4:45am

A rush of testosterone surges through their bodies and suddenly, peculiar roaring and gargling sounds are emitted from the once, picturesque individual. Upturned lips replace the sweet nibbling actions we are used to seeing. Tails tufts of white flash as they dart through the grasslands.

Outside our bedroom window, the Scops Owl breaks the deep silence of the night – Prrrr Prrrr Prrrr- every five seconds. The Natal Spurfowl screech to wake all those in slumber. The winter morning has begun, bringing with it a symphony of sounds as the impalas outside embrace the season of the rut.

Their gargling growls break through the winter mist that replaces that blissful summer air. It’s cold out. Their hair too stands erect immolating the very goosebumps I have as I watch them.

Their mate song is broken by the deep echoing call of a lion in the distance. Alert they stand and listen, the females that is. The male continues to prance around in pursuit of dominance chasing prized ewes.

Preoccupied with this alone, his once immaculately groomed fur will soon become rather tattered, and his strong muscular neck will start to thin. His efforts were overthrown by a male in waiting.

A high level of competition welcomes a rather rapid turnover in males, ensuring genetic diversity.

Trampling hooves meet the ground in a cloud of dust that blurs my morning’s path. The buffalo steadily make their way to the water for a drink. Fueled by their need for life they routinely march through the drying land. They come in the hundreds. I sit back and allow the dust to settle before I start up my vehicle. The cool air on my face is better than any cup of coffee I think to myself.

Roadblock. The shallow roots of the Marula tree have been hoisted from the anchoring foundation in which it grew. Large supportive arms were discarded alongside the large body of the tree. Elephants. Some may deem them destructive... I like to think of them as Environmental Engineers. Their movements are filled with purpose as they navigate their way through the winter woodlands changing the layout of the land. All for a reason I think to myself as make my way around the once vertical giant.

The early morning mist has not yet fully unclothed the land, it lingers, holding the light captive in its smothering grasp just a little longer.

Showered with late rains, unusual for this part of the land, the bush has held onto the last emerald remnants of summer. I watch daily as the bush rapidly turns into the uniform khaki brown it is so well known for in winter.

But as moisture is leached from the land and waterholes dry up, dawn sets its respective horizon on fire.

A pop of colour meets my eye as my vehicle rounds the bend toward the open area ahead, the Impala Lily. As most species of flowering plants reluctantly withdraw their reserves deep into their root systems, others seem to flourish and take advantage of the unkinder season that winter may become.

The Impala Lily blooms with pride with crimson red, pink and white flowers, their growth spurred on by the abundance of nutrients collected in the summer by their large underground root system.

Wildebeest slowly rise from the grassland as the chug of my vehicle rounds the bend. And as if in welcome, the crescendo of dawn chorus comes to an end as I arrive at the lodge.

Lights flicker in the village as the guides ready themselves for safari. I hear the deep bellowing voices of our tracker as they too, like the night owl, are up rather early. Their day has started long before the rest. Their voices carry as they chat amongst one another while having a cup of coffee. It is a voice I have come to love, a reminder of home, a reminder of the culture and history that runs deep within the veins of this family.

As I make my way through to get a cup of coffee myself, I greet the gentlemen in my best Shangaan.

“Avuxeni Malume” Good morning uncle.
“U etlela kahle?” Did you sleep well?

The answer is always the same! Of course! These great men, these skilled partners we are so fortunate to work alongside, never miss a beat. Their zest for life is embodied in their characteristic good nature and genuine souls.

The quiet coffee station erupts with life as guests sleepily make their way through to the dining area. Coffees are glugged, sometimes more than one. The load-up of rifles click away at the back of the office as each of us readies ourselves to hit the road.

Again, that deep echo interrupts conversation on the vehicles. My tracker cups his ear allowing the sound to reverberate through him, giving him a clear sense of where the lion may be.

“Ai fumbi landele ngonyama!” Let’s go track lions!

Engines start, the dust rises and the cool air awakens those who may still be in a dazed slumber. The winter morning has begun. By this time the sun has wiggled through the, now lazy, mist’s grasp. The roadside is decorated with dewy tent webbed spiders’ dwellings. A splendid variety of sunbird species caress the ever-blooming aloes. Their sweet songs linger about a little louder in the crisp winter air.

His call cuts through the cold air one last time... Let the tracking adventure begin I think to myself.