A LEOPARD LOVE AFFAIR
1038km from cape town, za.
26.4724° s, 20.6117° e
Our hearts were heavy as we bounced along the rutted sand tracks away from our camp in the Kgalagadi. The rains had completely transformed the park from the red dunes we’d loved so much in December to walls of tall grass on either side of the road, a tunnel which we trundled through. The last 8 or 9 days we’d caught glimpses of lion paws, a mane, a shoulder and far off in the distance, a cheetah and her two nearly-adult cubs, playing hide and seek in the thick vegetation, but not much else.
The giant herds of springbok caused traffic as they grazed, unfazed, in the open, and the wildebeest and gemsbok enjoyed the safety of the grasslands and spent most of the time lying down with only their horns visible above the carpet of green and gold. Unusually secure in their numbers, they didn’t so much as flinch as we drove passed.
Every photographic opportunity required effort to position Lula so that the grass wouldn’t ruin the shot, and every day we returned to camp to discover useable images, a blade fell across an eye, or that the wind had created so much motion blur and ruined photo after photo.
and then there she was…
A LEOPARD LOVE AFFAIR
1038km from cape town.
26.4724°s, 20.6117°e
Our hearts were heavy as we bounced along the rutted sand tracks away from our camp in the Kgalagadi. The rains had completely transformed the park from the red dunes we’d loved so much in December to walls of tall grass on either side of the road, a tunnel which we trundled through. The last 8 or 9 days we’d caught glimpses of lion paws, a mane, a shoulder and far off in the distance, a cheetah and her two nearly-adult cubs, playing hide and seek in the thick vegetation, but not much else.
The giant herds of springbok caused traffic as they grazed, unfazed, in the open, and the wildebeest and gemsbok enjoyed the safety of the grasslands and spent most of the time lying down with only their horns visible above the carpet of green and gold. Unusually secure in their numbers, they didn’t so much as flinch as we drove passed.
Every photographic opportunity required effort to position Lula so that the grass wouldn’t ruin the shot, and every day we returned to camp to discover useable images, a blade fell across an eye, or that the wind had created so much motion blur and ruined photo after photo.
and then there she was…
And then there she was. We almost drove right passed her in our going-home-sadness haze. If she hadn’t have jumped out of a bush, just to the right of the car, we might have missed her.
She was young, brave and super bouncy and so began a two day love affair that has left us trawling the facebook groups for updates on her safety ever since. A surprising amount of people have spent time with her, her mother and her brother now, but we still think of her as our’s, as I’m sure others do too, because right from the very start, she seemed to play for our attention, to pose for the camera, to lie in beautiful spots, with beautiful light, and continue to check that we were driving along with her, stopping to let us catch up, as she lead us to new spots where she’d jump at the birds, hunt ground squirrels and lie brazenly out in the sun without a single care for any other predators. Perhaps she felt that our big white elephant Lula (the Land Rover) would scare off anything more dangerous than her.
no one really knows how many leopards are left in the wild. every year, hundreds are killed by poachers for their skins.
We spent the first morning reversing slowly as she padded through the grass, her face to the sun, the light catching her luminous sage-mint eyes, until she finally stopped at a tree and settled in for a nap. Flicking through the back screen of the camera, we’d taken a bazillion images of her and feeling fairly confident that at least a couple of them would work out. I didn’t really care, quite honestly, whether we got the shot or not. Despite longing to capture some remarkable images, some experiences are just so lovely that photographs of it are just a bonus. We watched her for a while longer as she snoozed, her paws limp and her ears finally no longer twitching at every sound. Deciding this nap may take a few hours, we finally popped the camera on to the back seat again, and headed out of the park to book another night.
No one really knows how many leopards are left in the wild. Notoriously shy, solitary creatures, incredibly camouflaged, they’re quite difficult to find to track. Every year, hundreds are killed by poachers for their skins, and some are killed as their habitat decreases and they come in contact with human settlements. They’re listed as vulnerable but possibly endangered, having been erased from other continents entirely. As the wild places become less wild, to see a youngster like our leopard was both a miracle and a symbol of hope for their species, and for all wild animals. For us to spend time with her made the long days of nothing but rippling seas of grass worth-while. It was almost as if the Universe or God, or whomever designs these moments, gave us that time with her.
And then there she was. We almost drove right passed her in our going-home-sadness haze. If she hadn’t have jumped out of a bush, just to the right of the car, we might have missed her.
She was young, brave and super bouncy and so began a two day love affair that has left us trawling the facebook groups for updates on her safety ever since. A surprising amount of people have spent time with her, her mother and her brother now, but we still think of her as our’s, as I’m sure others do too, because right from the very start, she seemed to play for our attention, to pose for the camera, to lie in beautiful spots, with beautiful light, and continue to check that we were driving along with her, stopping to let us catch up, as she lead us to new spots where she’d jump at the birds, hunt ground squirrels and lie brazenly out in the sun without a single care for any other predators. Perhaps she felt that our big white elephant Lula (the Land Rover) would scare off anything more dangerous than her.
no one really knows how many leopards are left in the wild. hundreds are killed by poachers for their skins.
