Our final night in Kenya brings us to the whimsical world of Giraffe Manor. Here, Rothschild’s giraffes bend their elegant necks through windows to join us for breakfast, their gentle eyes and long lashes creating moments that seem almost too magical to be real.
Buffy and I had been here before. We spent Christmas in this wonderful hotel on our honeymoon in 2014 when, sadly, I had been laid low by a 24hr bug. This time, we arrived on December 30th with Stu and Sophie, having said goodbye to Rob and Katie when we landed at Wilson airport from Naboisho.
The drive through Nairobi was a sensory jolt after days in the wilderness—honking horns, colorful markets, and the bustling energy of city life highlighting just how dramatically our environment had changed. All our senses were on high alert as we navigated through the capital’s vibrant chaos.
We were greeted at the manor with afternoon tea on the veranda, complete with champagne—the perfect welcome as we watched Rothschild giraffes roam the grounds alongside warthogs who seemed oblivious to our presence. The manor’s colonial grandeur provides a fitting finale to our journey—a place where wild Africa meets graceful civilization.
We stayed in the original manor house in Betty’s room, with its art deco bath featuring a lion’s mouth for the tap—a detail that delighted Buffy, who immediately indulged in a luxurious soak. Stu and Sophie were just down the hall in Jock’s room. The historic elegance of these spaces transported us to another era.
The ladies couldn’t resist photos on the manor’s famous swing, with Buffy and Sophie taking turns posing as the afternoon light turned golden. We all ventured outside to feed the giraffes, capturing those intimate moments of connection with these gentle giants. More champagne flowed as the sun began to set.
Dinner was served outside under the stars—the food was incredible, a gourmet farewell to Kenyan cuisine. We couldn’t help but notice a group of Russian women meticulously documenting every moment for Instagram. Each to their own, but not quite our approach to experiencing such a special place. I, of course, made friends with the resident cat just as I had during our previous stay. Some things will never change..
Morning brought the iconic Giraffe Manor experience—breakfast inside the dining room as giraffes peered through windows, their long tongues delicately taking treats from our hands across the tables. We also fed them from our balcony, marveling at how their heads reached up to the second floor with such graceful ease.
As this perfect Kenyan finale came to a close, we spent our last day at The Retreat, chilling in the pool, indulging in massages, and savoring a few last sundowners before heading to Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. Our next destination: Dubai for New Year’s Eve.
This last breakfast, with giraffes peering in through the windows, served as a gentle transition back to the world we’d soon rejoin, carrying with us memories of a Kenya both wild and welcoming—from the rugged landscapes of Tsavo and Amboseli to the untamed beauty of Naboisho, and finally, to this enchanting manor where wilderness and refinement exist in perfect harmony.
The small plane that brought us from the dusty plains of Amboseli touched down on the lush green airstrip in Naboisho Conservancy on the edge of the Maasai Mara and just like that, I was transported into yet another world. As we began our drive to Naboisho Camp, the Kenyan wilderness immediately welcomed us with its wild inhabitants—a curious hyena watching from a distance, towering giraffes gracefully moving between acacia trees, dazzles of zebra creating living optical illusions across the golden savanna, and two Thompson’s gazelles engaged in a territorial dispute, their horns locked in an elegant dance of dominance.
The Naboisho Conservancy was born from a groundbreaking conservation model that balanced ecological preservation with community empowerment. Established in 2010, the conservancy emerged through a unique partnership between over 500 Maasai landowners who pooled their land parcels to create this 50,000-acre wildlife sanctuary. Rather than selling their ancestral lands to outside developers, these landowners opted for lease agreements with tourism operators, creating sustainable income while maintaining their traditional connection to the land. This innovative approach allowed the once overgrazed cattle ranching area to regenerate its natural ecosystem, creating a vital wildlife corridor adjacent to the Maasai Mara National Reserve while ensuring economic benefits flow directly to local communities through employment, education initiatives, and conservation fees.
Our first evening game drive delivered encounters that would have made any wildlife enthusiast weak at the knees. We stumbled upon a group of adolescent male lions, their manes not yet fully developed, learning a harsh lesson in savanna hierarchy as they were unceremoniously chased off by a protective herd of buffalo. The balance of power in the wild is ever-shifting, and we had witnessed a moment where the young predators were reminded of their place.
As the golden hour cast its magical light across the landscape, we experienced what would become one of the highlights of the trip—a female leopard moving silently from thicket to thicket with her adolescent daughter. The younger cat was learning the skills she would need to survive, mirroring her mother’s movements with a mixture of playfulness and precision. We sat in awed silence, privileged witnesses to this intimate family moment.
The second morning began with a spectacle of aerial combat that left us breathless. Two eagle owls, talons clutching fresh prey, found themselves under attack from three determined eagles. The battle played out above us—wings beating frantically, fierce calls piercing the morning air—until the owls, overwhelmed by the larger predators, abandoned their catch and fled for their lives with the eagles in hot pursuit. Nature’s theater had opened its curtains for the day, and we were the sole audience.
As the day progressed, we encountered rafts of hippos submerged in muddy waters, their eyes and nostrils creating rippling patterns on the surface. Nearby, a pair of crocodiles basked motionless on the riverbank, prehistoric survivors playing the long game. The vibrant colors of bee-eaters flashed as they darted after insects, their beauty a stark contrast to the intensity of the lions we spotted later, the graceful silhouettes of giraffe against the horizon, and a lone hyena trotting purposefully with a wildebeest leg clamped firmly in its powerful jaws—a reminder of last night’s unseen drama.
The evening brought us to a hyena den where cubs tumbled and played under their mother’s watchful eye, challenging our preconceptions about these complex and intelligent creatures. As the sun began its descent, we found ourselves witnesses to one of nature’s most intimate rituals—a mating pair of lions calling to each other across the golden grass, their deep rumbles vibrating through the vehicle and into our bones. Their eyes, turned amber in the fading light, seemed to hold secrets as ancient as the savanna itself.
