The Fourth Time Around

Zimbabwe: March 2011
Volume : 19.2 

 

 

The Fourth Time Around

This hunt was actually never supposed to take place until such time as we unloaded a couple of houses that we had got stuck with in California.

At the age of 72 I’m not getting any younger, so my wife decided that it would be a good time for us to do the elephant hunt now rather than wait and just see what happened about the houses. In my mind, it looked as though the real estate market was never going to improve. So I decided to go ahead and start checking for the proper outfitter. I had three in mind, and e-mailed all three of them, but only one responded within 24 hours, so I continued to communicate with that one until such time as we had everything basically settled and satisfied in my mind. The hunt was to take place in Zimbabwe at the end of March. It was a 10-day hunt, and we made our flight reservations with Gracie Travel Agency.

The four flights over were miserable as usual, but we made it safe and sound and were greeted by our outfitter Buzz from C&M safaris, who took us to a B&B for our first night. We were picked up the following morning by our professional hunter, Richie Tabor, and taken to our camp.

Next morning we woke to a beautiful day. We had an absolutely fantastic breakfast and at noon our PH arrived, and we left Harare for our camp. After a 3 ½-hour trip we went to the range to make sure that my handguns were still properly sighted in. My main handgun was a .454 Casull, shooting the 320-grain belt mountain punch bullet with a fiber-optic front sight and an express rear. My back-up gun was my Encore in .450 Marlin, shooting a 500-grain Hornady solid. This gun has a 2x-7x scope.

Folmar-PicAfter we made sure everything was OK, the PH took us out in the vehicle for a tour of the property. It was at the end of the rainy season and the bush was absolutely green, lush and thick. I could see we were going to have a hard time to see our targets because of the thickness of the bush. Daily routine was pretty much the same each day – a light breakfast and coffee in the morning, go out and look for tracks, back around 10 to 11 o’clock for a light lunch and nap, and then back out until dusk, at which time we returned to camp and had an hour or so to relax before dinner was ready. I have to say that the food was absolutely delicious and the South African red wines were the best that I’ve ever tasted. Deena and I couldn’t wait for dinnertime.

I made it a habit each breakfast and dinner to ensure that my PH knew that my true desire was for him to join in and be part of the hunting team. If he was absolutely not positive that my first shot was a one-shot kill, I wanted him to step in and use that double rifle that he was carrying for something other than just resting over his shoulder. The laws in Africa are quite clear. If you put a bullet hole in your trophy you are morally, legally, financially and ethically responsible for that animal – needless to say, I wanted this hunt to be successful. When I spend this kind of money on a hunt, I definitely want success. Sorry folks, but that’s exactly the way I feel about it.

I found it to be a very physical hunt for me as I wasn’t properly in shape. The kind of exercise that I have been doing at home was definitely not the kind to get you into the shape you need to be in for the amount of walking that we were doing on a day-to-day basis. However, Deena was in perfect shape. She works out on a treadmill and had no problems whatsoever maneuvering any of the obstacles that we ran into. We hunted for eight days before we finally were successful, and during those eight days we had stalked at least four separate groups of elephants.

Folmar-tusksOn the eighth day we finally closed in on seven different bull elephants. I knew that this was the time. My PH put up the shooting sticks and I mounted my Encore in .450 Marlin on top. I was so excited that I didn’t even realize that somewhere along the way my duffel bag was not with us. This, of course, would make my shot go at least three inches higher than what I wanted it to. I wasn’t smart enough to compensate for that, and I only stunned the elephant. My PH was on the ball and saw immediately what had happened, and he fired one shot. The elephant had staggered with my shot, but regained its footing and turned and started to run away. We never did find out where my PH’s shot had gone – he took off in front of me and I couldn’t fire a second shot even though I had reloaded. I heard another shot from him and was running after the bull, and when I came out of the bush I saw the elephant was down.

As I approached the downed elephant I saw that my PH had shot it in the tailbone and had paralyzed it. I thought for a moment that it was finally all over, but my PH was a little antsy and grabbed me by the hand and pulled me around and told me he wanted me to shoot the elephant in the side of the head, and pointed to an exact spot. This time he wanted me to use my main handgun, the .454 Casull. I shot as he had said. The bull, which had still been alive, was now dead with that shot. My PH slapped me on the back and said,” perfect.” I realized that I had just achieved my main hunting goal. Eight full days of hunting to get on the shooting sticks, and in three minutes or less it was all over.

Day 9 was spent with the elephant retrieval. Some outfitters allow the local natives to come in and retrieve what meat they want from the elephant, but C&M prefers to have the entire camp staff retrieve all meat from the elephant and deliver it personally to the local villagers. After we had taken the trophies that we desired, the rest of the camp staff stayed behind and reduced the elephant into four separate truckloads and delivered the protein to the individual villages that had been raided by the elephants on prior nights. When the camp staff had finished doing their job, there was absolutely nothing left of that elephant but a spot on the ground, and to say that the smiles on the villagers’ faces were as big as our smiles, was definitely an understatement.Folmar-Elephant

On Day 10 we went out hunting for plains game, but to no avail. Saw plenty of sign, but no sable, so we went back to camp and started getting ready to return home. The return home was, as usual, 35 hours of hell.

But my wife and I had a ball on this hunting trip. We would not have missed any part of it for anything in the world. The only problem now is, what do we do for that fifth time around?

Bio: Edward and Deena have been handgun hunting since 1992. They have been to Africa four times. They are retired but hope to go back to Spear Safaris in 2014 for hippo if, as Edward says, “I can still squeeze a trigger, as at 74 I’m not as spry as I used to be.”

Am I Dreaming ?

South Africa: 2009
Volume : 19.2

 

 

AM I DREAMING ?

I have just boarded my flight on South African Airlines in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. In another thirty hours I will be back home in Alberta, Canada. I cannot believe that my lifelong dream of seeing and hunting a part of Africa is now coming to an end.

