Shorts. T-shirt. Wash. Teeth. One Woolworth’s oat cookie. Two bites. One cup of tea – three big gulps. Torch. Keys. Don’t forget the small cool-bag. ‘Come on!’ Outside. No clouds. Cool. Although it’s already 24 degrees. Still it’s cool there’s no cloud. Just darkness with a Fanta glow along the horizon. Butterflies. Not real, but flutters in the stomach. Excitement, but could be hunger pangs. Those biscuits are tiny. The gently ticklish smell of powder dry air hitting the nose. A pearl spotted owlet whistling like a steaming kettle…

Tu tu tu tseeeu

Good morning Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park!

These speedy ‘pre’ pre-dawn starts are our go-to in the Kgalagadi (KTP). Mostly so as not to miss a wink of the awesome light or the crepuscular creatures in action. Partly to trump the other early risers. There’s no real need to be first down the road, but ‘pioneering’ just feels good. Plus you don’t want to miss that shy leopard that isn’t going to hang around for the next guys in line. And when it’s unusually dry like it was this January and February you certainly don’t want to end up behind; eating someone else’s dust for the first half hour– unless, that is, you can make good use of all that dirt hanging in the air to enhance those longed-for backlit shots.

This is our first morning in the Kalahari for a year. Double butterflies. After the confines of Christmas and a cold, wet winter in the UK snuggling into our cherished, familiar KTP routine feels like freedom. Apart from one magazine commission there’s no agenda, no shooting list, no pressure, and nobody but ourselves to please…

Today we’re driving out from the KTP’s main restcamp, Twee Rivieren. Going north along the Nossob riverbed. There’s only two routes to choose from, but the thought we’ll get it wrong and miss that photo opp of a lifetime makes the choice a nightmarish one. FOMO doesn’t come close to it.

The Nossob it is. Having only arrived yesterday we’ve no concrete info on which to base this choice other than the fact the good light is on the riverbed that way. It’s as good a reason as any (although it doesn’t mean any sightings or subsequent pictures are guaranteed to follow the script and occur on that side).

The other early risers, usually a small handful of keen photographers and diehard KTP addicts, have a tendency to motor down the track quickly headed for a particular waterhole along the Nossob which has the reputation for being a bit of a ‘lion’s corner-house’.  It’s justified. You’ll often find predators drinking there early morning and the open terrain affords the photographer lots of options and the chance for nice, clean backgrounds. The thing is if you make too much of a charge for Kij-Kij, aiming to get there as the golden light sweeps the scene, you also risk overlooking the hidden nugget or two lying in wait in the  semi-darkness en route. Another of the KTP’s tension-inducing choices.

This morning’s a classic case in point. We’ve not been out long, scouring the landscape on both sides of the track on the look-out for anomalies – shapes or shadows that stand out among the contours and landmarks burned on our memory maps of this place. (We must have driven this road a million times).

Suddenly our eyes are drawn to a small mound about ten metres from the track. There’s no movement so we can’t be sure what has attracted our gaze in this low light, but there on the top of a little sandy hump are some small, indistinct lumps; four tiny lion cubs. ‘Cubs!’ It’s whispered so as not to spook them.  On last year’s visit we only saw one distant cub in the whole of our visit. Today we have four cuties on our very first morning in the park.

Three are sitting very close, the fourth is a little way apart so already we’re anticipating a shot of the threesome and are carefully getting the 500mm lens well-braced on the window in readiness. It’s only just getting light and we can imagine the pink hue of the early dawn adding to the picture’s potential.  The couple of vehicles behind us zoom past. ‘Those guys have gone straight past.’ We reckon they can’t make out the furry little huddle so don’t think we’ve stopped for anything special.

At the same time as getting the camera ready and repositioning the vehicle carefully we’re checking around to see where their mother is. Her presence, a much larger shape, might have been enough to stop the chasing pack. Lionesses will often leave cubs for quite long periods to join the pride or go hunting so there’s a chance they may be all alone. But if so it’s a bit unusual for them to sitting in the open like this.

We’re concerned they’ll dive for cover any minute – especially given the attention we’re giving them. We don’t want to stress them so work quickly to get the picture in the bag. Mum must have been watching – eyeing us up just over the horizon beyond the higher dune – because they suddenly scamper excitedly away up the slope as fast as their podgy little legs can carry them in response to her barely audible call. Hopefully we’ve managed to secure a simple portrait in the muted pastels of the false dawn. The delicate colour palette perfectly matching their apparent vulnerability. We sort our equipment out again and cover the cameras to keep the dust and sand out.

‘Cubs!’

And so from left field, on our  first game drive on day one, there it was – a challenge, a shooting list, an agenda and yet another wonderful story chapter from the Kalahari waiting to be written to our cards.