A Zebra for Carole

May 17, 2018 | News

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]South Africa: 2015
A Zebra for Carole
By Archie Landals

Memories of our Namibian hunt in 2012 frequently rekindled our desire to return to Africa, and Carole and I discussed animals we would like in our trophy room, and our priority was a zebra skin.
Carole had learnt to shoot in Canada with her own rifle, a Savage Lady Hunter in 30-06, and she wanted to be the one to take the zebra.

We had worked at the African Event in Calgary, January 2015, for Louw van Zyl, our Namibian friend from Track a Trails Safaris. Our booth was next to Izilo Hunting Safaris, Mark Oberem and Dave De Coning from East London, South Africa, and during the course of the show we chatted about the possibilities of a safari. Mark and Dave said they would organize a tour between Cape Town and East London to make the experience even more interesting.

The upshot was our first trip to Africa by ourselves, on a personalized tour with Trevor Ankiewicz, a retired forester and university professor as our guide and driver. Trevor was an excellent choice. He knew every nook and cranny of the region as well as all the plants and animals, and took us to botanical gardens and nature hot spots that were not on our itinerary.

Our adventures over the course of two weeks included monuments, parks, wineries, breweries, farmers markets and scenic viewpoints. We visited Cango Caves and had tours at Cheetah Land, an ostrich farm, primate rehabilitation center and an elephant rescue center. Boat tours took us to seal and cormorant colonies, whale watching and cage diving with the Great White Sharks. Shamwari Game Reserve, a photographer’s paradise, could be a stand-alone holiday. With the exception of leopard, we photographed the rest of the Big Five. Plains game was everywhere. The evening sound of wildlife during our sundowners was enchanting. For us, it was African magic.

A four-hour drive from Shamwari got us to East London where Mark was waiting. We picked up Wilson our tracker and headed for Maweni Lodge, near Queenstown, three hours north. Maweni is a storybook hunting lodge: thatched roof, red sandstone buildings in a natural setting surrounded by mountains, with impala grazing on the lawn. We had one of three fully furnished guest cottages. Meals were in a beautifully constructed central lodge. Gary and Dag were gracious hosts with a lifetime of stories, especially about hunting leopard with hounds.

Millions of years of erosion of flat-lying red sandstones sculpted the landscape around Queenstown. Mountain ranges were separated by wide basins with streams in the valleys. Several truck trails provided access to the mountains at Maweni. There were always panoramic views. Giraffe, waterbuck, eland, kudu, impala, warthog, mountain reedbuck and zebra were visible every time we stopped to look.

The first evening we watched kudu, impala, giraffe and zebra on the mountainside and discussed where we might make a stalk on a zebra for Carole. We were confident we would have ample chance to get one while we looked for nyala.
Up at 6:00 we had a quick coffee and were off at first light with plans to return for a hot brunch mid-morning. Ten minutes from the lodge, Wilson tapped on the roof and pointed out an Eastern Cape kudu on the mountainside. Although not an animal we intended to hunt, Mark said it was a very good bull and that I should take it. Grabbing the rifle, I started up the mountain behind Mark. The steep slope was strewn with large sandstone boulders concealed in tall grass, making footing tricky. I was so out of breath I could hardly stand when I caught up to Mark. And after spending two weeks with Trevor, I did not need to ask Mark what an aloe was when he said the kudu was above the tallest aloe!

My first shot wounded the kudu, and as he emerged from the bush at 400 yards I hit him twice more, but he did not go down. I quickly reloaded and saw him standing facing Gizmo, the Wire Haired Fox Terrier.

“Don’t shoot,” said Mark, “Gizmo will chase him down the mountain.” He did. By the time I got to the bottom, Wilson and Gizmo were there, standing near the kudu lying in the brush, where I finished him off. When skinned and quartered it weighed over 800 pounds, the heaviest ever taken at Maweni.

The morning still young, our hunt continued. Passing up several large waterbuck, we neared the top of a mountain trail and spotted eland across a steep valley. With the spotting scope we confirmed a couple of good bulls, but the wind direction and lack of cover ruled out a stalk. Glassing the surrounding mountains turned up three bulls on our side of the valley. With a favorable breeze, we started a long fast stalk on the bulls that were moving quickly. I finally got a chance at 368 yards. Using a 7mm Remington Magnum with a 4 to 12 scope that belonged to Mark, I put the cross hairs just above the eland’s shoulders and heard the bullet hit. He took a few steps forward, staggered back and tumbled down the mountain. I had a magnificent eland bull with a large red ruff. Regrettably we settled for a European mount, as it was far too large for our trophy room.

