Aug 2, 2018 | News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Warthogs – Not Just Any Pig
By Archie Landals
Our magical first trip to Africa was in September 2011. My wife Carole and I were on a two-week photo safari of Namibia. The attractions were spectacular, from the iconic red sand dunes in Namib Naukluft Park to the lesser-known fascinating petroglyphs at Twyfelfontein, designated as Namibia’s first World Heritage Site in 2007. The more than 2500 rock carvings were made by the ancestors of the San (Bushmen) and date back more than 2000 years.
Large mugs of hot coffee to combat the chilly morning were served as we embarked on a boat tour in Walvis Bay that allowed us to get up close and personal with seals and pelicans that came onboard for handouts. The plankton-rich waters of Walvis Bay enables oysters to be harvested after eight months compared with three years in other parts of the world. We were treated to oysters, both raw and cooked, and empty coffee mugs were regularly refilled, and fine South African sherry was on offer.
Etosha National Park was our first great wildlife viewing opportunity. I only needed to look out of the bus window at the constantly changing scenery to be enthralled – everything was new and exciting. We photographed many species of plains game and four of the Big Five – Cape buffalo are not in the park. The first few days I spotted gemsbok, ostrich and a distant herd of mountain zebra. Springbok were everywhere. And I saw my first warthogs. My initial experience with warthog meat was on a braai at Taleni Etosha Village. It was delicious!
Back in Canada we traded emails with PH and guide Louw van Zyl, owner of Track a Trails Safaris, and settled a 12-day package that would give us 10 days of hunting and two travel days. Four trophies were included in the package: kudu, oryx, impala and warthog. I was determined to shoot a kudu and thought I would be content with one other trophy. I rather liked the idea of a springbok as a second smaller trophy.
Initially, I had no interest in shooting a warthog. “Why do you want to shoot a warthog?” friends asked. I really had no answer, but Carole kept telling me they were so ugly they were beautiful. “You need to shoot one,” she convinced me.
In 2012, our hunting destination was Aandster Farm, a six-hour drive from Windhoek, about an hour east of Grootfontein in north-eastern Namibia, in the Kalahari Bushveld. The ancient, low relief dunes of the Bushveld are covered with thick scrub, most of which has sharp thorns. The only open areas are a few old fields that have reverted to what now looks like grassland savanna. These fields are renewed by periodic burning, giving habitat favored by springbok and impala.
It was the dry season, and Stephan Jacobs, the owner of Aandster, told us that the only likelihood of finding a warthog was at a waterhole. He was right. Over the next few days as we tracked kudu, we saw glimpses of warthogs as they hightailed it through the thick scrub and grass. Although I tried to convince myself that I saw tusks, I am sure there was not a good boar among them. These were not like the rather docile warthogs we had seen in Etosha where they lived a life of leisure, habituated to the traffic along the main roads in a protected area.
There were half a dozen man-made waterholes at Aandster, several of them with tree stands. We climbed one in the middle of the day, but saw little.
On Day 7, we drove to a neighboring farm. It was seldom hunted and we hoped to find good warthog boars. A large tank in a remote part of the farm stored water for filling cattle troughs. It leaked, causing mud holes that attracted the wildlife. We built a ground blind of Kalahari Apple-leaf and settled in and spent a magical afternoon watching wildlife and listening to the birds. Giraffe, jackal and warthog all came to drink. A kudu bull effortlessly jumped the fence around the water trough. There were flocks of guinea fowl, doves, grouse and songbirds. A herd of about 20 Nguni cattle came to drink. An indigenous African breed, they are truly beautiful animals, with hides of many colors and patterns. Memories came flooding back a year later when I watched the highlights of the funeral of Nelson Mandela. His casket was draped with the hide of a magnificent Nguni bull.
We saw a lot of warthogs, mostly sows and piglets, and a few boars that I decided to pass in the hopes of a better one, though towards dusk I was starting to regret that I had not shot one of them. Then just before dark, Louw confirmed a decent boar and suggested that I take it. I could not get a clear view from where I sat and decided to stand and use the shooting sticks. After sitting for seven hours my legs would not work and I almost fell on my head. Controlling my laughter and getting my legs under me, I steadied the borrowed .300 Winchester Magnum on the shooting sticks and made the shot. Photos done, we loaded the pig and went back for supper and Amarula around the fire.
The following day we built a ground blind at one of the waterholes at Aandster hoping to get a warthog for my brother. Shortly before five a herd of blesbok, including one good ram, came for a drink. Louw said I could take it if I wished, and quickly got me on the sticks. Just before the ram disappeared behind the brush, I added him to my growing list of trophies, now six. I am not sure what happened to settling for a kudu and one small trophy!
Oscar, our driver, dropped us off at the tree stand on his way to the skinning shed with the blesbok. Warthogs were soon sneaking out of the bush toward the waterhole, and just before dark a good boar came for a drink, but was hidden behind the bow blind that obscured part of the water hole. Eventually it headed back towards the trees, and my brother was able to take it. Those big boars were extremely wary, only arriving to feed or drink after dark.
