The Feeling That Stays With You
On a warm afternoon at MalaMala Game Reserve, Mike Moth and a Bushtracks group spent nearly an hour tracking two leopard cubs. When they finally found them, the group was completely absorbed. Mike found himself watching the travelers’ faces as closely as the sighting itself, reminded that a moment familiar to a guide may represent a lifelong dream for someone else.
That awareness shapes the way Mike guides. He brings patience, curiosity, and an instinct for when to explain what is unfolding and when to let the moment speak for itself. Here, he reflects on the value of silence and what he hopes travelers carry home.
Where did your relationship with the bush begin, and when did you first know you wanted to become a guide?
My relationship with the bush started when I was about six years old. I was taken to the Kruger National Park for the first time, and I was completely hooked from that first visit. I remember being fascinated by everything: the animals, the landscapes, the sounds, and just the feeling of being somewhere so wild and different from everyday life.
Apparently, when I saw one of the rangers in uniform, I asked my mother what he did. She explained that he was a ranger, and I turned around and told her, “That’s what I want to be one day.” I obviously didn’t fully understand what being a ranger or a guide meant at that age, but looking back, it’s quite funny because that fascination never really went away.
As I got older, the interest in wildlife became more than just enjoying seeing animals. I became interested in understanding them, why they behave the way they do, how they interact with each other, and how all the different pieces of the ecosystem fit together. That’s ultimately what led me towards guiding.
What brought you to MalaMala, and what has the reserve taught you over the years?
Growing up, after that first experience of the bush, there were certain names that always seemed to stand out to me, and MalaMala was one of them. I watched documentaries that were filmed on the property and remember thinking that this was somewhere I wanted to experience for myself one day. Eventually, that became a goal, not just to visit MalaMala, but to actually come and work here.
When I finally got the opportunity, it felt like one of those moments where something had come full circle. I’d spent years seeing this place through documentaries and hearing about it, and suddenly I was here, experiencing it every day.
MalaMala has taught me a huge amount, but probably one of the biggest things is patience. The bush doesn’t work on our schedule. You can’t force an animal to appear or make nature perform for you. Sometimes you have to sit, wait, and allow things to unfold.
It’s also taught me to explore and to never assume that you’ve seen everything. Even after spending so much time in the same area, you can drive down the same road and have a completely different experience.
And then there’s the guests. You have people arriving from all over the world with very high expectations, and I think the bush has taught me not to panic when things don’t immediately go according to plan. You learn to trust the place. MalaMala has a way of providing, sometimes not in the way you expected, but often in a way that’s even better.
MalaMala is renowned for its wildlife, but what makes it distinctive beyond the sightings?
I think it’s the feeling that you’re genuinely in the bush. MalaMala is a big place, and there are areas where you can spend hours driving without seeing another vehicle. There’s something really special about that feeling of being out there on your own, surrounded by nothing but the landscape and whatever nature decides to give you that day.
The diversity of the habitats also makes a big difference. You can move through completely different environments during a single drive, and each one brings its own possibilities.
But for me, the Sand River is probably one of the biggest things that makes MalaMala special. It acts almost like a magnet for wildlife. Water draws animals in, but it’s also about what happens around it, the interactions between different species and the opportunities those interactions create.
You might set out looking for one particular animal and end up witnessing something completely unexpected because of what’s happening around the river. That’s one of the things I love about the bush. You can have an idea of what you’re going to do, but the bush always has the final say.
Before your first drive with new guests, what are you trying to understand about them?
Before a first drive, I’m always trying to get a feel for where the guests are coming from, both literally and in terms of their experience with the bush.
Have they been on safari before? Is this their first time in Africa? Are they experienced wildlife enthusiasts, or are they simply curious and excited to see what the bush has to offer?
I think understanding that helps me understand what kind of experience they are looking for. Some guests are very focused on seeing particular animals, while others are more interested in the overall experience.
The world we live in is so fast-paced, and I think one of the great gifts of being in the bush is that it forces you to slow down. So, particularly with guests who are experiencing safari for the first time, I want them to understand that it isn’t always about ticking animals off a list.
Of course, everyone wants to see the big animals, and I’m no different. But I want guests to start noticing the smaller things as well: the birds, tracks, plants, insects, sounds, and the behaviour of the animals around them.
You have a remarkably calm way of guiding. How do you decide when to explain what is happening and when to let a moment unfold in silence?
Essentially, I think of us as guides as narrators of what is happening in front of our guests. We all have different styles, and that’s perfectly fine. Some guides prefer to talk a lot and give guests a huge amount of information, while others are more comfortable allowing things to happen naturally.
