Very likely a clone of the rifle Ruark took to Africa in 1951:  A Winchester Model 70 in .220 Swift.  A very fine combination for its intended purpose—varmints at long range—but a dreadful choice for an African safari.

By Terry Wieland

The Last Laugh

The .220 Swift in Africa

Many years ago, a well-meaning friend gave me a copy of a book by a noted anti-hunting writer.  I don’t recall the author’s name, or the title of the book—long-since trashed—but one thing sticks in my mind.

The frontispiece, the quote that appears on the very first page, was a passage from Robert Ruark’s Horn of the Hunter.  In it, Ruark recounts an episode in which he shot a hyena with a .220 Swift.  The first shot did not do the job, nor did the second.  Nor the third.  After he’d struck the hyena with seven bullets and the poor critter still wasn’t dead, Ruark discarded the Swift, called for his .470 Nitro Express, and finished it off properly.

Disgusted, he informed all and sundry that he would “never again shoot at any animal he respected” with the Swift.  To the best of my knowledge, he never did.

When I first read Horn of the Hunter in the 1960s, I had no first-hand knowledge of the Swift and was blissfully unaware of the controversies that had dogged it since its introduction by Winchester in 1935.  For its intended purpose, which is dispatching varmints such as woodchucks at long range, no better cartridge has ever been developed.  Its detractors, however, insisted that it burned out barrels in a few hundred rounds, that its accuracy was erratic, and that it could not be loaded down to counter either of these supposed faults.

One accusation aimed at the Swift that cannot be denied, however, is the complete unsuitability of its 48-grain factory bullet for use on anything bigger than an underfed coyote.  With a muzzle velocity of a sizzling 4,110 feet per second (fps), it was designed expressly to open up extremely rapidly on contact.  Crows, prairie dogs, woodchucks, and similar beasts are not very thick.  The bullet needs to expand rather than penetrate, because little penetration is required.  As well, this virtually ensures that no Swift bullet will ever ricochet; they fly apart on touching so much as a twig, which is very desirable in settled areas.

Should Ruark have known this?  Maybe, or maybe not.  He was, admittedly, a shotgunner, not a rifleman.  Jack O’Connor, in one of his more acid moments, said Ruark “lacked ballistic sophistication.”  In 1953, when Horn of the Hunter appeared, Ruark probably would have agreed with him.  It was only later, after spending a good portion of his time in Africa, hunting everything up to and including elephants, that Ruark began presenting himself as an authority on rifles.

Much as I admire the man in many ways, and for many things, he is about the last person I would take advice from when it comes to big-game rifles.

Later on, after the episode with the Swift, he developed an infatuation with the .244 Holland & Holland, a rather ill-conceived creation from the venerable London firm that consisted of the .375 H&H necked down to .243 (6mm).  In one article, Ruark said its velocity was so high, and its trajectory so flat, that no adjustment was needed, up or down, for ranges all the way out to 400 yards.  Huh?  Methinks not.

Ruark even went so far as to say he was getting rid of his other, bigger rifles, and using only the .244 in future.  Presumably, he hung onto his .470 in case anything went wrong.

Few people today even know the .244 H&H ever existed, and when you raise the issue with the rifle people at Holland’s, they tend to change the subject at the first opportunity.

Trajectory aside, the .244 H&H claimed 3,500 fps for a 100-grain bullet.  It was introduced in 1955, and Ruark got his hands on one sometime after that.  It’s odd that he would take to it the way he did, only a couple of years after his experience with the Swift.  In 1955, 100-grain expanding bullets in .243 were nothing to write home about.  I don’t know what bullet Kynoch loaded it with, assuming Kynoch loaded the ammunition, but I suspect it was not something you’d want in your hands in a tough situation.

One thing the Swift and the .244 H&H had in common was that they were marketed as being astonishing killers of big game as well as varmints, with the usual tales of large animals dropping “as if poleaxed” or “in their tracks” if so much as touched by one of these high-speed projectiles.

The mid-50s were also the era in which Roy Weatherby was first really beating the drums for his creations, taking his .257 and .270 Weatherby to Africa and sending back outlandish reports of their effect on everything up to, and including, Cape buffalo.

These high-speed wunderkind have been proven, over and over, to work spectacularly sometimes, but fail just as spectacularly at others.  Slower, heavier bullets, however, work doggedly time after time—rarely spectacular, but always effective if the bullet’s put in the right place or anywhere close.

One can trace the history of “high velocity as super-killer” all the way back to James Purdey’s initial work with express rifles in the 1850s, wherein he discovered that lighter bullets traveled faster and sometimes—sometimes!—dropped animals where they stood.

Obviously, the Swift was not the first cartridge to be touted this way.  In America there was the .303 Savage (1895), then the .22 Savage High Power (1911), then Savage’s .250-3000 (1915).  Arthur Savage was as much a promoter as Roy Weatherby, and he sent hunters all over the globe to hunt big beasts with small, fast bullets, and followed it up with magazine articles about their wondrous performance.

In one of his articles in Field & Stream, Ruark told of going off to the Campfire Club, north of New York, to sight in his rifle, having not held a rifle in his hands since he’d returned from Africa 18 months before.  Well, other guys have gone on safari with rifles they’ve never fired, and tales of their performances are standard fare when professional hunters get together and the whisky flows.

At this late date, it’s impossible to tell how much influence Ruark’s story might have had on the career of the .220 Swift.  Ruark was a hugely popular writer, not just on hunting, but as a syndicated newspaper columnist, and his book was an instant best-seller.  I would imagine it was widely read in anti-hunting circles, and presumably that’s how the above-mentioned anti-hunting author saw the tale of the hyena that he later used to introduce his own book.