My brother decided that he wanted a blesbok as well, and the next morning he took a good ram. We decided to make the drive back to Windhoek over two days to avoid a 4 a.m. start to get there in time for our flight. Waterberg Guest Farm, about half way to Windhoek was a great place to stop. On an afternoon game drive, we watched herds of oryx and hartebeest with their calves. The oryx calves already had well-developed horns. Spotting and photographing the diminutive Damara dik-dik was a bonus. A magical sundowner watching the flamingoes as the sun set blood-red behind the mountains was a perfect end to an exciting first hunt in Africa.
A visit to the local taxidermist was not necessary after our hunt. We had met Casper Oosthuizen at his studio the year before while on our photo safari. One of his staff picked up our trophies from Aandster. The warthog now hangs on the wall with our other trophies. The open mouth showing the needle-sharp lower tusks gives the warthog a rather rakish grin. He is the first animal noticed and talked about by our non-hunting friends. Those that hunt agree that he is a fine trophy worth every hunter’s attention. The kids, of course, know him affectionately as Pumba, the Disney character from The Lion King.
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Aug 2, 2018 | News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]A Tailgate and a Trip
By Matt Shaw
“There’s your cat! You will have to try him from here. He will be sitting facing us. Just put the crosshairs on his eyes,” whispered my PH Garth. We had been out night hunting for the last two and a half hours. I flexed my fingers to get some feeling back into my hands, (riding around in the cold wind of the Mpumalanga Province of South Africa at night in the back of the Land Cruiser was not what I had had in mind while packing back home in Alberta) brought the rifle up, found a solid rest, and slowly squeezed the trigger…
This was my second trip to South Africa. My first safari was to the Eastern Cape, which was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime. But as that safari wound down I knew that I would be back, stalking the majestic animals of Africa again at some point in my life – I just had no idea that it would be in less than two years.
I had dreamt of hunting Africa since I was 10 years old, and because of this I talked to every African Outfitter I could find at the various Sportsman shows around Alberta, and I even started visiting the Africa Shows held in Edmonton and Calgary. I became friends with some of the outfitters and enjoyed visiting with them when they were in town. In January of 2016, The Africa Show was held in Calgary. I attended, and went out for drinks and dinner with a couple of outfitter friends after the show closed. We shared stories of the past season’s hunting adventures, and when we left the restaurant later on, discovered that someone had decided to steal the tailgate from my new truck.
I was ANGRY like you wouldn’t believe, because the truck was less than three months old – it replaced the truck that had been stolen out of my driveway in the fall! The next day, while sitting on the couch and growing angrier with every ad I looked at for used tailgates (they aren’t cheap) my cell phone rang. It was Birgit from The Africa Show telling me that I had won the door prize, a 7-day Safari with Legelela Safaris in the Free State of South Africa! Miraculously my mood improved, and to this day I say that I will gladly trade a tailgate for a trip to Africa!
A year and a half later I was headed back to Africa with my good friend Brent who was joining me on his first safari. We would be hunting in the Free State, Mpumalanga and KwaZulu-Natal for 10 days, looking for a variety of plains game as well as the serval I wanted. We would also be crossing off another bucket list item for me, as we were going to spend a day angling for Tiger fish while we were there.
And now, here I was in the cold and dark, with a chance to finally get my cat.
I lined the crosshairs of the scope onto the serval’s eyes, and slowly squeezed the trigger of Garth’s .375 loaded with a solid. The rifle kicked up at the shot, and there was a solid “Whap.” “You got him, he dropped!” was Garth’s somewhat surprised exclamation. I stayed where I made the shot so that we would not lose the location in the dark and could guide Brent and the ranch owner up the hill to the spot. Meantime, I asked Garth why he was surprised that I had made the shot. “A 200-yard shot at night is something that most people miss, especially when they are doing it for the first time,” he said.
After a quick search, the serval was found right where he had dropped. While waiting for the other two to collect the cat, I asked Garth why you would shoot a small animal like a serval with a .375 H&H.
“Loaded with a solid, the large caliber would do less damage than a smaller caliber like a .223 loaded with a soft bullet,” he explained. I couldn’t believe how beautiful the spotted cat was when I finally got my first up close look at him. He was long and lean with an absolutely gorgeous coat. We took a few field photos, and Garth said we would take more detailed trophy pictures the following morning in daylight.
We continued to hunt that evening, and Brent almost took a jackal, but it disappeared into a valley full of long grass, never to be seen again. We were out again the following evening. This time I was armed with my bow, and the goal was to try for a steenbok. I had declined one on the first day of my previous safari, and had never had another chance. I had regretted that decision over the last two years, as those tiny antelope are beautiful. We attempted several stalks but I wasn’t able to get a shot off. There was a full moon, so that allowed the animals to see me off to one side drawing my bow while Garth held the spotlight on the animal. Brent had another close call that night as we spooked some bush pigs in a corn field, but we weren’t able to chase them out. They just circled Garth in the corn before disappearing.
Hunting at night was a great experience as it is not something that we are able to do in Alberta. It gave us the opportunity to see a totally different group of animals that we would not see by daylight. Some of them were caracal, jackal, steenbok, porcupine and springhare.
