The Roar.

Today was a beautiful day. We were on the field early, as usual, to avoid the intolerable midday heath and to enjoy the morning view of the hilly landscape, shining in soft, orange light.

The sun was just getting pleasantly warm while we walked through high lush grass, responding crisply to our movements and letting its morning dew soak into our clothes. The insects were having a blast, the air was buzzing and humming and every butterfly that flew past was the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. The birds were singing the year’s best autumn tunes especially for us, and we had to stop and listen not to disturb soft melodies with cracking debris under our feet. Around us, there were forbs that seemed to have just started blooming, even though African winter is coming from around the corner. Their flowers were brightly painted with pink, blue and yellow tans, together creating a bright rainbow curving around the green shrubbery. The light chilly breeze was bringing smells of wild mint and fresh flowers and we all stayed quiet and enjoyed having our senses tickled with those nature’s treats. As if it was the last time we were feeling, as if we knew we’re about to be introduced to Mr Grim Reaper.

I was just taking a photo of a big yellow-black freckled butterfly when I heard a deep rumble sound. Still focusing on the butterfly and the camera, I said “oh, a warthog” to the others, but didn’t get any reply. Lifting my eyes up from the camera, I repeated the question “there’s a warthog close, right?”, aiming especially to the guard. But when I saw his face I knew it was not a warthog. And by that time the grunting became growling and suddenly turned into a loud, angry, cat-like roar. At the same time, it was getting closer and filling us all with indescribable terror.

It was a lion and it was furious.

If there wasn’t for the guard to repeat those too-many-times-heard “don’t run” words, the basic instinct would take over and without standing a slightest chance of outrunning the perfectly designed predator I would have not been writing this post or any of the following ones. Instead, I fought a great battle with myself, a battle between my instinct and my mind – the first thrusting my body into flight and the second holding it back to stand still.

The lion ran towards us, roaring, the guard cocked its rifle, took his aim. I stood behind, looking away and – surprisingly – thinking who’s going to be eaten first.

But the lion stopped, extremely close, yet far enough. Immediately, we started to back up, slowly, carefully. We could still hear the growling and were shaking from the dreadful attack for the next couple of meters, wishing to run, but forcing our legs to walk slowly through the thick bush. It felt like forever before we reached our car. 

We walked into a lion’s den - literally. We came too close too soon. It must have had kittens, or a fresh kill. Otherwise it wouldn’t charge so suddenly, without any previous warning.

The reason for us to be there was actually the lions themselves. We were trying to find a lion kill site, get some clues about diet. Following a GPS with few days old lion location clusters, we mostly find some remaining prey parts that tell us what the collared pride ate few days ago, when the GPS data was received. And those few days are crucial not to walk into the lions when they’re still eating.

However, you can never be sure they’re actually gone. And that’s what we’ve proved today.