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.

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