March 30, Londolozi Private Game Reserve, Bushbuck Ridge, South Africa

Some of the most unforgettable memories we cherish are those we’ve made traveling with our families—shared experiences that have forged a bond that lasts a lifetime. For my sister Denise and me, our common travel adventures ended in our teens more than 60 years ago. It was then that we embarked on our final cross-country automobile trip from California to Washington State to visit our grandparents.

Who could have predicted then that we would build on those memories by tracking leopards with Nick and Joy on a pristine morning at the Londolozi Private Game Reserve in Mpumalanga Province, South Africa. For Denise, it was a delightful replay of four past visits to the reserve. For me, it was a revelation and an experience I will never forget.

 

As I was to learn, game driving involves anticipation especially with leopards who take advantage of their surroundings, namely heavy brush, and the opportune tree. We stalked the Nkoveni leopards (mother and son) on a Sunday morning while the leopards, in turn, stalked a herd of impala. These are the same leopards we saw three days before, only this day there would be more drama. 

An Nkoveni leopard on the look-out for a herd of impala. Denise Vouri photo

The leopards are the stars at Londolozi. Unlike lions, they are loners—once cubs are old enough to stand on their own—and their penchant for sitting or reclining regally on fallen trees makes for ideal photo opportunities. The rangers and staff know them by name and on every game drive they are at the top of the punch list.  

We careened into the bush and over several bush willow saplings that I thought had already given their lives to the cause. However, I later learned that the Rover drivers try to meet the young trees square on, rather than crush them with their wheels. That way they can spring up again. 

This Nkoveni female, whose name in Shangaan dialect means “at the river,” where the animals roam, had three cubs: a male and two females. Tragically, lions killed both females, one in plain sight of the guides and guests. “The young female gave her life to save her mother,” Nick said. While such a kill may be horrifying for guests, the rangers must become inured to function effectively. The lions were only doing what predators do to check future competition. Nonetheless, it was clear by his tone that Nick remained deeply affected by the sight.

We circled, plowed over and through more willow thickets, now joined by James Souchon, Londolozi’s chief ranger. He has two guests aboard, including a sleeping teen in the rear-most seat atop the Rover. Meanwhile, the young male took a break and licked his paws while his mother pressed on. Suddenly, a hyena intruded, hoping to steal the kill from the leopards. Once its jaws clamp down, there would be no getting it back. The leopards had split up hoping to confuse the hyena.

Soon a third Rover appeared, full of guests with cameras at the ready. All the while the rangers coordinated by radio, ensuring the leopards remained in sight, while not obstructing anyone’s view or disrupting the animals. Finally, we broke into the open about 200 yards from the road. Both leopards were in view by then, occasionally stopping to clean themselves (hoping to mask their scent), or sniff the air. However, amid the commotion, the impala had made their escape and darted into the heavy brush on the far side of the road. 

Three Rovers circling the predators recalled for me whale watch activity at home in the San Juan Islands, visitors craning their necks aboard multiple vessels, the skippers hoping a whale will breach or spy hop for the best shot and a big tip. On this day in Africa, the best shot unfolded when the young male hopped onto the desiccated trunk of a fallen jackal berry tree. 

“Wow, there he is…beautiful,” Nick said. 

The Nkoveni female leopard snuggles her lone-surviving offspring in a litter of three, a male who will soon strike out on his own. Mike Vouri photo

Soon the mother emerged from the tall grass and joined him on the trunk. It was roomy enough for them both to lie down, the mother resting her head on her son’s back. He is all she has left, I mused, and as he was growing rapidly, would not be with her for long. This is an anthropomorphic thought, for sure. But that was the first thing that came to mind after Nick explained that young males must strike out on their own when they reach 12 to 16 months.

In fact, three months after our encounters, the young male has taken control of the table. Instead of sharing the prey that his mother risks everything to bring him—leaping into trees to stash a fresh kill, braving lions, or gangs of hyenas—he snatches it away, drives her off, and devours most of it, as reported in a June 23 Londolozi Blog post by Londolozi Ranger Jess Shillaw. The youngster has even challenged his father, the Maxim 5:3 Male, one of the dominant males in the Sabi Sands network, over the kill. 

This behavior is sure sign that independence is imminent. But will he remain in his birth range or head for points unknown, as did another robust young male recently spotted on the reserve? Speculation among the rangers suggests that this newcomer has traveled far and wide, risking predation from rival males and even lions, to establish his own territory. If he had been born a female, he might still be in the same vicinity as his mother, as Ranger Kate Tennick (Nick’s spouse) noted in another recent blog, writing that “daughters often ‘inherit’ portions of their mother’s range (if there is space to do so).” 

Time will tell if these young ones end up butting heads or moving on in opposite directions.