After many years of just talking about hunting in Africa, finally it became a reality. While at the 2009 SCI convention in Reno I met Andrew Pringle and Chris Broster of Crusader Safaris. After talking to these guys it did not take long to know that this was the hunt I was looking for. First, they specialized in the spiral-horned animals and second, and the most important to my style of hunting, was it was all free range where they had access to over 900,000 acres.

A mere two months after the convention I was on my way to Johannesburg. After a phenomenal three-day sight-seeing tour of Kruger National Park I continued on to Durban. This city is situated on the beautiful coastline of the Indian Ocean. I would start my adventure in the Natal region where we would focus on bushbuck, nyala, and my number one priority, the southern greater kudu.

Hilten-LodgeThere would be another two hunters in camp with me for the first hunt of the season, Jim from New Jersey and Joe from Louisiana. The country was stunning: steep hills and quite heavily vegetated due to the time of year. From a high vantage point I could see the countryside was dotted with sugar cane fields and orange orchards. We hunted mornings and evenings and, just like the animals, we would seek out the coolness of the shade during the middle of the day. For us, it was our comfortable camp situated in the riverbottom.

Throughout the next week we passed on quite a few nice animals and also saw some that were what we were looking for, but for some reason or another we were unable to connect. Andrew was being quite picky and had me hold off on some nice animals! I guess that is a good thing when you are trophy hunting.

My luck took a turn for the better early one morning. We had just left camp after a light breakfast and a stout cup of coffee. It was a female bushbuck we saw first, moving quickly through an opening. On her tail was a ram that, after one quick look, Andrew told me to take! I had no time to really get excited, as the ram would soon disappear into the thick bush. A quick, offhand shot at sixty yards, and I had successfully taken my first African animal.

I did not know much about bushbuck before I came on this hunt but in a short few days I developed a strong respect for them. The country they live in and their uncanny ability to disappear into thin air makes them a very worthy quarry.

We just had enough time to take some nice field photos before the sky opened up, soaking us with a heavy downpour. A nice change from the hot days that we had been having. I had to pinch myself. Is this really happening? Am I really hunting in Africa?

Hilten-GemsbokWe were now going into the last day of our hunt at this camp and then the next day we would be driving to another camp in the Eastern Cape. Joe and Jim had taken bushbuck, nyala, and kudu by this time. Jim’s kudu was a huge bull measuring close to 60”! I was struggling, and not because of lack of animals or trying – it was just my turn to really earn my next animal.

The plot thickened when, only two hours into the morning hunt, I had my chance at a nice kudu bull. We came into a clearing and noticed a lone bull watching us from about two hundred yards away. I had to move ten yards to get a rest on a tree. In my scope I clearly remember seeing the bull whirling for the safety of the bush fractions of a second before the trigger broke. A clean miss! There went the chance I had been waiting for. At this point, with only an afternoon left to hunt at this camp I accepted the fact that if I was going to have another opportunity at a kudu it would have to be at the next camp in the Eastern Cape.

I think hunters as a whole tend to analyze the hunt too much. I am definitely guilty of this! Just when I thought I had my last chance, the table turned. It was still early in the afternoon when the back half of a bull kudu materialized from the bush in front of our eyes. I could not see the bull’s head from my position and had to rely on Andrew to give me the green light. It was music to my ears to hear Andrew say, “shoot!” At the shot the bull disappeared and soon the bush was silent. We immediately put Andrew’s Jack Russell terrier on the trail and in no time he was barking excitedly. The old bull had expired within sixty yards.

It seemed as if time stood still. After many hours of looking, stalks that did not work out, and even passing on bulls that were larger, this bull was perfect. Huge-bodied with heavy, coal- black horns that carried their mass right out to the tips. The best part was that after spending much time pursuing him, I had developed an appreciation for an animal whose habits and abilities were unknown to me prior to the hunt. That part of the experience you cannot savor when you tag out on the first day!

The next day we were on the road to the Eastern Cape. I was on cloud nine, and if my hunt was over at this point I would have been more than satisfied. Fortunately for me we were just getting ready for the second half!

We arrived at the newly built lodge located on Andrew’s family’s land in the Baviaan River Conservancy. Here Andrew and Chris made Jim, Joe and myself feel right at home with comfortable beds, hot showers, and awesome, home-cooked meals.

Andrew and Chris set me up with Schalk who guides for Crusader Safaris full time. This guy was a riot and definitely knew how to give the critters a ride home in the bed of a Toyota, if you know what I mean.

Within a couple of days Schalk and I were in the thick of things. We were in the middle of about twenty gemsbok that had just seen us. There were animals going everywhere! Gemsboks are a species where both the males and females have similar sized horns. With everything happening in a hurry, to a rookie like me seeing live gemsbok for the first time, almost every animal looked like a candidate. Thanks to Schalk’s experience he got me focused on two bulls emerging rapidly from the brush one hundred yards in front of us. I locked the crosshairs on the biggest bull and when he came to a stop, I squeezed the trigger. The bull was hit perfect and expired quickly. After celebrating our success we took some field photos that would preserve the moment for a lifetime.

Hilten-Kudu

To me the gemsbok have one of the most stunning capes of the African animals. The contrasting black and white facial markings make them a beautiful animal regardless of the size of their horns.

As the trip wound down, I topped it off by taking a dandy Eastern Cape kudu. These bulls are usually slightly smaller in body and horn size compared with their relatives in the Natal region. This animal as well has a gorgeous cape, a rich, chocolate brown.

As quick as the hunt transpired, it was now coming to an end. Many people had told me to wait until I was older to hunt Africa, do the hard and physically demanding hunts while you are young. Being in my early thirties I am no stranger to tough mountain hunting but I am glad I did not wait until I was older to experience a small piece of what Africa has to offer. None of us know how much time we will get to fulfil our worldly dreams!

