Margaret
A guttural growl cracked the dusk as the African Waterberg Mountains glowed purple against a flame sky. Tracker, Sebastian Jansen van Vuuren smirked, “The lion’s close.” We were in an open jeep having arrived less than an hour earlier at Ka’Ingo, the 8700 hectare, private game reserve located in the north-eastern part of South Africa close to its northern boarder with Botswana. Ka’Ingo – which means place of the leopard – might not offer the vastness or huge herds of Kruger National Park, but what you get is variety and up-close experiences with smaller herds. A mere three hours by road from Johannesburg’s international airport and situated in a malaria-free zone, you can stand at the entrance of the lodge and watch some of the big five (buffalo, lion, leopard, elephant, rhinoceros) saunter past. Within minutes of our exit from the electrified enclosed lodge – unlike a zoo, it is the humans that are contained and the animals that are free – we’d seen impala, elephant, rhino, warthog, and now, closing in on the hour, we were listening to a sound that chilled the blood.
My instinct was to flee, but Sebastian gave throttle and inched the Jeep forward – toward the sound, and I forgot the winter chill of the oncoming night. Tawny, against a burnished background, lay the king of the beasts, his mane a dapper dark crest surrounding an arrogant face; paws maybe eight inches wide, and that hunter’s gaze. My eleven year old son gave a soft wail as I raised my camera. The beast turned a lazy profile then gave a languid yawn of curved incisors and a gaping jaw invoking power and a renewed fear. The beep of my digital camera sounded like a gong in the silence. Electricity shot through the air, as the lion sprang up, seeking the source of the noise. “Keep still.” Whispered Sebastian, as the lion, head low on its body, slinked toward our exposed jeep, “And don’t take any photos.” The world seemed to stop until the big cat altered its course and padded stealthily past our open vehicle - less than four feet away - into the hardy bush. Relief didn’t have a chance to settle, for another roar split the dusk. It came from the direction of our first lion sighting, and another lion slunk toward us. We were sandwiched between the two beasts, one to our north, and one to our south. I wanted to weep. The beauty, the – okay - unbridled terror, the indescribable feeling of being in the wild and having a true beast meander past so close you could see their spectacular eyelashes.
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