There are certain iconic pictures that every guide at Londolozi would like to have the opportunity to take at some stage during their time here. Mating leopards, a cub carry, lions crossing the sand river, the list is long! If you spend a few years working here as a guide, odds are you will tick more off that list than not.
However, I was told fairly early on, “It’s wildlife. It doesn’t always do what you want. Make your peace with that now.” Not the most profound advice I’ve ever received, but probably one of the most useful, especially if you’re picking up a camera with high expectations of capturing something award-winning.
As much as we like to picture the perfect sequence playing out in front of us, most of the time it doesn’t. The lions lie down before they reach the river. The leopard chooses the thickest patch of bush. The bird takes off in exactly the wrong direction. Sometimes it works for you, sometimes it doesn’t.
For years, one image I’ve wanted to capture is a male lion shaking his mane in heavy rain — water droplets spraying outwards, frozen mid-air; I mean, is that really too much to ask?! The split second of explosive movement when he whips his head. It’s one of those shots that has slowly built itself up in my mind over time.
A blur of mane as one of the Majingilane prepares to rise.
A few weeks ago, the stars started to align, and I felt like the opportunity might just present itself. In the space of seven days, we received just under our annual rainfall total. The bush was saturated. What once was a road was now a river, and any hope of tracking disappeared. Simply finding animals in those conditions was a challenge in itself.
Lucky for us, the Msuthlu Pride (perhaps sensing our desperation) spent the week in and around our airstrip. While not the big male I dreamed of, it still seemed promising. We spent a fair amount of time with them, watching and waiting. Eventually, one of the sub-adults stood up and gave a shake. I managed a shot with droplets flying. It was a good photograph, and under normal circumstances, I would have been more than satisfied.
But it wasn’t the one I had imagined.
Shortly after, Ranger Brandon Mottram called in a Gjima Male not too far away. Needless to say, we raced over. When we arrived, we found him mating with a Kambula Female – an epic sighting on its own. A big male lion in pouring rain, mane flattened and dripping, focused entirely on one thing.
Still, in the back of my mind, I was waiting for something else. After mating, males often stand up and shake themselves off. In that sort of downpour, it had the potential to be exactly the moment I’d been hoping for. So we waited again.
Eventually, he stood, took a few slow steps forward, and then shook. His mane whipped from side to side, and water sprayed out in every direction, momentarily overpowering the falling rain. I came away with a shot I’m happy with. The droplets are there, the sense of movement is there, and it captures something of the conditions we were sitting in. But it’s still not quite the perfect version that has lived in my head for years.
And that’s wildlife photography. You can anticipate, prepare, and wait patiently, but you can’t control the final outcome. More often than not, things unfold slightly differently from how you’d hoped. Sometimes the difference is small, sometimes it’s enough to mean you’ve missed it entirely.
The rain will come again, and another male will shake his mane somewhere out there. When that happens, you’ll probably find me there, just as hopeful, just as soaked, and just as aware that it might not play out exactly as I’d planned.
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on Heavy Rain and High Expectations