There are a few moments in the bush that happen so quietly you would miss them if you weren’t paying attention. One of them is the build-up to a summer thunderstorm. Out here, storms don’t arrive out of nowhere. The bush reads them long before we do, and watching how the animals respond has taught me more about weather than any forecast ever could.

Before the First Drop

Roughly an hour before a storm, the reserve changes in small but noticeable ways. The shift is subtle. The air feels heavier, insects move differently, and the wind drops to almost nothing. What’s actually happening is a fall in barometric pressure, something most species seem far better at detecting than we are.

Birds are usually the first to react. Oxpeckers, drongos and starlings become more vocal. Their calls shorten and pick up pace. Many start feeding more rapidly, as if squeezing in one last chance before the rain pushes insects into hiding.

White-fronted bee-eater pauses after catching this butterfly before swallowing it in one gulp.

Herbivores tighten up their groups. Impala in particular become more alert, bunching together as swirling wind and rising humidity interfere with their hearing and scent detection.

Elephants often give some of the earliest clues that the weather is shifting. They are highly sensitive to low-frequency sound and environmental changes, and some studies suggest they can detect distant thunder long before we can. As conditions build, herds may move toward more open areas or riverbeds, where visibility is clearer and their deep rumbles travel farther without obstruction.

Family groups tend to draw a little closer together, calves staying tucked within the safety of the herd as the atmosphere thickens and pressure changes.

In South Africa, we often refer to the meteorological phenomenon where the sun shines through the rain as a “monkey’s wedding”. In this case, it seems as though the elephant was a delighted guest at the wedding.

Temperature and Pressure: The Real Triggers

Most of these reactions trace back to two things: pressure change and temperature drop.

As air pressure falls, insects take cover. Frogs and reptiles become more active. Birds and small mammals feed more intensely while food is still accessible. Animals aren’t reacting to the storm itself; they’re reacting to the physics that lead up to it.

You’ll sometimes notice impalas grouping tightly together just before the first gust of wind. Their hearing becomes their main defence when visibility drops, and they seem to anticipate the confusion that lightning and shifting wind patterns can create.

Predators respond too, but with a different goal. Leopards take advantage of building wind and unsettled air. Gusts disrupt scent, visibility and sound, all things prey rely on. Impalas struggle to hear clearly when vegetation bends and rustles, and their sense of smell becomes unreliable as the wind constantly shifts direction.

Even the landscape itself reacts. The smell that rises from the soil, often referred to as “rain smell”, is actually geosmin, a tiny particle or volatile released when water hits dry earth. The smell is known as petrichor, and we have a keen sense of smell for it. Smelling the smell of rain that has fallen elsewhere. Termites and beetles become restless in the hour leading up to this point, responding to humidity trapped just above the ground.

A massive cumulonimbus cloud towers over the grasslands. The name for the cloud is derived from the Latin words, Cumulus, meaning heaped and nimbus, meaning rainstorm.

Minutes Before Impact

Five to ten minutes before the storm breaks, the reserve feels unnervingly still. Birds go quiet. Giraffes stop moving and face the wind, ears tilted forward, sensing the electrical charge building in the air.

If you’re lucky enough to be out on a vehicle at this moment, you’ll feel the temperature drop as a cold downdraft rolls ahead of the storm front. This gust is one of the best indicators that rain is seconds away.

Then the line arrives: a curtain of water, a crack of thunder, and suddenly the whole reserve exhales.

The Nhlanguleni Female on a boulder in the Sand River during a serious onset of rain.

Right After the Rain

As soon as the storm passes, the bush wakes back up. Frogs begin calling almost immediately. Birds move to open branches to shake off water. New tracks appear clearly in the softened soil.

Predators remain active. Wet ground softens their footsteps, and scent disperses more slowly. It’s a good time to move, patrol, or continue hunting.

Why These Patterns Matter

Watching the build-up and aftermath of storms gives us a richer sense of how the ecosystem operates. Animals are constantly responding to environmental signals we don’t always notice. Storms amplify these signals, revealing behaviour patterns we usually only catch in glimpses.

A storm builds at sunset. The wait for the first rains is nearly over.

It also reminds us how deeply connected everything is to cycles far bigger than us. A storm isn’t just weather; it’s an energy shift that triggers movement, feeding, communication, risk, and opportunity across the entire reserve.

Pay attention to all the small details when the next storm rolls in. You’ll start to see a quiet choreography that’s been happening here long before we had words to describe it.