There’s a moment, when you’ve worked in travel and conservation for long enough, when your relationship with wildlife changes. You stop thinking of animals as distant, majestic figures in documentaries and start thinking of them as unpredictable colleagues. Some are charming, some are curious, and some like one particularly grumpy black rhino in Lesotho seem personally offended by your existence.
This is a collection of a few encounters I’ve had over the years. None of them were planned. All of them were memorable. And most of them ended with me either running away or questioning my life choices.
A Black Rhino With a Point to Prove – Lesotho
I was out in Lesotho with the head ranger of a private reserve, driving through light scrub in a battered Land Rover that had seen better days and would soon see worse. We crested a hill and there he was, right on the track; a black rhino. Now black rhinos don’t do subtle. He looked at us, we looked at him, and there was a brief, silent agreement that things were about to escalate. He started with a couple of warning charges, short bursts forward kicking up dust, the kind of thing that says you’ve made a poor decision being here.
We stayed put because that’s what you’re meant to do. Then he committed. He charged properly this time and slammed straight into my side of the vehicle. His horn came clean through the door like it was made of cardboard. For a second everything seemed to slow as he lifted the Land Rover up on to the opposite side’s wheels. It’s a peculiar feeling being tilted sideways by a rhino and wondering if this is how your story ends. Then, just as suddenly, he backed off. The ranger didn’t hesitate. We reversed out of there at speed, both of us suddenly very interested in putting distance between ourselves and our new horned acquaintance.
I spent the rest of the day occasionally glancing at the hole in the door, realising how close my shin had been to getting a new piercing. A couple of years later I was back at that lodge doing a very exciting health and safety assessment. As I entered the lounge I saw, mounted above the fireplace, my Landrover door, complete with hole. I felt like going over and autographing it.
The Night I Punched a Bear – Hindu Kush, Pakistan
I was leading a small climbing group in a remote area of the Hindu Kush and we were camping high in the mountains. It was one of those quiet evenings where the air feels still enough to hear your own thoughts and there were so many stars in the sky that the Milky Way was like a belt running across it.
I was in my tent planning the next days climb when I heard a faint scraping noise outside, subtle, quiet and careful. Now I had a stash of wine gums near the entrance of the tent which every night, when I had finally finished the day, I rewarded myself with two. My first thought was that my senior climbing guide, who had a very sweet tooth and loved playing pranks on people, had decided to help himself and was trying to sneak them out through the zip. So, I punched the moving bulge in the side of the tent. Nobody steals my wine gums.
The response was immediate; a loud growl. That was the moment my brain caught up with reality. I grabbed my torch, yanked open the tent flap and found myself staring face to face with a Himalayan brown bear. We both froze. It was obviously as surprised as I was. Fortunately, it didn’t like the torchlight. It turned and lumbered off into the darkness, pursued by my colleagues who’d heard the growl and were busy chasing it and banging cooking pots, leaving me sitting there, heart racing and reconsidering my approach to late night snack security.
Hippo Hide and Seek – Democratic Republic of the Congo
This was on a Explorer’s Project visit to Garamba National Park, where we’d just paid for an anti-poaching dog squad to be trained and deployed. Sara and I had just finished our evening meal with the local team in their canteen which was open-sided and looked out though thin woodland to the river. In the light from the building we could just make out hippos coming up from the river to graze on the grasses that lay all around.
We were staying in a couple of the staff huts, Sara’s about 100 metres from the canteen and mine about 20 metres further on. When it was time for bed we were calmly informed that we should use our phone torches to look out for the hippos as we went. If we spotted one we should stand behind any nearby tree, point our torches at it and clap. The hippo would then wander away.
Off we went. We immediately noticed that the trees looked mighty thin when its the only thing between you and a hippo. But the method seemed to work. Our first encounter was resolved by some gentle clapping. Likewise the second. The third hippo was big and hungry and obviously on a tender patch of grass. But he too moved on eventually.
We reached Sara’s hut and agreed that she would continue pointing her phone torch in my direction as I continued on to mine. Then we realised a problem; we’d left our keys back at the canteen. We had to retrace our steps and caused great amusement when half an hour after setting out we reemerged out the the darkness and into the canteen.
Elephants That Think You’re a Vending Machine – Kenya
Not all encounters are quite so confrontational. Working with elephant projects has been one of the genuine joys of my career, especially with the juveniles. They’re endlessly curious and have absolutely no concept of personal space. They’ll wander up take your hand gently in their trunk and give you a look that clearly says “you seem interesting” but most likely interprets as “do you have snacks”. They check your pockets with surprising precision, jackets, trousers, nothing is safe.
