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Most people’s definition of “adventure travel” would include some encounters with wildlife, and I’ve noticed that the trips we take that get the most interest from friends are those that feature large predators. There’s something inherently exciting about animals that could prey on you, I guess. The problem is that these animals do pose a risk, even if it’s small, and that your own behavior can go a long way toward either making you a spectator or a victim.
I’ve had close encounters with grizzly bears, polar bears, leopards, lions—you name it. I’ve never been hurt or even felt particularly at risk in any predator encounter (but see my bison story for how I feel about those critters!), but in all of these trips I’ve always paid strict attention to the guides and done what they’ve suggested. Nobody wants to see travelers hurt, and no company that lets it happen is going to have much of a future in the travel business. This little adventure story will tell you why you need to pay attention.
We were in Africa, at Londolozi, a private reserve adjacent to Kruger National Park in South Africa. It’s known for its big cats, and we were privileged to have as our guides the ranger and tracker we’d had on our previous trip. It was our first full day, the morning drive, and we encountered two large male lions and a single female just lazing around on a big rocky outcrop. We stopped to have a look, along with another vehicle or two. The three were giving us a good show, but they were also moving around a bit and in some positions our vantage point didn’t give us a clean view or a chance for unobstructed pictures, so our guide decided to move us up to the top of the outcrop where we could look down on the two males, in particular. So we worked our way (in a Rover) around and up, and there we sat on the top of this big rock with the two males about 50 feet away.
In our new position, the two males were about at 3 o'clock with respect to how our Rover was parked, and slightly below us on a wide ledge. The female was even lower down the outcrop (called a "kopje" in Africaans) and at about 4:30 o'clock to us. There were some shrubs and a few larger trees on the kopje, but it was in general pretty clear and open. The males were easily available for photographs, and just lazing around doing their thing.
The rule for viewing wildlife in every reserve we ever visited was the same. You stay in your seat, you don’t stick anything out of the vehicle, and you’re quiet and still in proportion to how close the critters are. With them 50 feet away, our ranger was talking in normal tones and we were all just taking pictures. After a short period, the female decided it was too crowded in the area and moved away, passing behind and below our vehicle and moving off.
That left the two males alone and disconnected from their whole reason for being there in the first place, still off our right side (the side I was sitting on). That didn’t suit them, and one got up and gave a little snarl of annoyance that we were between him and the departing female. He then approached, veering to his left, and passed us, never getting closer than perhaps15 feet, but close enough that we knew we had to keep quieter and more still. The goal is to make the wildlife think of you as part of a big, green, diesel-smelling, non-eatable organism and not some dainty tidbit to snack on.
I was pivoted in my seat to try to get a shot of the departing male when my wife, sitting to my left, called out to me in a low voice “Tom!” I turned around to see the other male approaching my side of the Rover at a quick pace, already only about 6 feet away and too close to photograph with the telephoto lens I had on. While I was tempted to grab for the other camera, the “no quick movements” rule was clearly in play, so I simply sat and watched.
The male lion came right up to the side of the rover, stopping with his head only 17 inches from my face and looked me straight in the eye. I could smell a slight musky cat smell and I was struck by the lack of passion or even interest in his gaze; he had dead eyes. I didn’t move or speak, and nobody else in the vehicle did either. Linda said the guide was watching me to see what I’d do; he had a heavy rifle behind his seat but it’s not likely he could have grabbed it if the lion had decided to do something. He'd traveled with us before though, and I think he knew that I was going to play by his rules and stay still and calm. I never felt afraid, though I knew that the lion was very, very, close and could have reached me in a second. But after about what seemed like 30 seconds of looking at me with that cold and vacant stare, the lion simply moved behind the Rover and departed.
This was by far the closest I’d ever been to a big predator and it was exciting. On the one hand I’d have loved to have a picture, but a telephoto shot at a greater distance would have showed the same thing and there is no question that movement at that point would have been a very bad idea. Even presuming the lion wouldn’t have been upset and attacked, trying to photograph would also have broken the spell of the encounter, robbing me of an experience that I’ll never forget.
The moral here is that we were told what to do and everybody in the vehicle did exactly that. Because we did, the encounter was safe and exciting where it might have been otherwise if someone had panicked. You are probably as safe on a guided wildlife trip as you’d be driving to the store—maybe safer—if you do what you’re told. If you don’t think you can obey orders in a situation like the one I had, you may want to rethink your decision to go somewhere that you could encounter dangerous wildlife.
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