The Gelada Monkey - Into the Simien Mountains of Ethiopia
- May 4
- 9 min read
The Gelada Monkey - Ethiopia’s Simien Mountains
There are some places that do not feel like they belong to the modern world.
The Simien Mountains of northern Ethiopia are one of them.
At more than 3,200 metres above sea level, the air is thinner, the wind feels sharper, and the landscape seems to fall away forever. This is the world of Gelada Monkeys in the Simien Mountains, where huge escarpments drop into valleys filled with haze, storm clouds move quickly across the highlands, and the light changes by the minute. One moment the mountains are soft and silver, the next they are dark, dramatic, and almost impossible to read.
It is a landscape that feels ancient.
This was exactly why we went.
We had travelled all the way to northern Ethiopia for one reason: to photograph geladas.
Not just to document them. Not just to tick off another species. Not just to take close portraits of an unusual primate.
We wanted to photograph geladas in a way that showed them as they truly are: wild, powerful, mountain-dwelling primates found only in the Ethiopian highlands. These are animals that exist nowhere else on Earth. They are completely tied to this high-altitude world of cliffs, grasslands, cold winds, and impossible views.
For three nights, we stayed at what is considered the highest lodge in Africa, surrounded by the dramatic scenery of the Simien Mountains. From there, we set out to spend time with one of the most remarkable primates on the planet.
Our aim was simple, but technically difficult.
We wanted to photograph geladas using a wide-angle perspective, working close enough to feel their presence while still showing the vast mountain world around them.
For that, we used the Canon R5 Mark II paired with the RF 24-105mm f/2.8 lens. It gave us the flexibility we needed in fast-changing conditions and allowed us to create images that were intimate, dramatic, and environmental at the same time.
This was not about isolating an animal from its surroundings. It was about showing the relationship between the gelada and the landscape.
Because in the Simien Mountains, the landscape is not just a backdrop.
It is part of the story.
A Species That Belongs to the Mountains
Geladas are often described as monkeys, but they feel like something far more powerful when you are sitting beside them on the edge of a cliff.
The adult males are extraordinary. Long golden manes blow in the wind. Their dark faces carry a kind of watchful intensity. Their bare red chest patches stand out against thick fur. When they sit upright on the edge of the escarpment, with the mountains dropping away behind them, they look almost regal.
There is something about them that feels both fierce and calm.
From a distance, they can appear almost mythical. Up close, they are even more impressive. You notice the texture of the fur, the strength in their hands, the intelligence in their eyes, and the sheer physical presence of the males.
But what struck us most was not just their power.
It was how completely they belonged to that environment.
Geladas are not animals that simply live in the mountains. They are shaped by them. Their daily lives unfold across steep slopes, exposed ridgelines, and high grasslands. They feed, groom, rest, move, and socialise in a place that feels extreme to us, but completely natural to them.
That was what we wanted the photographs to show.
A gelada on a plain background would still be beautiful. But a gelada framed against the Ethiopian highlands becomes something much more powerful. It becomes a portrait of a species and its world.
Why We Chose to Work Wide
Most wildlife photography naturally leans toward long lenses. That is often the right approach, especially when working with shy, dangerous, or distant subjects. Long lenses allow you to isolate behaviour, compress backgrounds, and keep a respectful working distance.
But for this project, we wanted the opposite.
We had not travelled to the Simien Mountains to make straightforward headshots. We wanted the viewer to feel the height, the cold, the wind, and the scale of the landscape. We wanted the mountains to be part of every important frame.
That meant working with the 24-105mm f/2.8 and getting close. Very close.
At times, the geladas came within 30 centimetres of us. These were not forced encounters. We did not chase them, corner them, or attempt to control their movement. We simply spent time with them, stayed calm, and allowed the troop to move naturally around us.
That closeness changed everything.
With a wide-angle lens, distance matters enormously. If you are too far away, the animal becomes small and loses impact. If you are too close, the experience becomes intense, both photographically and physically. When a wild male gelada is just in front of you, with the wind lifting his mane and the mountains behind him, the camera does not just record a scene. It records a feeling.
That was the feeling we were chasing.
We wanted images that felt immersive rather than observational. Images that placed the viewer almost on the cliff edge with us. Images where the gelada felt larger than life, not because of lens compression, but because of proximity, perspective, and presence.
Working on the Edge
The Simien Mountains are breathtaking, but they are not gentle.
This was not safari photography from a vehicle. There was no open Land Cruiser, no beanbag on a window frame, no comfortable seat between sightings. This was photography on foot, in cold mountain air, on uneven rock, with huge drops often just beyond where we were working.
To get the compositions we wanted, we had to position ourselves low, sometimes very close to the edge of exposed viewpoints. The goal was to line up the geladas with the dramatic mountain background, but that meant constantly thinking about where we were placing our feet, knees, hands, and camera bag.
The altitude made everything more demanding. At 3,200 metres, even simple movement feels different. You are more aware of your breathing. Walking uphill takes more effort. Crouching, standing, moving slowly, and holding awkward positions all become more tiring than they would at lower elevations.
Then there was the cold.
The wind would move across the ridges and cut straight through layers. Hands became stiff. Camera controls felt less familiar. You had to stay mentally sharp because the conditions were constantly changing and the terrain did not allow for carelessness.
There were moments where the photography felt genuinely intense. The geladas were moving around us, the light was shifting, the wind was blowing through the grass, and the cliff edge was always there. You could not afford to become so focused on the viewfinder that you forgot where you were.
One step without looking could matter.