The .220 Swift was discontinued by Winchester only eight years later.  It was already banned in several states for hunting deer and similar animals.  One thing we can say for sure, that anecdote, on top of the Swift’s other travails, wouldn’t have helped it.

For the record, I cannot think of a single use for the .220 Swift on a normal hunting safari, although I admire the cartridge greatly for doing what it was designed for, and doing it superbly well.  Even after almost 90 years—wildcats and short-lived wonders like the .22 WSSM aside—no cartridge has come along that can do what it will do.

What about today’s heavy-for-caliber bullets in .224—the 60- and 70- and even 90-grain bullets some are using for long-range shooting?  I still can’t think of a use for one in Africa.  Sorry.

One has to admire Ruark for putting that story in print, in gory detail.  It paints a grim picture of the Swift, but does not flatter Ruark by any means.  At best, he looks like a beginner who took bad advice—which, in fact, is exactly what he was.  But at least he owned up to it.

(I can almost hear the salesman in the gun department of Abercrombie & Fitch in New York extolling the virtues of the .220 Swift for Africa.  As if he’d know.)

To the best of my knowledge, no other hunter in far-off lands ever returned to mention any failure, of any kind, with whatever wunderkind cartridge he was using.

It’s ironic that in his attempt at total honesty, to tell the story of a safari as it actually was and “without all the derring-do,” Ruark handed his detractors (and ours) some rather potent ammunition with which to attack him.  The story was quoted out of context, and only the hyena’s suffering was included, with no mention of Ruark’s own reaction and resolve never to make that mistake again.  In a way, the hyena had the last laugh—which they are noted for.

Is there a moral?  Yes:  Be careful whose advice you take, and get to know all your rifles, intimately, before you board the plane.

By Kendal-Ray Kaschula

If there’s a cattle rancher reading this book, then you’re about to understand this next story better than anyone.

I lived on a cattle ranch from fourteen, and for as far back as my memories went, we were plagued by hyenas.

And no, they were not just any old hyenas. They were professors…..they were graduates in avoiding a bullet. They were the holders of PHD’s in how to avoid a hunter. They were the kind of hyenas that could put a sane person in a mental institute, and in a place as tough as Zimbabwe’s Lowveld, the last thing anyone needed was another reason to go insane, but who said the weary get to rest?

Hunting hyenas, was, and still is-in fact I’m about to go out and try shoot some the very evening that I’m writing this-a regular activity of mine. Baits, blinds, sitting on roads where they frequently walk, hanging around in trees like a bat, calling them-insert gag noise here-whatever could ever be done to kill a hyena, I did it.

And believe me when I tell you that such commitment gave me about a hundred adventures. Everything from jimmying electric fences so that I could slide under them like a fugitive, to calling in leopards and lions because they responded to the caller more than a hyena, to seeing and getting to witness an entire pack of wild dogs sing their night cry of howls, and, the list could go on.

I don’t regret those experiences, because they were beautiful, but I still would have liked to win against a four-legged spotted scavenger though.

Unfortunately, they won far more often than I did.

There was one occasion, when I was seventeen, fresh out of school and having passed my Learner Hunter’s License, I was left with an expanse of time that I decided-for the sake of hunting which I still adored, even if it was hyenas-and for the sake of the money doing PAC hyenas got me, that I would tackle the ranch’s hyenas with a vengeance.

And when I say vengeance, I mean vengeance.

Picture those medieval Vikings with six-foot beards, skins across their shoulders, and battle axes raised as they charged screaming like banshees into battle and then multiply their crazy by ten. That was my version of vengeance.

The only problem was that despite my dedication to the cause, they still whipped us every time. That year I spent more nights in a blind than my own bed, and on one occasion I nearly gave up.

We’d been hunting the same cattle killing hyenas-a pair of them-every night back-to-back for three weeks and Tracker and I were starting to resemble drugged zombies. Not to mention our patience was wearing thin to the point of being as brittle as spider silk-spider silk not produced by Golden Orbs(those things weave webs of steel)-and all around we were pretty run down.

I decided, after so many nights of sitting on kills that the culprits just wouldn’t come back to, that we should have a break. Just a week or so to recollect ourselves-maybe sleep-but, on the very day we were meant to start this, we were told of another cow that had been killed, and despite our resolve, we were clearly suckers for punishment, so back we went.

There was one on either side of the cow, and when the one feeding on the opposite side raised its head, I planted a bullet in its chest, dropping it where it stood.

Its friend bolted, and I reloaded, searching for what I hoped would be a chance to shoot its pal, and thinking I saw it, let loose another round. Was that a hyena or just an unfortunate shaped tree? I’ll never know, but, either way, my second bullet roused the one remaining hyena from wherever it was and I saw it loping away, and planted, by God’s grace alone considering its pace, a bullet in its ribs.

And then, a second of silence except for the heavy breathing in the blind. In later years Prosper would get a flir to use as a second spotter, but back then it was just me and the thermal with eyes, meaning he had no choice but to sit beside me in darkness with no clue as to what was going on around us.

‘And?’ he whispered, breathless.

‘One down,’ I whispered back, hoarse. ‘Let’s go see.’

We all but flew from the blind, torching around as we made our way up to the carcass. I had seen the hyena fall, it wasn’t a surprise to find it there, but when you’ve finally gotten the one thing you’ve been searching for, for months, you believe it’s real when you’re right there and it’s glowing in your spotlight.

‘We did it,’ I was breathless. Could barely breath. ‘We did it!’ I said again, though it came out more of a squeal.

‘Very good!’ Prosper put in, shaking in his boots, and dancing around the hyena chanting, ‘you thought you could get away, but not today. You are done. You are finished.’

‘Finished!’ I joined in, yelling, as we egged each other on, and then we were both dancing and prancing around the dead hyena in what could only be called a primal dance of celebration. All that was missing was the leopard skins around our waists.

