Steve B. and his Nyala.

By Jim Hensley

It was 16 April 2021, a day that had been in my thoughts for over 25 years. It was special because it was my last day as a detective with the Milwaukee Police Department. I was retiring, and nearly everyone was asking me, “How does it feel?” or “Are you excited?” My response to all of them was, “Honestly, I haven’t even thought about it. I’m too excited about Africa.” This was because two days later, my wife Carol and I, along with our friends, Mike, Nicole, Steve, and Belinda were heading to South Africa… Finally!

We had originally scheduled for May 2020, but Covid-19 happened.  We rescheduled for September, hoping it would be OK by then… I was wrong! We optimistically rescheduled once more, and this time the day finally arrived.

We had booked a two-week safari with Chivic African Safaris in the Limpopo Province of South Africa. Carol, Mike, and I had all been to Africa on previous safaris, but this would be the first trip (I’m guessing with many more to come) for Nicole, Steve, and Belinda. Mike, like me, had fallen in love with all things Africa on his first safari, and couldn’t wait to share it with his wife Nicole. Steve told me how, for almost 50 years, he had dreamt of hunting in “The Dark Continent” and jumped at the opportunity to experience it with Belinda. Carol and I couldn’t have been more excited to finally get back to Africa, and this trip we had the added bonus of sharing it with really good friends.

Mike’s number one priority was to hunt a big, mature Cape buffalo bull, with the added pressure of sneaking in close enough for him to use his brand-new double rifle. He also wanted to settle the score with a kudu bull, a game that had begun almost four years earlier on his first safari. Steve simply wanted to “soak everything up” while he was in South Africa, and created a list of plains-game animals to focus on – kudu, gemsbok, springbok, and impala. He was also happy with the age-old adage of, “taking what the bush offers you”.

Jim and Carol Hensley.

Day 1 began at sunrise, just after breakfast. Steve set off in one direction with thoughts of a big kudu bull standing broadside behind every other mopane tree they passed. He didn’t find his big kudu bull that day, but did have an opportunity at a huge nyala, a blue wildebeest, and a zebra, all of which he passed on, opting to hold out for Africa’s “Grey Ghost”.

Carol and I rode along with Mike and his PH Johan, as they searched for the big bulls that had left the salad-plate sized tracks in the sandy dirt. Christo Joubert, the owner and outfitter of Chivic African Safaris, had secured two special permits for Mike and me, permits for two old Cape buffalo bulls, both of which had to be well beyond their prime, in a Big Five area. There would even be the possibility of seeing and/or encountering all five members of the famous Big Five, which became abundantly clear only an hour and a half into the morning’s hunt.

We were lucky enough to have discovered tracks early in the morning, which appeared to have been left behind by a group of four or five bulls who were no longer with the main herd of buffalo. As we followed the tracks, it seemed as if we were making progress and actually catching up with them.  It was around that time when we discovered we were not the only ones who were tracking the bulls. Johan was quick to point out the very fresh lion tracks that were on top of the buffalo tracks we were following. This meant our already dangerous hunt just got even more dangerous and challenging, a detail my lovely wife was very quick to point out!  Johan told us Cape buffalo by nature are constantly on edge so that they don’t become the next meal for a pride of lions.

Now, not only did we have to try and sneak in on the buffalo, but we had to do it while lions were trying to do the exact same thing as us.  We pressed on, and I thought to myself, “What are the chances?” Frankly, I was torn, thinking about how special it would be to see lions, while at the same time thinking about how that would also negatively impact on our chances of Mike getting a shot at a buffalo… with the added danger factor sprinkled in as well.

It was only about twenty minutes later, while everyone was focused on the buffalo tracks and trying to see a big buffalo bull in the shadows ahead, that movement to my right caught my eyes.

“Lions!” I blurted out, spotting three lions creeping through the long grass only 50 short yards away. There were two males and a female, and they were after the exact same buffalo we were tracking. We all instantly froze.  Johan assessed the situation while Carol took as many photos as she could. After a few mesmerizing moments, we quietly headed off to our

left – far off to the left – hoping that we would circle around in front of the buffalo and have them stroll into where we would be waiting for them while the lions continued to do their thing and possibly push them right to us. In theory, it was a great plan, but unfortunately it didn’t pan out for us. As buffalo so often do, the bulls meandered in the other direction, and despite our best efforts, we weren’t able to get close enough for a shot.

