By Owen Maddox

The seed was planted when a young boy of ten years old was given a copy of Outdoor Life Magazine by his uncle.  During these early years, the uncle introduced him to hunting a variety of animals in Kentucky.  Among the uncle’s favorites were Bobwhite Quail and the Eastern Grey and Eastern Fox Squirrel.  Using an old, single-shot 12-gauge shotgun, given to him by his grandmother, the boy’s favorite hunting at the time was for Bobwhite Quail, that were pursued with the highly energetic and extremely tense two English Pointer birddogs that belonged to his uncle.  Nearly 12 years of age brought a new hunting experience for the boy – hunting the Whitetail Deer of Kentucky. His uncle let him “borrow” a used Marlin .336 Lever Action Rifle, which he used for several years in the pursuit of the Whitetail Deer. This quickly became his second hunting passion along with the Bobwhite Quail.  His uncle never asked for the Marlin to be returned and continued to supply the young boy with his used copies of the magazines until he got his first job, cutting a two-acre yard of the motel just down the street from his home.  At the age of twelve, with two additional jobs, delivering the Louisville Courier Journal newspaper and obtaining a TV Guide route, he then bought every monthly copy of Outdoor Life Magazine and Field & Stream Magazine.  

All the articles were read at least once, but the articles by one author, Jack O’Conner, completely fascinated the boy.  Jack O’Conner wrote about a variety of hunting subjects, but the most interesting ones discussed which calibers were best for the different species of game, including many African animals.  The African Cape Buffalo stood out among them all.  The boy then began purchasing and requesting African game hunting books from his family for a Christmas or birthday present.  He was then hooked on the thought of hunting Cape Buffalo in Africa with a “Double Rifle” and informed his grandmother, whom he had lived with since age six, that he would someday take a “African Cape Buffalo” with a “Double Rifle”.  That boy was me, Owen E Maddox, Jr.

The next 61 years were filled with school, Air Force aviation for 20 years, another 20 years with United Airlines and then retirement.

The next 61 years were filled with school, Air Force aviation for 20 years, another 20 years with United Airlines and then retirement.

In 2017 I once again started to think about the number one goal the 12-year-old boy had told his grandmother he was going to achieve one day.  I met six Safari Outfitters at a show in Denver that year and quickly decided on one Professional Hunter, Dave Freeburn, who runs Dave Freeburn Safaris in South Africa.  I communicated with him several times about scheduling a Buffalo hunt in 2018 but that plan was derailed due to a cancer scare.  It was finally determined that I did not have cancer, but the African planning was down the drain at that time.

My spouse and biggest supporter in my life, Amy Brandon Maddox. I finally brought the subject up again in the summer of 2020.  We gave the issue an abundance of dialog and we finally agreed that if I was ever going to fulfill that bucket list item, I needed to get busy scheduling the trip.  I once again checked out the references for Dave Freeburn Safaris — all with outstanding comments.  I contacted Dave and he did remember me from 2017 and we scheduled a safari hunt in August 2021.

In 2019 I, as a Federal Firearms License (FFL) holder, sold an estate of a local firearms collector who passed away.  His wife did not want any of the firearms in her home after her husband’s passing, and 96 of the 104 firearms were sold; eight of the more expensive guns did not sell and I tried to return them to their owner.  She would not accept them into her home and offered them to me at a rock-bottom low price which I accepted.  The most prized firearm in the remaining collection was a Krieghoff Classic Five Double Rifle in the .500/416 N.E. caliber.

Before my hunt was scheduled, I knew the double rifle was going with me to fulfill my long-awaited dream.  The PH advised me to practice often, both shooting off sticks and offhand at 50 yards.  I averaged ten rounds of reloads per week for four months and got very good at reloading the double quickly even though it did not have ejectors on the rifle.  One of my best friends, Jim Madere, encouraged me through the entire process of preparing for the hunt but especially in practicing with the double.  I know he also really enjoyed shooting that rifle.

A month prior to my departure to South Africa, rioting, looting, kidnapping, and shootings broke out in Africa and the U.S. State Department recommended against travel to that destination.  I had already received about ten vaccinations and was determined not to cancel my “dream trip”.  Amy agreed with the decision to continue.

I had previously decided on going to Johannesburg two days early, to avoid jetlag on my first day of hunting.  I booked two nights at the Afton Safari Lodge, located only 15 minutes from O.R. Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg.  The Afton Safari Lodge is owned by the publisher of the African Hunting Gazette and managed by Elize, who does a wonderful job in making all safari hunters feel at home.

My first African safari ended in total success as I took my first African Cape Buffalo with my double rifle and several other plains game animals.  My 61-year dream had finally been fulfilled.  But this story is about my third Cape buffalo hunt in Zimbabwe, so, let’s get on with that.

Departure day has finally arrived for my third trip to the Dark Continent.  Preparation has been limited this past year due to an accident in October 2022.  While building a lean-to on my barn, a 16 foot 2”x6” rafter fell, and I caught it behind my back on a ladder.  That resulted in four muscle tears around my left rotator cuff.  Surgery on the four tears was accomplished in December 2022 resulting in physical therapy for the next four months.  The surgery had to be repeated in April 2023 due to an additional tear of the bicep.  I knew immediately that would place my August 2023 safari in jeopardy.  I called my professional hunter, Dave Freeburn of Dave Freeburn Safaris, to give him the bad news.  He said there was an opening in October for the Zimbabwe hunt – and the date was set.  I had hunted in South Africa for the past two years with Dave and he thought the change in location would be to my liking.

Physical therapy for the following five months led to about 70% recovery, but I was still limited in my use of the left arm.  I was concerned that I miight not be able to carry or shoot my Krieghoff 500/416 N.E. double rifle.  Two weeks prior to my departure date, Dr. Mitch Seemann, my orthopedic surgeon, cleared me to make the trip but not to carry the rifle with my left hand.  I practiced shooting about 75 rounds at my club range, Buffalo Creek Gun Club, in Colorado.  I did not have the mobility nor the quickness I needed to be going up against one of the Big Five dangerous game animals of Africa, the African Cape Buffalo.  I felt very comfortable shooting off my sticks for the first shot but still had concerns for the follow-up shot which is normally required.  My decision was made – I was leaving for Zimbabwe in two weeks.

