It’s an hour after sunrise on day three of the photographic safari and a solitary vulture is crossing a flat sky. Venus has faded and a chilly breeze sends ripples over the vast acacia-studded plains of Kenya’s Masai Mara reserve. Ruminants relieved to have survived another night watch as the hyenas head home, loping along like murderous hunchbacks. These charmless beasts do their killing in the dark, as do the leopards and the lions of the local Kicheche pride.

Daylight, however, brings different dangers for the Mara’s vegetarian majority. Fifty yards in front of me, a male Thomson’s gazelle lies uneasily in the oat grass. To my left, three does and a fawn are grazing, trusting the stag to keep watch, and between them crouches a cheetah called Kike, aged star of the BBC’s Big Cat Diary. The Masai guide Boniface Ole Mpario hasn’t seen the old girl for a while and he’s concerned she might be struggling to survive. Her belly is concave, her once-gorgeous face gaunt and her long legs stiff from last night’s cold. She probably hasn’t eaten in days and every failed attack leaves her weaker.

“She’s in the wrong place,” he whispers, merely squinting to see what the photographers are struggling to spot through precision optics. “Those zebra on the ridge behind know she’s there, and as soon as they see her, they’ll give the game away.”

Kike drops into the grass, hoping that her endurance is greater than the zebras’ attention span, while aboard the Land Cruisers, bleary- eyed photographers, awake since before 5am, check and recheck their equipment, encouraged, scolded and cajoled by tutor Paul Goldstein. He pops up alongside me like some red-faced colour sergeant as I fiddle with the focus of my brand-new digital camera. “What’s your shutter speed?” he demands.

“Two-fifty.”

“Wrong,” he snaps. “ISO?”

None of this meant anything to me yesterday, but you learn quickly on this trip. “One hundred,” I reply.

Goldstein shakes his head. “Increase it to 400 and make sure the shutter speed is at least 1,000.” He moves on to his next victim, huffing and puffing, utterly determined that every member of this mixed group of competent snappers and absolute beginners goes home with the best shots possible.

As the sun climbs higher, the chill is scorched away, as we wait and wait and wait for the hungry cheetah to make her move. Every now and then a vehicle from another camp rolls up, waits five minutes while its occupants tick off another species, then moves on to the next short-term thrill.

Goldstein had already warned us that this adventure would be different. “If the Masai guides find a hungry cheetah at sunrise, that’s our day sorted,” he said. “We’ll stay with the cat for as long as it takes. If you want two-hour game drives ticking off the big five, you’ve booked the wrong safari.”

Not that you’d know from the accommodation: there might not be bougainvillea petals scattered on the pillows, but the Kicheche tented camp is as good as others around here that are twice the price. Dinners are superb, candlelit alfresco affairs and breakfasts are taken in a variety of stunning locations across the Mara. Never eaten a sausage sandwich while watching a crocodile chew on a rotten carcass? It’s better than muesli and John Humphrys.

RIGHT NOW I’m in dire need of caffeine, but I know we won’t eat breakfast until Kike has had hers. I check my camera again: I’m at f5.6 with a shutter speed of 1,250 at ISO 400. I’ve switched my 100-400mm zoom to following focus, and the shutter, like my bladder, is set to burst. I’m secretly rather impressed how much I’ve learnt: this camera came out of the box just two days ago, back when I thought an f-stop was a roadside bordello.

I’ve also discovered that wildlife photography becomes more interesting as the quarry becomes smaller. Giraffes? Get some sky under their bellies and they’re in the bag. Elephants? Lovely to look at but boring to shoot. Lilac-breasted roller — the thrush-sized psycho killer of the plains? Now there’s a challenge. Spend 90 minutes waiting for this gorgeously plumed predator to raise its wings and you begin to appreciate the long-lost skills of the big-game hunter: patience, trust in your guides and the willingness to sweat in pursuit of that trophy.

And the effort expended under the Mara’s merciless sun pays fabulous dividends. Yesterday, a 4.30am rise and a cold and bumpy 30-mile drive across the Mara River was rewarded with a sight that had hardened photographers weeping with joy. A young cheetah mother emerged from the long grass as the sun’s first rays swept the plain. Then five fluffy cubs followed, and as we watched, scarcely breathing, they climbed a termite mound.

“Wait for it,” warned Goldstein as the cubs arranged themselves in a row at their mother’s feet, then, illuminated in the Mara’s perfect light, turned as one and looked straight into our lenses. Shutters clattered like a round of applause and even Mpario reluctantly admitted surprise. “I’ve never seen that before,” he sniffed, wiping something from his eye.

Patience brings other prizes: 5ft of electric-green mamba lurking lethally in a tree, a pair of dimwitted wildebeests engaged in a head-butting contest and a hyena vomiting, sniffing and re-ingesting its rotten dinner.

