By Terry Wieland

Lions, Kittens, and Cats

A first encounter with a wild lion is a life-changing event.  It may not seem like much at the time.  Both of you may walk away unscathed.  But I defy anyone to eradicate the memory.  It stays with you until you die.  And, in truth, you hope it will.

Of all the Big Five, lions hold a fascination for human beings that is mysterious and inexplicable.   Everyone acknowledges it, but no one can put their finger on exactly why.  There is no single lion trait that’s exclusive to the big cat.  They can be man-eaters, but so can leopards; they form family groups, but so do elephants; they can hold a grudge against humans for no apparent reason, but so do Cape buffalo.

One big difference is that humans find lions almost universally admirable — at least, humans who don’t live among them, day after day and, more critically, night after night.  Every time I’m tempted into a reverie about my experiences with lions, into my head pops the voice of a Tswana friend from years ago.  We somehow got talking about lions.  “Lie-owns are bad,” he said, shaking his head.  “Ver’ ver’ bad.”  Since he had lost a cousin or two to hungry lions, and I had not, it was difficult to argue.

Still, man-eating lions are rare, like the rogue humans who commit armed robbery.  No one glorifies them, although the man-eaters of Tsavo gained world-wide notoriety and really put Kenya on the map.  Bonnie and Clyde did much the same thing for east Texas.

Although I’d been to many parts of Africa, and spent the better part of year there, in total, since 1971, I never encountered a lion in the wild until a safari in Tanzania in 1990.  Driving along a narrow hillside track, we came around a turn and found a pride of lions sprawled on the road.  Robin Hurt was driving, and immediately hit the brakes.  One big maned fellow looked at us calmly with his pale amber eyes, not 20 yards away.  We backed up, Leo thought it over, and then rose and strolled into the bush.

Nothing really happened (although it certainly could have) except that, at that moment, any desire I ever had to hunt lions evaporated.

Like others of the Big Five, as well as the greater kudu, the lion has the power to fascinate, and some men become primarily lion hunters.  J.A. Hunter was supposedly one such; Jack O’Connor, the American writer, was another.  “I have hunted the lion,” he wrote proudly after a safari in the 1950s, and the fascination stayed with him.  Robert Ruark, on the other hand, hunted lions but was really fascinated by leopards.  Personally, I consider myself a buffalo hunter, and would hunt mbogo in preference to almost anything else.

Later on the same trip, hunting buffalo in the Okavango in Botswana, I had my second encounter with wild lions.  We were tracking a herd of buffalo which had come to water during the night and withdrawn into the bush.  With two trackers, my PH and I crept along, catching glimpses of black hide.  For some reason, the buffalo kept spooking and thundering off.  Sometimes, we knew they’d caught a whiff of us, but other times there was no explanation.  Finally, they withdrew for good, leaving a cloud of dust hanging in the late-morning air as the sound of hooves faded to nothing.

Hot, tired, and thirsty, we began the long trudge through the sand to the hunting car, five or six miles back.  We came to a clearing, one of the dry pans that dot the Okavango, and found, lying there, a lion and a lioness.  The lady jumped to her feet, but the lion just raised his head and glared at us.  He wasn’t moving.  We backed away and circled well around.  It all became clear what had happened.  While we’d been hunting one side of the buffalo herd, they were hunting the other.  We had taken turns ruining each other’s stalk.

I felt bad about it, as if the lions were somehow colleagues.  We at least had the chop box in the safari car, whereas if they wanted lunch, they had to start over.  No wonder he glared at us.

The most famous case of a white man being killed by a lion was George Grey, in 1911.  Grey was the brother of Sir Edward Grey, the British foreign minister, during the Great War.  He was hunting lions on horseback on a farm in the Aberdares, got too close (by his own admission later), and failed to stop a charging lion with his .280 Ross.  The high velocity bullet has been blamed ever since but, before he died in a Nairobi hospital, Grey said it was his own fault.

Another famous story concerns Denys Finch Hatton, the well-known professional hunter and lover of Karen Blixen, who died in a plane crash in 1931.  He was buried in the Ngong Hills, and it was said that for years afterwards, a lion would come and lie beside his grave, looking out over the plain.

Humans have a tendency to anthropomorphize lions more than other African animals, crowning him the King of Beasts, and writing cute stories like “The Lion King.”  That is, when they are not living in fear.  This gives our relationship with lions a contradictory duality, and results in the kind of pro-lion, anti-lion conflict that we see in North America with wolves.  My old Tswana friend had no doubt where lions fit into the scheme of things, and wanted no part of them.

Generally, except for man-eaters, lions seem to treat humans, if not as equals, at least as something interesting but inoffensive.  Willy Engelbrecht was a PH in Botswana who had a great reputation as a hunter of lions, but he also liked them.  Willy hated sleeping in a tent, preferring to pitch a little pup tent away from everyone else, and heating his water for tea in the morning over a small fire.  One morning, he opened his eyes and looked up through the mosquito net to find a lioness sitting there, calmly looking down at him.  Their noses were about a foot apart.  What did you do, Willy, I asked?  “Lay as still as I could,” he replied.  “What else was there to do?”