As we continued our search for buffalo, we were able to locate a lone bull sleeping underneath a mopane tree, but as we snuck in to within shooting distance, the slight tickling on the backs of our necks told both us and the formerly sleeping buffalo that the wind had changed and was now heading directly towards him. The buffalo took less than a second to get to his feet, and with a snort ran off in the opposite direction. We did what all buffalo hunters seem to do in this type of situation – comment to each other on how close we had come and how great it would’ve been if we had only had one more second! Then we headed out in search of more tracks.

By the end of the day, Mike was able to get on the shooting sticks a couple of times, but unfortunately the old buffalo bulls did not cooperate long enough for him to get a shot off.

A day spent chasing Cape buffalo is never wasted, but this particular day, even without bringing down a buffalo, was incredibly special. Apart from our run-in with the lions, later in the afternoon we rounded a corner and came face-to-face with four rhinos. We took as many photos as we could in a very short time, and then backed away before our “incredible experience” turned into something very different. By the end of the day, we had seen not only all five of the Big Five, but while eating our lunch next to a dam that had many hippos and crocodiles, we ticked the boxes for the Dangerous Seven as well.

Day 2 began much like Day 1, with Mike going for his buffalo bull and Steve setting off in search of his kudu. The difference came when a huge sable bull stepped out in front of Steve. This is when he experienced exactly what the phrase, “taking what the bush offers you” truly means.  In a fraction of a second Steve got his rifle onto the shooting sticks and slowly squeezed the trigger. The sable bull, possibly Africa’s most regal and stunning antelope, leaped into the bush, stumbled, and then quickly went down. Steve officially had his first African animal. Johan received a message on his cell phone that simply read, “Steve got one in the salt!” later with a photo of Steve hunkered down behind his sable. Johan had assumed the message referred to a kudu, and the picture of the incredible sable was a pleasant surprise. Steve’s smile matched the arc of the sable’s magnificent horns!

Mike C. and his Cape buffalo.

Steve and Belinda with Steve’s sable.

​Meanwhile, Mike was not to be outdone, and setting his double rifle on the shooting sticks, he tried to settle the tiny red dot that was bouncing around in circles on the buffalo’s right shoulder. When the red dot finally settled, Mike squeezed the trigger of the .450 NE. As the old bull bucked and turned to run off, Mike managed to set the rifle back down in time to squeeze off the second trigger before the bull disappeared in the thick bush. Johan and Mike followed the buffalo’s tracks that led into the thickest bush on the property… of course. As they did, the blood trail became easier to follow until they were close enough to see the bull slowing down, walking away through the bush.  Mike’s double rifle sounded off again with two more quick shots, and the buffalo was off into the bush yet again. This time the old warrior didn’t go far, and they found him lying on the ground. With one more insurance shot, the buffalo hunt was over, and the picture-taking had begun. The old bull’s bosses were worn smooth, and the horns were wide, exceptionally thick, and heavily marked by countless numbers of fights over the years. Most of the hair on his face was long gone, leaving the look and feel of white-colored sandpaper wrapped underneath the massive set of horns.

We took the next few days to enjoy Africa without looking down the barrel of a rifle, and started by spending a day inside the famous Kruger National Park. Christo’s daughter, Karen, who is married to Johan, is in the park on a regular basis, and she has the unique ability to go exactly where the animals are, and drove us through her favorite spots. By the end of the day we saw just about everything you could imagine as we made our way through the park, from the smallest dung beetle to numerous herds of elephants, including many babies, ending with a pack of wild painted dogs trotting by within a few yards of the truck. 

Karen ensured our safari was not just a hunting safari. She took us hiking by an absolutely stunning waterfall, feeding a truly wild hippo, and treating us to an elephant experience where we could be with and feed wild elephants. She also arranged for us to visit one of the local schools that Chivic African Safaris works with, and we were able to distribute things we had brought along for this visit – some school supplies, health care items, and toys for the kids. Karen and the rest of the Chivic team also arranged a surprise birthday party for Mike with an incredible dinner under the stars in a dry riverbed, complete with a tower of cupcakes, hanging lights in the trees and, of course, a campfire. 

By the end of our safari, Steve had his incredible sable, a beautiful nyala, and his kudu bull. Mike was finally able to settle his score with a big kudu bull, a great Cape buffalo bull, and a zebra and a nyala. For me, I was very fortunate to also have an incredible buffalo hunt, but that’s a story for another time, perhaps around the evening campfire. In the end, the best part of the trip was being there with my wife and good friends. 

