The jackal is resting in the shade of our vehicle. We can’t see him unless we lean out of the windows. When we do, we see he’s still lying prone, resting his head on his paws with his muzzle facing towards the waterhole as straight as a compass dial. Watching. It seems all three of us are simply staring ahead and waiting. We’ve been here since before dawn. A good hour and twenty minutes ago.

Jackal in full lunge flying at the panicked doves

Apart from the hundreds of thirsty doves visiting the water in grey waves every few minutes the only visible life in that time was at first light, when a solitary brown hyena passed by for a quick drink before returning to his resting place on the dunes. On any other day that would be a real reward for our patience, but today we’re trying to stay focused on another mission and so barely remark on the ‘brownie’s’ presence.

Cubitje Quap, the first waterhole north of Nossob camp in South Africa’s Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park (KTP), is quite remarkable. Remarkable for the chance to photograph the adapted behaviour of a small group of jackals that have mastered the art of catching the thirsty doves that fly here in droves for a drink.

Jaws agape this jackal gets ready for the freshest of breakfasts

During the many long dry periods in this semi-desert Kalahari wilderness Cape turtle doves come down in huge flocks, turning the place into a flying fast food joint that’s impossible for these opportunistic and cunning canids to resist.

It’s fascinating stuff, even if you aren’t wielding a camera in the hope of some dynamic action shots when it all kicks off. Blackbacked jackals have developed this knack at a couple of other waterholes in the KTP, but there are also lots of waterholes where they haven’t, largely ignoring the countless doves and sandgrouse that fly in to drink. Who knows why it happens here but not there? Whatever the explanation, this one waterhole, when conditions are right, is where it’s most likely to happen most often and close enough to catch on camera.

Lying in wait – a jackal, left, looks over today’s menu

The shadow-basking jackal we’re keeping a close watch on is a past master. So we’re sitting here patiently, looking like lemons to passing tourists who see us staking out a barren waterhole and pointing our cameras at nothing. Crazy people. You can see it on their faces as they pull away – disappointed we haven’t found them a lion.

To help while away the time we chat about this and that, nibble on rusks dunked in coffee, and provide a running commentary for one another on what’s going down around us. The sheer number of doves decorating the scant handful of thorn bushes by the water is quite staggering. We’ve been parked here so long we’re taking them for granted. Occasionally the air is sliced by the whooshing wings of a lanner falcon making his own run at the doves from out of nowhere. Wow, that was fast. Did he get something? We can’t tell. Normally he’d be of huge photographic interest and a big challenge to capture on the wing. But not today. More coffee?

Still with a feather from his starter a jackal eyes the main course

We really do need to be focused on the matter in hand. No distractions. But the problem is that we’re not – not entirely. We can’t help turning half an eye towards a dwarf bittern that’s perched quite close to us in a scrawny thorn tree – when he’s not flying down to hunt from the rocks surrounding the shallow water. An extremely rare visitor that’s not meant to be here at all if you believe the field guides, his appearance at this waterhole is a very notable sighting. We wouldn’t mind an image of him for the record. The colours of his plumage are beautiful. He’s quite a character, flying in and out, it’s not surprising he’s commanding more of our attention. We’ll just try to a get a shot in the bag and then we can get back to the main menu.

Snatched! Making away with the prize catch

Of course, that’s when it happens. First rule of photography: don’t take your eye off the ball. The fact that the jackal’s been using our shade doesn’t help. We’re working blind. Suddenly he’s bursting from the shadows like a bullet, tail flying and jaws agape, ready to snatch his quarry out of the air with consummate timing. We’re nowhere to be seen and struggling to find focus. More disappointing still, for us if not for him, his strike has been successful. A blue-grey dove is clasped in his muzzle and he’s carrying the prize back to some more private shade to make light work of his very fresh breakfast. ‘Did you get it?’ That’s in unison to each other, as the dove quickly turns to cushion stuffing.

Thankfully, it seems one small dove doesn’t satisfy a jackal’s appetite, especially when such a tempting spread is on the daily specials menu. All three of us get a longed-for second bite.

This time our subject hasn’t returned to the shade by our vehicle to lay-up. He’s lying low – still with a feather from his appetiser stuck on the end of his nose – where we can see and track him when he makes his lunging run.

It’s easier this time, relatively speaking, to lock on and follow the explosive action when it happens – first when the clouds of fluttering doves fly in, then later in the morning when the sandgrouse arrive with their characteristic ”chup-chup choop-choop” calls.

It’s meaty photography alright, testing our concentration and reflexes throughout. How thrilling to witness this local specialty hunting technique in action, even if we didn’t get a decent shot of that pretty little bittern.

Making light work of his catch before the next hunt is on

Lanner falcon with prey – another ace  hunter at this Kgalagadi waterhole