The Season of Return: How Animals Find Their Way Home

Summer is stirring here at Londolozi. The first rains have fallen, and with them comes a shift you can feel in the air. Soon the mornings will ring with new voices: the call of the Woodland Kingfishers echoing through camp, European Bee-eaters flashing colour as they skim over the river. After months away, the migrants are back.

I often think of the small miracle that is the distances travelled. Tiny birds, some weighing less than a bar of soap, have crossed entire continents to return to the very same patch of woodland. And yet, they do it year after year, often arriving within days of the same date.  But how? It’s a question that continues to puzzle and inspire us all.

And it’s not just the kingfishers and bee-eaters. The air soon fills with the bubbling calls of cuckoos, each species with its own voice, from the harsh “Piet-my-vrou” of the Red-chested Cuckoo to the softer cries of the Klaas’s Cuckoo. They arrive to lay their eggs in the nests of unsuspecting foster parents, continuing a remarkable evolutionary strategy that depends on timing their migration perfectly with the breeding of local birds. Above them, Wahlberg’s Eagles soar back into familiar territories, reclaiming nest sites they’ve used for years. Their arrival marks the start of summer skies filled with raptors, the returning silhouettes a reminder of just how far instinct can carry a bird across continents.

The Elephant’s Seasonal Shift

Migration isn’t just about birds. Elephants here at Londolozi move in subtler but equally fascinating rhythms. During the dry months of winter, when grasses fade and mud wallows dry up, herds drift steadily towards permanent water sources such as the Sand River, deeper pans, and waterholes.

This isn’t the dramatic long-distance migration of wildebeest in East Africa. Instead, it’s a local response to survival. Elephants may walk tens of kilometres in a day, their movements guided by memory as much as by need. A matriarch’s knowledge of hidden springs and seasonal pans becomes the herd’s living map.

With the return of the rains, the bush changes overnight. Grass sprouts, wildflowers appear, and temporary pools dot the landscape. Elephants spread out again, feeding in clearings, bathing in fresh wallows, and even digging into soft riverbeds for hidden streams. Their movements expand outward, a rhythm set not by miles travelled but by the pulse of the land itself.

The Science Behind the “Sixth Sense”

So how do animals know where to go? The truth is, no single answer explains it. Instead, nature has layered multiple senses together into something that feels almost supernatural.

• Stars overhead: Many birds orient themselves by constellations, adjusting their course under clear night skies.

• The Earth itself: Some species detect magnetic fields, as if carrying an internal compass.

• Weather on the wind: Elephants are believed to smell rain from kilometres away, and their low-frequency rumbles may pick up the sound of distant thunderstorms.

• Memory passed down: For elephants and birds alike, routes are not only instinctual but also cultural—learned from mothers, elders, or previous journeys.

Migration is less a single sense and more a symphony of them—instinct, memory, sound, smell, and even the pull of the earth itself.

The Deeper Connection

Migration is movement, but it’s also a matter of belonging. Each arrival and departure is tied to cycles far bigger than any one species. The kingfisher calling from the marula tree, the Wahlberg’s Eagle circling above, the elephant digging into a dry riverbed—all are following invisible paths that bind them to this place.

As summer unfolds at Londolozi, take a moment to notice these comings and goings. The land itself is waking to the rains, and with it, life is shifting into a new rhythm. Migration shows us that nature’s map is written in senses deeper than our own. All we need is the patience—and the presence—to listen.