The Wild Edit / 01.3
Is It Time to Say Goodbye / To Walking Safari?
15 Minute Read
On July 3rd, 2025, two tourists were killed by an elephant while on a walking safari in South Luangwa National Park. They were part of a small group led by a qualified walking guide and an armed scout from Zambia’s Department of National Parks and Wildlife (DNPW). At some point during the walk, the group encountered a female elephant with her calf. The elephant charged. The scout fired his weapon. The elephant was wounded. The guests were trampled. One elephant is likely dead. A baby is now orphaned. And two families are grieving the loss of their mothers.
Perhaps now is the time to begin a more open conversation. As a company based in Zambia, it would be remiss not to pause and take stock. There’s no need to place blame or overreact, but simply to ask: Is it time to reflect on the role of walking safaris in modern-day tourism?
Allure & Legacy
Walking safaris occupy a near-mythic place in African travel lore. They hark back to an earlier era of exploration, evoking images of intrepid hunters and naturalists on foot, but with a crucial twist: today’s walks are about shooting photos, not animals. The concept of the photographic walking safari was born in Zambia. In the 1950s, Norman Carr introduced the idea of walking through the bush with the aim of observation, not extraction. It symbolized a shift from the colonial tradition of hunting to a more respectful encounter with nature. The premise was radical for its time: venture out on foot to meet nature on its own terms. Today, walking safaris are not just a product offering. In Zambia and Zimbabwe especially, they are a point of pride, part of national identity, and a deeply embedded part of the safari story. There’s an unspoken bravado in saying you tracked wildlife on foot through a national park; it signals a kind of safari “street cred,” a sense that you’ve experienced a wilder, more visceral adventure.
Imagine stepping out of the game viewer into the African wilderness, the engine’s rumble fading into silence. You’re on foot in the potential company of elephants, lions and buffalo, led by a seasoned guide and an armed scout. You pause to examine some of the bush’s smaller creatures: a dung beetle rolling a perfect sphere, a business of dwarf mongoose scurrying across fallen branches and flock of crested guinea fowl clucking along. But awareness is heightened because you know, in the back of your mind, that you are exposed to big game without the protection of a vehicle.
Guests often describe these experiences as spiritual and even life-changing. There’s something undeniably moving about being on foot in wild spaces, reading tracks in the dust, hearing the distant trumpet of an elephant or the soft snap of a twig. It feels ancient. Real. And entirely unforgettable.
But that legacy also makes it difficult to interrogate the risks, even when those risks are increasingly visible.
When Adventure Turns Tragic
Despite the safety protocols and past assurances, the inherent risk of walking among wild animals can never be fully eliminated, a fact made stark by several tragedies in the past two years. Last week’s incident was not a one-off freak accident. It came on the heels of another fatal incident in Zambia less than a year prior. In June 2024, a 70-year-old American woman was killed by a charging hippopotamus during a walking safari in Lower Zambezi National Park. She and her husband were on an anniversary trip when a hippo burst out of the water, grabbed the guest in its jaws and inflicted fatal injuries.
Several stories surrounding this incident recount conflicting scenarios: some say the woman ignored the guide ushering her away from the lagoon and remained behind to take photographs. Others say it was the fault of the scout and guide. These incidents happen unexpectedly in a flash and its difficult to know the full details of what truly happened. It does, however, underscore how quickly a walk in the wild can turn into a nightmare scenario. Hippos, elephants, buffalo are massive animals that typically appear placid from a game viewer or boat, but on foot you realize firsthand that humans are not the apex predator out here. As one expert bluntly put it after a prior incident: “almost any organism around lions [or other big game] might be potential prey… to think people are an exception is folly”.
What’s particularly sobering is a common thread among these recent victims: all were older travelers in their mid-60s or beyond. The two women killed by the elephant this July were 67 and 68; last year’s victim was 70. Even last year’s fatalities that didn’t involve walking (two American women killed in separate elephant encounters in Zambia) fit the pattern, both being in their 60s and 70s. It could be coincidence, but it does raise uncomfortable questions. Older travelers often have the leisure time and means to embark on safaris, and many are quite fit. Yet reflexes, eyesight, and mobility do change with age. One can’t help but wonder: should there be an upper age limit or fitness requirement for walking safaris?
Most operators already impose a minimum age (often around 15–16) for safety, but perhaps the industry should also consider whether an elderly person can realistically react fast enough if, say, a mock charge turns into a real charge. This is a delicate topic, nobody wants to introduce age discrimination on adventure travel, but it’s time to admit that it needs to be part of the conversation. It may be that the very people who can afford these high-end wilderness experiences are at disproportionate risk during foot encounters.
