A tired crew in front of the cave with a worthy trophy.

By Ricardo Leone

This past January 2023 at the DSC Show, I was reunited with my Professional Hunter, Gamshad Gam, from a memorable Tanzanian Safari, nearly a decade ago. We had not seen each other nor talked since October 2013. As we sat in his booth to catch up on our respective life events, we immediately talked about our unforgettable Warthog chase – some things you just cannot make up!

So, what do you do with a Warthog in a cave?

This was not your usual vertically oriented cave that comes to mind – the type of cave one just walks into. The cave’s entrance was about half way up a rock cropping – almost suspended in air. Its’ shape was horizontal – only two to three feet high and twenty or more feet wide. The cave was likely home to predators based on all the old bones we found just outside the entrance. On the rocks above the cave, were Hyraxes just looking at us. At first the Hyraxes just sat and watched us try to solve the question of the day, then with a blink of an eye – they were gone. I am confident If they knew the forthcoming entertainment – they would have stayed to watch the antics.  

The cave opening halfway up the rock outcrop.

We had to climb up a good ten feet slope to the entrance of the cave. While we believed the Warthog was in there, we could not see into the cave. I cannot recall whose idea it was, but either Gamshad or our tracker came up with the idea to light a fire in the cave’s entrance and smoke the Warthog out. The crew assembled a firepit on the ground below the cave and started a fire. They cut down leaf covered saplings, lit the leaves, and tried to stuff the burning saplings into the cave without the fire going out. In parallel, Gamshad positioned me at one corner of the cave’s mouth looking across the entrance – he asked me to sit ready with my rifle in hand for when the Warthog ran out. Well so much for a grand plan, the smoke found its way into everyone’s eyes, except the Warthog’s, and the saplings burned out without the Warthog or anything for that matter exiting the cave.

The last whisps of smoke after our failed effort to smoke the warthog out of the cave.

It was now past 2pm, some five hours after our first sighting of this Warthog. If the Warthog was not coming out – then we had to go in. However, we had a problem – we could not find a torch in the Land Cruiser. Gamshad sent our driver, Mushi, back to camp to retrieve both a torch and a rope. Mushi’s drive would take at least an hour. In the meantime, as the firepit still had embers – the crew decided it was time for lunch!

I was not really in an eating mood; however, I had to do something to pass the time as no one else was interested in my Warthog at that moment. While the crew settled in to cook a hot meal, I grabbed a cold sandwich from the cooler and found a rock to sit on to reflect on the events of the day that lead us to such an unusual predicament. This was only on my second African hunting safari – I was still climbing a steep learning curve. We were in the Kizigo Hunting Block in Tanzania, and it had been a hard trip to date and rough living. It was day ten or our twelve-day safari and I still had a Warthog on my wish list. I really wanted to harvest my first Warthog – so much so that when I had an opportunity at 8:30am that morning – I rushed a shot on a running Warthog and missed.

Ok, it was “game on” – I needed to find another Warthog. This was my sole goal for the remaining three days of the safari. Luckily, within the next thirty minutes, we found another worthy Warthog. This one was about 100 yards away off to our right. We were driving in a dried riverbed, so the Warthog was slightly above us up on a ridge. Gamshad had me steady my rifle on the cab of the Land Cruiser for the rising shot. I quickly took aim and shot. I knew the moment I fired, that I pulled the gun right. Sure enough, I hit the Warthog in the back leg or foot. The Warthog spun around and ran back behind the vehicle and away from us. While I was sure the Warthog was not happy about his foot, it could still motor along. Everyone except our driver, Mushi, got off the Land Cruiser and we started what was going to be a very long stalk. The best way to share our journey is to recall our timeline.

I shot this Warthog at approximately 9am. The injured Warthog ran onto a rocky area, so while not great for leaving tracks, we were able to pick up a blood trail. The heat of the day intensified shortly after 9am and was relentless until late afternoon. For the next two hours we tracked this Warthog in the open sun– at times it seemed we were going in circles. I really admire the trackers – between intermittent tracks and blood drops we were able to keep on the Warthog’s never ending winding trail. We had surmised that I must have shot the Warthog’s foot from the tracks.

