National Gepographic: Relentless Enemies

There are predators and there are prey.

And then, there are enemies.

From ancient times, Africa has been the place

where huge cats ruled the flooded forests and swamps of prehistory.

lt was a violent time, when the nightmare of massive predators

stalked the land and nothing was safe.

Well, those nightmares are back.

There is an unusual pride of lions stalking these swamps.

Cats that live in water and hunt a single herd of Cape buffalo.

Evolution favors predators that can hunt a range of prey,

but these lions are defying that trend by becoming specialists,

relentless hunters of this one prey.

The explosive sky spitting fire from the heavens

is an unsettling prelude to the battle ahead.

When two old adversaries come head to head,

the conflict is a war of wills.

The outcome will hang in the balance.

There is an island in Africa,

a place where the ghostly shapes of over 1 ,000 buffalo

drift over the domain of the resident pride of lions.

The Tsaro pride are buffalo hunters,

made up of nine lionesses of enormous bulk.

Thick necks and heavy chests define them,

features that serve them well for this unique hunting.

Amongst them, a silver-eyed female,

possibly blinded in combat with the buffalo.

She carries her battle scars well and leads many of the hunts.

The heaviest set is a skew-eared female.

And the twins.

Two identical lionesses that often give birth to cubs at the same time

and always hunt together.

Then there is the large older female, a good huntress,

but there is something different about her.

She sits off to the side, watching the pride, always distant.

The skew-horned buffalo bull is the herd's pathfinder,

and he has led it around the Tsaro territory for years.

He is a survivor and senses the trouble ahead.

There is a magical moment in any hunt, each time,

just one first moment,

a time somewhere between the initial stalking approach of individual lions

and the coordinated run-in of a unified pride.

At that moment, the decision is made,

"We will attack, and we will attack together."

There is no fight like the fight for survival

and for the life of your offspring.

But these lions will not accept failure.

A charging buffalo doesn't strike fear in their hearts.

lt spurs them into a deadly game of attack and counterattack,

thrust and parry, a relentless duel.

This hunt is far from over.

Blood has been tasted,

and like some invisible thread, it will lead them back

to the injured calf time and time again,

day after day after day.

For this is an island surrounded by an intricate web of thick papyrus swamps

and deep water to the south and west.

The buffalo are unable to cross the fast-flowing

and crocodile-infested rivers.

And to the north, deep channels carved out by hippos

make it difficult for the herd to swim to safety in that direction.

There is no escape for the buffalo.

When they do wade into the maze of channels that ring fence Duba lsland,

they get entangled, confused,

and ultimately are forced to return to the waiting lions.

So, what to us may seem a watery paradise

is for the buffalo a deadly confinement,

shrinking during the seasonal floods

before drying out to a faded savanna,

where two great warriors rule,

the males of the Tsaro pride.

They are masters of all on this island, in particular the buffalo,

they and their Tsaro females seldom let out of their sight.

There is a significant new addition to the pride.

Growing up against this backdrop of buffalo, he needs to be nimble

and confident on his feet to become a Tsaro lion,

a specialist buffalo hunter.

Because lions are cooperative killers,

he must also learn how to be part of the pride

and obey the harsh rules that govern it.

He has a brief window, while under his mother's intense protection,

to memorize the personality of each pride member.

The lone female is his first study.

The mother's explosive defense only increases the tension in the pride

and sets in motion a further and ominous isolation of the old female.

As a Tsaro lion, his world is now a world of buffalo.

Slowly, the clicking horns and occasional bellows

will become as common to his ears

as the sound of flood waters rippling on the sand.

Each day brings him closer to the time

when he'll be ready to propel himself into the midst of the herd,

unflinchingly throwing himself, just like his mother does,

against the terrifying wall of horns.

The buffalo must walk their own knife-edged path of survival,

finding food and water while all the time avoiding the dangers

that will leave their bones scattered in the indignity of death.

The buffalo are crossing back into his mother's territory.

She has anticipated the path of the herd's return perfectly.