My wife of over 31 years, Amy, took me to Denver International Airport (DIA) the morning of October 21st, 2023, to begin my journey.  Hank, our one-and-a-half-year-old Weimaraner, accompanied us but was dropped off at his favorite play-time kennel for the day since Amy had to work at the United Airlines Training Center after our trip to DIA.  My rifle was checked through by security to Johannesburg with no problems since all my paperwork was completed correctly.  I had a great breakfast at the United Club and daydreamed of my adventure to come.  My flight from Denver to Newark was on time and uneventful and after a few hours in the Newark United Club I boarded my familiar Boeing 787, Flight number 188, to Johannesburg.  Sixteen hours later I was retrieving my bag and rifle in O.R. Tambo Int Airport in Johannesburg.  That evening was spent at the City Lodge Hotel at the airport and after the next morning’s delicious breakfast, I checked my bag and rifle for my flight to Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe.  Dave Freeburn and I met in the boarding area and continued our journey to Zimbabwe on South African Airlines flight number SA40.  One and a half hours later I paid $30 for my Zimbabwe Visa and retrieved my baggage and rifle.  At the front entrance of the airport, we were met by Stewart “Stu” Taylor, our Zimbabwe PH along with an apprentice PH, Kirsten, who had finished PH School and was now doing her four years of required training, on safari, with a qualified PH.  Two and a half hours later we arrived in camp, located in Matetsi, Unit 2.  Along the way we picked up our Government Game Scout, Johnathan, from his government compound, one hour from our camp.  We also dropped off Kirsten for her short walk to Unit 1, where she was working.

After unpacking and meeting Guav Johnson, a PH and part owner in the Matetsi, Unit 2, lease permit, along with a friend of his and the camp staff, which included our primary tracker, Davey, his son Giff, our secondary tracker; Johnathan, the Game Scout, Moraine, our housekeeper and Internet expert, and our waiter, Nelson, we proceeded to ensure my rifle had remained sighted-in.  One shot at 50 meters satisfied Stu, the PH, but I shot a second shot to satisfy my double was good with both barrels for the hunt.

The first evening was spent on a drive showing me the terrain we would be hunting and discussing how we would hunt the African Cape Buffalo in Unit 2.  This Unit is part of a huge concession of close to 1,000,000 acres with no fences.  Every animal on the concession is totally free and wild.  On that short one-hour drive, I saw approximately 250 elephants and many other plains game animals. 

However, everything was not all good – a lightning storm we were watching started a huge fire that burned a significant part of the west side of Unit 2.  Another fire two weeks prior to our arrival burned thousands of acres right up to our camp.  We made a quick return to camp, where Stu directed workers to the fire with equipment, including a tractor, to make fire breaks.

A great dinner that evening was accompanied by many hunting adventures relayed by all three PHs.  The adventurous storytelling was interrupted by the soothing sound of a lion’s gentle roar, which continued through the evening.  Little did I know at the time, but Guav Johnson is a legendary PH who has guided many famous hunters in several countries on the African Continent.  He told to me that Simba’s roar was very common in the evening at that camp.  On no other previous hunt had I ever heard that sound throughout the night.  As I lay in bed that evening, I realized that sound was reinforcing my determination to continue my African journeys.

The next morning we were up at 4:45am, had breakfast with Guav and his friend, and drove out of camp at 5:30 to hunt for an old Dagga Boy, an old bull that normally has outlived his usefulness in the herd and might live by himself or with a couple of others like himself.  They generally have been replaced by a younger, stronger bull in their herd. 

I had told Stu that my left shoulder might be a problem, but my preference was for him not to assist with shooting the Dagga Boy, if we could find one.  The exception was if I did not make a clean first shot, but hit the buff, then take him down, especially if I was not fast on the follow-up shot.  He agreed.

The entire morning was driving the roads looking for big buff tracks.  We saw two sets of good tracks on the dusty road, but the two stalks yielded no Dagga Boys.  We saw one large herd in the distance, but we decided not to follow it since I was looking for a big old bull that had probably been pushed out of the herd, so went back to camp for lunch.  While having lunch, Stu got a call from Guav who had spotted three big Dagga Boys at the southern tip of the unit so Stu decided to cancel our previous plan and go the long distance where the bulls had been seen.  I had a good feeling about the change of plans because we were the only hunters in the area and the three bulls would not be under any pressure and therefore would probably remain in the area undisturbed. 

We reached the location about an hour after leaving camp and set up on a rise with all of us glassing the area.  The area was vast and covered with tall grass, scrubby trees and rolling hills – it provided lots of cover for the bulls and would be hard to locate them unless they either got up from the afternoon rest to go to water, picked up our scent, which was not likely due to keeping the wind in our face, or being bumped by other animals.  This was a possible problem due to many elephants in the area.  We stalked across the plains for about one-half mile while continuing to glass the area.  A slight rise gave a good view from a slightly higher position and we spotted our Dagga Boys. 

They were on the move and heading to water – or so we thought.  They disappeared in a low gully as we stalked closer, where we had good cover, and the wind was still in our favor.  Thirty minutes later we reached a position where we thought we would see them again, but they were nowhere to be seen.  We were then worried that our stalk had taken too long, and the “Dagga Boys” had hastened their pace to get to the water which was beyond the southeastern edge of our area. 

Our hopes faded the longer we glassed the area for them and finally Stu sent Giff, the youngest tracker, up a tree some distance behind us.  Still no sighting of the bulls.  After 30 more minutes of glassing, Dave told Stu that he would return directly to the location where we had spotted them from a good, elevated position.  He hurriedly returned with a big smile and informed us the bulls were lying down in the tall grass right in front of us at 150 yards.  Stu told us to stalk directly into the wind toward the bull’s position, very slowly across the area that had minimal cover for us.  We had to stalk low the entire way, only rising to ensure the bulls had not stood up.  At 100 yards from their position, the two trackers and Game Scout, remained behind a few bushes and Stu, Dave and I continued the stalk to 50 yards.  At that point Stu set up the shooting sticks for me and told me to shoot the bull to the left of a small tree when he stood up.  I focused the rifle sight on the tips of horns, which I could see protruding from the golden grass.  After 10 minutes, (it seemed like forever), the bulls started to move their heads around and I saw the tail swish of the bull I was focused on — I was ready for him to stand, and finally he did, but he and the other two bulls immediately turned the opposite way than I expected.  I held my shot to avoid hitting two bulls and at the same time Stu and Dave said, “Don’t shoot him, the bull on the right is bigger.” I had no time to get on the other bigger bull because they were intermingled.  They all three ran to the west, away from some elephants which had spooked them out of their afternoon rest and which, in my concentration on the bull with the horns protruding through the tall golden grass, I had not even been aware of.

Stu picked up the shooting sticks and all three of us ran in a direction to cut off some distance to the bulls.  We paused once to check on the bulls which had slowed to a fast walk.  They were 180 yards away and Stu asked if I was comfortable making a long shot if necessary.  I said, “No, it has to be close to 100 yards or closer with my double.”  We kept moving and then we saw elephants coming towards the bulls from the west – the bulls slowed which allowed us to get to 110 yards from the bulls where Stu set up the sticks once again and I got my rifle sight on the big guy, but they were still moving from right to left.  From behind me, Dave bellowed twice, the first was not loud enough for the bulls to hear at 110 yards, but the second bellow was loud, and all three bulls stopped to look our way — the biggest Dagga Boy stopped at a perfect side position view, and I was on him with an immediate shot through both lungs.  He jumped a couple of times before crumbling to the ground – he was done.  The other two bulls did not immediately leave him but did so after several seconds.