By 11am, we were exhausted from the heat or at least I was. We all took a break to drink water and rest in the shade. One of the trackers went back for Mushi and the Land Cruiser so we could have a snack from the cooler – we needed a source of energy. After a thirty to forty-five minutes break, it was time to resume tracking. We assumed the Warthog was also resting somewhere – we just had to bump him.

Shortly after we resumed tracking, the government Scout and a junior tracker believed they found the Warthog in a burrow. The two of them were in front of the rest of us.  Gamshad and the senior tracker were trying to signal to the Scout and junior tracker to just sit tight. While the Scout and junior tracker should have known better than to provoke the hiding Warthog, they either could not hear Gamshad or were just caught up in the moment. I was just behind the Scout and the junior tracker – Gamshad and the senior tracker were just behind me – we were spread out covering as much ground as possible. Before you knew it, the Warthog literally jumped straight up out of the burrow into the air. I could see the Warthog swing his head right, then left, trying to gore the Scout and junior tracker with his tusks – at the same time, the Warthog made a noise that sounded part snort part roar. The Scout and junior tracker leapt back as I shouldered my gun. I had a clear shot but could not fire with the proximity of the Scout and junior tracker. While clearly an exciting moment – there was also frustration towards the unhurt Scout and junior tracker for not being patient and taking advantage of their find. We all just sat back and watched the Warthog run a few hundred yards out of the grassland straight towards a cropping of rocks where it seemed to disappear into the center of the cropping. 

The Warthog’s abrupt reappearance happened about 12:30pm. It took a good 30 mins to regroup and make our way to the rocks and cave. As we approached the rocks, the environment transitioned from the extreme heat of the open bush to a partially shaded rocky area that was thankfully cooler. I appreciated the shade while I sat there and finished my sandwich. The crew was totally focused on their lunch and had forgotten about our mission. Mushi returned just past 3pm – lunchtime ended abruptly as it was time to answer the question of what to do with a Warthog in a cave.    

Mushi brought a large torch and a long winch strap. Seemed we had all the equipment for the extraction. Gamshad sent one of the crew into the cave with the torch to have a look. Poor chap slid in on his side and quickly retreated to tell Gamshad the layout. The tracker explained the Warthog was in the cave lying still in the back corner. Gamshad then sent the same tracker back in with the torch to keep the light on the Warthog. Gamshad grabbed his rifle and started to slide in. He quickly retreated asking for my rifle as I had a red dot in my scope and Gamshad’s scope did not. Gamshad later explained he could not see with his scope and needed my illuminated red dot to aim at the Warthog. The irony was my rifle, a 1960’s classic Griffin & Howe pre-64, model 70 .375 H&H, was going to finish the mission while I was asked to stand down for safety reasons. Trust me, the thought a bullet ricocheting around the cave did cross my mind. I did not vigorously complain being relegated to a spectator. Gamshad grabbed his ear protectors – something the tracker did not have and off Gamshad went again, sliding in on his side. The rest of us stood back and plugged our ears for what was sure to be a sonic BOOM!

Within a few seconds Gamshad fired – the noise was thunderous, and dust billowed out of the cave. Gamshad crawled backwards out of the cave with a smile on his face saying, “we have our Pig”. A few moments after Gamshad exited the cave, the tracker came out – poor chap had dust all over his face and body and he was shaking his head trying to stop his ears from ringing. The same tracker grabbed the winch strap and went back into the cave to tie one end to the Warthog. At 4pm, some seven hours after I made the initial poor shot, the Warthog was finally pulled out of the cave. After a thorough photo session, our exhausting Warthog hunt was complete. This was a true team effort.

Gamshad going into the cave to shoot the warthog.

Literally everything in the Land Cruiser had been emptied out – it seemed we had set up a new camp in front of the cave. Even the firepit was still smoldering. At 4:30pm, it was time to pack up the Land Cruiser, load the Warthog and head back to camp. We made it back to camp before the other hunting party returned from their afternoon game drive. I showered, sat by the camp fire and sipped a gin and tonic as I continued to reflect on the day trying to organize my racing thoughts into a concise story – one I could share over sundowners. I was not sure if this was going to be an embarrassing story or a fantastic hunting story – the truth was somewhere in the middle.