Sometimes, lions seem to like to tag along.  Another PH friend of mine was clearing some roads in a concession up in Kwando, near the Caprivi Strip.  They were sleeping under the stars, moving camp every day.  One night, Chris woke up to find a lion sitting by the fire, staring into the coals.  Just sitting there.  Another time, he found a lion stretched out across one of his sleeping men, snoozing like a cat in a lap.  The sleeping man was snoring away.  The lion was just being sociable.

As tamers of lions have found, to their cost, over the centuries, taking a lion for granted, and letting down your guard, or forgetting you are dealing with one of the most dangerous and accomplished killers on earth, may be the last thing you ever do.

My last encounter was in a camp in the Okavango, the year before hunting was closed.  There were lions all around — we’d find their footprints in the sand around our tents in the morning — and walking back from the campfire after dark was a little hair-raising.

One night, a herd of Cape buffalo took up residence just behind our tents, and we went to sleep to the gentle sounds of herbivores.  Around one in the morning, we snapped awake to hooves pounding like thunder.  The buffalo were being chased, and as the pounding faded, it was replaced by the sounds of a terrific battle — a buffalo bull, bawling and fighting for his life, and the roars of lions, all just a few yards away through the bush.  We were painfully aware that we had nothing but a length of 12-oz. canvas between us and the Great Outdoors.

Finally, the battle ended, and we drifted off to the relatively peaceful sound of tearing flesh, crunching bones, and lions exchanging testy growls as they sorted out who would eat where.

As we later learned, there were six big male lions, hunting together.  They used our camp as a screen, coming at the buffalo from between the tents in a long line, and brought down a big bull just behind my tent at the end.  We drove out in the morning and found them in a clearing.  Three were still eating, two were licking their paws and grooming, and one was lying on his back, all four paws in the air, sleeping it off.

We stopped the safari car and watched them.  They looked at us, and kept eating.  That was my last memory of the Okavango as hunting country, and I couldn’t ask for better.

By Dennis Schumacher

The group of eland were clustered behind a grove of trees deep in the bush of northern Cameroon, thirty sets of eyes arrayed in a circle looking outward for any perceived threat. I swatted at the mopane bees circling my face and diving into my ears. Gadal, the lead tracker whispered, “Don’t move!”  Even though we were still 250 yards from the group, their sharp eyes could identify any movement that did not normally belong in their environment. The eland turned and began to move away. The three of us inched forward in single file while their attention was distracted. I held onto the shirt back of Patrick Dahlan, the professional hunter, while he held on to Gadal’s shirt as we moved slowly in single file, hunched over and placing each foot in the footprint of the one ahead. It occurred to me just how skilled these two men ahead of me were. It was Day 5 of our Lord Derby Eland hunt.

The moment was not lost on me as my mind went back to my friend and mentor, Sauro Albertini who, one day in the late 1980s, showed me a picture of a giant eland he had taken in the C.A.R. Since that day, I had my mind set on taking a giant eland, or Lord Derby eland as they are known. Cameroon is now the premier place to hunt these magnificent creatures, and I had signed on with Faro East Safaris for this hunt in 2024. Now, in early 2026, it was happening!

Over the intervening time while preparing for the trip to Cameroon, I watched every YouTube video and read every account of Lord Derby eland hunting I could find. One theme was constant: it was a physically and mentally punishing hunt. This is what I wanted, not some easy walk in the park. I had started preparing months before: diet, exercise, working in my new boots, and walking miles each day. Then the unexpected happened. While mowing the pasture on my tractor, the mis-adjusted seat bottomed out when the tractor hit a deep rut, and I felt something go wrong in my lower back. Almost instantly my right leg went numb. Within a few days I was in serious pain with sciatica and loss of function in my right quad.

What followed was mentally torturing as I went to several doctors, got medicated, went through spine decompression therapy, and spent many pain-filled nights sleeping in a recliner. Should I cancel the hunt? Although unable to continue long-distance walking, I was steadily improving and through good pain management, got back to a reasonable level of mobility. In the YouTube videos I had watched, I saw other big old Texas boys who could hardly walk manage to bag an eland, and I determined not to let this setback change my plans; not the least because I had just turned 70 and there was no assurance that if I cancelled, I would ever be able to make it happen in the future.

Three days after Christmas 2025, I travelled from Houston to Paris where I met my brother Dale who was coming along as an observer (and main guy to pull me out of dry riverbeds). He had arrived from Washington DC and we then travelled together to Douala arriving late in the evening. The most difficult part of the entire journey then took place in the airport in Douala, where we cleared customs and had my Whitworth .375 H&H Magnum and the 50 rounds of ammo I had brought along inspected at least four times by different authorities. Every person we encountered in Cameroon was polite and kind. However, after a long trip, the tedious and bureaucratic processes were very tiring, and the heat and humidity in the airport building was stifling. We had paid for a meet-and-greet service provided by Isles & Voyage travel agency in France to clear us through the formalities and transport us to our lodging. They were very efficient and helpful, and I would not recommend trying to do all this oneself. Our agent Bruno was excellent and eventually we were deposited at our hotel, La Falaise, in Douala, which was very nice and well-appointed with good air-conditioning.

