PH Craig Doria’s Lions of the Jaramono

The Jaramono is not much of a river, at least not in the hunting season when we arrived. It is a thin strip of green riverine trees winding through the endless rolling miombo hills of Kizigo Game Reserve.

In places it is nothing more than sand, and in other places it leaves pools that gradually become smaller as the season progresses.

By October the pools are small, the bush is dry, the sun is hot, the safari staff is tired, and one imagines that even the wildlife is in a bad mood. Waterholes are few and far between, grazing is sparse, and drinking becomes a dangerous time, since lions only have to hang out near the last of the water to find food. The lions too, one feels, get into bad moods. It is hot and they have to fight with large old buffalo bulls in order to get a decent square meal.

This is particularly true of the lions of the Jaramono. A bad-tempered bunch to be sure, but I didn’t know that at the time. I had a friend, Marvin Brown, on safari, and we had a leopard bait up along the Jaromono River that had been fed on by what looked like both a female and a male leopard.

So without delay we built our blind in the hot October sun. We finished it a bit late in the day and so decided we had created too much of a disturbance and that the leopard would not come that evening. We would sit the next morning.

Sure enough, it was early to bed that night, and at exactly three o’clock the next morning Marvin and I were sitting grumpy and tired in the small grass enclosure. I could not see what Marvin was doing because, of course, it was pitch black, but I knew he was fast asleep with his head fallen down on his chest. I knew this because each time my head lolled to the left it hit the frame of the blind and woke me with a start. During these brief wakeful periods I could hear Marvin’s snoring taking over from mine. I did wonder what the small grass enclosure must sound like to the leopard that must surely be sitting in a thicket some 70 yards off, watching and waiting for complete peace to approach his food, which was our bait, up on the limb of the tree.

Or what we might sound like to a lion that might be prowling nearby at 3.30 a.m. Two snoring animals fast asleep behind a small wall of grass. And what was that? Sleep and wakefulness were mingling together. Was that a lion roaring? Yes, it was.

I noticed Marvin was also awake, listening. “Isn’t it amazing?” I felt that he was nodding in the dark. We listened while the lion’s roaring became closer, until it sounded as though it was about 50 yards behind the blind. Then it stopped.

At the back of the blind was a cleared patch perhaps eight yards wide. Beyond was a sea of six-foot high Hyperrenea grass with our small entrance path hacked through it. All was silent until we heard the soft crunching of feline footfalls in the grass behind us. Well, at least we knew where he was.

By now it must have been about 4.30 a.m. It had taken a while for his roaring to come closer until he had reached this point and fallen silent. Fallen silent until now, that is, because he started growling, long, low, rumbling, guttural and angry growls. Quite clearly these growls were aimed at us. We were perfectly positioned for the wind to any leopard that might have climbed the bait tree, but exactly the opposite was true for any lion that came wandering up behind the blind. The wind was blowing from the carcass towards us and from us towards the lion. So on his way towards the smell of meat, he had come to the edge of the patch of tall grass and suddenly smelt humans.

We waited while he lay in the grass and continued to growl. There was not much we could do because it was still pitch black. And then, just at the very first of the morning’s light, he stood up and walked up to the back of the blind growling deeply. I had stood and had my rifle following close to where I thought he was walking, now one foot away. I noticed Marvin had also swivelled around in his chair with his rifle following the path of the lion. For a moment I had a picture of him as an owl with his head turned around 180 degrees. After what seemed like an age, the lion reached the front corner of the blind, on Marvin’s side (and I must admit, Marvin, I was thankful for that) and slowly wandered off about 20 yards into the clearing between us and the bait.

I sank down into the chair with half a feeling of relief and peered through the ports where, if I really used a lot of imagination and looked slightly to one side, I could just make him out. He was lying down looking straight back at me – and was that his tail flicking from side to side? No, too dark to see that. But he was making enough noise to raise the dead.

I’ve often thought, upon having just survived a dangerous situation, “Oh that wasn’t so bad.” Since the lion experience I’ve learned something: Most dangerous situations are over before you have a chance to be scared. Thank goodness. This, on the other hand, was something different. It had been going on for over an hour and it was too dark to shoot.

Slowly the light improved until both Marvin and I could just make him out. For real this time. He was still growling, and yes, his tail was flicking.