For us, every trip to Africa has been such an incredible experience, and the only possible way to make it better is to share it with others, and we were able to do just that on this trip.   

Big Feet and Tusks to Match

By Don Stoner

Dilemma! In 2013 I had arranged a two-week safari with friends to a favorite plains-game area that also had great numbers of dangerous game. Then about six months prior to this safari, I was offered a bargain cancellation elephant hunt in Zimbabwe. The price was right, the location was exceptional, and the professional hunter was one of the storied men. The only problem was that I was already scheduled to hunt with my friends and I couldn’t go back on that. What to do?

I had adequate vacation days accrued and a very understanding work place, enough financial reserve, and the PH was willing to swap the time with another willing client so that I could simply add it on to my planned safari. How can you say no to that? And when my wife Nancy agreed to join me for the second safari, it was a done deal!

So after seeing off my friends after a wonderful and exciting fourteen days, I was able to kill time in Pretoria. At my age, some rest is needed after a couple of weeks’ hard hunting and a nasty spider bite.

Our Zimbabwe safari wouldn’t start for another three days after our arrival there, so we spent the time at a lodge in the Hwange Park. The lodge had just opened and we were the only guests. The guide was a man I knew from his camera work on one of my favorite safari tapes, and when he learned I was a hunter and also knew his video, we got the tour of our lives.

We were picked up late on the third afternoon by our PH Russ Broom. He had been up all night tracking a lion a client had wounded, and after a four-hour drive to our camp, it was almost midnight. Next morning Russ informed me that our hunting license was not properly signed and that he had sent his tracker back to the park office for the proper signature, so we enjoyed a restful day in camp checking the sights of our rifles. It was mid-afternoon afternoon when the correct licenses arrived.

By now we had lost two valuable hunting days, which might have put some hunters into a less than joyful mood, but we decided to take a philosophical approach. It was Africa, and we were on African time. Just smile, thank God for being here, and enjoy whatever comes each day. 

So with all our permits and licenses in place, Russ offered Nancy and me a ride to check four waterholes and look for any spoor. At the first waterholes we found spoor of baboon, eland, buffalo and lion, but no elephant. I was not surprised. I knew that looking for elephant would take time and miles of tracking. My biggest concern was if, at my age, I would still be able to cover the distances that might be necessary.

There was also one other issue. I had taken four elephant on previous safaris and felt I had taken enough of these magnificent creatures. Three of the four had been select problem animals and, while the hunts were fantastic, the ivory was not trophy size. I had always wanted to hunt a big tusker, so I had set unrealistic goals with the outfitter and PH: I would take another elephant only if it were very old and carried at least seventy pounds ivory, though I made them fully aware that I didn’t realistically expect to find such an animal. What I most wanted was to enjoy the experience of hunting elephant again, even if I went home empty-handed.

At the second waterhole, were tracks of several very large bulls. The largest track allowed two of my size twelve boots to fit in with a couple of inches to spare. Wow! If this old boy had teeth to match his feet, he must be something special. Unfortunately, in this day and age when so many of the great old bulls with big feet and heavy ivory have been thinned out, large feet no longer mean a great deal. More likely he had lived so long precisely because he didn’t have heavy ivory. He would surely have been tracked before, because anyone seeing that spoor would definitely follow it. But it was a good starting spot for the next day.

As we moved between the second and third waterhole, our tracker tapped on the roof of the vehicle and stopped us. He had seen the flash of late afternoon sun on ivory out in the bush. As we glassed the bush, we made out some elephant slowly feeding along in the direction of the next waterhole. They were big, but we couldn’t see the ivory clearly enough to draw any conclusions. What the heck! We needed to take a little walk anyway. And as we were not hunting, Nancy elected to come along.

For the first time in my life, we didn’t have to hike a hundred miles to see big elephant. Within less than twenty minutes, we had cut just ahead of them and watched as they fed slowly toward us. The afternoon sun was low, casting a beautiful golden light across the bush making the ivory glow. There were four of them and all were huge. Two were easily in the fifty to sixty-pound range. But one was magnificent. I watched in awe from about seventy yards as he materialized from the thorn bush. I had never seen a bull that large or ivory that thick. We were looking at the owner of the big feet, and he had tusks to match!