The next morning, we were treated to a magnificent breakfast in the hotel, buffet style with enough varieties of delicious food and pastries to last us all day. Then it was off to the airport again, to go through the same process we had gone through the night before, inspecting the gun repeatedly as if I had possibly changed the serial number in my hotel room overnight!

Finally, we were on the commuter airplane to Ngaoundere in the northern part of the country. We were pleasantly surprised by the dry, cool weather in the north, where the elevation was just under 2,000 feet, and although the sun was hot in the daytime, there was always a cool breeze. Nights in early January could get down to the mid-50s Fahrenheit, which suited us just fine!

In Ngaoundere we were met by Bakari, the representative of Faro East Safaris and, after having to inspect the gun once again, we were loaded into their Toyota for the trip to camp. First however, we were treated to a tour of Ngaoundere as Bakari rounded up various supplies for camp, including two drums of diesel fuel. Having lived in Africa before, this seemed completely normal to me, but for the uninitiated it is often difficult to understand that when living in the bush, you must bring everything with you, including your own infrastructure. Every nut and bolt, sack of cement, kilo of flour, stick of butter, must be brought in. The trip to camp was three and a half hours over very rough roads; the last 17 kilometers was an almost impossible dirt track.

The camp is picturesque, situated on a hill overlooking a valley with a mayo (stream) just below. Basic, but clean and functional, the rooms were large with running hot and cold water and individual toilets and showers. Air conditioners had been fitted in the rooms but were subject to the available power in the solar batteries or when the generator was running which was around three to four hours a day. I had AC in my room about four hours per day, which I rationed to an hour for siesta when we were in camp, and the rest in evening when going to bed. By midnight it was cool enough to sleep without AC.

The central part of the camp consisted of a lodge-style open concept building with a thatch roof where we took our meals at a table set up in the breezeway. Also under cover was a seating area with a view over the valley for evening drinks and socializing while further down was the “cigar lounge” – easy chairs arranged around a fire pit. We spent a lot of time there; the bar was well stocked and the beer was cold!

The African staff were amazing, catering to our every need. I could not believe how the camp cook, working in a small 12×12 foot out-kitchen could whip up such fabulous French cuisine that we enjoyed the entire time we were there. Patrick had asked us our food preferences in advance, and I made sure he knew we were up for French cuisine, although he was fully prepared to give us traditional Texas cuisine too, such as ribs, burgers, and Tex Mex.

We enjoyed such dishes as Moroccan couscous with mutton, guinea fowl in peanut sauce, and many meat dishes made from local game meat and, of course, my favorite steak frites made with eland, or kob steaks. One night we had spit-roasted warthog. All was delicious, and followed by incredible fancy desserts, including banana flambé, crêpes, or homemade ice cream on chocolate mousse cake made in camp.

When we arrived in camp after our three-day journey, we indulged in a welcome drink of cold beer and then headed straight down to the air strip to sight in the gun. It was apparent that no time would be lost, as we were told we would be getting up at five in the morning to hit the tracks!  That night at dinner, I told Patrick, the owner of Faro East and professional hunter, that I was able to walk, but not fast; I was able to run, but only for short distances; however, I was able to see well and shoot straight! He took me at my word and tested me to the limit.

Block 5 in Cameroon consists of a hunting concession of around 300,000 acres of virgin bush bounded on the north side by high blue-green mountains, and on the south and west by other concessions. The beauty of the savanna is astounding, and there is no sign of people, fences, or civilization, other than the public road that splits the concession between the north and south sections. The nearest village is 17 kilometers away. Wildlife abounds including eland, kob, roan, buffalo, waterbuck, hartebeest, duikers, small antelope, hyenas, lions, leopards, elephant, and many other small species. The birdlife was also incredible with many beautiful tropical and savanna bird species. Listening to the bird sounds early in the morning and in the evening was a special treat.

That first day, we rode some of the 500 kilometers of well-maintained roads in the concession looking for eland tracks from the back of the Land Cruiser. When we found tracks, we got down and inspected them and decided to follow them on foot. Watching the trackers divine the nature of the tracks was a wonder to behold. They can tell the age, sex, and type of animal from any track, how old the track is, and in which direction it went, whether in a herd or alone. It was one of my favorite parts of the entire safari to watch them work, true professionals through and through.

The terrain is the most difficult part of the hunt in my opinion. Rough, uneven, and covered in mounds of dried, hard balls of dirt created by underground worm; it was like walking on clumps of marbles that had been glued together. Good footwear is essential. The rains were late last year, finishing in September, so in many areas the grass was still too green to burn. This complicated the hunt due to large areas of unburnt high grass. When walking through these areas, it was essential to watch our footing. It being early in the season, the eland were still not grouped, with many of the good bulls still solitary. This led to a lot of walking and much territory to cover to find a good bull. It was three days before I saw my first eland!

