When I met her two years ago, Figlet was a young cub. Now a mature leopard, with a signature bright white tail, she was as beautiful and self-assured as her mother Fig. Nelson revved the wheels and maneuvered the truck so we were directly in Figlet’s path. Undeterred she came straight for us, her eyes focused on some unseen destination.

Dominic found a tree with remains of a carcass in it, a sure sign a leopard was nearby. A couple of times the radio crackled with news of a sighting. We drove up and down the river corridor, my eyes aching with the effort of trying to separate leaves from leopard spots. Nothing. Not a whisker, not a blink, not a white tail tip. We laughed, imagining the leopard enjoying our antics from the security of his or her secret spot…

They say a leopard’s eyes are blue—this was the day I learned it’s true. Fig is like an alluring siren. There comes a choice point on safari when the action seems to come to a natural close— stay or go? The curve of vehicles that had gathered a respectful distance from Fig’s tree began to break up, heading off to search for other wildlife. We hesitated. Fig is like an alluring siren. Caught in her magnetic appeal, we stayed…