By Alessandro Cabella
Bushbuck hunting… as they always say, that’s bushbuck hunting for you. Whether you’re a seasoned professional or stepping into the veld for the very first time, the bushbuck has a way of humbling you. It’s not just a hunt – it’s a test of patience, awareness, and quiet determination. And on March 24, 2026, in the Eastern Cape, that lesson came alive once again.
I was hunting alongside my good friend and professional hunter, Ryan Beattie from Dubula Hunting Safaris with his Zimbabwean tracker, Alex – a man whose eyes seemed to read the bush like a book written just for him.
The morning broke slowly over the river valley, a soft light creeping through the thorn trees. The air was cool, carrying just enough moisture to hold scent low to the ground. Perfect conditions – but bushbuck country always has the final say.
We moved carefully along the river’s edge, where thick brush meets open patches of sunlight. Ryan set the pace – slow, deliberate – while Alex scanned ahead, picking up signs most would walk straight past. A bent blade of grass, a faint track in the soft soil -the kind of details that separate a hopeful hunter from a successful one. Bushbuck don’t give themselves away easily.
We had already worked that ridge above the river at least four times. Up and down. Slow, methodical passes. Each time convinced the next sweep might reveal what we were looking for. But the bush stayed quiet. Too quiet. By around 11:30 a.m., the sun had climbed high enough to change the mood completely. The shadows shrank, the air warmed, and the bush seemed to shut down. We paused, looking back over the valley, and, for a moment, the decision almost made itself – we’d head back to Malweni.
Waiting for us there was something special: a blue wildebeest lasagna, prepared by the chef at the stone cottage in Malweni. A meal we had been talking about all morning. Not just food, but a reflection of real passion – game meat handled with care, transformed into something memorable. The kind of culinary talent that deserves recognition, built on respect for the hunt and the ingredients it provides.
It was tempting. Very tempting. But bushbuck hunting has a way of asking one more question before you leave. Do you give it one last try? So, we stayed.
And that’s when it happened. Alex’s voice came through in a whisper over the radio – he had spotted a good bushbuck ram. Ryan and I moved back quickly but carefully, every step measured. We settled in, watching as the ram moved in and out of the bush… appearing for a second, then gone again. In and out. Always just enough to keep you locked in, never enough for a clean shot. We waited. Time stretched.
Then Ryan quietly set the sticks and signaled. Slowly, slowly, I moved in behind him and eased the .270 WSM onto the rest. The heat had built up by then. The humidity clung to everything. Sweat ran down my face, my hair dripping onto the scope, blurring the sight picture. It was hard to stay focused, harder still to stay steady.
Down below us, about 150 meters off the ridge, the bushbuck stood half-hidden in the dark, tangled brush. I could see one horn clearly through the scope – but that was it. The rest of him was concealed.
He was quartering slightly, alert. I had to picture it – build the shape in my mind, anticipate where the body lay beyond what I could see. In that kind of terrain, you don’t always get a full picture. You get fragments – and you trust your experience to fill in the rest.
Seconds felt like minutes. Then, suddenly, it happened. He stepped forward – just enough. A split second. That was all. The shot broke clean. And the bushbuck dropped instantly. Silence followed. A moment that held everything – the patience, the pressure, the precision.
But the hunt wasn’t over yet. The recent heavy rains had swollen the river below, turning what would normally be a simple crossing into one more challenge. We made our way down carefully, picking our line, feeling the strength of the current as we crossed, slow, deliberate, making sure every step held. On the other side, we found him. A beautiful ram, lying exactly where he had fallen. A quiet moment of respect followed – one that every true hunt carries. With success behind us, we made our way back to Malweni.
And there it was, waiting just as promised – the blue wildebeest lasagna, rich and full of flavor, prepared by the chef at the stone cottage. After a hunt like that, it was more than a meal – it was a reward earned the hard way. We sat down, tired but satisfied, and devoured it alongside a fresh bottle of South African rosé wine, the perfect end to a day that had demanded everything and given something unforgettable in return.
That’s bushbuck hunting for you. Unpredictable. Demanding. And unforgettable.