Still Here. A solitary white rhino in the Greater Kruger, its shortened horns a quiet reminder of what survival now demands.
We have reached a point where removing a rhino's horns may help save its life. But even that is no guarantee anymore. As these magnificent animals struggle to survive in an increasingly dangerous world, I worry that we are becoming far too accustomed to watching them disappear.
It was late afternoon in the Greater Kruger, and a solitary white rhino stood quietly amongst the dry grasses. The soft light caught the great folds of its thick, weathered skin, picking out the deep creases around its eyes and the extraordinary shape of its massive head. Its horns were noticeably short, suggesting that it had been dehorned as part of an anti-poaching programme, and the beginnings of new growth were already visible. There was something deeply unsettling about that small detail. Here was this enormous, magnificent animal, seemingly built to withstand almost anything, yet we have reached a point where removing its horns has become one of the most effective ways of keeping it alive.
I remember feeling quite sad as I watched it. The rhino was alone, and there was something about its heavy, almost prehistoric appearance that made me think about how long these extraordinary animals have existed, and how uncertain their future has become. It was simply standing there, doing nothing particularly remarkable, yet the encounter seemed to present so much more than another wildlife sighting. I took the photograph because I wanted to capture that feeling, even though I don't think I fully understood how strongly it affected me until I began working on the image recently.
I adjusted the photograph to deepen the surrounding shadows and emphasise the rhino's isolation, allowing its imposing form to emerge from the darkness. I wanted the image to carry something of the loneliness and sadness I felt during that encounter. I called it Still Here, because those two simple words seemed to express both the extraordinary fact that these animals continue to survive and the uncomfortable possibility that, one day soon, they may not.
An ancient animal facing a very modern threat
There is something almost impossible to comprehend about the scale of a rhino. The massive shoulders, thick muscular neck, broad square mouth and extraordinary folds of skin give it the appearance of an animal belonging to another time. Rhinos seem almost prehistoric because their evolutionary lineage stretches back millions of years, long before our own species appeared. They are powerful, beautifully adapted animals that have endured immense environmental changes throughout their evolutionary history. Yet despite their great size and formidable physical strength, they have proved terribly vulnerable to the pressures of the modern world.
According to the International Rhino Foundation's 2026 State of the Rhino report, approximately 26,700 rhinos remain worldwide, across the five surviving species. At the beginning of the twentieth century, an estimated 500,000 rhinos roamed the planet. It is a staggering decline, particularly when you consider how much conservation attention, funding and publicity these animals have received over the past few decades.
The white rhino, the species in my photograph, remains the most numerous, although its future is far from secure. The latest internationally compiled figures put its population at approximately 15,752 animals at the end of 2024, a worrying decline from the previously reported 17,464 in 2023. More recent figures from South Africa offer some encouragement, but the pressures responsible for such severe losses have certainly not disappeared.
The black rhino presents an equally troubling story. Classified as Critically Endangered, its population had recovered to approximately 6,788 animals by the end of 2024, following decades of devastating losses. That recovery represents an extraordinary conservation achievement, but it is still a painfully small number for an animal that once occupied such vast areas of the African continent.
Beyond Africa, the situation becomes even more alarming. The greater one-horned rhino of India and Nepal has recovered to just over 4,000 animals, demonstrating what determined conservation efforts can achieve. In Indonesia, however, the Sumatran rhino survives in desperately small, fragmented populations, with an almost unimaginable estimate of only 34 to 47 animals remaining in the wild. The Javan rhino is in an equally precarious position, with fewer than 50 thought to survive, all confined to a single national park.
I struggle to imagine what those numbers really mean. An entire species reduced to fewer than 50 living animals, scattered through a small area of forest, with its survival dependent on extraordinary efforts to prevent it from disappearing completely. These are not creatures from some distant natural history book. They are living animals sharing our world, and some are now surviving in numbers so dangerously low that the loss of even a few individuals could have serious consequences for their future.
Africa has already lost rhinos. Can we bring them back?