I would like to thank Andrew Pringle, his girlfriend Julie, and Chris and Melinda Broster of Crusader Safaris for a trip of a lifetime and making my dreams of hunting in Africa become a reality. I think there is a pretty good chance they will have to put up with this Canadian in their camp for another hunt sometime in the near future!


André is 32 years old and the owner of Willow Creek Outfitters in Alberta Canada. He has been active in the guiding industry for 15 years throughout western Canada, New Zealand and a few states in the USA. His trip to Africa was his first guided hunt and he was completely impressed by the professionalism of his outfitter, Crusader Safaris, which he ranks amongst the best he has ever worked with.

Safari In The Limpopo Province

RSA : 2009
Volume : 19.2

 

 

Safari In The Limpopo Province

The last time I hunted Africa – a trip to the north-eastern region of Namibia – I had added three species not previously taken: oryx or gemsbok, red hartebeest, and common springbok, as well as a very handsome greater kudu that, along with one I had taken on a Botswana hunt nearly twenty years ago in the Okavango, was nice, but neither had particularly long horns. So on my latest sojourn to the Dark Continent, kudu was again on the menu, but only if its horns had grown to a certain length.

We all like good trophies, and for kudu a good bull starts at around 50 inches. The very lucky kudu hunter may find one of sixty-plus inches but it may take years, if ever. This business of the inches can get a little interesting at times as I found out one day in Botswana when I asked my PH, Willie, to put a tape to a nice impala I had just taken on the first day of the hunt. Willie promptly suggested that if my primary interest was in running around measuring things, he would be more than happy to produce a certain anatomical appendage for measurement! Slightly taken aback, I declined and thought better of taping the animal. Later when he had cooled off a bit, I asked for an explanation, which was simply that he didn’t like guys coming to Africa to shoot stuff just to get their name in a book. I agreed. Getting into “the book” should be a lesser concern than having a good, fair-chase hunt.

Anyway, I had told my PH Phil de Kock of Bosbok Safaris, Limpopo Province, that if I were going to shoot a kudu on this 10-day trip it must be fifty or better, or I would pass. The kudu was one of three primary animals that was the goal of the trip to South Africa, my first actual hunting trip to this large and beautiful country. The main focus was hunting a couple of my favorites, the spiral horns: nyala and bushbuck as well as the kudu.

Certain realities apply to South African hunting, fences being one. Most properties, whether large or small, are game-fenced. Unlike the large government concessions common to some other countries, most of the game is owned and managed by the landowner. Because some properties have some of the more rare species, the landowner may have paid a considerable amount for certain animals and does not want anything to happen to them outside his control. On Bosbok where I was hunting I was most surprised and pleased to encounter a small herd of white rhino on the first morning of hunting. Later we also ran across a small resident herd of Cape buffalo. Neither of these animals is hunted on any of the properties that we hunted on but it was fun to bump into them periodically.

Stoppelman-LodgeFor once the trip to southern Africa was relatively trouble-free and I arrived on time, via Johannesburg, at Polokwane Airport where Phil picked me up for the 45-minute drive to their new lodge and a very comfortable, roomy chalet with thatched roof, hot and cold running water and a steel safe for my valuables.

As is usual for me, a couple of days were spent trying to get my act together after all the flying which leaves me pretty-well messed up and, consequently, I don’t seem to function well right off. On the first day on a very windy hillside I missed a fairly easy shot at a blesbok, and the next day shot poorly on a waterbuck that, unfortunately, was not recovered during my stay. After another day of hunting without result we headed to another property a couple of hours away specifically to hunt nyala, my main quarry.

The cover-loving nyala is a particularly attractive animal that looks like a cross between a bushbuck and a small kudu, as they have both stripes and spots on their hide and, like kudu, they are grey/brown in color, but they also have legs of almost orange with white and black markings. Add to that a mane, both a chest and belly ruff, and you really have something a little different. The horns of a mature nyala can grow to just over thirty inches for the very lucky hunter in the right area. After scouting this nyala area for a while and seeing a few females, a one-horned bull and a couple of others in the thicket, our tracker Nelson and the resident tracker from that property pointed out a good-looking bull in the forest, and we began a stalk. After a few minutes of slowly putting one foot in front of the other our trackers motioned us down as the bull was sighted a little over a hundred yards away with just enough of a hole in the thicket to thread a bullet. Phil offered me his shoulder as a rest and, steadying the Ruger 77 .338 Win magnum, I spotted the bull in the Zeiss scope and took the shot quickly as we had already been busted.

As I recovered from recoil the shot had looked good, but as things aren’t always as they seem it was reassuring when Phil and the trackers were offering handshakes and backslaps. A shoulder shot had felled him where he stood. Now that’s how things are supposed to go! We quickly moved up to where my bull lay and I marveled at this awesome animal, my first nyala. The Hornady 225-grain Interbond bullet had gone on through both shoulders without opening up much, as the exit hole was caliber-sized.

Stoppelman-BlesbokLater that afternoon back on the main property where the blesbok had been playing silly buggers with me, we put a short stalk on a very good buck and put him down cleanly, thankfully ending my embarrassing run of blesbok follies, and bringing to a close about as perfect a day of African hunting as one could ask for.

Next up was bushbuck or bosbok from which the company takes it name. These are dainty little antelope with colors and spots that vary according to particular sub-species based largely on geographics, and in this area they are Limpopo bushbuck. We had been hunting them from the beginning and had seen a few, but usually just glimpses as the little creatures are quite wary and swift. Then while we were hunting in tall grass and reeds near a dry creek bed – classic bushbuck country – late one afternoon, a female bushbuck stepped out of a thicket and slowly made her way to another, apparently unaware of our presence, so we all froze. Then from behind her stepped a nice male. Phil was looking it over in his binos and hadn’t actually given the go-ahead, but the buck’s horns looked good, so I pulled the trigger with the buck no more than 40 yards distant and he fell quickly to a high shoulder shot. He was a very decent specimen with both horns going a little over 13 inches and with an unusually dark coat that Phil admired, so he now owns the back-skin.