Our third day began with the quintessential African sunrise—the sky painted in impossible shades of orange and pink as we came upon a pride of lions sprawled by a track near their favourite thicket, their bodies stretched languidly across the warming earth. Secretary birds stalked through the grass on impossibly long legs, their formal appearance at odds with their deadly efficiency as snake hunters.
Nearby, zebras created clouds of dust as they rolled and twisted in communal dust baths, their black and white patterns temporarily muted by the ochre soil. Giraffes stretched their necks toward the highest branches, their long blue-black tongues wrapping around tender acacia leaves. Young topi pranced near their watchful parents, and wildebeest herds moved in unison across the plains. Elephants appeared as if conjured from the landscape itself, moving with surprising silence for creatures of such magnitude.
This morning drive with Andy—just Buffy and me—created a sense of intimacy with the wilderness that would become one of my most treasured memories.
The evening reunited our group of six, the shared experiences of the past days having forged connections that felt oddly timeless. We followed a coalition of lions as they patrolled the edge of a dense thicket, their movements purposeful and coordinated. As darkness approached, our guides surprised us with a mobile bar set up in a clearing, sundowner drinks in hand as the African sky performed its nightly transformation. The moment called for celebration, and soon we were taking jumping photos against the blazing sunset backdrop—our silhouettes suspended in air, capturing the pure joy that comes from being in a place so wild and beautiful.
On our last morning, the drive to the airstrip delivered one final dramatic scene. A group of young male lions had successfully brought down two warthogs beneath a copse of trees. The kills had occurred directly beneath a troop of baboons, now trapped in the upper branches by the predators below. We watched, fascinated, as individual baboons assessed their chances, gathering courage before making desperate leaps and sprints to safety. Their calculated risk-taking—the momentary freeze followed by explosive movement—was a perfect metaphor for survival in this unforgiving but magnificent ecosystem.
There was something deeply personal about these final hours in the bush, as if Naboisho was sharing its last secrets with us before our departure. As our plane lifted off the airstrip, I looked down at the landscape that had given us so much in so little time. Naboisho isn’t just a destination; it’s a reminder of what this world once was and what we must strive to preserve. In this corner of Kenya, the ancient rhythm of life continues—predator and prey, birth and death, survival and adaptation—a complex tapestry of existence that both humbles and inspires. The memories of dazzling zebras, trumpet-calling elephants, and leopards in golden light will remain long after the dust of Africa has been washed from my clothes. Naboisho doesn’t just offer safari experiences; it offers transformation, perspective, and a profound connection to the wild heart that beats within us all.
As we fly into Amboseli airstrip in Amboseli National Park, we catch a glimpse of Mount Kilimanjaro’s snow-capped peak as it briefly emerges from its shroud of clouds. We are now about 200 kilometers southeast of Nairobi straddling the Kenyan-Tanzanian border. Amboseli is a 400-square-kilometer sanctuary surrounding the lake from which it takes its name: a lake filled by the meltwaters from the extinct volcanic peak that transform what would otherwise be an arid wasteland into a wildlife paradise, supporting one of Africa’s largest elephant populations – a heritage that both inspires and demands protection. Nestled in the heart of Kajiado County, Amboseli is a land of contrasts. Vast, dusty plains give way to verdant swamps fed by underground springs from Kilimanjaro’s melting snows.
I first remember being captivated by this corner of Kenya reading Hemingway’s Snows Of Kilimanjaro, and despite numerous visits to Kenya over the years had not yet managed to make it here. Amboseli is like nothing I had ever seen before, with the dusty plains contrasting starkly with the shallow lakes and green vegetation brought to life by the recent rains. To say its rugged beauty and otherworldly horizons took my breath away is as understated as Hemingway himself.
“To say its rugged beauty and otherworldly horizons took my breath away is as understated as Hemingway himself.”
As our vehicle bumps along the park’s rugged tracks towards our camp at Tortilis, each turn brings a new wonder: a journey of giraffes silhouetted against the morning sun, a flock of flamingos turning a shallow pool pink and a lone bull elephant in the distance majestic against the endless skylines. The thought that these wonders could disappear forever because of greed and ignorance and that my nephews, niece and godsons may never get to see them in the wild fills me with a sadness.
The park’s elephant families, organized alphabetically with names like the AA family and the famous Echo’s EB family whose member Esau we meet later, represent one of conservation’s greatest success stories – and ongoing challenges. These magnificent creatures, particularly the rare “super tuskers” whose ivory sweeps the ground, face a deadly gauntlet when they cross into Tanzania, where hunting permits can legally be purchased for astronomical sums by the very worst of humanity. This tragic commerce threatens the very giants that Ernest Hemingway once immortalised in “The Green Hills of Africa,” describing them as “grey gleaming pyramids” moving across the plains and no matter how articulate those peddling and profiting from death put forward their case it is something that benefits none but the butchers and their reeves.
Amboseli is more than just an elephant sanctuary. It’s a complex tapestry of ecosystems where over 400 bird species paint the skies with their wings, where proud Maasai warriors still tend their cattle as they have for centuries, and where lions and hyenas conduct their ancient dance of predator and prey. The park’s name itself comes from the Maa word “empusel,” meaning salty, dusty place – a testament to the ancient dried lake bed that gives the region its distinctive character.
Our temporary home for Christmas was Tortilis Camp: an idyllic tented camp with views of the mountains across the rolling hills and vast plains of Amboseli. The neighbouring waterhole meant that we could watch elephant at all hours from the bar and main lodge at the top of the hill and delight in troops of baboons playing in the water. There is something quite surreal in watching baboons running up and bombing into the waters splashing their companions before rushing round to do it again. Fun at the local swimming pool, it seems, is not just a human pastime.