Day after day we followed tracks only to be frustrated by the lack of a good bull or by groups that traversed the boundary into the neighboring concession, or groups that were just too fast for me to keep up with the trackers. To save time, we had lunch in the bush. Patrick had packed a small table and three chairs in the Land Cruiser, and we had our lunches packed in a cool box, and we ate under the shade of a tree. Usually there was a good breeze to help keep the tsetse flies and mopane bees to a minimum. I had been told to pack Avon Skin-So-Soft to deter these pests but found that another product that I brought called “No Natz” performed better and was made from natural plant oils and botanicals.

In the evenings on the way back to camp we hunted for guinea fowl and partridges and generally enjoyed looking at the scenery and wildlife. There were opportunities to shoot other game, but I was focused on the Lord Derby eland and nothing would deter that goal! The annual Harmattan was just starting, and the sunsets were magnificent with the orange ball of the sun hanging above the bush making for lovely photographs. My spirit soared during these times just for being in the wilds of Africa. It was especially poignant to have my brother Dale with me enjoying these moments since we had grown up in West Africa together and this was like a trip home for us. Relaxing in the cigar lounge after dinner and telling tall tales around the fire while we rested our weary legs was a balm for the soul.

with us and there was dancing and rejoicing. I joined in with the dancing and hand shaking and back slapping, while some of the trackers and porters cut branches of trees and danced around waving them in excitement for a few minutes.

It was done.

The Little Thug is remarkably comfortable to shoot, with negligible muzzle jump, but puts forth a hard-hitting charge and a choking cloud of smoke that can be very handy in a defense situation.

The E.M. Reilly, made in the 1870s for the outposts of Empire.

The E.M. Reilly, now a 20-bore, began life as a .577 Snider double rifle.  Oh, to know where it’s been, and what it’s done!

I bought the gun off the “rust & dust” shelf at Puglisi’s in Duluth a few years ago.  It was dirty, damaged, needed a new forend tip, a horrible hot-blue job removed from its frame, the metal restored, and some wood refinishing.  Puglisi’s bought it from a local bartender, who’d acquired it in a trade with the mate off a Great Lakes freighter, and who knows how he came by it, or where it’s been for 140 years.  Guarding pack trains in the Khyber Pass?  Repelling boarders in the China Sea?  On a river boat up the Congo?  These are all genuine possibilities.

One thing I know for certain is that it was originally built for warlike purposes, not for hunting.  E.M. Reilly was a maker of fine guns of every type, catering mainly to officers and civil servants off to guard the Empire — the kind of man found on the Northwest Frontier, shooting it out with Pathans.

With its 2 1/2-inch chambers, I was a little limited, but my friend Bob Hayley (Hayley’s Custom Ammunition, 940-888-3352) conjured up some 20-bore brass cases as well as some old 20-gauge paper we could cut to length.  For the brass, we had both 20-gauge round balls and 20-gauge spire-point slugs, while the paper hulls were stuffed with shot.  All are powered by black powder, although it’s not really necessary.  The thug’s barrel walls are thick and heavy for a shotgun.  The little guy weighs 7 lbs., 3 oz., most of it in the barrels.  For my purposes, though, black powder serves a purpose.

Ballistically, the little thug will outdo a .45 Auto at close range.  Those 350-grain pumpkin balls leave the muzzle at around 800 fps, and with one from each barrel, the gun plants them about two inches apart at 15 yards.  The shot charge prints a pattern right over top.  That will most assuredly stop anyone barging through the office door.

The black powder adds further injury in the form of a choking cloud of smoke and wad fragments.  Since I would be expecting this gas attack, and an invader wouldn’t, it gives me a few precious seconds to get to the secondary armament — an AUG, a couple of P.38s, and…well, you get the idea.

Such a scenario opens up the field to all kinds of “what ifs…” and “yes, buts…”  Certainly, those are all things that might happen — the aforementioned unexpected and unthinkable — and you cannot prepare for every single eventuality.  No one can.  You just try to keep things from “gang agley.”  For that, the Little Thug is in his element.

Chapter Twelve

The Hunting of Leopards

A Conservation Perspective

Not enough is known about the leopard. Even though he is the most widely distributed member of the “big” cats, not many detailed studies of this fascinating animal have been completed. Even hunters, who are fascinated, sometimes even obsessed, by this prince of the forest, know little about him. What he really needs to survive, how many partners he needs in order to maintain his numbers, how large an area he needs in order to live a natural free life. Most of us know the basics but the rest is just guesswork. Many boffins maintain that there is no room for hunting when considering an animal like the leopard, which is endangered in much of its range. Others, who have conducted studies in areas where leopards still exist in healthy numbers, say that hunting can be part of an overall plan in conserving leopards.

