As our Land Rover climbs the steep road out of Kenya's Rift Valley toward Aberdare National Park, the switchbacks become tighter and Dixon Kariuki, our driver-guide, shifts into a lower gear. Yesterday we were broiling in the sun at Lake Baringo; now, as we approach the park's 12,000-foot peaks, the weather turns first damp and misty, then cold and rainy and, finally, freezing and sleety. When hail falls, Isaac Arumbi, our cook, laughs with glee: He rarely sees snow.

We enter a thick bamboo forest where old man's beard, a wispy emerald-colored lichen, drapes the ghostly-looking trees. Black-and-white colobus monkeys, chattering loudly, run in front of the Land Rover. In the red earth by the side of the road, we see where elephants have gouged out the soil with their tusks in search of salt and other minerals. Fresh dung is all over the road.

Just as I'm thinking how thrilling it would be to see one up close, we round a bend and nearly plow into a towering bull with enormous, gleaming tusks. Surprised and angry, he blocks our way, shaking his head and flapping his ears threateningly. Will he charge? Unwilling to wait and find out, Dixon backs the vehicle around a curve.

My husband, Amyas, our two daughters, Saskia and Tamzen, and I sit silently, waiting. Dixon inches around the bend. The bull is still there, walking along the road and eating. We back up once more. After another minute or so, a car descends past us and the driver says the coast is clear. Later, at the park gate, a ranger laughs when he hears our tale. "That elephant is often there on the road scaring people," he says, "but he has never hurt anybody."