After hunting for three days, and doing the two night hunts, Brent had taken a blue and a black wildebeest, and I got my serval. We had several close calls on zebra and fallow deer, the latter now being bred in South Africa, but ended up leaving them for the next trip, and headed to a new lodge for spiral-horned animals in thicker bushveld. The drive went smoothly, with Garth stopping along the way to pick up some delicious biltong for us to enjoy. Brent was somewhat leery of the dried meat as he had misheard, and thought we were eating bull tongue. This was quickly sorted out, and the bag of biltong didn’t last long.
At the new lodge we settled in quickly and headed out for a drive to see what we could find before the sun set. It didn’t take long to start seeing different game that first evening – giraffe, impala, kudu cows and buffalo – leaving us excited for the next morning. We hunted hard the next few days, with me sitting in a blind by a water source, and walking and stalking nyala with my bow, but with no success for me. (Nothing new for a bowhunter!) I was enjoying the challenge and was seeing lots of game. Brent was able to take a nice mature kudu bull and a cool, non-typical blesbok.
Before we knew it, we had been in Africa for a week, and it was time to go and see if the fish were biting. We left at dawn as we had to drive for a couple of hours to get to the reservoir where we would be fishing, and wanted to be out on the water nice and early. I have been fascinated by Tiger fish since seeing one in the trophy room of some good friends at home in Alberta, and couldn’t wait for the chance to hook one of these underwater predators. At the boat launch in the bay we were leaving from we were greeted by an ornery bull hippo. He marked his territory, then submerged and appeared to leave the bay. We hopped onto the pontoon boat and slowly made our way out onto the lake. Right as we were leaving the mouth of the bay I spotted the hippo running back into the water, and alerted Brent. The hippo then decided to charge the boat. (It really is amazing how wide they can open their mouths.) Garth was shouting
“Go! Go! Go!” Garth shouted to our captain as Brent and I watched and fumbled for our cameras. The hippo managed to get so close to our boat that I probably could have reached out and hit him with one of the paddles. Brent and I laughed as the hippo finally fell back, as our boat got up on plane. Then Brent noticed the look on Garths’ face. He didn’t seem to think it was as cool as we did, and proceeded to tell us that the hippo would have had no trouble flipping our 20-foot pontoon boat over, tossing us into the water, and possibly attacking us.
That was the most excitement that we had that day. The fishing turned out great, and we were able to land 13 Tigers and had at least that many that got away. It proved to be a challenge for me to set the hook into the hard mouths of these fish as I am used to being gentler with a small hook and flyrod. Brent and I landed the majority of the fish with Garth only able to bring one into the boat. At the end of the day we were all a little apprehensive about what we might find in the bay, but the belligerent hippo was nowhere to be found.
After our great day of fishing we were down to three hunting days. Brent and I each managed to take a few more great trophies, thanks to Garth. I took a very nice springbok, which just happened to be my birthday gift from my wife. This animal was at the top of my list, because despite trying very hard on my first safari, I had failed to get one. I wrapped the trip up by taking a beautiful nyala on our last afternoon. After taking some pictures and getting him up to the skinning shed, I was able to spend the last evening enjoying one of Africa’s amazing sunsets and reflecting on all of the great memories made over the past week and a half.
This trip was first class from the moment we arrived at the airport and were picked up by one of Reinier’s guides. The accommodations and the food were all exceptional as was the quality of the animals that we saw and took during our stay. Our PH Garth Lee was amazing, easy to get along with, and really determined that we had the experience of our lives. On our way home, Brent and I were already discussing plans for a return trip to Africa with Legelela Safaris.
I would like to thank a few people for making this trip possible. Thanks to the people who continue to put on The Africa Shows here in Canada, despite the challenges posed by various anti-hunting groups. A huge thank you to Reinier Linde of Legelela Safaris for generously donating this hunt. And thanks also to my favorite outdoor writer, Craig Boddington, for instilling a passion to hunt Africa into a young Canadian hunter.
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Jul 31, 2018 | News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Mesengesi Croc
By Darby Wright
The Mesengesi River is a tributary of the mighty Zambezi River that runs from Angola, between Zambia and Zimbabwe and across Mozambique and empties into the azure Indian Ocean. This river is literally the lifeblood of villagers living on its banks, supplying all water for drinking and washing, as well as for crops grown in the fertile soil along the bank. And every year, along these river banks, hundreds of villagers are attacked by crocodiles. And so it was that Rob, our PH came to my tent early one morning. “You and Kayleigh get packed and ready right away. We must make the 2½ hour drive to the village ASAP, and look for a problem crocodile!”
My daughter Kayleigh and I were hunting Cape buffalo on a 1,000,000 acre concession in central Mozambique when our professional hunter received the news that another villager had been attacked and killed while washing clothes on the river bank. Her family and the other villagers were distraught, and the village chief wanted something done about it right away. It was bad enough that the woman had been attacked and dragged under water, never to be seen again, but her four children aged between two and seven would have to mostly fend for themselves – their father worked on a kapenta boat on Lake Cahora Bassa, only coming home several times a month. (Kapenta is a small fish, netted from boats at night, and a great source of protein.)