Perhaps one of the most disturbing aspects of this story is that, in parts of Africa, the disappearance of rhinos is no longer a possibility. It has already happened.
The western black rhino, once found across parts of central and western Africa, was officially declared extinct in 2011. Its disappearance was driven largely by relentless poaching, and the last confirmed sightings were in Cameroon. An entire subspecies, shaped by millions of years of evolution, had vanished within the lifetime of people still living today.
Uganda also lost its wild rhinos following years of heavy poaching and political instability during the late twentieth century. For more than four decades, landscapes that once supported these magnificent animals were left without them. Yet in March 2026, the Uganda Wildlife Authority began reintroducing southern white rhinos into Kidepo Valley National Park, moving the first animals from the country's Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary. It is an encouraging and rather moving development, although establishing a secure, breeding population in the wild will require many more years of careful protection.
There is a similarly remarkable story unfolding in Zimbabwe. In Matusadona National Park, overlooking the immense waters of Lake Kariba, black rhinos disappeared following decades of poaching and conservation difficulties. The last confirmed animal was recorded in 2016. Then, in June 2026, 17 black rhinos were reintroduced, including descendants of animals whose ancestors had once occupied the same landscape. Their return, organised by Zimbabwe's wildlife authorities and African Parks, represents years of planning, security improvements and dedicated conservation work.
Rwanda provides another example of what can be achieved. Black rhinos returned to Akagera National Park in 2017 after a ten-year absence, followed by southern white rhinos in 2021. An additional 70 white rhinos were introduced in June 2025, an ambitious effort to establish a more secure and geographically diverse population of this vulnerable species.
These achievements deserve attention because they prove that the loss of wildlife does not always have to be permanent. But the enormous expense, complicated logistics and extensive security involved also reveal something deeply uncomfortable. We are now having to transport and re-establish animals across entire countries and landscapes because, in many places, we were unable to protect them where they originally belonged.
The disturbing reality behind the numbers
South Africa remains home to the world's largest rhino population, and its conservation record demonstrates both the possibility of recovery and the enormous challenges still facing these animals.
According to figures released by the Department of Forestry, Fisheries and the Environment in September 2026, South Africa had a minimum estimated population of 15,096 rhinos at the end of 2025, comprising 12,531 white rhinos and 2,565 black rhinos. That represented a welcome increase of 4.9% over the previous year, evidence that sustained conservation efforts can make a genuine difference.
There has also been progress in reducing poaching nationally. In 2025, South Africa lost 352 rhinos to poachers, compared with 420 in 2024. During the first eight months of 2026, 230 rhinos were poached, down from 248 over the same period the previous year. Those improvements deserve recognition, particularly considering the considerable resources, expertise and personal commitment required to achieve them.
Yet the figures from Kruger National Park, one of Africa's most important wildlife strongholds, are deeply concerning. In 2025, 175 rhinos were killed by poachers in the park, almost double the 88 recorded in 2024. During the first eight months of 2026, another 114 rhinos were lost, a modest improvement over the corresponding period in 2025, but still a terrible number of animals killed in a place specifically established to protect wildlife.
The figures come directly from the South African government's latest conservation reporting. They demonstrate the complicated and sometimes contradictory nature of rhino conservation. Populations can recover in one region while poaching intensifies in another. A successful intervention in one reserve may simply push criminal activity towards a different, more vulnerable population.
I worry that we have become far too accustomed to these statistics. We read that another hundred or two hundred rhinos have been poached, perhaps feel a moment of sadness or anger, and then move on to something else. But every number represents a living animal, often one that has taken years to reach maturity, and sometimes a mother whose calf is left frightened, injured or entirely dependent on human intervention.
There is an appalling cruelty in the fact that rhinos are being killed principally for their horns, made largely of keratin, the same protein found in human hair and fingernails. Their commercial value is driven by illegal demand, including their use in traditional medicine and as luxury status products, despite the absence of credible scientific evidence supporting their supposed medicinal benefits.