If there’s food they’ll find it. If there isn’t they’ll double check just in case you’ve hidden it better this time. There’s something disarming about being thoroughly inspected by an animal that weighs a few hundred kilos but behaves like an overenthusiastic toddler. They gently push and pull you, occasionally you get sprayed in water. Whatever. Its a joy to be able to be with them.
A Curious Gorilla in Bwindi National Park – Uganda
Tracking gorillas in Bwindi National Park is one of those experiences that never quite feels real no matter how many times you do it. On one trek we found a mother and her baby and sat quietly watching them. The forest was thick, damp and alive with sound but around them it felt strangely calm. After a few minutes the mother stood up and walked towards me. Not aggressively just interested. She came close enough to peer at my camera clearly trying to work out what this strange object was. I held still very aware that this was her space, her decision.
We slowly backed away giving her room. She watched us go then returned to her baby as if nothing had happened. It’s hard to describe that kind of moment. You feel both incredibly close, moments of genuine connection with wild creatures is rare and very aware of how little you understand.
Orangutans and Personal Space Or Lack of It – Sumatra, Indonesia
In Sumatra I was trekking slowly through the jungle and watching a female orangutan and her young baby high up in a tree quietly eating figs. It was peacefully still, one of those moments where you forget everything else apart from dodging half-eaten figs being thrown at you from above. Then, without warning, I became aware of something behind me.
A large male orangutan, almost my height, with long hair and an extraordinary, moon shaped, face walked straight past me. Not hurried, not cautious, just passing through. He literally brushed past me as if I was just another tree in the forest. I didn’t move, not out of bravery, more out of complete uncertainty about what the correct response was to being casually overtaken on a forest track by a wild orangutan. He disappeared into the jungle leaving me standing there slightly stunned wondering if that had actually just happened.
The Peanut Heist – South Africa
Not all wildlife encounters are noble or profound. Many, as you can see from my tales, involve snacks. At a safari camp in South Africa after a long hot day, I treated myself to a cold beer and a generous bowl of peanuts. I sat outside, enjoying what felt like a well-earned moment of peace. That peace lasted about 30 seconds. Out of nowhere a warthog charged straight at me. No hesitation, no warning and fully grown warthogs look big when you are sitting in a comfortable chair.
I did what any rational person would do, grabbed my beer and ran (I was really thirsty..). The warthog knocked over the peanuts and started happily eating them. As it turned out it was semi tame and lived under the decking, harmless but hungry and regularly stealing snacks. This was information I received after I’d fled the scene from the highly amused bar staff. They did give me more nuts.
Outwitted by a Hyrax- Mount Kenya
On Mount Kenya, just before the final, tricky ascent, I stopped for lunch, found a rock, sat down and unwrapped a cheese roll. I took one bite. That was all I got. A rock hyrax appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the roll straight out of my hand and vanished just as quickly. It was so efficient, so well timed that I couldn’t even be angry. Just hungry. I just sat there holding the empty foil wrapper and wondering how long it had been watching me.
Snakes Leeches and Other Small Reminders
Not all wildlife makes a dramatic entrance. I’ve had my feet nibbled at by rats while asleep and once woke up with a mouse sitting on my head. In Borneo I was walking along a stream looking for a campsite when a snake appeared swimming in front of me. I froze, seemingly my default response in many of these scenarios. It slithered calmly between my legs and carried on its way. My guide later identified it as a green pit viper which is exactly the kind of information you prefer not to know when it’s within striking business.
Another time, while drinking in a bar on a pier off the west coast of Sumatra, the barman asked us to lift our feet off the ground as two Sumatran Sea snakes slithered under the tables and chairs to reach their nest for the night. We all quickly complied as neurotoxins don’t mix well with beer.
Then there are leeches. Borneo. Brazil. Nepal. If there’s a damp forest I’ve probably donated blood there, either to leeches that fall from trees or leeches that climb up your legs. I’ve had leeches the size of your thumb attached in places I didn’t know leeches could reach. They’re persistent quiet and oddly impressive. Ticks too. One in the UK kindly left me with Lyme disease which felt like an unfair twist that after all the exotic locations, it was a local culprit that got me.
And don’t start me on spiders. I hate spiders and once had a bird-eating spider come into camp when we had a campfire on a night my tent zip broke. I didn’t sleep much.
What Wildlife Teaches You Usually the Hard Way
If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s this wildlife doesn’t follow your expectations. You can prepare, respect distances and follow guidance but there’s always an element of unpredictability. That’s part of what makes these encounters so powerful. They remind you you’re not in control, you’re a guest in their world and sometimes you’re just the person holding the snacks.
Despite the occasional charge, growl or bite I wouldn’t trade these moments for anything. They’ve shaped how I see the world, not as somewhere to conquer but more as something to quietly be part of. And I always now keep my wine gums in a tin.
