Two large G&Ts were more than enough. It’s a real struggle to open my eyes at five in the morning to get ready to be out at dawn. Brian seems a lot more alert than I am as I struggle to get a shower and get dressed. Maybe there’s something to be said for this whole not drinking thing after all.

Still, there’s no way I’m going to just stay in bed and miss a drive. I’m just not really feeling it as we pull out of the car park just as the sun is cresting the eastern horizon. I’ve already come to the conclusion that sunrises aren’t quite as photogenic as sunsets, but this is still pretty spectacular. The red sky, thin lines of wispy cloud and deep reddish-purple sky as a backdrop to spectacular baobab trees and acacias is truly stunning.

The wildlife seems to be awake with the dawn – certainly far more awake than I feel at least. The elephants are slowly making their way down to the Tarangire River in small family groups. Sometimes they are accompanied by one of the old bulls, but there are also small groups that are just the bulls in a little club of their own.

They are known to be unpredictable, but Joshua is patient and skilled. He seems to know just when to move – either forward or back – and also when it is best to turn the engine off and just sit.

When a big bull – who, let’s face it, isn’t afraid of us at all – can decide for himself whether to approach or not, then we should be fairly safe. The hardest part is to try and keep quiet and not panic. One of them comes close enough that, I could swear, I would have been able to reach out and touch him. He lifts his trunk towards the open top of the vehicle and sniffs us loudly as he passes.

He's easily as tall as the top of the open pop-top, so almost certainly more than three metres at the shoulder. It’s a bulk that’s hard to comprehend at this close range and certainly not something to be ignored.

Once again, I find the whole experience emotionally overwhelming. There’s something about looking another intelligent creature right in the eye that does something to you sometimes. I have to drop down from my standing position and sit for a few moments, deep inside my own head with a jumble of thoughts.

Andrea is first to notice that I’m not fully with the rest of them and ask quietly “Are you okay, Mark?”

Brian is quick to drop down into the seat next to me and place a hand on my shoulder. There’s something about the tenderness of his touch that makes me almost want to lean into the touch or to lean my head over and expand the contact.

“Sorry,” I tell everyone after a few moments and a shake of my head. “I’m being a bit of a drama queen, with the emphasis on the word queen!”

“Can I ask what brought this on?” Andrea whispers.

“It’s the elephants,” I tell her and the others who are also listening, Ian and Joshua included. “I can’t explain, but they are a bit much, really. It’s as if they know exactly what you’re thinking and can project it back at you.”

“Five-tonne empathic emotional amplifiers?” Mary asks.

“Yeah, something like that. When he walked past, I felt as if he was gazing into my soul. Almost as if he was bypassing my barriers and guards and seeing right into the core of my being.”

Strangely, Joshua is nodding in agreement from the driving seat, acknowledging that there’s more to an elephant than size. I know I’ve held everyone up over nothing.

“Are you okay to go on, or do you want us to turn back to the lodge?” Ian asks.

“No, I’m fine. I’m not making anyone turn back because I get a bit emotional. Besides, the day is only getting started.”

“Good,” Ian tells us. “Let’s make a move towards the picnic area and breakfast.”

There’s a low groan of anticipation at this suggestion, but Joshua is on the gas and we’re off before anyone can say anything. Brian finally takes his hand off my shoulder to hold onto the seat in front as we go over a big bump. I turn to him and whisper “Thank you.”

He returns my words with a broad smile and a nod of his head, but we suddenly both have to hold tight as Joshua tries to catch up with the other two vehicles in our little convoy. Apparently, I’ve made everyone late for breakfast and that might be seen as a good thing.

The designated picnic site overlooks the river from a high bluff and we’re allowed to leave our vehicles and pick a table. There are a couple of other trucks full of visitors doing the same thing, making the small spot pretty busy.

Sadly, breakfast is every bit as dire as we had all expected it to be. I can’t really tell much difference from a packed lunch, really, apart from the addition of a small pot of yoghurt and a plastic spoon. Still, as Brian said before, we can’t really go wrong with a boiled egg.

When the rustling on the slope below our position starts to become a bit louder and obviously closer to our location, Ian and Peter usher us all back towards the vehicles with a curse. “These bloody baboons are getting more and more fearless,” Peter tells everyone. “Not much anyone can do about it, but the park authorities need to be told to think of something.”