Even though my Krieghoff kicks hard, I did not feel anything but elation in knowing instantly that I had make a good shot at 90 yards and I had seen him jump when hit by the 400-grain soft-tip Nosler bullet.  I immediately reloaded with a solid in the right chamber, exactly like the cartridge in the left chamber.  We walked to the bull but could not see him in the dense grass until within 25 yards, where I placed an insurance bullet into his spine.  I know Stu knew the bull was finished because he did not intervene when I walked up and placed the tip of my barrel on the bull’s right eye. 

I unloaded and said a short prayer over this magnificent creature which was much bigger that my previous two bulls taken in 2021 and 2022.  Everyone arrived from their hide in the bush with broad smiles and congratulatory hands reaching out. The old Dagga Boy was then pulled out of the tall grass and positioned for many pictures with our entire crew.

The process of loading the bull onto the vehicle was like art in motion by the entire crew as I watched the one-ton buffalo being loaded in the Land Cruiser.  Arrival back in camp was a joyous occasion – the celebration started with a shot of Port and was followed by repeated stories of the stalk and how lucky we were, in so many ways.  Dinner and bed followed but the adrenalin was still flowing throughout my body and finally the last look at my phone showed midnight.  I awoke again at 05:00 to start another day in the bush.

Because I had filled my tag with a tremendous African Cape Buffalo just short of 43” and did not have any other species on my list, Dave asked if he could use my rifle for some hunting of his own.  Of course, I had no objection, and each day we searched for a tuskless cow elephant and possibly a trophy bull, which we had not yet encountered.  Every day that we hunted, we saw many herds of elephants consisting of 10 to 50 in each herd.  However, we never found either of the two desired animals.  Dave also wanted a good bushbuck which we found, and he took one afternoon. I had never considered a bushbuck, but it has a beautiful set of spiraled horns, so I may consider it on future hunts. 

The whole time pictures were being taken I was in my own world thinking about taking the life of this magnificent animal and justifying it by knowing many others will live out a full life, as this one had, due to the money that the hunters like me pay toward keeping and growing the numbers of animals living and thriving in the wild.  Without the hunters’ money going into this type of adventure and curbing the massive amount of poaching, the animals would lose their value to many of the local people, and they would be killed for subsistence and eliminated quickly.

minutes and then headed back to the riverbank with the trees, where they had initially been spotted.  We hid in the bush and waited in a nice hide.  They did not disappoint and returned to the area.  Again, one or more spotted us and once again they ran but this time from our right to left.  Stu quickly realized the big male was going to cross an opening between two trees on the riverbank and let me know to shoot when he was visible.  I was ready for the big guy when he appeared and let a 400-grain solid fly as soon as I saw his fur hit the opening.  The big bullet connected, and he was finished.  After pictures were taken, we headed to the waterhole for a chance at a big-tusked hog.  We built a perfect blind in the thicket 50 yards from what seemed to be the favorite mud-bath location.  We were prepared to wait most of the day for the right opportunity.  Although nothing appeared that we were satisfied with taking, we did see13 warthogs, 29 sable, a giraffe, a herd of 20 impala and a herd of zebra visit the water hole within the next four hours.  We packed up after the visitors went about their daily visit and hit the trails again to check out our possibilities before heading back to camp at sunset.

On my last day in Zimbabwe, I again awoke at 04:30, even though I did not have to be up before 07:00.  Nelson, as was normal routine, had a pot of coffee and a kettle of hot water sitting on the open fire situated in the middle of the concrete outdoor porch.  I poured a cup and sat outside in the cool darkness waiting for the sun to rise.  The fire had mostly been subdued and the hope for rain looked promising in the overcast dark sky.  I listened intently for the beautiful and soothing sound of Simba in the calm cool morning of darkness.  Simba’s soothing sound did not come, probably because the huge fires drove most of the animals away from Unit 2 and into the surrounding areas which had not been touched by the fires.  Knowing Simba was not near, I immediately started glassing the plains in the distance to the east and northeast in search of the herd of roan antelope which we had watched just prior to sunset the previous evening.

The 20 roan included two young calves which were fun to watch trying to keep up with their moms in the herd.

They were nowhere to be found that morning which did not surprise me.  What did surprise me was I saw no elephants, where I normally saw herds of 20 or more, off to the east prior to the burn areas.  A couple of kudu cows did show up a short distance from camp as the sun continued to rise.  I had already finished my coffee and oatmeal with toast when Stu and Dave arrived.  On the previous night I had counted out tip money for the camp employees and after Dave and Stu had finished breakfast, the employees came into the dining area one at a time for me to thank them and say our goodbyes.

Packing to leave this beautiful country left me with many mixed thoughts and emotions.  However, the one that I will embrace is that I will be back in a few months to start another great adventure on here, once again, looking for an old Dagga Boy.

We left camp after the vehicle was loaded with all our gear and trophies.  Our first stop was at a government facility where the Cape buffalo, baboon and bushbuck skulls were dropped off to be recorded and measured.  At the facility, we once again saw and talked to Kirsten who was delivering many animal skulls for recording, including two elephant and two lion skulls.  Jonathan was then delivered to his home in the government compound located another 30 minutes away. 

When we finally got back on a tar road, Stu quickly picked up speed for the 40km distance to Victoria Falls Airport.  After unloading and saying our goodbyes, Dave and I headed toward the check-in counter for South African Airlines.  Afterward is when the delays started – we waited 25 minutes for the Zimbabwean police to show up to clear my rifle.  Eight of them took me, with my baggage, into their small office and went through the paperwork for at least 15 minutes, then counted each bullet remaining that I possessed to take back home.  I was finally released to exit the room with my rifle and case being carried to the proper location for weapons to be loaded onto the flight leaving Zimbabwe.  I had to retrieve my rifle in JNB after our flight from Zimbabwe and recheck it for the flight back to Newark.  I then went through customs and rechecked my bag and rifle, all within the two-hour layover I had before my final flight that day to Denver, Colorado. 

Although I am 76 years old, I will continue to hunt the African Cape Buffalo in one of the many great countries of Africa for my remaining years.  Hunting it is at the top of my list of adrenalin-pumping adventures which I can accomplish.  All of this would be impossible without the outstanding dedication of the many great professional hunters and their staff.  My experience in hunting the African Cape Buffalo only extends back to 2021 when I hunted with Dave Freeburn of Dave Freeburn Safaris in South Africa.  Both 2021 and 2022 with Dave were outstanding, professional, and successful hunts, resulting in two old Dagga Boys.

