NABITI GAME RESERVE, South Africa — We started out at 6 in the morning, while it was still cool. Our goal was to find the King of the Jungle, aided by expert big cat tracker Boone Smith.
We traveled here as guests of Nat Geo WILD for its annual campaign to bring global attention to the fast-dwindling numbers of big cats, which are dying at the hands of other predators and humans — farmers, hunters and poachers.
There are eight lions on this nearly 24,000-acre reserve about 250 miles southeast of Johannesburg. The reserve, created by neighboring farms, is home to dozens of animals, from speedy impalas and impossibly tall giraffes to massive elephants and surprisingly nimble rhinos.
Our guides, Greg Schmidt and Nolan Armstrong from Lions Valley Lodge, drove us up into the hills on rough roads. We stopped so Boone could get out and study a lion paw track in the wet dirt. He placed his outstretched hand in the track to show how huge the paw is.
We soon came upon a lioness lying in the shade of some bushes 20 yards from the road. Suddenly a giant male with an impressive mane came into view. Armstrong said his name is Mohawk.
Smith laughed about Mohawk's arrogant stance. "He's big, he's bad and he knows it," he said of the 3-year-old animal, still a year away from his prime. He's at the top of the food chain.
It's also upsetting to realize that the population of these incredible animals has plummeted to an estimated 30,000 to 40,000, less than one-tenth of their population a half century ago.
Later in the day, we came upon the reserve's other female lion, who was walking slowly with a slight limp and growling softly. Smith said she was probably calling out to locate her three cubs, who are just 3 months old.
Shortly after 4 the next morning, Schmidt, Smith and a few others set out on foot to find the cubs. We soon found ourselves crouching behind bushes to avoid three approaching rhinos.
Thirty minutes into the trek, Smith stopped in his tracks to grab his binoculars. "Look up on the ridge," he said. There was the mother lion. And by her side, her cubs. We took a moment to plan our approach.
Any lioness with cubs would be protective, so we had to be careful. We trekked across the valley and up an adjacent ridge. We wanted to keep our distance but still get close enough for a good look.
Nobody had seen the cubs for a week. On a reserve, humans are forbidden from interfering with the animals, and it would not be shocking for either of the two male lions or other predators to kill the cubs. The circle of life, in all its glory and heartache.
We got to our vantage point on an opposite ridge and saw one, two, three cubs. The mother's belly was swollen, a sign of an overnight kill and meal.
Hours later, on an afternoon game drive, mother and cubs had ventured down the mountain into the valley. We got an incredible view of them.
The inspiration to make sure they survive and thrive grows even stronger. Reserves like this allow them to live in the wild while giving visitors a chance to appreciate how vital they are to our ecosystem. We left with the goal of doing everything possible to raise awareness to protect big cats, so future generations can be thrilled by safaris.
As night fell, Armstrong drove a group back to the lodge in a pouring rain. A short distance from the road, Mohawk and a lioness huddled together in the tall grass to wait out the rain. "I guess, even for the King of the Jungle," he said, "there's no shelter from the storm."
Ullmann is USA TODAY's world editor. Albert is senior vice president at National Geographic Channels
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