In the end, the Warthog was the last trophy of my very successful safari. The last two days of our safari ended up being exclusively a photo safari – no more game worthy of giving chase, but plenty to admire. In hindsight, the Warthog hunt was a fitting end to what was a very hard, yet successful twelve-day hunt, as I bagged everything on my wish list – even my first Pig in a fashion that you just cannot make up.

A relieved hunter with Gamshad still wearing his ear protectors.

Our ten-year reunion – a real pleasure to spend time with an exceptional PH.

Written by Erich Mueller

Hardly a Wild West scene is as well known as the long-range shot in the film Quigley Down Under. The weapon used by Tom Selleck as the sniper, Quigley, in the Australian film was a Sharps 1874 with Creedmoor Diopter. It was this film and this weapon that gave birth to what I would call something of a crazy idea: Why not use this breech-loading rifle in an African antelope hunt? For those who are wondering why crazy, you must take a closer look at the history and the technical specifications.

The rifles designed by Sharps were built especially during the American Civil War. Later, the Model 1874 was specifically designed for North American big game and given the nickname of the Buffalo Rifle. It was a rather sad chapter for America when professional buffalo hunters nearly eradicated the herds of millions of bison. The popularity of the rifle was due to its simplicity, robustness, and caliber. The cartridge .45-70 Government issue was used widely as a military bullet. Easy, and available nearly everywhere. It was issued to buffalo hunters free of charge to accelerate the extermination of the buffaloes and therefore that of the Indians. In my research I discovered the Italian weapons manufacturer Davide Pedersoli. Founded in 1958, this company has been dedicated to researching and manufacturing historical weapons since its beginning. Numerous awards are the best proof of the quality and precise ballistic properties of Pedersoli weapons, so it was not hard to find the Sharps 1874 I was looking for and decided on the 1874 Sharps Sporting No. 3 Extra Deluxe.

Polished frame and fittings, nickel silver front stock cap, a specially selected walnut stock with perfect fits, clean blends and gold inlays designed by Bison. When I first held the gem with a total length of 124 cm, I thought that the idea of ​​this rifle on plains game was really crazy. I had a fantastic rifle in my hands, but with the massive octagonal barrel that alone has a length of almost 82 cm, it also weighed 5.2 kilos.

The next step took me to Ferlach, to my longtime friend Herbert Scheiring, arguably one of the best gunsmiths in the world. The Sharps case block closure, the forged main components, deep drawn barrel, elicited from Herbert an appreciative smile. The supplied Creedmoor Diopter was then mounted immediately and then injected. After only a few shots and thanks to many years of Herbert’s experience and the perfect combination of double set drigger, Creedmoor Diopter and tunnel front sight with interchangeable inserts, we had the desired result. The next step from Buffalo Bill in Africa was an unexpected call. A longtime customer and hunting client of mine, who was also part of the Royal Family in Dubai, asked me to organize a plains-game hunt in Namibia for him and his friends. Since I had already twice successfully hunted in Namibia with him, I already knew his wishes and prepared a safari in the Etosha area, where he was able to hunt the black-nosed impala. Knowing that he was an excellent shooter, I asked him if he wanted to go hunting with a Sharps for those antelopes in Namibia. After only a few YouTube studies came the happy confirmation: “That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted to try.” Said and done!  The organization was completed quickly. I had known my outfitter and PH Marius for several years and quickly had the confirmation for the desired period – early July. I flew Qatar from Vienna via Doha directly to Windhoek. When checking in at the airline, in the gun case, next to the Sharps was my smaller custom-made .30-06 Mauser 98 alone weighed a whopping 17 kilograms. Additional payment was needed. After the normal entry formalities and the registration of the weapons in Windhoek we went on a five-hour drive north to our camp.  The next morning it was time for a test shoot. We placed the paper disc at 150 meters. The first two shots were taken as usual seated, but the result was not pleasing. Too deep and too far to the right. Rashid just did not feel comfortable to shoot sitting and the next three shots were over sticks. The hit picture was immediately completely different. All three shots were only a few centimeters apart from each other directly in the middle, vertical about 5 cm deep. All top-placed shots. There was no need for readjustment. The difference in height was certainly because we had used a 405-grain bullet shooting in Ferlach, and a 325-grain bullet in Namibia. Dont forget that we have shot over an open sight and at 150 meters with the Sharps. Rashid had earned the first spurs. Paper is one thing, but what about hunting in practice?

