SERENGETI, TANZANIA TREE CLIMBING LIONS OF THE SERENGETI
The big cats of the Serengeti Plains of Tanzania (East Africa) create a majestic picture, as they climb, curl up and perch like sleeping beauties on branches of sprawling trees
This has got to be a rare and one of the most thrilling wildlife sightings of our lives. We counted nine lionesses; they were draped all over the branches of a low, beautifully sculpted sausage tree, right next to us in the Serengeti Plains of Tanzania. And we had all of them to ourselves to marvel at.
Ordinarily, lions don’t climb trees; they’re not designed to. While leopards are light, muscular, nimblefooted and have long tails for balance, lions are just too big and heavy. Besides, their tails are thinner and smaller with a black tuft at the end, made for leading cubs in the tall grass, and swatting flies. Yet, these intrepid lionesses are reclining five to six metres above the ground, enjoying an easterly breeze on a hot day after a heavy meal as though it’s an everyday thing.
Nathan, our driver had heard a friend mention ‘lion on a tree’ over the jeep’s wireless, and he had sped us to the area. We found the lone tree, spotted a beige animal on it, and as we drove closer, we noticed several limbs and tails dangling down, just like the sausages on the tree. The beige spots multiplied, and several pairs of kohl-eyes stared back at us as we took in this most unexpected and astonishing sighting.
AN UNEXPECTED TWIST
What made them climb up and take a chance against gravity? They hadn’t been chased by buffalos or elephants and there weren’t any tsetse flies around. Like a bunch of kids up a tree, the young lionesses seemed to have discovered the fun of climbing and hanging out together in an unusual place. Some were curled up in deep sleep, others looked quite comical, their tummies popping out between branches. Every now and then one would move gingerly, rocking the branches, looking for a more comfortable position. To nudge a sister would be to dislodge her, so every step was carefully thought through. They panted, growled, snored and sneezed through their long siesta. A couple of times, lion wee fell straight to the ground.
It would have been fun to see them climb up, one by one, and stake out their positions, balancing evenly along the branches of the tree.
We’d come a long way away from our tented camp, Olakira, in the Ndutu area, and we didn’t have the luxury of seeing them against pink skies at sunset, or to watch them descend. Although we did see one come down in a rather unusual manner, but that was later.
We drove away to enjoy our picnic at a large rocky outcrop nearby. Rock hyraxes clambered the granite kopjes around us, and a European roller flashed its turquoise wings. Still incredulous, my husband Anshu, and I chatted about what we’d just encountered. We’d heard about the tree-climbing lions of Lake Manyara National Park in Tanzania and Queen Elizabeth National Park in Uganda. This must be a learned behaviour in certain prides, picked up by the cubs as they watch the adults — just like certain lion prides specialize in hunting hippos or giraffe or porcupines.
When we returned to the sighting, our lions’ bottoms, tails, heads, legs and bellies were still intertwined in the branches and we heard gentle snoring. Do they ever forget they’re up on the tree and roll over, I wondered. Just then, we heard a shuffle and a yelp, and we watched a lioness lose her balance, swing around, body down and all four feet clawing the tree for a hold. She scrambled to upright herself, but her weight was against her. Suddenly she fell to the ground with a loud thud!
Cats always land on their feet, they say, and our girl had crashed on her underside in a sitting position. She stared at us, and then looked up. The others had watched closely, but showed little concern. Within seconds she stepped on the gall of the tree and climbed up to join her sisters. From her body language I gathered she was unhurt, but just a tiny bit embarrassed.