March 27 Londolozi, Bushbuck Ridge, Greater Limpopo Basin, South Africa

Woke up at 5 a.m. for our second day of game driving at the Londolozi Private Game Reserve. The forecast was rain, and it did not disappoint, though it was more mist than precipitation and I soon broke into a sweat under my rain gear.

I learned more about the Marula this day. This single-trunk, deciduous tree’s fruit (a berry the size of a golf ball) is a member of the mango family and is favored by elephants, who also abrade the bark to feast on the pulp. You can tell when an elephant has been around from the gash, which is pink if the visit was recent and gray if long past. (Humans love the Murula as well in jams, jellies, juices, skin care products and Amarula, a cream liqueur that is great with coffee.)

We found the Ximungwe leopard drinking at a pond and followed her uphill where her cub was hiding among the rocks in a granite escarpment. Denise Vouri Photo

Our morning mission was to find the Ximungwe female leopard and her cub, known to be inhabiting the area. (The name relates to the road in the reserve where she was first sighted.) It took awhile but then came an alert from a large herd of Impala and a lone wildebeest, who shook his head in fury while circling the herd. Our guide, Nick Tennick, said this was because the wildebeest was hedging his bets with a leopard nearby, hoping the cat would take an impala instead. Not far off, we finally found the mother drinking at a pond and followed her uphill where her cub was hiding among the rocks in a granite escarpment.

As it was with the carrion the day before, Nick tested the Rover to its limits, knocking down bush willows (if smacked straight on, they spring right back), hurtling logs, and spanning gullies to keep her in sight. Finally, we detected movement in the brush…and there they were. The cub, like any kitten you ever saw, playfully batting at and wrestling with mom. Nick explained that beyond play this is serious training. The cub learns to tackle, climb trees and develop the skills necessary for its survival. And it will not be easy. Cubs are subject to predation from lions and leopards from rival clans until full grown and able to range freely. This was underscored during our search when the mother, with a low growl, warned the cub to remain hidden and charged into the brush. We wheeled about, and sure enough, there was a hyena hoping to catch the little family unawares. It beat a hasty retreat.

We maneuvered a few times, at one point perched above a 50-foot drop to the rocks below. I shot video while Denise and Nick snapped away with their telephoto lenses. We must have been there 90 minutes, most of them spent waiting for the animals to reappear from the heavy brush. I especially loved watching the mother teaching the cub to scale and descend a small tree. The cub was hesitant at first. But with encouragement via a few guttural signals, it at last jumped down and bolted into the foliage.

We finally left them, found some open space where we had coffee laced with Amarula and enthused over the “spot.” Nick and Joy clearly never tire of it as they babbled on as excitedly as their guests. Once again on our way, we saw a herd of wildebeest, including a nursing calf, all the while beset by flies and every other living thing that buzzes and bites. If you stop longer than five minutes word gets out. 

“Fresh meat in the middle seat!”

More likely it was from all the wildebeest and elephant dung. After a while anyone gets tired of eating shit. And speaking of elephants, we were semi-charged again by another young bull with an attitude, who forced us into a detour. 

Afternoon

The Marula tree’s fruit (a berry the size of a golf ball) is a member of the mango family. It is favored by elephants, who also abrade the bark to feast on the pulp. Denise Vouri Photo

This afternoon, we found a Kambula lioness with her cubs. “Kambula” is the name of a pride that extensively roams the “Kambula Koppies,” a series of discrete hills in the reserve formed by ancient volcanic activity. * This lioness broke away from the main pride to protect her young from roughhousing by older cubs in the pride or infanticide by unrelated adult males. She will return to the pride when the cubs are old enough to take care of themselves.

This Kambula lioness broke away from the main pride to protect her cubs (three months old at the time) from roughhousing by older cubs in the pride or infanticide by unrelated adult males. She will return to the pride when the cubs are old enough to take care of themselves.

Another guide tipped us off to their location by radio. The reserve limits the number of vehicles (two) that can view wildlife with young each day, but the opportunity arose for us when the scheduled vehicle found another sighting. The lioness and her four cubs were in a swale slightly west of the road that borders the neighboring MalaMala reserve. We bushwhacked to find a perfect angle for Denise and her telephoto lenses. Wildlife does not always cooperate with photographers. Even a few blades of grass may disrupt the focus resulting in a blurred subject.

Our view was unsatisfactory at first, the lions little more than tawny lumps in the tall grass. The cubs were sound asleep, sprawled about their exhausted mom. But with the arrival of the Rover, a single little head appeared behind the lioness’ broad back and soon they were all awake and gamboling about, wrestling, and exploring the margins of the swale. Two of the cubs crawled over mom, one nibbling her ear, but she was oblivious until she caught a scent or heard something untoward. With that, she rose on a shoulder and sniffed the air. It struck me then that with all our thrashing about we did not warrant the same response, which underscores how inured the animals are to machines full of humans. 

