I remember vividly the moment I heard the lions “roar”; the sound made my spine shudder, and it grew louder every minute as we approached the group of aggressive males. We had spent a long morning searching for lions across the Mara, visiting locations where the prides had been seen earlier that week, but sadly with little success until a frantic discussion started over the radio.
A colleague of our guide had seen four males fighting and so we shot off at high speed across the rough terrain towards them. After much jolting and being thrown around in the vehicle we saw them in the distance, two male lions chasing another across the blistering hot plains. To our left, we saw the brother of the attacked lion, he looked as though he was on the way to provide support and even-up the odds, but then he swerved away, and we realized he was actually running away. Nothing in my life has been as thrilling as the feeling at that moment, racing up the hill in the Masai Mara chasing the males in the middle of a fight.