Vikings gone rogue.

Now, I know that some would say we disrespected the animal, but I know that whoever that is won’t be a cattle rancher. After the damage they do, that I’ve seen and experienced firsthand, and after months of dedicated hunting, well, lets’ just say my respect for hyenas when it comes to whether or not I can prance around them is nonexistent.

DEATH TO HYENAS! I say, DEATH BY ALL MEANS POSSIBLE!

What makes you think I hate them huh?

After we’d drifted down from our adrenalin and joy induced high, we searched for the second hyena, but failed, and ended up getting him the next morning, already dead atop an anthill.

And so, there finishes the story of the three-week hyena hunt. Cattle killer status: destroyed.

Until a new clan moved in a few weeks later, but hey, I’ve already declared no rest for the weary and I reckon I’ve got sanity to spare.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Hell, why am I even writing this down….I should be loading up my rifle.

By Matt Blymire

I am a 40-year-old from Pennsylvania who grew up hunting whitetail deer with my dad.  I started hunting with him at the age of 12 which was the legal minimum age in Pennsylvania, and then continued hunting deer on my own.  Now married, with nine-year-old twin boys, I get to hunt whitetail deer with my wife and sons who can now hunt on a Mentored Youth program in Pennsylvania.  I have taken many trips to Ohio to spend a few days hunting whitetails with my father, reminiscing about the years I hunted with him growing up, and all that he’s taught me.

Over the past years my dad has taken many trips to Africa hunting with Dubula Safaris in the Eastern Cape.  He has shared hunts there with his friends, past co-workers and made many friends on his safaris.  Dad asked my every trip to go along but with hectic family life, finding the time was difficult.  I remember saying “Maybe next time” or “When the boys get older” or “Hopefully in a few years.”

In the fall of 2022, my dad’s mom passed away unexpectedly, but I just got to her in time. Fast forward to March of 2023.  I learned I was unsuccessful in drawing my Montana Deer Tag yet again, and I called my dad telling him as I was looking to plan a different hunting trip in the States.  He suggested I came with him and my wife to Africa in September.  This time the words felt different.  Life at home was still hectic, nothing had changed, but what did change was learning in such a hard way just six months before how valuable life is with your family, and how quickly it can change and be taken away.  I submitted my time off request at work that same day, and once approved booked our flight for my first African safari with my wife and parents.

I flew to Newark Airport to meet them, and we arrived in Johannesburg the next evening and were greeted by staff from the Afton Lodge, for a one-night stay before our flight into Port Elizabeth the next morning.  The Afton was an extraordinary way to kick off the African safari experience.  The lodge was beautiful, the food and drinks were amazing, and the staff was superb.  Looking at all the taxidermy in the lodge and listening to the stories of hunters who were on their way home had me excited for my hunt to begin.  I could barely sleep that night from excitement.

In Port Elizabeth we were picked up by Ryan from Dubula Safaris. On the way we stopped at Hunters & Collectors Taxidermy shop to look at some of the taxidermy work in progress from my dad’s previous safari.  Seeing the extensive number of mounted animals in the shop had me even more excited. On the way to the lodge, we stopped at the Nanaga Farm Stall where I was introduced to some South African culture seeing the local foods, produce and drinks.

The evening that we arrived at the lodge I was amazed at the beauty of the landscape and the mountainous terrain. Even after seeing pictures and videos from my dad’s previous trips, it was beyond my expectation. I was greeted warmly by everyone at Dubula Safaris and met my PH Ricky. We discussed the animals on my list with kudu being my top animal, and a zebra because my wife and I wanted a zebra rug. 

The first night in the lodge I was too excited to sleep.  Morning came quickly and my dad and I went outside onto the porch and there were animals everywhere.  The amount of game I could see with my binoculars was nothing I could have imagined.  After breakfast we went to the rifle range and confirmed my dad’s .30-06 was shooting accurately and we planned the morning hunt.  We soon spotted a group of zebras in an open area but stalked unsuccessfully.  We came out of a dry creek and a beautiful blue wildebeest stood in front of us.  Ricky said it was great male and if I wanted a blue, I should shoot this one. Only the night before Ricky had said they were tough animals and will rarely go straight down with one shot.  We waited for the blue to turn and Ricky said, “On the shoulder halfway up.”  I steadied on the sticks and squeezed the trigger. He went straight down!  What a way to start the hunt.  A few hours into the trip, one shot and one animal down.

As we hunted the next few days, we saw so many species of animals it was almost hard to comprehend.  It brought a lot of clarity to the discussion Ricky and I had on my flexibility of huntable animals.  I was successful on the second evening with the targeted zebra close to where we had seen them the first day. That evening the sunset and nightfall was gorgeous, like something you would see in a book or in a painting.  The third day had us hunting around the lodge for plains game.  I had seen in the first few days a white blesbok. I thought they were neat-looking animals.  As the hunt continued, we saw a few white blesboks in a large herd, but they were winning the stalking game.  Then a common blesbok stepped into an opening in the bush, and Ricky said it was a very good common, so I steadied on the sticks and took the shot.

While enjoying our midday break, I discussed with my dad a black springbok we had seen the first morning, but had not seen again, and I said that a black wildebeest was only a bit more pricewise.  He agreed that it would be great to get a blue and a black on my first trip.  When we met Ricky prior to the evening hunt, we said we would like a black wildebeest and he planned to target them in an area we might also see kudu.   We spotted a small group of blacks and Ricky identified a shooter in that group.  We made a long stalk and got into position.  We had to wait for the shooter male among the other animals in the herd to give us a clean shot.  As the sun began to fade behind the mountains he presented a shot, at which the small group turned out to be a thundering herd of over 30 animals.

