When Pilanesberg Decided I’d Suffered Enough
So, how do we even begin to unravel the happenings of this week? Well, I suppose we’ll just skip the formalities and go straight into the brilliance — the madness, the moments, the absolute Pilanesbergness of it all.
This week’s ramblings come to you from a neighbourhood alarmingly close to Mordor. It’s currently thirty-five degrees in Manyane, with air so dry it could make a cactus look like that poor plant you forgot to water three months ago. The kind of heat that makes you question all your life decisions, starting with why you ever thought khaki was a breathable colour. Even the Land Cruisers look tired.
After spending some leopard-less time in Cape Town, it was time to return to the bush for a dose of madness and redemption. And clearly, the leopard gods were feeling generous. Prior to my departure, I’d endured a frustrating five days without a single spotted cat — but this time, the universe corrected itself in spectacular fashion. Day one back, and my eyes were treated to six leopards. My camera and lens, slightly less lucky, only managed three of them, but who’s counting? Six leopards in a day — that’s the kind of ratio that makes Instagram’s algorithm weep with joy.
The first came in the form of Motsamai and her two cubs. After an hour of waiting in hopeful silence, I was rewarded with a glimpse so brief and frustrating it could’ve been a teaser trailer. But then, the universe — clearly in a better mood — sent divine intervention in the shape of Khumo. There he was, sprawled in a riverbed like he owned the place, lazily grooming himself, occasionally making that kind of eye contact that makes you question if leopards might, in fact, flirt. Eventually, he got up, stretched with the kind of nonchalance reserved for royalty, and disappeared into the night — leaving me with more camera settings than romantic confidence.
As if that wasn’t enough, the evening gifted me a curious young brown hyena skulking around where Motsamai’s cubs had been. And finally — finally — I got one of my ultimate bucket-list shots: a crisp, dead-centre portrait of a brown hyena’s face. I knew it was good when I took it, but when I saw it later, even I was speechless. Which, if you know me, is saying something. It’s the kind of shot that makes you wonder if the hyena’s now using it as a Tinder profile picture.
But because I was getting too comfortable, the universe muttered “hold my beer.” On the way back to the lodge, another leopard appeared — Kgotsatsana. I hadn’t seen her since driving the Dakar Rally crew around with Debbie back in May. Complete darkness, near impossible conditions, and somehow one of my favourite shots of the year came out of it. My camera was pushed to the limits, and for once, so was my ego — I could actually admit I’d improved. A year ago, I’d have just sat back and enjoyed the sighting. Now, I got the shot. Growth, they call it — or mild insanity, depending who you ask.
Leopard number six remains unnamed — a private sighting, completely in the dark, and utterly unforgettable. The details don’t matter; the moment does. And even if the photo was taken at 10,000 ISO and 1/100th of a second, it’s one that will stay with me wherever life decides to drag me next.
Then, as if the week hadn’t already outdone itself, I spent the weekend in Black Rhino and somehow landed another of my top ten photos — a Pearl-spotted Owlet in mid-flight. The smaller lodges here are phenomenal for photography; they offer the kind of niche sightings people spend years chasing elsewhere, all before breakfast. It’s like nature’s version of a loyalty programme — stay long enough, and eventually, even the owls start posing.
Monday rolled in with a vengeance — and with it, the start of the rainy season. Back at Manyane, the skies looked like Michelangelo had been bored and decided to dabble in digital art. Lightning, saturated skylines, lions, cheetahs — it was chaos painted in high definition. The drive felt less like Pilanesberg and more like a video game with the saturation dial permanently stuck on ridiculous. We got drenched, obviously — but what’s a little lightning between friends?
The rest of the week followed suit: more lions, more leopards, more of those little photographic victories that make you forget how much dust you’ve inhaled in a day. And while we’re not quite done yet, these moments have already stitched themselves into another chapter of madness and magic.
I’ve had incredible sightings and met even more incredible people along the way — people who’ve shaped this wild, unpredictable journey. And though I can feel a shift on the horizon — one that carries a strange heaviness with it — I can’t help but smile. Because somewhere in that blur of lightning, leopards, and laughter, the bush gave me one last perfect night. A night I’ll never forget.
Afterword:
If you’ve made it this far, thank you — truly. Thank you for reading, for commenting, for liking, for sending messages, and for simply sharing in the joy of the bush with me.
Social media in the modern age is a strange thing — powerful, yes, but somewhere along the line, many of us seem to drift off course. We forget the point.
This blog, these photos, the videos, and the stories I share aren’t here to sell you something or cram another safari down your throat. They exist to share the unfiltered bush — the beauty, the chaos, the quiet, and the humour that come with it. To remind us why we fell in love with Africa in the first place.
Yes, I do safaris — but this isn’t a billboard. It’s a window. A way to show you the moments that make it all worthwhile: the laughter, the dust, the sunsets, and the stories that stick. That’s all it’s ever meant to be, and that’s exactly what it will remain. And once more, Thank you for taking the time to read this!
Wildlife Beyond the Lens 