Theodore Bailey is one of those. Toward the end of his fascinating book, The African Leopard Ecology and Behaviour of a Solitary Felid, Bailey wrote a chapter titled “The Conservation of Leopards” in which he covers hunting.

Here are some extracts from that chapter:

A controversial alternative that may provide economic incentives to conserve leopards outside of parks and preserves in some countries is a highly regulated hunting program that removes only a small proportion of a leopard population each year. A closely regulated take of leopards may be not only practical but necessary, as some claim (Myers 1974; Eaton 1977b; Myers 1981; Hamilton 1986; Martin and Meulenaer 1988). to promote leopard and other wildlife conservation in Africa. Although I believe it will be increasingly difficult in the long run to justify maintaining wildlife populations solely on economic criteria, because of livestock and agriculture needs and development, hunting may be an effective conservation alternative for the immediate future. Whether one agrees or disagrees with the ethics of hunting leopards outside parks and preserves, hunting can probably be managed to benefit some leopard populations. A closely regulated hunting program for leopards for trophy purposes should not be confused with hunting leopards commercially for the fur trade. To prevent unregulated hunting and poaching of leopards for skins in areas opened to trophy hunting will require increased enforcement of current restrictions on the international trade of Leopard skins – a difficult law enforcement task for most African countries.

Ideally, a hunting program for leopards should be only one part of a more comprehensive program designed to provide conservation-related economic benefits for local inhabitants. Properly managed, it could be combined with tourism or a game cropping operation where selected herbivores are also harvested on a sustained basis for protein or profit. Such programs are already conducted on some large game ranches in Namibia, Zimbabwe, and the Republic of South Africa and on concessioned lands in Botswana. The hunting of leopards will be best managed on large tracts of land that support ample populations of prey and leopards. After some preliminary surveys an estimate should be made of how many leopards could be removed annually without jeopardizing the population.

Smaller tracts or tracts with highly human-altered wildlife populations will be more difficult to manage because the leopard populations there are likely to be low, with unpredictable annual recruitment. If hunting of leopards from such areas occurs, it must be extremely conservative and accompanied by frequent surveys. All hunting programs should be based on accurate assessments of leopard numbers and annual recruitment.

Further on, he says “The region surrounding a proposed leopard hunting area should be carefully evaluated to determine whether a population is completely isolated or whether leopards in adjacent areas might immigrate into the hunting area to replace removed leopards. If isolated but large enough to support a viable population and sustained hunting, a conservative hunting strategy would be essential – to ensure that harvesting did not deplete individuals faster than they can be naturally recruited into the population. If an influx of males, which bring different genes into the population, is unlikely, problems associated with inbreeding may arise, especially with small populations.

Leopard populations probably should not be hunted unless a minimum effective population size of fifty breeding adults, or at least eighty to one hundred individuals, are present and a viable population of leopards exists in adjacent areas. Hunting smaller, isolated populations may only contribute to their eventual demise. The size of an area that can support eighty to one hundred leopards will vary with habitat quality and may range from three hundred kilometres square in high-quality habitats to five thousand square kilometres in low quality habitats. As a very crude estimate, most proposed hunting areas should be at least two thousand five hundred square kilometres if habitat appears average and is adjacent to other areas supporting leopards.

Many hunters – myself included – have been led to believe that some portion, or percent, of a leopard quota should be females, but Bailey says: Only male leopards should be taken by hunters until further information suggests otherwise. Males seem to be naturally replaced more rapidly than females; they have a higher natural mortality rate; and they are more apt to respond to baits for survey or hunting purposes. Because of their larger size and visible genitalia, they can be easily distinguished from females. Several options are available for estimating hunting rates of males, all of which result in relatively low hunting levels. One method assumes that all natural mortality is compensatory and replaced by hunting mortality. The other more realistic method assumes hunting and natural mortality may not be completely compensatory and may even be additive. One can also base hunting rates on the proportions and natural mortality rates of adult or sub adult males in the population.

Some leopard studies say that up to l0% of a leopard population can be hunted without damaging that population. But Bailey had this to say: Information from the Kruger National Park leopard study areas suggests a hunting rate of four percent to six per cent of a total population may be possible if one assumes complete compensatory mortality. When a hunting level of one-half the natural mortality rate is assumed, the hunting rate declines from two per cent to three per cent of the total population. A hypothetical population of one hundred leopards whose population composition and mortality patterns are similar to leopards in the Kruger National Park study areas are speculated to withstand a hunting kill of at least two, possibly as many as six, male leopards per year. Hunting rates will undoubtedly vary among populations. One computer model of leopard population dynamics predicted a five per cent safe and a ten per cent maximum sustainable harvest level for leopards (Martin and Meulenaer 1988). One factor to consider is whether other, perhaps significant, forms of human-related mortality, such as poaching and poisoning, are already impacting a leopard population. These additional forms of mortality would lower the legal hunting rate.

