"Don't get eaten by lions" is the common refrain heard by anyone announcing they are traveling to Africa. This bold notion is, of course, not without precedent but it is precisely the imagined spectacle of encountering lions and all the other huge and wild animals of this land that holds its lure.
Ignoring the billions of Africans that somehow manage to survive day in, day out unscathed from lion attacks, it is worth highlighting that this animal - probably more than any other - is top of the list of goals for visiting photographers. The slightest rumour of lions in a local area will spark an intense search by anyone with a camera eager to get a picture of the continent's favourite cat.
Of all the animals that evoke the notion of Africa, none is perhaps more responsible than the lion. Emblematic and inspiring the world over, for ventures and enterprises far removed from their source material, lions have come to signify strength and boldness; courage and ferocity in equal measure. They are a beloved stalwart of nature documentaries and a perceived menace to landowners and farmers.
Iconic though they may be, lions are in deep trouble. They are not anywhere near as common in the wild as people still imagine them to be, worse their numbers in many countries have effectively crashed in the last few decades leaving just a couple of thousand individuals scattered over several key regions. The culprits are a familiar pattern of human-wildlife conflicts, unchecked disease, habitat destruction and the monstrous looming shadow of climate change. These instigators are all intimately connected to one another.
Conservation efforts to preserve lions have seen them confined to highly protected National Parks and gargantuan private reserves and tracts of land in a few countries. Wild populations roaming the Okavango, Kruger National Park, the Serengeti and the Namibian desert account for virtually all remaining wild lions in Sub-Saharan Africa. The majority of the rest of Africa's lions are held essentially in captivity on smaller game reserves and other institutions.
Namibia's relationship with lions has been a particularly interesting one. In days gone by lions were hunted with wild abandon, and the vulnerable desert populations of arid-specialised micro-prides were easy targets on a barren landscape. Protective efforts from the government in the Kaokoveld and Damaraland areas of the country have been effective at preserving wildlife and encouraging a rebound in many species in this area.
Despite this, widespread game farming and particularly the trophy hunting industry has bloomed across portions of the country. This contentious arrangement rarely reflects the economic propaganda. The fact remains, unfortunately, that wealthy outsiders will always be able to pay someone to shoot a lion regardless of how many retweets Cecil receives. Decrying this as reprehensible (which, to be clear, it certainly is) doesn't solve the problem though - for to fix it requires an acknowledgement of the desperate poverty that drives such an industry. A pattern of easy short term money has blighted not just African wildlife, but is particularly rampant in parts of this continent. The real danger of this short-termism is that it does little to benefit the local population with the most to lose.
A much more effective long-term solution is to embrace the far more lucrative aspects of the tourist industry that leave animals alive after visitors have gone home. Keeping such ventures local automatically brings a sense of care and responsibility for the sustainable development of peoples' own communities by and large. Employing locally outsourcing teaching and education to local schools and tying environmental health to wider regional development issues is undoubtedly the key to success. In this regard, Namibia is excelling and outstripping many of its neighbours.
Clustered on the B1 corridor between Windhoek and Otjiwarongo heading up to Etosha are a group of colossal and particularly involved reserves, projects and preserved areas that are making a real difference in wildlife management. The Erindi reserve is one such entity and, by sheer virtue of its gargantuan size, has become a managed haven for the astonishing range of animals roaming the land.
Erindi is home to a wide array of Africa's great mammals, including lions, and our time there was spent negotiating the soaked sandy roads and wet season scrubland in search of any and all wildlife. As already noted, lions have a magnetic quality to any wildlife enthusiast and we kept our eyes peeled upon entering the reserve as we made our way to our campground.
Evening arrives with a brutal efficiency in Southern Africa - the dipping heat and the intensely gorgeous palette of oranges, yellows and lime greens that paint the landscape each night are in truth a warning siren. Once the sun is gone, the shrill sounds of predators and the extreme dark of night take over. Real or imagined, lions are always just out of sight in the blackness.