On our first evening game drive we came across a female cheetah with four adolescent cubs. This encounter immediately brought back memories for Buffy and me of meeting the famous cheetah Malaika in the Maasai Mara on our honeymoon ten years prior. For a mother to raise four cubs successfully to almost adulthood is a feat of maternal instinct that is quite simply awe-inspiring and I hope my companions understood how lucky we were to see that in the wild. Sadly for the cheetah family a pair of Crested Cranes decided to sound the alarm spooking the gazelle the cheetah had their eye on and moving them too far away for a successful hunt.
We were joined by David, an old friend of Andrew’s, the head of a local Maasai village. He accompanied us on game drives and inevitably would spot wildlife before any of us. They had an interesting relationship that felt like a mixture of siblings and a found family: it is difficult to describe but it seemed that they were just comfortable in each other’s company and the few words spoken were all that was necessary. I have seen other friends talk for hours at a time yet not seem as close as them. I wondered how that connection came to be but did not feel it was my place to ask them.
We were invited to meet his family and visit his village and, despite reservations around imposing ourselves or being “that kind of tourist”, we took the invitation in the good faith it was intended and spent a wonderful morning meeting his wives, family and newborn child, We were privileged to get an unvarnished view of how he and his people lived. The only thing we understood without any doubt was that they were all deeply and honestly happy. The feeling that we could learn an awful lot from them was inescapable along with a nagging suspicion that they knew something fundamental that we yet didn’t. Despite the technological marvels of our home perhaps we lack the simplicity of basic human connections. For some reason I was reminded of Tolkien’s description of The Shire and of hobbit life. So much so that I had Ian Holm’s voice delivering his wonderful prose in my head that evening.
It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life.
J.R.R. Tolkien
We rounded off our visit at their local market, many of us buying gifts for friends and family back home. Buffy and I bought several animal carvings to add to our collection at home, something that never ceases to give us pleasure and remind us of our time in this incredible part of the world.
I have decided not to publish any other photos of his family but I don’t think I have ever seen such unbridled joy and fun as I did in the children who Robin effortlessly made friends with. The laughter and exuberance as we introduced them to “exploding fist bumps” which made their faces light up is one of my favourite moments from our trip.
Stuart took several black and white portraits of the children and managed to capture the essence of each of them; from the mischievous imp to the bashful and shy and the rambunctious and bold. His eye for a portrait photo impresses me and left me a little jealous if truth be told.
Christmas was celebrated in true Kenyan style enjoying a fantastic bush breakfast on our morning drive before eating and drinking our own bodyweight in food and wine back at camp. Entertainment provided by the local Maasai with the assistance of our very own Robin Callaway rounded off a perfect day.
We left Tortilis with a heavy heart – the staff and hosts were so welcoming and the hospitality to die for. I think we could have stayed for a year without once getting tired of the beauty that surrounded us.
As we made the drive back to the airstrip we were joined by literally hundreds of elephant, their columns stretching as far as the eye could see surrounded by the inevitable flocks of egrets. We stopped and watched them move around us, their size and presence matched only by their grace and silence. One of my companions worrying about our flight voiced their concern that the plane to Naboisho might not wait for us. Enthralled by the behemoths around me I replied rather more succinctly than he expected.
I was absolutely buzzing on Sunday morning as our group met early for Breakfast at the Sheraton hotel. It felt good to see Andy again. The curse of having friends around the World is that you don’t get to see them as often as you would like and the truth is I should make more effort than I do to talk to my friends more often. It was largely this feeling of being on an amazing adventure with such good people that had me grinning from ear to ear on the way to breakfast at 0630. That and I had also arranged an in person wake up call for Robin at 0545 to ensure he wouldn’t be late for breakfast. He was still late of course, but still worth it.
The drive from Nairobi to Tsavo was largely uneventful despite us taking a slightly circuitous route to avoid traffic delays in Nairobi and on the main Mombasa road. It was good to be back in rural Kenya after a few days in Nairobi and I was happy just to let the passing towns and villages wash over me with their familiar billboard adverts for Mpesa, Safaricom and Crown Paint (‘If you love it. Crown it!’) flashing past raising a touch of nostalgia. The heat built fast as we dropped down from the rift valley heading towards the lower savannah of Tsavo and the cash crops of pineapple, coffee, tea took over the fields at the sides of the road. A brief stop at an army checkpoint slows us slightly but eventually we turn off the metaled roads, through the park gate into Tsavo and onto the red dirt roads I remembered.
“Nothing but breathing the air of Africa, and actually walking through it, can communicate the indescribable sensations”.
William Burchell
I was excited about finally getting to visit the Ithumba Reintegration Unit: the next stage on from the Sheldrick Orphanage in reintegrating orphaned elephants back into the wild and where the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust has created a masterpiece of conservation hospitality in the vastness of Tsavo East National Park. Since my first visit to the Nairobi orphanage in 2009, whilst at the Safari 7s with Shogun, I have always wanted to see the second part of an orphan’s journey back to being part of a wild elephant herd. These wins for conservation and for protecting elephants are so important to ensure the survival of the species. Poaching has dramatically reduced in Kenya but the effects of Human Wildlife Conflict are still all too real and so the work done by the Sheldrick family and their teams of dedicated staff are just as important as ever.
We arrive at Ithumba Camp and it blows us away. The beautiful simplicity belying the luxury it conceals. There are only four tents dotted around the communal lodge and pool area and linked by wooden treetop walkways. It is paradise and we begin to understand what we have in store on this incredible safari.
