The Trees Have Eyes

PAY ATTENTION TO THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE RESIDENT ANIMALS IN ZAMBIA’S SOUTH LUANGWA NATIONAL PARK AND YOU’LL HAVE A BETTER CHANCE OF SPOTTING AN ELUSIVE LEOPARD IN THE WILD.

- Emma Gregg

On the topmost branch of a towering ebony tree in the Luangwa Valley, a baboon is going berserk “WAH-hu!” he yells. Two harsh syllables, delivered with a fierce, pointed stare. “WAH-hu! WAH-hu!”

He’s clearly incensed, but not, apparently, by us. He’s concentrating on something else, just beyond our line of vision.

“Could be a contact call,” says Godfrey Shawa, our guide. “Maybe he’s been separated from the troop.” He lifts a well-worn pair of binoculars to his eyes and scans the ebony grove for clues. “On the other hand, maybe he’s just seen a leopard.”

My heart skips a beat. A leopard!

What is it that makes them so magnetic?

You don’t need to have one in clear sight to sense their enigmatic, exotic presence. Simply being in a leopard’s territory and knowing that, somewhere, a pair of smoky-gold eyes might be watching you from the shadows is enough to set the pulse racing. To the uninitiated, their forest habitat may look as innocent as a bluebell wood in spring. But a leopard turns it into a place of hidden dangers and raw, edgy anticipation.

Godfrey steers our open-topped safari vehicle in the direction of the baboon’s gaze and we peer intently into the foliage. There are no obvious signs: no paw prints or drag marks among the fallen leaves, no clawing on the trees. Nonetheless, if Godfrey’s hunch is correct, a whiskered face or a rosette-spotted flank could appear at any moment.

The baboon falls silent. “Does that mean the leopard’s gone?” I ask. “We’ll never know,” says Godfrey, and I feel my face fall.