A Journey in Many Parts Before We Even Left There is a particular kind of madness that descends on a household approximately three weeks before a long-haul trip to Southern Africa. It arrives quietly, disguised as organisation. First a note on the back of an envelope. Then a sensible list. Then several competing lists. Then a full-scale domestic archaeology project in which every cupboard, camera bag, coat pocket and kitchen drawer in the house is upended and examined with the forensic intensity of people who are absolutely, definitely, completely in control of the situation. We were not in control of the situation. But we were going to South Africa. And that, as it turned out, was more than enough. Two Photographers, One Destination, Fifty Years of Reasons It is worth, before the bags are even opened, introducing the two people making this journey — because understanding who we are explains rather a lot about how we travel. Gareth was born in Durban. He grew up in Amanzimtoti, moved to Port Elizabeth where he spent his boyhood outdoors — a Boy Scout in the proper, muddy, self-sufficient tradition — and then to Cape Town for schooling, by which point a camera had already found its way permanently into his hands. Photography began in 1974 and has not meaningfully stopped since. In 1977 and 1978 he served in the army, which sounds like an interruption to the story but was actually where, through a friend named Roger Ellis, an already keen interest in birds became something closer to a lifelong calling. After the army came a stint as a volunteer game ranger, spending spare weekends at the Karoo National Park — unpaid, entirely by choice, which tells you something important about the man. A career eventually intervened, carrying him to Johannesburg, but the outdoors was never entirely relinquished: birding, camping and travel filled every long weekend and holiday, accumulating into a knowledge of Southern Africa that is genuinely encyclopaedic. In 1995, life pivoted, and Gareth moved to the United Kingdom — Milton Keynes first, Eastbourne eventually — where British birding became a new and absorbing chapter without ever replacing the original.

The Great Trek is now over, we have travelled from Capetown to the Mozambiqu and Eswatini borders and skirted Lesotho and now returned to Capetown. We have seen all the large animals except for whales and added at least 6 bird species to add to ebird. Walked with elephants, played with monkeys, flirted with parrots! We saw great scenery, camped under the stars, endured a storm deluge, drove in a small car on roads suitable only for 4x4s, dived in the Indian ocean and met great people. When I return to the UK I will reveal all.

There’s always that tiny flutter of panic when you head off on a long expedition. You can be as seasoned as a cast‑iron skillet, but the moment you close the front door your brain starts whispering, “Did you pack everything? Did you actually pack everything? What about the pets? The family? The socks?” And then come the classics: the “what if I leave something behind?” and its equally charming cousin, “what if I lose something important?” These thoughts are universal. No amount of resilience or experience seems to grant immunity from the last‑minute gremlins. Over the years, I’ve managed quite the highlight reel: leaving my luggage at home, leaving my wallet at home, picking up the wrong passport, booking a hotel for the wrong day, and—my personal favourite—turning up at the airport bright and early… twelve hours early. Morning instead of evening. A bold choice. And all of this despite having everything written down, planned out, and checked twice like a nervous Santa. It’s astonishing how one tiny, unrelated hiccup can trigger a domino run of chaos that ends up far bigger than the original problem. But that’s travel for you: equal parts adventure, preparation, and sheer comedic timing.