Russ looked at me and I nodded, and we moved cautiously ahead of them, but parallel. The wind was blowing steadily at about five miles an hour in our favor. It was a perfect setup. The thorn was thick enough to give us good cover but not so thick we couldn’t find a shooting lane. We moved ahead of their line of march, but closer to the center. Nancy remained in the rear and a bit back with the junior tracker, both very aware of their fast heartbeats. Nancy had also judged her escape route back to the vehicle, but it was too late to leave.

As the big bull slowly fed, he moved slightly toward us and I watched as the hawser-sized trunk reached up into one tree after another. We were now at about forty yards to the side and just slightly ahead of them. Russ and I held a whispered conversation. Was I sure I wanted to shoot this bull? He thought it would go over sixty pounds and maybe seventy but wasn’t sure. It was only the first day. Of course I wanted this bull. He was exactly what I had said I wanted and fully didn’t expect to find. He had the ivory of my dreams and was obviously a very old elephant. His skin hung baggy, his temples were deeply sunken, and he moved like an old man.

First day or not, I have long since learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth. But I didn’t want to shoot from that distance. I wanted to do it right and get close. Russ nodded and indicated for me to lead. I moved another ten yards to our left, ahead of the elephants, and then slipped directly in toward the big one which was now feeding on the upper branches of a large thorn tree. When I was directly ahead of him, I turned to face him and approached very carefully. We were now standing in the middle of the line of march they had been moving on. The big bull was still feeding behind the tree and I didn’t have a good shot, so I waited.

That was almost a disaster because another of the bulls came forward from my left and passed between me and the big bull. At about ten yards he was far too close. I couldn’t believe he neither saw or smelt us. I felt sure that he would turn and come right at me and I was desperately trying to figure out how to handle it. I certainly didn’t want to shoot the fifty-pounder. Thankfully, he circled around the big bull, and fed back the way he came, moving to my left again. What a relief!

I kept saying to myself something I had read from an old book about elephant hunting: “Get as close as you can, Laddie, and then get three steps closer.” I did just that. Small step by small step, and careful not to put my foot on a branch or dry leaf, I edged forward. I stopped at what we later paced at 12 yards. At that range, looking up at this giant was truly impressive. I watched as his trunk snapped off branches the size of my arm. After what seemed an eternity, he turned slowly to my right and stepped from behind the tree. I expected him to come directly toward me but he didn’t.  He continued to move broadside to my right, presenting a perfect side brain shot.

I don’t remember squeezing the trigger. I don’t remember the recoil, other than trying to regain my sight picture for a second shot. But it wasn’t necessary. I watched as the massive, gray mountain collapsed with so much force I could feel the impact in my feet. His tusks drove into the sand so hard that I was fearful he had broken one. My shot had notched the top of the zygomatic arch, up and straight through the brain. He rolled on to his left side and I paid the insurance shot into his chest, but it wasn’t needed.

I will never forget the next few moments standing there looking at the completion of a dream I had held since I was a child. I felt both stunned and immensely grateful. Every moment had to be savored, every respect for this fallen giant; every appreciation for the skill and dedication of my PH and the trackers; the joy of sharing this experience with my wife, and the profound thanks to God for such a remarkable event.

He was old, very old, probably about seventy years, I learnt later, almost as old as me, and he was on his last set of well-worn teeth. I had saved him from a slow, agonizing death from starvation and decay in the bush within the next year.

We hurriedly measured the ivory. It was slightly oval in shape and we had underestimated the diameter, but we also misjudged because the elephant was bigger-bodied than normal. He had been the largest-bodied of the four very large bulls. At the lip he was almost twenty inches in circumference, and he protruded forty-eight inches. Not only that, but he carried his weight all the way to the broken tips. Both sides had probably lost the last foot or so of ivory, leaving thick stubs. In his prime he must have been simply magnificent. Easily over the magic one hundred pounds. By the time we had honored him and taken pictures, it was getting quite dark so we could do nothing further. Russ assured me that the ivory would be safe since we were in a remote area and that we would retrieve it the next day.

Back at camp I just couldn’t quite believe it all. Where had this bull come from? No one had seen him or his track previously. No one had seen the other bulls accompanying him. Had he wandered in from Botswana? How had he managed to avoid detection for so long? Never mind where he came from. We now just celebrated that he was here.  Sleep did not come easily for me – I kept replaying the event over and over.

