The insane laughter of hyenas in a feeding frenzy shattered the quiet of an African night. It was almost midnight, and we were sitting in a truck in South Africa's Kruger National Park, listening to the deafening racket blasting from our loudspeakers.
A routine spotlight sweep revealed a pride of lions feeding on a zebra carcass less than twenty metres away. We hadn't seen or heard a thing.
Someone switched off the recording, instantly restoring silence to the bush.
As we watched, a lioness twisted irritably at the orange dart protruding from her rump. Two more darts found their marks, and within minutes we were hurrying towards the lions with stretchers.
As a veterinarian, I'd come to Africa with colleagues from around the world for a ten-day wildlife capture course. Working alongside Kruger's veterinary team, we were learning to dart, handle and immobilise wild animals.
Our days were filled with extraordinary encounters. At dawn and dusk, we gathered around waterholes to watch herds of antelope drinking in the golden light. Zebras picked their way down muddy banks, giraffes splayed their long legs to reach the water, and hippos surfaced with barely a ripple.
On game drives, we darted elephants and wildebeest, and took to the air in helicopters to dart buffalo for translocation. Even our accommodation was home to the wildlife. Lions and hyenas prowled beyond the camp's flimsy perimeter fence. At a braai one night, someone threw a bone over the fence. It was devoured by a shadow.
The purpose of our midnight expedition was to collect biological samples from lions. We'd located a zebra carcass before sunset and were using it, along with the recorded hyena chorus, to attract them.
Now, as we hurried towards the darted lions, other members of the pride moved among the bushes, their tawny shapes flitting through the darkness. Every shadow seemed ready to spring to life. Dewald, one of Kruger's vets, assured me that lions were too lazy to chase fresh meat when a perfectly good meal lay dead at their feet. I hoped he was right.
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We carried the three immobilised lions to the trucks, where the vehicles were arranged in a U-shape to provide a reassuring (if somewhat illusory) sense of security.
Up close, the animals were nothing like the glossy specimens in wildlife magazines. They were mangy, dirty and in desperate need of dental hygiene.
As we fitted radio collars, took measurements and collected blood samples, the lions grunted and twitched under anaesthesia. Darting wild animals wasn't an exact science. Estimating bodyweights in the dark and hoping each dart delivered its full dose made the process even more unpredictable.
Then a rival pride arrived.
We were almost at the zebra carcass, carrying the last of our immobilised lions back to his pride, when an enormous male emerged from the darkness. In the glare of the spotlight, his head and mane loomed impossibly large. He grunted and advanced towards us.
A wave of uncertainty swept through the stretcher bearers. Abandoning our cargo wasn’t an option. Away from his pride, the unconscious lion would be defenceless against an attack. He had to be left beside the carcass, where the others could protect him. Edging forward, we lowered him to the ground, acutely aware of the huge male watching us.
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Dewald unholstered his pistol. "Whatever you do, don't run."
The twenty metres back to the truck were the longest and most unforgettable I'd ever covered.
We were still riding an adrenaline high as we drove back to camp. The night was misty and silver, silent except for the sound of tyres on tarmac. Then, in the headlights ahead, we spotted two young male lions having a catnap in the middle of the road.
They watched our approach with magnificent indifference. Through the open window, I could have reached out and touched them. One rose slowly to his feet and stretched, then his companion followed suit. They padded down the road while we kept pace beside them, close enough to catch their musky scent.
For a few extraordinary moments, we travelled together. Then the lions veered off the road and disappeared into the night.
No one spoke. They were the kings of Africa, and they knew it.
Top image: two female lions on a kill. Credit: Olivia Pozzan
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