This year’s hunt, 2023, took place with Classic African Hunting, located in Zimbabwe, Matetsi, Unit 2, with PH Stewart “Stu” Taylor.  Stu is a mild mannered, totally professional PH.  He conducts your hunt at your pace and ensures you know exactly what is needed from you and himself for the hunt to be successful, while at the same time getting all the excitement and enjoyment from your hunt that you deserve.

Next year, 2024, is shaping up to be one of my most enjoyable hunts with Dave Freeburn Safaris when I hopefully can take two additional hunters and friends to Dave’s Silent Valley Camp. 

I encourage all of you hunters, if you have not yet experienced an African Safari, to start your preparation now for the hunt of a lifetime.  My only regret is that I did not start down this path until later in life.  However, I am quickly making up for the adventures lost.

The hunters looking for springbuck on the plains below them.

By Piet van Rooyen

The springbuck ram stood quartering towards us at just over 200 meters, its impressive set of horns clearly outlined against the background of yellow grass and granite outcrops. My son, Chris, had the 30-06 Ruger Hawkeye rifle steady on the sticks, with Robin giving extra support with his left shoulder, his well-worn floppy hat shading his eyes from the slanting sunrays. It was just after 10h00 and we had been following different groups of springbuck since early morning. The hunting method was to drive to a promising area on Robin’s almost 26000 hectares hunting farm, climb up to a vantage point from where we could glass for springbuck, and then approach via one of the dry river beds in the broken terrain. We were a group of four: myself, my son, Robin Hurt and Gabriel, Robin’s tracker. The animals were tame enough, with Robin only accommodating a minimum number of hunters each season, and allowing nobody to shoot from a vehicle.

Once he identified a suitable ram, Robin took the lead in the slow approach to the springbuck, sometimes crouching low, but often walking in plain sight of the springbuck, in a wide, gradually closing half-circle, with the springbuck staring at us from a distance, without taking off in full flight. I realised that Robin knew exactly what he was doing, with habits ingrained from many years of hunting experience. He carried a modern Winchester .300 Short Magnum as the backup rifle, but his shooting sticks were in a class of their own – no modern fancy-folding stuff, but sticks made from the indigenous Salvadora tree, prevalent in the nearby Gaub River. “It’s difficult to teach an old dog new tricks,” said Robin when he saw me smiling at this setup.

I am an old-timer hunter, hunting many animals in my lifetime of seventy years, among others some good specimens of the big five. All of these hunts were self-generated, often with the help of an indigenous tracker, whom I could trust, and on whose instincts and knowledge of the veld and of animal behaviour I could depend. I never had the desire to hunt under the guidance of a formal professional hunter (PH). This probably stems from my individual personality, and from a jealously-guarded emphasis on my personal freedom to make decisions the way I prefer, and not to be told what to do, unless I specifically ask for advice. The main drawback in this regard was that the tracker/guide usually had a strong craving for fresh meat and would urge me to shoot, whatever the consequences. On this basis I made many mistakes in the hunting field, leading to wounded animals and hours of painstaking tracking work, which should have been avoided.

Robin Hurt under his well-worn floppy hat glassing the terrain.

I am, at the same time, an avid reader of stories, especially those on hunting and adventure. The well-known Hemingway story, “The Short and Happy Life of Francis Macomber”, has always been one of my favourites. From this, it is evident that the relationship between the professional hunter and his client/s is often a complex one. Since the proliferation of good-quality hunting videos on the internet I also became a dedicated viewer of these. Professional Hunters like Jeff Rann, Ivan Carter, and others, became a hallmark of how a successful hunt can be conducted. In this regard, one must probably take into account that only the successful outcomes will be presented to the audience.

A few years ago, I also watched the full-length big-screen movie “In the Blood’ about the growing up of a young boy and his “first blood’ in the hunting fields of Africa, in which Robin Hurt as Professional Hunter for the expedition plays a prominent role as the guide and mentor of this boy. The stories and video clips awakened in me the desire to see how such a “guided” hunt is conducted in practice, and to allow myself to participate in such a hunt.

Some may call it ccoincidence, but I call it serendipity that myself and Robin Hurt became neighbours on our respective farms in the Khomas Hochland of Namibia, since some fifteen years ago. Robin Hurt has guided successful hunts for clients on hundreds of trophy elephant, buffalo, lion, leopard and other animals over his decades’ long hunting career in Kenya, Tanzania, Sudan, Uganda and elsewhere in Africa. Known as “the hunter’s hunter” for his dedication and professionalism, he became a legend in his lifetime. Hunting organisations like Safari Club International, rightly so, view Robin as one of the top living professional Hunters in Africa.

Springbuck in their habitat on Robin’s land.

My son, Chris, nowadays lives and works in Australia. He has a much more accommodating personality than myself, and is much more willing to take and follow orders. When he and his family came to visit us here in Namibia for a week or two, I thought the moment ideal to put the possibility of a hunt under guidance of a Professional Hunter to the test, and in which I could participate as an objective observer. When I asked Robin if he would take us, he was immediately willing to do so, on the basis of our friendship and neighbourliness. The hunt would be for a good springbuck ram from his herd of altogether almost 600 springbuck.

The terrain was mostly quartz-strewn undulating plains, not heavily bushed, with granite outcrops in between and dry river beds winding down via the contours. The massive Gamsberg, one of the highest mountains in Namibia, at over 2300 meters high, was a blue-hazed presence in the near distance. It was clear from the start that this was to be a different sort of hunt than what I was used to. The decision-making was in somebody else’s hands. That, to me, was a liberating experience that I did not experience before. For the first time in my hunting career I did not feel the pressure to make decisions. All decisions, up to the moment of the final squeezing of the trigger, now depended on the Professional Hunter. Robin knew his hunting area, he knew his animals, he had confidence in his abilities. He calmly surveyed the land and the animals below through his binoculars before starting to move out. His calm assurance also affected us. I experienced none of the former highly charged adrenaline rush and frantic movements as when on a self-guided hunt. I think that this calmness also affected the animals which we were stalking, and they moved away only slightly before starting to graze again. In this way we could approach to within shooting distance before setting up the sticks.

Chris and Robin with the trophy ram after the hunt.

The final shot was almost an anti-climax. The buck stumbled head-down for a few meters before succumbing. Robin gave my son a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. “Good shooting!” he said. That was all that was needed. I again realised that the essence of the journey lay in the whole hunt, not in the eventual kill only.