With two of my spiral horn goal accomplished and plenty of time to hunt we began to focus in earnest on big kudu for which we had been looking all along. We saw kudu daily, but the weather was a factor with lots of cold and breezy conditions which the animals don’t like and they were loath to settle down.

KUDU HUNT

On Day Seven we were driving along in the Toyota pick-up one frosty morning when the trackers in the back tapped on the roof to indicate they had seen something, but what? Kudu bull, that’s what!

After creeping slowly along for around twenty minutes, Phil and the trackers dropped to a crouch as did I. Phil pointed up the hill around 100 yards and said there was a big bull browsing on some bushes. He offered his shoulder to allow for a steady position to find the bull in the scope. At first all I could see was the head and horns with deep curls. Slowly the body of the bull began to take shape and Phil said, “Take him now, off of his shoulder.” Once again the .338 spoke, and at the shot all hell seemed to break loose with kudu running everywhere when two other previously unknown smaller bulls broke cover! At the distance and shaded position of the bull it was hard to be absolutely certain of the shot, but the sight picture in my mind showed the crosshairs low on the shoulder. We split into groups to look for blood, and after a few minutes of this and not finding any sign doubt began to rear its ugly head. Had I missed this bull or, worse, wounded him? Still, I kept thinking the shot had looked good so where was he? While with Phil we heard a slight whistle from some yards back and Phil said the trackers had found something. In a couple of minutes we caught up with Nelson and Liza and they were standing very nonchalantly over something in the tall grass. As we approached it became clear they were standing next to my dead kudu! One would have thought they were taking afternoon tea! As we began to admire the bull, Phil said, “He is not quite as big as I had thought.”

Oh great! So out came the tape. We taped the bull’s right horn at 49 ¾ inches – a good start, the left horn came in at 51 ¼ inches. Now we’re talking! Even though there were barely two turns to the horns, the depth of curl mentioned earlier made the difference. A subsequent, more deliberate, measurement showed the shorter horn to be right at 50 inches. This may not be the most handsome bull we had seen but he definitely met the criteria. I later playfully chided the trackers for not singing out more enthusiastically when they found the bull. They just grinned and giggled.

Stoppelman-Kudu

With that out of the way, the next day was spent looking for lesser critters like jackal and duiker which up till then had been standing around posing for pictures but now seemed to have vanished. So the following day we bagged hunting in favor of a road trip to the north of the country for a little sightseeing at the Mapungubwe National Park where one can see the confluence of two rivers, the Shashe and the Limpopo of Kipling fame, though the Shashe was dry at the time. At the border crossing station of Point Drift where the Limpopo River is all that separates one from Botswana we were down close enough to the river to tell that, on this day, it was not the “great, grey-green, greasy Limpopo” – rather it was the mostly brown-muddy and covered with motor oil-sheen Limpopo. No doubt in Kipling’s time his description was more accurate.

The last day of the hunt was again spent in pursuit of duiker and such, and for one missed shot on a far-off jackal it was uneventful, but the goals set for this trip had been realized and I could return home content with memories of a good hunt in good company. Great food and companionship with a knowledgeable PH can really make the difference on a hunt, and neither was lacking at Bosbok.

RIFLE SCOPE AND AMMO

On this trip I chose to use an original Ruger M-77 (1968 model) of the tang safety style in .338 Win Mag. It shot well using a hand-load consisting of Hornady’s 225-grain Interbond bullet ahead of 70 grains of Alliant’s Reloder 19 in Winchester cases. It shot MOA out to 300 yards and was consistent. The load is somewhat less than maximum, as I reasoned that all of the mighty .338’s power and recoil would be unnecessary for this hunt. At 2600 fps it still yields 3400 ft/lbs of muzzle energy, plenty for plains game. The rifle was topped with an excellent Zeiss Conquest 3-9 X 50 scope. These scopes are assembled in the USA using German parts and they are a true bargain in the scope world.

Only two bullets were recovered on this hunt. One was taken from the backbone of the blesbok which I had given as a finisher as he wobbled from the initial lung shot. The other was found pushing the offside shoulder of the kudu after breaking the nearside shoulder. These two bullets only retained about 50 per cent of their original weight but obviously did the job as did the others which all penetrated completely.

Scott is a freelance gun/hunting writer here with over 30 articles published primarily in GunWorld magazine but also in Small Arms Review, Tactical Gear, Gun Digest and the Handloaders Digest. He is 57 years old, married with two children, and has been writing for about six years. For most of his life he has worked on or around boats, mostly tugboats that I sailed on, or commercial fishing boats which he worked on as a shipwright in repair. Besides Africa, he has hunted Alaska, Montana, Idaho and in Washington. This was his fifth safari, having hunted in Tanzania, Botswana, Zimbabwe and Namibia previously.

In the Zone

South Africa: 2011
Volume: 18.1

 

 

In the Zone

Before my safari to South Africa, I’d only hunted Ontario and Alberta Canada, but Africa was by far my most desired location.

What finally made up my mind to go was when my future mother–in–law got me a subscription to African Hunting Gazette. I found the stories so inspiring as they took me away to a far–off land with plenty of game – but a dream that I wanted to pay for myself. So I began investing in the stock market during one of the worst recessions ever! With a lot of patience, I had enough money in just over two years to pay for me and my fiancée, Holly, to go.

I did a lot of research into outfitters, talking to friends and going online. But I needed more. So I went with Holly to AHG’s African Hunting Show. After much searching and deliberation, I decided upon Cruiser Safaris, located in the Limpopo Province after checking to see that they were a member of PHASA and SCI. For me, these two memberships were a must! They were also amazingly affordable. I had my doubts about getting what I paid – that perhaps trophy quality would not be up to my standards. But, as it turned out, this was, in fact, one of those amazing deals!

