It takes many years to learn that driving dozens of kilometres a day along hot and dusty roads does not necessarily produce huge herds of game.
Experience has proved the wisdom of parking in a shady spot near a waterhole, relaxing and simply allowing the bush players waiting in the wings to arrive and entertain you.
And, as I learnt recently in Pilanesberg National Park, in North West, even a seemingly innocuous sounder of warthogs out in the veld can provide surprises. ("Sounder", by the way, is the collective word for these creatures.)
I came upon a group of six warthogs right next to the road, and reached for the camera to record another of a growing collection of pictures of warthogs kneeling to graze.
After observing the sounder for about 20 minutes, one of the group lay down submissively in front of another warthog.
Then started a long and laborious grooming process, with the recipient gently rolling in ecstasy as if enjoying a heavenly massage.
Now, what is scientifically called "allogrooming" is nothing extraordinary in the wild but it was the first time I had seen warthogs engaging in such interesting - and photogenic - behaviour. Eventually, when the grooming session was over, groomer and groomed got up and lovingly put their heads together, as if to pose for my camera.
It was a delightful phenomenon to observe and it just goes to show that warthogs have more than erect tails and cute kneeling to show the game-viewer.
When you've photographed zebra for years, you become uninspired about finding a new angle.
You've done the "zebra crossings", close-ups of grass dangling from the lips, neat rows of zebra drinking from a waterhole, the stripes in impressionistic close-ups, and black-and-white bottoms insolently flashed at the camera.
But all of these tend to be rather static shots. I have learnt to wait for a scrap.
When herds of stallions meet, say at a waterhole, two might suddenly think it's time to show just how much they dislike each other. The result could be an unexpected eruption of kicking and biting, with dust flying all over and the rest of the herd panicking and sprinting away from the scuffle.
It tends to be a spontaneous and generally short-lived fight that catches everyone by surprise. I was fortunate enough to shoot one of these brief stallion clashes at the Kruger National Park's Talamati waterhole a few years ago. You really need a lot of luck to shoot such a flare-up.
Sometimes just spending time with a herd of zebra can be interesting. I came across a large herd in Pilanesberg recently and was treated to another unusual bush massage. One of the mares had found a smooth rock that just about fitted under her torso. This was ingeniously turned into a tool for a DIY full-body massage.
The zebra first gently rubbed her tummy, slowly forwards and backwards over the rock - and through my binoculars I thought there was ecstasy in her eyes. Then she rubbed her head up and down against the rock, then each leg in turn, and finally, her rear quarters.
Twenty minutes later, she left that wonderful rock and grazed with the rest of the group. I wondered if the zebra over the years had helped to smooth the surfaces of the boulder. It would not be surprising, based on the fervour of the mare's rubbing that morning.
Because of their large numbers and frequent sightings, impala - especially in the Kruger - are often ignored by game viewers. But these antelope can also produce amazing action if you are patient.
In late summer, for example, the adult males in a bachelor herd start getting aggressive and engage in fierce horn-clashing - unusually violent behaviour from these docile animals. Sometimes, the fights last for a few minutes and end with the victor pushing the vanquished back several metres.
You could end up with a striking picture but, unless you are extremely intuitive and armed with a camera with motor drive, your chances of recording the impala's spectacular explosive leaps of the impala are slim. Impala can suddenly leap up to 3m high and 11m long.
Vervet monkeys can be a pest in game park camps and are not averse to stealing guests' food and all sorts of other belongings. They will impulsively pinch iPods, cellphones and even dentures and spectacles.
But most people have a soft spot for monkeys and there can be few cuter subjects to photograph than a baby monkey.
In troops, allogrooming is also always interesting to observe but with monkeys you should not only look but also listen.
Peter Apps in his fascinating book, Wild Ways, says vervets use at least 36 different calls.
"Females squeal-scream to repel unwanted sexual advances. Lip-smacking signals submission and chattering, low-intensity aggression. 'Uh!' is given for mammalian predators who are not very dangerous to vervets.
"A chirp is a leopard alarm, 'Nyow!' signals a large owl in flight, 'braup' is for eagles and the snake alarm is a chutter which makes other monkeys stand up and look around " the author explains, and Dr Dolittle would probably concur.
When next you come across a dung beetle, do more than just trying to avoid driving over it. Take some time to watch these fascinating insects in action.
I recently came across a stressed beetle pushing a formidable ball of dung up slopes, over rocks, through clumps of grass with another beetle on top of the ball, happily sitting back and enjoying the ride. Subsequent research told me that the pusher was the male, transporting the ball of dung - and his prospective mate - to a site where they would bury the ball and breed in it.
Apparently, it all starts when a male dung beetle tries to roll in the hay, so to speak, with a comely female. She immediately complains of a headache - but promises much.
However, to achieve his carnal ambition, the male is put to work, rolling the ball - with his lady love on top - to the burial site, rolling it in a straight line, guided by the sun.
Sometimes, the journey to an appropriate nuptial site can be dozens of metres away so it's surprising that the poor lovelorn male has any energy left to consummate the union when the journey is over.
The ancient Egyptians, by the way, revered the dung beetle, recognising the "burial and resurrection" angle of the insects' existence. And more than a century ago, the first edition of Jock of the Bushveld had to be reprinted because the illustrator had shown a dung beetle pushing a ball with his front legs in fact he uses his elongated hind legs for the tiring task.
Finally, when it comes to viewing and photographing game, it has taken me many years to see the whole picture.
After collecting thousands of pictures of animals shot through a zoom lens, I have finally learnt that it is equally important to record the setting as well as the animal and to place them in the right perspective. That way, you come home with real memories of the bush.