Beyond the numbers: The Hwange Game Count

The Hwange Game Count has been conducted annually since 1972, making it one of Africa’s longest-running wildlife monitoring efforts. Co-ordinated by Friends of Hwange in collaboration with the Zimbabwe Parks and Wildlife Management Authority, the count relies on consistency, collaboration, and a shared commitment to understanding the park’s dynamics.

Within the south-east of Hwange, Wilderness’ Linkwasha and Makalolo private concessions play a key role. Their mix of open plains, teak woodlands, and pumped waterholes makes them particularly important during the dry season, when surface water elsewhere becomes scarce and wildlife movement concentrates.

What the count captures reliably is presence and pattern. What it reinforces more quietly is connection.

On paper, a 24-hour count is straightforward. In reality, a noon-to-noon window stretches in unexpected ways.

The heat of the day is unrelenting. By mid-afternoon, the pans shimmer and shade becomes precious. Our group was assigned a waterhole called Mfagazaan, a small, remote pan encircled by stunted mopane (Colophospermum mopane) and ordeal trees (Erythrophleum lasianthum).

One lone Zambezi teak (Baikiaea plurijuga) provided shelter for our team of six, and we settled in beneath its canopy, armed with binoculars, data sheets, and a clipboard.

Our first task was to demarcate a perimeter around the pan. Anything that entered this area would be counted; anything beyond it would not. In daylight, the boundary felt modest – a practical circle around an otherwise quiet waterhole.

Observation during these hours demands patience. An hour in, a troop of vervet monkeys arrived, darting in and out of the perimeter, testing both our counting skills and our resolve.

In the late afternoon, a herd of elephants arrived from behind us, spotting us long before we spotted them. They halted at the mopane treeline, trunks raised, heads turning, before taking a wide berth around our position and eventually approaching the water from the eastern side of the pan. Something suggested they seldom, if ever, encounter people out here at Mfagazaan.

As daylight faded, the same perimeter remained in place, becoming a key reference point once visibility changed.

For a brief window, the sky held both sun and moon; fading gold to the west, cool silver lifting in the east. As daylight gave way to moonlight, we moved out from beneath our tree and into the open, positioning ourselves for clearer visibility and more accurate counting.

The Hwange Game Count is always held over a full moon. Torches, fires, and artificial light are not permitted, so moonlight is the only aid for nocturnal counting.

It was during the night hours that the scale of the count truly revealed itself. Over the course of our 24-hour shift, more than 100 elephants visited the pan. A large herd arrived just after 1 am, materialising from the darkness in single file. We figured out quickly that this was the time to count them, for when they reached the waterhole and stood shoulder to shoulder, they would merge into a dark, uncountable shape.

We came up with a formula: two sets of binoculars would be trained on the herd. One person would count, the second would recount and confirm, taking note of ages and sex where possible. The third would listen and record, writing the number of animals, the split between male and female, how many were considered juvenile, and whether or not they drank at the waterhole.

Our boundary allowed us to track entries and exits fairly clearly as elephants approached, drank, shifted, and melted back into the night.

As the hours wore on, temperatures dropped. The heat of the day gave way to a biting cold that tested concentration as much as comfort.

There were no breaks. No shifts. No sleeping rotations. From noon to noon, we remained on station, staying awake for more than 24 hours straight. In the early hours, focus became a collective effort. We played word games, told stories, and shared whatever energy we had left. Eventually, the coffee ran out. We stood up, paced, stamped our feet against the cold, moving to stay warm and alert – because every animal that crossed that invisible line still counted.

Throughout it all, the team from Wilderness Linkwasha kept us going. A hot meal arrived as darkness settled in, followed by regular rounds of coffee through the night. By morning, as the cold lingered and concentration wavered, a fresh, hot breakfast appeared – a vital contribution to keeping the count running smoothly.

There are, of course, things that are counted. Over our 24 hours at Mfagazaan, these included vervet monkeys, impala, sable, black-backed jackal, zebra, kudu, and a steady flow of elephants.

But alongside these measurable observations are moments that resist categorisation. The stillness before animals approach water. The hesitation, hierarchy, and timing that play out repeatedly through the night. The subtle shifts that only become apparent when you stay long enough to see the full cycle unfold.

These moments never appear in the final report – yet they are fundamental to understanding the place.

In the coming months, the official results of this year’s Hwange Game Count will be released, contributing valuable data to conservation strategy across the park.

When those numbers arrive, they will matter.

But they will sit alongside something equally valuable: a shared experience of Linkwasha, of heat and cold, long hours, careful observation, and a true understanding of a landscape.

Some things can be counted.
Others simply have to be experienced.