Have We Lost Another Cub? – Londolozi Blog

It’s been quite some time now since we last saw the Ngungwe Female’s cub, with the last sighting of the two of them together being at the beginning of September. No further glimpses of his rosetted coat moving through the thickets. No tracks pressed into the sand alongside his mother’s. Just silence. Even before his disappearance, sightings of the pair together were few and far between. The Ngungwe Female’s elusive nature meant that finding them at all was a challenge, and when we did manage to locate them, the young male proved to be remarkably shy, often melting into the shadows or keeping his distance. Capturing the two of them in the same frame became something of a rare prize, a testament to just how secretive this mother-and-cub duo truly were.

Given that the young male cub is the Ngungwe Female’s first litter, it has been fascinating to watch how frequently she has moved the youngster and the distances they would cover without leaving many traces.

In the weeks that have followed, we’ve been fortunate to locate the Ngungwe Female herself on several occasions. Each time, she’s been alone. Each time, we’ve scanned the surrounding thickets, rocky outcrops and riverbeds, hoping to catch sight of a small form trailing behind her or curled up nearby. But there’s been nothing.

The Ngungwe Female, historically one of our more shy leopards, only really started to allow us into her world more recently since her cub had grown in size. This image, captured by Chris Taylor, is something slightly different, but it best captures her character fairly well.

The Ngungwe Female has never been an easy leopard to follow. Her territory sprawls across a vast and rugged landscape, much of it inaccessible by vehicle. She moves like a shadow through terrain, dense riverine thickets, steep koppies, and remote drainage lines where human eyes rarely reach. Her secretive nature makes every sighting feel like a privilege, but it also means that the absence of her cub could simply be a matter of geography and circumstance.

Or it could mean something else entirely?

The Ngungwe Female was born and raised in 2020 by the Picadilly Female; however, as a result of the pandemic, it meant that she had minimal exposure to both people and vehicles growing up. This is the main reason for her elusive nature. Here she is pictured in one of the beautiful marula trees that can be seen from the camps across the Sand River.

The reality is that raising cubs in the wild is extraordinarily difficult, especially for a first-time mother. The threats are countless: lions, hyenas, other male leopards, injury, illness, starvation. Even the most experienced mothers lose cubs. For a leopardess navigating motherhood for the first time, the challenges are even more daunting. She must hunt not only for herself but for a dependent young life. She must choose den sites and safe havens to leave the youngster wisely. She must read the landscape for danger and move her cub accordingly, all while establishing and defending her territory.

The Ngungwe duo was seen briefly moving through one of the more open sections of the Manyelethi River in the Northern parts of Londolozi.

The young male had reached roughly nine months old, an achievement in itself, and a testament to the Ngungwe Female’s ability to provide and protect during those critical early months. But eight months is also a particularly precarious age. Cubs at this stage are growing bolder, more confident, more curious about the world beyond the safety of their mother’s careful choices. The instinct to wander takes hold. To explore. To venture further from the spot where she left him tucked away while she hunted. It’s a natural progression toward independence, but it’s also when danger multiplies. A curious cub investigating the wrong thicket, wandering into the path of a lion pride, or simply straying too far to hear his mother’s warning, any of these scenarios could unfold in an instant.

With no sign of the young male cub for the last few weeks, images like this are a stark reminder of the fragility of life in the bush and the challenges associated with motherhood as a Leopardess of Londolozi.

This was the Ngungwe Female’s first litter, and with it has come lessons that can only be learned through lived experience. The difficulty of providing, the constant vigilance required, and the delicate balance between risk and survival.

If her cub has indeed not survived, it’s a heartbreaking chapter in her story. But it’s also a chapter that may shape her future as a mother. The bush is a patient teacher, and leopards, perhaps more than any other creature out here, are defined by their resilience.