The following morning, Russ procured a tractor and a flatbed trailer. We passed by the local village and everyone hopped on the trailer. It was quite a festive ride. We arrived at the scene far ahead of the recovery crew. I examined every inch of the great body trying to take it all in. I hefted his trunk, or tried. It was too heavy. I felt the ivory over and over. I had a strange feeling that this giant was a gift from God, and I honored him all the more.

When the tractor and trailer arrived, the skinning started. The huge head was removed and loaded into a pickup truck. It completely filled the bed and the ivory stuck up and over both sides. All the trophy parts were carefully preserved and then the villagers were turned loose to take their meat. They treated us with great respect. They put chairs in the shade for us to sit and watch, and built a small fire next to us. They started bringing choice pieces of the meat and roasting it for us in the fire. It was a gracious show of appreciation, and quite touching.

The following morning we returned to find nothing but vultures sitting in the trees and a huge red stain on the sand. There were some huge bones lying around but little else. The entire twelve thousand pounds of elephant were gone. Nothing was left as waste. I would add that the feeling of having provided so much meat to such eager and needy people is satisfying. It is one very real joy a hunter can experience.

We had been waiting to extract the ivory to weigh and finally Russ came with the news. The nerve root proved to be very small, consistent with an old elephant. The first wet weight was 93 and 89 pounds. I was beside myself! I would bet that with their full length they would have easily made 120, but who cares. Even with drying from long years of display in air conditioning and heat at home, they still weigh 90 and 86 pounds. They are simply magnificent.

Russ turned the remaining time into a fascinating, productive safari experience that produced a buffalo, leopard, and a beautiful sable.

More stories, more memories…

By Darrell Sterling

I was back in the Limpopo province hunting with Monkane Safari owned and operated by Kereneels Verjon. It was my first day on what would turn out to be a marvelous safari filled with high drama and lots of surprises. The kick-start of the adventure was to find me a mature, trophy-quality nyala bull. We started out well before daybreak after a delicious breakfast prepared by a master chef. We were in the truck heading to a beautiful property known to have a tremendous number of quality nyala bulls.

It was a long drive to get to this paradise, but it was well worth the trip. We arrived as day was breaking, cascading sunshine across the rolling hills. We had barely got started when we saw a large nyala working his way up a dry riverbed. I had seen nyala before on another safari, but this bull dwarfed what I had seen before. We barely slowed down to take a look at the bull before it was decided to move along – he just wasn’t what we were looking for. I was shocked! It sure looked like a shooter bull to me. I was aware of the old saying never turn down an animal on the first day that you would shoot on your last day. We were barely ten to fifteen minutes into our hunt, but that bull had tall horns that just spiraled straight up. It was quite an impressive specimen. I immediately asked my PH Gerhard Smit why we had passed on this bull.

Gerhard smiled and explained that he was a good bull, but we could do better, especially on this property. The farm we were on was huge – it was vast, covering miles and miles. The property had an enormous lake surrounded by rolling hills and a small mountain range. The various vistas were stunning. Every picture looked like a post card. I knew the property was massive, but I still thought the bull was large enough to make the SCI record book, which is what I wanted.

My daughter Misty was with me on this safari as an observer. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. I knew what she was thinking – Dad that was a big one! We drove for hours crisscrossing through the veld. We spotted plenty of game and stopped to look at zebra and giraffe which seemed to be everywhere. We even saw two kudu bulls that were each well over 50” of curving horns. I was tempted to go off script and attempt to take one of those massive bulls, but I had a nice kudu mounted at home. I had a full dance card hunting new species of game that I had never hunted.  Africa is funny that way. You never know what you might encounter that could change your whole safari. I showed great restraint as I asked my guide to stop the driver so we could judge these two incredible bulls. Gerhard confirmed that they would stretch the tape into the mid 50” range, which is an extraordinary bull. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and told Gerhard that I already had taken a good kudu, but truth was the one I had at home was not nearly as nice as these two magnificent animals.

The bulls spooked, as they didn’t enjoy our attention and off they went. We proceeded onward but my mind drifted back to the kudus. We saw many nyala, but most were small males, some very nice, but we hadn’t found anything anyway as nice as the first one we saw. The search continued as we drove across the property to a large lake. I learned that a hippo actually lived somewhere in the lake and had caused problems as it had chased off some folks who had stopped to admire the view and drink in the serenity of the scenery. We skirted along an embankment and moved back into some trees. We saw a couple of good nyala and stopped to take a closer look.

