Laura's Safari Journal: Day 5...

We woke to the sounds of lions and hyenas quarrelling in the distance - guttural roars clashing with high-pitched whoops. The bush rarely offers silence for long. As we set off in the Land Rover, a pair of go-away birds lived up to their name, scolding an owl from their tree. Their shrill calls shifted from furious to triumphant as the owl flapped away.

We set off in the direction of the night’s chaos and soon found the remains of a cape buffalo under a tree. The carcass was stripped to bone, hyenas still lingering nearby. A crocodile lay in the shallows in front of the kill, waiting for something to wander too close. We sat for a while, listening to the squabbles and the clatter of jaws on bone, trying to piece together the night’s story.

Eventually, we left the scene and drove to a spot to begin our walking safari. A group of old buffalo watched from a distance, dark shapes standing like statues in the morning haze. In the sand, we found leopard tracks, looping and crossing - signs of a cat returning, perhaps, to a hidden den. Roan, Ace, and Morgan showed us more: the S-curves of a snake's passage, the faint story etched in animal dung, a scrap of steenbok skin - the remains of a kill.

The tracks led us to a tree that looked, even from a distance, like a perfect leopard perch. Then - movement. A flash of muscle burst from a termite mound just ten meters away. I caught it only in my periphery, but my eyes tracked the motion, and seconds later, a second leopard leapt up, snarling as it sprinted off. All we saw were streaks - spots rippling, bodies vanishing into grass. Mating pair? Mother and son? No one could say for sure. What we did know was the electric jolt of being so close.

Flushed with the thrill of tracking, we stopped for another dip in the Delta. The water was cool and clean, but our guides never relaxed - Ace and Morgan scanned the banks, alert for the lions whose tracks they’d found nearby.

After a rest and another of Chef Issa’s extraordinary lunches, we returned to the Land Rover. Before long, we found them: eleven lions sprawled in the grass. The older lions ignored us entirely, long accustomed to the hum of engines. But the cubs were new to it all, their eyes wide with curiosity.

One small cub, one of the youngest, tried to act brave. As the car shifted, he crouched low and stalked us, tail twitching with faux menace. He was clearly bluffing, but bold. We laughed quietly, touched by the theatre of his courage.

As the sun fell, we left them in peace. But the day wasn’t done. On the way back to camp, wild dogs - our first of the trip - burst across the plain in pursuit of an impala. They were too fast to follow, but we glimpsed their choreography: fast, fluid, lethal. Hyenas trailed behind, hoping for scraps, their loping gaits almost comedic by comparison.

By the time we returned, the moon had risen full and bright. At the bar, Roan introduced a new trick: tequila shots with pineapple and Tabasco. Patrick, Suzanne, Roan, and I toasted to the Delta.

Later, we gathered around the fire, where Ace spoke about the keystone species of the Okavango: elephants, hippos, termites, and papyrus. Remove just one, he said, and the system begins to unravel. Conservation, he reminded us, isn’t about saving a single animal - it’s about protecting the web that holds everything together.

As he finished, the Beagle staff broke into song - “Beautiful Botswana” - their voices rising into the night. We danced together, guests and guides indistinguishable in the glow of the fire.

Dinner followed, with Chef Issa working his magic once more, and then Roan and I lingered by the embers as the rest of the group retired. The night had more to tell. Red lechwe thundered through the water nearby, chased by something unseen. Minutes later, a hyena ambled clumsily into camp, the echo of the hunt still in the air. We sat in silence, the full moon overhead, just appreciating the bush alive all around us.