Understanding the Sabi Sand's ebbs and flows

in Experience

Understanding the Sabi Sand's ebbs and flows

Daniel Hartman is a Guide at Singita Sabi Sand. His journey with the wilderness started early. Growing up, he spent every holiday exploring the western reaches of the Kruger National Park, enthralled by the bush – and all that it holds. A deep love of bush walks and entertaining guests helps him bring people closer to nature and foster the same sense of passion in them that he holds for it.

I’ve learned that if you want to understand this landscape, you don’t watch the animals first – you watch the river.

At first light

The Sand River is almost anonymous. A thin, patient line of water moving through the Sabi Sand, carrying the night away without ceremony. Fresh elephant tracks crease its banks, still sharp enough to tell you who crossed, and when. A fish eagle calls once upstream – not to announce dominance, but to confirm the morning has arrived.

As the sun lifts higher, life begins to draw toward the river. Impalas step down cautiously to drink, never fully relaxed. Birds arrive in waves – storks, herons, kingfishers – each using the river differently, each understanding its boundaries.

The Sand River doesn’t promise safety, but it does offer opportunity. By midday, heat presses down on the land, and the river tightens its grip on the day. What water remains becomes essential. Crocodiles lie still along its edges, perfectly comfortable waiting. When elephants arrive, they do so with purpose; calves first, trunks searching, dust rising as water meets skin. The river absorbs the chaos without changing its course.

In the afternoon

Now it becomes a pathway rather than a destination. Leopards move along its banks, using its cover with practised ease. Shadows stretch, bird calls multiply, and the light softens into gold. The river reflects the sky, carrying the weight of the day without ever revealing what it holds beneath the surface.

After dark, it belongs to those we rarely see. Lions cross where the water is shallow. Hyenas follow its course with quiet confidence. Hippos emerge, their presence announced long before they are seen.

The river listens. It always has. These stories are familiar to it. By morning, the evidence will be gone. Tracks softened, crossings erased, the night folded neatly back into the river’s memory. And once again, it will wait for life to return to its banks. Always in relationship with everything that surrounds it, the river is not only a source of life, but a gathering place for it.