Aug 21, 2019 | Hunting Stories Online, News
By Jeffery Belongia
I love waking up on safari. Of course, there’s no place like Africa, and even after 52 hunts in seven countries, I have never spent a day there – or even an hour – wishing I were somewhere else. Africa is our ancestral home.
I vividly remember tears running down my cheeks while standing on the northern bank on the Zimbabwe side of Kipling’s “great, grey-green, greasy, Limpopo River”, thinking that I might never be able to return. Vervet monkeys were scolding my presence, seeming to take delight in my imminent departure. It was at the end of my first and long-anticipated “once in a lifetime safari” to a land that I had dreamed about from a very early age. I had been influenced by the television series, The American Sportsman, and Wild Kingdom. I had just ended 14 whirlwind days of delight, adventure, and romance. I had fallen in love with the idea of Africa many years before, but now I had finally realized the dream.
In my state of self-pity I could not imagine, or foresee, the many future hunts for lion, buffalo, crocodile, hippo, elephant, lechwe and bushbuck, along rivers with evocative names like Zambesi, Luangwa, Munyamadzi, Kafue, Angwa, Okavango, Gwaai, Umzingwani, and so many others.
This was in the August of 1982. I was in my late twenties, and had borrowed money for the trip from my mother who had been widowed when I was almost eight years old. My Mom, having worked three jobs to raise four children (I am the oldest) mortgaged her house to provide the money for my dream. She had instilled in her children a supreme work ethic and a commitment to integrity. I was never late with payments in the following 36 months, while at the same time wondering how I could ever afford to return to Africa.
Importantly, there would friendships, friendships that would deeply enrich my soul in many ways. There would be the meeting of a kindred spirit, one who would enlighten me to the true fortunes of Africa, giving and sharing with me the greatest gift I have ever received. Kismet?
Maybe it was the tears that blurred my vision from seeing across the river to the Republic of South Africa and those future safaris. Safaris for all the Eastern Cape antelope. There would be the hunts along the southern bank of the Limpopo in the Transvaal, the many landings in Johannesburg, and six explorations of the famed Kruger National Park.
I would be one of the first Americans – if not the first – to lottery-draw a place on a foot safari along the Olifants River accompanied by a ranger from the Kruger Park. It was cameras only, but a safari nonetheless. The experience would put me within spitting distance of a full-maned ginger-colored lion pancaked in short grass, reluctant to flee because of porcupine quills imbedded in his left front paw. He was, however, able to roar, the reverberations sending chills up and down my spine. I captured him on video, and from that moment on I knew I had to find the means to hunt lion.
Years later I was enjoying breakfast at the Sea Cliff Hotel in Dar-es-Salam waiting for transfer to my charter flight south and west to the Kilombero region and the Selous Game Reserve of Tanzania, for my first lion hunt. This was East Africa, the birthplace of the modern safari. Puku antelope, the ubiquitous prey species were too numerous to count, yet the Game Department only allowed one trophy on a 21-day safari! There were herds of buffalo stretching for more than a kilometer, with the ever-present white cattle egrets circling or riding the backs of the black bovines, and the same license allowed three buffalo, a lion, an elephant, two zebra, plus other species. I joked that Stevie Wonder could shoot a puku there.
The Luangwa River valley in Zambia is a magnificent ecosystem. The river has one of the largest populations of hippo and crocodile on the continent. Thornicroft’s giraffe inhabits its forests, and mango trees are everywhere. Fascinated, I watched people of the Senga tribe dismember my hippo trophy with precision and efficiency, every edible portion happily utilized. Fishing for and eating the delectable flaky white flesh of the huge catfish, Vundu, was a welcome break from prolonged chewing of tough-as-leather Cape buffalo steaks. Collecting a Chobe bushbuck with 18¼ inch horns was gratifying, and making a 93-meter brain shot on a 13 foot crocodile on the far bank of the river was impressive.
The road trip across the Northern Cape from Joburg to Windhoek provided new names for my African vocabulary. Names like Hotazel, Brey, Tosca, and Kuruman, a prosperous cattle and mining area on the Ghaap Plateau. There was the oasis of the Kalahari, Die Oog (The Eye), a place of permanent water, the crystal-clear mineral water almost gin-like. I drank my first distinctly South African Pinotage at the Molopo Hotel near the entrance to the Kalahari Gemsbok National Park. It was a wine a cross between a Pinot Noir and Cinsault grape. I felt as though I had reached Nirvana. I remember toasting those French Huguenots for remembering to bring the vines. I remember opening the boot (trunk) of the Mazda sedan to retrieve my suitcase and marveling at the heavy layer of micro-fine dust that had infiltrated during the 350 kilometers since we had left the tar road.
This 1800-kilometer trek would introduce me to Kalahari bushveld and camel thorn trees, acacia thorn, Tsama melons, gigantic nests built by sociable Weaver birds, Cape cobras, Nama and Damara people, and the magnificent giant oryx (gemsbok), perhaps the finest venison on the continent.
It is almost impossible to rank the vistas of the African bushveld in terms of sheer beauty or significance. There’s the magic of a herd of oryx bathed in the rays of yellow light cast by the late afternoon sun, as they cross the Kalahari dunes, sometimes stopping to glance backwards, their H-painted faces and black rapier horns in sharp contrast with the red sand.
There would be many more trips to Namibia, many to the Etosha National Park, with images of flamingos on the pan, black rhino in the thorn bush, and, at the water during the cooling evenings, two huge male lions leaving a waterhole known as Gemsbokvlakte.
There would be an evening at Okaukuejo waterhole and rest camp with Peter Capstick, the American author of Death in the Long Grass and many other books recounting tales of African hunting and adventure. He gave me a .470-caliber cartridge developed and named for him – the .470 Capstick Cartridge. It sits in my trophy case along with photos of the two of us sharing a sundowner together.
In later years Namibia would give me my second lion. A huge male, pushed out of the Etosha National Park, was preying on the cattle on farms bordering the Park. Circumstance played a role in my being invited to join in on a friend’s attempt at hyena hunting, as at the time Nature Conservation was issuing a PAC to the farmer – a problem animal control tag. Sometimes Fate smiles!
There would be incredible days spent hunting springbok between the seemingly endless red dunes of the Kalahari. In years of good rain, the bright yellow, wintering sour grass carpeted the troughs between the crests of the scarlet dunes. The color contrast with the cloudless blue of the sky was breathtaking.
There would be that sweet taste of the koeksister pastries of Philippolis, a town in the false Karoo of the Orange Free State. That visit was the result of an invitation to shoot at a new friend’s meat hunt. I remember walking the quaint, almost deserted, Voortrekker Road, and a visit with history to the Dutch Reformed Church with its olivewood pulpit which was built without a single nail. I had my introduction to Karoo lamb and the making of biltong and the traditional boerewors (farmer’s sausage), and the unique experience of a traditional braaivleis, or braai (Afrikaans for barbeque). Fortunately, there would be many braais in the future, but it would take time. I needed to earn them!
I would enjoy an introduction to the Johannes de Beer farm at Kimberley, the site of the Great Hole diamond excavation which can be seen from space, the entire digging being a hand-basket removal of millions of buckets of earth, and the capture of billions of dollars of gems. There was a day spent perusing the historic buildings and displays depicting life during those early diamond mining years. Cecil Rhodes would use some of the wealth to carve out a political career, create an empire, and give birth to new pioneers and a new country called Rhodesia.
