This Week at Angama #437

This week, some guests had been yearning to see the Great Migration and witness a crossing, especially the daughter, who explained that she had been watching it on National Geographic for years. So we left the lodge early in the morning because the team travelling with the guests was eager to make the family’s dreams come true. We waited for a while, and around 2 pm, the real show began.

All of a sudden, a stampede pushed down to the river on the opposite side from where we were parked. They began to leap into the river, where crocodiles were waiting, ready to capture one, two or three. The wildebeest that managed to make it through the river safely, climbed up to where our vehicles were parked and passed by with urgency, fuelled by adrenaline and instinct.

It all happens so quickly that you don’t know where to look. There are animals and sounds everywhere, but my eyes locked down on a crocodile in a death roll with a poor soul, drowning it.

And on our side, on the bank, the wildebeest mothers called for their young, looking as if they wanted to jump back into the river. I’ve just joined Angama, so this was my first time experiencing something like this. I can still feel the excitement now.

It’s exhilarating, dramatic and not for the faint-hearted. We noticed a mother hippo who lost her baby in the chaos; she was frantically searching and seemed confused in the commotion.

The zebras were also not far behind; they followed each other, venturing from the Serengeti into the Mara triangle across the Mara River at Wild Eyes Crossing.

Not every day brings drama. One morning, the Mara woke gently with birdsong. Among the tall grasses, a baboon mother began her morning ritual, one of nature's oldest acts of care, grooming her youngster.

She combed through its fur, removing dust and tiny parasites, strengthening a bond that is every bit as important as the cleaning itself. For baboons, grooming is love expressed through patience, trust and touch.

Her little one, just like a young child, fidgeted as she proceeded. Every so often, the young one stared curiously in our direction.

With fresh grazing emerging across the Mara, the plains are coming alive with new life. Nutritious grasses provide the perfect conditions for mothers to raise their young, and wherever we looked, calves were grazing alongside.

A small herd of common elands grazed, accompanied by several calves, stopping to nibble at fresh shoots before catching up with the herd.

The timing is no coincidence. Elands give birth when the plains are rich with nutritious grasses and herbs, ensuring nursing mothers have plenty to eat and their calves have the best possible start. Though they begin sampling vegetation early, the calves continue to rely on their mothers while learning where to feed and how to stay safe.

On another morning, a chilled breeze came through the Mara as we approached two males from the Border Pride, as they surrendered to sleep in with little interest in the morning arrivals, after a night spent patrolling their territory and hunting beneath the stars.

Some mornings have been foggy, but as it lifted, a small herd of elephants emerged from the tall golden grass. One female elephant, who seemed to be the matriarch of this herd, paused and lifted its trunk high, and it seemed like a morning greeting from the matriarch, but it wasn’t so simple. With more than 40,000 muscles packed into a single trunk, elephants rely on this remarkable tool to smell, touch and explore the world around them. They can detect water, recognise familiar scents, and sense other elephants from kilometres away.

Not far behind, the rest of the herd continued in tight pack formation. The matriarch, with years of experience in guiding them safely to food, water and shelter. Watching them move together as a unit is a reminder that their greatest strength lies not in their size, but in their deep social bonds.

At Angama, it is Ross's turacos that guests come to know best, particularly a resident pair that has staked its claim and built a nest nearby. These birds mate for life, and there is something rather fitting about that, watching two birds move together through the same trees, day after day, season after season, never straying far from one another or from home.

They feed mostly on berries and seeds, foraging through the fig and croton trees, and they are anything but quiet about it. Their call, a deep, rolling series of guttural notes, carries through North camp in the early morning, long before most guests are awake, which has earned them a reputation as Angama’s alarm clock.

It was the Guides, spending years watching the trees as closely as they watch the plains, who first began pointing this bird out with real enthusiasm. Not because it is rare, but because of what it represents within the wider Angama ecosystem, a resident, a constant, a bird that belongs to this particular stretch of forest in a way that feels personal. Ask any Guide at Angama about Ross's turaco, and you will likely get more than a passing mention. You will get a story, a favourite tree, perhaps even a name for the pair that lives near camp.