Securing our off road vehicle for its first night, we had been doing battle with the torrential rains drowning the landscape. Muddy and damp, there was nonetheless an awesome humidity from the Namibian summer heat amplified by sticky sweat that couldn't be overcome. Preparing a cup of tea in the fake green-white light of the exterior lamps on the vehicle, we suddenly heard a sound to paralyse even the most robust constitutions. Lions were roaring, and not far away.
Carried on the half-light, the lion's roar is both unmistakable and unexpectedly soft. Far removed from the (in fact sealion) roar featured on the title card of well known films, real lion roaring carries for miles, instilling a wariness into anyone sat around a fire or barbecue. We grabbed cameras (I had brought an EOS 80D low-light special for just this occasion), and carefully paced through the campground.
A scrub hare bounded out of our way just as a tiny Damara Dik-dik stepped very deliberately between the drowned blades of grass. The lions persisted in their vocalisations - seemingly we were right on top of them but I knew their volume to be misleading. Out of the corner of my eye movement, but it turned into a huge herd of grazing Nyala. They were not relaxed; half the herd was alert, the others keeping their heads low to slowly slink out of sight.
Again roaring. We reached the edge of the campground, and gazed out over a faintly green-black landscape. On the edge of our vision I made out blue wildebeest charging back and forth, going crazy, as if chased by an invisible spectre. Namibia's wet season blooming vegetation makes it extremely difficult to spot predators lurking in the grass and against the treeline, but prey items such as wildebeest are a valuable early warning sign.
We didn't catch eyes on the lions that evening - but the sounds of roaring and the chaos amongst the wildebeest was more than enough; there were lions nearby and that in itself is a very tantalising prospect for an eager wildlife photographer. Darkness comes rapidly in tropical Southern Africa and we spent a humid night falling asleep to the relentless low-pitch roaring.
We woke before five in the morning. Shrieking guineafowl and go-away birds prevent any hope of a lie-in, not that we could have stayed in bed with so many exciting animals right outside the vehicle. Stepping out of the truck we immediately sighted a Damara Dik-dik pacing through the grass by our camp. Piles of drowned rhinoceros beetles and glow-worms cast a macabre scene, but as the sun rose they were immediately ferried off by hoards of Pied Babblers and the ubiquitous array of shrikes and cuckoos that predominate the central portions of Namibia.
After a speedy breakfast we headed out into the reserve in search of the lions we had heard the night before. Herein lies an inherent problem with lions - they move a lot in the night and lie down in the dense grass in the day. Finding them can be surprisingly difficult and the nature of such a large reserve means there are many areas simply inaccessible, especially after the Old Testament-level downpours from the night before.
The ground was practically liquid in places - our weighty truck grounded and nearly flooded on several occasions, becoming trapped in a Laurel and Hardy-esque scene between two steep muddy slopes for quite some time, eventually released after a bit of bushcraft building tread boards out of nearby acacia branches. We sighted a fair number of giraffes, zebras, springbok and oryx, but no lions. As time elapses on after the night before, sightings become increasingly difficult as the lions drift away to other areas.
During a summer's day, even in the dampness of the rainy season, most of Namibia (the immediate coast can be an exception) is indescribably hot. Searing heat breaks through the billowing stormclouds and burns unsuspecting skin to a crisp in a matter of minutes. The heat drains energy and makes many animals - humans included - do nothing but hide in the shade they can find. We did the same, marveling at the birdlife and reptiles out basking in the sun.
Lion sightings evaded us, and each evening as the Golden Hour approached we headed out again under somewhat less ferocious sun. These early morning and late evening periods are akin to someone flicking a switch to release all the wildlife. Suddenly jackals, antelope, elephants and smaller predators are everywhere. Photography becomes difficult, not for the flatness of the midday light and the hiding animals, but precisely for the opposite reason; there's too much and the light's nearly too beautiful.
The days preceding had brought an abundance of all the African classics with the notable exception of any big predators. The iconic big cats and canids beloved of safari brochures are surprisingly difficult to find even in an area of relative abundance. Erindi has collared a few individuals from each of the common species with radio trackers for monitoring and research purposes. Even with such an apparent advantage it still requires exceptional skill to locate elusive predators on a reserve of such size and variation in landscape.