I find it deeply disturbing that an animal's life can be reduced to the financial value of something growing from its face. The rhino has no understanding of the international markets, criminal networks or human beliefs that have made its horn so desirable. It simply lives as rhinos have lived for countless generations, feeding, breeding, raising calves and moving through the landscapes to which it belongs.
The painful necessity of dehorning
The rhino I photographed appeared to have been dehorned, and the visible regrowth made me think about the extraordinary measures now being taken to protect these animals. Dehorning is performed under veterinary supervision, with the horn removed above the living growth tissue so that it can regrow. It is not a permanent solution, and it is certainly not something we would need to do in an ideal world.
Yet the evidence for its effectiveness is compelling. A major scientific study published in Science in June 2025 examined rhino poaching across 11 reserves in the Greater Kruger region between 2017 and 2023. Researchers found that dehorning was associated with an approximately 78% reduction in poaching, an extraordinary result considering the intensity and persistence of the threat.
But the same study revealed something particularly disturbing. Dehorned rhinos were still being killed, with poachers targeting the remaining horn stumps or subsequent regrowth. Even after most of the horn had been removed, some animals were still considered worth killing by those involved in the illegal trade.
That is what troubles me so much when I look at this photograph. The rhino's shortened horns suggest an attempt to protect it, and the fact that they are growing again is entirely natural. But that natural regrowth can also renew the incentive for somebody to kill it.
There is something profoundly wrong about a world in which an animal has to be repeatedly immobilised, examined and physically altered simply to reduce the possibility of being slaughtered for a body part. I understand why conservationists do it, and I have enormous respect for the people undertaking this difficult and often dangerous work. The research shows that it saves lives. But it is also a painful indication of just how far we have allowed the situation to deteriorate.
The people who refuse to give up
Protecting rhinos involves far more than dehorning. Across Africa, dedicated rangers risk their lives patrolling enormous wilderness areas, veterinary teams undertake complicated field operations, researchers develop increasingly sophisticated monitoring systems, and conservation organisations struggle to secure the resources needed to keep these animals safe. Private landowners and local communities also play a vital role, often facing considerable financial and personal pressures in the process.
One organisation whose work deserves attention is Baby Rhino Rescue, which supports carefully selected conservation partners involved in rhino protection, rescue, rehabilitation and the care of orphaned calves. Its activities extend beyond South Africa, including important work with Solio Game Reserve and Rhino Orphanage in Kenya's Laikipia region, an area with a remarkable history of rhino conservation.
In 2026, Baby Rhino Rescue committed to funding a year's supply of milk for eight orphaned rhinos at Solio. It has also supported the construction of accommodation for carers who need to remain close to the young animals, some of which require feeding, monitoring and care throughout the night. These are practical, essential contributions, helping people who have taken on the demanding responsibility of keeping vulnerable young rhinos alive.
Closer to home, Baby Rhino Rescue has also supported the care of a young calf called Elia, whose story is particularly heartbreaking. At just four months old, his mother was killed by poachers, and he too was shot. The bullet passed through his chest, causing serious lung injuries, although remarkably it missed his vital organs. He survived the initial attack and, according to the organisation's 2026 project update, was receiving dedicated veterinary care and nutritional support.
I find stories like this incredibly difficult to read. A young rhino should be following its mother through the bush, learning where to feed, where to find water and how to live in the landscape into which it was born. Instead, some are growing up in specialised sanctuaries, receiving milk and medical treatment from people trying desperately to repair the damage caused by other people.
The dedication of those rescuing and protecting these animals is extraordinary, and their successes deserve far more attention. But we should never lose sight of the terrible circumstances that make their work necessary in the first place.
Are we really paying attention?
Rhinos have become one of the most recognisable symbols of wildlife conservation. Their images appear in documentaries, fundraising campaigns, conservation appeals and countless stories about the natural world. We know that poaching is a problem. We know that habitat loss continues to threaten wildlife across the planet, and we are repeatedly told that many extraordinary species are facing increasingly uncertain futures.