The trophy was of exceptional quality, thick, symmetrical horns curving back at the tips, and measuring nearly fifteen inches a side. I already prepared a special place for them on my verandah wall, mounted on an indigenous piece of wood, the outlay indicating the lucky triangle of father, son and PH.

By Donald J Stoner

It is said that hippos kill more people in Africa than any other animal (if you exclude mosquitos).  But does that qualify them to be classified as dangerous game.  I have certainly had my doubts until, that is, an experience I had one night in a farmer’s field.  There is no question that an animal that weighs two tons, can run up to 20 mph and has huge teeth, has the potential of being dangerous.  The danger is highest if you happen to catch a hippo on the land.  Water is their preferred environment and they seem less threatened there.  I don’t think any predator will attack a full-grown hippo in the water, although a big croc will certainly snatch a small hippo given half a chance.  On the other hand, lion, especially a large pride, will attack a hippo if they catch it on land.  This may have something to do with hippo temperament when they are away from water.  Threaten a hippo on land, and it will head straight for the nearest water and run over or through anything foolish enough to get in the way.  This is usually not “charging”; it is simply escaping.  Of course, if you happen to be between the hippo and the water, the effect for you is not much different.  He will not hesitate to kill you as he goes by.

Since I have never really considered hippo “dangerous” game, I have never had a great desire to hunt one.  Shooting a hippo in the water, while it can be challenging, is hardly dangerous.  Thus, hippo was never on my “wish list”.  However, in 1996 when on safari with my wife, an unusual opportunity arose that changed my opinion of hippo.

I had a wonderful safari in a game-rich area bordering the Kruger Park. During that safari I had taken both lion and leopard.  The leopard had not been planned but the opportunity came due to heavy predation on a nearby farm.  The hunt for lion and leopard consumed almost all of our three weeks scheduled safari time, but in addition to taking a lot of bait, I had also taken several quality trophies.  I was well past satisfied with the success of the hunt, so I had packed up my rifles and gear and planned to enjoy another couple of days in camp before catching the plane home.

On the morning of our next to last day in camp, my PH excitedly came to our room and asked if I would like to take a hippo.  “Well, not exactly!  But I will listen to your proposition.”  He then explained that a sweet potato farm in an area about an hour from our camp had just called him because they had been given a problem permit to kill a hippo that had been raiding their farm every night for two weeks. 

This was a real problem because the hippo was consuming an estimated 450 pounds of potatoes a night and doing great damage to the remaining plants.  He then explained that the farm was near a reserve that was fenced off from private farm land to protect the crops.  The fact that the hippo was leaving the reserve indicated it was probably a young male that had been driven out of the pod by the dominant bull.  When displaced, they can become quite a problem as they search for new territory.  Because of this behavior, my PH thought the offender would not be a trophy bull, but since the price was right, he suggested we take the job.  He explained that we would have to be certain we killed the culprit and to do that we would have to catch him 

feeding on the field at night.  He explained that we would have to wait till late evening and then, every hour or two, we would start near the river and walk the fields, working our way toward the back of the farm moving in absolute silence and darkness.  We would find the hippo by sound since they make a lot of noise chewing up potatoes.  Once located, we would get as close as we could and then turn the lights on him.  That would trap the hippo.  He would have to come by us to get back to safety and would probably try to kill us as he went by.  His selling point was not the trophy, but rather that it was indeed a dangerous hunt.  OK!  Now you have my attention.

I unpacked my .375 and solid ammo and my PH began making the arrangements with both the farmer and the game management department.  Late in the afternoon we drove the hour or so to the farm where we met the farmer and his farm manager.  They showed us around the farm just as it was getting dark.  In doing so, we surprised a sounder of bush pigs which they also needed to remove, and I made a lucky shot from a moving vehicle at a running pig and put him down.  It was a good start to the evening.

After we surveyed the farm and developed our strategy, we parked under an old tree near the riverside of the farm and had some coffee and a light snack. It was a clear, cold night and the miles of plowed fields soon were shrouded in darkness.  I was then given strict instructions that I will never forget. 

“You must remain absolutely silent until we locate him and get the light on him.  As soon as the light hits him, you start shooting.  Shoot for the head or neck, but get as many shots into him as you can.  I will be standing next to you and the second I don’t see empty cases flying from your rifle, I will start shooting.  This is serious and you must put him down quickly or someone will get hurt.  Do you understand?”  OK, I think I had the picture!  I better shoot fast and well or you are going to do it for me and if I mess up, we will all be in a lot of trouble.  I got it.  Yea, right!  Can I go home now?  This was not exactly what I expected.  Stumbling around in the dark with a hippo, not to mention all the other interesting things you might stumble into like mambas, cobras, adders and who knows what else, scarcely seems like fun.

We waited until it was black dark.  About nine pm we made the first round of plowed fields with uneven footing, varied smells, feet sinking into soft soil in places, and stumbling on lumps of solid clods at others.  It took forty-five minutes to walk the rows of crop, probably about half a mile, and then we returned to the truck where we sat, talked, and shared coffee.  By now it was getting quite chilly, so the hot coffee was very welcome.  We repeated the same drill at ten and eleven and then returned to find an invitation to join the farmer at his house for a cup of hot chocolate and some snacks, a welcome invitation.  Upon arrival, everyone went in ahead of me and closed the door almost in my face, which seemed a bit unusual.  As I opened the door, I was confronted by a huge leopard, claws out, jaws open in mid-spring right in front of the door.  Needless to say, it gave me quite a start until I realized it was a beautiful mount of a big leopard arranged to give any unexpected guest just the scare it gave me.  Of course, everyone got a laugh out of my sudden frozen step and surprised look. 

Shortly after midnight we were back walking the rows and rows of planted sweet potatoes.  Several times we heard movement and maneuvered to be ready but each time it was some unknown animal that heard, or smelled, us and simply vanished.  Still, every noise caused a heightened awareness and adrenalin surge. 

The impact was so hard that I could not only hear it but I felt it in my feet.  My shot had severed his spine just at the back of the head.  He was already moving so fast that my bullet, intended for between the eyes, hit about four inches further back severing the spine at the base of the skull.  A spine shot explained his sudden and complete collapse.  As I stood trying to determine if I needed to shoot again my PH slapped my back so hard I almost had an accidental discharge.  He was absolutely thrilled.  So were the trackers.  The relief was palpable and the enthusiasm at the size of the brute was off the scale.  I had been warned not to expect a trophy-sized hippo, but he was certainly a trophy bull and proved to be the largest hippo killed in that province over the last five years.  He was indeed battle scarred and it appeared he had lost his fight to maintain supremacy which probably accounted for his behavior. 