We spoke to the chief of the village who was upset that another villager had been attacked and killed by a huge crocodile. It inhabited the Mesengesi River, and had been menacing people up and down a 15 mile stretch of river for years. We were told it had distinctive markings on its head which was over two feet wide, and that the body was longer than a dugout canoe.
No one had been able to outsmart this cunning creature. Over the years many government hunters had tried to get within shooting range, but to no avail. It was almost as if it sensed that it was being hunted, and would relocate to another part of the river until things calmed down. After living over a hundred years, this croc had become very wise!
These cunning, dinosaur-like creatures are the descendants of reptiles that have been in the rivers and swamps of Africa for millions of years. They have pulled countless sheep, goats, cattle, wild game and even young elephants into the waters. When a big croc attacks, it’s like a lightning bolt striking. One second its unknowing victim is peaceful and relaxed. The next, the croc snatches its victim in a flash, pulling the unsuspecting person or beast underwater to be drowned and torn apart by its massive jaws lined with gruesome teeth. Often the croc will carefully stash its victim under a river bank or log, letting it rot for several days before ripping it apart.
At first we spent a lot of time glassing from the dense reeds in the general area where the village woman was attacked, but we never saw any sign of a large croc. Day after day we hiked and glassed along the river banks and found nothing.
We had gone upstream several times. We saw a few small and medium-sized crocs, but not the one with the distinctive markings. Kayleigh was the hunter and I would be there to back her up if necessary. We began to wonder if this illusive croc would also elude us. Fourteen-foot high reeds grew all along the sandy banks of the river, and were full of hippo trails! It was scary crawling through these pathways, always wondering if we would encounter an enraged hippo at point-blank range! Often we heard hippos snorting in the river – now this was getting a little dodgy! We were more worried about coming face-to-face with a hippo than about crocs in the river. Once we heard rustling coming from the tall reeds and we all immediately pulled up our guns, only to see a small duiker dash by!
But still no croc. After several days we decided to search downstream along the many pools in this croc- and hippo-infested river, back to the area where the woman was attacked. We hid in the reeds all day, hoping for a sighting of the killer. It became very hot, and sweat dripped in our eyes. Malaria-carrying mosquitos buzzed us continually. Cobras and mambas were an ever-present threat in the thick reed beds. Our hunting days were winding down, when Rob said that we should try much further downstream, and again check out each large pool.
So early the next day, after breakfast and strong black coffee, we started out. We walked far downstream, and once crossed the river in a shallow area several feet deep. Once on the other side we slowly approached a large pool, through the reeds so as not to disturb any croc that might be in the area. As we crawled through the hippo tunnels and reached the edge of the river, Rob motioned for everyone to keep down.
There on an island in the middle of the large pool lay a massive croc, sunning itself. We just waited. As we glassed it, Rob said, “That’s the one, no doubt. It’s got the distinctive markings of the killer.” It looked as though someone had shot at its head and the bullet had only grazed its skull.
Rob told me to stay where I was, and he and Kayleigh would try to maneuver into a spot with a clear shooting lane. Now everyone was getting tense! The village scout stayed back with me, and we waited. At the sound of the .375 H&H going off, several other medium-sized crocs on the bank immediately launched into the river. But the monster croc was anchored, only slightly moving. There was no need for a follow-up shot. Kayleigh had done it!
After days and days of hunting this beast, it was finished! Bush news carried the message back to the village. The villagers were ecstatic about the good news – the croc that had been terrorizing the area for years was now gone. All night a celebration raged, with villagers singing and chanting!
Our Cape buffalo hunt had ended with the removal of a problem croc. It had been very exciting, and we felt good knowing we had made a difference to the lives of these villagers.[/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16514,16510,16511″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 31, 2018 | News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] Off the Beaten Track in Zimbabwe – a father-son quest for plains game and Cape buffalo
By Alexander Richter
As dusk was falling on the dry savannah, I steadied my breathing and prepared myself for the shot. From the tall grass, his head lifted to reveal pitted bosses, flaring nostrils and glaring eyes. Darkness was encroaching as the last day of the safari came to an end. At sixty yards I squeezed the trigger of my Montana .375, the crosshairs steady between the animal’s eyes. A thunderous “crack” rang out and I lost sight of the large Cape buffalo bull…
Two weeks before that night, my father and I had driven six hours from Harare’s airport through Zimbabwean bushveld to the Save Conservancy. The landscape was totally new to me, and in the rural setting I was fascinated to see the round mud huts with their neatly thatched roofs.
Late in the night we arrived at the boundary of the area we would be hunting for the next fourteen days. Our PH, Lloyd Yeatman greeted us and helped transfer our luggage to the hunting vehicle. We drove on muddy roads through sugar cane fields, following the smell of burning wood, and finally arrived at Mkwasine Camp, lit with hanging lanterns. I chatted a while with Lloyd and his wife Sabine that first night, and later, possibly with the help of a local ale, I was soon in bed, falling asleep to the sounds of the night.
A gentle tap on my tent flap woke me. It was already the next morning, still dark. Breakfast was being prepared. We sipped coffee next to the warm coals from the previous night’s fire, and after breakfast we conducted a preliminary assessment of the area we were to be hunting, and sighted in our rifles. My father, a custom gunsmith and avid reloader, brought along a .416 Taylor, while I brought my new Montana .375.