Not all safari operators take the patient approach, though. We look on with dismay one afternoon as 16 vehicles carrying 80 tourists corner a lioness and her cubs.

Americans scream at Germans while Japanese sightseers wearing white gloves and face masks point and click at the bemused pride. The air is thick with diesel fumes and vitriol as dilapidated Land Rovers and rusting minibuses jostle for position. Next to me, a fellow photographer lowers his camera and shakes his head. “This is all wrong,” he says, but the Mara covers a huge area and the Kenyan government is too weak to restrict access to responsible operators.

DOWN IN the oat grass, Kike has disappeared. Frantically, we scan the shimmering plain before she’s spotted, trotting uphill towards the fawn. There is an intense and breathless rush of excitement, a visceral thrill of the photographic chase, countered by a cool detachment as settings are rechecked and readjusted during what could be the last few moments of the fawn’s life.

“She’s running!” cries Mpario and we look up to see Kike burst from cover, burning energy reserves like rocket fuel as she accelerates towards her prey. The does scatter — maternal instinct comes second to self-preservation in Thomson society — leaving the fawn to fend for itself. Kike is closing like a missile, and then the fawn reacts. “Focus on the prey,” yells Goldstein. “Wait for the cheetah to come into the frame.”

Suddenly the young gazelle changes direction, doubling back and gaining ground on the aged cat, but within half a second Kike is within snatching distance of its hindquarters. I can hear the scrabbling of feet on the hard earth — or maybe it’s just my pounding heart — but as the shadow of death falls across the fawn, it dives to the right and escapes into the long grass.

Kike skids to a halt in a cloud of dust, holding one paw up as though injured. She won’t eat today, and I suspect the fawn will be off its food, too. I can’t remember taking any pictures of the chase, but as I scroll through my memory card, I realise I’ve caught the whole thrilling hunt. How does it feel? Like catching the perfect wave or scoring a hole in one. As the others congratulate me, nobody mentions beginner’s luck.

Travel details: Chris Haslam travelled as a guest of Kenya Airways (01784 888222, www.kenya-airways.com) and Exodus (020 8772 3703, It’s an hour after sunrise on day three of the photographic safari and a solitary vulture is crossing a flat sky. Venus has faded and a chilly breeze sends ripples over the vast acacia-studded plains of Kenya’s Masai Mara reserve. Ruminants relieved to have survived another night watch as the hyenas head home, loping along like murderous hunchbacks. These charmless beasts do their killing in the dark, as do the leopards and the lions of the local Kicheche pride.

Daylight, however, brings different dangers for the Mara’s vegetarian majority. Fifty yards in front of me, a male Thomson’s gazelle lies uneasily in the oat grass. To my left, three does and a fawn are grazing, trusting the stag to keep watch, and between them crouches a cheetah called Kike, aged star of the BBC’s Big Cat Diary. The Masai guide Boniface Ole Mpario hasn’t seen the old girl for a while and he’s concerned she might be struggling to survive. Her belly is concave, her once-gorgeous face gaunt and her long legs stiff from last night’s cold. She probably hasn’t eaten in days and every failed attack leaves her weaker.

“She’s in the wrong place,” he whispers, merely squinting to see what the photographers are struggling to spot through precision optics. “Those zebra on the ridge behind know she’s there, and as soon as they see her, they’ll give the game away.”

Kike drops into the grass, hoping that her endurance is greater than the zebras’ attention span, while aboard the Land Cruisers, bleary- eyed photographers, awake since before 5am, check and recheck their equipment, encouraged, scolded and cajoled by tutor Paul Goldstein. He pops up alongside me like some red-faced colour sergeant as I fiddle with the focus of my brand-new digital camera. “What’s your shutter speed?” he demands.

“Two-fifty.”

“Wrong,” he snaps. “ISO?”

None of this meant anything to me yesterday, but you learn quickly on this trip. “One hundred,” I reply.

Goldstein shakes his head. “Increase it to 400 and make sure the shutter speed is at least 1,000.” He moves on to his next victim, huffing and puffing, utterly determined that every member of this mixed group of competent snappers and absolute beginners goes home with the best shots possible.

As the sun climbs higher, the chill is scorched away, as we wait and wait and wait for the hungry cheetah to make her move. Every now and then a vehicle from another camp rolls up, waits five minutes while its occupants tick off another species, then moves on to the next short-term thrill.

Goldstein had already warned us that this adventure would be different. “If the Masai guides find a hungry cheetah at sunrise, that’s our day sorted,” he said. “We’ll stay with the cat for as long as it takes. If you want two-hour game drives ticking off the big five, you’ve booked the wrong safari.”