Wednesday morning came and we made the trip to Kamala and began our hunt there.  A few hours into the hunt we found a tsessebe, and my dad made a successful stalk and took his target animal. We saw so many animals on this property and I got to see animals I hadn’t yet seen including gemsbok, ostriches, golden gemsbok and more.  We again saw a large black springbok but could not get the opportunity for a shot at it.  On the way back for our lunch break we found a great impala ram and I was lucky to take it.  After lunch we went to a cliff overlooking a dry creek as they had seen warthogs there.  A warthog was on my list, but I said I only wanted to shoot one for a nice European mount.  We saw warthogs but they were female and cull males.  My mom, who hadn’t hunted before decided she would take a shot at the cull male.  Ricky worked extraordinarily well with her and got her set up, and she made a perfect shot for her first ever animal.  What a great experience for us all to share this.

As the afternoon went on Ricky spotted a big fallow deer, and I realized from his tone that it was a trophy and that if we saw it again, I’d like to hunt it.  Later, we glassed a large eland but it wasn’t something I wanted, so we hunted on and as luck would have it spotted the fallow deer again.  After a very short stalk we bumped the deer but were able to get on the sticks, and when he stopped and presented me with a shot, I took it.  We followed the blood and found the deer. As we grabbed his antlers the ground shook under our feet as four warthogs bolted out from a wallow.  While it was a cool experience, I was a bit startled as they ran out from underneath us.

Ricky quickly spotted a shooter male.  I got set up on the sticks and made a successful shot.  What a great way to end this hunting safari, getting all three wildebeests on the same hunt.

This trip exceeded any expectations I had. The staff at the lodge were superb, the food was amazing, with sights and memories I would never have imagined.  As the sun set on my first African safari, I cannot wait to begin booking my next with Dubula Safaris. I am so grateful to my parents for making this trip possible and for sharing it with me. 

By Enrich Hugo

West Africa has a special appeal not only for hunters. The mix of geographically diverse zones offers savannahs, marsh and rainforest lovers plenty of opportunities to explore fauna and flora. This time is Benin our hunting destination. This elongated, small West African country is considered the cradle of the voodoo religion. In Abomey you can visit the old royal palaces as well as the voodoo temples. The capital is Porto Novo. The international airport where our journey start is in Cotonou. A typical West African city. Stinky, hectic and a lot of traffic. Surprisingly fast, by African standards, are the immigration formalities, and weapons import documents are done by customs and police.

After that, the luggage will be stowed in the waiting Land Cruiser. Our host and outfitter from Pendjari Safaris wants to start as soon as possible. It is still early in the morning and he wants to reach the end of the city of Cotonou before morning traffic starts. Ahead of us is a nine-hour drive. Cotonou is located on the southern border of Benin, directly on the Gulf of Guinea.

Our destination and camp is located in the north of the country, on the edge of the National Park Pendjari.

The 700-kilometer drive gives us another insight into this, for West African conditions, very stable and peaceful country. No religious or racial tensions make Benin a special oasis in West Africa and is gently governed by a democratically elected government. The influence of the former French colonial era can not be denied and is reflected not only in the French official language. The main income of Benin, one of the poorest countries in the world, comes from agriculture. In addition to corn, sweet potatoes, cashew and pineapple, it is mainly the large cotton plantations that catch the eye. It is exactly this cotton that we can see again and again on completely overloaded trucks on our way to Batia.

After about eight hours driving we leave the paved road and after another hour on a sandy road we reach our camp. In addition to the typical round huts stands a completely newly built building with four rooms. Each bedroom with its own bathroom and toilet and of course with air conditioning. Anyone who has ever hunted in West Africa will be extremely pleasantly surprised here. After a long shower, we meet again at dinner. There we will also be introduced to the two professional hunters and our trackers, who will guide us in the next few days. One of the two professional hunters is a Portuguese, who works in Benin from December to May, during the hunting season in Benin, and earns his living as a professional hunter from June to November in Mozambique. The second professional hunter comes from neighboring Burkina Faso and has been working here for over 15 years as a professional hunter with Pendjari Safaris. How valuable the experience of our two professional hunters is will already evident on the following first hunting day.

We take the first day of our hunt calmly and after a good breakfast we go out for the first terrain exploration. The camp is located on the edge of a small village. The people wave friendly to us and children run after our car. Here, too, the ethical and serious hunt has written its success story. Conservation programs, a rigorous anti- poaching, and appreciation for wildlife has contributed to the development of not only a high stock of wildlife but also a small but considerable wealth in their village. Not only the meat of the hunted game support to the local villages with protaine, also a large part of the revenue of the trophy fees is used to expand the infrastructure. After twenty minutes we are already in our hunting zone. Here my two hunting clients check their weapons and after a threefold series, it’s ready to go. Khalid has opted for a double rifle 9.3×74 and my second hunting guest Rodrigo leads a 375 H&H. Our hunting area is especially known for its abundance of Western savannah buffalo and Western roan antelope. But also Western Hartebeest, Nagor Reedbock, Harnest Bushbuck, Defassa Waterbuck, Oribi, Warthog and two different Duiker are huntable here. We chose the month of January for our hunt and therefore the high grass is not dry enough to burn it down. Despite the sometimes high grass level, we can still recognize the typical savannah character. Small to medium sized bushes and trees dominate the landscape in addition to the extensive grassy areas. The first game drive should serve primarily to get a small overview of our hunting area, but after one of our professional hunters has discovered fresh tracks of buffalo is instantly aroused our hunting fever.