I had yet to experience the deafening silence of the Namib Desert, or the groaning sound of compressing sand as our Land Cruiser with deflated tires climbed dune after dune on a trek from Solitaire to the Atlantic Coast. To hand was a GPS and a Government permit in the kit, with enough water and provisions for the four-day trek. I was yet to see the azure blue of Sandwich Harbor and the pink string of flamingos that waded in the shallows as we crested that last dune and eased our way down the steep slope to the salt water waves lapping the golden sands. They were sands deposited over eons of time from the Orange River far to the south and swept up the coast in the waters of the Benguela Current.
There would be nights, just after the civil war, sleeping on the Mozambique beach of the Indian Ocean. We had no tents. This was a latrine-digging Spartan adventure. I woke in the warming rays of the rising sun, the grit of sand in my teeth, the smell of the ocean dank in my nostrils, as I pulled back my bedroll and rose to the cacophony of native voices…
I was intrigued by a large group of locals – men, women and children – going through their daily subsistence ritual of pulling a sein net in a large semi-circle through the shallows, while another mob attempted to herd whatever aquatic life they could into the approaching trap. I, too, would be fishing, but we had brought a boat from Nelspruit in South Africa, crossing the border at Komatipoort, heading east to Maputo and then north along the coast to Vilanculos, towing the boat the last few miles across a sand track shaded by a forest of palm trees. The sand track began at the end of a bombed-out, pock-marked tar road lined with burnt-out tanks and military vehicles, all civil war relics. There would be a fishing safari for dorado and kingklip, an invitation from a South African “cowboy” I had met at an SCI show in Las Vegas.
Each time I return to Africa, I have a sensation that says, “I am here where I ought to be.” There is a magic to Africa, a deep-seated, gut feeling that is life-altering. When not in Africa, never has a day gone by since that first trip that I do not think of it. I miss the people, the sights and sounds, the smells, and the feel of Africa.
.
I am nearing 1,000 safari days as I write this. The 31 days I have booked for this year will put me over that threshold, not that it was ever a conscious goal. Those will be days filled with excitement, laughter, wonder, expectation, adventure and surprises. Those days will be here and gone before I know it. The anticipation of this trip is nearly as enjoyable as the realization will be. It is always that way.
Famed author and lover of Africa, Karen Blixen noted: “If there were one more thing I could do, it would be to go on Safari once again”.
I know exactly what she meant!
Bio:
A 65-year-old Municipal Securities Banker, Jeffery shares two grown sons with his understanding wife of 35 years, Betsy. He grew up (sort of) in NE Wisconsin. Realizing at a very early age that his eyes faced forward for a reason, he spent most of his non-school hours chasing and catching all types of edible creatures.
Aug 14, 2019 | Hunting Stories Online, News
South Africa: 2016
By Darrell Sterling
Irwin Tam and his sons Stephen and Peter are avid conservationists and lifetime members of SCI, raising and donating tens of thousands of dollars to support wildlife conservation. Like hunting legends Jim Shockey, Scott Haugen, and Dallas Monroe, I booked my dangerous game adventure with the world-renowned Tam Safaris.
The Big Five has always fascinated me. Dangerous game and predator hunting is like adding hot sauce to the sport of hunting. It definitely gives you that extra kick. Now I wanted to do a green hunt and dart the mighty white rhino. Because it requires one to get within 30 yards of an animal that can – and has – thrown a Cape buffalo in the air like a rag doll, it is pretty dangerous. I saw it on a YouTube video and it’s worth the look, but maybe best to watch it after your trip! I was also warned that we would need to keep a sharp eye out for lion because we would be in lion country. I have always wanted to see a lion in the wild and was excited yet terrified about the possible opportunity. My son who is also a hunter laughed at me when I told him I might see a lion. He said lions stay so well hidden that I would probably never see them, but the lions would see me. I asked my guide Steven Tam if my son was right. Steven didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, that sounds right, but you never know.” The thought kept me awake many nights on that safari.
The first task was to get used to shooting the dart gun which is not as accurate as a gun, and has even less of an effective range than a crossbow, but Steven assured me we would get close enough for a shot. Then we headed out in the safari vehicles, covering plenty of ground. I was looking hard, but obviously not hard enough.
There are two rhinos to your right,” Steven casually remarked. “Where?” Steven directed me, and through my binoculars they came to life. At a distance they looked just like large gray rocks. As we got closer Steven decided they were not good bulls and weren’t what we were looking for, so on we went. We found a herd of eight rhinos with a couple of very nice bulls. The problem was they were out in the open, making stalking up to them nearly impossible. Steven really liked two of the bulls, but warned we would likely have little success because the terrain was not ideal. However, the trophy quality of the bulls made it was worth the effort.
We drove a way past them, stashed the vehicle, judged the wind and started our long walk back over to the rhinos. These animals are extremely smart. They lie down with their backsides to the wind so they can smell anything coming up from behind them, and see what’s in front of them. They also tend to lie in a semi-circle with one rhino standing as a forward scout.
The rhino seem to be like sheep – they know your effective range and will move off any time you start closing that gap. We had walked close enough using bushes, rocks, and anthills as cover, and were finally in position where we could no longer walk bent over low to the ground. It was time to low-crawl. We scooted, wormed, and crawled our way over the next hour, stopping and trying to get into position. I stayed directly behind Steven, our tracker close behind me filming the hunt. The rhinos were alert to our presence but hadn’t spooked. We could hear them breathing and rustling about. We were about 45 yards away from eight large rhinos.
“Ten more yards,” Steven whispered, gesturing to the prone rhino to my left. We didn’t even make it another five yards when they all bolted up and thundered away. The agility and speed was startling. The amount of ground they covered so quickly was frightening, especially considering we were only forty yards away.
The rhinos stayed out in the open, so we went back to the truck to see if we could find any closer to some rock outcrops or trees so that we could more easily stalk within range. We did find others, but none that Steven liked as much as the bulls in the small herd we had spooked earlier, so he decided to head back their way to see if maybe they had moved or broken off into two groups.
We found all eight rhinos. They had stayed together but had moved off into a small strip of trees with a ravine that snaked around, giving us a nice break in the terrain to conceal ourselves. When we went into the ravine, it became obvious it had been used as a lion’s den. The collection of bones, skulls, and horns was horrific. A couple of the kills couldn’t have been more than a few days old, judging by the rotting meat still left on the bones.
Steven marched ahead unfazed by the carnage we had just walked through. I looked backwards at our tracker who was still following me, and he looked unsettled! I intended to stay as close to Steven as possible. We finally got to the point where we able to sneak a peek over the ravine. The rhinos were close, but their advance scout spotted us and the group moved further away. I was starting to wonder if this was ever going to come together. The rhinos broke into two groups, and using trees as cover we left the ravine and circled downwind through the trees trying to get in front of them. The rhinos also bolted from cover, running at us as we were running toward them. It is one of the craziest moments of my life.