I grabbed my Ruger .30-06, my daughter decided to film using the latest i-Phone which she dug out of her pocket, my PH grabbed the shooting sticks, and we headed off into the bush.  We didn’t have to go far until we saw the nyala. I was excited as I thought that this would be the one for me. But Gerhard just looked and turned, saying let’s go. We quickly loaded up and was back cruising the veld.

“I thought he was a good shooter bull,” I persisted.

“We can do better,” my PH replied, “as we have all day.” I told my daughter this is what makes a good guide. He could have easily let me shoot any number of bulls we had seen, and I would have been happy, but Gerhard knew the area had really high record-book trophies, and if we were selective and passed enough bulls sooner or later, we were likely to be rewarded. I patted Gerhard on the back and told him I was glad he was my PH and I was sure we were going to have a great safari together!

A picky PH is a major key to any successful hunt. It was now past lunch and there were talks where we might stop to eat. We had hunted hard for the past five hours. I wasn’t opposed to stopping to eat. We wound around a bend in the road and came to a complete stop, as slightly ahead of us on the left were three large nyala bulls. My pulse immediately started racing. Gerhard seemed skeptical but I was pumped.

 “There we go!” I said. Once again Gerhard said, “Let’s go take a better look.” We quietly piled out of the truck which then continued on. The bulls were close to the road, but they never really spooked. They simply moved off into the thicker bush. We made our way over, and although they weren’t too far away from us, they were hard to see very well as the bush was incredibly dense.

I thought all three bulls looked great I just needed to know if we had finally found a nyala big enough to satisfy Gerhard. We looked them over for what seemed like forever, when Gerhard gave me a single nod of approval.

“The one on the left is a good bull.” My mouth immediately went dry. We crept around as the bulls moved even deeper into the bush Gerhard threw up the shooting sticks but when I got up on them, I was way too high up as the bulls went down a little ridge in front of us. We moved around. I dropped down to my knee, preparing for a shot in a kneeling position if I could find the bulls in my scope. It was tough trying to scan through the super-thick brush. I found the bull, but they kept changing positions and moving around. I finally zeroed in on the correct one. Gerhard and I discussed which bull I was on to make sure it was indeed the correct one. I was ready to shoot but I had to hold as there was another nyala directly behind my bull. The bulls were in no hurry and just milled about. My eyes got tired of looking though the scope. I had to pull off and let my eyes rest, and when I thought the animals moved I returned to the scope.

I said again to Gerhard, “I’m on him.”

“Just wait, he’s starting to clear, wait.” I saw the other bull finally move from behind my bull.

“I got em. I’m gonna take him,” I whispered. Gerhard said, “You’re clear.” Finally, I was able to gently squeeze the trigger. The gun barked in my hands. The target in the scope was gone. The bush I was shooting through was so thick I wasn’t even sure I hit him, my bullet could have easily struck a branch and just whizzed by the bull. My PH told me to wait while he got the trackers to go look for sign. A moment later they were standing where I had I shot into the brush.

Above: Placid, peaceful lake on the property.

Left: A beautiful pair of bell-shaped horns.

I left my position and went to where the trackers where checking for sign. I was frustrated, thinking that I shouldn’t have pulled the trigger, when they found blood. The tracker said that he saw two bulls running away. The men didn’t go but twenty yards and found my bull piled up in the thick bush.

We couldn’t see him from where we had been standing, it was just that darn thick in there. The sight picture I had in my scope had been clear, the shot was close, but with so much foliage you can’t help but question yourself when you don’t walk straight up to find a downed animal, and we had no blood. When we found the bull, he was still alive but couldn’t get up as he was mortally wounded, so with my PH’s OK I put in two more rounds to end it.

It was the first hunt that I had completed with my daughter, who was fascinated with the hunt. She was by my side the whole safari. The bull was a real trophy with beautiful, bell-shaped horns. I have had the good fortune of eating a lot of wild game meat, but nyala, I believe, is the tastiest meat I have ever had the pleasure of eating. It was just fantastic. I gorged like a man starving to death and ate until my stomach ached. It was delicious. Hunting with my daughter, taking a huge trophy bull, and eating the best wild game meat, it is no wonder why I love hunting so much.

If you want to take a monster nyala bull, I highly recommend booking a hunt with Monkane Safaris.

​

By Ernest Dyason

Cameroon: 2022

Back in March of 2019, I was hunting in northern Cameroon with Mark Schroder from Houston, Texas, when on our last hunting day, while still on the hunting truck, we spotted a large herd of Lord Derby eland.