Ancient baobabs stand sentinel across the landscape, their enormous trunks resembling ancient sculptures against the ever-changing sky. From our elevated position in Ithumba Camp, the vista stretches endlessly – a tapestry of acacia, commiphora, lush greenery and golden savannah reaching toward distant purple hills. Each sunrise brings a new palette of oranges and pinks, while sunsets transform the landscape into a canvas of deep reds and golds before Venus, the evening star, heralds a night sky free of light pollution above our heads.
The night holds its own magic. Hyenas whoop in the darkness, their calls echoing faintly around Ithumba Hill, Rock Hyrax screech and wail, while for those still awake the elusive yet distinctive saw-like rasp of a leopard always sends shivers down spines. Our nightly walks from the lodge back to our tents become adventures in themselves, torch light revealing scorpions glowing like alien creatures on the walkways back to our tents. Katie’s previously undisclosed arachnophobia provides endless entertainment (and occasional chaos) as she encounters various eight-legged residents – though everyone agrees the scorpions are considerably more concerning than their spider cousins.
Days develop their own rhythm. Mornings begin with coffee and biscuits in the main lodge, watching the world wake up and come alive once again. Troops of monkeys play in the scattered trees and sneak through our accommodation while iridescent starlings swoop between branches. Delicate Dik-Diks tiptoe through the undergrowth becoming an almost ever present to our World, freezing like statues at any movement, while stately Kudu browse cautiously in the distance. Families of mongoose provide endless entertainment, scampering between rocks with their characteristic curiosity.
The pool becomes our afternoon sanctuary from the Tsavo heat, with Katie and Sophie turning bean bags into boats and then racing them around in what is sure to become an Olympic-level sport. Their shrieks of laughter compete with the constant commentary of the rock Hyrax, whose calls echo across the kopje with surprising volume for such relatively small creatures. The lunches are obscene especially when accompanied by endless wine and beer: every meal somehow being better than the last.
Chef James Dennis (whose son Oscar, I discover, I know from his Kenya 7s rugby days and who is now a successful para-athlete) transforms each meal into a culinary journey. His prawn curry becomes legendary among our group, while the tiramisu draws declarations of being “the best ever tasted in Kenya.” Each meal feels like a celebration, made more special by the spectacular dining room views across the park.
The food was incredible and I cannot recommend James and his team highly enough! If you don’t trust me just ask the cheeky Genet and its family who made a habit of breaking in to steal biscuits, cakes and the exceptional banana bread!
TRAVEL TIP – No matter how good the food always carry toilet paper, Imodium instants and electrolyte powder. I can also tell you that if you think you have used the worst toilet in the World: you haven’t. I can also tell you squatting over a hole in the floor in the pitch black doing an impersonation of an upside down chocolate fountain trying not to get any on you is a bizarrely welcome lesson in humility and a reminder that the World is just one bad day and a power cut away from the stone age.
Our trip with the orphan herd to the water hole was a real highlight. Young bulls practise their sparring while matriarchs keep watchful eyes on playful calves. After their bath the elephants roll in the piles of red Tsavo earth to coat themselves as protection against the sun. The afternoon light catches the red Tsavo dust coating their hides, creating an otherworldly glow around these magnificent creatures. Watching them you forget, for a moment, that these are all still young elephant and that they will get much bigger. To be this close to them, to interact with them in this way, is a huge privilege that should not be taken lightly. The keepers’ control is remarkable. A trust, built over years of time spent with the elephants as orphans that, as we witness time and again, remains even when they return to visit the integration unit as wild elephants.
The massive Tsavo bull elephant approaches deliberately down the ochre road, his tusks gleaming in the late afternoon light. We’re silent, motionless, as we watch his approach from the vehicle the only sound the whirring of my camera shutter as I capture his morning stroll. I’ve not often seen a bigger bull elephant; maybe in Lewa in the North of Kenya or in Botswana in southern Africa but in any case this one is huge. He is something to behold, majestic and noble and ancient. A throw back to when great beasts thronged these lands, to before humans polluted them with progress and civilisation. His ears are tattered from living among the Tsavo bush notorious for its thorns and barbs but the rest of him is in great condition.
My companions are surprised at how quiet he is; a five ton ninja gently making his way towards us so silently that we wouldn’t have heard him if he had passed us in the bush rather than walking down the road. He gets to within about thirty meters of us and finally notices us again, issuing us a little challenge just to remind us, as if we needed it, that he was there. He came forward another ten meters or so before quietly yielding the road to us and disappearing into the bush leaving us momentarily speechless at what we had seen before we all finally remember to breath out.
A false charge to keep us on our toes.
As the sun sets on our final evening, painting the sky in impossible colors, we reflect on the privilege of experiencing this place. It isn’t just another one of the many safari camps in Kenya – it’s a window into one of Africa’s most successful conservation stories. The story that started with David and Daphne Sheldrick and that became their family legacy is a triumphant fanfare to compassionate conservation. For us lucky few sat in the beautiful camp on the side of Ithumba Hill the morning chorus of birds, the midnight calls of predators, the constant comedy of monkeys, Genet and mongoose, and the majestic presence of elephants combine to create something truly magical that we will never forget. We sat and drank and watched the sky turn black as ink and it was all just as it should be. In Africa, sometimes things are exactly right. This was one of those times.
Those conservation success stories continue to astound us as on our final morning visit to the integration center, before heading to the airstrip, a wild elephant herd arrives with former orphans integrated into their ranks. Watching these ex-orphans moving confidently with their wild family members demonstrates the Trust’s remarkable achievement. Incredibly one of the former orphans has brought her own calf with her to meet the Sheldrick wardens: to introduce it to its extended family. I’m not going to lie. I walked away because someone close by was cutting up bags of onions.