We stopped quickly behind a large thorn bush and the rhinos halted at the edge of their cover. Both animals and humans stopped and stared at each other through the cover. It was a Mexican standoff in the middle of the African bush. Both sides stayed frozen for what seemed like an hour but was probably only about ten to fifteen minutes until the rhinos lost interest in whatever was hidden behind the thorn bush. They began to relax and graze, but as usual one rhino stood as a scout while the others went about their business. Steven pulled me aside.
“We are only twenty yards away, hidden by the bush, easily within range,” he whispered.
I raised the dart gun, setting my sights on a nice rhino that I thought Steven wanted me to take, only to find out I was on the wrong one. The advance scout didn’t like the movement, and the rhinos started to slowly move away. I was still aiming at the first bull and was beginning to shake.
“Wait,” said Steven, “our target is the last in line, and he’s just emerging from a bush directly in front of us.” But as the rhino was starting to pick up speed to catch up with the others, Steven said, “Now, on the shoulder!”
I squeezed the trigger. It made a metallic click but the dart never left the chamber, and away the rhinos went. I was dumbfounded. Steven asked me what happened. I didn’t know. I had pulled the trigger. Steven checked the .22 round that ejected the dart, and it wasn’t pitted, so the firing pin never released. The only explanation we could come up with was the bolt of the dart gun must lifted during our low dash to the thorn bush. I was demoralized. We needed to have the darting done as the vet had been scheduled, and the sun was getting low. Steven, Mr Cool, was never rattled and didn’t hesitate.
“It was a mechanical problem. Let’s get back on them, they aren’t spooked too bad. Let’s go.”
I trailed Steven as usual, but my head was down and I was dragging. I was worn out from two very close encounters, excess adrenaline, and miles of chugging along in the hot African sun turning my tanned skin into a brilliant lobster-red color. The sun was beginning to set. Steven thought we could get one more try if we could hustle back to the truck, circle around and head back to the ravine. He thought with the group broken up, a couple of the rhinos might cross through the little ravine giving us our shot opportunity.
I thought it was a waste of time. All day they had outmaneuvered us, and at the one clean look we got, the round didn’t go off, which worried me. I also didn’t want to go through into a pile of bones left by lions that might have decided to return. I kept reminding myself of my policy to stay close to Steven, which I did. We had just started working our way around in the ravine when a big rhino bull ran into view. Steven motioned to get down and whispered, “When he crosses in front of us, hit him in the shoulder as he goes up the ravine.”
The massive bull was only twenty yards away. I pulled the trigger, and mercifully the round went off. The smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils and we heard the smack of the dart as it penetrated the rhino’s thick skin.
White rhinos rarely charge, so when the massive bull ran up the bank and turned to look at where the troublesome sting came from I figured he would just run away from the problem. Instead, he wheeled around, saw us standing there, and charged. He came at us like a freight train. A 2,000 pound monster with a spear on his head, barrelling toward us at about 35 miles an hour. Part of the charge was caught on video, the second half of the video being a blurry image of the ground as our tracker/cameraman sprinted out of the area!
I was frozen, waiting to see what direction the bull was going to go. Steven stepped in front of me, screaming at the enraged charging rhino, waving his .416 Rigby over his head. The rhino slowed a little, but keep coming. Steven yelled at me to move. I broke out of my trance side-stepping off to the left. Steven screamed even louder and waved his gun higher and wider. The rhino, agile as any athlete, turned on a dime away from the loud noise and bolted off to the right. Thankfully!
And that’s how I survived a charge from a white rhino at close range. If it weren’t for Steven I surely wouldn’t be writing about our adventure. The man has iced water in his veins. He calmly walked over to me, and reached out his hand.
“Well done, congratulations,” he said.
I believe to book a green rhino hunt with anyone other than Tam Safaris would be a bad decision – these two brothers are incredibly brave amazing hunters. I fulfilled my dream hunt and flew home with memories that will last me for the rest of my days.
BIO: Darrell is a successful big-game hunter who loves Africa and he has taken a variety of different species of big-game animals on multiple continents. He is also a free-lance writer who has been published many times by numerous outdoor magazines.
Aug 7, 2019 | Hunting Stories Online, News
Mozambique: 2017
By Darby Wright
“We must go into the jesse and search for our buffalo,” said our PH Ian Rutledge.
If you’ve never been to Mozambique, you’d be amazed. It’s a hunter’s paradise! Villagers live in mud and grass-thatch huts, solely in subsistence mode, surviving mainly on mealie meal porridge, and meat provided by visiting hunters. Dugout canoes are still commonly used for water transportation and fishing. Drums are often used for communication between villages and during celebrations. This million-acre concession borders the shores of Lake Cahora Bassa that dams the mighty Zambezi River. Every year many villagers are attacked, mauled and killed by marauding lions and elephants, and often villagers are snatched by crocodiles from the river bank while washing clothes or obtaining drinking water! This is wild Africa almost as it was a hundred years ago.
Countless days of driving innumerable roads in this huge concession, searching for buffalo tracks, was the order of the day. Once tracks were found, the trackers would read them like a book and tell us if it was a big herd or not.
Sometimes, “It’s a small herd of Dagga Boys,” they would say. Our driver Jabo would stay with the truck, and off we’d go on foot, walking endless miles in some of the thickest bush known to man. Most of the vegetation was covered with long, short, and hook-shaped thorns, and often we would emerge from the bush bleeding from head to toe. The shooter on this hunt would be my 23-year-old daughter Kayleigh, she being the veteran of several other buffalo safaris. Our outfitter was Simon Rodger with Safaris de Moçambique.
Simon Rodger has always been very accommodating, providing excellent, well-maintained tented camps, spacious and comfortable, and top-notch PHs. He even brought in a hostess/chef, Christine, to make sure we were well taken care of as we moved from camp to camp during our hunt. Often we returned after dark, ravenous, and were greeted with sundowners and marvelous hot meals.
Day after day we would locate tracks, park the truck, and take off into the thickest of jesse. Plenty of crunchy leaves and swirling breezes made it very difficult to approach buffalo in this thick bush. Once we got within 25 yards of an old Dagga Boy, when we realized he was blind in one eye. We watched him for quite a while until he finally ambled off. From the sight of the claw marks on his back, it looked as though he had lived a tough life.
Another time we got within a 100 yards of a small herd that had several nice bulls. But as we got on them, they had just finished watering and were starting to file out away from us. Ian told Kayleigh to get ready on the sticks – he was going to blow a predator call and, hopefully, make them stop in their tracks. But to our surprise, at the sound of the squealing, all hell broke loose, and the whole herd ran out of sight. We marched back to the truck licking our wounds! This went on day after day.
One morning our PH Ian, two trackers, the game scout, and Kayleigh and I were scouting along a huge backwater swamp bordered with vegetation, as well as some nice-sized crocs sunning on the banks. We were walking single file when we came to a large tree that had fallen across the game trail. I diverted to the right uphill to walk around it, and everyone else walked to the left closer to the water to get past the huge tree, when I heard shouting and yelling. Then I saw everybody running in all directions, and one of the trackers kept yelling, “Mambas! Mambas!” Apparently we had interrupted two quite large black mambas that had come down for a drink! We later found their tracks where they had crossed the dusty road up above the watercourse. Once our hearts stopped racing, we decided to head back to camp early and regroup – so far, the buffs were winning!
