Into the Mara - this one's about lions...

If Amboseli had been dust and big skies and Kilimanjaro looming over everything, the Mara was something else entirely — green. Properly green. There's dust here too, don't get me wrong, but nothing like the fine red powder that had worked its way into every seam of every camera bag by the time we left Amboseli.

We touched down at our second airstrip of the trip — this whole safari runs like a relay, little aircraft hopping you from camp to camp — and there to meet us was Isaac.

I'd been spoiled with Albert in Amboseli, and I wondered, quietly, whether lightning could strike twice. It could and it did. Isaac had that same quality — an eagerness not just to guide, but to understand what I was actually trying to achieve with the camera, and he wanted to help me make it happen. We'd only just met and already I could tell this was a man who took my photography as seriously as I did.

The Mara - beautiful beyond words

The big draw for the Mara was lions. In Amboseli it was all about elephants and cheetahs but we'd seen only four lions — distant, shapes in the middle distance - perhaps 500m away - marching parallel to our direction and soon out of sight. So when Isaac said, within what felt like minutes of arriving, that he'd found a pride, it came as music to my ears.

We drove for less than 10 minutes, stopped in a clearning and then they suddenly appeared from the vegetation and without fanfare, they just walked straight past us - within a couple of metres of the vehicle.

Our first encounter with lions close up - this majestic lady strode past us pursposefully without a sideways glance - exuding power, confidence and undoubted disdain for our presence!

Not skittish, not distant — a whole pride, moving with unbothered authority (the "pride" collective is so very appropriate), close enough to touch, and utterly indifferent to the fact that we existed. I have no other way to describe that first encounter but ..... mind-boggling. And here's the thing — it never wore off. Every single pride "walk by", after that first one, produced the same feeling. Genuine, repeated, awe.

... and then after the big guys - this little one marched by - all attention to the family

...but I did get the impression she was playing to the gallery a little bit...!

The Sundowner and Petrichor

There's a tradition on safari — the sundowner. You stop wherever you happen to be as the sun starts to hide, and you toast it. Simple as that.

On that first day, just minutes before sunset, we'd been caught in one of those brief, heavy Mara showers — the kind that arrives fast, hammers down, and vanishes just as quickly, leaving everything steaming gently in the evening light. As it eased off, that unmistakable smell rose up off the ground — that rich, earthy scent you get after rain.

I mentioned it to Isaac. He said visitors comment on it all the time, but nobody had ever told him what it was called. Petrichor, I said.

It's a good word. Search online for the best words in the English language and you'll likely find petrichor towards the top of the list. Not only is it beautifully stylish but there's some proper science behind it, too — the kind that appeals to the doctor in me. That earthy note is largely down to a compound called geosmin, produced by soil bacteria, and humans are absurdly good at detecting it — down to a few parts per trillion, which by some measures makes our noses sharper than a shark's for blood. There's a theory that we've evolved that sensitivity for a reason: geosmin, and the plant oils released alongside it, would once have helped our ancestors sniff out water and fertile ground from a distance. The mechanism itself is rather beautiful too — raindrops hitting dry, porous soil trap tiny air bubbles, which shoot upward and burst at the surface, flinging scent-carrying droplets into the air, a bit like bubbles rising and popping in a glass of Prosecco.

The petrichor smell also includes chemicals called Terpenes - which appeals to the gin distiller in me too...!

Isaac took the words and the background information on board straight away and showed that he was thirsty for knowledge like this.

And so, freshly rain-washed and with that smell still hanging in the air, we settled in for the sundowner — a bottle of Prosecco this time, because nobody had told me the rules. Who said a sundowner couldn't be a bottle rather than a glass! I smiled inwardly at the serendipity of the mechanism of petrichor and opening a bottle of prsosecco at that very time!

These guys shared our sundowner, Just metres away

We'd stopped amidst a large pride when it happened — the lionesses, the cubs, a few subadults, all began to settle. Not wander off. Not eye us warily from a distance. Settle. Lying down around our wagon as though they'd been invited to the event themselves.

I have been in some strange and wonderful situations in my time, but sitting there with a glass of prosecco  in hand, surrounded by lionesses and cubs curling up for the night a few feet from the vehicle, while the sun did its business over the Mara — that is a scene I will never be able to fully explain to anyone who wasn't there. Some of the cubs were only weeks old. Noisy, clumsy, entirely captivating. The lionesses themselves were a study in contradiction — tough as anything one moment, playing with their young the next.

The big males, when they appeared, were a different matter entirely. Impressive is one word. Intimidating is the more honest one.