Khalid gets the preference and we start our first stalking in the Savannah of Benin. As usual, the stalking is led by one of the trackers. Then Burkina, as our professional hunter from Burkina Faso is affectionately called and then Khalid the Hunter. Because of the tracks we estimate that it has to be a smaller group of five to eight buffaloes. The tracks are relatively fresh and since they are not particularly deep, it also tells us that they are moving slowly ahead of us. The direction of the wind is also perfect and after about an hour of stalking we see the small buffalo herd in front of us. As already suspected, there are six Savannah buffalos. Four cows and two bulls. This little group already shows us the special of the Western savanna buffalo here in Benin. It is the variegation of these buffaloes. From almost black to dark brown but also reddish, the buffalos are colored here and very often these different colors are found in one and the same herd. That is also the case here. The Western savanna buffalo is the third largest buffalo species in Africa alongside the Cape and Nile buffalo. Despite the successful stalking we do not come to a conclusion. The two bulls are too young and should be given the opportunity to pass on their very good genetic before they get hunted. But no reason to be disappointed. On the contrary, the first stalk was already excellent and we had a successful overview. Our trackers and professional hunters have been able to prove their skills and experience at the first stalk, and my two hunters already have the feeling that they are in good hands. After a short time we are back on the road where our car is waiting. After a little refreshment we continued our game drive. We pass two larger waterholes that are full of tracks but due to the time of day no game can be seen. Since there are some larger trees next to the last waterhole and the sun is directly above us at the highest point, we set our lunch break here. A shady place with a great view.

Hunter heart, what do you want more. Lunch tastes particularly good here and we enjoy the boundless freedom in the middle of West African nature. But after a long rest, things continue. It is already an hour before sunset when Burkina gives the driver the sign to stop. He points to the east and still the sun is in our backs, I can see nothing without my binoculars. Burkina instructs me and with the help of the binoculars I can then also recognize what he has already identified only with his eye. A dark, almost black dyed Dagga Boy, as here also the single living buffalo bulls are called. You can already clearly see Khalid’s excitement. The buffalo is 300 meters away and our professional hunter decides at short notice that he will only stalk with Khalid and 

a tracker. The terrain between us and the bull is too open and too many people would make it much easier for the buffalo to discover us. Me, Rodrigo, and the rest of the team follow the stalk out of good hidden place. The buffalo is still grazing and shows no suspicion even though Khalid and Burkina are only 50 meters away from him. I can see that Khalid have his gun on the shooting stick and is already aiming the bull. The shot does not wait. The buffalo immediately draws and breaks to the right. 

After ten meters he stops and the second shot breaks. Although the first shot was excellent for me and in my opinion a deadly hit, the second hit finally drops the Bull to the ground. When Burkina and Khalid are by the buffalo and both give us signs to come, we are on the way to go to the harvest buffalo. Of course, a heartfelt congratulation the shooter and congratulation to the professional hunter to this successful conclusion of the first hunting day. A really old fighter lies here in knee-high grass. Numerous traces show of old turf wars and one or the other scar suggests that he was also the target of attacks of lions. An excellent launch. Khalid is overjoyed and describes in detail the course of the stalking and the killing of the buffalo. The loading of the bull is routine for our experienced team and then it’s back to the camp.

Loading the buffalo.

Stalking

However, it is important for my hunting clients to prepare for such a hunt so far that they can handle even those thirsty streaks that a savannah hunt entails and that they do not lose the desire for the further safari. For Khalid and Rodrigo, however, the last three unsuccessful days leave no trace. On the contrary, I have the impression that they absorb everything in and this hunting trip will keep a special positive memory. The sixth day of hunting is again at its best. On this day we return very successfully to the camp. A West African Hartebeest, a Harnest Bushbuck and a Nagor Reedbock could be killed after successful stalking. We were able to detect and shoot the latter two at two different waterholes. Now only the buffalo of Rodrigo falls to complete a completely successful safari. Two days are still available and we look forward to these days. The penultimate day is already starting promising. Fresh traces of a larger herd. We try to stalk these herds. We succeed and I count more than twenty Savannah buffaloes. It is a mixed herd with cows, calves and also some bulls. I even see two of the reddish colored bulls what Rodrigo wants to hunt. But we do not want to shoot a buffalo out of a herd. Our goal is to find a single Dagga Boy. We just enjoy the big herd we were able to stalk so successfully and then continued our hunt. Although we can no see a red-colored loner on this day we still have plenty of material for our cameras. Herd of young roan antelopes, some hartebeest, oribis and a young waterbuck can be photographed and filmed.

The last day of our safari is approaching and this time it starts earlier. Today we want to look for the Dagga Boy in the northeastern corner of our hunting zone. The idea does not come from somewhere. Some of the rangers employed by our outfitter, who implemented the anti-poaching program and are busy patrolling the hunting grounds, have just seen a reddish bull at this northeast corner. And just where these rangers last saw the bull, we also find him. An old, mature bull. The red is almost reminiscent of a forest buffalo occurring in the rainforest, but which is much smaller than the Western savannah buffalo. An absolute dream buffalo. This time, Jorge, the professional hunter from Portugal, introduces us. The buffalo stands in the shade of some trees and the wind is excellent for us. I estimate between 250 to 300 meters separate us from the bull. Jorge, Rodrigo a tracker and myself start the stalking. Each step is checked twice. Just no hasty movement or a careless kick now. Suddenly Jorge stops petrified. He makes us understand that we should not move and shows something in the left direction of our stalk. An elephant bull watches our approach. A fantastic experience to experience the elephant so close but still we are glad when he makes off and pulls back into the dense undergrowth. Finally we can continue our stalking. Our buffalo seems to have heard and seen nothing of all this. The rangefinder in my binoculars shows 80 meters. After another 15 meters and a tree with perfect rifle rest Rodrigo is ready to go. The weapon is already unlocked and he just waits until the buffalo shows him his broadside. I can understand that this moment has to fill up like hours for him. Finally the time has come. Uncovered with the full side of the bull shows up and the finger writhes on the trigger. The red draws immediately and breaks in place in the fire. Jorge keeps track and asks Rodrigo to reload immediately. After another minute, Jorge gives the ok and all-clear and lets Rodrigo secure the weapon. It needs no further shot. A red colored buffalo with an extremely strong trophy lies in front of us. We give Rodrigo alone for a few minutes with his harvest bull. A sensitive moment that probably every hunter can understand too well.