And then he charged. Or rather, a more fitting expression would be exploded. He exploded towards us with such ferocity and speed that even if we had had the guns through the ports we would not have had time to aim and shoot. The whole blind rocked as he snarled to a halt, and neither of us had been able to do a thing. Although I suppose that the two of us leaping to our feet could be considered ‘doing something,’ because he backed off again, snarling.

We sat again, and since it was getting lighter by the minute we could now make him out in the clearing. Still growling. I felt my legs shaking and thought that I could not let Marvin see me like this. What would he think, his trusty PH scared! Or rather, as he calls me, his trusty AH. Slowly, and without making too much of a fuss about it, I swivelled my eyes over towards Marvin, and yes, thank goodness, his legs were also shaking. That was better.

But enough was enough. I rallied strength, began to knock my metal flashlight hard on the barrel of my rifle and began to shout, in language that would make a sailor grimace, at the lion. He moved behind the blind into his patch of long grass.

“It’ws time to take our chances outside, Marvin. We can get into the clear patch in front of the blind and then we can chase him away.”
“Is he big enough to shoot?”
“No.”
We opened the door and as we stepped out he came at us through the grass. I can remember going down onto one knee to get a better line of fire as the grass swayed to the snarling sound of his charge. Just before he entered the clear patch he turned, still in the long grass and trotted off about 60 yards.

We snuck around to the front of the blind and there he sat, no longer threatening, just sitting watching us like a big cat. And so we waited. Legs still shaking, a Mexican standoff. Finally we heard the approach of the car.

In the car we felt much better.
“Hey, let’s go and have a look at him with the car.”
“Yes, that’s a great idea.”
As we drew closer he stood up and casually sauntered away. He stepped on a combretum spine and stopped to pull it out with his teeth.
“Serves you right,” I thought.
“OK? Should we go back to camp and get some breakfast?”
I turned the vehicle and began to drive away. Then the lion turned and began to chase the vehicle. I couldn’t see him because he was coming from the rear passenger side. But I could hear his progress by the sounds of the people in the car. So I sped up. And he sped up. Soon I reached the road and did a fairly leisurely turn onto it. Then I heard the working of a bolt and realized that of course he hadn’t turned in the same way as we had. He had taken the shortcut, the straight route. By now everyone in the car was roaring so I really floored it, and we were away.

We drove in silence for a while until Marvin said, “Stop, I need breakfast.” And he had a beer for the nerves.

We hunted for the rest of the day and at about 2.00 p.m. found ourselves discussing the leopard bait again. “Well Bwana, I think you should go back and sit in the blind this afternoon. That leopard will come.” This was the tracker, confident and bold. “But what about the lion?” This was both Marvin and I, not so confident and bold. “The lion will not come back again. He has seen that he cannot reach the bait, and he will go and join the others down the river.” “OK then.” Marvin had a bright idea. “Why don’t you come and join us in the blind?” “Oh no, Bwana, a blind is no place for a tracker.”

My father-in-law has a life motto: Anybody can make a mistake, but only a fool makes the same mistake twice. So at 4.00 p.m. we were back in the blind waiting for the leopard.

Sure enough, an hour later a leopard jumped up into the tree. We looked at him and he was a she. We sat and watched her feed for about 20 minutes in that golden afternoon light. All in all, a peaceful setting - until her head spun around and she looked in alarm to the edge of the clearing. Like golden mercury, she flowed down the tree and was gone. And then I just knew what was going to walk out into the clearing. Why hadn’t I listened to my father-in-law’s words of wisdom?

The lion walked boldly in front of us, turned and began to growl, his yellow eyes looking intently into the blind.
“Enough, Marvin, I’m going to fire a shot right in front of him. If he comes at us, we’ll both shoot him.”
“OK.” I saw Marvin’s finger slip the safety catch off on his rifle.
“On second thought, Marvin, I have a double. I only have two shots. You fire into the air then reload. If he comes, we’ll both still shoot him.”
“OK.” BANG. That hadn’t needed much encouragement. The lion was gone. We left the blind with legs shaking again. The vehicle came roaring up the track, expecting to find Marvin with a monster leopard. That would have to wait till another day.

Later I was having a radio chat with a friend in the hunting block next door, PH Andy Wilkinson. “Oh yes,” he said. “Those Jaramono lions are kali, you must be careful of them.”

Craig Doria is a professional hunter and photographic safari guide, currently based in Tanzania with Tanzania Game Tracker safaris.