Watching Elephants Bathe at Dusk | Avula Safaris
Some moments on safari take you by surprise—not for their intensity or danger, but for their quiet, soul-stirring beauty. One such moment happened not during a hunt, but as the day surrendered to dusk. Our rifles were slung, the sun dipping low, and we were heading back to camp when Themba raised a hand to stop the vehicle.
“Waterhole,” he whispered. “Elephants.”
We killed the engine and sat in silence, the only sound the rhythmic thump of my heartbeat slowing after a long day in the bush. There, not thirty yards away, was a herd—eight, maybe ten—gathered at a shallow pan just beginning to reflect the fire-colored sky.
The matriarch stood tall, vigilant, while the younger elephants took turns plunging into the muddy shallows. They rolled, trumpeted, and splashed, sending arcs of water sparkling into the air. Calves wrestled, dunking each other, while one small bull flopped down with theatrical flair, kicking up clouds of dust and joy.
We watched, unmoving.
The Power of Stillness
There’s a certain reverence in observing wildlife without being observed. We weren’t participants now—we were privileged spectators. No calls. No clicks. Just the lapping of water, the slap of trunks against wet skin, and the occasional low rumble shared between herd members.
The golden hour cast everything in rich, amber tones. It made their hides gleam. It made the dust look like magic. It made the world feel slowed down and sacred.
A Break From the Chase
That day had started like any other on safari—glass in hand, rifles sighted, spoor fresh in the dirt. We had tracked kudu for hours through thornveld and kopje. The shot had never come, and no one seemed to mind.
Because here, at the edge of the day, nature had decided to reward us in another way.
This was the kind of moment no trophy could match.
The Dusk Departure
As the sun disappeared, the herd began to move—slowly, deliberately—melting back into the mopane. The last to leave was the matriarch. She turned briefly in our direction, ears spread, trunk raised as if acknowledging our presence.
Then she followed the rest, and the clearing fell silent.
The bush felt different afterward. Quieter. Like it, too, had paused to take in what we’d just seen.
More Than a Hunt
At Avula Safaris, we live for the chase, the strategy, the triumph of a well-earned trophy. But we also live for the quiet, powerful interludes that make every safari unforgettable.
Because sometimes, the most memorable days are the ones where your finger never touches the trigger.