Not that you’d know from the accommodation: there might not be bougainvillea petals scattered on the pillows, but the Kicheche tented camp is as good as others around here that are twice the price. Dinners are superb, candlelit alfresco affairs and breakfasts are taken in a variety of stunning locations across the Mara. Never eaten a sausage sandwich while watching a crocodile chew on a rotten carcass? It’s better than muesli and John Humphrys.

RIGHT NOW I’m in dire need of caffeine, but I know we won’t eat breakfast until Kike has had hers. I check my camera again: I’m at f5.6 with a shutter speed of 1,250 at ISO 400. I’ve switched my 100-400mm zoom to following focus, and the shutter, like my bladder, is set to burst. I’m secretly rather impressed how much I’ve learnt: this camera came out of the box just two days ago, back when I thought an f-stop was a roadside bordello.

I’ve also discovered that wildlife photography becomes more interesting as the quarry becomes smaller. Giraffes? Get some sky under their bellies and they’re in the bag. Elephants? Lovely to look at but boring to shoot. Lilac-breasted roller — the thrush-sized psycho killer of the plains? Now there’s a challenge. Spend 90 minutes waiting for this gorgeously plumed predator to raise its wings and you begin to appreciate the long-lost skills of the big-game hunter: patience, trust in your guides

and the willingness to sweat in pursuit of that trophy.

And the effort expended under the Mara’s merciless sun pays fabulous dividends. Yesterday, a 4.30am rise and a cold and bumpy 30-mile drive across the Mara River was rewarded with a sight that had hardened photographers weeping with joy. A young cheetah mother emerged from the long grass as the sun’s first rays swept the plain. Then five fluffy cubs followed, and as we watched, scarcely breathing, they climbed a termite mound.

“Wait for it,” warned Goldstein as the cubs arranged themselves in a row at their mother’s feet, then, illuminated in the Mara’s perfect light, turned as one and looked straight into our lenses. Shutters clattered like a round of applause and even Mpario reluctantly admitted surprise. “I’ve never seen that before,” he sniffed, wiping something from his eye.

Patience brings other prizes: 5ft of electric-green mamba lurking lethally in a tree, a pair of dimwitted wildebeests engaged in a head-butting contest and a hyena vomiting, sniffing and re-ingesting its rotten dinner.

Not all safari operators take the patient approach, though. We look on with dismay one afternoon as 16 vehicles carrying 80 tourists corner a lioness and her cubs.

Americans scream at Germans while Japanese sightseers wearing white gloves and face masks point and click at the bemused pride. The air is thick with diesel fumes and vitriol as dilapidated Land Rovers and rusting minibuses jostle for position. Next to me, a fellow photographer lowers his camera and shakes his head. “This is all wrong,” he says, but the Mara covers a huge area and the Kenyan government is too weak to restrict access to responsible operators.

DOWN IN the oat grass, Kike has disappeared. Frantically, we scan the shimmering plain before she’s spotted, trotting uphill towards the fawn. There is an intense and breathless rush of excitement, a visceral thrill of the photographic chase, countered by a cool detachment as settings are rechecked and readjusted during what could be the last few moments of the fawn’s life.

“She’s running!” cries Mpario and we look up to see Kike burst from cover, burning energy reserves like rocket fuel as she accelerates towards her prey. The does scatter — maternal instinct comes second to self-preservation in Thomson society — leaving the fawn to fend for itself. Kike is closing like a missile, and then the fawn reacts. “Focus on the prey,” yells Goldstein. “Wait for the cheetah to come into the frame.”

Suddenly the young gazelle changes direction, doubling back and gaining ground on the aged cat, but within half a second Kike is within snatching distance of its hindquarters. I can hear the scrabbling of feet on the hard earth — or maybe it’s just my pounding heart — but as the shadow of death falls across the fawn, it dives to the right and escapes into the long grass.

Kike skids to a halt in a cloud of dust, holding one paw up as though injured. She won’t eat today, and I suspect the fawn will be off its food, too. I can’t remember taking any pictures of the chase, but as I scroll through my memory card, I realise I’ve caught the whole thrilling hunt. How does it feel? Like catching the perfect wave or scoring a hole in one. As the others congratulate me, nobody mentions beginner’s luck.

Travel details: Chris Haslam travelled as a guest of Kenya Airways (01784 888222, www.kenya-airways.com ) and Exodus (020 8772 3703, www.exodus.co.uk ), which offers eight-day photographic safaris to Samburu and the Mara from £1,769, including flights from Heathrow, transfers and meals. Or try Wild Arena (07734 107050, www.wildarena.com ), which also runs specialist photographic safaris to Samburu and the Mara from £1,769, including flights from Heathrow, transfers and meals. Or try Wild Arena (07734 107050, www.wildarena.com ), which also runs specialist photographic safaris.

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