Diaries Of A Wildlife Photographer: On Safari | Relaxing Bedtime Story with Scottish Narrator

Hey, Jeffrey here and welcome back to Night Falls. I hope you're well, have had a super day and are all ready for a wonderful night's sleep. Before we get into tonight's story I want to give a huge shout out to subscribers. Not only do you get the best of Night Falls but you also keep the show going. Thank you for your support. For about a year now I've cut down on my phone usage to just half the week and wow, it's utterly glorious. I find myself doing things that bring me so much joy. Pressing play on a podcast, listening to music, watching the rainfall out of the window, basically being bored. I also feel like I've gained so much more time within each day and I sleep so much better. There's something about boredom. It feeds inspiration. Here's Initiative and has a touch of nostalgia don't you think? Tonight we're back with Tara, a retired wildlife photographer, spending a quiet winter in her snowy main cabin. But the silence and her boredom soon fire her inventiveness and before long she's off again, trading frosted mornings with the warmth of Africa, where new adventures and unexpected friendships await. Before we begin here's the quick ad break that keeps this free content possible. To go ad free, subscribe via the link in the show notes. Need anything from Tesco? Like Tesco Finest salted pretzel or caramelised biscuit chocolate Easter eggs? 12 pounds each with your Tesco Club Card? Or Tesco Finest extra fruity hot cross buns? Two packs for just three pounds? Because every little helps. Selected hot cross buns, majority of larger stores and online end 6th of April, Club Card or app required, exclusions apply. Idle money lies in your current account picking crumbs out of its belly button wondering, should I eat them? But when you start investing with Monzo, your money's always busy. It turns on regular investments, invests your spare change and tops up your stocks and shares ICER. It even helps you make sense of risk and return. Monzo, the bank that gets your money moving. You could get back less than you invest, Monzo current account required UK residents 18 plus T's and C's apply. Raise the rudder, raise the sails, raise the sails! Captain and unidentified ship approaching, over. Roger that, wait, is that an enterprise sales solution? Meet sales professionals, not professional sailors with LinkedIn ads. You can target the right people by industry, job title and more. Start converting your V2B audience into high quality leads today. Spend 200 pounds on your first campaign and get a 200 pound credit for the next one. Go to LinkedIn.com slash lead to claim your offer. Terms and conditions apply. Alright, now back to Night Falls. Tara listened as the wind whistled outside her cabin, burying herself deeper beneath the blanket. There was still a faint glow in the grate and she should get up and put more logs in the fire or later she would regret it. But for now, the pull of her cozy nest of a bed was too strong. She reached up and tweaked the carton, glancing out of the window and confirming what she suspected. It was snowing. Snow is such a strange and silent visitor, something that is sensed rather than heard. Somehow the outside world becomes muffled and there is a feeling of being wrapped up, without knowing by what exactly. And that's when we know the snow is falling. Another five minutes she told herself, drawing her knees up to her chest. Five more minutes and she would put some logs on the fire and convince the glow to spark to life. Five more minutes and she would put the kettle on and acknowledge that the day was happening. She'd meant to stay there for just five minutes until the hour hand would point to the number nine. But when she next looked, it was two minutes past the hour and it just seemed wrong to get up when it wasn't a proper round number. Oh well, she would just have to stay there until half past. This was Tara's retirement after all. Her trip to Nepal to see the snow leopards had been her last venture into the world as a wildlife photographer. It had been her life, travelling to all corners of the globe to capture wild animals in their natural environment. A life that, if anyone asked her, she would readily acknowledge she'd never expected. It was one of those right places, right time moments that had changed everything all those decades ago and she'd been catapulted from her job selling advertising space to assisting the late great Sir Colin when he'd travelled into the heart of the Amazon to find and photograph the elusive Jaguar. Tara had been retired now for six months and she counted them off on her fingers as she lay curled up under the blanket. Tara tried to remember what exactly she'd done in those six months but they were a general gentle blur of poking about in the garden, creating experimental soups in the kitchen, none of which had been remotely edible and dusting. Lots and lots of dusting. Her cabin had never been so neat and tidy. It had felt liberating at first but that feeling had left her after about a week then she'd just been filling in time. She glanced at the clock and watched as the second hand led towards half past. Five, four, three, two, one. Fine, she would get up. With reluctance she climbed from her nest and went to the fireplace, adding logs and giving everything a rustle with the poker to get the