We were all exhausted, weary from days and days of tracking and stalking buffalo. Long, fruitless tracking hikes were starting to take their toll on us. Our legs and feet were sore, and our backs hurt from driving miles on back roads. Kayleigh’s a trooper and loves the thrill and excitement of buffalo hunting. She took the numerous days of not getting a shot all in her stride. Up an hour before daylight, (mornings in central Mozambique are cold), black coffee, breakfast, then off to the bush and back to camp well after dark.
One day we tracked a large herd up and down steep hills covered with thorn bush so thick we could only get glimpses of parts of buffalo. As we were glassing the herd, Kayleigh and I felt a faint breeze on the backs of our necks. As the wind swirled the herd picked up our scent and bolted – cows, calves and bulls all pounded out of sight. Then it was the long trek back to the truck.
Our head tracker Willy never gave up hope – he always held his head high and kept a positive attitude, and his determination to succeed was obvious. He basically had our chance of success riding on his back. Day after day, mile after mile, he planned and plotted, organized and schemed and formulated a plan for us to follow. Our PH Ian was just as obsessed with making this safari a success. His relentless persistence and positive attitude kept us all in the game. We discussed our strategies every evening over dinner. Eventually we chose a new plan of attack and decided to give the thick jesse areas a rest.
We would look for buffalo in the thick reed beds closer to Lake Cahora Bassa. If you’ve never been in the reed beds, you’d be in for a big surprise. Each plant has hundreds of needle-sharp points on the end of each leaf, which puncture your skin repeatedly – ouch! These reed beds are full of buffalo and hippo trails that lead into overgrown vegetation tunnels. We often crawled through these tunnels not knowing what kind of “freight train” might be waiting at the other end! Hippo tracks were everywhere, and we could hear hippos snorting in the distance.
Finally we got within 30 yards of a herd of buffalo, some grazing, others lying or standing, but we couldn’t see the bull we wanted. Quite a few younger bulls were visible. The wind was blowing in our faces and the reeds were swaying. Willy kept manuevering us around the herd, constantly shifting and repositioning. After moving 12-15 times, we were all huffing and puffing, continually glassing.
We settled down in the reeds, still glassing. Ian had Kayleigh place the .375 H&H on the short sticks because we were down on the ground. There were at least 20-30 buffalo coming in and out of the reeds, interacting with each other. Several decent bulls were seen, but Ian was holding out for something special. We must have been hiding there for 15-20 minutes watching and waiting, when out of nowhere suddenly loomed a larger-than-life magnificent bull, that was by far much larger and mature than any we had seen for days! Ian whispered for Kayleigh to shoot. At the sound of the blast, buffalo stampeded in all directions. The big bull ran straight into the thick reed beds at the shot. Everything happened so fast, but now all was quiet. After waiting for a while we all cautiously proceeded towards the area where the bull had gone into the reeds.
“Where did the bull enter the reeds?” Ian asked Willy. Willy pointed towards a slight opening, about 50 yards away, and we could see the vague shape of a downed animal. Ian asked Kayleigh to shoot at the shoulder outline as we all stood in anticipation. At the shot there was no movement. The massive bull was hers!
Once the reeds were chopped away from this monster buff we became aware of what an amazing animal it was. It had huge, widespread bosses with heavy mass all the way out to the tips. Ian and Willy both said it was the best buffalo of their combined 45-year hunting careers. The whole team was dancing with joy, Kayleigh was ecstatic, and she gratefully shook hands with everyone.
After days and days of tracking, the hard work had paid off.
Back at camp several days later we found the bull to have a 47″ spread and scored SCI 138.
Our thanks to Simon Rodger and everyone who made this hunt possible – Thank You!
Bio
Darby and Kayleigh Wright live in New Braunfels Texas and have hunted in Australia, Argentina, Namibia, South Africa, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Mexico They have also outfitted and enjoy self-guided hunting and fishing in Alaska .They’re always ready for the next adventure!
Aug 1, 2019 | Hunting Stories Online, News
By Lavon Winkler
We only get one “first trip” and this was Scott’s. After five years of him listening to me talk for hours on end about Africa, he finally conceded and agreed to join me on my third adventure.
Every hunter knows that each time we trek through the bush or sit in the woods it will be different from previous hunts. For some, hunts are measured simply by the taking of the animal, or by the quality and size. For others, it’s the joy of sharing that time with someone close. Whether it’s with friends, family, or new acquaintances, memories are made in the hunt that we carry for a lifetime. We recall and share these adventures through stories, photos, and taxidermy. Because we explored a little corner of creation, life can take on new meaning. Now, five years after my first safari (AHG Vol 23, Issue 1, July/Aug/ Sept, 2017), I was traveling with my son Scott on my third safari to South Africa.
To say I love Africa is an understatement. Once you experience this amazing continent, you are forever changed. Your horizons are expanded and you have greater clarity about a land like no other. For me it’s not only its beauty or the incredible diversity of animals. I love meeting, interacting, and getting to know the people. Whether it is the outfitter, professional hunters, skinners, trackers, or others in the cities and villages, the experience is always enriching. The people of Africa have opened their hearts (and in some cases their homes) and invited me into their lives in a humbling way. I wanted Scott also to have these memories. And hunting with us would be Eric Krichbaum who had cut his African safari teeth when we hunted together in 2013. Scott and I met up with him in Atlanta, GA where we boarded our flight to Johannesburg.
In Johannesburg we stayed overnight at the Afton Guest House. This is a wonderful way to unwind after a long flight, enjoy outstanding food, and get a good night’s sleep. The next morning we were taken to the airport to catch a short flight to Polokwane in Northern Limpopo where we were met by our outfitter, African Trophy Pursuit. By early afternoon we had checked the zero on our rifles and were in the bush. We each had a “wish list” and a “maybe list” of animals we hoped to take. Scott’s definite list had four or five most wanted plains game, with three or four on his “maybe list,” but he would be thrilled to take just a few quality animals. I had told him that he would have a better overall experience if he were flexible and willing to take what Africa offered.
Already, at the close of our first day I could tell Africa was getting a firm grip on my son. Apart from taking a fine blue wildebeest, he had had a chance to glimpse the wonderful animal diversity that is Africa. My day ended with a beautiful white blesbok in the salt. At dinner we decided to begin the second day by searching for those animals at the top of our lists. The owner and outfitter, Freddie van Zyl livened up the conversation by offering an incentive to add to the jewel in the crown of the plains game – a sable! I had taken a sable on my second safari, so passed on it, but Scott and Eric couldn’t resist. Their lists suddenly grew. However, for Scott the kudu was clearly his most wanted, and Eric really wanted the blue wildebeest which had eluded him in 2013. The top of my list was the majestic roan antelope.
On the second day, the three of us, each with our PH, headed in different directions looking for the animal that had lingered in our thoughts and dreams. In Limpopo, hunting the roan is difficult as there are fewer concessions where they can be found. Consequently, we had a long drive that started at 4:00 a.m. though it didn’t matter to me as I had hardly slept the night before with the expectation of another African adventure.