Lions Found in the Dark

That first night, coming back from the sundowner, it was properly dark — no moon to speak of, the kind of dark you only get when you're far from anything. Isaac suddenly steered the wagon off course.

"Lions ahead," he said.

I peered out into what was, as far as I was concerned, an entirely featureless black void. No roaring, no movement, nothing I could make out. Two minutes later, there they were — three enormous males, lying a few yards in front of us, having a nap.

I'd been mightily impressed with Albert's ability to spot a serval in the gloom back in Amboseli. Whilst a serval is a modest-sized cat - these were two fully grown male lions — fifty times the size - but this find was equally stunning. These guys were lying flat in pitch darkness with not a sound to give them away. How Isaac had known they were there, I genuinely have no idea. I didn't ask. Some things are better left as pure, unexplained skill.

Then - just as I thought I couldn't be more impressed - we saw another Serval. Isaac stopped slowly and pointed - all I could manage was my iPhone as it was pitch dark, but it meant that Albert and Isaac have both shown Serval Finding Superpowers!....!

Serval sighting - Not a great quality image - but it was pitch dark!

Losing the Door

Back at camp that night, as we were climbing down from the wagon, I mentioned something to Isaac in passing. In particular, I said I'd like to get lower to the ground for my shots.

[TOP TIP....] There's a rule I've always followed with animal photography — if you can get lower, you're not low enough. Eye-level or below your subject changes everything. And the door on my side of the vehicle was, quite literally, in the way.

So I said to Isaac — half-joking — that it would be great if we could lose the door.

Without missing a heartbeat, he smiled and said he'd sort it.

The next morning, he pulls up in the wagon. My door is gone. Just like that. Service with a smile doesn't quite cover it — this was a man solving my photography problems before I'd properly finished describing them.

The Wagon - with Isaac our guide - note the absence of a door on the side

By this point Isaac had also taken to collecting us a full thirty minutes before the other guides took their guests out — no fanfare, just quietly building in the extra time he knew I'd want so that we could catch first light. We were getting on well by now, genuinely enjoying each other's company, and I'd started showing him images through the viewfinder — the same trick that had worked so well with Albert in Amboseli. Isaac took to it immediately, and soon we were talking composition properly: foreground and background elements, leading lines, angles of separation, all of it. It became one of the real pleasures of the trip — not just having our second brilliant guide, but another one who was genuinely curious about the craft itself.

That missing door was about to earn its keep.

Playing lion leapfrog at sunrise

That extra thirty minutes had a purpose. Isaac had planned for us to go back and find the same males from the night before — the ones he'd somehow sensed in the pitch dark.

We got there before sunrise. And then we waited, watching two of these massive animals stir awake as the first sunrays came up over the plain. Incredible doesn't quite cover it — there's something about watching a lion wake up, unhurried, entirely unbothered by the day arriving, that puts your own morning routine to shame.

Then they got up and started to walk.

This is where the missing door earned its keep. I got down low on the floor of the wagon — properly low, lens resting near the sill where the door used to be — and started shooting as they passed. Isaac would ease the wagon forward, we'd leapfrog ahead of them, reposition for a different angle, and wait for them to pass us again. We did this for the best part of ten minutes — repositioning, waiting, shooting, repositioning again.

I have had a few exhilarating mornings in my time. This was one of the best and it will never lose it's place in my memory.

Mother and Cub

Not long after the excitement of the leapfrog, a call came through from one of the wardens to Isaac — a lioness had been spotted picking up her cub in her mouth.

We were on location within ten minutes, engine still ticking over from how fast we'd got there. Mother and cub just 10m away on the other side of a stream. The cub was curious and squealing at us and showing an intention to come over to see us and explore . Somehow, we both just knew, Mum wasn't going to allow this and she was going to pick up junior again.

I got the focus locked. Held the 200-600mm steady, willing my arms not to shake with the anticipation of it.

She picked the cub up.

Three and a half seconds later. Thirty-five frames.

I knew within me that there would be a great image amongst the thirty-five  — for me - one of those frames is one of the images of the entire holiday.

That photograph was one of the best of the trip and one of those that I'll remember longest from the whole Mara. But it wasn't the last thing the adventure had waiting for me. Not by a long way.

There was still the small matter of a very unimpressed hippopotamus, a guide who noticed everything, and a leopard that seemed determined to make us wait until the very last morning to meet her.

Part 2 of the Mara — birds, hyenas, hippos, and the chase for a leopard — coming soon.

Happy travelling and happy shooting!

Warm regards,

Colin