I’m inclined to get a bit soppy on the last morning. In a few hours I would be leaving the Luangwa Valley in Zambia and heading home. An elegiac mood descended: I started waving to impalas and smiling mistily at lilac-breasted rollers.

A black cuckoo was calling A hippo waded heavily across Mfuwe Lagoon, followed by 11 jacanas feeding on the insects he disturbed. What was the best bit of this trip? Well, that’s rather like trying to isolate the best bit of an idyllic holiday romance, but I’ll have a shot.

The wild dogs at their hunt. The leopard, also hunting. The elephant roadblock. The long-crested eagle. That wonderful sighting of African pitta, a bird I’d been looking for more than 30 years.

We were now at the Luangwa River. A light rain was falling. An elephant was making the crossing by himself, utterly at ease: a big male with a head domed like St Paul’s Cathedral.

And perhaps the rain was the best bit. I hadn’t been here at this time of year for a good few years: the place was rich and green, there were flowers everywhere some of which I even identified, and plenty of butterflies, especially the one called common leopard.

The soundscape was changed as well: the cuckoos, the striped kingfishers. Perhaps the best moment was learning the song of the eastern nicator: rich and fluty with just a hint of nightingale. I knew the Valley just the tiniest bit better than I did before.

The elephant was now climbing the far bank. Behind him there were skimmers on the river, yellow-billed storks and spoonbills. He kicked up sand with his right forefoot and scooped it up in his trunk, flinging it in a graceful arc over his back. Now it was a red elephant. It moved on and so did I, waving to one more impala as I left.

 

• I was travelling with Wildlife Worldwide. More trips https://wildlifeworldwide.cmail20.com/t/y-e-xididdd-thukydkiuh-r/