Scott went off searching for a big kudu, though somewhat distracted by the thought of a sable, while Eric hunted a separate concession for wildebeest. I hunted in heavy bush that demanded quick and rather short shots. Around mid-day, after seeing a few small roan, we suddenly came upon a mature bull. The sight of this spectacular animal made my heart quicken. I looked at Freddie and he quickly gave me the nod to take the shot. Using my Browning A-Bolt 30-06 with Hornady Superformance GMX 165gr. and Leupold VX-2 4-12×40 scope, I took aim and the roan was mine. After years of dreaming of the magnificent roan, the dream had come true.
True to Africa, Scott’s kudu was not to be found. However, he wounded a sable but was successful with a follow-up shot the following morning. Now he could concentrate on continuing his search for what was becoming an elusive kudu. Regardless, each day he was having the time of his life. Returning to the lodge each evening, he would be smiling, having added one or two animals to the salt. Many times he took animals that were not on his list. Each one had a special story and set of circumstances that lead him to decide he should seize the moment and take what Africa offered. Each evening after an excellent dinner there would be a long litany of anecdotes of successful hunts, of animals that got away, and of some that ended in the salt. These evening stories around the lapa are among my favorite times. It was another amazing day in an enchanting land. Oh, how I love Africa!
On our third day Eric ended by tracking a wounded sable, but he and the trackers found it the next morning. Unfortunately, hyena and jackal had found it first, which sometimes happens in a land where predators are abundant.
Finally, on the last day, Scott’s PH, Johan Botha and Freddie were determined Scott was to get his kudu. Freddie and I decided to go to a high point on the concession where we could see the bushveld below. After a couple of hours glassing, we spotted two nice kudu bulls in the thick bush and radioed Johan to move there to have a look. It was both exciting and nerve-racking to watch the situation unfold as Johan and Scott slowly moved through the bush hoping for a glimpse of what appeared to be very nice kudu. I was literally on the edge of a rock with the binoculars welded to my face so as not to miss a single moment. Just then, we saw a third kudu! It was an old bull, all by himself, and definitely the largest of the three. There was one slight problem. We could not warn the hunters for fear the radio would spook the kudu. Freddie and I glanced at each other and shook our heads in disbelief. This was a situation where hunting skill combined with a little luck would determine the outcome.
Scott and Johan spooked the two bulls which quickly moved to an area very close to the third larger kudu. As the hunters continued their stalk, they saw the three animals, and Scott quickly took a shot. His Browning, X-bolt Medallion, 300 WSM, with Barnes TTSX 165gr and Leupold VX3 4-14 scope echoed, and the kudu all moved further away. I wondered if his bullet had made contact or if the quick shot had resulted in a miss. A very tense situation seemed to worsen. I felt utterly helpless watching the drama from high above. We had no choice but to stay put and let the scene play out. As the hunters pursued the kudu they again spied the bulls and Scott took a second shot.
“He got him!” Freddie turned to me with a big smile.
“Which one?” I asked.
“The big one.” As Scott was striding in the direction of his prize, I couldn’t get down fast enough from my high position. How thrilling! On his last day, after many hopeful long and tiring hunts, Scott finally got his kudu, the “Grey Ghost” of Africa.
Scott and Johan were beaming as both had worked so hard to make it all came together. After sharing stories and making sure we had plenty of photos, Scott’s kudu was loaded into the truck for its journey to the skinning shed. Scott ended his safari by taking ten animals, several of which qualified for the SCI Record Book, including his kudu. Eric Krichbaum also had a tremendous week and took eight animals including his long-awaited blue wildebeest, a zebra, nyala, and of course his sable.
I enjoyed being with Scott on his first safari, and sharing the splendor of Africa with him. For the first-time hunter in Africa, it is an entirely different experience – almost like a dream, yet living it firsthand. Many times I have reflected on my first safari and how I was certain I would only visit Africa once. But my list had grown, and I had finally taken my kudu on the morning of the last day. And Scott, like me, thought he was only going to hunt Africa that one time. Well, we are already planning our next trip to the Dark Continent. Scott has been forever changed by the magic of Africa.
It is hard to explain how my life has been altered by experiencing such a wonderful place. Each trip is different, with memories formed around the ups and downs, the highs and lows that are so common to the sportsman. There are several great sources of reliable references – the African Hunting Gazette is a valuable resource with the Visited and Verified service, and Craig Boddington has his Endorsed Outfitters program. There are many wonderful outfitters ready to make your safari truly one of a lifetime. And one of the best sources of reliable information is the experience of fellow hunters. Also, I also encourage you to join Safari Club International and get involved with a local chapter. They comprise everyone from squirrel hunters to those who chase elephants. I have found them to be great people who are so willing to help you get connected with an outfitter you can afford and trust.
“When will you start planning your next safari to Africa?” I was asked recently.
“I started on the return flight from my last safari,” I said.
So, what’s next? Cape buffalo! And to think, I was only going to Africa once. Little did I know how it would forever change my life. Save your money, make your plans, and go visit this amazing continent.
Bio
Lavon Winkler loves the outdoors and the challenges of hunting and fishing for a variety of species in North America, Africa, and the South Pacific. He started hunting at age 10 with his dad and brother for small game and whitetail deer in the mid-west, and later developed a passion for hunting different animal in South Africa. In three safaris, he achieved the SCI African 15 Continental Award, and has numerous entries in the SCI Record Book.
Hunt Details
Year of the hunt: May 26 – June 2, 2018
Country: South Africa
Hunting area: Northern Limpopo
Outfitter and satisfaction rating: African Trophy Pursuit – Very good rating
Professional hunter and satisfaction rating: Freddie van Zyl – Excellent rating
Rifle and cartridge details: Browning A-Bolt 30-06 – Excellent rating
Ammunition: Hornady Superformance – GMX 165gr – Excellent rating
Riflescope details and satisfaction rating: Leupold VX-2 4-12×40 – Excellent rating
Taxidermist (have received trophies): Jim Rice, Cutting Edge Taxidermy – Excellent
Hunting Contact Information Sheet
Name: Lavon Winkler
Address: 123 Tucker Road West Brookfield, Massachusetts 01585 United States
Telephone: 816-914-2124 (cell)
Email: lavonwinkler@att.net
Jul 31, 2019 | Hunting Stories Online, News
Into the big herds!
By Craig Boddington
The buffaloes we could see were starting to lie down on the far side of a short-grass savanna. Egrets swooping over sawgrass beyond indicated it was a large herd, only a portion in view…but how many buffaloes do you need? We ran out of cover at three hundred yards, good breeze in our faces. Protected with gloves and kneepads, we went on hands and knees and crawled straight in.
It seemed there was no cover at all, but then a last few scraggly tufts of weeds stood above the rest. PH Mark Haldane, in the lead, flashed a quick grin. “Time to leopard-crawl!” he said, as we crabbed our way from one sparse clump to another. We kept at it, gaining a few yards at a time and going to ground when a sharp-eyed cow got suspicious.
The buffaloes were spread in a crescent like a Zulu impi regiment, horns to our right and left, advance guard to our front, loins still hidden with swooping egrets behind them. We had reached the center, the nearest buffaloes forty yards to our front, tips of the horns a hundred yards to either side. There were no mature bulls among the closest buffaloes…but one cow had us and was playing the “look away” game. She would casually turn away, then snap her head back to see if anything had changed.
