The Night a Lion Roared Outside My Tent | Avula Safaris
It was my second night in the Eastern Cape bushveld, and the air was thick with silence. That heavy, expectant kind of stillness that presses against your eardrums and makes you acutely aware of your own heartbeat. The fire had long since burned down to embers. My rifle was racked just outside my canvas tent. And I lay there, awake, listening.
At first, it was distant.
A low rumble, so deep it felt like the ground was clearing its throat. I sat up. Not out of fear exactly, but out of the same instinct that made the kudu freeze in the brush, the same alertness that had carried humans through millennia of nights like this one.
The lion roared again—closer.
Not the playful grumble you hear at the zoo. No fence between us. No glass. This was a raw, guttural bellow that seemed to vibrate through the tent walls, through my chest, into my bones. I slipped out of bed, unzipped the flap just enough to peer into the night.
Moonlight caught the edge of a thorn bush. Otherwise, darkness.
Somewhere beyond the black, no more than 40 yards away, he stood. The king of this land. Breathing the same air. Walking the same ground.
A Hunter’s Heartbeat
Oddly, I wasn’t afraid.
There was awe, yes. Respect. But not fear. This wasn’t my hunt. Not that night. This was his land. I was the guest. And he reminded me of that with every breath he took, every roar that punctuated the silence.
He called again.
From inside the tent, I could hear the subtle rustle of someone else stirring. My PH. Just one tent over. I heard the slow zip of a sleeping bag, followed by the faint clink of a rifle sling. But we didn’t step out. We didn’t chase.
We listened.
And then—nothing.
Gone by Morning
At first light, we followed his prints. Massive, clear, stamped into the damp red soil not 20 paces from my tent. The trackers smiled. “Big male,” Themba said. “He was curious. Maybe checking the smell of dinner.”
We laughed. Nervously.
That day, we hunted kudu through the ravines and across the hills. But my mind kept circling back to the night before. Not because of the danger, but because of what it meant.
To hunt in Africa is to immerse yourself in its rhythm. Its risks. Its stories. And sometimes, the most unforgettable hunts are the ones where you don’t even raise your rifle.
The Sound You Never Forget
I’ve harvested some incredible trophies since that trip. Buffalo. Sable. A 55-inch kudu I still talk about. But when people ask me about the moment I felt most alive in Africa, I tell them about that night.
The lion. The silence. The knowledge that we were both there, under the same stars, sharing the bush for just a moment in time.
Share the Wild
At Avula Safaris, we offer more than just hunting experiences—we create stories. Some are about the perfect shot. Others are about the lion outside your tent.