Personally, I don’t think guests necessarily retain everything you tell them, especially when something exciting is happening in front of them. They might be watching an interaction, taking photographs, or simply trying to take in what they’re seeing, so they’re not always concentrating on every word you’re saying.
I prefer to give little tidbits of information as things unfold and then allow the guests to observe. If they’re curious about something, they’ll ask, and that’s when you can go into more detail.
I think people are ultimately going to remember how they felt during a particular moment much more than they’ll remember exactly what the guide was saying. You can give someone a huge amount of information about an animal, but if they’re sitting quietly watching it do something incredible, sometimes the best thing you can do is just let them experience it.
There is a time and a place for everything, though. If there’s an interaction or something particularly interesting happening, I generally prefer to let everyone just observe and take in that moment. We can always discuss what happened afterwards, once the interaction is over.
For me, that’s important because I want guests to be fully engaged with all their senses, not just sitting there listening to my voice. Sometimes silence is actually part of the guiding.
What separates a technically knowledgeable guide from a truly exceptional one?
I’d say it’s the ability to connect the knowledge to the person sitting in your vehicle.
You can know an incredible amount about wildlife, the Latin names, behaviour, ecology, tracks, birds, geology, but knowledge on its own doesn’t necessarily make someone an exceptional guide. It’s what you do with that knowledge and how you make the guest feel that matters.
A really good guide is constantly reading the people in the vehicle. Everyone arrives with a different level of knowledge, different interests, and different expectations. Some people want to know everything about an animal, while others might be experiencing Africa for the first time and simply want to sit back and take it all in.
I think an exceptional guide is someone who can adapt to that without losing their own passion for the bush.
It’s also about being curious yourself. You can never know everything about the bush, and I think the moment you believe you do, you stop learning. I’m still constantly learning from the animals, from other guides, and even from guests.
Ultimately, I think the best guides don’t just show you an animal. They make you see it differently.
What does tracking reveal that guests might miss if they focused only on finding the animal?
Tracking tells a story. It’s almost like being given little pieces of a puzzle and having to work out what happened before you arrived.
It’s the whole journey that tracking takes you on. You start with a set of tracks and then begin looking at the direction they’re going, the age of the tracks, what the animal may have been doing, what else has crossed the area, and what the surrounding environment is telling you.
And on many occasions, the tracking experience itself has been the highlight of a drive, even when we haven’t been able to find the animal we were looking for.
I think that’s because there’s always that element of “What if we do find it?” You follow the tracks, you make a prediction, you change direction, you find another clue, and suddenly you’re completely invested in the story.
For guests, it can also change the way they look at the bush. Instead of just seeing an empty patch of sand, they start seeing evidence of everything that’s moving through it. You realise that even when you can’t see an animal, the bush is still incredibly busy.
And then, of course, if you eventually do find what you’ve been tracking, there’s something really special about knowing that you didn’t just stumble across it. You followed the story all the way there, and you kept the guests involved all the way. It’s very rewarding.
Can you share a sighting or encounter that began quietly but became unforgettable because of the way it unfolded?
It was an afternoon drive fairly recently. It was cold and incredibly windy, and just outside camp we found five lions lying along the banks of the Sand River. They were completely relaxed, so I decided to leave them and continue with the drive rather than spend too much time with them.
A little while later, I heard one of my colleagues mention over the radio that they could hear an elephant in distress. The lions had also picked up on the sound and had suddenly become interested, so they started moving in that direction.
I decided to head back and rejoin the sighting, and as I arrived, the lions had started jogging towards where the elephant was. It turned out to be a very young elephant, probably around two or three years old. When the lions realised there were no adults around, the whole situation changed very quickly.
It was a very difficult thing to watch. Nobody enjoys seeing something like that, particularly when it’s a young animal, but it’s also one of those moments where nature reminds you that it operates on its own terms. Out here, one animal’s survival can depend on another animal not surviving. It’s harsh, but it’s also nature at its most raw and honest.
What stayed with me afterwards was trying to understand how the situation had happened in the first place. We suspected that, because of the extremely strong winds, the elephant herd may have moved on without realising that they had left the young one behind. Once the calf realised it had lost the herd, it probably became distressed and started calling.
The best way I can describe it is like being a child in a busy shopping mall and suddenly losing sight of your parents. That moment of realisation and panic sets in, and you don’t know where to go or what to do. Except, for a young elephant out here, the consequences of that separation were far more serious.
It was a difficult sighting, but it’s one I’ll remember for a long time. It was a reminder that the bush isn’t a collection of perfect wildlife moments. Sometimes you witness incredible beauty, and sometimes you witness the difficult reality of how the ecosystem works. That’s the bush: beautiful, unpredictable, and completely unforgiving.