So, at 27 years old, on 9 September 2011, we headed out around 2.00 p.m. primarily in search of kudu. Adding to the challenge, the landowner was very restrictive as to which areas of the property we could shoot in, as he mainly tailored to archery hunters. We saw some really nice bulls, but they always seemed to know where the no–shooting zones were and had no problem looking at us as we drove by. It was only Day 3 of the 10–day hunt, and Craig assured me that we’d get our kudu. I also knew from previous outings that other properties we’d hunted on also had trophy kudu. Just none had presented a shot. Putting full faith in PH Craig, I would have to be patient.

On this safari, Dean also collected impala, zebra, bushbuck, waterbuck and gemsbok. His fiancée, Holly, also took a very nice gemsbok as recounted in 'Huntress Diana' in AHG 17.4.On this safari, Dean also collected impala, zebra, bushbuck, waterbuck and gemsbok. His fiancée, Holly, also took a very nice gemsbok as recounted in “Huntress Diana” in AHG 17.4.

I had six animals on my list, but my dream was the majestic Grey Ghost, the kudu. For that, Pieter Lamprecht, the owner of Cruiser Safaris advised, “Shot placement is far more important than knockdown power. If you can’t place the shot well… the extra energy won’t do you any good.” I decided to bring my Remington Model 700 chambered in .308 Winchester and would be shooting the 150–grain Winchester Supreme Elite XP3. I’d also brought my .300 WSM, but I wasn’t shooting nearly as well with it, so the .308 won the day. Craig was a great guy who definitely knew his way around the bushveld.

As evening drew near, the kudu all seemed to be congregated near the waterholes – that happened to be near the archery blinds. We came across one waterhole in a no–shooting zone that had 12 kudu standing by it and most were really nice bulls, magnificent beasts.

We finally came across another small herd of six kudu that were standing in the road within about 500 yards from the boundary of the no–shooting zone. We tried to chase them towards the boundary, but they vanished into the bushes and we lost their tracks before we could even come close to getting a chance at them. One of them was a shooter bull for sure.

We drove around some more not seeing a lot we could shoot, but I was still hopeful.

We eventually came to a T–junction in a shooting zone. We looked down the road to the right and saw three nice but smaller kudu bulls, but they ran off into the bushes to our left. We slowly drove to where they had been standing. I was very excited at the prospect that there might be something bigger lurking in the bushes. As we neared their location, we saw a good kudu bull about 85 yards farther into the bushes, not one of the original three, as we could still see them in the bushes heading towards this bigger bull. Craig devised a plan to use the truck as a shield to cover our movements. The truck slowed down while he and I got out on the opposite side. Craig took a look with his binoculars from behind the moving truck and determined that it was a shooter bull. We set up on the shooting sticks as the truck slowly moved off.

At first, I didn’t have a shot – we had to move the shooting sticks ever so slightly to the right to present a clearer shot. With the brush mostly out of the way, this was better, but I still had a problem. About 20 yards in front of the kudu, there was a big Y–shaped branch that went right across the kudu’s chest and covered the exact spot on its shoulder where I wanted to aim. This created a very small shooting hole that was lower on the body but still presented a vital shot. Craig told me to shoot it right on the shoulder. This is where shot placement counted. I aimed for this spot and fired.

I heard the bullet smack the kudu and it took off running. I quickly reloaded and was just about to shoot again when Craig told me to hold off, as he wasn’t sure I’d hit it. He didn’t want to chance me wounding it on the run if I hadn’t already hit it. I said that I thought I had hit it, but wasn’t 100 % sure, as the bullet very easily could have hit a tree behind it and made the same sound.

At the sound of the gunshot, the dog leaped out of the truck and came running over to us, then made a 90–degree turn and headed off in the direction of the kudu. But Craig called him back, as we didn’t want to risk his getting too far ahead of us. We then waited for the tracker to come to our position before pursuing.

We went into the bush to where we thought the kudu had been standing. We found its tracks and began looking for blood. After following the tracks for about 50 yards, it was beginning to look as though I didn’t hit it. I started replaying all the events in my mind. How could I have missed? Did that branch psych me out and cause me to miss? I was starting to kick myself but was also glad that Craig had stopped me from taking that second shot. Craig was almost at the point of calling off the search and deeming it a clean miss when the tracker finally found a couple of small drops of blood. At least the bullet had made contact, but with such a narrow shooting window, I was worried that I had simply grazed the bull.

Craig showed the blood to the dog and he took off, following the blood trail. We followed as quickly as we could with the dog barking the whole time. Definitely one of the best traits of a bluetick/bloodhound cross. Craig had left his .375 H&H back at the truck, so I agreed to let him take my .308 in case I had trouble keeping up and finishing the kudu if necessary. At this point, I wanted that kudu so badly that I would do anything to get it, including giving my PH my rifle.

Canadian hunter Dean Price paid for his first African safari by investing his own money in the stock market during the last recession - with no help from family or friends - proof of what determination can do. 'Africa was by far my first choice of all destinations.'Canadian hunter Dean Price paid for his first African safari by investing his own money in the stock market during the last recession – with no help from family or friends – proof of what determination can do. “Africa was by far my first choice of all destinations.”

Though I was in really good shape, I soon felt out of breath – the air was so thick and dusty that it was causing my dust allergies to act up. Determined, I persevered and kept up with the dog as best I could. Suddenly, the dog’s barks changed pitch. He had found the kudu. I wasn’t sure if it was dead or alive, and we went from a hefty run to full–out sprint. I could finally see a patch of grey movement just on the other side of some brush, though I couldn’t see the dog through the branches and tall grass.
I wanted to shoot from where we were, but Craig wanted to get closer. With the kudu fixated on the dog, we crept slowly up to the animal to get a clearer shot. As we approached it, the kudu spotted us. As it turned, it curled its tail and ran almost straight away. I hesitated only for a split second. I didn’t want to shoot the dog and I didn’t want to shoot the bull in the rump and waste meat. But then I remembered that I was trophy hunting and not meat hunting, so took aim and shot the kudu in its left buttocks as it bounded away into the bushes. The dog again pursued and again we followed.

