A Safari to Remember               

By Bob Halbritter  

3 Generations on Safari  

 Dawn arrived with a cold, crisp sting in the air. A heavy frost covered the tall, sweet grass growing in the valleys and on mountain slopes, coating the landscape with an eerie white luminescence. A thin layer of ice formed across waterholes and ponds. I was not expecting such cold temperatures, but then, this is typical of July in the Eastern Cape Province of South Africa. A windy cold front had passed through during the night, greeting the morning with an abundance of sunshine and little or no wind to start the day. By midmorning temperatures would rise into the 50s. Perfect for stalking our quarry – the Cape buffalo.

Dave, our tracker, had received news that the herd we had been seeking was close by. Several huge bulls, or Dagga Boys, with one real giant, were seen trailing the herd as they grazed through the thornbush. By midmorning my PH Grant Acton, Dave and I had caught up with the main body of the herd. Using the thick acacia thornbush as cover and, keeping the wind in our faces, we maneuvered into position to intercept the buffalo as they passed by.  The shooting sticks were set in place to provide a clear broadside shot at the big bull if he should trail the herd into the opening. The buffalo emerged from the thick thornbush at a distance of 80 yards and continued grazing on the succulent grasses while constantly moving to our right. The herd of around 50 buffalo, consisted mostly of cows, calves and young bulls. However, even at 80 yards these buffalo looked formidable.

Our attention was focused on the herd as they passed in front of us in small groups. Grant and Dave continued staring intently through binoculars, waiting to locate the big bulls we knew were trailing the herd of cows. Off to my left, I thought I had heard a slight rustling between the thornbush as my peripheral vision detected movement. When I turned to see what caught my attention, two huge bulls emerged from the brush, walking towards us. Although they could see us, the wind was in our face so they could not smell us. At first the bulls seemed curious as they steadily walked towards us with their noses in the air and heads laid back.

However, at 40 yards, they showed no sign of stopping and I could tell by the raised tails these guys were rapidly getting agitated. I whistled to get Grant’s attention and pointed at the two bulls. He quickly repositioned the shooting sticks and said I must shoot the big bull in front, aiming just under the chin, for a frontal shot.

Our sudden movement caused the bigger of the two bulls to pause momentarily, allowing me time to set up on the sticks. The first shot from the .375 hit the bull squarely in the chest, spinning him around into the other bull before he galloped away. My second and third shots hit him hard on the shoulder slowing him to a walk. It was vitally important to keep the bull from reaching a nearby impenetrable papyrus swamp where tracking a wounded buffalo in the thick tall reeds would prove extremely dangerous. My fourth shot finally broke him down and the great bull collapsed next to an acacia thornbush.

As we approached the downed bull, we heard his death bellow, which, according to all the hunting stories I have been told, means he was finished. However, this was a massive old Dagga Boy, and we were not going to take any unnecessary chances. After several moments, there was no movement, and Grant decided to approach to within three feet to check for any signs of life by poking the bull’s eye to see if there was a reflex response. At this stage, the bull suddenly raised his massive head, struggling to regain his footing for one last final charge.

I was prepared with a round chambered and safety off and rushed in to place a finishing shot in the bull’s neck. They aren’t kidding when they say” it’s the dead ones that kill you.” The bull let loose with one final death-defying bellow, and all became silent. Thankfully the herd had run off after my first shot and did not return to aid the bull when he sounded his death bellows. It was hard to believe the bull absorbed so much lethal lead into vital areas and yet still had the resolve to play dead in order to finish the hunt on his terms. In the heat of the hunt, I did not have time to think much about the circumstances, I just instinctively reacted to the situation. Now that the huge bull lay dead before me, my legs began to wobble forcing me to sit and consider just what had happened. That’s buffalo hunting for you.

The bull was indeed a giant and an obvious fighter for he wore many scars and carried tattered ears indicating battles won and lost over the years. His hide was caked with mud from wallows. The bull’s boss was incredibly solid and his horns spanned an impressive 42 inches, a true monarch of the African bush and a great trophy by any standard. A proper buffalo!

We were fortunate to see his awesome kudu hunt high atop a mountain. Kyle, while prone on the ground, made an incredible 640-yard, one-shot kill on a magnificent old kudu bull from one mountain, across a deep valley, to the next mountain. That will always remain the highlight of our hunt. My son Mark collected a hartebeest, blesbok, sable and waterbuck to round out his safari. His waterbuck hunt took him up one mountainside and down the other and had some comical moments when the bull ran down the mountain after being shot and unbelievably sauntered in front of the safari truck acting like nothing happened. Everyone believed it to be a different waterbuck bull and not the wounded one, so no one paid too much attention until Mark and the trackers came down from the mountain following the blood trail in front of our vehicle. Then the chase was on once again and lasted well into the day before Mark finally caught up with the bull and finished the hunt. I’m certain he will not forget that hunt anytime soon.

Good friends also accompanied us on this trip. For twin brothers Terry and Jerry, this would be their first experience of an African safari. It was enjoyable to listen to their tales of the hunt at the end of each day while sipping sundowners next to a warm crackling fire. My dear friend Bill and his companion Nancy also joined the safari as did our friend Laureen. Bill also took an outstanding Cape buffalo bull on this safari as well. It was a good feeling to know everyone was having the time of their lives.

Unfortunately, like all good things, our safari ended much too quickly and before we knew it, we were boarding the plane for our return trip home. But we were taking with us many great memories and lasting friendships that will remain with us forever. The consensus from our group was that we all cannot wait to return to enjoy the hospitality and friendships made at Hunters Hill and to once again become a part of the African experience.

A special thanks goes to Greg and Simon Harvey, the staff at Hunters Hill and our PHs Grant Acton and Richard Bridger for an exceptional and unforgettable safari experience.