Yet I am concerned that knowing about something and genuinely caring about it have become two very different things.
We live in a world where information travels almost instantly, where stories of environmental destruction and wildlife suffering can reach millions of people within hours. Yet there is so much competing for our attention that even the most disturbing news can disappear beneath the next headline, photograph or passing distraction. I sometimes feel that we are becoming increasingly disconnected from the natural world, not necessarily because people have stopped caring altogether, but because we have become so accustomed to seeing its decline that we rarely stop to consider what is actually happening.
And that troubles me enormously.
The disappearance of wilderness is not always as immediate or visible as an animal killed by poachers. Roads expand, land is converted, forests disappear, habitats become fragmented and growing human demands place additional pressure on the remaining wild places. Across the world, extraordinary animals are increasingly confined to smaller areas, often requiring constant management and protection simply to survive.
The rhino is one particularly powerful symbol of this much broader struggle between the natural world and our demands upon it. An animal that has survived millions of years of evolutionary change now faces extraordinary pressure from human greed, habitat destruction and the illegal trade in a substance whose supposed medicinal value has no scientific foundation. It is difficult to imagine a more troubling illustration of the growing disconnect between human activity and the living world around us.
And rhinos are important for reasons beyond their magnificent appearance. White rhinos are substantial grazers that help shape grassland habitats, creating shorter grazing areas used by other species. Black rhinos browse on shrubs and woody plants, influencing vegetation structure and the wider ecology of their habitats. They are part of the intricate, living fabric of these landscapes, and their disappearance would change far more than the experience of someone hoping to see one on safari.
I don't believe the future is entirely bleak. The recovery of black rhino populations, the success of greater one-horned rhino conservation in Asia, and the remarkable work being undertaken in countries such as Uganda, Rwanda, Kenya and Zimbabwe demonstrate that dedicated, sustained effort can make a genuine difference. There are people who have devoted their entire working lives to protecting these animals, and without them the situation would undoubtedly be far worse.
But I also believe that conservation cannot remain the concern of a relatively small group of dedicated people while the rest of the world simply watches from a distance. Awareness matters, but it has to develop into genuine interest, understanding and support. We need people to care enough to learn about what is happening, to support credible conservation organisations where they can, and to recognise that the protection of our remaining wilderness is something that concerns all of us.
Perhaps the greatest challenge is to change some of that mindlessness into mindfulness. To move away from passively observing the gradual disappearance of the natural world and towards a more thoughtful awareness of what we are losing, why it matters and what can still be done to protect it.
When I look at Still Here now, I see the magnificent white rhino that stood alone in the dwindling rays of light, its enormous body surrounded by the quiet African bush. I see its shortened horns, the new growth appearing where they had been cut, and I think of the extraordinary efforts being made to allow animals like this one to live out their natural lives.
I wanted the photograph to feel lonely, perhaps even a little sad, because that is how the encounter made me feel. But I also wanted to preserve the dignity and imposing presence of the animal itself. It was not helpless. It belonged there, amongst the grasses and thorn trees, in a landscape shaped by countless generations of wildlife.
I hope that many years from now, somebody looking at this photograph will see nothing more than a beautiful image of a white rhino in the African bush, and will find it difficult to believe that there was ever a time when we seriously questioned whether these animals would survive.
But that future is far from guaranteed, and I worry that too many of us have become comfortable watching from the sidelines. We need far greater awareness, more genuine concern and a stronger willingness to support the people working tirelessly to protect these animals. Not only for rhinos, but for the countless other species facing similar threats, many without the public recognition or conservation resources that rhinos receive.
The animal in my photograph is still here, sharing time with us on our planet. I feel incredibly fortunate to have seen it, and deeply saddened that its continued existence can no longer be taken for granted. More than anything, I hope the photograph encourages people to look a little longer, care a little more and recognise that the loss of something so magnificent should never become just another story we read, briefly regret and then forget.
