Image credit: Shane Doyle 

In South Luangwa, the seasons don’t just change the landscape, they change the way it sounds. From May to October, the bush slowly transforms from lush and green to dry and dusty. And as it does, the animals shift with it – in behaviour, in movement, and in voice.

We’ve spent decades listening to this valley. Here’s what a season sounds like, from the first cool mornings to the last breathless weeks before the rains return.

Image credit: (2,3) Mike Varndell , (5) Tony Ware

The rains have passed, and the park reopens with a sense of calm. The bush is still green, the river is flowing steadily, and there’s a kind of clarity to the sounds.

Birdsong feels louder in the crisp air – lilac-breasted rollers, coucals, the occasional burst from a woodland kingfisher that hasn’t left yet. Elephants are quieter now, moving more loosely across the landscape. You’ll hear the splash of them crossing flooded channels, the low rumble of communication if you’re lucky and close.

Predators are around, but they don’t need to work as hard just yet. The sound of a leopard sawing at dusk or lions calling across the river is there, but spaced out. You’re more likely to hear hippos at night, grunting from a full river, still content.

The grass is starting to drop. Each step through the bush gets crunchier. Days are still cool, but the change is coming – and so is the noise.

Baboons start to bark more often, reacting to cats moving in closer. Impala snorts cut through the early morning stillness. Elephants begin pushing over more trees. You can hear it echo through the bush, the cracking of mopane, the sudden thud, then the scrape of tusks on bark.

Birds like ground hornbills walk in groups, their deep calls travelling long distances. You might not see them straight away, but you’ll definitely hear them!

Image credit: (5) Dan Spears

This is when the bush really hits its stride. Everything is drier, and that makes everything louder. Even small movements – a guinea fowl scratching, a mongoose darting – seem amplified.

Cicadas are starting up, especially during the heat of the day. The sound swells and dips with the temperature, filling the air with that constant dry-season buzz. It’s the kind of sound you don’t notice at first – until it stops!

Lions become more vocal, especially at night. There’s more at stake now – prey is clustering near water, and competition is tightening. A night can erupt with sound: lions calling, hyenas whooping in response, elephants trumpeting if they’re challenged.

By now, the bush is noisy all day. Not chaotic, but full. Carmine bee-eaters return in huge numbers and set up nests along the riverbanks. Their calls are constant, sharp, high, and unmistakable.

The lagoons are shrinking, and the animals are concentrating. Crocodiles snap at fish in tight corners. Buffalo crash into the water to drink, hooves on dry mud like drums. Hippos get crankier, the grunts turn to bellows, and fights break out more often.

Predators take full advantage. The alarm calls – impala, puku, baboons – become part of the daily rhythm. You don’t just hear a leopard, you hear the bush reacting to it.

By now, water is scarce and the temperatures are climbing. Midday is mostly silent, even the cicadas ease off. But mornings and evenings are sharp with tension.

There’s more movement at dawn. Elephants cover ground early and fast. Buffalo arrive in thick, dusty herds, and the sound of hooves fills the air. You might hear a buffalo snort up close, or the deep, vibrating growl of a lion watching them from cover.

Birds seem quieter overall, but the heavyweights – fish eagles, vultures, even saddle-billed storks – still announce themselves. At night, hyenas become more vocal, sometimes breaking into full whooping choruses that roll across the dry plains.

Image credit: (5) Shane Doyle

October is intense. The river is little more than a series of pools, and everything is crowding around them. The heat presses down, and the soundscape shifts again.

Frogs start calling, even before the rain, triggered by moisture in the air, or just the promise of it. Rainbirds call constantly, almost willing the clouds to break. It’s a hopeful, restless sound.

The bush is tense, brittle. Animal encounters spike because there’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to drink unnoticed. You hear more interactions, more alarms, more confrontation.

And then maybe, just maybe, the first real thunder rolls in from far off. It doesn’t rain yet, but everyone’s listening…

Can I hear lions and leopards calling at night?
Yes! Especially from July to October, lions become more vocal at night. You may also hear the distinctive “sawing” call of leopards echoing through the bush, particularly near water sources.

Are the sounds of the bush different at Kaingo Camp and Mwamba Bush Camp?
Yes — each camp offers a distinct soundscape shaped by its surroundings.
Mwamba, set deep in the bush, is alive with birdsong from dawn to dusk — from flocks of hornbills to the haunting calls of ground-dwelling species. You’ll often hear lions and leopards vocalising at night, and the close presence of elephants moving through camp. Kaingo, closer to the Luangwa River, brings a different rhythm — hippos grunting and splashing, the cry of the African fish eagle, and the unique sounds of elephants crossing the water. It’s a place where the river speaks, day and night.

What kind of bird sounds can I expect in South Luangwa?
From lilac-breasted rollers and ground hornbills to the return of carmine bee-eaters in August, birds are a key part of South Luangwa’s soundscape. Even in the hottest, driest months, calls from rainbirds and fish eagles fill the air.

Is October too hot for safari?
October is hot — no doubt. But it’s also one of the most rewarding times for wildlife encounters and dramatic sounds. With limited water, animals gather in concentrated spots, making it easier to witness (and hear) intense moments.