At three months old, the cubs are vulnerable to predation, despite her best efforts. As Nick said as we pulled away: “I hope they get through the night. It is such a hostile environment for them, and she cannot be everywhere at once.”

These are valid concerns. According to Panthera, an international non-profit dedicated preserving and protecting big cats around the word, an estimated 23,000 African lions remain in the wild, down from about 200,000 recorded more than a century ago. Poaching and habitat loss from development, which leads to conflict with humans, are cited as the primary causes. 

Fortunately, Londolozi and the other reserves in the Sabi Sand network and other reserves throughout Africa are working hard to turn this around by providing a safe environment that enables lions to range freely and, well, behave like lions. 

3/28, Londolozi, Bushbuck Ridge, South Africa

Monkeys

My room (#1) is at the very end of Founders Camp with a deck that gives onto a wall of trees and brush that would make me feel isolated were it not for a party crowd in the camp below and a troop of 18 (at last count) Vervet monkeys. At least the latter count as wildlife, and that is why I am here.

Day before yesterday I caught the alpha male peering at me through my sliding door, his nose pressed against the glass. He startled me awake when he shoved a deck chair out of his path. He was about two feet tall and gray with a white undercoat, black feet and an expressive black face fringed in white. He also had a set of prodigious testicles, which means he is the top dog around the camp and notorious with the rangers and staff who have named him “Blue Balls.” They are on red alert to his shenanigans that include theft, vandalism (latch your door when leaving or “you’ll be sorry”) and other assorted mayhem. The level of his delinquency was plain from my first day in camp when I spotted a Daisy air rifle behind the dining area bar. 

My room gave onto a wall of trees and brush that would have made me feel isolated were it not for a troop of 18 (at last count) Vervet monkeys. The alpha male was a frequent visitor throughout the week, especially around the plunge pool.

He darted away from my door when I rose from my bed and lifted the door latch, but it was more a retrograde than a retreat. He paused on the rail and only leapt into a neighboring tree—chock full of his family, as it so happened, including a little one clinging to his mother’s back—when I slid the door open and stepped out. We studied one another for a moment, but as I fumbled with my cell phone, he vanished along with his entire brood. Almost. A couple of minutes later, Blue Balls was on his haunches taking a leisurely drink and sponge bath from the lip of my plunge pool. 

On this day, my Vervet experience was more heartwarming. The baby was sitting on the retaining wall outside my bathroom window watching my every move, curious and unafraid. He cocked his head and leaned forward for a better look when suddenly his mother appeared in a flash, snatched him up and beat it over the wall. Blue Balls soon followed, though I noted with concern that he was favoring his right rear leg

Zebra and Wildebeest

A wildebeest hanging with an impala herd was hedging his bets with a leopard nearby, hoping the cat would take an impala instead. Denise Vouri Photo

Wildebeest and zebras have a cooperative relationship. Grasses that shoot up three feet high or earlier in the season lack the nutrients needed to sustain wildebeest, which have a four-chambered stomach. They do not need as much grass as zebra, according to Nick, only the quality found at the base of the shoots. So, they will follow zebra in the chow line, so-to-speak, and happily feed on the leftovers chewed to the nub. They also look out for one another with predators about, wildebeest having the better sense of smell and zebra keener eyesight, to go with a caring nature.

“They compliment each other really well,” Nick said.

Wildebeest will follow zebra in the chow line, so-to-speak, and happily feed on the leftovers chewed to the nub which aids digestion. They also look out for one another with predators about.

The Ndzenga Brothers and Marula Trees

The plan for our afternoon drive was to head southeast on the reserve to find the two Ndzenga male lions—the two surviving of four brothers from separate litters—reported in that area. (The name translates to "thorn in the side" owing to a nickname given to one of the deceased bothers gored by a Cape buffalo.) This set of Ndzengas range over the Sabi Sand reserves, minding and mating among several prides within their territory to sustain their line. The competition between male lions can be deadly, as we learned throughout our trip, thus these brothers have formed a mutual protection bond. 

They roar morning and evening and tactically urinate to announce their presence. While the Rovers may meet the prides most days, the brothers may appear only once a week or every 10 days. We were in luck. 

Our search for the Ndzenga lion brothers took us across a savanna dotted by Marula trees in all directions as far as the eye could see. Elephants contribute to the trees’ propagation by passing the fruit seeds in their dung.