An Evaluation Of Current Systems
For decades, the walking safari has been marketed as the ultimate wilderness experience. It’s a chance to become part of the landscape rather than a mere spectator, an opportunity to be present in the magnitude of nature’s full glory. Tradition and marketing aside, the industry has long emphasized that walking safaris, when done properly, are safe enough. Operators stress that walks are led by highly experienced guides and accompanied by armed wildlife scouts. In Zimbabwe, obtaining a walking safari guide license is famously arduous, involving years of study, extensive exams in ecology and firearms, and a final field test that only the most skilled pass. Zimbabwean pro guides carry large-caliber rifles themselves, a practice born of stringent professional hunter/guide certifications.
Zambia’s system pairs a licensed, unarmed guide with walking qualification and a scout from the government’s Department of National Parks & Wildlife (DNPW) who is armed with an AK-47 or .375 bolt-action rifle. The idea is that between the guide’s knowledge and the scout’s military training and firepower, guests are both enlightened and protected. And historically, serious incidents on walking safaris have been exceedingly rare.
Does this difference matter? Some experts believe it does. An armed guide who is fully in charge may be quicker to respond in a tight situation than a two-person team that has to coordinate actions. For instance, if a mock charge escalates, the Zimbabwean guide can instantly decide whether to fire a warning shot or, as a last resort, shoot the animal. In Zambia, as only the scout carries a firearm, an assessment from two people (scout & guide) can slow the process down.
After a fatal lion mauling of a guide in 2015, one veteran Zimbabwean safari official noted that such attacks were “extremely infrequent,” in fact he couldn’t recall a similar one in 30–40 years and he argued there was “no reason to stop walking safaris” given their enduring appeal . As recently as a decade ago, the consensus was that the rewards of a walking safari outweighed its risks, so long as everyone followed protocols.
Both the Zimbabwean and Zambian models have their merits. Both have produced extraordinary guides. And yet, both have also seen incidents, reminding us that no system is without risk. Still, it raises questions worth asking:
Could Zambia benefit from a model where guides are trained and licensed to carry firearms themselves?
Would additional training or hours logged improve outcomes?
Is there room to reevaluate or evolve these structures in light of changing guest expectations and environmental pressures?
While many operators enforce a minimum age for participation, there is rarely a maximum. Most walking safaris require guests to self-assess their fitness levels, with some lodges offering gentle reminders about the physical nature of the experience.
As all of the recent incidents have involved older travelers, it does prompt some consideration:
Should there be a maximum age limit for walking safaris?
Should there be more robust screening or fitness checks for older guests?
Would creating multiple tiers of walking experiences, i.e. shorter distances or flatter terrain be a way to ensure inclusivity and safety?
In some regions, guests embarking on gorilla treks must pass basic fitness checks. Is there room for something similar in the context of walking safaris?
No Winners: The Ethical Dilemma For Wildlife
Walking safaris don’t only put tourists and guides at risk; they can also spell disaster for the animals. In almost every instance where an animal attacks humans, the outcome is bleak for the creature as well. If it’s during the encounter, the animal may be shot on the spot by the guide or scout; if the animal survives the immediate incident, authorities often track it down later and destroy it, fearing it has or will develop a taste for attacking people. These are standard wildlife management practices, but they raise a haunting question: is it still ethical tourism when we put wildlife in a position where they might have to be killed simply because we insisted on walking into their space?
At the heart of safari is conservation. But when walking encounters go wrong, it's often the animals who pay the price. A charging elephant or lion, even if acting instinctively or defensively, may be shot and killed in the process of protecting human life. In many cases, the animal’s behavior is entirely natural: defensive of young, surprised by wind direction, or simply startled. Consider the recent cases: the elephant that killed two tourists in South Luangwa was wounded by gunfire from the guides. That means a bullet hit her, and given the circumstances it likely hit hard. Park rangers will now have to find that injured elephant; if she isn’t already dead from the wound, she will almost certainly be euthanized once located. She was a mother with a calf, so not only are two human lives lost, but an elephant family will be torn apart as well.
From a conservation perspective, every one of these incidents is a lose-lose scenario. No one sets out on a walking safari thinking, “if something goes wrong, they’ll shoot an elephant (or lion, or hippo) to save us.” But implicitly that is the pact: human life will be prioritized over animal life. In the best case, a warning shot scares the animal away and everyone lives. In the worst case, people die and an animal dies. One of the hardest realities of incidents like these is that there’s rarely a path to healing without harm. Two women lost their lives. The guide and scout involved are likely experiencing deep emotional trauma. The elephant involved faces death in one way or another, leaving her calf orphaned. The lodge and operator now face reputational and economic consequences, as well as the emotional toll of processing what happened.
There is no clean resolution. And perhaps that’s why it’s so difficult to discuss. But if we want to preserve the magic and meaning of safari for generations to come, moments like this demand our attention.