Standing about 150 yards away was this tremendous bull, black around the neck and shoulders, much taller than the others around him. For some reason, Mark just could not pick out the right one from where we were standing, ready on the shooting sticks, a short distance away from the truck. The eland left, and the rest of that story is documented in another issue of the African Hunting Gazette.

That image remained in my mind and I will never forget it. At night back at camp, I told Reinhardt, the owner of the Block we were hunting on, about the bull, and he named it Blackie. As I fell asleep I wondered if I would ever see it again. Probably not. Eland are wanderers and can cover lots of territory at a time.

In 2022 after Coronavirus finally began to ease travel restrictions, I found myself back in eland territory, deep in Northern Cameroon, with Brent Kitten, also an avid hunter and adventure seeker from Lubbock Texas, USA. Brent and I hunted together in South Africa and formed a lasting friendship.

Because of airline schedule complications, I ended up in Yaoundé two full days, before Brent could arrive. Yaoundé, is not my favorite African city, so you could imagine my frustration at being stuck in a hotel room. It is a noisy, congested city with smells that range from burning plastic to wood smoke to gas and diesel fumes. Very little English is spoken. When Brent finally arrived we set off on a nearly five-hour drive south to the Garoua area, the starting point of the hunt. We arrived just in time to meet Reinhardt and enjoy lunch and have an afternoon siesta.

During lunch, Reinhardt briefed me about the hunting zone. The year was exceptionally dry and cool. Normally in late February the day temperatures could easily soar way above the 100-degree mark. But instead, our mornings were cool, rarely reaching the 95 degrees at midday. I was definitely not complaining, but generally any unusual weather creates different hunting conditions as well as outcomes.

I was told about a small group of eland frequenting the “usual eland area,” and with them was a really nice old bull. “Maybe it’s Blackie,” suggested Reinhardt. That instantly brought back those memories from 2019, like yesterday.

After our lunch and siesta, we checked the zero on our borrowed .338 and went for a short stalk along the dry river bed behind camp, searching for whatever.

As expected from the German-made rifle and optics, the zero was spot on, and off we went.

About 500 yards into our stalk, our lead tracker whispered to me, “Cephalo rouge” (Red-flanked duiker). How he spotted this little guy, at least 150 yards away in the long grass, I will never know, but through my binoculars I could clearly see his horns, and the hunt was on.

The duiker kept feeding away from us, although we managed to close the distance to about 80 yards, set up the stable sticks and Brent got into position, in case a shot presented. I decided to give a short “lamb in distress call”, through my nose, to see if I could get him to stop.

The ram turned in his tracks and charged straight towards us until he got to maybe 15 yards away, where he stopped dead in his tracks, obviously noticing us. Brent made a great shot right in his chest and the trophy was ours. What a start! First afternoon, and an amazing red-flanked duiker with horns that would bring tears to any record-book-seeking hunter.

A few beers that night and some more discussion about the hunt for Blackie, was followed by a sound sleep under air conditioning driven for a while by the camp generator.

At 5 a.m. the next morning the noise of the generator starting up again, was the wake-up call. An hour later we were on the road, with the same hunting crew as in 2019. Gabrillo the head tracker, Osmano No 2 tracker, and brother to No 1, “Fat” our spotter. The was the fellow who carried enough water for the day, and my French translator, who was not really needed once we were on tracks and hunting lingo took over.

We saw where the tracks of a small group of eland had crossed the road ahead of us. It looked promising, so we were soon well on our way following on foot. The tracks took us into hilly country, crisscrossing all sorts of rough and uneven terrain. Although the tracks were fresh, we followed for hours, and then it e became evident that the herd had smelt us – the wind had started changing back and forth and the tracks were not just meandering anymore, but had a determined direction, straight uphill. Any signs of feeding had also stopped. It was really early in the hunt so I was not too worried, but I have also learnt that no opportunity at giant eland should ever be wasted, so on and on we went. Shortly before noon, and fairly high up on a mountain, we noticed where the eland had slowed to browse a little.

We slowed to a crawl, all our senses on high alert. The wind was terrible, swirling back and forth, left and right. Then my trackers hit the deck. One of them had spotted a tail swishing not 75 yards away in some thickets. It took me quite a while to see the butt end of a young eland bull, and the wait began. We could just barely make out the shape of the animal and the legs of another, presumably a cow. The younger one fed slowly into a clearing where we could watch him, but the rest of the herd was totally out of view. It was hard to image such large animals could hide so well behind so little scrub. At that stage I was still under the impression that we were following six or seven individuals, although the trackers said there were more than 50 in the herd.