Hunted leopard populations should be closely monitored to ensure that hunting is not contributing to a population decline. Only selected locations within a hunting area should actually have leopards removed from them. Reduced hunting pressure should be enforced if hunted males are not rapidly replaced. Areas frequented by females, such as koppies and other rocky outcrops used as denning areas, should be avoided to prevent disrupting the females’ habits and their unintentional killing. Actual hunting sites should be specific places where males are periodically observed or attracted to baits. Only specific baiting locations should be hunted, and then only on a rotational basis. For example, if a male was taken at one bait location, the next male removed from the hunting area should be taken at least two to three male-home-range-distances away. This would prevent creating a large vacancy among males, which could prevent or reduce female productivity. Baiting should occur even after a male has been taken to ensure that his replacement has appeared. In healthy leopard populations, males taken by hunters should be replaced within one to six months. To help maintain genetic diversity within the population and reduce the possibility that infanticide will become a significant mortality factor among cubs, newly arriving males should be allowed to reproduce for at least one to two years before being taken by hunters.

This last paragraph illustrates how far we actually are from being able to practice ‘sustainable utilisation’ policies in hunting our leopards. What operator would ever consider only hunting “two to three male-home-range distances away” from where he took his last big Tom leopard? Not many.

So little is known about this animal, and so little is known about what we need to do in order to ensure his survival in good huntable numbers, that I fear if and when we do learn, it will be too late.

The sun slid into the thorn trees and the last evening cries of roosting francolin were suddenly joined by human voices! As they reached the back of the blind I stuck my head out and asked them to quieten down and move along. When I addressed these fellows in hushed tones, the nearest fell down in shock whilst the other back-pedalled about half a dozen yards, his red eyes bulging and his heavy old car-tyre sandals clap-clapping on the hard dirt. The fallen one scrabbled around furiously before he managed to balance himself enough to get upright, whereupon he made off as fast as he could walk. He said absolutely nothing, his rickety thin legs conveying him in a noisy zigzag manner as fast as they could go. I was choked with the urge to laugh. The backpedalling upright singer uttered only a loud “Hau!” before he, too, scuffled off down the road.

By Ken Moody

‘To take this old man into those reeds after those buffalo is a bad plan.’ I can still hear those words as clearly today as when they were first uttered so many months ago when my accompanying Zulu PH on this hunt, Musa, explained his trepidation in moving along the half-mile-long trek into the thick reeds which hid an unknown number of the black beasts we were pursuing. We could see with our binos the small flock of egrets which rode atop the backs of the buffalo, but we had no idea how many mature bulls were in the herd given the height and density of the reeds engulfing the landscape for miles in every direction along the river we were hunting. Musa was a cautious PH and prone to moving slowly while I have always been a bit of an aggressive hunter, quick to move in on our quarry when it’s buffalo we’re after. I knew the buffalo were there, and I wanted to get into the reeds after them, but Musa’s point did not fall on deaf ears. The client was older and very hard of hearing and maybe getting him into a tight spot with very limited visibility was not the best of plans. A cornered buffalo bull can quickly become agitated, and an agitated buffalo is not good under ideal conditions, let alone within the confines of those dense reeds. As Musa and I discussed an alternate plan, the decision was made for us as the wind shifted and blew our foul human scent in amongst the reeds and eventually to the buffalo.

Thundering from the cover of the reeds, we watched as a tremendous bull with accompanying cows moved away from the water’s edge and back towards the dense bush that surrounded the huge swath of reeds along the banks of the river. In a matter of minutes, they covered the long distance from the reeds to the bush and in a blink, they were gone from sight and any further attempt to stalk them. This hunt was not proving easy.

The above encounter occurred in the early morning on day six of our seven-day safari. We had hunted hard to this point, but the buffalo had proven to be both elusive and extremely wild. You could not make a mistake with these buffalo and hope to be successful. Every bit of skill and ability as an experienced buffalo hunter would need to be utilized to get close enough for a clean shot. We had two clients in camp hunting in two teams, both pursuing buffalo, and so far, we hadn’t got one of them onto the sticks. Time was running out and everyone knew it. On the way back to camp for lunch, I could see my client Barry was feeling a bit concerned as he too could count the days, we had been at it. Leaning over towards him, I alleviated his concerns a bit with some positive words and encouraged him not to give up. I’ve always believed that one attracts what they project. Projecting a positive, affirmative attitude will usually result in those receiving that projection feeling more positive and upbeat about the mission at hand. Negative energy is strong and to allow it to permeate within the team will never, ever result in a positive outcome. I reassured Barry that the opportunity would present itself and that he was a superb shot, so when the time came, we’d be celebrating a buff in the salt. After lunch, we were out and at it again.

The afternoon plan found us in higher elevations, looking for tracks and any other spoor that might indicate the presence of buffalo. Time and again we struck out on bagging a bull in these hills, so we decided to return to the river and reeds and search for some feeding buffalo as they moved towards the water. The hour was getting late, and the buffalo would be on the move. Patrolling slowly along the dusty trails that wove throughout the reedbeds, we were ever vigilant for any movement or sign of buffalo. Just before it became too dark to shoot and as we went around a bend in the road, Jabulani, our tracker, reached forward, took the shooting sticks from their resting place, and slipped silently off the back of the cruiser. Knowing what this meant, I signaled to Musa to stop the vehicle, which he did. Working within a team means knowing what to do and when to do it without having to say a word.