I was simply astounded at his size.  I had been assured that we would recover the animal in the truck we took, but this bull was so huge, we barely managed to get the severed head into the bed of the truck.  We had to leave the body in the field to be recovered the following day.  No wonder they were losing four hundred plus pounds of potatoes each night.  The area where he had been feeding looked like a bulldozer had been at work.  The farmer was jubilant, my PH was thrilled, and I was simply ecstatic.  It was a remarkable trophy, taken on land at night, and done with one fast shot.  What a night to remember.

As we returned to the camp, I was in hippo heaven.  That night remains a wonderful memory and one I certainly will never have the opportunity to repeat.  I just thank God it ended safely and that I had the experience of such a hunt.  And, “yes”, I now consider hippo dangerous game. 

By Barry Parks

About 10 AM, a waterbuck herd walked in from our right. The “Waterbuck Bull of a Lifetime” was the last one to enter. He mingled with the herd as they ate and drank. No animals could be in front of or behind him. About 10 minutes went by before a hole opened. I stood up, grabbed my bow, drew, and stepped to shoot…

It was late February 2023 when a friend called to cancel an August trip to Ireland. Determined to go on an adventure, I decided to honor my late wife, Kim. Covid pneumonia took her life on October 1, 2021. We were married for 25 years. She was 51… A South African Safari was on her bucket list. I called Carl Drake, a friend to inquire. Carl is a member of the Eland Safaris Pro Staff. He told me that there were spots available in early or late June 2023. After checking my schedule, I opted for the late June Safari. Inspired by another friend, I decided to bow hunt. I had not shot archery in over 10 years and had never harvested an animal with a bow. With only 3 months to prepare, it would prove to be a tough personal challenge.

Leading up to the safari, I was asked to provide a list of target animals. Mine included an impala, warthog, gemsbok, blue wildebeest, and a baboon. They are all considered Plains Game. For plains game, Eland Safaris recommends at least 60-pound draw weight, 400+ grain arrows and fixed blade broadheads. Preparation for my journey continued with a call to Eric Grippa of Grip’s Archery, YouTube channel. Eric and I have been friends since childhood. Archery and deer hunting are his passions. I asked Eric if he had a bow that I could buy for my upcoming safari. He offered to sell me his hunting bow from the previous deer season. It was a PSE Evoke Lite with 60-pound draw weight and 80%-90% let off. Perfect for my upcoming hunt.

Eric adjusted the draw length first, then the peep sight. I strapped on a release and shot a few arrows to test the setup. Once finished on the range, we discussed arrow specifics. Eric suggested PSE carbon fiber arrows, Bohning Blazer vanes and Dirt Nap Broadheads. He showed me a post hunt photo of a broadhead buried in a tree to the insert. The kicker… The Dirt Nap Broadhead passed through a doe before hitting the tree. One word, penetration. South African animals are known to be tough, and penetration is key. Dirt Nap Broadheads have a single bevel with a 1-3/16 inch main blade, and 5/8 inch bleeder blades. When my 12 arrows were fully assembled, they each weighed between 432 grains and 435 grains including a 125 grain tip / broadhead.

I purchased a Block 6×6 Archery Target and began to shoot in my backyard. Practice started with 12 arrows per session. After a few days, I realized that my back and shoulders would not tolerate 12 arrows per practice for 3 months… So, I reduced the number of shots to 6 per session. Over the next month I made some additional changes, adding grip tape and a wrist strap to my bow. With “old” eyes, I found myself looking at fuzzballs instead of pins. Accuracy was still acceptable despite my vision.

Two weeks before departure I searched the internet for Archery Optics and discovered Verifier Peep Sights. The Verifier Peep Sight has a lens in it for near sighted shooters. With new insight, I headed to Broken Rack Archery, Batavia, Ohio. They handed me a device that had multiple lenses. After selecting a lens, a Broken Rack staff member installed the Specialty Archery – Verifier Peep sight on my bow. Instantaneously I saw pins instead of fuzzballs. My accuracy improved immediately. I finally felt ready to hunt.

On Thursday June 15, 2023, I flew from Cincinnati, Ohio to Johannesburg, South Africa. The flights were very smooth and uneventful. After clearing South African Customs, I gathered my luggage and bow case. As I exited the airport terminal, I was met by Eland Safaris Staff Members Alex Thomson, Divan van den Heever, Villa Viljoen and Pro Staffer Carl Drake. 

A few minutes later the other hunters arrived, Maria Brophy Garrett, her son Levi, Jeanette Vest, and Beth Brannigan. After brief introductions we walked a short distance to the parking lot. A van and a truck were waiting for us. Luggage was loaded and we climbed in for a short drive to the Afton Safari Lodge. We were served a delicious steak dinner that also included “drinks”, and dessert. With full bellies, we retired to our rooms for a shower and good night’s sleep.

The next morning, we ate breakfast, loaded our gear, and headed North. It was a four-and-a-half-hour drive to Maasstroom, South Africa. Near the Botswana border, Maasstroom is in the Limpopo Province, and the home of Eland Safaris. Upon arrival we were promptly greeted by the rest of the Eland Safari Staff. Then, we were shown to our chalets. Each chalet had brick walls, thatched grass roofs and sliding glass doors. I was pointed to the Kudu chalet, home for the next 8 days. It had a queen-sized bed, a full bath and was decorated in South African décor. Suitable accommodations for my stay.

During lunch I was introduced to Johnny Thomson, my assigned Professional Hunter (PH). After some time to settle in, we headed to the range to sight in our guns and bows. Rifle hunters went first. Then, it was time for the archers. Jeannette, an experienced bow hunter, shot first. Her arrows flew straight and true. Then, it was my turn… My nerves kicked in and I did not shoot very well. I couldn’t believe that 3 months of work had come down to this… Thank goodness for some last-minute pointers from Divan & Johnny. With their assistance, my shot placement improved.

I woke up to a beautiful South African sunrise, ate a quick breakfast, and headed back to the range for some last-minute practice. With settled nerves, I flung a few arrows. They were on target. Finally, it was go-time in South Africa!!!

The Dirt Nap Broadhead struck just above the left shoulder and the arrow passed through his chest cavity. Shot placement was perfect. The impala jumped, then darted to our right. Peatry, my tracker was called on the radio. He showed up in the truck a few minutes later. Pete climbed out of the passenger seat. The three of them immediately started the track the impala ram. I intentionally stayed behind so that I would not accidentally step on any sign. They studied the ground and followed tracks for about 50 yards. Then, I thought “What if I find it??” At that moment my eyes scanned the perimeter. Much to my surprise, I spotted the downed impala ram 50 yds to my right and called out “Hey guys!! It’s over there!!” We celebrated with high fives. I was absolutely thrilled that my first bow harvest was in the books. In South Africa of all places!!! We took some pictures. Then, Pete and Peatry loaded the impala into the truck bed and drove back to the house to wait for the next call.

