Moonshadow bush lessons in the dark

African bushveld by day is a charming, visually beautiful environment where threats are few to the carbound visitor.

Even on foot, for the most part, humans hold sway in broad daylight.

Thousands of years have taught wild animals that daytime belongs to man.

But not so the night.

Robbed of our sight, in darkness we instinctively recognise our vulnerability. Forced to depend on less obvious senses, our hearing ups its game.

Sound, smell and that indefinable sixth sense of the ‘ gut’ grow pin sharp as the light fades and the shadows deepen.

If there is a fire, don’t be lulled. The edge of the brightly glowing circle is a dead zone, blacker than black, and human eyes strain to cut through.

Your ears must filter out the crackles, buzz and sizzles to pick up whatever lies beyond. It confuses the senses. Better then, to rely on the moon.

Hunkered down near a waterhole, seemingly secure in a raised hide of sorts, we settle in for the night.

The rising full moon illuminates our surroundings, providing a flimsy sense of safety.

But while the moon is constant, the clouds are not. Nothing can be taken for granted here, not even moonshine.

Creatures of the night begin to move, slowly, cautiously making their way to drink, some less silent than others – a snapping twig, a snuffling breath, or the soft thud of a hoof or paw on the sandy soil.

But even the largest, the elephant, can move more quietly than the human ear can perceive, and it’s only when the clouds slide past the moon to brighten the landscape that you realise there is an elephant- shaped shadow in front of it, metres from your head.

There is nothing to be done but remain respectfully, silently still.

Later, a wading splash followed by deep, rhythmic slurping jolts our attention to the presence of a lone buffalo - unperturbed by shadowy wraiths slinking on the edges of the bush line, their sloping silhouettes the only clue to their identities. The hyena are on the prowl and it is no laughing matter.

Baboons and monkeys, silent and asleep in their safe trees from the moment the last of the sun’s rays faded away, suddenly become animated and frantic in the dead of night.

It can only mean one thing - a predator, most likely a leopard. Watch. Listen. Focus. Is that shadow moving?

Dulled by cloud cover, the light is murky and muted, a thousand shades of grey to black.

Hyper- aware. And then… a soft, silky lapping sound in the dark corner. Nothing more, until a flick of white among the grey.

Yes! A leopard, visible only by the tip of its tail. Satiated, it rises silently and pads along the water’s edge.

The clouds persist, but the silvery mirror of the still waterhole shows a clear, moving reflection as the cat progresses steadily around its perimeter.

Can his superior eyesight penetrate the shadow which shrouds me and see me as I am, a starkly, vulnerable human?

Do they perhaps even have heatseeking lasers, built in night vision? We think we know these answers from our very clever, human, scientific research – but do we really? Who can actually see through another’s eyes?

Suddenly, he is simply not there. Swallowed again by darkness and stealth. There will be no sleeping here tonight for humans, with our ancient memories of what it felt like when we were prey.

If you allow yourself to be a patient

and passionate student, you discover a lot about yourself under the influence of moonshine.

Things are wholly different at night with the shape- shifting shadows.

You learn – or perhaps just remember from our ancient collective memory - to identify animal species from the sounds they make while walking, grunting, growling, coughing, squealing or drinking.

Eventually, you need no light to tell the beasts apart – your ears tell your eyes what to see.

Once in a while, it does one good to step away from the light.