From previous experience, we knew that when Jabulani put his hands on the shooting sticks, he had spotted buffalo a few minutes earlier. He never alerted us when he saw them, preferring to keep us moving and away from the proximity of the buffalo as the sudden stop of a vehicle and movement from us would alert a suspicious bull. Jabulani was Zulu and one of the finest and smartest buffalo trackers I have ever worked with. Exiting the cruiser, I told Barry what was going on and that we would be quietly stalking back to where the buffalo was spotted. Quiet was called for now and only hand and arm signals would be used from this point forward. Creeping back along the route we had just taken, I followed Jabulani’s lead, with Barry on my heels. As we rounded the last bend, Jabulani pointed off to a small tree only about 50 yards from our location.

Scanning the area below the tree with my binos, I could see the old bull lying there completely unaware of our presence. Moving forward with the sticks, I placed them in position and motioned to Barry to put his rifle up and get ready. Whispering directly into his ear, I told him where the bull was in relation to the tree and for him to find it in his scope. Not to shoot, but just find it first before I gave him the shot placement. Struggling to find the buffalo in the growing darkness, Barry just looked at me and shook his head. He could not see the buffalo, which was just yards ahead facing us, laying down under that tree.

Once again, I instructed him to follow the trunk of the tree down to the ground and look to its right. There was a buffalo! Still, Barry could not see him. Finally, the buffalo sensed our presence and came to his feet in one fluid motion and in an instant, he was gone. I must admit that the frustration of the moment was nearly overwhelming, and I bit my tongue, turned, and walked away for a few paces. I glanced at Musa, who simply looked at me shaking his head. I have seen this affliction time and again as hunters not used to the bush seem to go ‘bush blind’ at the worst moments and not be able to see what the rest of us clearly can. Composing myself and regaining positivity, I told Barry, ‘no worries, tomorrow is another day. We will get your buffalo!’

We had taken Barry to the shooting range on the first day of the safari and his marksmanship skills were superb. I knew that we just needed to get him into position to see the right bull at the right time and he would finish this hunt with one deadly shot.

Realizing that Barry did not possess the best ‘bush eyes’, I figured that we really needed to get onto buffalo in the morning when there was ample light, as that would provide the best visibility for his seasoned eyes. So, on day seven of the seven-day safari, we set out with renewed confidence that success was just an opportunity away. Heading straight to the reeds, we began the morning as we had done every morning previous, glassing and looking for egrets. As we rounded a familiar bend, I saw the thin arm of Jabulani reaching for the sticks, and I knew that he had seen something that had eluded the rest of us.

With our routine now standardized, we exited the vehicle, took our positions, and followed Jabulani back down the winding two-track for about a quarter of a mile. As we moved off the bush trail and into the reeds, visibility took a turn for the worse. Fortunately, we had a good wind and as I strained to listen, I heard the distinct and unmistakable sound of buffalo feeding. Barry could hear nothing however, but I assured him that we were about to get into a lot of buffalo. Snaking our way deeper into the reeds and winding towards the river, we got our first glance at the herd about 300 yards in. There before us stood cows and calves but no visible bulls. As we crouched down and glassed, I prayed that the wind would hold steady, as we were only 30 to 40 yards away from the nearest buffalo. Finding a suitable bull in those tangles of reeds and amongst those cows and calves was impossible. We had a narrow field of view but could hear buffalo feeding all around us. At this stage, all we could do was sit and wait. If we pressed the herd, they would bolt and run, so waiting is exactly what we did.

About 15 minutes into our wait, an old cow caught sight of us, and the stare down began. Sitting motionless, it felt as if we were barely breathing as the old gal gazed and stared, willing us to move. Eventually, her actions were noticed by others in the herd and finally our presence was fully detected. In one swift snort and scoot, the little group in front of us trotted off towards the river, disappearing into the reeds. It was only good fortune that they did not smell us, as no alarm sound was uttered as the little group ran.

Standing up, we decided to pursue the herd a bit and see if we could get deeper into them. Just as we started to move, however, I heard more buffalo feeding coming from behind, where the original group we spotted had been standing. Raising my hand, I alerted our party to the sound and pointed to where it was coming from. We moved forward and set up the sticks facing a small gap in the reeds where I hoped the buffalo would move through. Magically, a few cows appeared at first and moved through the gap and towards the river. Then, there he was, a nice big-bodied bull following the cows. With Barry on the sticks, I let out a war whoop as the bull walked into the center of the gap. I have found that with buffalo, a loud, audible whoop will usually stop them, whereas a whistle might not be heard. The whoop stopped him broadside and as the crosshairs found the spot, a shot cracked off and the big bull sped away, not making it 100 yards before we heard the telltale death bellow of a dying buffalo. Our bull was on the ground! Barry was elated. We had hunted hard and fair and there before us lay the reward. As the word went out on the radio, our other team arrived to congratulate Barry and help load the buffalo.

