Our guides go walkabout.
We are on the track of the lion pride we saw last night. This morning they are nowhere to be found. We've been circling the area for what seems like a very long time. Suddenly, Greg stops the engine and grabs the rifle from its mount. He signals Johnson, and together they climb out of the car.
The group exchange bemused glances; the only two people who have any idea where we are- and what to do in it- are walking away, each one headed in a different direction. Neither one of them has said a word.
Nervous chatter in the Land Rover. Great, now what? What if they don't come back? Shall I take over and drive, ha ha? What if they get attacked, do we try and save them or do we stay put or do we just get the hell out of here?
After a few long minutes, the two come back looking very smug. They have spotted the lions.
And then a rhino comes into view.
A rhino makes a big production of its business.
Now that we know where the lions are, we turn our attention to the rhino. He walks over to a not too fresh mound of dung, sniffs it repeatedly to determine its provenance, then does his own business on the same spot.
This is an elaborate ritual and the rhino makes quite a production of it. Lots of kicking around, prancing about, and raising dust, and dung.
The MGM lion.
Back to the lions. There are five females and two sub-adult males in a loose huddle in a shady clearing in the bush. Some are sleeping, others just lounging, their distended bellies heaving, their breaths coming fast. They must have hunted the night before; their faces and legs are smeared with traces of blood.
It's an oddly bucolic scene. These animals look so quiet and peaceable, not at all menacing. Until one of the lionesses suddenly rears her head and bares her teeth at no one in particular. Maybe she's just yawning?
She then gets up and starts walking. She walks past the sleepers and loungers, turns to the Land Rover, then straight towards me. I ask Greg if this is a good time to panic.
That's when Romy declares, "It's like MGM!" The lioness veers away, finds herself another spot, and lies down again.
We leave this pride and head to the riverbed. Here, three male lions are cooling off in the shade of tall reeds. These are young adults, their manes short and punky, not yet fully grown.
A leopard makes a meal of leftovers.
Later, we catch a leopard feeding, perched high on a tree branch. She is eating something that, from the look of it and the sound it makes when she tears at it, is clearly not fresh. These are parts leftover from a two-week old kill.
Back in camp, at breakfast, we pose for group photos and exchange addresses and phone numbers. M.V. & Don and Emy & Romy are flying out today.
What a finish!
Don says, "It doesn't get any better than this!"
M.V.’s lucky cat hat has delivered on its promise. Greg and Johnson probably helped a little bit too.