With this last buffalo we killed on this hunt we can say that we had a hundred percent success. The passing of Benin ends with a promise from the two hunters. We are infected with the Savannah virus and we promise to see each other again when it says: Savannah hunting in Benin!

By Buzz Nady 

This whole thing started in September 2021. I was at Afton, Richard Lendrum’s lodge in Joburg. Richard was promoting a raffle in The African Hunting Gazette magazine, and the grand prize was a SSB Rigby Rifle in .416 Rigby! A proper buffalo rifle! I took a ticket and headed back to the States to start harvesting with my two sons on our farms, not giving a thought to the raffle. I never win.

The first week of November I got a call from Richard.

“I suppose you called to say I didn’t win the rifle,” I laughed.

“Just the opposite,” said Richard, “you did win the rifle!” I was ecstatic, to say the least. After paperwork and emails back and forth with Maria Gil of Rigby in London, my rifle was shipped to their importer in Texas and then to my gun dealer in my hometown of Nevada, Iowa. 

What a rifle! I immediately started planning a buffalo hunt with Pete Barnard, owner of Pete Barnard Safaris in Harare, Zimbabwe. Pete and I have been friends for over a quarter century, and he was the guy I wanted to hunt with. Plans were made for September 2023, and practicing with my Rigby started immediately at the range on my farm. Eighteen months and 150 rounds later I felt ready and was on my way to Zimbabwe. 

I spent a couple days with Pete and his family just to relax, and then with Pete, Manager and Manuel we headed about 390 km to a beautiful camp in the Gache Gache area in the Zambezi valley and met the camp owner Corris Ferreria. We had a couple of beers as we watched a herd of elephant across the river, drinking. The whole camp is run on solar power converted to 12V with great staff of cooks, house cleaners and skinners to take care of us. Had a great meal that first night, took my Malaron, and was off to bed.

DAY 1

Day one began with Pete, me, and the team – Manager, Manu and Cry the trackers, Koda and Ragoon the game scouts. We sighted in the rifles and went looking for buffalo. Leaving camp we saw lion, some impala and elephant, and after finding a good set of Dagga Boy tracks, we set out on foot to track him. Ran into some elephant and decided to go around them and pick up the buffalo tracks on the other side! En route, we found a beautiful old bushbuck. Without hesitation, I got on the sticks with my .416 Rigby and got him.

Suddenly the bush erupted. Some elephants close by did not like the shot, and they did not like us there. Game on! Pete was hollering, “Run, run,” as he stood his ground between my trackers and me to make sure everyone was safe, and out of harm’s way. After the dust settled, we went and collected my bushbuck. Picked up the buffalo tracks again and looking down I saw a bunch of elephant hair, and I handed it to Manager. He is talented in using it to make bracelets. On our way back to camp, we saw more impala and a nice herd of about 35 eland, all females with little ones. On the banks of the Gache Gache River that flows into Lake Kariba, quite close to the lake, we saw a few small pods of hippo and decided to take a walkabout and get a closer look. Got to within 50 meters of one group but decided not to take the shot. We did need a hippo for bait for crocodile but wanted to take care of the bushbuck first.

DAY 2

We were up at 5 a.m. had some breakfast and coffee and took off looking for buffalo tracks. Found a nice set to follow, but after being busted twice we finally got up to the buffalo only to have the wind start playing games with us, so decided to give up the tracks and look for hippo for crocodile bait. Mid-morning the hippo started coming out of the Gache Gache River to sun themselves. Finally, a big bull clambered onto an island and after careful examination with the binoculars, Pete said it was the one we wanted. I put a good heart-lung shot on the hippo and got a second shot into him as he went into the water. He came up and we worked our way around and I finished him with a side brain shot in the water. The massive hippo sank, came up, and I could see I had hit his brain. When he went back under the water and stayed there, we decided to go have lunch and wait for him to bloat and float to the surface.

We went back out after lunch looking for the hippo and did not find it and spent the rest of the afternoon searching. Gave up, and on the way back to camp that evening we saw a herd of approximately 350 to 400 buffalo on the plains down by Lake Kariba. Topped off the day with an excellent dinner and beverages. 

DAY 4…

started early. We went back to find a couple of Dagga Boys we’d seen earlier, and we found them. They don’t get old by being stupid. They winded us as the wind would change often. Busted! Off they’d go. After stalking buffalo all morning, we saw lots of nice crocodiles and after lunch we collected Corris’s Bruno .30-06 for crocodile.

We went to shoot the Bruno, but it just didn’t fit me. It just didn’t feel right, but Pete’s .375 was perfect, and we headed to Croc Central on the Gache Gache. Some local native fishermen had moved in to where we wanted to look for crocs. Plenty of crocs there, but they had all gone into the water because of the natives fishing, so we went instead to find our two Dagga Boys.

Manu and Cry cut the tracks of the two nyati, and it was game on. Because of the brush, Pete wanted me to load a solid .400-gr Woodleigh. After several attempts, we decided to give the bulls a half-hour break and let them calm down, which paid off. The day was getting late, and this would be our last chance. The third time we found them, they spotted us again as they have sharp eyes and a keen sense of smell. I got on the sticks as they were walking away.