It was not long before we were focusing on the game in the area. We came across four kudu bulls and I was quick to get on the shooting sticks. There were two very mature bulls. My scope must have been on six power from sighting in at the range, because when I settled my gun on the shooting sticks, my field of view was limited and shaky. I blew the shot on the large kudu, my bullet glancing over the rise in his shoulders and into the dirt. This sent the four animals running into the thick brush never to be seen again for the remainder of the trip. I contemplated many reasons and excuses for my shot being wrong, and sulked back to the vehicle. I always seemed to shoot poorly in Africa.
The following morning, I regained confidence when we encountered a group of eland in the open grass and I was able to drop the large bull with a single shoulder shot from my .375. A few days later, I placed a solid neck shot on a big waterbuck that was facing us straight on in grass up to its chin. The shot dropped the magnificent waterbuck, and I felt even more confident in my gun and shooting ability.
Lloyd thought it was now time to hunt my dad’s buffalo. Masanyani, an exceptionally skilled tracker, guided our crew through thick brush and reed swamps that afternoon. The reeds were so high that I could have been twice as tall and still not be able to see over them. At times I could hear buffalo crashing away, but it was too thick to see them. Crossing a sand road, we came across elephant tracks as well the prints of a black rhino. I was amazed that there was a rhino in our area – two armed government rangers were tracking it to protect it from poachers. The men had a small outpost just down the river from us, close enough that we could see their campfire at night.
Entering a new area, we crossed the crystal-clear waters of a creek and scaled a steep hill. After patiently following fresh tracks without sight of buffalo, we made it to a vantage point overlooking another reed swamp. Frequent traffic had matted down a path just wide enough to make an ideal shooting lane. In the event buffalo were to cross it while migrating across the swamp, we would be prepared for a steady shot. We waited there as the sun set and the bush quietened. I heard a buffalo’s nasal exhalation, and then the sound of more grumbling bovines. Our strategy was paying dividends. One, two, three buffalo crossed the path, grazing their way across swampy meadow. A bigger buffalo trailed them and crossed the path with a little more speed and caution. My dad was in shooting position, waiting for a respectable bull to present itself for just a few seconds. All the buffalo crossed the path, and we realized there was neither a big bull in the group, nor an opportunity for a shot. The sun went down, and we retreated to camp for supper and fireside conversation.
Before the sun was up the next morning, we parked and walked into an area where the tracks of two mature buffalo led from the dirt road. We stalked around a bend in an overgrown path, and suddenly Masanyani signaled. He got low to the ground and pointed to a lone bull grazing in the dew-covered grasses. My dad got on the shooting sticks and, as the buffalo turned broadside, his shot rang out and the buffalo trampled the thick brush towards the edge of the sugar cane field. The shot was a definite miss – Masanyani saw the shot travel in line with the shoulder but over the buffalo’s back. We tracked the buffalo for a short while before deciding to let the area settle till the next morning. Though we did not see the buffalo the next day, I was able to crack a shot off to drop a beautiful bushbuck that exposed only its white neck patch to my crosshairs through the dense foliage.
In our extensive quest for mature buffalo the next few days, we came across friendly locals that spoke only the Shangaan tongue, lion tracks, a black mamba outside a den, restless and vocal baboons and a skittish bush pig – always something new. You could bet my adrenaline was pumping. After a few close encounters with big buffalo, my dad realized how hard buffalo hunting could be. Every time, we either came across large groups of buffalo that shielded the large Dagga Boys from sight, or we encountered big bulls that were always one step ahead of us in thick brush.
Eventually, on the last morning, we successfully one-upped a herd of buffalo with some mature bulls. My dad, Masanyani and Lloyd got into position within twenty yards of them. We were in an opening covered with vines overlooking the riverbed where the buffalo were walking. Near the back of the herd, an old bull with war-torn bosses made his way towards us. A quick field judge determined this was a bull worth taking. A few paces behind my dad, I had a movie director’s perspective as I watched him ready himself on the gun. The large bull was just a few steps in front of him. The heart shot rang out and echoed between the river banks, and the following stampede raised a dust cloud as the rest thundered off. The lead-stricken bull struggled to keep the herd’s pace. Another vital shot dropped it in the sand of the dry river. The pursuit of my dad’s dream Cape buffalo was over.
Many locals came to help pull the buffalo to a spot accessible to the vehicle. They all took their own photos with the buffalo, and provided lots of man-power for winching up the dead beast. Arriving at camp, my father was lifted onto the shoulders of the hunting crew and they danced with him, singing out a traditional song to honor the buffalo. I am lucky enough to have a picture of this scene to embarrass him in front of his friends in case he ever does so to me. (Just kidding, Dad!)