Happy hunters, we returned to the lodge for brunch. During our stay, Dag cooked what we had shot, a great treat. The afternoon and evening we spent looking for nyala as we did the following evening and next two mornings. Nyala would appear like phantoms, peeking out of the thick brush on the steep rocky slopes. Some were immature bulls; others appeared as shooting light was failing. One exceptional bull gave us the slip on an unsuccessful stalk.

The second morning we passed up two solitary zebra stallions on a rugged mountain slope with little cover, before spotting five stallions with a group of giraffe. These were in more accessible terrain and looked like a better bet for Carole. Making careful note of visible landmarks, a long circular stalk was planned to take advantage of the wind and available cover. The giraffe towering above the bush helped the stalk. Quietly following Mark and obeying his hand signals, Carole was eventually in position. The zebra did not go down after two solid hits at 180 yards. Staying out of sight and downwind, Mark continued the stalk with Carole following close behind. Mark was an excellent PH, with all the patience in the world coaching a first-time hunter, and soon had Carole in position and back on the shooting sticks. This time it dropped. Carole was ecstatic – she had her first African animal. I was more excited for her than I have been in many years of hunting. Photos in a beautiful African setting capped off a magical morning.

Imvani, a fabulous landscape of open savannah between sloping mountains was our destination on day three. We were hoping to get Carole a chance at a black wildebeest or red hartebeest. From the mountain slope we were able to glass vast areas of the plain. Hundreds of animals, wildebeest, hartebeest, impala, zebra and blesbok grazed below. A wildebeest some distance from the herd was a possible stalk. A mile later we were getting close. I waited while Carole followed Mark. After several attempts they were in position, and Carole dropped a good bull with one shot. Following Mark, she ran so hard she had the dry heaves. She need not have run – she had a second beautiful trophy.

Before leaving Imvani, I got a red hartebeest. As a group of them moved quickly through the bush, the best bull passed through a small opening and I dropped it. Mark commented that he had not yet found it in the rangefinder. I would like to say that when I shoot I let out a deep breath and squeeze the trigger, but that is seldom true. I have always shot fast, handling my rifle on a moving target much as I do my shotgun; it is an automatic reflex.

We left Maweni without finding the elusive nyala. We headed for the coast and Crawfords Beach Lodge a resort with all the amenities, pool, spa, lounge, dining room, laundry service, drinks on the beach; all part of the hunting package. They did their best to get us hooked on cappuccino, and might have succeeded if it hadn’t been for the local beer and great South African wines. The balcony of our thatched-roof suite looked out on the Indian Ocean, with palm trees and waves lapping on white sandy beaches. Izilo Safaris is really on to something for those with non-hunting partners. Izilo has access to nearby properties with most species of plains game. We were hopeful we would find a nyala and bushbuck, but were unconcerned as we had already had a great hunt.

On my first chance at a nyala… I shot over it twice! My second chance was a good hit and it dropped with the second shot. Mark quickly congratulated me, told me to wait, and headed off at a run for the truck. Wilson, a second tracker, and Gizmo headed toward the nyala. With Gizmo barking and the trackers yelling, I had visions of them trying to finish off the nyala with a rock. (I later found out that all the noisy excitement was caused by a swarm of bees from a nest they had stepped on.)
Then I realized why Mark had run – I was out of shells. Returning, he handed me his .300 Remington Ultra Magnum, told me to plug my ears and go finish it off.

Before our hut was over Carole got a fine impala ram, again with a single shot. A hunter for less than a year, she had shot at four animals and got them all.
I missed my first four!

Bio: Retired after 40 years in parks and conservation, the author has hunted for as long as he can remember. He has hunted across his native Alberta, Canada as well as New Zealand, Namibia, South Africa, the western United States and the Canadian Arctic. In 2013 he was awarded the Queen Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee Medal for his work in conservation.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”14891,14892″][/vc_column][/vc_row]

A Springbok Slam

May 10, 2018 | News

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]South Africa: 2016
A Springbok Slam
By Darrell Sterling

If you are going to hunt plains game on the Dark Continent, there is a good chance that you will hunt in South Africa. And a very sought-after animal is the springbok which has been a national symbol for the country since 1906. It was adopted as the logo for several top sports teams, most famously by the national rugby team, who then were known affectionately as the Springboks, Boks, or Bokke.

The country is crazy about rugby!