Off to the right, near the tip of impi’s left “horn,” a beautiful bull lay peacefully ruminating. With heavy bosses and tips starting to wear, he was easily the biggest and oldest bull we could see…and we were running out of time. It was inevitable that they would soon spook, so it was decision time. Flat on our bellies now, we picked a spot a few yards to our right and low-crawled to clear some weeds. The old bull was still bedded at about eighty yards, but now the sticks were spread low, nothing but a flat putting green between us. In time he would stand and offer a calm, unhurried shot…and he did.
At the shot I expected pandemonium and we got it…plus a whole lot more! Instead of retreating into the sawgrass, the group to our front broke to our right and headed out across an endless open plain. The stricken bull tried to stay with them, fell behind, offered a second shot, and was down in the short grass. And then curiously, instead of retreating deeper into safe cover, the unseen buffaloes trooped out of the sawgrass in ranks before us, passed our downed bull, and drifted slowly away.
I suppose we’d had three hundred buffaloes in front of us. In coastal Mozambique’s Coutada 11 this is not a large herd, but we’d assumed we were looking at the main herd with stragglers beyond. Now, as buffaloes streamed out of the sawgrass, we understood how wrong we had been. Just how many buffaloes might there be in a packed phalanx stretching nearly a mile from front to van, half a dozen buffaloes deep? We couldn’t count them, and no camera could encompass this endless black line. I figured minimum 2500 buffaloes, possibly three thousand.
MIRACLE IN MARROMEU
The Marromeu complex is essentially the delta of the Zambezi. Epicenter is the Marromeu Reserve stretching south from Marromeu town and reaching tidewater to the east. The reserve is a flat and seasonally flooded expanse of papyrus-lined channels and sawgrass flats interspersed with short-grass savannas. Surrounding the swamps proper is a huge floodplain; beyond lie a few million acres of miombo woodland. Bordering the unhunted reserve to south, west, and northwest are hunting areas Coutadas 10, 11, and 14, with Coutada 12 just inland of 11.
Mozambique was long famous for its wildlife, but Portuguese control was loose in the interior and it was a choice haunt of ivory poachers, including famous names such as Ian Nyschens and John Taylor. Safari hunting opened in 1959, grinding to a halt in about 1973 with the Portuguese pullout and the beginning of the long civil war. The swamps of the Zambezi Delta were difficult to hunt, but the area was known for its concentration of buffalo and was a favorite hunting ground of John F. Burger (Horned Death, 1947), who shot Marromeu buffaloes to feed workers on nearby sugar plantations.
In 1970 it was estimated that Marromeu held 40,000 buffalo, probably long overpopulated and known for small, stunted bulls. During the civil war wildlife was used to feed both sides. Worse, helicopter gunships strafed buffalo herds, picked up the carcasses, and whisked them off to Russian refrigerator ships anchored offshore. A peace accord was reached in 1992 and intrepid outfitters started to move back in. Mark Haldane’s Zambeze Delta Safaris (ZDS) has been in place in Coutada 11 since this new beginning, but the wildlife was in tatters. Only 1200 buffalo remained. Existence of cover-loving antelopes like nyala and suni was in question, and less than fifty sable remained. Those first few seasons were lean, but with conservative management and investment in anti-poaching the buffaloes prospered…as have most other species.
The most recent aerial survey counted 25,000 buffalo in and around the Marromeu Reserve. Sable antelope run about 4000. Nyala, waterbuck, and Lichtenstein’s hartebeest have similarly flourished, and the rare Selous zebra, as few as 20 in 1990, now exceed 500. Interestingly, instead of small, ugly buffaloes, today the herds contain beautiful bulls. Supported almost entirely by safari outfitters and their hunters, the Marromeu complex is truly a miracle of what can be achieved in wild Africa.
BETTER AND BETTER!
I “discovered” coastal Mozambique nearly fifteen years ago and have since hunted there almost annually. I have hunted all the Coutadas surrounding Marromeu, but have spent the most time in Coutada 11, which holds perhaps the best combination of swamp, floodplain, and woodland habitats. For forty years my track record has been to “hunt and peck” across Africa. I’ve hunted many African areas a few times, but it’s uncharacteristic for me to spend as much time as I have in the Zambezi Delta. It holds no animals I haven’t hunted, no trophies I desire to improve upon. But I keep returning because, so uniquely in wild Africa today, I see it getting better and better. There are noticeably more nyala, waterbuck, and eland than a decade ago. As often happens with many animal populations, growth is slow and steady…and then a mysterious tipping point is reached. In the last few years I’ve seen Lichtenstein’s hartebeest grow exponentially, and the smaller animals are also exploding: Reedbuck and warthogs, and the little guys: Suni, blue duiker, red duiker, and oribi.
Mostly, it’s the swamp buffalo that bring me back! Although we encounter bachelor groups, in this area mature bulls seem to stay with the herds. Or, put another way, most herds contain bulls of all ages, and somewhere in the press there will be hard-bossed bulls. Hunting bachelor groups is fun, but prowling the edges of Mozambique’s big herds is an amazing experience!
It is not “traditional” buffalo hunting in that there’s little tracking. You can, and will track if needed…the passage of several hundred buffalo isn’t hard to follow…but most frequently you are glassing for white cattle egrets that circle every buffalo herd. The birds are often visible at a mile, sometimes more. This is when the swamp buffalo hunt really begins!
The papyrus swamps and sawgrass flats are a different world, and not for everyone. For a decade I’ve taken a camp in Coutada 11 and filled it with friends (old and new). Not everyone loves the swamp as much as I do! It’s a harsh area: No shade, temps about 50 degrees Celsius on clear days. Decomposing swamp stinks as you traverse the channels. Fortunately, it’s not particularly buggy…until dusk, and then hungry mosquitoes threaten to carry you away.
The swamp hunting has progressed, greatly aided by increased buffalo numbers! Some of the PHs who were there at the start remember accessing the swamps by foot safari and dugout canoe. In the Eighties I did that in the Okavango, but those were clear-flowing channels! I have accessed the Marromeu swamps on foot (with lots of porters for meat recovery) in Coutada 14 (tough!), and by Argo. In Coutada 11 Mark Haldane and brother Glen hit upon the amphibious Hogland BV, a monstrous tracked Swedish military vehicle designed for tundra. The intent was not to make things easier for old guys like me, (honest!) but to facilitate full meat recovery. So, today, we swim across the papyrus channels in the BVs. Typically, we go in teams, at least two hunters/PHs and two BVs. If things go well, we come out of the swamps with two buffalo bulls…and the articulated trailer behind the BV can carry three.
Tracks of the several hundred (and increasing) buffaloes in the miombo forest may be found and followed on any day, but “swamp days” are in rotation. Because of numbers and mature bulls within the herds, some success is expected on swamp days—but never assured. So, try again! I was with my friend John Stucker, who shot a brilliant swamp buffalo in ’16. He commented that I was either tough or nuts, making repeat trips out there. Yep, true enough, I like it. On my annual ten-day Mozambique hunt I’ll usually go to the swamps three or four times.
EVERY DAY IS DIFFERENT
That massive herd I described was unusual. Even Haldane, who has been there for twenty-five years, described it as the largest herd he has ever seen…and it’s the biggest concentration of buffalo I’ve ever seen. Two days later we couldn’t find it again, so we assume it was a temporary gathering of several herds…but who knows?
