The Ghosts of the Diamond Coast

Some wildlife sightings stay with you forever. Not because of the photographs you captured, but because of the feeling of being there in that exact moment. This was one of those moments.

It was day three of our six-day journey through Namibia's legendary Diamond Coast. For three days we had travelled north from Lüderitz, navigating towering dunes, camping remotely beneath endless stars, and immersing ourselves in one of the most isolated landscapes on Earth. Out here, there are no roads, no fences, and often no sign that another person has passed through for weeks.

As the first light of sunrise began to spill across the dunes, we stood quietly outside camp watching a jackal moving effortlessly along a distant dune ridge. The desert was completely still. The only sound was the gentle wind brushing across the sand.

Then something caught my eye.

A dark shape appeared on the skyline to the left of the jackal. 

At first, I couldn't make sense of it. It moved differently, heavier, more deliberate. Then, before I had time to process what I was seeing, a second dark figure emerged from behind the dune.

Brown hyenas.

Two of them.

For a few seconds nobody spoke. We simply watched as they walked together across the dunes, heading directly towards us.

Brown hyenas have been at the very top of my wildlife wish list for years. While they occur across parts of southern Africa, they are notoriously elusive, especially in the harsh desert environments of Namibia. Seeing one is a privilege. Seeing two together, in the vast emptiness of the Diamond Coast, felt almost surreal.

As they came closer, it became clear where they had been heading from. Just beyond the dunes lay a Cape fur seal colony, an important food source for brown hyenas along Namibia's Skeleton and Diamond Coasts. Here, washed-up seal carcasses provide an essential source of food in an environment where survival depends on taking every opportunity nature offers.

What happened next was something none of us expected.

A group of four black-backed jackals suddenly appeared behind the hyenas. At first they simply followed, but before long they became increasingly bold. One after another they darted in, nipping at the hyenas' hind legs before retreating to a safe distance. The constant harassment gradually pushed the hyenas further and further away from the seal colony.

The hyenas were clearly irritated. Several times they spun around and charged at the jackals, but the smaller predators simply scattered before regrouping moments later. With so many jackals working together, the balance of power shifted. Eventually the hyenas gave up and began running across the dunes, pursued by the relentless pack of jackals.

Watching this interaction unfold against the backdrop of endless golden dunes was extraordinary. There was no interference, no baiting, no vehicles crowding around the animals. Just two species interacting exactly as they have for thousands of years.

For me, this is what wildlife photography is truly about.

Of course, capturing beautiful images is incredibly rewarding, but photographs are only part of the experience. The real privilege is being accepted into an animal's world, even if only for a brief moment, and quietly observing natural behaviour without influencing it.

Standing silently on that dune, watching brown hyenas and jackals play out an ancient rivalry in one of the harshest environments on Earth, reminded me why I love photographing wildlife. These are the moments you cannot plan for, cannot recreate, and will never forget.

Sometimes nature rewards patience with more than just a photograph.

Sometimes it gives you a story.