We spent the first morning reversing slowly as she padded through the grass, her face to the sun, the light catching her luminous sage-mint eyes, until she finally stopped at a tree and settled in for a nap. Flicking through the back screen of the camera, we’d taken a bazillion images of her and feeling fairly confident that at least a couple of them would work out. I didn’t really care, quite honestly, whether we got the shot or not. Despite longing to capture some remarkable images, some experiences are just so lovely that photographs of it are just a bonus. We watched her for a while longer as she snoozed, her paws limp and her ears finally no longer twitching at every sound. Deciding this nap may take a few hours, we finally popped the camera on to the back seat again, and headed out of the park to book another night.
No one really knows how many leopards are left in the wild. Notoriously shy, solitary creatures, incredibly camouflaged, they’re quite difficult to find to track. Every year, hundreds are killed by poachers for their skins, and some are killed as their habitat decreases and they come in contact with human settlements. They’re listed as vulnerable but possibly endangered, having been erased from other continents entirely. As the wild places become less wild, to see a youngster like our leopard was both a miracle and a symbol of hope for their species, and for all wild animals. For us to spend time with her made the long days of nothing but rippling seas of grass worth-while. It was almost as if the Universe or God, or whomever designs these moments, gave us that time with her.
to spend time with her made the long days of nothing but rippling seas of grass worth-while
Despite our frustrations, this was actually a celebration of life-giving sustenance and shelter, and rare too, especially in this normally barren, dessert-like landscape. This was the result after some of the best rains in many years, we were told. We’d seen the storms rolling in at the end of our previous trip, watched the puddles forming across of the roads, and delighted, from Cape Town, that we’d left in time to avoid the floods which had actually stranded some visitors.
Not too far away from the Kgalagadi, the Augrabies Falls had broken records as the rains thundered through the rocks. The result four months later was both beautiful to behold, but disheartening when we’d driven up in search of the great cats that roam the landscape to photograph. We’d made the best of the ever beautiful landscapes of the Kgalagadi, of course, but we longed for the cherry on top.
If we spotted something along the way that made it worth staying, even for an hour or two, we’d spend the night at the Kgalagadi lodge, just outside of the park, we agreed. A last chance to rescue an adventure with almost zero visibility. Willing for a lion, a cheetah, even a tower of giraffes, we drove in silence, windows down, the aroma of pungent wheaty-grass and dust filling the car.
The first and only time I’d seen a leopard was in a sanctuary and I was obsessed. She playfully pawed at the chain-link fence and if the guide had not just seconds before told us not to stand too close, I might have forgotten all common sense and reached out to touch her velvet coat, which was so glossy, she seemed to be metallic. Her long white whiskers were so much longer and whiter than I’d expected, and while she was small and no longer hunting for her own supper, she was as fearsome as any lion I’d seen. Maybe even more so. You’d never have seen or heard her coming, which made me awfully thankful for the fence after all.
I’d given up hope of seeing a leopard in the Kgalagadi after our December trip. Perhaps it was the ungodly 45 degree temperatures, the lack of any decent cover, or our inexperience that made spotting them impossible, but during this trip, I’d hoped, but not expected, to see one at last, in the wild, where they were supposed to be.
to spend time with her made the long days of nothing but rippling seas of grass worth-while
Despite our frustrations, this was actually a celebration of life-giving sustenance and shelter, and rare too, especially in this normally barren, dessert-like landscape. This was the result after some of the best rains in many years, we were told. We’d seen the storms rolling in at the end of our previous trip, watched the puddles forming across of the roads, and delighted, from Cape Town, that we’d left in time to avoid the floods which had actually stranded some visitors.
Not too far away from the Kgalagadi, the Augrabies Falls had broken records as the rains thundered through the rocks. The result four months later was both beautiful to behold, but disheartening when we’d driven up in search of the great cats that roam the landscape to photograph. We’d made the best of the ever beautiful landscapes of the Kgalagadi, of course, but we longed for the cherry on top.
If we spotted something along the way that made it worth staying, even for an hour or two, we’d spend the night at the Kgalagadi lodge, just outside of the park, we agreed. A last chance to rescue an adventure with almost zero visibility. Willing for a lion, a cheetah, even a tower of giraffes, we drove in silence, windows down, the aroma of pungent wheaty-grass and dust filling the car.