Our hunting area bordered directly on the Etosha National Park, with varied terrain, rocky hills, dense bush and open savanna. The main roads lead only to the natural or artificially designed waterholes. From there it was hunting on foot, stalking on fresh track. Our PH Marius had previously told us we might see lions, and this was confirmed on our first hunting day. Not 100 meters in front of our hunting car we saw a group of six lions. Even when we came closer and no more than 30 feet separated us from the cats, they ignored us. There were only lionesses in this group.

Marius pointed to a herd of zebra approximately 300 meters away, the focus of the lionesses’ interest. Then somehow the situation changed, and it seemed the lionesses were not too pleased with our presence. They realized that we were attracting the attention of zebras to us and thus to them. They did not creep closer to the zebras. No unnecessary movment. They knew their chance would come. Sooner or later. This incredible experience told us one thing: To be careful when stalking.  We saw large herds of springbok, blesbok, zebra, black and blue wildebeest but also medium sized groups of female Livingstone eland and Marius decided to try our luck with the springbok. The wind was in our favor, and we stopped the vehicle well camouflaged next to a group of trees, about 350 meters from the first springbok of about 110 animals and began stalking. Isolated bushes and smaller trees offer us enough camoflage to approach to 150 meters. Marius indicated the shooter and Rashid was ready on the sticks. At 125 meters the shot broke and was down. The remaining herd fled then stopped further away to watch. We waited a few minutes then went to find the buck. How effectively the Sharps rifle and the 45-70 cartridge brought down the target.

Marius told Rashid how in death the springbok’s white hair tufts stand up behind the tail root and smell of caramel, a scent that comes from glands under the white hair tufts, and that only a few minutes after death the glands close. Sometimes the springbok raise their hair tufts, arch their backs, jump stiff-legged into the air and thereby release this scent to attract females. After the usual photos with trophy and of course the rifle I could make out another buck. Alone, standing between two trees, tugging at some blades of grass. My guess was confirmed by Rashid and, of course, Marius. A very strong old buck. Short question to Rashid and a nod.  

The downwardly pulled lower lever, and down sliding case block showed the cartridge insertion into the barrel. The Hornady 45-70 with 325 grains slid into the barrel. Lower lever up and the massive block closed precisely. The target stick at the correct height. Aim at the buck. The light heat waves that you often feel clearly through a riflescope were not an issue here with the open sight. The calm breathing showed Rashid concentrated, already focused the target. Then the bang! Incredible. Open sight, 262 meters, not a big target and a clean shot. Handshakes and hugs to the hunter. Rashid and the almost 6-kilo Sharps have found each other here for life! What a start to a safari.   In the evening the plan for the next days were discussed. Black-nosed impala, found only in northern Namibia, is at the top of Rashid’s wish list. All those who have experience in hunting impala know how hard it is to hunt this antelope species, and the fact that they belong to the favorite prey of lion and leopard, makes them particularly alert and shy.   

Marius knows his hunting ground very well and guided us the next morning to a favorite place of black-nosed impala. We stop the vehicle about 400 meters from a waterhole and cautiously stalk in that direction. Somehow the wind seems to be allied with the impalas and kept swiveling. After two hours we were finally near the waterhole and saw some impala, but only a few females and young. We left the waterhole and I think in this situation, Rashid would prefer to have a short, lightweight rifle and not an almost 6-kilo Sharps!

