The afternoon started as many of the afternoons do here at Londolozi; charged with anticipation. Leopard viewing had been somewhat harder than usual, an understandable trade-off for the spectacular lion viewing that we were having at the time. We set out with the goal of finding the Nkuwa Female and her two 11-month-old cubs. After an hour-long search that flame of anticipation was sputtering but as we found a decently fresh track it was rekindled anew. Fresh eyes scanned the bushes next to us for a glimpse of a spot, ear, or white-tipped tail.
We rounded a corner and Robert “Prof” Hlatshwayo, my friend and tracker, pulled off another incredible spot. There, 100m or so off of the road, in the golden embrace of the African sun, a marula tree stood sentinel over the savannah, its branches cradling a leopard. Resting beneath the dappled shadows, she exuded an air of regal indifference, her rosetted coat blending seamlessly with the play of light and shadows. But this facade of tranquillity concealed an impending drama.
An iconic scene similar to this stood before us, one that we had been hoping for for so many days.
One of two sisters born to the Nhlanguleni Female, both of whom made it to independence, the first intact litter to do so in 7 years.
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Half an hour had passed, a fleeting moment for a creature as in the moment as the leopard above us when a subtle shift in the predator’s gaze marked the beginning of a narrative that would unfold with the raw intensity only found in these last wild places. It seemed a distant sound had caught her attention – an impala ram, unwittingly chosen as a player in the unforgiving game of life and death. In an instant, the leopard’s languid grace transformed into coiled tension, her eyes and ears locked onto the distant figure. She was up and descending the marula tree in an instant, barely enough time for us to get our cameras up. With ethereal grace, she embarked on the hunt.
Giving her the space she needed, we pulled back our vehicle, allowing the leopard the freedom to stalk her unsuspecting prey. The tension in the air was palpable, broken only by the rustle of leaves and distant calls of a myriad of oblivious creatures. The last we saw of him, the impala ram remained blissfully unaware as his doom approached…
Suddenly, a single alarm call shattered the stillness, prompting our three vehicles to leap forward, ranger, tracker and guests’ hearts pounding, what would we find ahead?
And then there she was, the leopard, a silent and deadly apparition, her powerful jaws clamped around the neck of the impala ram. The ensuing struggle was a ballet of life and death, a brutal symphony played out against the backdrop of the wild. The impala fought valiantly, eyes wide with terror, but the leopard, a master of her craft, had exerted a lethal grip on her victim, one that would not be broken today.
It was a scene that gave me pause to reflect on the fragility of life, although brutal, once we break it down to its rawest form it is a simple exchange of energy. For the leopard to survive and provide for her offspring, she must eat.
And then it was over. The leopard stood above her kill to survey her surroundings, stoic and unyielding. The dance had reached its crescendo, leaving us with a profound sense of awe and reverence for the untamed beauty and harsh realities of this wilderness, and we left the final notes to be played out unobserved, carried away on the summer wind.
Kyle Gordon
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