Learning that Kauro, the elephant Buffy and I adopted in 2014, has fully transitioned to life with a wild herd fills us with particular pride. Each success story represents years of dedication from the Trust’s teams and ensures the ongoing survival of a keystone species. We were privileged to witness the full circle of rescue, rehabilitation, release and return. This corner of Kenya holds such a special place in conservation history. It’s where wilderness luxury meets purpose, where every stay helps write the next chapter in the story of Tsavo’s elephants and ensures that they will still be there long after we are gone. It also emphasises the power and value that safari tourism can bring and dismisses yet again the fallacy that hunting has any place in modern conservation.
The familiar warmth (and by warmth I mean torrential big fat rain drops that sends evening traffic in Nairobi into meltdown) of Nairobi welcomed me back as my wife Buffy and I landed at Jomo Kenyatta late on Thursday the 19th December. The sounds, sights and smells quickly wrap me up in memories of past adventures and invite the promise of new ones to come. This visit feels especially poignant – it marks ten years since Buffy and I spent our honeymoon here, guided by my old university friend Andrew “Cappy” Campbell. After a fairly horrific year, starting with Buffy suffering a Sub Arachnoid brain haemorrhage, it is great to be back in such a wonderful place with the time and space to decompress.
Tomorrow brings one of my favorite Nairobi traditions – a visit to the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust’s elephant orphanage. After that, the evening promises to be filled with laughter and stories, catching up with my Kenya-based Shogun rugby family, along with some old Royal Navy friends over drinks and dinner. These reunions always remind me why I feel so at home in Kenya and why friendships are so important now more than ever.
The real adventure begins on the 21st when we’ll gather at the Sheraton to meet our full safari party – Stuart and Sophie Kidd (our wonderful neighbours from Oxted who’ve become such good friends; largely because they know where all the bodies are buried and enable our red wine habit) and Robin Callaway (who was with me on the Everest Rugby Challenge back in 2019) with his daughter Katy. There’s something magical about sharing Kenya with people you care about, watching their eyes light up as they discover the wonders that made you fall in love with this place. I am hugely looking forward to seeing their reactions as we explore the landscapes of the incredible Kenyan National Parks of Tsavo, Amboseli and the Masai Mara and meet the incredible wildlife that live there: up close and personal.
Our friend Cappy, a multi-generation Kenyan safari guide, has woven his magic once again, crafting an anniversary journey that began to unfold today. There’s something deeply reassuring about having a friend who knows every hidden gem of this magnificent country, whose family history is intertwined with Kenya’s wild spaces. This isn’t just another safari – it’s a celebration of ten years of marriage, of friendships that span continents, and of the timeless appeal of Kenya’s wilderness. As I settle into my first night back in Nairobi, I can feel the familiar excitement building. Tomorrow, the journey truly begins.
“THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT SAFARI LIFE THAT MAKES YOU FORGET ALL YOUR SORROWS AND FEEL AS IF YOU HAD DRUNK HALF A BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE — BUBBLING OVER WITH HEARTFELT GRATITUDE FOR BEING ALIVE.” Karen Blixen
Special thanks to Kelvin (Tradewinds), Anthony (AC Safaris), Charles (Tessen) and Shirley (Sheldrick Wildlife Trust) for making our arrival and first few days so stress free! Big love as ever to Terry (Tessen & Shogun) who very kindly let us use his apartment in Nairobi as a base when we arrived – you are the man.
Let me tell you, jumping from a long-term senior role to running your own consultancy is like trading a well-mapped highway for an exhilarating off-road adventure. If you’ve met me before you’d probably suspect I wouldn’t have it any other way.
After years of thriving in the remarkable organisation that is Paye Stonework & Restoration, I realised I was ready for a new challenge. My extremely varied corporate journey had been incredibly rewarding, but I felt a growing desire to create space for my own professional evolution and, more importantly, to enable the progression of others. That’s exactly why I founded Hartfield Consultants.
Challenges? More Like Opportunities
Starting your own consultancy isn’t for the faint-hearted. The security blanket of a monthly paycheck? Gone. The comfort of established teams and processes? You’re now building those from scratch. But here’s the thing: every challenge is just an opportunity wearing a different costume.
For me, the biggest shift has been moving from executing strategies to helping organisations reimagine their entire approach. Whether it’s internal communications, talent development, or creating genuine business value through CSR and ESG strategies, I’m now in a position to catalyse real, meaningful change.
The Freedom to Think Differently
One of the most liberating aspects of consultancy is the ability to truly “think differently” – which, not coincidentally, is a core principle of Hartfield Consultants. Previously, innovation often felt constrained by the growing pains and the focus on immediate delivery that tends to accompany it. Now? I can help businesses break through those barriers.
Take our approach to people development, for instance. It’s not just about training programs; it’s about nurturing talent, understanding individual potential, and most importantly creating environments where people can truly excel that align with strategy, values and even purpose. Having led teams and managed complex projects across various industries, I bring a holistic perspective that goes beyond textbook solutions.
Redefining Problem Solving
The heart of exceptional consulting lies in problem-solving that goes beyond surface-level fixes. My approach is ruthlessly methodical: first, fully understand the issue by stripping away preconceived notions and personal biases. This means creating a space where existing beliefs are challenged, and the root cause is meticulously examined. It’s about gathering the right people – those with diverse perspectives, deep expertise, and a genuine commitment to positive change – and facilitating a collaborative approach to solution design.
True problem-solving isn’t about having all the answers, but about creating the conditions where innovative solutions can emerge. It’s a process of deep listening, critical analysis, and collective intelligence. Whether we’re auditing processes, realigning strategies, or developing talent, the goal is always the same: to deliver meaningful, sustainable solutions that create genuine value for the organisation.
Unexpected Lessons from Unexpected Places
Interestingly, some of my most valuable consulting insights come from experiences outside the traditional business world. My adventures – like being a team manager for the Nigerian national rugby team, running the hugely successful invitational rugby club Shogun RFC at tournaments all over the World, working as part of a de-mining project in western Denmark, travelling to over fifty countries from Australia to Zimbabwe and participating in world-record charity rugby matches 6331 metres up Mount Everest – have taught me more about leadership, adaptability, and high-pressure problem-solving than any MBA ever could.
