Green season magic at Wilderness Chitabe

Eight of us converged at Cape Town International the day after New Year, the kind of reunion that had been circled on calendars and discussed in group chats for months. Though we've made the pilgrimage to Wilderness Chitabe many times over the years, anticipation hummed through our group with unusual intensity. Perhaps it was knowing none of them had seen the camp since the 2025 rebuild. Perhaps it was simply the magic of having everyone, now scattered across continents, building careers and lives, back together again.

The Airlink connection to Maun was seamless. At the airport, Wilderness Air's crew had us aboard one of their newer Caravans within minutes, our pilot Bryan Mororosi radiating that particular brand of Batswana professionalism laced with warmth. The short flight became our first glimpse of what awaited: a landscape transformed into an improbable emerald, pans brimming with recent rains, the kind of abundance that makes you whisper “pula” under your breath.

The grass met us first; impossibly tall, still glistening from the rains that had been particularly kind to Botswana. Within moments of touchdown, it was clear we'd arrived at a landscape in full flush.

As a regular visitor, I'm accustomed to the warm greetings of old friends rather than the guest treatment. But Josie, the camp manager, had conspired with the team to ensure our family experienced Wilderness Chitabe as proper guests. They delivered spectacularly. After arrival formalities conducted with characteristic efficiency and grace, the family dispersed to their rooms.

What followed was a chorus of "wows" that continued throughout the week, reaching particular crescendos on warm afternoons when the evaporative coolers kicked in and transformed rooms into havens of comfort. The new suites struck exactly the right chord; comfortable and tasteful without tipping into excess. The walkways, often described to me as iconic, clearly impressed. Watching adults who've grown well-travelled and difficult to impress discover familiar spaces through fresh eyes proved unexpectedly satisfying.

Our seven-day stay (unusually long by Chitabe's typical two-to-three-night standard, though not uncommon among the camp's devoted repeat guests) began under the guidance of Tank. The name alone tells you something about his presence. Add an interesting buzz cut, a respectable collection of tattoos, and an engaging manner, and you have someone who commands attention. But it's the depth of his bush knowledge, refined over 20 years and delivered with genuine enthusiasm, that transforms a game drive into something closer to a mobile symposium.

We didn't know any of this at the start. By the end, our family had developed immense respect for the man.

The wish list that first afternoon was ambitious, verging on absurd:

• Secretary birds (achievable, if unspectacular)
• Wild dogs (at Chitabe, tantalisingly possible)
• Cheetahs (in January's long grass? Manage expectations carefully)
• Mating pangolins (never documented; don't hold your breath)

Two features distinguish Chitabe, both detailed near the bar in quiet eloquence. The first is the long service awards; brass plates listing staff who've devoted 10, 15, 20, 25 years to the camp. Some second-generation employees have known nothing but Chitabe since the day it opened in 1997. Their common refrain: "Chitabe feels like family." Not insignificant when you work away from your actual family for months at a stretch.

The second feature might be even more remarkable: a wall documenting 53 individual leopards identified by our partner Dave Hamman working with Wild Entrust, the highest documented concentration on the planet. Each photograph captures a unique animal, each profile on the reverse chronicles a distinct personality and history.

With that heritage, seeing a leopard should be guaranteed.

Right?

Our first game drive began sedately on the main deck at tea time. That serenity evaporated when nine wild dogs hurtled past at full sprint. The ensuing chaos: entire camp mobilising, vehicles departing in hot pursuit, set an unexpected tone.

We followed as best we could while the pack crossed from floodplain to floodplain through thick fever berry stands. Tank collaborated seamlessly with guide BB, anticipating the dogs' trajectory to skirt dense bush and recover our quarry. For one tense moment we lost them entirely. When we found them again, several were covered in blood, bones cracking audibly. Whatever they'd killed had vanished with characteristic wild dog efficiency – eat fast before larger predators arrive to steal your prize.

We moved on without urgency, the family settling into what would become our rhythm: if you look for birds, you'll find everything else. January offers no shortage of avian life. Over subsequent days, our list would swell past 135 species, with lengthy debates about brown eagle identification becoming unexpectedly absorbing. Summer crams the landscape with brown raptors, some having migrated from as far as the Russian Steppes. Tank proved adept at distinguishing the visitors, no easy feat.

The second morning found us traversing floodplain edges north of camp. We encountered a large elephant herd and stopped to observe. What unfolded over the next hour quietly redefined awe. We realised we were witnessing not just a herd but a gathering. More than 100 elephants in visual range, likely exceeding 200 in total, moving silently across the landscape, feeding on abundant grasses. It felt like Botswana's pachyderms had convened their annual conference at Chitabe, and the catering had been exceptionally well planned.

Then, improbably: two secretary birds stalking purposefully across the flood plain, utterly unfazed by sharing space with several hundred tonnes of elephant.