Top: Black wildebeest. Bottom: Zebra

Suddenly I saw something brown between all the green, and binos confirmed my guess. Just over 300 meters away was our destiny. To make this one-of-a-kind trophy is one thing, approaching a good shooting distance is another. Rashid was already very familiar with the Sharps and perhaps adrenaline made him forget its weight. Carefully, step by step we stalked closer to 80 meters. This time, Rashid used a fork of a tree as a support and he and the Sharps had the prize of a big, black-nosed impala trophy.   

Then we decided to do some wingshooting for sand grouse which flew to different waterholes. Fun factor high, effort low and the resulting taste just delicious and a welcome change between all the game meat. The sand grouse were slowly sizzling on the grill as we planned the next few days. We wanted to see if the Sharps would manage larger game species.

We started with a fantastic sunrise, hot coffee and eggs with roasted kudu meat strips, wonderful crisp morning. First, we drove to the waterholes and left the vehicle 300 – 400 meters away, stalking slowly and always against the wind. At the first two waterholes we only found fresh tracks of three eland bulls and a lot of zebras, but no game around, so continued. On the way to the next waterhole, we passed open grassy areas and Marius pointed to a group of zebras just over 500 meters away. We stopped in the shade of a tree offering plenty of coverage. The terrain and the wind were perfect. Using the bushes, we stalked to within 200 meters zebras. The herd consisted mainly of mares with half-grown foals and some young stallions. We watched them for a few minutes and were just about to start the way back when suddenly a splendid specimen of an old stallion came out behind two trees. We wanted to try to get closer.   

Anyone who has hunted zebra knows how hard these boys are to shoot. But Rashid had proved several times that he was an excellent shooter and had the Sharps very well under control, but a full-grown zebra stallion is a different story from an impala, especially using a weapon 130 cm long and weighing about 6 kilos.   

We were got to 80 meters from the stallion, which stood alone on the left of the herd watching over its harem. The small bush behind which we were lying on the ground was not big enough to shoot from with sticks. So, my backpack was turned into a rifle rest. While prone shooting may sound easy, it is significantly more difficult than when standing and shooting from the sticks. The stallion had somehow noticed that not 80 meters away from him something moved in bush. He stood directly facing us. We could see his teeth as he fluttered his upper and lower lips. Very clear for us. He would not turn broadside. His next movement would be to flee, and the zebras would leave us in a cloud of dust.  

Marius whispered softly to Rashid: “Go straight on the chest.” This is exactly where the heart lies just behind it. I can hardly believe what I see next. The stallion reared up on his hind legs, a 90-degree turn, and he collapsed. That’s it. We were covered in dust by the running zebra herd. When the air cleared, we went to the fallen beast.  The 45-70 projectile with a 325-grain load was literally a hit. After souvenir photos along with the Sharps we went back to the camp to watch the autopsy to see which path the projectile took. The bullet had gone straight through the heart. It passed through the pectoral muscle and even struck a bone before it pierced the heart. It was congratulations!

But as with any hunting safari, time always goes by way too fast and too soon the last day of hunting knocks on the door. An eland bull was still wanted. That morning we found tracks of the three eland bulls that Marius knew, an old gray-blue bull escorted by two mature youngsters which the Bushmen say are “askaris”, companions to an old, lone animal. The old bull benefits from the vigilance of the two younger ones and they in turn learn from the experience of the old bull. These three bulls were not half an hour ahead of us. Eland shooting is one of the biggest challenges for most hunters. Patience and endurance are vital. That zigzag behavior is typical of eland if they are looking for a suitable place where they can settle down. This hacking is of course not to our advantage because it keeps you in the wind.   

Over three hours passed as we followed Marius till we saw the three eland in front of us. The old bull was almost completely behind a bush and we could only dimly see his head with the long big horns. The two askaris were to his left without cover. We may have been too close, or they got wind of us, but they made a 180 degree turn and stormed off. The strong old bull followed the two, and we could only watch as the whole effort of almost four hours of stalking disappeared in the dense bush. It should have been the culmination of this safari: A 900 kilo antelope from a Sharps 45-70 but it was not to be. But there was no sadness about the unsuccessful 10-kilometer stalk, just a kind of pride: We had done it with the Sharps Monster.