We stayed with the leopards a long while, engines off, enjoying the quiet along with the animals. The Rovers and their occupants were nothing more than another manifestation of the leopards’ environment. Then the engines started one by one, and we rejoined the road in search of more enchantments. Unaware then of all that was about befall the Nvokeni Female and her son, I was abundantly thankful that I had witnessed a precious moment in the lives of these animals that will never be reclaimed.  

Meanwhile…the teen in Souchon’s Rover slept through it all.

Afternoon: “You Can’t Roller skate in a Buffalo Herd”

On our afternoon drive, we found a herd of over 500 Cape buffalo migrating along the southwest border in search of better grass and water. The day before, we had spotted a lone bull buffalo from a distance, grazing with his back turned to our cameras. He was enormous, dominating the horizon, and caked in mud as I saw through my binoculars. I had hoped to get a front-on view, but he ignored our presence after a few minutes, so we decided to move on.

A Cape buffalo herd on the southern fringe of the Londolozi Private Game Reserve.

This encounter was vastly different from my first meeting with a Cape buffalo in 1999. While driving through KwaZulu-Natal’s Hluhluwe–Umfolozi Game Reserve (now Hluhluwe–Imfolozi Park) in our host’s small Toyota Corolla, we came across a bull weighing at least a ton, blocking our path. He stood his ground, menacing beneath his massive horns that fused over his skull like plate armor (known as a “boss”). I had learned that solitary bulls or “dagga boys” (meaning mud-covered) are “old bachelors” driven from their herds by younger, stronger males. They are destined to wander the savanna in a perpetual sour mood. While they can be extremely dangerous, they are also cunning. When confronted by a group of predators (such as lions, hyenas, and wild dogs), they will stand their ground and reduce the chances of attack by backing into the thorny Ziziphus mucronata tree, aptly nick-named the Buffalo Thorn.

Unlike the water buffalo of Southeast Asia—that I saw working the paddies daily in the Mekong Delta while serving in Vietnam—no one has ever hung a yoke on for plowing or bred the Cape buffalo for meat on the hoof. When 19th century ranchers on Londolozi’s predecessor, Sparta Farm, turned domesticated cattle loose on the savanna, the Cape buffalo were either shot, fenced, driven off or wiped out by the exotic diseases brought in by the imports. Then as now, the Cape buffalo was valued only as a Big Five game animal, even today commanding as much as $10,000 a head at private hunting reserves that continue to thrive throughout sub-Sahara Africa. The only catch is that hunters must do so on foot, and brave what they call the “Black Death.” 

As of this writing, only 400,000 Cape buffalo exist, a number alarming enough that the species is considered “near threatened” by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature. As such, Londolozi has joined neighboring reserves in the Sabi Sands network to actively preserve and protect the species.

The herd we sought was bound for a “pan” (or waterhole), directed by the females who are the ones who decide where the herd will move next. They do this during rest periods when, after moving about with calves in tow, they lie down, their noses pointed in the optimum direction for water or grazing. The males, meanwhile, hang out, scatter their seeds and fight. 

We came upon them at last on the southwest corner of the reserve, next to the gate staffed by armed guards. We joined the herd as they noisily flanked both sides of the road, raising dust, calves struggling to latch onto or stay near their mothers’ teats, males stopping to stare, tons of buffalo pushing east with us. We were first on the fringe, but soon fully embedded as Nick slowed to give us a sense of the herd. 

Suddenly, male dominance unfolded in real time when a young aspirant challenged a burly alpha male. They bawled mightily, clacking horns and raising more dust, twice careening over the road in front of us. Curiously, the balance of the herd, including females and calves, seemed to take an oh-hum attitude throughout the fury of the contest. The contenders locked horns at one point, the dominant bull employing the hooked end of his horn to lift the aspirant’s head, withers, and forelegs off the ground before driving him into the dirt. 

As Nick explained, sparring is often done for sport, as the young test their abilities. The older bulls tolerate this, as well as some copulation, because is important to sustain the herd and the safety in numbers it guarantees with lions lurking about.

But this was not play, and after a couple more takedowns, the younger bull retreated toward the rear of the herd, the dominant male trumpeting his victory and trailing at a distance to ensure the field was his. This is not a tableau the rangers can plan for their guests over morning coffee. It was serendipity in the purest sense, but as Branch Rickey —the guy who brought the great Jackie Robinson to the major leagues— said, “Luck is the residue of design.”

An elephant family enjoys a drink as a storm lights up the sky on the horizon.

It was time to watch a family of elephants at one of their watering holes, teaching the babies how to drink (it does not happen instinctively) and then celebrate our good fortune with a Sundowner. As we sipped our G&Ts and enthused over the buffalo, thunderheads gathered on the horizon, the flash, crash, and boom heralding the end of another day on the savanna.