The plane dipped down from the cool highlands of Mt. Kenya into a lean, burnt country. Nothing adulterated the raw topography of the landscape: low ochre plains ceded suddenly to the solid granite humps of the distant Mathews Range; the brown, arterial lifeblood of the Uaso Nyiro River parted the red earth in a decisive swath. And though I could not feel the heat at 3,000 feet, I sensed it, for the oh-so-far-away horizon shimmered and vibrated.

Heat, dust, light and space are in abundance in Samburu. And so are animals. As we landed, a small herd of gerenuk - an antelope with a neck like a wine glass - scattered at the end of the runway. On the short drive to the lodge, we saw reticulated giraffe and Grevy's zebra, two species whose dramatic markings make them unique to this area.

Everywhere there were birds flitting and sweeping among the thorny scrub and acacia: sunbirds, bee-eaters, falcons, weavers and starlings. Once at the lodge, a glance in the guest book told me I wouldn't be bored on my game drives. "Elephant, leopard, lion and cheetah all in one go. Fabulous!!" raved one guest.

The presence of wildlife and birdlife has much to do with the Uaso Nyiro River ("River of Brown Water" in the local Samburu tribe's language), which serves as an almost permanent water source for the entire region. Fed by rains that seldom fail in the Aberdare Mountains several hundred miles to the south-west, the river fosters a narrow strip of species-rich riverine forest along its sandy banks.

As you'd expect, all the lodges are located on the river. Serena Lodge, where I stayed, crouched coolly among spreading acacia trees and rustling doum palms, and overlooked the slow-moving, cappuccino-coloured water. Beyond, the camel's hump of Lolkoitai Hill rose starkly into blue sky. It was so beautiful - and so peaceful listening to the birds sing and watching the vervet monkeys tussle - that I was hesitant to climb back aboard the Landcruiser for my scheduled evening game drive.

Once out of the gate, my regrets evaporated. Within an hour our driver had found a leopard in a tree. Straddling a branch in apparent defiance of comfort and gravity, oblivious to the gathering commotion of tourists beneath her, she dozed contentedly. We drove on through salt brush and came across a family of elephants grazing on mswaki, the toothbrush tree (Salvadora persica). I've never been so close to elephant; there were perhaps ten yards between our open-sided vehicle and the vast, wrinkled bulk of the matriarch - and this was her choice, as she crossed the road towards us to munch on another bush.

The "tameness" of many of the animals in the area means only one thing: they are very used to traffic, cameras and gasping tourists. Though Samburu District covers several thousand square kilometres, the three game reserves of Samburu, Buffalo Springs and Shaba all cluster in one contiguous corner of 844km2. Even this may sound like a large space, but most of the game viewing is concentrated in the narrow strips along the river in Buffalo Springs and Samburu game reserves.

Shaba, wilder, almost lodge-less (and suffering from banditry at the moment), is seldom visited by tourists. It was here Joy Adamson (of Born Free fame) settled to write her last book and here she died. There is a small plaque at her former camp, but little else for fans of the Elsa saga. The game-viewing in Shaba is good, but you will have to make special arrangements for tours and camping. Most safari packages will keep you in the other two reserves.

The presence of so many vehicles along the river made me feel I was in a theme park at times - the price for seeing so many animals so close and so readily. But only a short drive away from the river, the land opened up again, intimidating in its immensity and silence. A herd of oryx shied back into the scrub. Rain clouds gathered a hundred miles away. Epic wilderness.

During colonial days, this was the Northern Frontier District. Cattle rustling between the Samburu, Rendille, Turkana and Borana tribes was rampant; the violent territorial fighting that had marked their relationships during the two previous centuries had not completely abated.

Even now, Samburu has a reputation for lawlessness - or at least for a wild independence of spirit. The predominant Samburu tribe here are nomadic pastoralists and strongly resist government programmes that encourage them to settle or assimilate.

Samburu is a name of Maasai origin, samburr being a traditional leather bag for carrying honey and meat. The Samburu tribe are also of Maasai origin and refer to themselves as L'oikop, a moniker that may be derived either from the Maasai word kopok (meaning "the ones left behind") or from loopok ("survivors").

They are both. They remained behind several hundred years ago as other Maasai drifted further south to the Masai Mara and Tanzania. And they survived the vicious attacks by their cousins, the Laikipiak Maasai.

Their presence outside the boundaries of the three reserves (in which they are forbidden to live, graze and hunt) is strong. Children herd goats, cattle and camels to the river to drink. Slender, red-robed women fetch water and firewood, and young warrior moran sit under acacia trees braiding each other's hair in elaborate styles.

Like the Maasai, they have a love of adornment: ornate beadwork belts, headbands, necklaces, anklets and bracelets. Anything vivid or shiny might be worked into an outfit: a pink plastic flower, sparkly triangles of tin. The Samburu are a moveable feast of colour in such a stark landscape.

Most of the lodges offer guests lectures on Samburu culture and hold daily tribal dances. I attended one such dance at the Serena, expecting a slightly weary group. Despite the frequency of their performances, however, the dancers conjured inspiration from some infinite source. They leapt and ululated in extraordinary rhythm and harmony, carrying me and the rest of the audience away with them to some place far outside the tidy safety of tourism.

I did have one opportunity to visit such a place. The next day the lodge naturalist led a small group of us on a two-hour nature walk along the Uaso Nyiro. Though we didn't see any game (but lots of birds), we were able to sample the smells and sounds of the wild, and feel the exhilaration of being exposed to Nature. We knew there would be nothing tame about an elephant ten yards away from us now.

The walk culminated in a picnic lunch. Cold drinks, chilled soup and a delicious buffet were laid out for us on tables in the shade by the river. It seemed the perfect distillation of my Samburu experience: cool, protected comfort in the midst of an often brutal beauty.

Melanie Finn has written for many international publications including Newsweek and The Independent. She is currently based in East Africa.

Published in Travel Africa Edition Fourteen: Winter 2000/2001 Text is subject to Worldwide Copyright (c)k.