Every wildlife sighting on an Africa photo safari is special, but every now and then you encounter something that’s a bit different, that you’ve never seen before, that stirs you up and that presents you with a new and fresh photographic opportunity. I suppose that’s why we keep going back.

During our time on the Chobe we’ve had many magical moments like this, but one stands-out for us both. It was a beautiful morning illuminated by crisp light and rich colour and we’d been busy photographing fish eagles not really noticing where the time was going. Our boatman wanted us to start thinking about dragging ourselves away and moved towards the vessel’s controls. As he did he noticed what looked like a long, black swarm of insects in the distance and immediately turned the boat around sending us and our cameras crashing into each other. What was the panic?

Cape buffalo, Chobe game reserve

Before we had time to gather our thoughts and our gear we were flying above the water at full pelt towards the moving black mass that appeared to to be pouring into the river like treacle. Our boatman turned round from the controls briefly and shouted something at us we couldn’t quite catch over the noise of the engine. ‘Uffo!’. ‘Up ahead!’

We pressed ahead as fast as we were allowed towards the ‘uffo’ still feeling miffed we’d been rushed away from the raptors. Why this fuss? Then we saw what he was so excited about. Right in front of us a liquid line of Cape buffalo, one of Africa’s Big Five, a couple of hundred strong, was streaming towards the river bank and gathering at the Chobe’s edge in a great big black pool. They looked weary and nervous and milled about by the water waiting for a lead. We’d never seen a whole herd of buffalo in deep water, just the odd group of bulls mud-bathing in shallow, seasonal wallows. Would this many of them make a crossing? Our guide said he’s only seen them cross the Chobe like this once before although they’re known to do it and are actually okay at swimming.

We’d heard there had been a pride of lions hunting these buffalo during the night. We had even watched the pride male drinking at the river’s edge at dusk and had been able to hear his rasping tongue lapping up the water from the deck of our houseboat. We didn’t know if the lion and his pride had been successful in making a kill or not, but you could certainly sense the buffaloes were still jumpy.

They continued to file into the water. One by one. Our guide let our little boat drift as close as he could without disturbing them close as they crossed; so close we could see their rolling eye whites and the clouds of flies above their massive heads as they hauled their gigantic bodies through the waves.

It’s impossible to describe the adrenaline rush as we photographed these tough, formidable mammals submerged in the river up to their horn bosses – the whole herd battling the water like a writhing black, sea serpent. We were as immersed in our photography as they were in getting through the water and as focused on framing our shots as they were on reaching dry land.

Cape buffalo after crossing the Chobe

Once the buffalo herd reached the other side they dragged themselves out wearily and shook off the excess water sending more clouds of flies and a ton of dust into the air. Our wonderful encounter and photo opportunity was over apart for some fleeting backlit shots and, all too soon, we were slumping back in the boat trying to recompose ourselves.

We’ll never know for sure if our buffalo soldiers were crossing to escape the continued attention of the lions or simply fancied grazing on the other bank for a change. But reviewing our shots later that day there was no mistaking that haunted look in fearful dark eyes.