My bull presented a shot at a hundred meters, broadside. I let the Woodleigh fly, hitting its mark on his shoulder. The bull jumped and took off. Pete could tell by the sound that the bull was hit well. We ran, catching up to the bull, and I let a 400-gr Barnes TSX fly, hitting the bull just behind the shoulder again. We ran after him. He stopped again and I put a second TSX Into his shoulder. Bull down! We got up to him and I put one more soft into him just for insurance and good measure. I had my bull! It was close to sundown. Picture time with Pete and my team!

We loaded the bull and headed to camp.

DAY 5

We left camp around 7 a.m. and headed to Croc Central to look for my hippo and a nice crocodile. Didn’t see my hippo floating anywhere in the river and the crocs were out sunning themselves! We went back to camp, had lunch, and then headed out again. No hippo floating! I was getting concerned about what was going on with the hippo.

I knew I put a great shot right on the shoulder, and then the head shot as well. We spent the afternoon looking at different crocodiles and sizing them up. Nothing that really tripped our trigger, so we drove around trying to shoot a couple guinea fowl for supper. Only got one. Had supper and called it a day. 

DAY 6

Pete, the trackers, game scouts and I headed out again looking for my hippo! With lots of native fishermen about, we were starting to wonder if maybe they had found it and cut it up and taken it. After searching many bays on the river, we felt it quite odd that the three pods of hippo had kind of disappeared. We hadn’t seen them since day two after I shot my hippo. 

Back to the camp for lunch and a little nap afterwards, then loaded up and went looking for crocodile as they would be up on the banks sunning themselves at this time of the day. Pete found one he really liked, and we tried to put the sneak on him. Got to about 50 meters, and were just getting the sticks up, when he slithered into the water. He must’ve seen movement from one of us.

Pete decided it was time we put a blind up and use some buffalo remains from my buffalo for bait. Blind and bait were set for us to come back in the morning. Back to looking for guinea fowl on the way back to camp for supper. Got one guinea fowl with the .22 and gave it to the boys for their supper. 

DAY 7

Had breakfast then went to check the crocodile bait. To our surprise, we saw a hippo out floating in the bay! Could this be my hippo? Corris’s staff showed up with the tractor, trailer and boat and got the hippo to the shore. Sure enough, the side-brain shot told the story – it was, in fact, my hippo!

I was excited and relieved all at the same time. One, I had my trophy and two, we had more crocodile bait. The guys built another blind 50 meters from the hippo and Pete and I went back to the blind we had built the day before, freshened it up with some hippo meat, and we got into the blind at about 11 a.m., each of us with a book to read. 

We heard the splash in the water 30 minutes later and focused on the bait with our binoculars, as the crocs started coming in. By noon the crocodiles were stacked in there like cordwood. I couldn’t believe it. The feeding frenzy that was going on! Twelve-foot crocodiles, biting on the hippo, doing the death roll to tear a piece off and then gobble it down. After nearly three hours in the blind, Pete saw the croc we wanted, on the bait and eating. Through my little portal, I could see at least 20-25 crocodile around the bait. And I have no idea how many more were around outside my field of view. 

Finally, our crocodile got into a position we liked, slightly quartering away from me. I was using Pete’s .375 H&H with a scope. I put the crosshairs just below the horn and a little bit to the left and squeezed. The crocodile dropped immediately. I quickly loaded another round and put one right behind his shoulder for insurance. I had my crocodile! Congratulations, handshakes and pictures followed. Back to camp to get the crocodile to the skinners. Coris put the tape on him and measured 13‘8”. What a crocodile and what a day in the blind watching them feed, death rolling, ripping meat off the hippo. Time for lunch. It was three in the afternoon. 

We would go out in the evening just to look at the baits and see what kind of activity there was and try to find a couple of guinea fowl for supper. There’s nothing like a great bowl of guinea fowl soup! But I think the guinea fowl were on to us. They like to run and then fly at the sound of the Land Cruiser. But we did shoot two francolins – we’d see what the chef could do with those for tomorrow night’s dinner. 

At dinner that night Corris mentioned he had a fellow PH who needed some bait for leopard, and asked if we would shoot four impala for him the next morning. Of course, I obliged and said I would be happy to help out.

DAY 8

Coffee and toast to start the day, then off to try to collect a few impala. Found a herd, and I shot one male from the group. Drove around for another couple hours, but nothing presented itself, so we headed back to camp. A cup of coffee, and we started getting things ready for fishing that afternoon. After lunch, we took a little nap as it was the hot time of the day. About 3 o’clock we loaded up the boat and headed down to the Gache Gache.

It was a slow afternoon on the river – we caught a few catfish and saw a few elephant on the bank. Very cool! Around the campfire and supper that night, Pete and I talked about looking for Sharpe’s Grysbok in the morning.

DAY 9

Got up early, had coffee and breakfast. It had cooled down nicely last evening and night, so it was good sleeping. Didn’t need my solar-powered fan. We loaded up the Cruiser and were headed to the bush by 5.30 looking for Sharpe’s Grysbok. Saw a female with a little one. They are nicknamed ‘greased lightning’ here because when you see him they’re gone immediately. On the way back to camp we saw a herd of probably 300 buffalo and 250 impala. 

Pete got a call from his wife, Laura with a new mission for the kids: Picking up different kinds of dung or spoor for show and tell at school. 

A short lunch nap and we were heading back to the river to fish. Barbels and squeakers were what we were catching. Back at the river, we encountered some fish poachers that Corris took care of. The lake and river were low as we made our way up the river. We encountered two pods of about 30 to 40 hippos each. What excitement that was! One young bull decided to show off his stuff to scare us away. Quite impressive when you have a two-and-a-half-ton of hippo coming at you.

Another beautiful sunset over the river and we headed back to camp for supper.

DAY 10

Breakfast was early. Corris asked if we would shoot two more impala, one for camp meat, and one for the game scouts. Of course! Pete and I and the trackers headed out to look for Sharpe’s grysbok. Didn’t see any, so back to camp for lunch. 