These experiences reinforced a crucial truth: success is about agility, continuous learning, and the courage to step outside your comfort zone.
The Reward? Impact and Autonomy
Running Hartfield Consultants isn’t just a career move; it’s a mission. We’re not just another consultancy. We’re partners in helping organisations reimagine their potential across strategic alignment, communications, talent development, value creation, and process optimisation.
The reward isn’t just financial independence. It’s the privilege of walking alongside businesses during their transformation, seeing leaders and teams discover capabilities they didn’t know they possessed.
A Note to Fellow Corporate Adventurers
If you’re contemplating a similar leap, here’s my advice: Trust your skills. Embrace the uncertainty. And remember, your most significant asset isn’t your past experience—it’s your willingness to continuously learn and adapt.
To new beginnings, bold strategies, and the courage to think differently!
Interested in exploring how we can unlock your organisation’s potential? Let’s chat.
I don’t believe in ghosts. They don’t exist. I know that for certain because if they did there would be a ghost cat curled up on my wife’s feet as I type. There isn’t.
Achilles (or as he was known to our neighbours before we moved in: David Meow) first came into our lives when we moved into Snatts Hill in 2013. We noticed a scruffy black and white cat hanging around in the garden and suspected he was a stray even before we found him sleeping regularly in our derelict summer house.
We already had three cats. Apollo and Athena who we had taken as rescue kittens and then Artemis their mother (mummacat) who we had gone back for after we had heard the rescue centre were struggling to find her a furrever home. We hadn’t let them out yet which meant he still had the run of our garden. So this scruffy boy would come and sit close to the washing line as Buffy was hanging clothes out to dry and “talk” to her. Gradually over the summer he got closer and closer until eventually he trusted her enough to let her stroke him. We’ve always said that he chose us and not the other way round.
As summer turned to autumn we discussed his options. We decided we couldn’t let him stay outside as the weather continued to get colder and resolved to catch him and get him into a rescue centre. He was now eating from our back steps on a daily basis so we started leaving the back door open to see if he would come in of his own accord. Sure enough he started creeping a few feet into the house but inevitably he would run as soon as either of us appeared in the kitchen.
One evening, remembering my training reading Famous Five books as a child, I locked our three cats away, put food out as bait, tied a piece of string around the door handle and hid behind the kitchen island. Minutes passed and slowly he crept into the kitchen smelling the food and feeling the warmth. I held my breath as he inched towards the bowl as wary and nervous as ever. Deciding this was as good as it was going to get I yanked the string and the door slammed shut, trapping him by a matter of inches. He turned panicking, looked at me and then bolted into the house. We found him hiding under our bed where he had stuffed himself into a shoebox. He didn’t come out for several hours and as soon as he saw me went straight back under again.
We flyered the whole area and posted photos of him on social media to try and find if he had an owner and was simply lost. We also took him to see our local vet who confirmed he was an unneutered tom cat, roughly 3-7 years old, who didn’t have a microchip and was in need of a good feed, flea treatment and a ton of booster shots.
Of course him moving in was only temporary: We would look after him until a furrever home could be found we said, three cats was more than enough and we didn’t need a fourth. All bollocks of course, from the moment he moved in he was never going anywhere else.
It wasn’t easy. He would get spooked by something, plastic bags or men’s voices were the usual culprits, and stay out at night sleeping back in his falling down shelter in the garden. The number of times I have crawled on my hands and knees through bits of dead pigeon and cat piss to bring him in to the warm house at all hours of the night are simply too many to count. Bloody cat I’d grumble as I rubbed my knees and tried to wash the grime and smell off my hands. Moments later he’d be snuggled up as my wife’s little spoon purring like mad and, as my heart thawed, I knew it was worth it.
After we “decided” to keep him we got him snipped to hopefully prevent him fighting and at the very least prevent any more litters of kittens appearing in the local area. This was only partially successful as he was too used to being a tough little scrapper. The number of times that we had to clean him up after one of his many territorial battles was ludicrous. But he was so trusting, he literally knew we were helping him so he’d sit patiently on the towel as we cleaned cuts, bites and abscesses with salt water and cotton buds patching him up to go straight back out and do the same thing all over again.
I remember returning home to be approached quietly by an unsteady Achilles who was covered in blood from several bite wounds and numerous scratches. In his wounded state he had immediately come home and waited on the bed for Buffy and I to get home. This was a little beyond our abilities to help so we took him in to see the vet who also noted that he had lost two of his canine teeth. We can only assume he left them buried in some other unlucky tom cat.
Achilles mellowed dramatically in the last few years of his life. He would allow a select group of others, Alex, mum, the Kidds and even Marion to stroke him and would even sit or snuggle next to some of them. It was wonderful to see such a scared ball of fur finally comfortable in his own home and able to trust humans again. Had our wary scrapper finally succumbed to being a house cat?
He bonded closely with Ares, a fifth cat we had taken in during 2020. Like a doting elder relative he would allow him to snuggle against him and would often patiently clean the youngster before giving him a little nip to remind him who the boss was.
When Buffy had a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage in January this year and spent almost three weeks in St George’s ICU recovering from a near death experience he wouldn’t leave my side whenever I was home. Every single night he would curl up with me on the bed chirruping, giving head bumps and purring to make both of us feel a little better. When Buffy got home Achilles wouldn’t leave her side. He slept next to her on the bed or sofa and followed her around the house wherever she went. If he couldn’t see her he would call for her until he got a response. I think it is fair to say he had missed her and was delighted she was home.