We still had a good seven kilometer walk back to the car.

Just before we reached the waterhole where we had parked, Marius stopped. His trained eye had spotted two gemsboks sheltering from the midday heat in the shade of two trees. The unsuccessful eland was forgotten, and hunting fever was rekindled. The gemsbok had not seen us, and Rashid was ready on the sticks in a few seconds. The bigger of the two gemsbok was standing broadside not 80 meters away. Take a deep breath and shoot. The buck jumped and dropped. Although not an eland, a great gemsbok now concluded our wonderful Namibian safari.

We had come to Namibia with a Sharps 1874 with an open sight to test it for its antelope-hunting capability. Yes, the Sharps is long, and it is heavy. It is a single action and has a rather unusual European caliber in 45-70. Thanks to the open sight with diopter and tunnel front sight and the excellent shooting performance and accuracy, we did not regret at any time the decision to hunt with this rifle. Tastes differ, but no one who got to see this rifle on this hunt could resist a whisper of wonder – a classic beauty! What more could one ask for? Now, the next thought is not so far away: Buffalo hunting with a Sharps 1874.

By Darrell Sterling

I have always admired the regal appearance of the jet-black sable with its long sweeping horns. They are one of the most iconic and majestic plains-game animals in all of Africa. A dozen years ago they used to be very expensive to hunt. And I wasn’t sure if I would ever get that chance…

I had lined up a safari with Monkane Safaris. Owner Kerneels Viljoen had asked if I was interested in hunting for a sable. Of course I was, but said it was a little out of my price range. However, he was kind enough to work with me to make this hunt possible. Thankfully, the price has gone done over the years as more and more farms have been raising sables, and I was now fortunate because my outfitter had made it impossible for me to say no.

My safari had been going extremely well. I had taken a couple of animals that will surely qualify for the record books, a beautiful nyala, and an extremely large eland, and much as I had enjoyed the challenge of hunting these animals, my focus was on getting a magnificent sable. That day finally came.  We were going to a farm that had plenty of nice sables. I should get my chance to fill my tag of my dream animal.

I slept little that night, looking forward to the next day. My daughter Misty Sterling who had been hunting with me every day of the safari also had little sleep from excitement. We both were extremely anxious to start this hunt.

We rolled into this new hunting area at first light and hunted hard, driving for miles. We found some fresh tracks next to one of the many dirt roads we had been crisscrossing and grabbed the shooting sticks to see if we could catch up with the sable that had made the tracks. We started out slowly, but as the tracks become fresher our pace picked up. The wind was in our favor as well, so my PH Gerhard Smit wanted to take advantage of the tactical edge.

My guide pushed through the thick brush, avoiding the thorny bushes that were everywhere. My daughter and I were not so fortunate. We seemed to get stuck in one thornbush after the next. We tried to keep up, but the fast pace was not helping, and I had blood running down my legs and sweat pouring down my back as I struggled to keep close to the guide. I was afraid he would stop and throw up the shooting sticks only to find that I was 30 yards behind him. I turned around many times to check on my daughter – she was also getting beaten up pretty good by the dense bush.

I decided that we needed to slow down, or we were going to be a real mess if the pace kept up. We had already gone about three miles and Gerhard showed no sign of slowing down. I caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. I told him we could walk all day through the bush as we had done on previous days but not at the pace he was on. I showed him my legs and told him we needed to slow down at least a little. But Gerhard explained that with the wind and the sign in tracks, he felt the need to push our advantage. I understood, and as much as I wanted a big sable, it would be hard for me to take an accurate shot if I was out of breath and bleeding from a million cuts.

Gerhard understood and slowed down the pursuit of the fresh tracks. We went another mile or so when the track mixed in with more sable tracks. He signaled for the truck to swing by and pick us up. We checked round the area for another hour till past noon and saw hardly any animals, let alone a sable, so the decision was made to try another farm.