sparks excited once more. She went to the front door and opened it, looking out across her veranda to the snow beyond. Tara just wasn't in the mood for snow. She wanted sunshine. She wanted to feel the warmth of the sun on her shoulders and float on her back in a lake and pull on a pair of shorts instead of layers and layers of winter clothes. Which is why two days later, with Tara having decided that retirement didn't have to mean hanging up the camera equipment forever, she boarded a flight to Nairobi in Kenya. It was one of Africa's wilder cities and the moment she stepped into the taxi from the airport to her hotel, she knew she'd made the right decision. The car held together by string and hope with bright yellow tufts of foam emerging from the seats and the distinct smell of onions lingering dashed through the traffic, weaving and racing everyone else. Music blared from the radio and when they were forced to stop because of the sheer volume of vehicles, the music from the cars around competed with theirs so it was just one wall of chaotic cacophony. And Tara loved it. She absolutely loved it. The cabin in Maine was her silent retreat, her space to collapse and recover, but she reveled in the joy of being so thoroughly, loudly and wonderfully alive here in this bright and wild city. Soon enough she'd be back in the wilderness. The taxi driver was kind enough to help her lug the huge cases of camera equipment into the hotel lobby, placing them with exaggerated care after she asked him to be gentle with them. He then set about advertising his services as a tour guide, refusing to be interrupted until he had finished suggesting every possible itinerary. Tara finally managed to explain she already had plans and eased him back through the revolving doors. She had just the one night in Nairobi and she'd treated herself to a nice hotel. Well, nicer than the magazine would have paid for had she been there officially. It was set around a courtyard with a pool at the centre, surrounded by lines of loungers with towels neatly folded at the foot end. Some trees stood straight and tall, no breezes to rustle them, and waiters appeared as if from nowhere, silver platters balanced on fingertips and cooling drinks handed over with a smile and a bow. This was an easy way to wile away the afternoon, listening in to the conversations of others, excited tales of seeing lions and leopards on safari from those who had just come back, and the wide-eyed wonder of those about to head out to find their own adventures. Tara wallowed in a deep bath that night, unnecessary mounds of soft bubbles and extra luxury, and slipped between the freshly starched sheets, lying awake watching the fan spin above her, before being hypnotised by its movement, and drifting easily to sleep. Mike met her the next morning, bounding cheerfully into the breakfast room in his shorts, shirt, and heavy leather boots. He recognised Tara instantly, and without waiting for an invitation, pulled out a chair at her table, and sat himself down, calling to the waiter for coffee, urgently. He was younger than she expected, and he seemed to sense that as he rattled off his experience. Five years here, three years there, six years in this game park, and two in that. He and his wife were now custodians of a vast wilderness, a few hours out of Nairobi. They'd be looking after Tara for the coming weeks, eager assistants who would learn some of her photography skills in exchange for guiding and supporting her trip. Tara was surprised to find she was a little reluctant to leave her room and all its comfort. She was heading out to somewhere beautiful, of that she was sure, but there was something to be said for four poster beds draped with sheer white mosquito nets, and bathrooms with tubs so large you could almost swim in them, and room service that appeared silently and efficiently. Great silver domes lifted to reveal intricately prepared dishes that tasted just as wonderful as they looked. The heavy curtains had kept the room dark and cool, but now she threw them back as she packed the last things into her bags, aware that Mike was leaning casually in the doorway and waiting as politely and patiently as he could. For all his easy chat, he seemed on edge in the city, easily startled by the sound of a suitcase falling on its side, and aghast accidentally knocking a table that caused a line of empty water glasses to rattle and shake against each other. She smiled roofily as she climbed into the battered land rover outside. Of course Mike drove one of those, she'd expected nothing less. Tara felt instantly at home in the familiar space. She had spent many, many months of her life being rattled around in just such a vehicle, knew just when the gears would grind a little, and how the seats would feel. The old car had no such modern niceties as air conditioning, so they drove with the windows open. Clearly at first as they eased their way through the morning traffic, and then picking up pace as they reached the edges of the city. Mike clearly knew the route by heart, one eye on the road and the other on her, as he talked about the projects he and his wife were running and the research they were helping with. With barely a thought, he dodged the potholes and dived out of the way of donkeys who wandered onto the road. They paused at one roadside stand to pick up two huge watermelons. Tara puffing under the weight