Whilst we were worrying about Buffy and her recovery we didn’t really notice that his already stiff wobbly back legs were getting worse no matter how often the vets gave him an injection. The truth is that Achilles was an old boy now; at least 15 and probably more like 17 or 18. He had also not had an easy life: we are sure his back legs had been damaged by a car or a kick before we took him in and that combined with his age meant that he was in his twilight years. He was sleeping a lot more: more often than not on the heated blanket on Buffy’s legs as she dozed recovering. I honestly believe that he lived longer because he would not be parted from Buffy. As Buffy recovered unbeknownst to us he was fading. Buffy, in tears later, remarked that it felt like he had given her the last of his nine lives. This in other circumstances would sound fanciful and far fetched but I am not so sure it isn’t true. Certainly if that were possible there is no doubt in my mind that he would have done so.
At around 2200 on Thursday 18th April our boy became very suddenly distressed and although we rushed him to the 24hr emergency vets in Caterham there was nothing they could do. Our boy fought until the end. Hissing and yowling at his unseen attacker even as we stroked him and told him how much we loved him. He knew, he always had.
Heart broken we drove home with an empty cat carrier and a silent car.
Achilles was the product of an awful start in life and of patient kindness and love that allowed him to learn to trust humans again. I think he was a child of nurture more than of nature. He was deeply soulful and shared a connection with Buffy that I have not seen before: She referred to him as her Daemon and I think that is exactly what he was.
He was vocal. He was loyal. He was loving. He was brave. He was playful. He was protective. He was unique. He was, he was, he was.
It feels great to be able to start planning and undertaking challenges now that the worst of the Covid-19 pandemic seems to be behind us. It gives me the opportunity to start on the series of challenges I set myself and to start fundraising for a fantastic group of charities.
First up is to take on my long held desire to climb Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. Kilimanjaro is the highest peak on Africa, it makes up one of the the seven summits and is also the highest free standing mountain, above sea level, in the World. It has inspired countless expeditions, films, novels and pieces of art and is part of the fabric of East African culture. The Maasai call it’s snow covered, 19340 foot high, western summit ‘Ngaje Ngai’: the House of God.
I’ve set myself a target of £2500, which I hope to exceed, which will go to help the work of the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust with their ongoing efforts to rescue and rehabilitate Elephants and Rhino in East Africa. As with all the challenges I undertake I cover the entire cost of the trip myself and every single penny raised goes to the charity.
I have supported the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust since I had the privilege of visiting their orphanage in Nairobi in 2009. Since then, as several friends and a host of nieces and nephews can attest, I have “adopted” dozens of orphan elephants and I have been very fortunate to have been able to visit them in person when attending the Safari 7s in Kenya. I also visited the orphanage in 2014 when I was on honeymoon so I am delighted that, finally after years of dropping me off and picking me up from airports, my fabulous supportive wife is going to be coming with me on this particular challenge.
I will endeavour to keep you updated with how the preparation and fundraising is going before the challenge in July and August 2024 but to get things started please follow this blog and, if you can, donate to the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust here
If you would like to join the challenge please follow me and then DM via this site
After the limited opportunities for travel over the last few years it felt strange planning a get away to Iceland. A definite plus was that I was going away with my long suffering wife who was more used to dropping me to the airport to go galivanting around the world than actually getting on a plane with me! Iceland had long been on both our wish lists and it made perfect sense to get over there in October as the odds of seeing the elusive “Northern Lights” were better than most other times of year.
It felt a relief to get away and see somewhere new – I’d briefly stopped at Keflavik over twenty years ago but Iceland was still unexplored territory for me. The trip was reasonably brief and we were cramming a awful lot into a five days: I’d always wanted to see the, geologically speaking, youthful landscape of Iceland. I also hoped to see the Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights, and ideally manage to film or photograph them. The rest of the trip would consist of getting some down time, away from the rigours of our jobs, and experience the culture and hospitality of a people I knew very little about.
If your idea of a great time is being bussed from one stunningly beautiful Icelandic scene to another then you should definitely go with Rekjavik Excursions. They are extremely well organised and the staff, like Eric (Originally from Barcelona) and Verena (a miniature Icelandic warrior princess), are brilliant at engaging the groups they guide. If, like me, you prefer a more bespoke approach then do your research and hire a car. Hopefully my ramblings below might give a basic insight to what the South West, around the Rekyavik Capital Area, has to offer.
The Golden Circle
The Golden Circle is a chance to see a number of amazing sights not least of which is the breathtaking waterfall Gullfoss, or “golden waterfall” in Icelandic, which the route takes it name from. The waterfall itself has multiple viewing platforms (be careful the rocks do get slippery in bad weather) but my recommendation, particularly if you are trying to get that epic photo, is to view from the far right back up the gorge towards the waterfall itself.
Gullfoss (Golden Waterfall) on a beautifully sunny day……
You also get to visit Þingvellir National Park, where you can see the fault lines caused by the Mid Atlantic Ridge spreading zone and set foot on both the Eurasian plate and the North American plate within a few metres, and the active geothermal area at Haukadalur. The main attraction at Haukdalur is the geyser Strokkur which erupts every 5-7 minutes to varying heights and the inevitable oohs and aahs of the gathered crowds
Strokkur
Walking Along The Fault Line
Tomatoes
For some reason Fridheimar tomato farm is a tourist attraction in Iceland. Sure, its kind of cool that they can heat greenhouses using geothermal energy, that they produce most of the tomatoes sold in Iceland and that they import bees from The Netherlands to pollinate those tomatoes. But a tomato farm as a routine tourist bus stop, really? You should definitely go there: the Bloody Mary they serve there is comfortably the best I’ve ever had.
You should definitely go there: the Bloody Mary they serve there is comfortably the best I’ve ever had
Mark Dean
The Icelandic Sagas
It is definitely worth reading the collected Icelandic Sagas although they do get pretty dark and weird quite quickly. If you are in Reykjavik it is also worth going to the Saga Museum and following the audio guide through the exhibits.