By now, it was within two hours of darkness. We wanted to take a final trip around the property before the sunset put an end to our Zimbabwean safari. A weight had been lifted from our shoulders after my dad got his buffalo, and our hunting crew began to relax. Our leisurely humor continued, then just as the sun began to set, Samuel let out a sharp whistle that sent Lloyd skidding the vehicle to a halt. Four big buffalo, standing in the open grass not more than a hundred and fifty yards away, stared at us. We glassed them and agreed the one showing huge horns was a very big beautiful bull. I had been convinced this whole trip that I was hunting a few plains-game species while my dad was hunting the buffalo, until the moment my dad told Lloyd he would like me to go after the big one. In twenty minutes the savannah would be pitch-black. I was so caught off-guard that I had no time to get nervous or anxious.
We crept a great distance up to a small tree but lost sight of the bulls. Suddenly, we saw just the top of the big bull’s head, sixty yards away, positioned to run straight towards us. I got on the shooting sticks with my scope on 1.5x and placed the crosshairs right between the eyes of the bull. I was shaking a little, but knew this was the shot I was going to have to take. I steadied my breathing and squeezed the trigger. Through the recoil, I was able to keep the tree that the buffalo stood next to in my scope’s field of view. Mysteriously, the buffalo was gone! I thought I had missed, but Masanyani and Lloyd convinced me that the bull had dropped. I wasted no time feeding another shell into the chamber of my .375, and lead the way up to where the bull had been standing. He was dead. We gave another shot for insurance, and then I could wait no longer to put my hands on the horns of my Cape buffalo.
My bull was everything I could ever desire in a perfect mature Cape buffalo. I initially felt sort of bad for stalking and taking a big bull on the last night of our trip, after my dad had pursued a quality bull for two weeks straight! But my dad was happy for me. We were in awe of what had just happened. Back at camp, everybody was surprised to know that the young man hunting plains game all this time, had shot a big buffalo between the eyes – one shot, twenty minutes before dark, on the last day.
I still dream of the days we had spent hunting in the Zimbabwean bush.[/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16504,16505,16506,16507,16508,16509″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 30, 2018 | News, Wildlife Game
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]African Vultures Threatened by Lead Poisoning
By Dr John Ledger
Internationally, concern has for a long time been expressed about the toxicity of lead from cartridges and bullets used for hunting birds and mammals; studies have mainly described cases from Europe and North America. But a new report has shown that African White-backed Vultures in Botswana are ingesting lead fragments in the food they scavenge from hunted game. It is highly likely that other African vultures and other scavenging birds are also affected. There is a strong case to be made for the use of lead-free ammunition in Africa, and hunters should demonstrate their commitment to the African environment and its conservation by their leadership in using non-lead ammunition.
Most people who have the privilege of visiting wild places in Africa will have looked up in awe and respect at the big birds high in the blue sky, riding the thermals in their quest for their next meal. Vultures are part of wild Africa – their ecosystem services are to quickly remove decaying bodies and flesh from the environment, so curtailing the proliferation of bacteria and viruses, and the flies that carry them around.
Vultures are pretty smart creatures, and superb aviators, riding the thermals to travel hundreds of miles every day in their search for food. They keep an eye on their neighbors in a network of airborne observers. Should one of their associates spot a carcasse, or a crow signaling interest on the ground below, that bird will immediately lose altitude to take a closer look. The network of observers will be drawn to that hole in the net, and like the knots of a net being pulled down, they fly towards the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. This is why a ground observer would see first one, then three, then fifty and then a hundred vultures appear miraculously from the sky and descend to feed on a carcass.
Vultures are long-lived, slow-breeding birds, and a pair must survive for many years to replace themselves in the wild. ‘Modern’ Africa is conspiring to shorten the lives of vultures, in many ways. Electricity transmission and distribution networks kill vultures by collision with wires or electrocution on supporting structures. The new curse of renewable energy is killing vultures by impacts with spinning wind turbine blades, or electrocutions and collision on the new powerlines to take the “clean, green energy” to the nearest grid connection. Then we have the poisoners, the farmers who lace bait with poison to kill predators; the poachers who poison carcasses to stop the vultures from being used by rangers to see where they are operating, and the suppliers of African traditional medicine who can find a ready cash market for vulture parts in the towns and cities of the continent. Vultures feature high in African beliefs in their spiritual and medicinal powers.
Lead poisoning in scavenging birds was highlighted by the near-extinction of the California Condor, brought back from the brink by one of the most amazing success stories in conservation history. Having been somewhat involved in this drama, and knowing a number of the fine people involved, is of special significance to me. Lead poisoning turned out to be a major factor in the decline of the condors, and lead ammunition may not be used in any parts of the USA where the California Condor may forage.
Now we have new evidence from Botswana that African White-backed Vultures are also at risk of lead poisoning.
Association between hunting and elevated blood lead levels in the critically endangered African white-backed vulture Gyps africanus
By Rebecca Garbett, GlynMaude, Pete Hancock, David Kenny Richard Reading & Arjun Amar.
Science of the Total Environment: 631–632 (2017). © 2017 Elsevier B.V. All rights reserved.