The whole setup was too good to be true and soon I could hear them moving away from us through a gully, where they were totally obscured and where there would be no opportunity at a shot. I did however notice a massive set of testicles on one of the lead animals as they disappeared over the crest of the mountain! They did not appear to have been aware of us and were just walking away, so we cautiously followed, expecting to find a huge bull standing side on, just over the crest. No such Luck. The tracks went down on the opposite side, with no eland in sight.

The going was not easy. Loose pebbles and a steep slope made walking hard. Brent took a pretty impressive tumble and just in time saved damage to the rifle. The noise was tremendous and I was no longer hopeful.

At the base of the hill we found their running tracks crossing a road, and this, combined with the rising midday heat and our rumbling stomachs decided us to let them be until dusk, when most animals relax their guard and graze on into the night.

A whole roasted red-flanked duiker was available for lunch back at camp – very tasty. After a short siesta we went to where we had left the tracks.

Following the trail was easy as the herd had made a speedy retreat, and it was apparent that there were many more than six individuals. After a few miles of tracking I spotted an animal in the distance that I thought was a bushbuck, and a quick “Shush” got everyone hitting the deck. It turned out to be an eland calf staring back at us. Luckily it was a very young animal, and did not give any alarm. Brent and I peered through our binoculars, trying to make out the other animals. I did see a very impressive set of horns belonging to a bull that appeared to be lying in long grass. Brent and I crawled into a position to shoot in case it stood up or presented a safe shot.

The sun was now very hot on our backs and the wait was awful, but there was just nothing else we could do. Sooner or later they had to start moving as late afternoon approached. The set of horns did move eventually, but not as we expected. The animal was not lying down, but standing in extremely long grass, obscuring the entire bull with only his horns visible.

Time went by and I predicted that the herd would be slowly feeding along the edge of a dry creek, and that was where we found them. The whole team of trackers, spotters, water bearers and translator was instructed to stay put, or at least very far behind us. Brent and I crept forward slowly up a slight rise and over a small open meadow where we spotted the swishing tail of one of the herd animals.

Between us and the herd was a small outcrop of rocks, the perfect hideout to view the slowly feeding herd. As we reached the outcrop I heard different noises coming from our left side – a troop of olive baboons were making their way to the same viewpoint! I could not believe our bad luck. But when one of the baboons spotted us, instead of sounding the alarm, he turned tail and bounded off in an opposite direction, taking his mates with him. Maybe the hunting gods were in our favor after all.

From this vantage point we could view many of the herd animals, now numbering around 20 or 25 individuals. The sticks were up, and Brent had the rifle securely balanced and ready for a shot. From my left, I could see the impressive set of horns moving above the grass towards a clearing. My heart was beating double time!

“Get ready Brent,” I whispered, “he’s going to walk into that clearing.”

Then I had a full view of his neck and chest, but instead of the swollen neck and chest of an old mature bull, I realized it was a young one. It was our first day, and I was very tempted to give the command, “shoot” but just could not. My disappointment was obvious, but Brent had been quite clear in his wishes before we started the hunt – “I really hope I get one of those black old bulls, and if I do, it’s the only animal I’ll take and I’ll be very happy.”

The opportunity was gone and so was most of the herd by now. A lone young cow at the back of the herd stared at us and then stormed off into some low ground where we lost sight of them, giving us the opportunity to run closer in order to view the herd one last time. They were very relaxed, with the sun sinking behind us, dulled behind the dense cover of the dust screen or “hamsin,” so typical of the Cameroon savannah and especially at that time of the year.

In front of us was a spectacular scene, the whole herd, spread out in a small, low-lying burnt meadow, with “Blackie” sniffing at a cow right in the middle of the herd. I did not even have to look twice. All I said to Brent was, “Shoot the black one, do you see him?”

I blocked my ears, the shot rang out and “Blackie” went down 60 yards further on while the rest of the herd just looked on. We waited briefly, and our team sneaked up behind us to appreciate the scene.

Some minutes later, Brent asked if I minded him approaching the bull first. Words spoken by a true hunter.

If it was the same black one as that from 2019 we will never know, but was he the eland of Mr Brent Kitten’s dreams? YES!