Movement in and out of the reserve depends on rains and grass but after a normal rainy season bigger herds start to appear later in the season, September and on through October. “Average” herds are into the few hundreds. Most herds will hold mature bulls, but in herds it’s very difficult to see all the bulls. Typically, the swamps dry out a bit later in the season—but the channels hold water throughout, and it very much depends on the year. When Haldane and I got into that big herd, it was the very rare (and long-remembered) “foot-dry” buffalo hunt…but don’t be counting on that! In recent years we’ve gotten rain in September and October, and the short-grass savannas were covered with an inch of water!
As with most hunting, you don’t really know exactly what you might run into. Except …the swamps are buffalo country, and there isn’t much else out there! Once in a while, warthogs or bushpigs will ruin a stalk, and every year there are a few more waterbuck and reedbuck ‘way out there, but mostly buffalo…and mostly in big herds. A while back, with Swift Bullets’ Bill Hober, we almost drove over a couple of old bachelor bulls in thick sawgrass—one was irritated enough to charge the BV, impacting right where Bill was sitting.
Another time, hunting with my friend Zack Aultman from Georgia, we crawled through muddy sawgrass for a couple hundred yards and were looking over a herd when a lone (and very nice) bull detached from the sawgrass we’d just crawled through, and sauntered into the herd. Zack shot him, and I was happy we hadn’t blundered into him when we were on hands and knees! Several times, sitting on the BV while other hunters stalked herds, I’ve seen lone bulls cruising. So dagga bulls are out there…but without luck, I don’t know how you could reliably hunt them. We can find the big herds, and the herds contain good bulls…so we hunt the herds.
SORTING THE HERDS
Ten years ago, I would have said coastal Mozambique was a great place to hunt buffalo…but not necessarily a great place to look for a big bull. There has always been the occasional outsized bull, but most buffaloes taken are just nice, mature bulls. Perhaps this is true everywhere but, slowly over time, I think quality is improving. Every year we see—and pass—awesome youngsters that need another year or two. And, every year, a few more great bulls are taken. I don’t think the area will see a time when the “average” buffalo is a hard-bossed bull exceeding forty inches—if such an area exists—but such bulls are there. In October 2016, hunting with several friends, we had a magical week for big bulls. On the same day John Stucker and Tim Lesser took “cookie cutter” bulls in the low forties with big bosses; later in the hunt Paul Cestoni took another big bull, Donna got her best swamp buffalo, and I got a very fine bull out of the same herd. Our average for that week was spectacular!
Come to think of it, in October 2018 my daughter Brittany’s fiancé, Brad Jannenga, shot a beautiful forty-two-inch bull…and a couple days later I took a fine bull right at forty. So, I suppose our average on that hunt would have been pretty awesome as well…but I wouldn’t count on it every time! In those big herds we probably don’t always (or often!) see all the bulls. Also, getting a glimpse of a big bull isn’t the same as getting a shot. They keep mixing and shifting…and sorting them out is a large part of the fun.
Often, this is also the difficult part. Hundreds of black buffaloes in harsh light, no landmarks, a bull seen for an instant, then lost again in the press. It doesn’t work to say, “Can you see the hundredth buffalo from the right?” Even though distances are short, optics are important. “Can you see that cow in the middle with the egret on her back? Go two to her left, see the small calf…there’s a big bull just behind it.” This can go on and on, and is often frustrating but that’ s part of the deal. Sometimes there’s no shot—or there isn’t a suitable bull. You crawl some more…or you go look for another herd!
BRING ON THE LIONS!
By older accounts, in the Sixties there were a lot of lions. After the civil war there were almost none and, although the occasional lion passes through, unlike all other species the lions have not increased. Absence of lions probably has something to do with how well the buffaloes have prospered…and almost certainly has much to do with how calm these buffaloes are! Even so, wild Africa needs lions and this has been a glaring gap in what is otherwise a magnificent slice of African wilderness.
This gap is now closed. Funded by Mary Cabela, her son Dan Cabela, and the Cabela Family Foundation, in 2018 two dozen wild lions from various South African Parks were flown into Coutada 11, habituated, and released. This was the largest international transfer of lions in history…and a huge effort by hunters, purely for conservation. When I was there in late October the lions had been roaming the floodplain unrestricted for several weeks. They had split into several small prides, and were making natural kills—mostly reedbuck and warthog, and the odd hartebeest. Even more promising, videographer Bill Owens was present when a wild Mozambican male—one of the few local lions that come and go—joined one of the prides.
Lions don’t like to get their feet wet, so it may be a while before the swamp buffaloes have to re-learn how to deal with lions. For sure, they have already changed the way we blithely stroll along the floodplain! And at night, the Marromeu complex will once again be part of wild Africa…where lions roar.
Oct 30, 2017 | Hunting Stories Online, News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Horns and All
By Ray Cox
To leave footprints in the ancient homeland is a privilege, and earning its bounty comes with three possibilities: a great deal of gratitude, being humbled, or both.
“Did you hear that?” exclaimed my son, Sean, from across the pitch-black chalet. “Yeah,” I said, speculating wishfully. “Sounds like it’s a couple of miles away.” It was 2.30 a.m., our first night in the Zambezi Region (the Caprivi Strip) camp. After a few minutes the lions roared again. Our senses now quite alert, we lay quietly, eventually drifting off to sleep until the generator rallied us around 5 a.m. For much of my 60 years, Africa had resonated within me. Deeply embedded instincts drove a desire to return to the ancestral common ground. That night, we were welcomed home.
We were on a 15-day dangerous- and plains-game safari with Omujeve Hunting Safaris. Eighteen months earlier, I had found Omujeve in AHG’s “Visited and Verified”, the African Visited Outfitter verification program.
“What are your priorities?” PH Steyn asked, while loading the bakkie that first morning. “Cape buffalo with distinctive bosses is more important than spread,” I replied, and added, “Kudu over 50 inches, eland, gemsbok, and other plains game – let’s hope for good specimens.” Smiling broadly Phillip said, “Let’s get on with it.” We climbed into the cab. The others rode in the open back of the bakkie – Sean, who was handling game-spotter/photographer/videographer duties, Foster the Mashi Conservancy Game Ranger, and Tracker Chris. Thirty minutes later at Bwabwata National Park along the Angola border, Park Ranger Carl joined the group, and the hunt was underway.
Within four hours, we saw several buffalo, had an unsuccessful stalk, and encountered tsessebe, lechwe, impala, sable, and roan, none of which were on license. That afternoon, Phillip was reassigned to another party that arrived earlier than planned, and Jacobus Wasserfall was now my PH. Over the next few days buffalo were scarce, but we had quite a few stalks for kudu, usually groups of two to five. There were no shot opportunities, just brief glimpses of bodies and heads before they vanished. We were thrilled nonetheless as several stalks involved kudu in the 52-55″ neighborhood, and one upwards to 60″. The biggest of the “Grey Ghosts” are equally as smart as they are endowed.
We searched the park and the neighboring conservancy for buffalo, and stalked the elusive kudu, but saw no eland, gemsbok, or other animals on quota.
We relocated to nearby Nkasa Rupara National Park, bordering Botswana. A brilliant sunrise cast long shadows on the misted landscape. Lagoons surrounded by expansive islands of grasses and woody vegetation considerably improved visibility, compared with the dense tree and shrub savanna of Bwabwata and Mashi, and increased game sightings.