Abstract
Lead (Pb) toxicity caused by the ingestion of Pb ammunition fragments in carcasses and offal is a threat to scavenging birds across the globe. African vultures are in critical decline, but research on whether Pb exposure is contributing to declines is lacking. In Africa, recreational hunting represents an important economic activity; however, Pb in leftover hunted carcasses and gut piles represents a dangerous food source for vultures. It is therefore important to establish whether recreational hunting is associated with Pb exposure in African vultures. We explored this issue for the critically endangered white-backed vulture (Gyps africanus) in Botswana by examining their blood Pb levels inside and outside of the hunting season, and inside and outside of private hunting areas. From 566 birds captured and tested, 30.2% birds showed elevated Pb levels (10 to b45 μg/dl) and 2.3% showed subclinical exposure (≥45 μg/dl). Higher blood Pb levels were associated with samples taken inside of the hunting season and from within hunting areas. Additionally, there was a significant interaction between hunting season and areas, with Pb levels declining more steeply between hunting and non-hunting seasons within hunting areas than outside them. Thus, all our results were consistent with the suggestion that elevated Pb levels in this critically endangered African vulture are associated with recreational hunting. Pb is known to be highly toxic to scavenging birds and we recommend that Pb ammunition in Botswana is phased out as soon as possible to help protect this rapidly declining group of birds.
There is a large amount of information on the Internet about lead-free ammunition, such as http://www.leadfreehunting.com/conservation.
As might be expected, there are widely divergent views on ammunition, and while I am certainly very ignorant on this subject, the following article did catch my eye:
Lead-Free Hunting Rifle Ammunition: Product Availability, Price, Effectiveness, and Role in Global Wildlife Conservation
By Vernon George Thomas
AMBIO October 2013, Volume 42, Issue 6, pp 737–745 |
AMBIO: A Journal of the Human Environment. Published by: Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.
Abstract
Proposals to end the use of lead hunting ammunition because of the established risks of lead exposure to wildlife and humans are impeded by concerns about the availability, price, and effectiveness of substitutes. The product availability and retail prices of different calibres of lead-free bullets and centre-fire rifle ammunition were assessed for ammunition sold in the USA and Europe. Lead-free bullets are made in 35 calibres and 51 rifle cartridge designations. Thirty-seven companies distribute internationally ammunition made with lead-free bullets. There is no major difference in the retail price of equivalent lead-free and lead-core ammunition for most popular calibres. Lead-free ammunition has set bench-mark standards for accuracy, lethality, and safety. Given the demonstrated wide product availability, comparable prices, and the effectiveness of high-quality lead-free ammunition, it is possible to phase out the use of lead hunting ammunition world-wide, based on progressive policy and enforceable legislation.
I recently had a very encouraging discussion with a friend who is a hunter and also a passionate conservationist with a deep concern for the future survival of vultures in Africa. He told me that he uses only lead-free bullets as a matter of principle. His passion for ethical hunting means that he will not contribute to the lead poisoning crisis faced by African vultures. If lead-free ammunition is a bit more expensive, he is willing to make that small contribution for the welfare of the big birds in the African blue sky.
My message to our esteemed readers? Please think about using lead-free ammunition on your next African hunting experience. It may be just a small gesture, but if you spread the word, it could become very important. Of course, lots of lead is going to be shot into African animals in the foreseeable future, but if YOU take the decision not to contribute to this avoidable threat to the big birds, their soaring spirits will look down on you as you walk under African skies, and thank you for your part in the greater scheme of things.
Dr John Ledger is an independent consultant and writer on energy and environmental issues, based in Johannesburg, South Africa.
John.Ledger@wol.co.za[/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16481,16485,16482,16480,16484″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 27, 2018 | Hunter Speaks Out, News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]South Africa: 2016
A River Record
By Thomas Lindy Nissen
Hunting bushbuck in its original habitat is one type of hunt. Thomas Nissen followed Jens Kjaer Knudsen in the search for a record bushbuck on the banks of the Limpopo River where it flows between South Africa and Botswana.
They hear a splash. PH Marcel Powell points to the rings that slowly spread on the surface near the opposite bank, and they know what it means. Alerted by the faint sound of the almost silent hunters, another crocodile has slipped from the grass into the river. The ancient animal is just one of many living here along the river.
Danish big-game hunter, Jens Kjaer Knudsen has great experience in hunting in Africa and has seen crocodiles many times before, but he is still fascinated. He nods to confirm the observation. Marcel silently indicates with his right hand to let Jens know that the stalk continues. After just a few steps, Jens notices a reddish shadow slipping into the closest bush to the right. Just a peripheral glimpse, but he knows it was a bushbuck – the goal of today’s hunt, the exact game species for which he has come halfway around the world. It is not the first time it happened that afternoon. But it’s a typical situation when hunting bushbuck in natural habitat along the river.
The next afternoon they are again hunting along the river, and suddenly hear a deep grunt. Through his binoculars Marcel spots two warthog sows in the high grass, but shakes his head. They were not the ones making a noise. He lowers the binos, and slowly turns his head to look at Jens.
”Do you want to shoot a warthog with large tusks?” Marcel points to a place in the bush to the left of the grassy open area. The pigs are at this time of the year in rut, and the grunt they heard came from an amorous boar, extremely impressive, big of body as well as of tooth.
At the sight of the magnificent animal, Jens feels an instinctive reaction and his finger touches the trigger, but although tempted, he focuses on the actual goal of the trip – a big bushbuck. He chooses to ignore this chance and concentrate on what he has come after.
