The Most Dangerous Animal on Walking Safaris

Respect isn’t theoretical when you’re walking.

Tragedy in Zambia

Two days ago, the news broke.
Two women—tourists, one British, one from New Zealand—were killed by a charging elephant on a walking safari in South Luangwa National Park, Zambia.

It’s a devastating story. And for anyone who’s spent time walking in the bush, it’s not entirely surprising.

On Foot

Last October, I spent time in Mana Pools, Zimbabwe. I walked every day. when we found something promising, we parked and left the vehicle. No safety net except for our armed certified walking guide. Just boots on the ground, and the full presence of the wild.

When you do your first walking safari, it’s the lions that get your heart racing.
There’s nothing like standing 50 meters from a pride—completely exposed, hundreds of meters from your vehicle. The adrenaline kicks in. Every instinct fires. It feels raw, exhilarating, alive.

And in that moment, it feels like the lions are the danger. But they’re not. The guides are chilling they are not nervous.

The Real Threat

There’s something all certified walking guides will tell you, quietly but clearly:

It’s not the lions that worry them. It’s elephants. More specifically—females with calves.

Lions bluff. Leopards vanish. But elephants? When they mean it, there’s no misunderstanding. And not much time to react.

One Frame Too Many

On one of our walks, we came across a few elephants feeding calmly in the bush.
One was a female with a calf.

I crouched low to frame a shot. My guide said, “We need to move—quickly.”

I wanted one last frame. The light was good. But before I could press the shutter, he grabbed my arm—firm, no discussion—and pulled me up.

“We’re going. Now.”

At the time, I thought he might be overreacting.
The elephants didn’t seem that close. And when they don’t have calves, we sometimes get very close—no issue.

But his job isn’t to entertain me. It’s to read the scene—posture, pressure, terrain—and protect me. We took cover behind some trees, enough to shield us if it decided to charge. And after hearing the news this week, I understand his reaction on a deeper level. I’m humbled by it.

Because the best guides don’t panic. They know.

To become a certified walking safari guide isn’t something you do in a day or a week.
There’s no shortcut. No online course and certificate in the mail.
It’s earned through serious, hands-on training—months and years of studying animal behavior, understanding pressure signs, wind, terrain, reading situations in real time.
They’re not just guides. They’re field tacticians.
And when they say move—you move. No questions. Not one last shot.

Walking Means Risk

These aren’t stories to scare you. They’re reality checks.

Walking safaris aren’t curated experiences. They’re not zoo moments. They’re real. And real means risk—however small. I asked my guide how often incidents happen. ‘Not very often,’ he said. ‘There are usually a couple of times every season that lions charge if you get too close, but they always back off. It’s just their way of saying, hey, you’re too close—back off.

The risk isn’t constant—but it’s consequential. Because when things go wrong out there, they go wrong fast—and final. Like I said, the one moment everyone was truly on edge was when we encountered female elephants with calves.

Respect the Guides. Respect the Wild.

That’s the beauty of walking. And the cost.

My heart goes out to the families affected. And my respect, always, to the guides who walk into the wild every day with calm, courage, and hard-earned instinct—knowing that sometimes even that isn’t enough.

The wild doesn’t apologize.
It just is.

One day I’ll write about our last day in Mana Pools last year. It was a slow day. We’d just stepped out of the Land Cruiser to head down to the riverbed and photograph some birds. Roger, who was last in the group and had just jumped out of the car, suddenly said—loudly, but almost uncertain—“Hey… I think I saw something in the bush behind the car. Kinda looked like a lion…”