About an hour later a mature male warthog entered from the left. He walked in slowly and stopped at the water’s edge. Johnny ranged him at 20 yds. Again, I drew my bow, aimed, and released the shot. The warthog jumped my string and broke the arrow as it passed through him. Most of the arrow shaft exited the hog and landed in the watering hole, broadhead down. The fletching was still in him. Video showed that my shot may have been a couple of inches behind the target area. As a result, Johnny suggested that we wait until after lunch to track the warthog. After returning to camp for lunch, we climbed back into the truck and headed out to track my warthog. We stopped by Pete’s house and again, he climbed in. When we pulled up to the watering hole, a mature gemsbok was standing by the blind. It ran off a few seconds after spotting us.

It was time to track the warthog. Johnny, my PH grabbed a rifle to shoot it if necessary. Again, I stayed to the rear and watched them track. We ducked under several thorny trees and squeezed through thickets. It seemed like every tree and bush in South Africa wanted to stick, poke, or grab you… After following tracks for 20 minutes, Peatry spotted the warthog, dead. It fell about 150 yds from the watering hole. We rolled it over and discovered the exit hole in the opposite shoulder, another well placed arrow. Johnny and Peatry loaded the warthog into the truck. Peatry and Pete again drove off while Johnny and I walked back to the blind.

During our afternoon sit, we saw several species of animals including waterbuck cows and young kudu bulls. It was quite an experience to watch wild South African animals at such close range. A few hours passed. It was dinner time, and we were hungry. Peatry was called on the radio and a few minutes later, he returned with the truck. We loaded our gear and drove toward the Eland Safari Camp. While in route, I was overcome with joy as I recalled my first day hunting in South Africa.

Monday, the action continued. Mid-morning, an impala ram with a broken rear leg limped into the watering hole from our right. It stopped at the water’s edge to get a drink. Johnny ranged him at 18 yards and gave the OK to shoot. I felt a slight adrenaline rush, as I drew and released the arrow. My shot was a little low… The Dirt Nap Broadhead split the shoulder blade and penetrated the vital organs of the impala. It ran 30 yds and laid down within sight of the blind. No tracking required. While loading the impala, Peatry told us that he heard the grunt of a nearby kudu bull. We finished quickly and quietly. Pete and Peatry drove back to the house.

Johnny and I headed back to the blind for lunch. Soon after we ate, several kudu cows and calves entered the watering hole from our right. A few minutes later they were joined by 2 young kudu bulls. As I watched in awe, another kudu bull entered from the right. It had ivory tipped horns and was much larger than the others. Johnny whispers “it’s a shooter.” Again, I felt the “jitters” and started to shake a little. The mature kudu bull walked behind the watering hole to feed. After a few minutes, he turned around, walked to my right, and paused. While standing broadside the kudu bull lowered his head to feed. Johnny ranged the shot at 30 yards. The kudu lowered his head to feed a second time. With my heart racing, I took a deep breath, drew, aimed, and released the arrow. My shot was perfect. It struck just above his right shoulder and easily passed through his chest cavity. Overwhelmed with adrenaline and emotion, I immediately choked up and cried. Johnny held his hand up and said, “my hands are shaking too.” What an incredible scene! After we composed ourselves, Peatry and Pete were called on the radio. Johnny reviewed video to identify the initial path of the kudu. After 20 minutes of tracking, Peatry found the bull piled up next to a tree, 200 yards from the blind. As we celebrated, Johnny said to me, “you were supposed to shoot the kudu so that it died in the sun.” We laughed at his joke then scooted the bull away from the tree for photos. Oh My God!!! What an amazing animal!!! The kudu is also called the “Grey Ghost of Africa” for its ability to quickly disappear into the bush. This bull was almost 600 pounds with ivory tipped horns almost 4 feet tall. Peatry trimmed branches so that the truck could be brought in to load my latest harvest. The truck was equipped with an electric winch on the front bumper to assist with loading heavy game. After backing the truck in behind the kudu, the winch cable was run over the cab of the truck and hooked to the rear legs. As Peatry loaded the kudu, I told Johnny that I was done hunting for the day. It was time to celebrate an incredible hunt!!

Tuesday morning, we changed blinds. Several animals visited the watering hole. Among them were Impala, warthogs, and a mongoose. Mid-morning a gemsbok cow walked in. She was big and beautiful. Gemsbok cows have horns that are longer and skinnier than the bulls. She stopped at the watering hole for a drink, standing broadside at 20 yards. Johnny told me that he needed to verify that she was neither pregnant nor nursing. He looked closer with binoculars. She turned away and gave us a view of her udder. It was slightly dropped and showed signs of nursing. As a result, I was not allowed to shoot. She got a pass… A short time later the wind picked up and started to swirl. Animals that approached the watering hole became very nervous or turned around and refused to come in. We determined that they could smell our scent so, we gathered our gear and changed blinds.

Wind direction was more favorable by the new blind. We grabbed our gear from the truck, climbed in and ate lunch. About an hour had passed when I spotted a young baboon as it jumped into a tree. A few minutes went by. Then it returned to the ground and walked into the watering hole. A congress (group) of baboons soon followed. The last baboon to enter was a mature adult male. He walked to the near side for a drink. Baboons are very skittish and have eyesight like humans. As a result, I had to draw while hidden, step into shooting position, aim, then release my arrow. Johnny ranged him at 16 yards. I drew, stepped, attempted to aim and… My peep sight was twisted… I whispered and asked for help. Johnny reached up to fix my sight while I held at full draw. One of the baboons spotted the motion… They fled… No shot… It was the baboon’s lucky day… We twisted the peep sight back into proper position.

Later that afternoon a herd of waterbuck walked in from our right. They were led by several cows with calves. A couple of young waterbuck bulls joined them. We sat quietly and watched. Then we heard cracking branches. To our amazement, a big waterbuck bull crashed through the brush directly in front of us. His horns were much longer and wider than the younger bulls. Johnny looked at me and whispers “that’s the Waterbuck Bull of a lifetime!” I told him that he was making it tough but would like to hold out for a gemsbok. An hour or more passed before the waterbuck herd left the watering hole. At dusk we loaded our gear into the truck and drove back to camp.

While eating dinner I noticed a waterbuck bull on the wall of the Eland Safari lodge. It was smaller than the bull that I had just seen. During dinner I was told that “target” animals don’t always present themselves. Sometimes it becomes necessary for a hunter to harvest what mother Africa offers. As a result of the conversation, I had a better understanding and decided to hunt the BIG waterbuck bull the next day.