Nearly out of breath, we finally came to where the dog had the kudu cornered again. I had a mediocre shot at best from where we stopped. Again, Craig wanted to get closer. We crept down lower to the ground this time, and sneaked up on it until I finally had a clear shot. I put the crosshairs right on the left shoulder and fired. The kudu turned, took about three steps with its horns wavering, and then it crashed down.

Craig congratulated me on a job well done, and with being able to keep up to him and the dog. In all the hunting I’ve done, I have never had to move like that before! These animals are very tough, and this was a much–deserved prize.

Craig measured the horns to be about 47½”. Then he and the tracker went back for the truck. When Craig returned he said: “Dip en dee bos” – Afrikaans for “Deep in the bush.” Even after taking photos, I was still trying to catch my breath.

On the way back to camp we saw a brown hyena – quite rare to see them, and this was the second one we’d seen on this safari so far! I arrived back at camp just before dark with the biggest smile on my face, and celebrated at dinner with a nice glass of red wine the most memorable hunt I will ever experience. I will definitely be returning to the great continent of Africa one day, hopefully, in the near future.

On my safari, I also took gemsbok, impala, zebra, bushbuck and waterbuck. Holly also took a very nice gemsbok, which was bigger than mine. The story of that hunt she recounted in “Huntress Diana” in AHG 17.4. But we will return to Africa and, perhaps, my gemsbok will be bigger than hers!


Dean has hunted just about everything from woodcock to black bear since he was 15 years old. He got his love of hunting from his father who had always wanted to go to Africa, but unfortunately could never afford it. Dean paid for this safari by investing his own money in the stock market during the last recession – with no help from family or friends – proof of what determination can do. “Africa was by far my first choice of all destinations.”

Talking Drums and Bongo Hunting from the book Campfire Tales

Volume : 19.2

 

 

Talking Drums and Bongo Hunting from the book Campfire Tales

I was on safari in the extreme north of what was then known as Zaire, now the Democratic Republic of the Congo. My client and I were traveling by bicycle down a well-defined path that ran parallel with the border of Zaire and Sudan. This area was known as Azande, after the local Paramount Chief Azande, ruler of a vast area of northeastern Zaire. Our temporary hunting camp had originally been located in one of the guesthouses in the large village where Azande lived with his fifty wives — yes, fifty. And he had 109 children! I actually counted them on one occasion — the chief was celebrating some special event, and all of his living children were present. I counted the entire lot as they lined up to congratulate their father.

We subsequently reestablished our main camp some five miles down the main road toward Isiro. It was much quieter in the forest there, and it felt much more like a hunting camp than had our brief stay in the main village.

It was February 1972, and it is difficult for me to describe just how remote and primitive everything was in that part of Zaire. This entire area had been virtually abandoned by the world since the disgrace of the fighting between the Zaire government and the rebel forces that had ravaged the entire country. The main road from Isiro, the provincial capital, was a joke. It took an hour to travel six miles. There was absolutely no infrastructure for the local population. No schools, no hospitals—nothing. The whole country north of Isiro had reverted to the subsistence-level village life that existed before the coming of the white man and his colonial government. It was as if the entire nation had retreated one hundred years.

I jokingly called our company the Southern Sudan Bicycling and Bongo Association. The reason? We used bicycles as our main form of transport into the remote areas along the Sudan border. The roads put in during the colonial times had long since deteriorated into hopeless disrepair. There was, however, a good system of paths that connected the various villages. The villagers used these well-defined and cleared paths to travel from one small rural community to another.

The surprising number of bicycles in the area indicated to me that the people must have been quite prosperous at one time. I came from Zambia, and there, bicycle ownership and use were a sure indicator that the community was well off by current standards. Most of the bicycles were made in either India or China, meaning that they had been imported and purchased since the Congo became independent in 1961. These cheaper bicycles would not have been imported during colonial rule. Back then, only European-manufactured bicycles were imported.

Most of the paths were wide enough for a bike rider to speed along the low, sloping hills that led to the frontier. Here and there small rivers crossed the paths, and travelers had to ford the streams. Larger, deeper streams were crossed using large trees that had been felled across them. The top side of each crossing tree would be cleared of branches and then planed flat using a large adz. The traveler had to balance the bicycle over his or her shoulder and then carefully walk across the narrow “bridge.” These bridges were only twelve to eighteen inches wide and sometimes as long as forty feet, so balance was very important indeed!

My clients and I carried our hunting rifles strapped under the seat, on one side of the bicycle frame. The straps were strips of rubber cut out of old inner tubes from bicycle and car tires. Above the bike’s rear fender would be a package containing a second set of hunting clothes, a toothbrush, and any other toiletries that we required.

Normally, three of our group rode bicycles. The bulk of our camping gear and food was carried by foot porters who followed us. The entire entourage would regroup later at prearranged village locations. The bike riders included the client and me, plus Jeeves, my Sudanese interpreter and general factotum. I never learned Jeeves’s real name, but his nickname suited him admirably. He really believed that he was a gentleman born to serve visiting sportsmen. His English and French were quite good, and because he had been born just over the border, he was fluent in Zande and Lingala, the local languages. Jeeves was a hilarious character. He never failed to amaze me with his pretentious airs and his intimate knowledge of the Zande people.

In the classic way of most Third World guides, if he did not know the real answer to any question, he would simply make up an answer that he thought the questioner might like. If the truth was not good news or Jeeves feared the questioner might not want to hear it, the answer would be modified to make it more satisfactory. Questions like “How far is it?” and “Is it nearby?” should never be asked of anyone like Jeeves. His untruthful but encouraging answers simply provided the basis for future conflict.