A Changing Wilderness: Crowds, Climate, and Unpredictability
Why do these accidents seem to be happening more now, when walking safaris have been around for over half a century? It could be a string of bad luck, a statistical clustering of freak events. But there are also broader trends that might be increasing the risk level. Parks are getting more visitors than ever, and shrinking wildlife habitats are under more pressure. More people walking means greater chance of a wrong encounter. At the same time, wild animals are not static targets on a shooting range; their behavior can be affected by environmental changes and human encroachment. Elephant researchers have warned that elephants in some regions are becoming more stressed and reactive due to poaching or habitat loss. It is a widely known fact in Zambia that elephants in Kafue National Park have a reputation for being significantly more aggressive than those in South Luangwa and Lower Zambezi due to more recent poaching and increasing incidents of human-wildlife conflict.
We should also consider whether the profile of walking safari clients has changed. Back in Norman Carr’s day, walking safari guests were often hardy young adventure travelers or passionate naturalists willing to rough it. Today, walking safaris are marketed as premium experiences, you might stay in an ultra-luxurious camp and then do a morning walk. The demographic skews older and more affluent than the backpacker set. These clients may have less outdoor experience or agility, and perhaps an incomplete understanding of just how dangerous wild animals can be. (To be fair, even the most experienced guide can be caught off-guard – but an inexperienced person is more likely to make the wrong move, like running when they should stand still.)
The Instagram Factor: Pushing Boundaries For The Perfect Shot
One modern element that can’t be ignored is the role of social media and the pressure for ever-more-dramatic wildlife encounters. In an age of Instagram and TikTok, a mere photo of an elephant taken from a vehicle 50 yards away feels deja-vu. But a selfie with wild elephants looming just behind you? That’s the kind of post that goes viral. This dynamic can subtly influence both tourists and guides to push closer and take more risks. There have been incidents of travelers on safari vehicles clamoring to get out just to snap a closer picture (with sometimes deadly results. On walking safaris, clients might urge guides to creep nearer in order to get that envy-inducing photo. Many guides have the backbone to say no – but not all.
In fact, in Zimbabwe’s Mana Pools, authorities cited “shoddy behaviour” by some tour operators, including guides deliberately getting too close to animals or even provoking charges for effect. Just this year, a series of photos went viral showing a safari guide standing mere feet from a wild leopard. The images, albeit breathtaking, were highly alarming to conservationists. Wildlife experts publicly warned that such face-to-face proximity “should not be encouraged” because situations like that can turn deadly without warning. One expert commented that the guide was extremely lucky and that “one wrong move could be fatal” in a scenario like that. The concern is that these sensational images fuel a cycle: tourists see them and expect their own guide to deliver a similar heart-pounding encounter. Guides, fearing bad reviews or just eager to build their own reputations, might edge a little closer next time, take a bit more gamble. Most of the time, they’ll get away with it – until they don’t.
Social media, for all the good it does in showcasing Africa’s beauty, can inadvertently incentivize unsafe behavior in the bush.
Where Do We Go From Here?
In the aftermath of these incidents, the safari industry finds itself at a crossroads. Walking safaris are core to the identity of places like Zambia’s Luangwa Valley and to simply ban them outright would be a seismic change. It would also be financially painful: many eco-tourism outfits market multi-day walking expeditions as their flagship product. There can be consideration for new regulations or best practices: perhaps mandatory two-armed personnel on every walk (not just one), or stricter vetting of older participants’ fitness, or requirements that guides carry satellite phones and trauma kits. Tour operators might also start briefing clients even more bluntly about the risks.
Finally, there’s a fundamental question of principle: Should humans be doing this at all? Is the romance of walking with big wild animals an outdated relic from a colonial era, best left in the past? After all, 19th-century colonial hunters roamed on foot shooting game; Norman Carr’s innovation was to roam on foot shooting photos instead. But one could argue the activity still centers human thrill at some cost to wildlife. Or, conversely, is walking safari an invaluable tradition that inspires people to protect wildlife, and thus must be preserved albeit with better safeguards? There aren’t easy answers.
In the end, the debate comes down to risk versus reward, and that calculus may differ for each park and each person. Some safari veterans will insist that with proper care, walking safaris can continue safely, referencing decades of incident-free walks. Others will point to grieving families, wounded animals, traumatized guides, and say one tragedy is too many for an activity that is, at the end of the day, optional.
These questions don’t have straightforward answers. But one thing is clear: the status quo is being challenged. As we grapple with these issues, everyone from lodge owners to veteran safari guides to park officials and tourists themselves needs to be part of the conversation. The soul of the walking safari – that sense of humility and connection one feels on foot in the wild – hangs in the balance. We owe it to the two women who lost their lives last week, and to all victims (human and animal) to learn every possible lesson from these incidents.
So we end not with a proclamation but with an open-ended provocation to everyone who loves safari: Where do we go from here? Is the romantic notion of walking among Africa’s giants still worth pursuing, and if so, what must we change to ensure that no more lives – neither human nor animal – are needlessly lost?
