was their big reunion. At a river near Kwa Maritane we found two of them having what can only be described as a pool party gone wrong: splashing about, trumpeting, chucking water in every direction, and then — because why not — chasing off a crocodile and evicting the local hippos. Said hippos, in classic hippo fashion, stood bunched together on the opposite bank glaring with a look of silent rage that clearly said: “We will kill you in your sleep, but not today.”
Wednesday and Thursday were lion days. Lots of them. Big ones, little ones, lazy ones, but none of them particularly photogenic. As if they’d all agreed to be slightly too far away or badly lit. On Wednesday afternoon, we also managed to miss a leopard by mere seconds — which is the safari equivalent of arriving at McDonald’s at 10:35am and being told breakfast is over.
That night, however, made up for it with a proper boma dinner at Kwa Maritane: fire, meat, wine, repeat. Few things in life are better than mixing the smell of steak with the faint sound of lions in the distance.
Thursday? More lions. From further away.
And then came Friday. Oh boy.
It started quietly. Too quietly. Just past Pilanesberg Centre on Tlou Drive, Tay spotted fresh tracks. Lots of them. Lions. Not just one or two, but the Central Pride — and with them, the smallest cubs I’ve ever seen in Pilanesberg. Tay followed the tracks with Debbie running colour commentary, the two of them debating passionately about which side of the road the lions were on, until the lions themselves emerged — as if to say: “We’re right here, you muppets.” First came the teenagers, and then, like a magician’s final trick, the cubs. Tiny, wide-eyed, wobbling cubs. I went completely feral on the camera shutter. Five glorious minutes we had them to ourselves before another vehicle appeared, and honestly, I’d have gone home happy right there.
Central Pride Lion Cub – Pilanesberg
But of course, the bush never lets you rest in that contentment. Just when you’re feeling smug, it throws something else at you.
At coffee stop in Pilanesberg Centre (where I couldn’t even put the Pee in PC), a radio call: leopard. Which let’s be clear, is the one word guaranteed to make everyone move faster than free beer. On the way there, a serval popped briefly into the road, we waved politely, and vanished. Incredible sighting. Terrible timing. Still — thank you universe, I’ll take it.
We got onto Motlobo just in time to see Kabo, a male leopard, slink into the bush. Oh no. End of story? Ha. Not even close.
Kabo – Male Leopard – Pilanesberg
Everyone else drove off. Kabo had vanished, and that apparently satisfied them. Not Debbie. Not by a long shot. Over the past year of working with and for her, I’ve had enough spectacular leopard sightings to fill an entire wildlife encyclopaedia, and yet, somehow, she continues to make them happen — with a casualness that would make a monk look frantic. Sure, I’ve written about “divine interventions” and “Tokoloshe magic” in my tabloids and on Instagram, but the truth? It’s about 80% knowledge, 10% sheer, stubborn bloody-mindedness, and maybe 10% luck — like sprinkling salt on top of perfection.
Because that morning? It wasn’t about one leopard. It was about two: Kabo and his father, Gahiji. Cue the drama.
I know some people snort at the idea of naming leopards — “It’s just Panthera pardus,” they say, eyes rolling so hard I’m surprised they didn’t launch out of their sockets. But the names matter. They anchor years of data: territories, family trees, behaviour patterns. They turn a random collection of spots into a character in an epic saga. And Debbie? She has a frankly ridiculous, encyclopaedic institutional knowledge of this entire soap opera.
Side quest: I once learned from her that if a leopard gets pushed off a road by some overeager guide chasing a tip — and you know, ruining everyone’s day — more often than not, the leopard comes back. Why? Because it had a plan, and it’s smarter than some humans. That morning proved it perfectly.
Back to the story. Kabo, the prodigal son, had wandered into Gahiji’s territory — a serious crime in leopard law. When he disappeared into the bushes, Debbie calmly said, “Wait. Gahiji will come out. He has to make sure his son is gone.” You could have knocked me over with a feather.
Fifteen minutes later — like a perfectly timed wildlife ballet — out comes Gahiji. Father and son. Both immortalised on my memory card. Both glorious. Both reminding me that I am, in fact, completely unworthy of such perfection.
Gahiji – Male Leopard – Pilanesberg
And here’s the part I’ll die on: great leopard sightings are not “luck.” They are knowledge. They are patience. They are understanding each cat like it’s a member of your slightly dysfunctional family — quirks, comfort zones, methods of operation, the whole shebang. It’s ethics and observation over charging around like a maniac chasing Instagram likes.
So yes. Thank you, Debbie, for the mentorship, the obsession, and for proving that the universe has rules — if you know where to look. And for reminding me, again, that some mornings are so good that even the elephants would be jealous.
The rest of the week slid into side quests: self-drives, catching up with Tay and Hudi (our ill-fated trio), and a healthy amount of far-away lions. Tonight: another drive. Tomorrow: the pilgrimage to Black Rhino, where another leopard may or may not be waiting in the wings.
Until then, I must go settle a domestic dispute with the local baboons, who are once again attempting to unionise around the dustbins. Life in the bush, ladies and gentlemen.
Wildlife Beyond the Lens 