I found this especially true with the current client. Despite my warnings and requests not to do so, the client persisted in asking Jeeves how far it was to the next stopping point. Though Jeeves had never been along the path before, he would cheerfully reply that it was not far now or that we would soon be there. This cockeyed information had the immediate effect of making the client a bit happier. An hour later, when it became obvious that Jeeves had again lied, the effect was quite the opposite. What the client wanted was for the journey to end. I could not make the path any shorter, and misinformation from Jeeves just made the whole thing worse.

Of course, I never really had any idea how far it was either. The reason for this lack of information was twofold: One, I had never been there before; two, I did not know where we were going! We were following (or attempting to follow) instructions from Jeeves (who had never been there either) to the best, the greatest, the most famous bongo hunting area in the world. The bongo were as common as birds, and all had huge horns. They wandered about in herds in broad daylight among the forest fingers. We would hunt in this paradise just as soon as we arrived. This fantastic information came from Jeeves, who had obtained it from the other real character in our group, the tracker I named Mad Jack.

Mad Jack’s real name was Jacques something; I could not even pronounce his surname let alone spell it. He was the official meat hunter for Paramount Chief Azande. He was completely crazy—in a nice way. I finally discovered, after a month with him, that his craziness was due entirely to the prodigious quantities of pure hashish that he smoked every day all day.

Mad Jack was a runner—he hardly ever walked. As we rode through the forest edges on our bicycles, it was not unusual for Mad Jack to pass us on foot. He would streak by, and then we would catch up with him at the next place where he decided to rest. Jack’s ability to run was absolutely astounding. In fact, the question, “What makes Mad Jack run?” took on special meaning when I finally determined that what fueled him was the hashish. So there we were, finally, in the jungle, with Jeeves and Mad Jack as our mentors and guides. The vegetation was fascinating. For the most part, we were hunting along the edges of long, thin, fingerlike extensions of rain forest created when the vegetation followed the smaller river valleys out of the main watershed, growing along the permanent water. Each of these smaller streams seemed to create its own miniclimate.

The fingers varied in width from over half a mile at their juncture with the main forest to only a hundred yards or so just before they petered out for lack of water. Elephant grass grew on the low hills around the small valleys containing the streams. At the dry time of year, this grass was burned by the villagers or by naturally occurring fires. During the time we hunted there, it was only six to ten inches high. From time to time, however, we would come across a patch of grass that had not been exposed to the seasonal fires, and it was quite something to see—up to ten feet tall with stems as thick as a man’s finger.

It was called elephant grass because when it was mature, only elephants would have the strength to push their way through the stuff. I assumed that elephants were the animals that opened the pathways through this grass used by the other creatures that lived in the area.

A very well-defined edge marked the place where the grass met the forest fingers. Usually, a game trail ran just along the edge between the grass and the forest, obviously used by all the animals living both in the forest and out in the grasslands. The grassland antelopes would use the paths on their way to water in the valley bottoms, and the forest antelopes appeared to use the paths regularly when they ventured out into the open.

I often wondered what grassland antelopes such as waterbucks and hartebeests did when the elephant grass was fully grown. Perhaps there were patches of shorter grass well away from the forest fingers. This must have been the case, for no ordinary antelope can live for months on end in a sea of ten-foot-high grass. I never saw any of these shorter-grass areas in Zaire, but I was to see many of them years later along similar forest fingers in the Ivory Coast and in the Central African Republic.

On this particular safari, my client and I had finally passed through the larger forest fingers and were well up on the watershed toward the Sudan border when I decided to stop and take a rest. We were just outside a small village, so I suggested we carry on into the village, where we would try to talk to the locals about the animals to be found nearby.

We walked our bicycles slowly into the village and soon found the large center-round, thatched-roofed mud house that belonged to the headman. It was midday and the headman was napping under the eaves of his house. He woke and cordially greeted us. I have often wondered why these native folk never seem to show any surprise. Here we were, two white men on bicycles in the middle of nowhere, and this chap acted as if we were the norm for his midday visitors. I would be surprised, indeed, if ten white men had entered that small village since the beginning of time.

The headman asked where we were going. Fortunately, Mad Jack had appeared and was able to give him some vague idea of our destination. I could just make out his comments that the area we were heading for was crawling with bongos, and apparently was not very far off. Both the headman and Mad Jack insisted that it would be less than one hour’s travel to our hunting place, so I felt safe in telling the client that it would be two hours. If I was wrong, it would be a pleasant surprise.

After a short while we decided to get on our way. We had explained our mission to the headman, and he had said we could sleep in the next village. He added that we could also hunt from there—it was the last village before we would reach the uninhabited border area.

As we were leaving the village, drums started to sound very loudly. The Azande forest drums are simply sections of hollowed-out tree trunks. There is a slit in the top about four inches wide, and both ends are plugged with large wooden stoppers. The drum lies on two wooden trestles, one at each end of the cylinder. The local folk beat the hollow drum with short, hard sticks to make a very loud reverberation. I was impressed by just how loud the drums were.

We were still walking next to our bicycles when my client asked me what the drum noise was for. I replied I really didn’t know but had understood that the Azande people were able to communicate using the drums. The client scoffed and said, “Sure they do. Then ask Mad Jack what they are saying.”

I shouted for Jeeves, who was still back in the village, and as usual he came running up. I asked him to carefully inquire of Mad Jack why the drums were making all the noise and what they were saying. Jeeves appeared to carefully translate my question into Zande. Soon Jack began to talk. He carried on for a few minutes, stopping now and then to listen to the drums.