The technique, flush the herd and scan for the weak.

This time she is alone.

But she knows the gifts of this summer season,

the newborn calves.

Buffalo's senses, both of sight and smell, are well developed.

Their hearing is excellent.

These are intense and alert animals,

but a sixth sense creeps through her now.

She knows there is a lion nearby

and she knows it is coming for her calf.

All cats have an instinctive fear of water.

But when the mother leads her day-old calf into the swamp,

the Tsaro lioness doesn't hesitate to follow.

There is iron-fisted determination

in a female with a hunger and a cub to feed.

lt is the trade-off that Africa must make from time to time.

Under the lions' inescapable surveillance,

it is a constant effort just to survive.

So each precious life that slips into existence

in this game of life and death is a victory against the sentinels

that scan the bushes for any sign of opportunity.

Every delicate first step silently bolsters the herd against their decline

under the relentless onslaughts they endure.

Each wobble during the agonizing hour it takes to stabilize,

is a celebratory yell against the fates.

And each successful birth is a tiny contract that keeps the system alive.

The synchrony of births overwhelms the Tsaro pride with a flood of calves

that outdoes their capacity to kill all the newborn.

They are limited to what they can eat today,

one calf at a time.

Although many are killed,

the majority of the baby buffalo survive.

As the buffalo start to move, the lions of the Tsaro pride

feel their pangs of hunger begin to stir.

Ahead will be a fast-moving game of life and death,

for they must know that taking on a fully grown buffalo

with nothing but claws and teeth

has to be the most dangerous game of all.

On this unique Okavango island,

with its one herd of buffalo and three prides of lions,

one would expect the nights to be filled with bloodcurdling bellows.

But strangely, these lions seldom hunt under the cover of darkness.

So nighttime is the herd's chance to slip away to the far side of the island,

or even across the river, if they can.

The lions' diligence has kept the herd contained

within the Tsaro territory for weeks.

While there has been a feast on this side of the channel,

there has been a famine on the other.

The lions to the north, the Skimmer pride,

has been without food for too long,

and now their hunger drives them through the water.

They are nowhere near the size of the Tsaro lionesses,

but they have other skills.

Now, the Skimmer pride has to risk making an insurgent sortie.

Just four small adult females with 1 0 hungry and ineffectual cubs,

they have to do this stealthily.

They are taking a huge risk.

lf they panic the herd too early,

the Tsaro females are bound to hear the chase and react.

Too vigorous an attack, and the cubs could fall underfoot of a stampede.

When a single female sees her target, the risk increases even more.

The only option now is a frontal attack.

This is almost suicidal.

lncredibly, she fells an adult cow buffalo unaided,

and drowns its muffled bellows in the water.

Their desperation sees off any intruders.

A hurried meal is all they can risk for now.

To the south, the big Tsaro females are ready and waiting.

ln a sophisticated and well-honed tactic of herding the buffalo,

they first panic them with a strange, growling charge.

The object is not to attack,

but to stampede the herd into the water.

Only then do they pick off the struggling young

as they flounder out of their depth.

lt is Silver Eye who makes the first contact,

dragging her prey underwater to deliver mortal wounds

before the mother can retaliate and rescue her calf.

Then the hunt goes into phase two.

Now, like sheepdogs, the lions herd the buffalo together,

relentlessly pushing in.

lt is clinical, this constant probing for weakness,

the following through the flood waters for up to seven hours at a time.

The lone female hangs back for a moment,

but the cub is eager to join in despite his instinctive fear of water.

Water is an element that all Tsaro lions

must conquer early to become what they are, true swamp cats.

And then, the stabbing attacks begin.

Each attack weakens the spirit of the herd.

This is the hunt they were born to.

And this is when the blood races,

adrenaline coursing through their muscles, throbbing in their heads.

The young are jostled between anxious mothers and defensive bulls,

and this is what the lions have been waiting for, mistakes,

that given time and constant pressure, are bound to happen.

And this is what the masters have been waiting for.