Hunting bushbuck in Africa is a very special kind of hunt, especially in the natural terrain along a river. Bushbuck are similar in habits to roe deer, comparable in size to a young fallow buck. They prefer a solitary life, are very aggressive, and usually defend a territory of about five hectares. It is a very exciting species to chase, as the animals are found all along the river and rarely move out of their own domain.
To hunt along the river, where the mood, scents and sounds are so different from most of the bush, is exciting. You never know what game you will encounter, as the river attracts countless species. This is where the crocodiles rest on the riverbank, getting energy from the sun’s rays. This is where the leopard takes advantage of prey that is driven by thirst to the river. This is where the hippo finds protection from sunburn, submerging into the cooling waters.
Marcel sees a movement. This time it’s a young female bushbuck. As the animal suddenly senses the men, it stops. It stands for a few seconds staring at the hunters, one ear pricked, then bounds away. One of the advantages of trophy hunting is that it is usually only old male animals that are taken.
When hunting along a river you often see game on the opposite bank. And here, across the Limpopo, the men notice another spiral-horned bushbuck, with a female standing near it. They study the animals for a few minutes. But the 30 to 40 meters of water is teeming with hippos and crocodiles – a potentially fatal swim!
They continue along the 12 kilometers of riverbank belonging to the hunting area. Fresh hippo tracks heighten their senses. In spite of its size, the hippo is lightning fast and dangerous and ready to attack, and the bush is very dense here. The animals should, however, be in the river at this time of the day, and shortly afterwards when they find that the tracks lead to the river, attention goes back to bushbuck mode.
Francolins cackle warnings, and a tan shadow slips into the bush – another bushbuck. The sun is glowing just over the horizon as Marcel suddenly spots something. The animal stands with its head obscured by a tree trunk while the entire body is visible. Jens could put a shot into the shoulder of the animal – but is it worth shooting?
In Africa, the sun drops swiftly behind the horizon and dusk is brief, so time is not on their side.
”What do you think? Does the body size tell you anything?” whispers Marcel, binos to his eyes. Jens has already locked the crosshairs on the animal’s body.
For a few seconds neither the buck nor hunters move. It’s as if the bushbuck senses something is wrong, but is unable to locate the source of danger.
”Shoot it, shoot now,” Marcel urges. ”Shoot now, shoot!”
Jens obeys his PH, squeezes the trigger, feels the recoil and the adrenaline in his body. The buck stumbles a few steps forward and collapses into a patch of yellow grass. Jens can’t believe the size of the horns.
”How did you know it was that big?”
”It turned its head slightly to orient itself, and when it did, I saw the tip of the horn and knew that it was a monster,” Marcel replied.
As they marveled over the trophy in the rapidly diminishing light, the African bush became the domain of another hunt. A great roaring cry broke the silence. Not a victorious, confident or dominant roar, but the anguished despair of a large animal that, just like the record bushbuck, ended its day as prey. The despairing animal loses both game, set and match in a dramatic game of survival. Whether it’s a leopard, a crocodile or any third party who has taken the point, the two human hunters cannot tell, but one thing is certain, a life was taken further down the river.
To take a big bushbuck like this one requires not only experience. It also requires a good hunting area, a skilled PH, and good shooting skills. On this hunt, Jens had it all.
Although hunting is not all about size and measurements, in this case, at the time of writing, it was the biggest Limpopo bushbuck that been shot in the safari company’s more than 35-year history. It was later measured to be among the largest Limpopo bushbuck ever shot, and among the largest Limpopo bushbucks taken in South Africa in 2016 – truly a river record!
BIO:
Thomas Lindy Nissen is a European fulltime hunting journalist, who travels the world more than 120 days a year, documenting hunting adventures for various magazines, through photos, text and films. So far, he has produced books and articles describing adventures from more than 40 countries in six continents.
tln@jagtrejsefeber.dk
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Subspecies of bushbuck:
Abyssinian bushbuck (Ethiopia).
Cape bushbuck (South Africa).
Chobe bushbuck (Zambia, Zimbabwe, Mozambique).
Harnessed bushbuck (Cameroon, Benin, Burkina Faso, Senegal, Chad, CAR, Gabon, Congo).
Limpopo bushbuck (Botswana, South Africa, Zimbabwe).
East African bushbuck (Kenya, Somalia, Ethiopia, Tanzania).
Nile Bushbuck (Uganda, Sudan, Ethiopia, Congo, Kenya).
Menelik bushbuck (Ethiopia).
Although all subspecies of bushbuck – seen in an African perspective – with a body weight of about 80 kilograms, are relatively small, the species is one of the most aggressive if it is pressed or when a bad shot has taken place. An attack from a wounded bushbuck can be extremely serious and occasionally costs human life. This mainly due to the size of the animal (about 90 cm height), causing penetration from the horn into the chest.
Virtually all hunting companies can arrange a hunting trip for the Limpopo bushbuck. But no matter how and with whom you book, please check with references from other hunters before the final agreement is set.
This hunt was arranged by Jensen Safaris:
www.jensensafaris.com
jensen@icon.co.za[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16470,16471,16472,16473,16474,16475,16478,16479,16477,16476″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
