There's a lot you can learn about animals, birds - and people - simply by spending time in that wonderful, stilted game-viewing hide over the waters of Mankwe Dam.
The spacious hide at Mankwe has, justifiably, become one of the major attractions of Pilanesberg National Park. On any given day, you will find busloads of tourists - even oriental businessmen, impeccably dressed in pinstripes - making their way along the fenced walkway to the platform. Or local visitors, impatient to finally see the Big Five: wife dragging the husband along the longish walkway to the strains of his "this had better be worth it".
Or weary game rangers, desperate for just a hippo or croc sighting to pacify a Jeep-full of tourists who have seen nothing but impala and zebra throughout the scorching morning.
Apart from the latter scenario (well, most game rangers should know better), most of these people will stride into the Mankwe platform, hastily peer into the lake from the three sides of the hide, see nothing but one or two birds and quickly march back to the cars, missing out on some amazing wonders of the bush - some no more than a metre or two away.
At the other end of the scale, there are the squatters.
On my last visit to Mankwe, the entire left-hand corner of the hide had been taken over by a large family who seemed intent on a day-long picnic. Three fold-up tables had been put in place - all with neat table cloths - filled with food, coffee, flasks, salt and pepper canisters, tomato sauce bottle and so on.
The eight canvas chairs were all occupied by people clearly more intent on grub than the great outdoors.
All that was missing was the fridge and boerewors sizzling on a skottel.
Now there is indeed a lot of merit in spending time in a hide like this, but to stake your claim to about a quarter of the platform's floor space - and all of one wing's observation windows - seemed grossly selfish.
Game park management, understandably, cannot police every hide in a reserve but soon the authorities might have to resort to "No picnics" signs.
During the time I spent at the hide, I also had as company a family (it sounded as if they were from one of the Benelux countries) munching away on ham and cheese sandwiches and salads from paper plates on the platform's observation counter. They seemed fascinated by the turtles swimming below the hide and - to my absolute horror - tossed the substantial leftovers from their meals into the water, chuckling at how these giants gobbled up the slices of ham. Not exactly their staple diet. You wouldn't think there would be a need for a "No feeding" sign in a hide, would you?
But to get back to matters less appalling: the fascinating unfolding of bush life observed from the hide.
I watched a masked weaver starting to build his nest in the reeds, virtually next to the hide. It was around 11am as he brought the first few strips of grass and started the industrious weaving process.
I watched the "foundations" prepared by this avian master builder for about an hour. Later, around 6pm, I popped in to see progress and was delighted to see that it was just about ready for roof-wetting. Now, of course, that building inspector from hell, Mrs Weaver, would have to approve the structure.
A pleasure to watch the weavers at their work
It was getting dark and the final product would probably only have been submitted for her approval the next day. I do hope she was happy. Some hapless male weaver in our backyard is now busy on his 11th nest - all the others were summarily rejected.
Another marvellous spectacle at Mankwe hide, running virtually in continuous loop all day, is kingfisher fishing.
Pied kingfishers, in particular, perch almost motionless on branches right next to the platform. But they don't stay in this frozen state.
These birds scan the water all the time, waiting for a tasty fish to swim into view.
When that happens, it's action stations: an amazing top-speed take-off, an even faster plunge into the water, and in a matter of seconds they are back with fish in their beaks.
I watched a pied kingfisher holding an almost unmanageable large fish in its mouth for minutes, perhaps wondering if it had bitten off more than it could chew.
Eventually, it felt confident enough to start the tenderising process.
This consists of hammering the by now very dead fish vigorously on the branch to soften it up before swallowing.
It took a good 15 minutes of contemplation, hammering, more contemplation, a short break for rest, a quick toss of the fish in the air and deft retrieval, before the last tail fin finally disappeared down its throat.
Wow, a huge meal like that should be enough for two days, I thought, but no it was immediately back at it again, eyeing the water for the next course.
The unusually close proximity of the kingfisher hunting did not gone unnoticed by professional photographers, and at sunset one evening there were two "bush photographers" (the kind that wear scary camouflaged clothing) merrily shooting their next competition entry as the kingfishers' seemingly endless quest for food continued in the fading light.
These guys use flash photography and bazooka lenses worth tens of thousands of rands to capture the kingfisher feeding process. I know what I'd like to invest in if I won the Lotto.
The hide at Mankwe (it means place of the leopard) may not often produce the Big Five close-up, but it is one place the discerning wildlife lover will almost never leave without some satisfying sighting including the many waterbirds; giraffe, zebra and various types of antelope drinking on its banks; and impressive crocs and hippos to provide the drama. It's wise to get there early to secure your seat.