Witness to the Great Migration: A Bucket List Adventure

Most of us have heard the term bucket list, a phrase made popular by the film The Bucket List, where two men facing terminal illness set out to live life to the fullest before “kicking the bucket.” The term has since become shorthand for life’s biggest dreams—the things we want most to experience before our time runs out.

For me, those dreams have always revolved around the natural world: seeing it, photographing it, and sharing it in a way that honors its wonder. If you’re reading this, you probably feel the same pull to observe and capture what words alone can’t describe. This story is about one of those dreams—the chance to witness Africa’s Great Migration with camera in hand.

Our planet holds more beauty than one lifetime allows, yet a few places stay lodged in the imagination. For me, that place was the open savanna of East Africa, where over a million wildebeest, joined by zebra and gazelle, move from Tanzania’s Serengeti into Kenya’s Maasai Mara and back again. It’s a journey older than memory, dictated by rainfall, grass, and instinct.

Closer to the wild: the rugged side of a photo safari

In 2019, the year I turned sixty, that dream became real. Elaine and I had been on safari in South Africa the year before, and on the flight home she asked what I wanted for my “big birthday.” The answer came easily: “The Great Migration.”

By choosing not to stay in luxury accommodations, we found ourselves closer to the wild—both literally and in spirit. We slept in canvas tents where the night sounds surrounded us, and with a private guide, I could direct each outing around the photographs I wanted to capture. Having our own guide meant we could wait for the best light, choose our angles, and linger when the moment demanded it. That single decision changed everything about the experience and the images that came from it.

Photographing predator and prey: lions and zebra

Every morning brought something unforgettable. One dawn, we watched lions bring down a zebra. As their cubs waited nearby for the call to breakfast, I asked our driver to circle wide so we could position for the best light. The sun was behind me at about my four o’clock, lighting the lions in a way that accentuated their form and the texture of their coats. Just as I began filming, the cubs came bounding toward the kill. It was both brutal and breathtaking—life and death in their natural balance.

The migration shapes the lives of predators as much as it does the herds themselves. During these months, lions, cheetahs, and hyenas thrive on the abundance of prey, their cubs growing strong in a season of plenty. Yet even for them, survival depends on timing and territory. When the herds move on, so must the hunters, following the rhythm of grass and rain. Watching that connection unfold through the lens made it clear that every life here—hunter and hunted alike—depends on the same fragile balance.

Cheetahs of the Mara: photographing the Five Brothers

That same pulse of wild beauty ran through every encounter. We arrived at the scene just as five cheetah brothers, well known in the Mara as The Five Brothers, fanned out low to the ground, tails twitching in unison as they closed in on their prey. The chase was almost too fast to follow—a blur of movement, dust, and purpose. When it ended, the brothers fed together, alert and watchful even in their success. One lifted his head briefly, eyes meeting ours through the heat and haze of the afternoon. I pressed the shutter, aware that I was recording more than a hunt—it was a moment that held both the strength and vulnerability of life in the wild.

We saw elephants almost daily, each herd with its own rhythm. Once, a curious juvenile approached our vehicle too closely, prompting the rest of the herd to rush forward in a thunderous display—ears wide, trunks raised, dust swirling. The power of that charge, even as a warning, left me breathless. Another day we watched elephants under the shade of towering umbrella trees. Then suddenly, movement caught our eye—two lions were chasing a wildebeest across the plain. “Go!” I said, and our driver sped across the rough ground toward the action while I bounced around holding camera gear close. We arrived just as the hunt ended, the lions standing over their kill, sides heaving, eyes bright with triumph. It was the raw, unfiltered side of nature—both difficult to watch and impossible to turn away from.

Nature’s quiet moments: stillness among the wild

Between these moments of intensity, the Mara offered serenity. Hippos wallowed in muddy pools. Crocodiles slid silently beneath the river’s surface. A leopard dozed in a tree, seemingly unconcerned about our presence. We passed herds of hartebeest and Thompson’s gazelles, always alert for predators. Hyenas appeared in both the warm light of morning and the long shadows of evening, their wary eyes catching the glow of the setting sun. At night, we lay in our tent listening to the low, rumbling growl of lions somewhere nearby—a deep, primal sound that vibrated through the canvas and into our bones.

One of the most striking moments came when we encountered an endangered black rhino. It emerged from the tall grass, massive yet graceful, ears turning toward every sound. The light caught the folds of its hide and the curves of its horns, a texture that spoke of time and resilience. We kept our distance and photographed quietly, knowing we were witnessing something rare—a survivor in a landscape where its kind has nearly vanished. In that stillness, the power of its presence was humbling.

The crossing: photographing the river crossing

Then came the moment we had dreamed about: a river crossing. Along the edge of the river, thousands of wildebeest and zebra gathered, their hesitation thick in the air as they watched for crocodiles. Then one brave animal leapt, and the rest followed—a rolling surge of bodies, dust, and splashing water. I photographed as the herd thundered forward, each frame capturing the rhythm and raw instinct that drives them across year after year. It was humbling to witness such timeless motion, a living current of life and survival.

Human culture as part of Nature photography

Before heading home, we visited a Maasai village. The warriors danced, leaping high to show their strength, while children played nearby. I photographed several villagers inside their boma, surrounded by the scent of smoke and earth. Their grace and resilience reminded me that human culture, too, is part of this landscape’s timeless beauty.

What’s on your wildlife photography bucket list?

What’s on your bucket list? Maybe it’s watching elk move through the misty valleys of Yellowstone National Park, or standing quietly at Bosque del Apache as thousands of cranes lift into the winter sky. Or maybe it’s something closer to home—a weekend exploring your local wildlife refuge, camera in hand, just to see what the morning light reveals. The destination matters less than the intention: to be fully present where life unfolds.

When I look back, I realize that our trip was never about crossing something off a list. It was about connection—to wildness, to beauty, to the reminder that life, in all its forms, is fragile and fierce. The Great Migration isn’t just a spectacle to witness; it’s a living heartbeat that calls us to remember our place in the world.

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