We drove over to the new area and on the way, I ate my packed lunch. We did not stop for the usual safari siesta but it seemed as if we might just push through, so I decided to fill up knowing we could be in for a long day. It was a good thing that I did.

We arrived at the new farm that displayed a sable on their sign, which I thought had to be a good omen. We saw animals, including a steenbok, as soon as we entered the property, but it was almost the heat of the day before we finally saw our first sable. I was beginning to tire as we had not stopped since first light. My daughter looked a little weary, but I could tell she was still excited, which only helped to lift my spirits.

The day wore on. Generally, when hunting, one goes for the largest animal possible, and the cost does not change with size, but it is different with sable. It works similarly with whitetail deer – the larger the animal, the higher the price. The first sable we had seen in six hours of hard hunting was a giant and was too big and expensive for this old cowboy to shoot. It was a little depressing having to pass on a massive old bull. I did see my first ever roan and was really impressed with the animal, and it is now on my list.

We drove further only to find five sable bulls milling about. Quickly, three pairs of binoculars went up, studying the group. A couple where brownish which meant they were not fully mature, but three were midnight black with long sweeping horns. I was worried that they all might be too big, but one bull caught my eye. He looked to be the right size and age. I asked my PH about it, and he replied that was the one that they were really looking over. I was happy to have spotted the correct bull.

I heard the magic words, “Lets get down to take a closer look.” Instantly my heart started pounding. We slowly exited the vehicle and made our way around the small herd to take an even closer look.

We had a representative from the farm with us and my guide chatted with him trying to decide if that bull was the right one for me. He was a very big bull, and my guide could get into trouble if I shot a one over the size limit that I was contracted to hunt.

There was much discussion. I reminded my guide that when we stopped in town a couple of days ago that I had bought him a carton of cigarettes and some candy and I was more than willing to bribe him with more smokes and candy! I was joking and having fun, but I had also told him that if the bull was the wrong size, then we would keep looking or go to another farm. Anyway, he still wanted to take a better look, so we stalked even closer to the herd. At one point he put the sticks up and told me to get ready. I got my Ruger .30-06 up on the sticks, my pulse hammering away. I was told to hold steady while they made the final decision.

Then the herd quickly moved away. We were now in catch-up mode and took off on foot. My adrenaline was really going now. We moved along silently through the brush to catch up to where the small group of bulls had settled down. I was sweating heavily now and trying to calm my nerves. My PH chatted again with the farmhand, and they decided it was a go. The sticks went up!

It was extremely difficult to identify the bull we needed as the animals milled about and changing places. It was tough getting a bead on which one was which. We finally figured out which bull was to be mine when the wind shifted, sending the herd off in a sprint.

We had to head quickly to the truck if we were going to get catch up and try to outflank them. We got ahead of them and jumped out of the truck moving through the brush trying to get in front of them, anticipating where they might go. The problem again was trying to pick the right bull from a small herd of animals that all looked very similar. The two guides conferred, figuring which one was the chosen one.

The sticks again went up. I was worn out as my emotions had ebbed and flowed numerous times in the last thirty minutes. I got my gun up but was half expecting us to have to move yet again, but instead I was told which bull to aim at. I tried to follow the bull as he weaved in and out of the pack. Then he pulled slightly away, and I told my guide I was going to take him. He verified which one I had zeroed in on, and once that was confirmed he told me to take the shot. I had been dragged through thorns, dense bush, and emotionally put through the ringer, but once given the green light I snapped off a shot that smacked the bull hard. He bucked and ran but only went about 25 yards before piling up in a bush. We got the binoculars and saw the bull tangled up in a very large bush. He wasn’t moving much but his ears were up still, so I was told to take another shot.

We moved closer and my gun went back up on the sticks. Another round went into the downed bull. The first shot had been a double-lung shot and some follow-up shots ensured the old sable was mine.

We dragged him out from under the bush marveling at his size and mass. My guide looked at me, smiled and said, “I might be in trouble, he is a big one.” My search for a sable was over. Nothing is quite as satisfying as a dream being realized. I would like to thank my PH Gerhard Smit and Monkane Safaris for a terrific old sable bull.