of hers as she carried it back to the car, but trying her best to hide this. Age, she muttered to herself, and not for the first time, was so tiresome. Mike cheerfully beeped the horn. A sound not far from that of a duck, Tara decided as they arrived at the entrance to the reserve. A man emerged from a hut, tucking his shirt into his trousers, blinking in the bright sunshine. He smiled at them both as he held out a clipboard, basic details for Tara to fill in. The form asked her for a reason for visit, and for the first time in decades she paused. It had always been for work, but why was she here now? The idea of signing herself up as a tourist didn't say well, but nor was she working or a researcher or here with any particular purpose. In the end she wrote curiosity on the dotted line. When the man skimmed through her answers, he threw back his head and laughed, teeth a bright white line that took over his face. The drive to their camp for the night was going to take a few hours, so Tara asked Mike if she might climb onto the roof. He seemed taken aback for a moment, starting to ask, you show, before she met him with a look that suggested he shouldn't continue that line of questioning. Silled on the roof rack with a cushion and a pair of binoculars, Tara beamed. The sun was wonderfully warm, stroking her shoulders, and the breeze brushed against her face as they travelled along the track that at one moment was bright red dirt, and the next was deep, thick sand. Tara watched a line of elephants in the distance, dark grey shapes that were only distinguishable from boulders because they moved slowly and steadily along their route. A group of giraffes stood behind trees, legs disguised as trunks, the first sign of their presence being the giveaway heads that poked up above the treetops. Backback jackal darted across a plane, slinking low to the ground as he returned to his den deep in the bushes on the far side. He felt as if she had been away forever, and yet at the same time as if she had never left. Such open spaces in Africa had become a part of her heart for her first encounter, so this was as much a homecoming for her as anything else. The thorny trees bent in familiar ways, the nests of birds hung just as she knew they would, and in the sand she looked down and saw the imprints left by animals, tell tale signs that she and Mike were not alone in this space. They arrived at the campsite in perfect time for lunch, with Mike's wife Mary coming out of one of the tents to greet their guest. She was clad in the same outfit as Mike, shorts, a shirt, big leather boots on the end of tanned legs. Her freckled nose wrinkled as she smiled at Tara, gesturing with a sweep of her arm to welcome her to the camp. Not quite as luxurious as last night, I'm afraid, Mary said with a grin, and Tara laughed. It was perfect, she said, exactly what she needed and wanted. The entrances to two tents faced a glowing fire pit about twenty yards away. Which was a pile of sandwiches followed by thick slices of pink watermelon, the juice dripping down their chins and causing lines of ants to change direction as they came over to taste the sweetness. If you don't mind, said Mike, we were thinking of just spending the afternoon here, in camp, will move tomorrow down to the river. She gestured towards what was clearly the most comfortable of three chairs, lined up in the shade of an acacia tree. Tara was more than happy to stay there, knowing full well that you often saw just as much game by staying in a single place as by tearing about. She settled herself down and Mike placed her camera equipment alongside, and Tara's spent a cheerful few hours going through every body, every land, checking that they had survived the journey. At one point, a cheetah strolled slowly in the distance, posing perfectly as if letting Lara test her gear. And then a cluster of carmine bee eaters came into a nearby tree, bright red bodies and bright green heads perched on a branch, waiting for Tara to photograph them too. Without a specific animal she had to find, the very first time she had taken such a trip, Tara immediately felt the difference. Doing something because you have to is one thing, but doing it because you want to is quite another. There was no pressure, no expectations, no editor awaiting her return. This was all about her finding her own place in the world. The three of them exchanged stories in the evening, Mike and Mary came to hear everything of Tara's extraordinary life, and Tara equally is keen to hear about theirs. She heard of the scientists they had worked with and the discoveries they had helped uncover, the mysteries they had helped explain, and it was after midnight when they turned into their tents at last. Tara stayed by herself a few moments longer, leaning back to look up at the stars. She counted ten shooting stars before she reluctantly took herself to bed, listening with half an ear to the trumpets of elephants far, far away. Sleep came easily on the narrow camp bed as she lay on top of the sheets, reveling in the warm, night air. Tara awoke to the sound of the other tent being taken down, two people whispering in hushed tones as they tried to carry out their task as silently as possible. As she emerged, Mary thrust a cup of coffee into her hand and insisted that Tara sit and let them get on with the dismantling of her tent. She was their guest, Mary said, and