Stephen, our other client, still hadn’t any opportunity and today was the last day of hunting. As we finished with the photos, his PH looked at me and said that he would carry on loading Barry’s buffalo and would I please take Stephen with me to find another bull. He knew that I had this area figured out, and that we were all there to do our best for our clients. As I had a good mojo, I agreed to this plan of action. In a flash, we loaded Stephen and his wife onto our cruiser and out we went for one last try at bagging a buffalo. We could not fail!

Working our way around the bends and narrows of the bush trails, we ran out of the reeds momentarily as we headed further down river. I am sure we had not been moving 10 or 15 minutes when I looked out onto the plain and spotted a decent sized herd of buffalo making their way from the river towards the dense bush behind us. Pointing them out to Jabulani, we continued driving for about a quarter mile before disembarking and heading back for the herd. The group of buffalo originally appeared to be all cows, but then we saw one outstanding bull in the mix as well. We wanted that bull.

Pressed for time and trying to beat the buffalo to the road before they crossed and got past us, we moved at a good pace to get back to the a where they were spotted. As we came around the last curve, we spotted the herd and headed out onto the fringe of the reeds in hopes of securing a good shooting position. The movement did not go unnoticed, however, and the buffalo quickly turned and sped away towards the river. Fortunately, they were moving over relatively open ground, so we could visually follow them all the way along their route as they ran into the reeds that were right along the water’s edge. At least we knew where they were.

Our final stalk of the safari began with a slow, half crouched steady march from the point where we were detected to that area where we had last seen the buffalo enter. If they ran from the reeds, we would likely see them as they were now between the river and us, in the only cover the immediate area offered. Slowly we progressed, trying to keep the fickle wind in our favor. Once we closed the gap to around 200 yards, we stopped and began to glass the reed patch for any sign. As if sent from the hunting gods, a lone egret flew down from the sky and landed on the back of one of the buffalo. Bingo! There they were. With the help of that one white bird, we could now just make out the horizontal lines of the backs of several buffalo as they milled around in that patch of reeds.

Fighting a poor wind, I looked at Stephen and asked him if he was  confident in taking a running shot as we would probably be winded by this herd and the buffalo would have to run one way or the other to escape. Stephen affirmed that he was very confident in taking a moving shot if such a shot was presented. Musa and I then decided that we would manipulate this finicky wind in our favor to see if we could make the buffalo do what we wanted them to do, providing us with a shooting opportunity.

The plan was simple. Jabulani would circle to our left and arc out about a half mile or so moving towards the river so that the wind would carry his scent into the reeds and to the buffalo who, once spooked by this scent, would run out of the reeds directly in front of us providing an open shot of around 150 yards. This plan had to work! Inching forward, I moved Stephen into a good location and placed the sticks directly in front of him. He crouched behind the sticks, and I crouched behind him. I told him that we would both stand up at the same time when the time came and that he was to get onto the sticks and await my instructions. I would tell him which buffalo to shoot once I identified the bull in the group.

Jabulani had been gone for about half an hour when Musa and I noticed the herd had become suspicious of something. We could just see the very tops of their backs, but they were no longer milling around, they were standing perfectly still, indicating that something had their attention. A moment later, they began to move to their right, picking up speed as they headed from the safety of the reeds. I told Stephen to stand, and I stood up directly behind him. As he got his rifle in place, I told him that they would break out of cover right at the point where the reeds met the open plain to our right and that I would tell him which one to engage as they would be in a single file. Just as planned, the herd broke out from the reeds, running directly to our right. They had no clue that we were there waiting on that very thing to happen and as they ran out in single file; I told Stephen that the bull was the third buffalo in line.

Once he confirmed that he was on the bull, I let out a long, loud, and continuous war whoop, which caused the bull to stop in his tracks and look in our direction. That moment of hesitation was all that Stephen needed and the big .416 spoke once, striking the buffalo perfectly. On impact of the shot the buffalo began to run and I told Stephen to hit him again which he did in perfect fashion and then a third time, which caused this big, black train of a bull to nosedive into the earth, his huge body somersaulting over his head as he expired on the spot. It was over! We had done it.

Two buffalo for two clients on the last morning of the safari. We were all elated as we had hunted very hard to get to this point. All the shooting preparation by the clients and all the buffalo hunting knowledge that we possessed were needed to secure this positive outcome.

As important as this preparation and experience is, the projection and belief in that positive outcome is paramount. To be rewarded with success, you must want to be successful and project that positive attitude to everyone in your sphere of influence. You must believe it and make your clients believe that persistence and positivity will yield positive results. Never fall victim to a negative attitude and never, ever allow negativity into your hunting camp. I firmly believe that our great success on that last day was a result of the positivity we projected. We made our luck!