A hunting snapshot

Although the shot hippo has not been dead for more than a day, an unbearable heat means it already smells foul. It doesn’t help that the trackers put out a barrel with a soup of stomach contents and blood in the heat after yesterday’s hunt; a soup that is now scattered in front of us on the lake shore. But the unappetising slop strikes the crocodile’s various senses as a hammer of pleasure right between the eyes. For the nearby crocodiles, the next few hours are about getting as much of the laid-out hippo bait as possible.

SHOOT BEHIND THE SMILE

Rasmus Kjær and professional hunter Pierre Hundermark are not even in the blind yet, as the first elongated heads break the surface of the lake without a sound. Silently, more and more crocodiles come closer to the small bay, where