Passing down a deserted sand road through the heart of the reserve, I was far too focused on navigating the potentially bottomless pools of sandy water across the dirt tracks, when my wife yelled stop and we sighted a lone cheetah sitting patiently by a thorn tree. Nonchalantly, it eased itself up and slowly wandered off back through the bush and out of sight. We were dumbfounded to see a cheetah so casually at the side of the road.
We weren't prepared for the deluge of predator sightings that followed that same evening. Clearly something had changed (my guess was the weather which had become noticeably less wet that evening), but almost immediately afterwards we found outside surrounded by African Wild Dogs (or Painted Wolves if we follow the most recent nomenclature).
These critically endangered animals are oft-forgotten by safari documentaries but for me they are emblematic of Southern Africa and a personal favourite to photograph on account of their freeform canvas skin and constantly entertaining behaviour. The pack we encountered were making the most of the last sleep before the evenings hunting, and lounged in the sand posing for some unusually orange and green-backed portraiture.
Tearing ourselves away from the wild dogs, we were navigating off-road with our guide Pieter as the sun began dipping again. The orange and gold light that blasts the rock-strewn and violent green landscape of the summer evening is a wonder to behold - amplified even further by the pastel purple skies and intense shadows cast by every thorn tree and termite mound dotting the wild landscape.
Pieter stopped briefly to highlight an unusual form of edible mushroom growing at the base of a select few termite mounds. Some of the largest edible fungi in the world, these huge mushrooms are extremely popular among bush chefs. Chaotic bands of snaring yellow flowers and scrubland thorns had erupted from the damp sandy soil due to the prevalent rain - a rare treat in a country normally so blisteringly dry.
Suddenly we were upon them. An aging pair of lions - a grumpy female and a cautious male resplendent with a scruffy mane, shining around the edges in the horizontal sunlight. They eyed our open truck lazily - still too early in the evening to be overly active. Laying in the bright green grass, it is truly something to behold Africa's most celebrated animal in its natural habitat.
Lionesses are noted for their no-nonsense approach to life - tolerating little of the idiocy and laziness so prevalent among their male counterparts. She was no exception and voiced opposition to us approaching briefly in the form of a directed snarl. She was interrupted by him wandering over and turned her impatience towards him. Clearly in charge, her tone cautioned him to lie back down which he did immediately.
I was spellbound to see these elusive animals. So rare are they becoming across their historic range that the opportunity to photograph them like this could soon be lost. In Namibia, outside of the smaller reserves, only Erindi and the Etosha National Park offer vaguely reliable opportunities to sight lions. The oft-sought desert prides are exceptionally difficult to pinpoint in the wasteland of the Kaokoveld and Damaraland. Wetland prides in the Caprivi are sighted occasionally too but are increasingly rare due to conflict and retribution as they stray over the borders into Angola and Zimbabwe.
Snoozing in the late evening, every motion seemed an enormous effort for them. Lions are not lazy in the traditional sense, they just require an extended period of rest to conserve energy between erratic and unpredictable mealtimes. The rest of the pride elsewhere, the opportunity for rest was appreciated. How strange to be so close to this fearsome predator and be completely relaxed. Lions are dangerous, of course, but they also have to be bothered and at this time of day that can take some serious effort.
We made the most of the golden light, bid our farewells and rumbled off across the semi-wetland sand for an evening braai and another relative early night in preparation for the next day's search. Rounding the round back to camp we came across a colossal bull elephant padding gently across the road in search of fallen branches to carry and chew on.
Namibia's desert elephants are among the largest in Africa, approaching ten tonnes in some cases. He was in no hurry to move and the last of the sun illuminated the orange mud on his side into a burnt red. Elephants are invariably the colour of their landscape, and especially in their element in the cooling wet mud of the rainy season.
Slowly rolling back up the road in the dying light, pairs of Black-backed jackals danced between thorn trees in search of small prey items. A lone lion roar broke the evening air, though, as before, we never caught sight of the instigator. The effort and resolve to find lions is also immense, and sometimes - just occasionally - the time spent looking pays off.
All photography © Chris Milligan Photo. All views are my own. Seek local recommendations before photographing or approaching any wildlife.
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