Wednesday was the last day that I had permission to hunt Pete’s property. Johnny and I were back in the same blind as the previous afternoon. While we waited, Johnny told me that waterbuck are very skittish animals. If a shot presented itself, I would have to draw while hidden, step into shooting position, aim, then release my arrow. I acknowledged, and the wait continued… About 10 AM, the waterbuck herd walked in from our right. The “Waterbuck Bull of a Lifetime” was the last one to enter. He mingled with the herd as they ate and drank. About 10 minutes went by before it looked like I would get an opportunity to shoot. No animals could be in front of or behind him. A hole opened. I stood up, grabbed my bow, drew, and stepped to shoot. Animals moved… So, I was forced to let-down my bow. 5 minutes passed before another hole opened. Still standing, I drew and stepped to shoot. Again, I was forced to let-down my bow. Several minutes went by. I continued to stand, bow in hand. The “Waterbuck Bull of a Lifetime” finally presented himself. He was facing to my left, broadside at 26 yards. I drew, stepped, aimed, and released my arrow. While the arrow was in flight, I cursed. It was a gut shot… Apparently, fatigue from holding my bow for so long played a role in my poor shot… It was an awful feeling… I could not have shot that bad on purpose…

Johnny suggested that we wait for at least an hour before tracking the injured bull. I decided to look for my arrow and Johnny soon joined me. We searched for at least 20 minutes and couldn’t find it. Maybe my arrow was still in the waterbuck bull. Hopefully the broadhead was still cutting. We continued to wait… Finally, it was time to go. My PH asked me “If I see it, can I shoot it?” “Yes, please” was my response. Johnny grabbed his rifle from the truck. Peatry led us on the track. About 150 yards from the blind, we heard breaking branches. It was the injured bull. We inspected his bedding area and found that it had left a sizeable bright red bloodstain, a promising sign that arrow may have struck a vital organ. We backed off again.

Another hour went by, it was time to go. We grabbed water bottles and headed off. 200 yards from the truck we bumped him from another thicket. We got a glimpse of his rump, and he was gone… I followed Peatry and Johnny as they continued to trail the injured bull. They tracked him for a mile and a half over the next four plus hours. Twilight settled in and it was time to stop for the evening. We walked to a nearby dirt road. Johnny used his boot to draw a line on the road to serve as a starting point in the morning. On the way back to the truck, Johnny said “it was likely that the waterbuck bull would die overnight.” Despite Johnny’s reassurance, it was difficult to keep my spirits up. I was dejected because of my poor shot and physically tired from the track. One looming question remained… Would we be allowed to resume in the morning??

We stopped by Pete’s house on the way out. He was waiting for us. Johnny explained the situation and asked for permission to return. Pete told us that he was headed to Victoria to visit family and did not like people on his property when he was not there. Then he looked me in the eye and said “Barry, I would feel bad if I did not let you come back in the morning to track that waterbuck.” I graciously thanked him and shook his hand before we headed back to camp.

After a restless night’s sleep, I woke up hopeful. We ate breakfast and headed towards the truck. Jeanette, one of the other hunters, suggested that I take my bow for pictures, just in case. I returned to my chalet, grabbed my bow. As I walked to the truck, Maria was headed to her chalet. She looked at me and said, “Good luck, maybe Kim will help you this morning.” I grinned and replied, “Thank you. I’ll need all the help that I can get.”

With a second tracker and a Jack Russell Terrier to help find the waterbuck bull, we climbed into the truck and headed back to Pete’s. Once we arrived, we slowly drove down a single lane dirt road. While creeping towards the spot that Johnny marked, one of the trackers yells from the back of the truck. “Stop, there it is!!” With a smile on my face, I jumped out of the truck and saw that it died on the roadside of a bush. What a blessing!! Had it been on the other side of the bush, we would probably have driven past it. I felt a rush of emotion and began to cry tears of joy. It was my lucky day for sure!! The waterbuck bull was scooted away from the bush. After a short photo session, the truck was backed up a few feet to ease loading. While the bull was winched into the bed, I looked at Johnny and said in a joking voice, “At least he died in the sun!!” Johnny smiled and laughed. My bow hunt was now complete!! What a feeling of accomplishment!!! My afternoon was spent about 70 feet in the air in an elevated blind over a big watering hole. I took photos of gemsbok, waterbuck, warthogs, and eland. That evening the sky turned vibrant colors of red, orange, purple and blue as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon. It was a very peaceful sunset over the South African bush.

Friday morning, I partnered with my buddy Carl Drake. We rode in the bed of a safari truck with his PH, Alex Thomson. Carl was hunting for a mature male velvet monkey. We did see some, but none offered themselves up for a shot. Later, a herd of cape buffalo was spotted. The truck was stopped 20 yards from the largest bull. It was big enough to flip the vehicle. Johnny eased out of the cab to check a trail camera. The herd watched him with fearsome scowls. After checking the camera, Johnny climbed back into the passenger seat, and we drove away. What a humbling experience. That afternoon I was asked to ride along with Levi and his PH, Villa. Levi was hunting impala and jackal. It wasn’t long before a mature impala ram was spotted. The truck was stopped, and we climbed out to stalk. Unfortunately, after a short time the impala gave us the slip… An hour before sunset we setup for a jackal hunt. An electronic call was placed about 100 yards from us. Sounds of wounded and crying animals filled the air. Darkness fell… After retrieving the call, Villa told us that he had just seen a jackal. It was too dark to shoot… Saturday morning, I joined Jeanette and her PH, Divan. She was after a mature blesbok ram. During the hunt, we saw several species that included giraffe, zebra, and ostrich. Finally, a group of four shooter blesbok rams were spotted. The truck was stopped about 100 yards from the group. Divan instructed Jeanette to shoot the blesbok furthest to the right. From the bed of the truck, she aimed through the scope of a suppressed .243 rifle. Jeanette squeezed the trigger and hit him with a good shot. After a short track / stalk, she placed a shot across the shoulders that finished him off. We celebrated with high fives and hugs!! It was awesome to be part of another successful hunt.

Jeanette, Beth, Maria, Levi, Carl, and I lined up behind the trophies in two rows. Ladies sat in front of the men. For the final photo, the women joined hands and raised their arms in victory. A suitable end for an outstanding safari.

Aside from my own success, camp was filled with positive energy the entire time. I sucked it up like a sponge. The staff at Eland Safaris did an excellent job taking care of us. The Eland Safari camp is beautiful and well maintained.

. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were provided each day. Meals included eland, kudu, waterbuck, crocodile, impala and more. Most evenings, a South African game loin was seared over the campfire. Then, it was cut into chops / steaks and returned to the campfire

grill to finish cooking. Before each meal, Brighton, the camp chef would announce the entrée and side dishes. Several evenings at dinner, he instructed us to keep our spoon. In other words, we would also have dessert. My favorite was called “A Slice of Heaven”. It was a rich, moist chocolate cake with cream icing. Certainly, one of the best that I had ever eaten.