That tension became part of the work. You can feel it in the images. The atmosphere, the exposure, the height, and the weather are all there because they were real.
Close Encounters with Wild Primates
Working close to geladas is unforgettable.
They are wild primates with powerful teeth, complex social behaviour, and a presence that demands respect. The adult males, in particular, can look intimidating. When one bares its teeth, the effect is immediate. The canines are enormous, and the display has a raw power that is impossible to ignore.
But one of the most important things we learned during this shoot was that visual drama does not always mean danger.
Geladas are highly social animals. Much of what you see is communication within the troop: displays, tension, reassurance, grooming, feeding, movement, and subtle interactions between individuals. A dramatic expression can be part of natural behaviour rather than a direct threat.
That said, we never treated them casually.
Being close to a wild primate is very different from photographing a grazing antelope or a distant big cat. You have to pay attention not only to the individual in front of you, but to the whole troop dynamic. A sudden movement between two animals, a display from a male, or a shift in group energy can change the situation quickly.
Our approach was built around patience.
We moved slowly. We stayed low. We avoided sudden gestures. We never tried to block their path. We did not push for closeness. If a gelada came near, we stayed calm and allowed the moment to unfold naturally.
Some individuals were incredibly relaxed around us. At times, they approached so closely that it almost felt impossible to photograph them. They would sit beside us, move around us, feed near us, and look out across the valleys as if we were simply another quiet presence on the mountain.
Those were the moments that made the trip so special.
Not because they were easy, but because they felt earned through stillness and respect.
The Weather Became Part of the Story
The weather in the Simien Mountains was one of the greatest challenges of the shoot, but also one of the greatest gifts.
The light never stayed the same for long.
Heavy skies rolled across the highlands. Haze filled the valleys. Shafts of light broke through the clouds and disappeared just as quickly. Wind lifted the geladas’ manes and turned still portraits into something more alive.
From a photographic point of view, it was extraordinary.
The conditions gave the images drama, depth, and mood. The mountains were not clean and postcard-like. They were brooding, layered, and atmospheric. The sky often looked heavy with weather, which gave the portraits a painterly quality.
But working in those conditions was demanding.
Cold affects both your body and your concentration. You find yourself waiting for a gesture, a turn of the head, or a brief opening in the light, all while crouched on rock with the wind pushing against you. The camera gear also needed care. Dust, moisture, cold, and wind were all part of the environment, so we kept our setup simple and avoided unnecessary lens changes in exposed areas.
The Canon R5 Mark II handled the conditions extremely well. Paired with the 24-105mm f/2.8, it gave us speed, flexibility, and image quality in a situation where changing lenses constantly would have been impractical.
In the end, the weather helped create the images we had imagined.
The dark skies added weight. The wind added movement. The shifting light gave shape to the mountains. The cold made the whole experience feel more raw.
The Moment Everything Came Together
There is always a point on a photographic trip when you feel the work begin to come together.
For us, it happened when one of the adult males settled near the edge of the escarpment.
The storm sky was building behind him. The mountains dropped away into haze. His mane caught the light and moved in the wind. He sat with a calm, almost commanding presence, as if the entire landscape belonged to him.
That was the moment we had travelled for.
Not just a gelada in a beautiful location, but a gelada that seemed inseparable from the mountains themselves.
There are photographs you plan for, and there are photographs that only happen when everything aligns: subject, place, light, weather, behaviour, and risk. This felt like one of those moments.
We knew immediately that the image had something different.
It was not just a wildlife portrait. It was a portrait of altitude, isolation, and wildness. It showed the animal, but it also showed the world that created him.
That is what we had hoped for from the beginning.
The Fierceness and the Calm
One of the most fascinating things about geladas is the contrast between how they look and how they often behave.
The males can appear fierce, almost warrior-like. Their teeth, manes, chest patches, and intense expressions make them visually dramatic animals. It is easy to understand why people might see them as aggressive or intimidating.
But our experience was far more layered.
There were moments of power, certainly. Displays, teeth, tension, and strong social behaviour were all part of the experience. But there were also long periods of calm. Geladas sitting quietly on the mountain edge. Individuals grooming one another. Youngsters moving through the troop. Males staring out across the valleys in complete stillness.
Some of the strongest images came from that quiet.
The calm portraits felt almost reflective. The geladas seemed to mirror the mood of the mountains: ancient, weathered, and still. In those moments, the fierce reputation gave way to something softer and more complex.
That was important to us.
We did not want to photograph them as monsters. We did not want to reduce them to teeth and drama. We wanted to show the full range of what we saw: strength, calm, intelligence, social connection, and an extraordinary sense of place.
Why This Trip Mattered
For us, this trip was a reminder of why we photograph wildlife in the first place.
It is easy to become focused on the final image. The sharpness, the light, the composition, the edit, the publication potential. All of that matters. But the deeper value often comes from the experience itself.
Sitting at 3,200 metres in the Ethiopian highlands, with geladas moving around us and storm clouds building over the mountains, felt like a privilege.
These animals exist in one small part of the world. They are endemic to the Ethiopian highlands and found nowhere else on Earth. To spend time with them in that environment, on their terms, was something we will never forget.
The photographs are dramatic, but the experience behind them was even more powerful.
The cold. The altitude. The cliff edges. The closeness. The wind. The feeling of being accepted, even briefly, into the edge of their world.
That is what we hope people feel when they look at the images.
Not just the beauty of the gelada, but the scale of the place. Not just the drama of the mountains, but the fragility of a species so closely tied to one extraordinary landscape.
Written By Mark A Fernley
