The Handsome
Leopard
One impala. Several trees. Hundreds of photographs. A flat tyre. And one unbelievably handsome leopard.
Middle Bridge
In May 2026, my parents came to visit me at Solio.
All three of us are wildlife photographers, and sharing that passion makes travelling together pretty special. Give us a camera, a game drive and no particular reason to be back at a certain time, and we're happy.
We had a whole week ahead of us at Solio.
And on our very first game drive, we heard there had been a leopard sighting somewhere around Middle Bridge.
Of course, we went to have a look.
We were slowly driving through the area when, right in front of our car, a beautiful male leopard suddenly appeared from a large bush.
And he wasn't alone.
He was dragging a massive impala.
Straight across the road in front of us.
For a moment, we couldn't quite believe what we were seeing.
He disappeared into another bush close to the river, and we stayed with him. There was nobody else around. Just the three of us, our guide and this leopard.
He didn't seem bothered by our presence at all.
He settled down and peacefully started feeding.
When he needed a break, he came out into the tall grass, rolled around like an oversized house cat, rested for a while, crossed the river and eventually came back again.
And entirely capable of killing.
It is easy to photograph a leopard as something ornamental. The spots, the light, the tail hanging from a branch.
But he was there because of the impala, and the impala was there because he had killed it.
Photographing him honestly means photographing that too. Not for shock. Because it is his life, and leaving it out would make the rest of the pictures a little less true.
That became our routine
The next morning, there wasn't much discussion about which road we were taking first.
Back to Middle Bridge.
And there he was again.
Still with his kill.
That became our routine.
For almost the entire week, we kept finding him.
One day the impala was up one tree. The next time we came back, he had moved it to another. Sometimes he was feeding. Sometimes sleeping. Sometimes wandering through the grass.
And sometimes he was just being ridiculously handsome.
He was playful, relaxed and almost kitten-like at times.
Solio is a place where I usually return home with far too many photographs of rhinos.
That week, somehow, we came home with more photographs of a leopard.
After seeing him day after day, something started to feel different.
Of course, he was a wild leopard. We weren't under any illusion that he was our friend.
But there was a familiarity to the encounters.
We knew where to look for him, and he seemed completely comfortable carrying on with his life while we quietly watched from the vehicle.
It almost felt as though we had got to know him.
We couldn't find him.
Until the night game drive.
Naturally, we took the same road again.
And there he was.
Standing in a tree.
Exactly where every wildlife photographer dreams of finding a leopard.
And somehow, as if that wasn't enough, he was surrounded by beautiful golden light.
We couldn't believe it.
I remember us laughing because we were simply so excited. After spending the whole week with this leopard, he was giving us that on our final evening.
Then he posed
We took the photographs.
Then he climbed down.
We thought that was it.
Honestly, we were already more than happy.
But apparently he wasn't finished with us.
He walked over to a large fallen tree and climbed onto it.
And posed.
There really isn't another word for it.
Beautiful leopard. Beautiful tree. Golden light.
we got a flat tyre.
We were laughing again.
He eventually walked off for a drink and then continued towards another huge, beautiful tree.
We looked at it and joked: imagine if he climbs that one.
Perfect timing.
So there we were, changing a tyre in the middle of this ridiculous leopard sighting, trying not to lose sight of him.
The whole time, we kept watching.
The tyre was finally changed.
We got ourselves ready again.
And then he climbed the tree.
Exactly the tree we had been joking about.
It honestly felt as if he'd been waiting for us to finish so he could continue modelling.
Of course he hadn't.
But after an entire week of finding the same leopard again and again, it was the perfect ending.
The strangest part was that he stayed.
A jack, a spare wheel, four people making far too much noise, and he simply waited at the base of the trees and looked back at us.
I don't think he was waiting for us. But he knew exactly where we were the entire time.
He climbed into the fork of it, settled, and let the last of the light find him there. Then he stopped looking at us altogether.
What it means to watch
Leopards are not easy to find.
Most of the time you drive past them without ever knowing they were there.
They lie flat in grass that barely looks deep enough to hide a hare, and they watch you long before you have any idea where to look.
Which is why a week like this one felt so unlikely.
Every sighting felt borrowed. Something he allowed rather than something we found.
There were moments that week when he came close enough that I stopped thinking about composition altogether.
Close enough to see the grass move under his weight.
You do not feel brave in those moments. You feel small, and very aware that you are being tolerated.
That is the part of wildlife photography that stays with me longest. Not the photograph. The few seconds before it.
Several trees.
Hundreds of photographs.
A flat tyre.
And one unbelievably handsome leopard.
…who somehow turned what was supposed to be a week of photographing Solio's rhinos into a week we spent following him instead.
Wildlife doesn't perform for us. It doesn't know the photographs we're hoping for, and most of the time it does exactly the opposite.
That's what makes moments like this so special.
Sometimes everything simply comes together.
The animal. The light. The place. The people you're sharing it with.
And somehow, on our very last evening, even the leopard seemed to get the memo.