When you guided our Safari Legends group, what do you remember most about the journey or the people?
I remember that it wasn’t a particularly long stay, so there was a little bit of pressure to make the most of the time we had. We had to cover quite a lot in a short period, but at the same time, I didn’t want the experience to feel rushed. Finding that balance is always important.
I remember the first afternoon quite clearly. It was a warm one, and we decided to try and track down two leopard cubs. It took us about an hour before we eventually found them.
But once we did, it was almost as though the heat didn’t matter anymore. Everyone was completely absorbed in what was happening in front of us. Those are the moments that make all the effort of getting there worthwhile.
I always find myself looking at the guests’ faces when they see a leopard for the first time. It’s probably one of the most rewarding parts of the life we live as guides. You can explain what it might be like to see a leopard, you can show someone photographs, you can tell them stories, but none of that compares to actually watching their reaction when one appears in front of them.
For some people, they’ve saved for this trip for years. It might be something they’ve dreamed about for most of their lives. So to sit there and watch that dream actually play out in front of them is pretty special.
I think that’s one of the things I enjoy most about guiding. You get to experience the bush through your own eyes, but you also get to experience it again through someone else’s eyes. And sometimes seeing that reaction reminds you just how incredible the things we’ve become accustomed to seeing every day actually are.
How have travelers and their expectations changed during your career?
I think guests have become a lot more connected to the world through social media and documentaries, so they often arrive with a very good idea of what they want to see. They’ve seen incredible photographs and videos of wildlife, and sometimes they arrive with a particular expectation of what their safari should look like.
There’s definitely a desire to see the big things, lions, leopards, elephants, wild dogs, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I still get excited every time I see those animals myself. But I think one of the challenges for us as guides is helping people understand that the bush doesn’t work like a wildlife documentary.
You can’t press pause and wait for the leopard to come out when you’re ready. You can’t guarantee that the lions are going to hunt that morning. Sometimes you can spend hours looking for something and never find it, and then on the drive back you see something completely unexpected.
I think guests are also becoming more interested in the experience as a whole. They want to understand what they’re seeing rather than simply take a photograph of it. And that’s something I really enjoy, taking someone who may not know much about the bush and helping them become curious about it.
Ultimately, I think the expectation I’d like to change is the idea that a successful safari is measured by how many animals you saw. It’s about quality over quantity. Sometimes the most memorable drive is the one where you didn’t find what you were looking for, but you experienced something you never expected.
What responsibility does a guide have to the wildlife, the landscape, and the communities connected to it?
I think we have a huge responsibility because, for many guests, we are their introduction to the bush. What we say and how we behave can influence how they view wildlife and the environment.
Our responsibility isn’t just to find animals. It’s to respect them. We have to remember that we’re entering their environment, not the other way around. There are times when you need to know when to move away, when to give an animal space, and when not to push a sighting simply because you know the guests would love to see more.
The same applies to the landscape. We spend so much time out here that it’s easy to forget how important it is to look after the places we’re fortunate enough to work in. We need to leave as little impact as possible and make sure that the people who come after us can experience the same thing.
And then there’s the responsibility we have towards the people connected to the bush. A reserve isn’t just about the animals and the people you see in the vehicle. There are communities, families, and a huge number of people whose lives are connected to conservation and tourism.
I think being a guide means understanding that you’re part of something much bigger than yourself. We’re incredibly fortunate to make a living from a place like this, and with that comes the responsibility to protect it, respect it, and help others understand why it’s worth protecting.
When guests leave MalaMala, what do you hope they carry home beyond photographs and a list of animals they saw?
I hope they leave with a different appreciation for the natural world.
Obviously, I want them to have the photographs and the memories of the animals they’ve seen. Hopefully they’ll have a few incredible stories to tell when they get home. But I’d like them to take something with them that lasts a little longer than that.
I hope they leave having slowed down a little. We live in such a fast-paced world where we’re constantly looking at screens, checking the time, and moving on to the next thing. Out here, you don’t really have that option. You have to sit and wait. You have to listen. You have to watch.
I’d like them to leave understanding that the bush isn’t just about the big five. It’s the tracks in the sand, the alarm call of a bird, the movement in the grass, the way animals interact with each other, and all the little things that are happening around you that you might not notice at first.
And hopefully, they leave with a feeling of connection. Maybe they look at wildlife differently when they get home. Maybe they become more interested in conservation. Maybe they start noticing birds or insects or trees that they would previously have walked straight past.
For me, that’s when you’ve really achieved something as a guide. If a guest leaves with more curiosity about the natural world than they had when they arrived, then hopefully I’ve done my job.
You can take the photographs home, but the feeling of being out here is the thing I hope stays with you.