So the next time the cats are proving elusive, look up. Somewhere in the canopy, a flash of violet and red is almost certainly moving between the branches, calling out, entirely unbothered by whether you noticed it or not.

The River Pride are enjoying a moment of bountifulness in the Mara. Guide Jeremy was on the scene the evening before, watching as the Pride worked together to ambush a bull buffalo. By the following morning, that same buffalo had become breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The River Pride has been something of a rare sighting lately, absent from our usual haunts for weeks. So it was a welcome surprise to find them again, this time near the Little Governor's Mash area.

From a distance, a hyena lurked in the background, patiently pacing just beyond the tree line. He knows better than to test the Pride while the lionesses are still alert and the kill still fresh, but a meal of this size never stays a secret for long in the Mara. It is only a matter of time before hunger gets the better of caution.

Not long after the Pride had left their meal and stepped back into a nearby bush to take a nap, the hyena that was lingering around got a chance to feast on the remains. The vast savannah doesn’t offer the luxury of time when it comes to feasting; you never know who is watching and how soon you're going to lose everything. —Amani Robert, Victor Mumo, Salim Barasa

There is a Swahili proverb that says, 'Usilaumu jua kabla halijtatua,' which means do not blame the sun before it sets. We thought the day had ended, but it was only beginning as we watched the sun slowly make its way towards the horizon.

The Sanctuary turned golden as a herd began moving across the open plains. One after another, they followed the same direction, forming a long line through the dry grass.

But this movement was more than a beautiful moment for the camera. The wildebeest were heading towards the place where they would spend the evening. They knew that staying in the open after dark could be risky.

Night changes the wild because visibility fades, but for predators, this is a good time to move more freely, using the darkness as cover. For the wildebeest, every evening becomes a decision about where to rest and where they may feel safer until morning. So they kept moving.

That was when we found Male 263 together with Memusi and her cubs. Male 263 rested quietly, his powerful body stretched across the ground.

Nearby, Memusi remained relaxed, keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings. The cubs played beside them, chasing each other, rolling on the ground and testing their tiny strength.

In the middle of this week, we came across Per, a well-known bull elephant who is from the PA Family. The 37-year-old was in musth, a period during which mature bull elephants experience elevated levels of reproductive hormones and become highly focused on finding females.

His mission was clear: a group of female elephants. Per followed closely, walking with purpose and occasionally lifting his trunk to test the air. In musth, scent is an important guide, helping a bull determine whether a female may be ready to mate.

Per had been considered one of the upcoming Super Tusker as his long tusks once gave us hope of watching another magnificent Amboseli giant develop over the coming years. Unfortunately, one of those tusks is broken, and we may never know exactly how it happened.

Perhaps it was damaged during a confrontation with another bull. It could also have broken while pushing, digging or working through trees and heavy vegetation. The life of a wild bull elephant is physical, and tusks are constantly used as tools and weapons. Still, the broken tusk has not taken away Per's presence. With one long tusk remaining, he continued following the females beneath the shadow of Kilimanjaro.

We went searching for more Super Tuskers in the Amboseli ecosystem, which led us to Conor. We spotted him walking across the plain, heading towards the park and its marshy areas. From a distance, his long ivory immediately caught our attention.

Searching for Super Tuskers is about following individual stories, understanding family histories and watching these bulls grow through the years. Born in 1984, Conor comes from the CB family and has grown into a magnificent bull. At 42, his story continues, and his tusks remain one of his most impressive features.

We finished the week with Guide Elvis as he carefully scanned the open plains and scattered trees. Something caught his attention. High in the branches of a large tree was the unmistakable shape of a lion. Once, this might have felt like a rare sight here. But in the Sanctuary, it is slowly becoming part of the lions' normal behaviour.

We moved closer and soon realised that the lion resting above us was one of the older cubs. Below the tree, Noltulali was attentive, occasionally looking upwards and around the surrounding bush. Nearby, hidden among the vegetation, the rest of the Pride had surrendered to the warmth of the day and were sleeping. —Arnold Omondi