Our small convoy heads off once more, down into the valley and across the causeway/bridge to get to the south bank of the Tarangire River. The river is brown and boiling, but not quite high enough to be cresting over the causeway. There are a number of wading birds in and around the river, ranging from storks and spoonbills to the much smaller sandpipers and lapwings.

This southern part of the park feels more open. There are bigger gaps between the trees and more acacias than baobabs. The wildlife is subtly different as well, but still hard to find. Here, there seem to be more antelope, and in more variety the further south we go.

We’re well into daytime by now, and the heat is really building as we move slowly through the wooded rolling hills, stopping occasionally to take photos of various animals and the odd bird.

We spot a couple of Eland, huge antelopes that are as big as a cow, but much more elegant and long-legged. They are off to our right and seem more than a little twitchy. They are both shaking their heads repeatedly and flicking their tails. Looking carefully, you can even see the rippling of their bodies as they react to some unseen outside force.

I’m still standing next to Brian, trying my best to take a photo of them, but Mary is sat down in the row in front of us. “What an unusual looking fly,” she says, to nobody in particular. “It has stripes down its body.”

“Where?”, Ian asks with concern from the front.

“Ouch!” Mary yells as the fly bites her on the leg, right through her trousers. She swats the fly away and looks round in alarm as she rubs the spot where she was bitten.

“Tzetze!” Joshua mutters as he rolls the driver’s window closed.

“That’s what’s bothering the eland,” Ian tells us. “We need to get out of here. Can you guys get the top down?”

“What…” I manage, but Brian has already pushed past me towards the front of the vehicle as everybody takes their seats and is pulling down on the top to bring it back and down to be locked. I manage to drop my camera back onto my seat to help him. The gas struts that raise the roof are pretty substantial and it needs the weight of the two of us to overcome their push.

We’re just about getting it locked down when something stabs me in the shoulder at the same time as I get the same stabbing pain from the top of my foot. The bites are as sharp as a needle, causing all of us to yelp in pain, even Brian. I’ve no idea how many of the flies have made it into the vehicle, but it takes us a good couple of minutes to get them under control.

“Don’t just slap them away,” Ian tells us after a moment. “You need to squeeze them until they crack, or they will just play dead and then bite you again later.”

I begin to feel like I am being singled out by the little buggers, because I’m bitten probably more than twenty times over a five-minute period. I’m grateful to Brian for the firm pressure he applies to my back and shoulders several times, resulting in a number of kills before they can bite me again.

We’ve closed all the windows and Joshua has the air conditioning working overtime – enough to make us actually feel cold in the back – in the hope that it will slow the tzetze down a little. The other vehicles have apparently had the same problem, as we are now all sealed up and racing back down towards the river.

“Why were they in one place?” I manage to ask Ian once we appear to have cleared the cabin of the last of them.

“They lay their eggs on only certain plants and they happen to grow up there on the plain,” he tells us with a wry smile. “If you find yourself in a swarm like that, then the only sensible thing to do is turn and run. Judging by how aggravated the eland were, we got off pretty lightly.”

“Are the bites dangerous?” Mary asks with a slight shiver.

“Well, in theory, they could be carrying sleeping sickness, and there are plenty of reported cases each year. Infection rates are very low, however.”

“You mean, we could die?” I ask, incredulously.

“Well, again in theory, yes, but there are good drug treatments. If the bite sites don’t heal up, you will need to see a doctor and tell them where you’ve been.”

I clearly look very concerned, as do both Sue and Nicki, who have both been very quiet through the morning, just sitting and taking everything in.

“Relax, everybody,” Ian tells us. “Just put some anti-histamine on when we get back and it’ll be just fine. The chances of an infection really are very slim and, looking on the bright side, the irritation of the bite itself is usually short lived.”

Back down by the river, with the top open once more and the tzetze cleared out, we can resume our day. Most of us are now no longer in the mood, though and, as the temperatures are still rising, there really isn’t much to be seen.

“Show of hands for calling it quits for the morning drive?” Ian asks after several kilometres with little to show for the effort. There’s a general mutter of agreement from all of us and, apparently the other two trucks feel the same because we are soon driving a little more quickly and directly back towards camp.