Jeeves turned to the client and me and translated what Mad Jack had just told him: The drums told the story of three strangers (two of them white men) on bicycles traveling toward the next village. These strangers are followed by a small caravan of porters who are carrying the bulk of their supplies. The strangers intend to sleep in the next village and hunt for m’bangana (bongo) the next morning. The drums, Jeeves went on, then said that the white men want to buy some eggs for their breakfast.

My client promptly said “Bulls—!” and began to get on his bicycle. I asked what he meant, and he answered, “There is no way these primitive folk could have developed a drum code that would let them communicate such details. If you believe all this nonsense, you are just as bad as they are! How could you think people who can’t even draw a straight line could develop such a message system using hollow logs?” I decided not to argue, even though I knew he was wrong. We both mounted our bikes and off we went toward our next campsite and bongo heaven.

Strange as it seemed to me, Mad Jack and Jeeves were correct about the distance to the next village. In just under one hour I saw some smoke ahead in the forest—this could only mean that a village was nearby. We rounded a corner and were gratified to see a neat, small village perched atop a small rise. It was near the edge of a forest finger—in fact, I could see patches of open grassland through the trees. We were still some three hundred yards from the village when the drums announced our arrival. At least, that’s what I assumed the drums were saying, so I did not ask Jeeves about it.

The drums were still beating as we walked into the village square. I asked Jeeves what the drums were now saying. He pointed to a middle-aged woman who was approaching us with a basket and said, “The drums say that your eggs have arrived.” I turned to the client and told him to look into the basket before he said another word about the talking drums of Azande. The basket was full of fresh eggs!

The hunting area was about one hour farther north toward the Sudan border. We left early the following morning just before dawn. On that first day of hunting from this village, it began to rain lightly. In my diary, which I still have, it is noted that during the course of that day I saw forty-seven bongos! One herd of thirty-two animals was actually frolicking in the light rain, in the burned area between two forest fingers. I watched them long enough to count the herd, and noted in my diary that bongo look much like forest eland. Unfortunately, this client was too excited and mistakenly shot and killed a female. That sounded the death knell for this bongo hunt.

Crossroads for Adventure

Botswana: 2011
Volume : 19.2

 

 

Crossroads for Adventure

The normal, routine patterns of daily life ended as we left Florida en route to Maun, to meet PH Clive Lennox for a 10-day elephant hunt on Kgori Safaris’ Kwatale NG 43 concession

All my life I’d dreamed of a classic African elephant hunt. Now, the time had finally come. I’d spent several months convincing my wife, Denise, that she needed to experience the adventure with me, and she finally consented and became our photo- and videographer.

Jim van Rensburg and the Kgori Safaris’ staff brought a wonderfully elegant style and friendly attitude to their camp, which we shared with Texas hunter Ronnie Rod, who kept us laughing from daylight to dark.

On Day One, we headed with Clive to our base camp, Tuskers, seeing giraffe, impala, kudu, eland, reedbuck, steenbok and zebra along the way. Elephant and their spoor were everywhere. At one waterhole a teenage bull was feeling his oats and ran after our truck. Along the way, Denise videotaped some good footage of different groups of elephant. As we were returning to camp we spotted a nice mature bull, but on closer inspection he had a broken tusk.


Rodger and Denise Haag (R) hunted elephant in PH Clive Lennox (L) for a 10-day elephant hunt on Kgori Safaris’ Kwatale NG 43 concession.

After a long day in the bush we arrived at camp, tired and hungry. After snacks around the fire, a four-course meal in the dining room, bed was a welcome sight for our tired bodies.

Day Two had the threat of an incoming front of rain. Clive had us on the trail by 6.30 a.m. and we visited one waterhole that had some decent tracks. Clive took note and then went to check as many areas as he could before the rain came. The morning rain was light, so it didn’t hurt our tracking.

After lunch under a shade tree and a 45-minute siesta, we started back on the trail at 3.00 p.m., looking for the track of the big bull. What a life!

About an hour later, we found a waterhole with steaming dung. Denise decided to stay on the truck working with the video, while Clive, the trackers, and I followed the hot trail. Once out of sight of the truck, the tracker climbed a tree for a better view of the situation. All of this took about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, the three bulls that we were tracking had circled back to the waterhole where Denise was sitting! She became more anxious by the moment as they advanced towards the truck. Quickly she reviewed her options: “Should l call for Clive and Roger”… “No, that might bring the elephants closer.” Just before she called out, she saw us reappear. We moved the truck, and she got some great footage of the elephants.

As we traveled, Laroto, the tracker spotted a group of elephant some distance away. Clive stopped the vehicle and sent the trackers to inspect the group. They returned wearing big smiles – there was a group of four bulls, and at least one was a good trophy

Now we were all starting to feel the excitement and anticipation. Quickly, we loaded our rifles (and cameras) and, with the wind in our faces, we took the track. After closing the gap, we checked the wind, then began glassing the four bulls feeding together. “Let’s get a bit closer,” said Clive.


Rodger convinced Denise to come along as the safari photographer and videographer and she was able to get some good photos and footage of different groups of elephants.

Now we were all in stealth mode – no spoken words and stepping only in each other’s tracks. After careful inspection, Clive whispered: “There’s the bull you want.” My mind was racing. Clive worked us into a better position. This bull was a giant! Twelve feet tall and weighing six tons.

I feel as though we’re in Jurassic Park and a dinosaur is bearing down on us. Time is slowing down. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears. I feel each breath. I find myself on the shooting sticks. Clive says: “Take him.” He has turned to face us and the wind swirls. He lifts his head to look at us as the trigger releases. He crumbles. Clive and I put in shots for assurance.

What a trophy! Congratulations continue all the way to camp.

Hunting elephant in Botswana is a special experience. During the day one hears a symphony of African birds and, at night, the call of lion. Experiencing life in the bush has a special intrinsic value that, unfortunately, words cannot describe.


Rodger and Denise Haag of Florida have been married for 32 years and have two daughters, Jennifer and Katie. Dr. Haag enjoys hunting and ranching.