We’d been on her trail since first light. Rixaka has a way of disappearing into the drainage lines that thread through her territory here in the Sabi Sand, and this morning she was giving nothing away. We checked the usual crossings, the termite mounds she likes to scent-mark, the big leadwood she sometimes lies up in, nothing. Just tracks, hours old, going cold.

It’s the kind of morning that tests a guide’s patience more than a guest. You don’t want to promise anything, because leopards don’t care what you promised. So, we kept working the drainage systematically, engine off more than on, listening.

Then the impala gave her away. A sharp, repeated alarm call carried across the riverine bush, that unmistakable bark that means a predator is close and everyone in earshot needs to know it. We cut the engine and listened to triangulate the direction. Almost immediately, hyena joined in, that rising, chattering commotion that usually means they’ve found something worth arguing over, or someone worth harassing.

We moved in on the sound. And there she was, Rixaka, standing over a freshly killed impala ram, tail flicking, ears flat back, holding her ground against a clan of six hyena, fending off the two that kept pressing closest while the rest circled just out of reach. It’s a standoff you don’t get to watch for long. Hyena are opportunists, not fighters by preference, and with six against one they clearly liked their odds, but they also know a leopard defending a kill is dangerous, and that patience sometimes pays off in a stolen meal. For a few tense minutes she held them off with nothing but posture and a low, guttural growl, refusing to give ground.

Then she made her move. In one continuous, powerful effort, she gripped the impala by the neck and started dragging it, a kill nearly her own body weight, toward the nearest suitable tree. Watching a leopard haul a carcass like that is one of those moments that reminds you exactly what’s under all that muscle and spotted coat. She worked her way up the trunk in stages, the impala swinging beneath her, until she’d wedged it securely into a fork well out of reach of the hyena still pacing below, clearly unimpressed at having lost their opportunity.

Once it was safely up, she wasted no time. She fed steadily, unbothered now that the kill was out of contention, and by the time we’d settled in to watch, the tension of the morning’s search and the standoff below had completely dissipated. Eventually, full and safe, she draped herself over the branch right on top of what remained of her kill and settled in to rest, that classic leopard-in-a-tree pose that guests dream about and photographers wait years for.

We sat with her for a long while after that, in no hurry to leave. Mornings like this are exactly why finding a leopard in the Sabi Sand never gets old, the ones that make you work for it are always the ones you remember.

As the day slowly faded into darkness and we began making our way back from our evening game drive, we were treated to one of those magical little sightings that can so easily be missed in the African bush.

A flash of movement in the trees caught our attention, and there, peering around the trunk of a tree, was a lesser bushbaby.

With its enormous ears, wide reflective eyes and delicate face, it looked almost curious about us as it cautiously watched from the safety of the tree. Bushbabies are nocturnal primates, becoming active after sunset as they move through the branches in search of insects, fruit, nectar and other food.

Seeing one is always special. They are small, fast and remarkably well camouflaged in the darkness; lesser bushbabies can be particularly elusive.

For a few moments, our little visitor simply sat there, watching us as closely as we watched it. Its eyes glowing in the spotlight, huge ears listening to every sound, it perfectly captured the mystery of the African night.

And perhaps that is what makes these encounters so memorable. After spending hours searching for the big and iconic animals of the bush, it is sometimes the smallest creatures that provide the perfect ending to a safari.

A quiet road home, a dark African night, and one very special little bushbaby watching from the trees.

One of those sightings that reminds us that the bush never truly goes to sleep.

One of the things I enjoy most about guiding is that you slowly learn that looking for animals is not always about actually seeing them.

I have had plenty of drives where we are sitting in the vehicle and a guest asks, “Where are all the animals?” To them, the bush can look completely empty. But when I look around, I start noticing small things that tell me something is happening.

One of the first things I usually watch is the impala. If they are relaxed and feeding, I don’t think much of it. But when the whole herd suddenly stops, heads up and starts staring into one particular area, I pay attention. Sometimes you can spend several minutes trying to find what they are looking at before eventually spotting a leopard moving through the grass.