it didn't do to ask guests to help move home. Only a few years before Tara would have insisted, but now, with her body creaking a little at the start of a new day, she welcomed the chance to take a break. She made herself useful, though, by looking through the small stock of camera equipment the young couple kept, tutting a little as she noticed all the sand and dust that had been allowed to creep into the crevices. It was hard to keep them perfect, Tara knew that all too well, but it was possible with some tricks she had developed over the years. By the time the tents were folded and the Land Rover packed ready for its trip towards the river, the cameras and lenses looked almost as good as new. Mary climbed up alongside Tara and shared the roof space with her, the two women taking it in turns to point out animals and sightings. As they tapped on the roof, a mic brought the vehicle to a halt, and cameras were raised and settings discussed, Mary learning things about temperatures and speeds and def stops that she had never known existed. But really, said Tara, as she finished explaining about white balance, it's all about composition. 90% of a photograph is composition. She took the camera and flicked through the most recent shots Mary had taken, handing it back with a smile. And you've got composition sorted, she added, an artistic eye. Down in the driver's seat, Mike smiled as he heard this. He'd been telling Mary for years that her shots were good enough to sell, and honestly, they could use the extra cash. Perhaps at last she would let him load some onto a website. She grimaced at the thought of needing to head to town to get connected to the internet for long enough to do this, but it would be worth it. Well, just about. The river was a few hours away, but with all the stopping and starting, it took them until late afternoon to reach their next camping spot. Mike and Mary once more took charge of the tent, and Tara wandered towards the water, a folded chair under one arm, and a camera slung around her neck. She could see the hippos in the distance, and wanted to get some shots of them. The classic ones of two nostrils above the waterline, and pink ears twitching, or with a hippo yawning so widely, it almost looked as if it might break. When the others joined her, she was quite fixated on the group of hippos who seemed to float and then disappear beneath the surface, rising and falling in slow motion. They're sleeping, said Mike, and Mary nodded to confirm this was true. They'll disappear to the bottom, you see, where the water is nice and cool, explained Mike, and then they will automatically float to the surface about every 15 minutes to take a breath before sinking again. The evening was spent working out how they could rig up systems for Tara's special underwater cameras to capture this. It would mean a series of ropes and pulleys, and then remote triggers for the cameras, and Tara wanted to be able to see a copy of what was being filmed, so those connections between devices needed to be made too. An ingenious system was created that night as they sat around the fire, working with the random equipment and tools they happened to have lying around, and Tara paused at one point to smile to herself, remembering this. This is what she loved most about working in such remote locations. The resolutions and the resilience, the determination to make what should be impossible possible, whereas some people may have taken a few days drive each way back and forth to Nairobi and bought the proper equipment. Out here they made a plan, and she knew that if it didn't work, they would just come up with something else the next day, and the next. Almost silently, the silhouettes of elephants shifted past the trio and headed down to the water, drawing it in with their trunks and throwing it over their backs. How could something so huge move so quietly? Tara had always wondered that this found it marvelous and mysterious, and as if to confirm how magical everything was out there, a pair of hippos bumbled by, huge bellies swinging from side to side as they trotted along the riverbank in the dark. Tara sighed as the giraffe posed against the setting sun, that classic African photograph that she was compelled to take even though she had it already a hundred times over. She thought back to her cabin in Maine, wrapped in the silence of the snow, icicles no doubt hanging from the edge of the roof, shimmering points that sparkled in the sunshine, and glistened by the light of the moon. In a few weeks she would be ready to return to her home, her retreat, but for now this vast wilderness was what she needed. Mary and Mike had zipped themselves into their canvas home for the night, and Tara propped her feet up on Mary's now empty chair, leaning back once more to look at the stars. The grunts of hippos and the happy spraying of water by the elephants were the only sounds breaking the silence of the night. Tomorrow she would film the hippos sleeping, she thought, capture them rising and falling in the river, and she closed her eyes and imagined herself floating on the river, fast asleep. The water is guiding her to a magical forest where fireflies danced in the trees, and the river sparkled as if it ran with silver. We'll leave our story there for tonight, where, what a trip, the cabin in Maine sounds amazing, never mind the trip to Africa. Sleep well and sweet dreams.