Every safari guest who joins us eventually asks the same thing: “How on earth did you see that?”

Whether it’s a leopard lounging in the fork of a leadwood tree, a tiny bush baby tucked behind a tangle of branches, or the ripple in the grass that betrays a lion’s silent stalk – spotting wildlife is a skill, one that our guides have been sharpening over years in the Luangwa Valley.

The good news? It’s a skill you can begin to learn, too.

Here’s how our guides train their eyes to read the bush – lessons gathered from years of tracking, guiding, and simply listening to what the wild has to say.

In the bush, it’s not about spotting an elephant or a lion straight away – it’s about noticing when something doesn’t fit. A darker patch on a termite mound. A perfectly still “log” with a subtle curve. The odd flick of an ear or twitch of a tail.

Our guides are trained to see the disturbance before the creature. As senior guide Patrick puts it, “If you’re looking for a lion, you’ll miss it. But if you’re looking for what doesn’t belong, you’ll find it.”

Birds are the Luangwa’s most underrated trackers. A sudden burst of shrieking from francolins, the alarm whistle of an oxpecker, or the silence that descends when something dangerous enters the scene – these are signals our guides never ignore.

One of our most memorable leopard sightings last season started not with footprints, but with a drama of starlings in full alarm, circling a thicket.

The birds always know first.

Most first-time safari-goers focus where the vehicle is headed. But guides are constantly scanning beyond the road, checking shaded gullies, the base of sausage trees, distant antelope behavior, or even the movement of dust on the horizon.

Our wildlife hides, such as the famous Carmine Bee-Eater Hide or the Hippo Hide, are designed to immerse you in this wider view. You’re not chasing animals here. You’re letting the story unfold in front of you.

Your eyes are naturally drawn to movement, but once it grabs your attention, don’t rush. Stop. Watch. Often, that rustle in the reeds turns out to be more than just the wind.

Guides use their binoculars like a painter uses a brush – slow, deliberate sweeps across the terrain, not to zoom in, but to pick apart texture, shadow, and shape.

Many of our most extraordinary moments have come after waiting. Just sitting. Letting the landscape settle, letting the animals forget we’re there.

From Mwamba’s Last Waterhole Hide, we’ve watched leopards drink, wild dogs pass by at dusk, and elephants arrive in slow procession – none of which we would have seen had we been in a hurry.

The bush rewards stillness.

There’s a quiet magic to walking alongside one of our expert guides. The way they pause, bend down, point to a barely-there print in the sand, then adjust course. What looks like instinct is actually years of deeply attentive observation.

We believe the best safaris aren’t about ticking animals off a list.

They’re about learning how to see the bush – not just what’s in front of you, but how everything connects. It’s the quiet moment when you sense a leopard is near, before your eyes find her. It’s understanding why the impalas are suddenly alert, or why a bird takes off in a panic. It’s about seeing the Luangwa not as background, but as something alive, and constantly speaking, if you’re paying attention.