As tragic as Shakespeare, as colourful as The Canterbury Tales, as enduring as Beowulf, as epic as The Iliad and eminently more readable than The Holy Bible
Ben Myers, The Guardian
Eating Out
If you go to Iceland for Odin’s sake do not try the fucking terrible all you can eat “American Style” buffets put on by so many of the hotels. In fact, avoid eating in the hotels altogether. Reykjavik has a number of incredible restaurants and you should definitely go to these rather than places designed to sell mass produced shit food to large groups of Chets and Dwights from Assbucket, Virginia. Top of my list would be to try the Rekjavik Kitchen or any of the places (Krost, Sakl etc) in the Hlemmur Food Hall where the food is both very contemporary but decidedly Icelandic.
Rekjavik Kitchen
Whale Watching
Firstly it is brilliant that Iceland has finally woken up to the fact that people will pay a shit load more money for the chance to see whales than to fucking eat them: So well done indeed. We went out on a whale watching tour with a company called Elding who run numerous boats out of Reykjavik and whose guides are experienced Marine Biologists who actually know what they are talking about. You can book in advance or just chance your arm and walk up and book at the quayside.
Before you get on a ship to go looking for large aquatic mammals here are some tips:
Whale watching requires you to get on a boat so take the sea sickness tablets you are offered and don’t be a macho dick.
Wear thermals and take a fleece, windproof, hat and gloves as a minimum: it gets bloody cold.
Put the camera strap around your neck because if you drop the camera over the side you will lose your shit, nobody can help you but they will laugh at you.
You will struggle to get any decent photos so stick your camera on the “moving objects” setting and hope for the best.
Given most of your photos will be shite remember to put the camera down and watch the animals as well. Mankind is hell bent on killing most of them so get a good look so you can tell your grandkids what these now mythical beasts actually looked like.
Learn to speak whale by watching Finding Nemo before you go.
You probably wont see any whales but you will probably will see dolphins or porpoise. This is still cool. Whining is not attractive.
If whales, dolphins or other marine mammals appear don’t push to the front and walk in front of everyone else. This makes you a dick
The Aurora Borealis
The Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis) is a shoe in for almost everyone’s bucket list. They are also, seemingly, rarer than rocking horse shit. The most likely thing you will see when out at night looking for your elusive glimpse of this incredible natural phenomena is groups, numbering in the hundreds, of tourists standing around in car parks with no concept of personal space, an IQ so low they either cannot operate their camera/phone or they think that the flash will somehow help and manners so lacking that they assume that their need to use an electrical device whilst walking in front of everyone else with what appears to be a search light strapped to their empty cranium is perfectly ok. My advice? Wait until all the coach loads of fuckwits and arseholes are safely back in bed and head out around midnight in your own vehicle after checking the Icelandic equivalent of the Met Office here to find the best areas to try from. Good luck.
Captured (Just) by a 14-28mm Nikkor F2.8 lens on a 20 second exposure. Helped immensely by the bellends bottom left.
When you go somewhere as breathtakingly beautiful as Iceland it is perfectly normal to want to capture that on film (maybe not to the extent of the Instagram “influencers” but hey each to their own) so what I will say is that, unless you are a pro photographer, it is incredibly difficult to get truly great photos when a) the weather is crap or b) their is no solar activity. When these things happen, which is unfortunately more than likely given the climate in Iceland, then step out from behind the camera and enjoy just being in an almost unspoilt tundra and arctic wilderness. Unless you work for National Geographic its why you are there in the first place and your friends and family can either go themselves or use their bloody imagination.
Apparently the Northern Lights were amazing the night after we left and were visible in The Netherlands a few days later. Bastards.
OK , I still don’t have a name for this project yet but I’m working on it. I’ve started putting together a calendar for the next seven years to work out what the challenges will be and what fundraising I will need to do to hit my target for my selected charities and causes.
Below is the itinerary, massively subject to change, that I am putting together. All offers of support, sponsorship and joining in are well received. It includes running further than I have ever done before, sailing stormy seas, climbing mountains on five continents: including three of the seven summits and finally attempting an 8000m peak in the Himalaya. To have a chance of pulling this off I am going to have to lose, in medical terms, shit loads of weight as well as be fitter than I have been since my twenties. I’ll have to manage my own mental demons and my physical weaknesses as well and I actually don’t know which of those will be harder. I will try and do so without losing my sense of purpose or, more importantly, my sense of humour. A Lung ta wouldn’t go amiss either.
So, without further ado here is my next seven years*
Cairngorm & Ben Macdui (Scotland) – January 2024 (Wooden Spoon)
Toubkal (Maroc) – February 2024 (Sheldrick Wildlife Trust)
Kilimanjaro (Tanzania, Africa) – July 2024 (Sheldrick Wildlife Trust)
Titsey Trail 10K (UK) – 2025 (Caring For Animals)
Le Marathon des chateaux du Medoc (France) – 2025 (Sheldrick Wildlife Trust)
The Lewa Marathon (Kenya, Africa) – 2025 (Tusk)
Cumbria Three Peaks (UK) – 2025 (Lighthouse Club & Caring For Animals)
Aconcagua (Argentina, South America) – 2026 (Wooden Spoon)
South Georgia Challenge (South Georgia, Antarctica) – 2027 (Wooden Spoon)
Cho Oyu (Nepal, Asia) – 2028 (Community Action Nepal)
If you are interested in joining me for any of these challenges, which are all self funded, not paid for by fundraising, or in supporting/sponsoring the efforts then please contact me via this website. So, while I am still planning and trying to come up with a bloody name for this great adventure I will leave you with the following:
“Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than those you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from safe harbor. Catch the wind in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
Mark Twain
*absolutely the final draft (bloody covid/putin/money/time)
Deano's World 