Where Everything Was Fine… Until It Absolutely Wasn’t.
This week’s write-up comes to you from a currently saturated, rain-soaked, mildly biblical corner of Limpopo — the kind of wet where even the frogs start filing complaints.
This trip was something a little different from my usual bush nonsense. No Big 5, no lions lurking around the next corner, and absolutely a 0% chance of seeing a leopard. – Yes, I’m coping. Barely.
And before anyone gets clever — no, I will not disclose the location. Not because I suddenly believe in secrecy, but because rhino poaching is still very real, very relevant, and very much not something I’m going to help anyone with. So let’s just say… somewhere green, mountainous, and currently trying to drown me.
I arrived on Thursday, mentally preparing myself to accept that the apex predator of this reserve was… me. But everything else was thriving: warthogs everywhere, kudu, nyala, elephants, buffalo — the usual Limpopo ensemble cast.
And honestly? The lodge alone made up for the lack of leopards. Lush mountains, misty valleys, and greenery so vivid it looked Photoshopped. The game drives were gorgeous, even without a spotty cat in sight.
And then the real miracle happened.
Proper coffee.
Not instant. Not powdered sadness.
Actual bean-to-cup cappuccino.
I swear the machine lit up like the Ark of the Covenant. For that reason alone I’d return — especially with families with young kids who don’t care about lions but whose parents very much care about functioning caffeine systems.
My guests wanted rhinos. So did I. But not just any rhinos — rhinos with horns.
It’s been years since I’d seen one that wasn’t sporting the aerodynamic anti-theft haircut.
I won’t get into the politics or opinions of dehorning — not here — but seeing a rhino as it was meant to look was genuinely breathtaking.
It looked… strange at first. Almost unnatural, which is ridiculous, because that’s the natural state. But when you’ve spent years watching the impact of human greed, natural starts to look foreign.
And for the first time in ages, when the rhino came close, that old instinctive caution kicked in — the primal reminder that this thing can ruin your day in under three seconds.
I loved it.
Respect came rushing back in a way I didn’t realise I’d missed.
As I sit here writing this, I’m looking over a pool currently attempting to become a dam wall. We’ve had well over 120mm of rain in under 24 hours. Everything is soaked: the ground, the trees, my boots, my underwear, my will to live — all equally waterlogged.
We decided, in an act of bravery or stupidity (still undecided), to venture out this morning when the rain appeared to take a coffee break. We had maybe ten minutes of hope before the heavens remembered they had unfinished business.
It turned into a 4-wheel-drive, faith-based, fully aquatic safari experience.
A few prayers, a few nervous laughs, and a few “oh dear god we’re sliding sideways” moments later… we made it back. My soul? Less dry than the vehicle.
Limpopo is drenched.
South Africa is drenched.
Some tropical system is building from Mozambique’s direction like it’s preparing to audition for a disaster movie. Kruger is about to get smacked by it, and I’m about to retreat to Pretoria before I need to apply for a skipper’s license just to leave the lodge.
A beautiful reserve.
Rhinos with horns.
Great guests.
Good coffee.
A boat safari I never asked for.
And rain that could drown Noah.
I’ll be heading back to Pilanesberg in a week — hopefully to conditions less aquatic — and in the meantime, I’m going to hang up my boots to dry and attempt to salvage what’s left of them.
Catch you in the next one.
Wildlife Beyond the Lens 