I will have to look for grysbok the next time, as this was the last day of hunting, and we wanted to go fishing again in the afternoon… Looking for that elusive tigerfish!

If you want to know more about this African Dawn Outfitter – Click here Pete Barnard Safaris

Abigail with her white-horned blesbok bull at the Hotfire property.

By Abigail Prevost

I was not sure what to expect when we stepped off the plane in East London, but I got the feeling that the next two weeks were going to be something incredible – and my gut feeling was correct. We would be leaving with the experience of a lifetime and were already planning to come back in the next few years to this stunningly wild country.

My family and I spent the first two weeks of June in the Eastern Cape of South Africa at Hotfire Safaris, near Cathcart. After being in the air for almost 24 hours and taking three different planes from Calgary and finally to East London, we were all so excited to put our feet on the ground we would be hunting on. After collecting our bags, we were greeted by the two PHs from Hotfire, Pat and Ryan, whose light-hearted banter was the perfect cure for our airplane hangover.

The five of us split into two cars – Ryan took my older brother Jonah and his girlfriend Farrah while Pat took me, my younger brother Spencer, and my father Dean. As we drove the two hours north through the Eastern Cape to reach the property, I was stunned into silence by the beauty of the landscape. Maybe it was because I had never been on the African continent and the geography was so different from the dryness of Southern Alberta and the Canadian Rockies, but each rolling hillside we passed seemed more beautiful than the last. When the sun finally set, the blue sky was quickly replaced with a blanket of stars – more than I had ever seen in one place. I was again in awe of this country I knew so little about.

At Hotfire, we had wonderfully designed tents for accommodations (including heated blankets which was greatly appreciated since we seemed to have forgotten that Canada is not the only country that gets cold in the winter) and a fantastic meal of local game accompanied by an array of delicious traditional side dishes. After dinner, we sat by a roaring fire with Ryan and Pat, getting to know one another. While everyone laughed around the fire, I was feeling a little bit nervous about the hunt the next day – it had been a few months since I’d held a rifle and I worried that I would be out of practice. This was also going to be my first big-game hunt.

The next morning, we headed out for some target practice. After hitting the swinging yellow target 100 meters away a few times, I felt much more confident in my shot.  Then in two cars we were off for our first taste of an African hunt. Ryan took Jonah, Farrah, and a pre-64 model 70 Winchester in .270 to search for a kudu bull and although the rest of us wished him luck, we were secretly hoping that it would be us who got the first animal of the trip.

Within a half hour of leaving target practice, Pat’s tracker Ayunda, had identified a few blesbok in the bush. We made 

our way in, following Pat towards the spot where he and Ayunda had seen it – stopping every so often for Pat to point out various species of wildlife. Then we dropped off Spencer and Dean to wait while Pat and I moved closer to the blesbok. (We found out later that they had got up close and personal with a warthog while we were gone.) Pat handed me the Mauser 98 in .270 with a suppressor, warning me, “It’s live,” before clicking on the safety.

Jonah with his nyala bull on the Hotfire property.

Bent-kneed and hunched over, we slowly crept through the bush with the rocks, trees, and brush giving us cover. When we were as close as we could get without the four blesbok bulls spotting us, Pat spread the shooting sticks and I lifted the rifle onto the stand and got comfortable. Through the scope I could see the four bulls running around, and Pat told me to look for the one whose horns had turned white at the front as that indicated that he was quite an old bull. The blesbok were unaware of our presence but kept hiding behind trees and lying down. After standing ready for a while and realizing the bull was not going to give us a shot from that position, Pat found another angle, and this time when I looked through the scope, I had a broadside shot on the old bull. The nerves started to come back once the safety was switched off and I felt a little shaky. I steadied myself with a deep breath, centered the scope on the spot above his front left leg, and gently squeezed the trigger as I breathed out. I reloaded but in the time that it took me to get a second bullet in the chamber, the bull jumped, then dropped down a few meters away. I could barely hear Pat’s congratulatory, “Nice shot” over my pounding heartbeats from by excitement and shock.

Meanwhile, at the other end of Hotfire, Ryan, Jonah and Farrah were stalking a kudu bull, Jonah’s first animal of the safari. He made such an impressive shot from one cliff across a valley to another cliff that we almost forgot about the truly gruelling trek that it took for us to get up there to help bring the animal down, and it took ten of us all together to carry the bull and the equipment – needless to say that we earned our dinner that night, which again was delicious.

After that first day, we fell into a routine: hunt in the morning, return to camp for lunch, go back out in the afternoon, return to camp, and sit around the fire talking until dinner. It was a routine that I really enjoyed, especially the evening fire. It was the perfect way to close each day’s hunt and wind down for the night.

At the end of our six days of hunting, we each had a trophy and many memories to take home to Canada. But Ryan and Pat were not finished with us just yet – we still had a week to go. We spent the afternoon of our seventh day bird hunting near Stutterheim, camouflaged behind huge stalks of corn. The hunt itself was enhanced by the sun slowly sinking over the horizon till it finally set and colored the sky just above to a faded purple, signalling that it was time to pack up.

Patrick, Ayunda, and Spencer looking for warthogs on the Hotfire property.

Later in the afternoon we came across an Addo elephant. I knew they were big, but I truly had no idea how big until one came up right beside our Land Cruiser and I saw the size of its tusks and the length of its trunk. Though it was moving slowly, each step it took covered a lot of ground.

Spencer with his warthog on the Hotfire property.

From Johannesburg to Port Alfred, we covered a lot of ground in just fourteen days. We went big-game hunting, bird hunting, fly fishing, elephant spotting, and deep-sea fishing – and we can’t wait to come back and do it all again.