Other times, you never find the leopard.

The birds can be just as useful. I have often heard francolins or go-away-birds making a noise and started looking around to see what has disturbed them. Monkeys can do the same. You start following the calls and watching the reactions of the other animals, trying to work out what is moving through the area.

Sometimes the clues are even smaller. Fresh tracks in the sand can tell you that an animal passed through recently. Vultures sitting in a tree can make me look towards the area they are watching. Even the way an animal is moving can make me stop and think about what might be nearby.

These are the things that I have learned to notice after spending so much time in the bush. They are easy to miss when you are only looking for the big animals.

I remember how different it was when I first started guiding. You naturally focus on finding the lion, leopard, elephant or buffalo. Those are the animals the guests want to see, and they are exciting. But with time, you start appreciating everything around them.

You might be watching elephants and notice a small bird moving between them. Or you might stop for a leopard and realise that the impala on the other side of the road have been watching something completely different. There is always something else happening if you take the time to look.

One of my favourite moments is when guests start doing this themselves. At the beginning of a safari, I might be the one pointing out an impala staring into the grass. A few days later, the same guest will say, “Those impala are acting strange,” before I have even noticed them.

That is when I know they are starting to understand the bush.

A leopard can walk through an area without us seeing it. A hyena can be lying somewhere in the long grass. An elephant herd can disappear into thick woodland. Sometimes we find the animal, and sometimes we don’t.

But even when we don’t get the sighting, I don’t always consider the drive unsuccessful. If we followed tracks, watched impala react, listened to alarm calls and worked out what was moving through the area, we were still experiencing the bush.

The older I get as a guide, the more I realise that the animals don’t have to come out and stand in front of the vehicle for something interesting to happen.

Sometimes the best part of the sighting is trying to work out what you can’t see.

There are few things in the bush quite as endearing as a rhino calf. They may be born weighing somewhere in the region of 40–60 kilograms, but somehow they already seem to have all the attitude of a fully grown tank! With their oversized ears, wobbly little legs and that wonderfully inquisitive nature, it is hard not to smile when you see one trotting along behind its mother.

We were incredibly fortunate recently to spend some time with one of these little warriors here in the Sabi Sand. At first glance, he was simply a tiny version of his mother, but watching him explore his surroundings, occasionally stopping to investigate something that had caught his attention, it was impossible not to appreciate just how special these moments are. For the first couple of years of their life, a rhino calf will remain closely attached to their mother, learning where to feed, where to drink and, perhaps most importantly, when it is time to follow Mom and when it is absolutely not time to wander off!

White rhino mothers carry their calves for around 16 months before giving birth to a single youngster, and the bond between mother and calf is incredibly important. Calves are also surprisingly vocal, communicating with their mothers through squeaks and other calls. For an animal that will eventually grow into a several-tonne giant, hearing that tiny squeak coming from behind Mum is enough to melt even the toughest guide’s heart.

But while watching this little one going about his day, there is another side to the story that is impossible to ignore. Rhino have endured enormous pressure from poaching across South Africa, and the consequences reach far beyond the individual animal. Losing a mother can leave a calf orphaned, while losing breeding animals can affect the recovery of entire populations. In 2026 alone, 230 rhinos had been poached nationally by the end of August.

Thankfully, places like the Sabi-Sands remain incredibly important refuges for these magnificent animals. The Sabi-Sands forms part of the Greater Kruger landscape, a global stronghold for both white and black rhino, and enormous effort goes into protecting them through dedicated conservation and security measures.

So, seeing a young rhino calf happily charging along behind his mother is about more than just a wonderful sighting. It is a small glimpse of hope. A reminder that, despite everything these animals have faced, life continues to grow here in the bush.

And judging by the way this particular little fellow was bouncing around, I suspect the next generation of rhinos is going to be every bit as stubborn, curious and wonderfully chaotic as the last.

If you’re interested in experiencing an awe-inspiring South African safari, please don’t hesitate to get in touch with our reservations desk at book@leopardhills.com.

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We look forward to welcoming you to Leopard Hills Private Game Reserve.