The first and only time I’d seen a leopard was in a sanctuary and I was obsessed. She playfully pawed at the chain-link fence and if the guide had not just seconds before told us not to stand too close, I might have forgotten all common sense and reached out to touch her velvet coat, which was so glossy, she seemed to be metallic. Her long white whiskers were so much longer and whiter than I’d expected, and while she was small and no longer hunting for her own supper, she was as fearsome as any lion I’d seen. Maybe even more so. You’d never have seen or heard her coming, which made me awfully thankful for the fence after all.
I’d given up hope of seeing a leopard in the Kgalagadi after our December trip. Perhaps it was the ungodly 45 degree temperatures, the lack of any decent cover, or our inexperience that made spotting them impossible, but during this trip, I’d hoped, but not expected, to see one at last, in the wild, where they were supposed to be.
the thoughts of a mad woman, completely enamoured by a creature who really just seemed to want a tummy tickle. if i’m ever eaten by a big cat, assume my last words were ‘here, kitty, kitty.’
Would you believe that she was there again that afternoon, as if waiting for us. It was getting late, and the shadows stretched into her tree. As the sun started to dip and the grass on the opposite side of the road began to glow, our leopard, who’d been blinking slowly at me for a good twenty minutes, suddenly, silently, effortlessly, stepped out of the branches and walked towards the car. This was the wrong lens! I wasn’t prepared for close-close-ups. The thoughts of a mad woman, completely enamoured by a creature who really just seemed to want a tummy tickle. I felt Grant’s hand reaching for mine around the camera to pull it out of the window frame, his other on the window button, ready to call it too dangerous. If I am ever eaten by a big cat, assume my last words were ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’ (P.S Please don’t get eaten by a big cat or call a big cat to you. I can’t have that on my conscience.)
She stopped about a meter away and I like to imagine, read Lula’s branding. Yep, she’ll definitely check out our Instagram account later. And then she looked up at me. I didn’t move. She didn’t move. For an adrenaline-fueled minute or so (it felt much longer), we shared something special. The rest of the world was a million miles away, time stood still, our silly human problems seemed petty and ridiculous; it was just us, the leopard whose eyes were locked on to mine, and Grant, who was urging me to move so he could close the window to keep me safe. And then the moment passed, and so did she. She walked around the car and lay in front of it, in the road, where we needed to go in order to be able to leave.
With renewed enthusiasm, we headed back later that afternoon to see if the Universe had more in store for us, and arrived back at our leopard’s sleeping spot just in time for her after nap stretches. Standing within the branches of her tree, she observed us with obvious curiosity. For one slightly nerve wracking moment, she shifted her weight and crouched low, possibly preparing the jump right at the open window through which I’d positioned the camera with the longest of our lenses. “Woah,” I whispered at her, as I would to a pouncing puppy, and her ears twitched forward, her eyes locked onto mine. She blinked before I did, a long, slow blink, as if she was rolling her eyes at me for not being allowed to do what she wanted. Her face was soft with sleep again. I allowed myself to breathe. She might look like a very big house cat, but it’s certain that those claws and teeth would hurt if she decided to launch herself at us.
We stayed there a while longer, as cars came and went, until she eventually jumped down from the branches into the thicket below the tree. Every now and then the grass would rustle and she’d leap out of it into the air, trying to catch crickets. We said a silent good night when it was time to leave and thought that would be it. Tomorrow, when we’d return, we’d say one last goodbye the park and head home. A wonderful day with a wonderful leopard under our belt.
The next day, the leopard had different plans for us. She wasn’t in the same spot when we returned. We didn’t think she would be, but I looked for her anyway, just in case. I’d dreamed about her while I slept. I wondered whether her mom had returned with supper and called her to go ‘home’, to whichever tree that might be that evening. When we found her, mom wasn’t in sight, but our leopard had attracted the attention of three other vehicles as she bathed in the gold of the morning sun. It was probably just our timing, but as soon as we settled in to watch her, she started to rouse. And so the hours stretched as she entertained us, cleaning her paws, playing with twigs, her ears constantly twitching and her curiosity peaked as cars came and went. We did too, around lunch time, to refuel ourselves and swim in the lodge’s pool. We’d missed the window to leave with enough hours to drive home in the day, so we booked one last evening. Tomorrow, we agreed. After all, this is why we’d come.
the thoughts of a mad woman, completely enamoured by a creature who really just seemed to want a tummy tickle.
Would you believe that she was there again that afternoon, as if waiting for us. It was getting late, and the shadows stretched into her tree. As the sun started to dip and the grass on the opposite side of the road began to glow, our leopard, who’d been blinking slowly at me for a good twenty minutes, suddenly, silently, effortlessly, stepped out of the branches and walked towards the car. This was the wrong lens! I wasn’t prepared for close-close-ups. The thoughts of a mad woman, completely enamoured by a creature who really just seemed to want a tummy tickle. I felt Grant’s hand reaching for mine around the camera to pull it out of the window frame, his other on the window button, ready to call it too dangerous. If I am ever eaten by a big cat, assume my last words were ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’ (P.S Please don’t get eaten by a big cat or call a big cat to you. I can’t have that on my conscience.)