That afternoon's drive pivoted dramatically when Tank announced a pangolin sighting 20 minutes away. We departed at speed, hoping the notoriously shy creature wouldn't disappear. Tank could count his lifetime pangolin sightings on one hand, possibly two. I'd never seen one.

We arrived in time. The pangolin had retreated to a thicket but remained visible, lying absolutely motionless. I hadn't realised adults could be so substantial. We maintained absolute silence, waiting. Eventually it moved, then froze again as another vehicle approached.

Not wanting to disturb such a private creature, we departed. The vehicle buzzed with the particular electricity of encountering a lifer. How do you follow that?

Not long after, we found the answer: a solitary cheetah sprawled in an open flood plain that had somehow escaped the tall grass, ideal habitat for a predator whose evolutionary advantage is explosive speed. She wasn't ready to hunt. We were ready for sundowners. We left her there, unaware she'd soon captivate the family for the better part of a day.

A day-and-a-half into our stay, the camp claiming the planet's highest leopard concentration had delivered precisely zero leopards. Nada. Nothing.

That changed shortly after sunrise following our second night. Rounding a corner where the road was constrained by thick riverine grass still wet with morning dew, we nearly collided with Rradipala, an old male leopard nearing the end of his long territorial dominance. His filthy demeanour toward us was obvious as he skirted the vehicle to continue his morning constitutional.

During the third night, the heavens opened. Not a polite rain but the incessant, drop-heavy kind that feeds barren landscapes. We delayed our morning start to avoid getting drenched. The rain had finished, but that slightly late departure would lead Tank to drive us until 14:00, in pursuit of the cheetah we'd encountered two days prior. (That story deserves its own telling.)

After three nights, Tank handed us to Rob and Aaron. Our family size had grown with the addition of four extra members, necessitating two vehicles. We were settling into camp's rhythm: early morning runs, light bush breakfast, late-ish brunch.

Both Rob and Aaron brought their own deep experience. We followed two leopards mating (Rose and the new prime young male challenging Rradipala's dominance). Leopards mate over five days, and these two were clearly intent on ensuring Chitabe's leopard wall would need more real estate. Rob mentioned spotting two other mating pairs recently, lending further credence to the notion. The future of Chitabe's leopard dynasty looked secure.

If you think game drives are solely about animals, let me correct that misconception. Where else do you get your adult family confined in a vehicle for hours, deprived of electronic dopamine and other distractions? Our group included a starting Ocean Science PhD, a nearly complete Biomedical Engineering PhD, a rocket engineer, an architect, a TV media producer soon to become a law student, a plumber, a genetic counsellor, and a beekeeper. The conversations ranged widely, topics shifting with the landscape.

For one week, a family spread across the globe rediscovered the closeness that drifts apart when people build their own lives, careers, and soon, families of their own. Our family loves to hang out (that's a privilege I cherish dearly) – we just needed a catalyst.

The rhythm of life at Chitabe and the genuine warmth of the staff made everyone feel truly at home. While the new rooms were undeniably a hit, the staff made an even bigger impression. The vibe in camp possessed something special, ineffable.

The kgotla evenings (traditional gatherings with singing and dancing) took on new meaning for all of us. I discovered something I should have known before: that a wonderful staff member with a pronounced stammer can sing like Luciano Pavarotti. Such revelations are what transform a luxury lodge stay into something more profound.

Sadly, all good things end. Remember, I mentioned earlier that few people stay longer than three nights? At the end of our third day, my son and his fiancée remarked, "Originally we were supposed to be leaving tomorrow. Thank God we aren't”. They weren't bored, they were just getting into it.

But that final day arrived, as we knew it would. An emotional departure at camp, another at the airstrip, watching the Cessna disappear over the horizon. Later came the private WhatsApp messages: "Dad, we've done many exciting trips all over the world, but honestly this was the best ever, we will never forget this time at Chitabe”.

I believe that's true. Time with our ever-evolving families is precious. Who knows? The family might grow even larger. Maybe we'll get to do this again. I certainly hope so.

In three days, we saw virtually everything on our wish list: pangolins, leopards, lions, elephants, cheetahs, wild dogs, jackals, hyenas, bat-eared foxes, all the plains game standards, and birds in staggering abundance.

The notion that green season offers diminished game viewing was debunked for the nth time. The landscape is demonstrably more beautiful when verdant. Occasionally storms build, but there's nothing quite like watching moisture-laden clouds gather over the Kalahari in late afternoon, raw beauty incarnate.

So, when should you visit Chitabe? The answer remains delightfully complex. But if someone tells you January is a compromise, that green season means seeing less, that you should wait for the predictability of October's harsh, denuded landscape, well, I've just spent seven days proving them spectacularly wrong.

And I've got seven witnesses who'll testify to the same.