Our search for the big boys took us across a savanna dotted by Marula trees in all directions as far as the eye could see. Every tree, it seemed, had a perfect crown, fanning from a single trunk. That there are so many is due to the gastronomy of elephants, who consume the fruits and pulp from the trunks. And because they only digest about 60 percent of whatever they ingest, they pass active seeds in their manure, which germinate quickly if they land in good soil.

“So, when we see these beautiful crowns scattered across the savanna, we need to stand up and give a cheer for elephant dung,” Nick said.

Finding the lions was not too difficult as another Londolozi guide had spotted them earlier in the day. Along the way we sighted a family of kudu, and no less than eight rhinoceros, including a family of three in a mud wallow. Another guide, Tayla, soon appeared with a Rover full of guests communicating with Nick by radio. Coordinating the search, Tayla turned first on a track encircling the area, while Nick chose the far end of the loop. We found the lions first, bloated and supine, lying under what else? Marula trees. Tayla joined us in minutes.

The two surviving Ndzenga lion brothers range over the Sabi Sand reserves, minding and mating among several prides within their territory to sustain their line. We caught up with them toward dusk and traveled with them for awhile. Denise Vouri Photo

Male lions will lie on their backs, legs upright, to aid digestion. This and the flock of vultures we spotted two miles back confirmed they had feasted recently. We hoped they would raise their heads, stretch or do something, but it was no go. So, we waited, now joined by a third Rover, thus creating a sort of mobile stadium, which seemed like borderline harassment. But what did I know? Then, the boys awoke, answered the call of nature, and made their way into the bush. (By the way, lions doing their business offer the best opportunity for photos because their heads are still.) Anticipating the lions’ route to water, all three Rover crews fired up their engines and began a hopscotch of sorts. Amazingly, at least to me, they knew exactly where the brothers would appear, and each vehicle maneuvered to give their passengers the best view, bouncing over logs and ploughing the tall grass to secure positions along the road. The lions are no fools. Why bushwhack when, as we saw with the elephants, they can follow the path of least resistance? Sure enough, they appeared one-by-one on the road, prefacing their entrance with mighty roars, followed by guttural barks, in warning to every living creature in the area (including us) that they were in charge.

Hearing the lions returned me to my childhood at the San Francisco Zoo when my parents would schedule our visits for feeding time in the lion house. The cats would shift from open grottos to cramped cages lining the walls, whereupon keepers would shove cuts of raw meat through slots under the bars. The cats were gigantic and their hungry cries, up to 114 decibels, filled the building so profoundly you could hear them on the far side of the zoo. 

The Rovers continued to leapfrog to better viewing positions as the lions padded down the road. At one point we could have reached out and touched their manes. Tired, and with full bellies, they dropped in the middle of the track for a snooze. After waiting a long while all three vehicles headed back to the barn. We found a rough track heading north and stopped a few miles away from the last sighting for a comfort stop and the “sundowner” cocktail session. We were over the moon about the lions—even Nick and our tracker, Joy.

Then we heard a lion roar again, which got me thinking.

An adult male weighs about 400 pounds and can match up with almost any creature on four legs. We were in the bush, not on the opposite side of iron bars or a concrete pit in the zoo of my childhood. Between sips of a gin and tonic, I repeatedly looked up the road behind us. A lion’s roar is audible from five miles off, so we were good, right? Unbeknownst to me, Nick was doing the same…with binoculars.

 “Here comes one of them, let’s pack it up,” he said.

Sure enough, a lion appeared over a rise, padding down the middle of the road. We climbed into the Rover well ahead of his approach, but instead of speeding off, Nick executed a U-turn and parked half-off the track. Even though the sun was descending behind a cloud bank (blessing us with a spectacular sunset), he was setting us up for another photo opportunity! Sure enough, here came one of the Ndzengas, ambling along, looking for his brother (the reason for his roar). 

Denise Vouri photo

My fearless sister leaned out of the Rover (nearly in his face) for the perfect video, helped by Joy’s strobe light. It was as if we were invisible. The lion passed without so much as a glance in our direction, then, seeming to tire of us, slipped into the brush and the falling dark, calling for his brother. As we watched him fade away, I thought of the cubs we saw the day before and wondered if they too would survive to form a similar bond.

Our tracking day came to an end with a spectacular sunset and the Southern Cross.

 With that, we finally turned back toward Londolozi, a half-hour’s drive away. Ever the perfect guide, Nick stopped in the middle of the airstrip above the camp, turned out the lights and pointed out the stars, including, appropriately, the Southern Cross.

We were truly in another hemisphere on the far side of the world.

*Londolozi animals are named purely for reference purposes. The naming process requires tact as it has the potential to detract from the wildness of the animal(s).

To learn more about and contribute to Panthera’s preservation and protection of lions and other wild cats around the world, visit their web site at: https://panthera.org