She stopped about a meter away and I like to imagine, read Lula’s branding. Yep, she’ll definitely check out our Instagram account later. And then she looked up at me. I didn’t move. She didn’t move. For an adrenaline-fueled minute or so (it felt much longer), we shared something special. The rest of the world was a million miles away, time stood still, our silly human problems seemed petty and ridiculous; it was just us, the leopard whose eyes were locked on to mine, and Grant, who was urging me to move so he could close the window to keep me safe. And then the moment passed, and so did she. She walked around the car and lay in front of it, in the road, where we needed to go in order to be able to leave.
With renewed enthusiasm, we headed back later that afternoon to see if the Universe had more in store for us, and arrived back at our leopard’s sleeping spot just in time for her after nap stretches. Standing within the branches of her tree, she observed us with obvious curiosity. For one slightly nerve wracking moment, she shifted her weight and crouched low, possibly preparing the jump right at the open window through which I’d positioned the camera with the longest of our lenses. “Woah,” I whispered at her, as I would to a pouncing puppy, and her ears twitched forward, her eyes locked onto mine. She blinked before I did, a long, slow blink, as if she was rolling her eyes at me for not being allowed to do what she wanted. Her face was soft with sleep again. I allowed myself to breathe. She might look like a very big house cat, but it’s certain that those claws and teeth would hurt if she decided to launch herself at us.
We stayed there a while longer, as cars came and went, until she eventually jumped down from the branches into the thicket below the tree. Every now and then the grass would rustle and she’d leap out of it into the air, trying to catch crickets. We said a silent good night when it was time to leave and thought that would be it. Tomorrow, when we’d return, we’d say one last goodbye the park and head home. A wonderful day with a wonderful leopard under our belt.
The next day, the leopard had different plans for us. She wasn’t in the same spot when we returned. We didn’t think she would be, but I looked for her anyway, just in case. I’d dreamed about her while I slept. I wondered whether her mom had returned with supper and called her to go ‘home’, to whichever tree that might be that evening. When we found her, mom wasn’t in sight, but our leopard had attracted the attention of three other vehicles as she bathed in the gold of the morning sun. It was probably just our timing, but as soon as we settled in to watch her, she started to rouse. And so the hours stretched as she entertained us, cleaning her paws, playing with twigs, her ears constantly twitching and her curiosity peaked as cars came and went. We did too, around lunch time, to refuel ourselves and swim in the lodge’s pool. We’d missed the window to leave with enough hours to drive home in the day, so we booked one last evening. Tomorrow, we agreed. After all, this is why we’d come.
A line of cars coming from Nossob had stopped behind us. With a 20 minute drive to the exit, and only 30 minutes until the park closed, we debated leaving now, driving up a smidge on the bank to get passed our leopard, and decided to stretch out the last 10 minutes of a magical leopard, in sublime lighting, in the wild and wondrous Kgalagadi, before heading home in the morning. Eventually, we had to pass her, or we’d all be fined for staying late. We carefully pulled in front of her and I took a few more pictures as her as the cars behind us took the gap, until finally, the long hours we’d enjoyed with her had to come to an end, and we’d run out of time.
The cars in front had kicked up long trailing dust clouds, and by the time we arrived at the exit, it coated everything from our eyelashes to every single surface of Lula’s interior. We drove home the next day after all. We couldn’t imagine that we’d be lucky enough to spend a third day with of our leopard, but later we found lots of images of our leopard, her mother and brother on Facebook, so it looks as though she was there after all. I wonder if she thinks of us. And I wonder if she knows that by simply existing, she’s stirred our passion for all things wild and wonderful. I like to think she does.
A line of cars coming from Nossob had stopped behind us. With a 20 minute drive to the exit, and only 30 minutes until the park closed, we debated leaving now, driving up a smidge on the bank to get passed our leopard, and decided to stretch out the last 10 minutes of a magical leopard, in sublime lighting, in the wild and wondrous Kgalagadi, before heading home in the morning. Eventually, we had to pass her, or we’d all be fined for staying late. We carefully pulled in front of her and I took a few more pictures as her as the cars behind us took the gap, until finally, the long hours we’d enjoyed with her had to come to an end, and we’d run out of time.
The cars in front had kicked up long trailing dust clouds, and by the time we arrived at the exit, it coated everything from our eyelashes to every single surface of Lula’s interior. We drove home the next day after all. We couldn’t imagine that we’d be lucky enough to spend a third day with of our leopard, but later we found lots of images of our leopard, her mother and brother on Facebook, so it looks as though she was there after all. I wonder if she thinks of us. And I wonder if she knows that by simply existing, she’s stirred our passion for all things wild and wonderful. I like to think she does.