A Park Ranger navigated our vehicle through the savannah, and within an hour, a mile distant, we spotted a herd of more than 100 buffalo. Abandoning the bakkie, we used the many islands of vegetation to close the range. Jacobus diligently studied the herd, found a mature bull, and plotted our approach relative to the wind. Despite having ample firepower, a Winchester Model 70 Safari Express in .416 Rem. Mag., I wanted to stalk in close. Jacobus selected a buff. It was between 65-70 yards from where I shot. The buffalo ran, and a second Hornady 400-grain bullet stopped him near a thicket. Three more shots up close produced a death bellow. Its very large bosses, with horns spread 43″ in near-perfect curls, made for a very happy hunting party. To touch those horns realised the fulfilment of a Cape buffalo dream.
We traveled to Omujeve’s main camp in central Namibia, entirely different from the Zambezi Region. Vistas were extraordinary, with unobstructed views toward the horizon in every direction. The veld, stark yet beautiful, was mostly plains and undulating hills punctuated by occasional kopjes. Shots could be 300 yards or more, yet despite the extraordinary visibility, finding game was suitably challenging.
Though kudu remained a primary objective, plains-game PH Jean Cilliers seized opportunities to take the other game on my list. Near dusk on the first afternoon, a blue wildebeest presented broadside at 240 yards. Shooting off sticks from a sitting position, my Sako Hunter V in .338 Win Mag using Federal 250-grain Nosler Partition bullets put him down within yards of where he stood.
Meanwhile, my wife Denise had arrived in camp that afternoon after multi-day tours in South Africa and Namibia, just in time to keep me company as the next day Sean was heading home. Over sundowners, we shared safari and tour stories.
The following morning as we returned to camp for lunch, a warthog darted up a fairly open hillside at 100 yards. I quickly uncased the stowed Sako, and a single shot turned him into leopard bait.
During numerous stalks on gemsbok we would come across zebra or waterbuck, but Jean would say, “We can always circle back for them.” Thus it was that we took a 28″ waterbuck. We had spotted him standing, elegant and stately, under shade on the edge of a dry riverbed about 600 yards away. The gemsbok had eluded us, so we made our way back toward the waterbuck. Our approach was cautious for a typically wary quarry, as we weaved undetected through the thorn bush. At 166 yards, the shoulder shot sent him stumbling in our direction. He stopped, facing us at 50 yards where another shot dispatched him.
The following morning, we headed out for eland. After working three sides of a broad hilltop, we sat quietly. The wait was brief. We heard the telltale clicking of eland hooves, followed by movement in the bush. As silently as possible, Jean and I tried intercepting them, but we soon realized that they were gaining distance on us. We went back to the bakkie, headed down the two-track about a mile, stopping just below a ridge that offered an advantage in spotting the eland.
As we reached the hilltop, instead of an eland, a gemsbok appeared on the opposite hillside. Jean had me on the sticks, when suddenly in the valley below us a group of gemsbok ran through, spooking the subject in the crosshairs. The herd moved off and there in the exact spot where the spooked gemsbok had stood on the opposite hillside was another, even more impressive specimen. At 288 yards, the gemsbok bull folded at the shot. His beautiful, prime-condition horns measured 37.5 inches.
Still eager to intercept the eland, we drove a few miles, Jean saying that they cover ground quickly. Leaving the bakkie and our new tracker, Hafani, behind, we double-timed it to a broad, flat depression completely surrounded by hills. Jean said that he was familiar with this area, suspecting that here the eland would take a mid-day rest. Dense ground cover provided concealment as we entered and slowly made our way through the depression. Suddenly, a group of eland appeared and a large male stopped broadside 160 yards away, but a dense thorn thicket blocked any clear path for a shot. Jean waved me into the thicket. I balked at first, thinking he was crazy, but he insisted, indicating that we had precious little time to get set and shoot. From a low sitting position on sticks, I found space through the thorns, and put a .338 round through the shoulder. The eland staggered forward and piled up on the edge of another thorn thicket. The bull had a thick tuft of tawny blond hair in front of his 36.5” horns.
Over lunch at camp, Denise suddenly announced that she would join me that afternoon. Not only was this her first safari, it was the first time she had accompanied me hunting. I was thrilled!
Common springbok, on license, were hard to find, and we were fortunate to spot a herd bedded about 500 yards away. Jean and I snaked our way through some thick cover, where he positioned the sticks at 175 yards and whistled. The nicest buck stood up, but my shot was high, kicking up dust behind him. Off they ran, the last springbok we saw on the safari. Disappointing, but that’s hunting.
An unpredictable wind picked up that afternoon and we decided to return to camp a little early. On the way, we scattered a large herd of Burchell’s zebra. They in turn spooked a small group of Hartmann’s mountain zebra. We drove forward to a high plateau, left the bakkie and made to a vantage point. At first, the Hartmann’s were moving away, but the swirling winds carried our scent, reversing their retreat. The zebra came up the opposite side of the plateau, and at 150 yards, the stallion halted, staring at me. He was jittery, and as he turned broadside my shot was good. Denise was able to see it all – her introduction to the wonderful world of safari!
The last day arrived, the priority kudu. Jean took us quite a distance from camp and brought Hunter along, a Jack Russell terrier. Hiking up the first hill that morning, we spotted a kudu across a ravine, a bull Jean estimated in the mid-50″ range. I settled on the sticks, pausing to catch my breath for the certainty of the 250-yard shot.
“Shoot quickly, the kudu won’t stand there for long,” Jean urged. At the shot, the kudu dropped hard. Suddenly it jumped up, running. Re-engaging, I sent two more shots without effect as it disappeared over the hill. I’d forgotten the advice I’d read from PH Tony Tomkinson about kudu. “Reload and keep your sights on him. Remember, the ones that go straight down are often the ones that get straight up again and bugger off for good!”
On the hilltop, Jean, Hafani, and I spread out looking for blood. After 20 minutes, we found bright-red drops, and optimistically followed the trail. Suddenly, Hunter started barking.
“What’s going on?” I yelled. “Hunter kicked out a rabbit,” said Jean. Seconds later, a massive kudu, with magnificent, long, deep, spiraled horns, bounded through the bush about 25 yards away. By the time I shouldered the Sako, he’d gone.
We followed the blood trail for over two miles. The kudu was never visible, but we knew he was aware of us. He would stop, watching his backtrack, and a denser blood splatter would form. The ground was only slightly hilly, but strewn with loose, ankle-twisting rocks, preventing Hunter and us from gaining speed to close the gap for one more shot. Sadly, the blood-trail crossed over an adjoining property fence line.
I imagine that kudu from time to time, browsing on the hillsides, a scar on his flank where a bullet had annoyed him one day.
A Namibian safari offers much opportunity, and regardless of inches of horn, you are ever-grateful when trophies are earned. Jean explained that animals sometimes “shock drop” to non-lethal wounds. Remember PH Tomkinson’s words. You take what is offered, if you earn it.
I’ll heed Africa’s call again, entrusting a “Visited and Verified” outfitter.
And that first night back will be like a welcome home.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”12653,12654,12655,12656,12657″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