The springbok is a gorgeous little creature that only weighs between 60 to 90 pounds, and both male and female have a pair of black horns. Its main feature is its white face with a dark stripe running from the eyes to the nose. They are hunted by a variety of predators such as cheetah, leopard, spotted hyena, jackal and wild dog, and are therefore extremely skittish, and can be difficult to stalk within range.

I had a number of animals on my wish list on this particular safari and had already been successful in bagging some of the larger plains game. But I was intrigued watching the plentiful springbok on the concession that I was hunting, bounding away with high bouncing leaps up to seven feet in the air. Highly entertaining, and I looked forward to the challenge of hunting the country’s national symbol.

I was hunting with Tam Safaris with my guide and PH, Steven Tam. I could not have had a better PH to guide me, push me, and direct me on this challenging safari. I had chosen a Ruger .223 with a Hornady 56-grain bullet, propelling it at about 2800 fps, and had put in my practice time at my home shooting range. The tough part of hunting springbok is not finding them – they are plentiful. The problem is that they are herd animals, so at times could have as many as 50 sets of eyes watching as you drive by in your Cruiser.

We would drive some way past the herd and try to park the vehicle out of sight, which was almost impossible given the flat terrain we were hunting. In those situations a stalk was almost futile. We were never able to get much closer than 500 yards, and with a steady crosswind, making a shot at that distance was nearly impossible. We spent our day looking for a good shooter. We must have looked over hundreds of springbok, and occasionally came across some black and white ones. The white really stand out, making them an easy target for predators.

We found a nice buck with good bases and good horns; he was definitely what we were after. I don’t like to shoot off a vehicle, but we would have to spook the herd to get them to move and split. The plan was to use the Cruiser to separate the animals, follow the group with the buck I was after, then wait for them to slow down so I could get set up to take the long shot that would be required.

We managed to split the group which moved in different directions. We crept alongside the smaller group with the big buck, and when the animals slowed we parked the Cruiser. I was set up on top of the vehicle trying to find the buck with my rangefinder so I could gauge the distance of the shot.

I ranged the springbok at 320 yards. I looked over to Steven who also had his rangefinder out, and he nodded in confirmation. The truck was at an awkward angle, and I was not directly facing the springbok. I had to position myself to try to shoot to my far left. I lined up and shot, exhaling as I squeezed the trigger. The springbok jumped as the bullet hit his midsection. The herd bounded away together with my wounded buck.

We started the truck and tried to shorten the distance to the animals; the old buck must have had a rush of adrenaline, because he somehow found the energy to run a good distance.

When we had closed the gap to within 240 yards we stopped and I squeezed off another round that put the buck down for good. I was extremely excited as I leaped from the truck to go over and inspect what would turn out to be my record book springbok. We took plenty of photos to capture the moment. It had truly been a successful hunt.

I had taken the animals on my list, but still had a couple days left.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Steven asked once we got back to camp and had unloaded my trophy. I had limited financial resources left, but while I was studying the species list of the animals left for me to pursue, Steven came up with a plan that I found irresistible. He offered me a discount if I was interested in completing a springbok slam. The main lodge had an unusual arrangement of three springbok – the black, the common, and the white – mounted on a wooden cabinet with the different colored skins displayed inside it.

I wanted to have a replica or very similar mount set up in my trophy room, so I quickly agreed to Steven’s generous offer. The next day we would be hunting both black and white springbok!

We started out early the next morning covering a lot of ground and seeing plenty of animals, but the weather was not cooperating. The wind was blowing consistently around 15 to 20 miles an hour but at times would gust up to 35 miles per hour. This caused us two problems. The first was obvious – taking a shot of any distance would be extremely difficult. The second was that the animals became a little more skittish and would easily spook, flying across the open plains.

We had parked the Cruiser behind a small rise. We were going to have to find a way to stay downwind and sneak into position. The animals were all moving as the wind had them scurrying about. We were crouched down using our binoculars to scan them. A black springbok caught our eye as they ran past us to a small hill where they stopped close to a large tree. The wind actually worked to our advantage as we duck-walked and crawled closer, and the springbok were not aware of us. A couple of them even lay down. The trophy ram I wanted was hanging a little back from the herd, more toward the tree.

We were well within the range, but Steven thought we should try to get even closer because of the strong winds, and as usual he was correct. We had wormed our way to within 170 yards of this beautiful black springbok, and Stephen set up the sticks.

“Aim toward the animal’s rear,” he whispered as I was settling in to make the shot. I didn’t question him because I knew that even at that close range the strong wind would cause my bullet to drift. Once again I exhaled and squeezed, dropping the buck right where he was standing. The rest of the herd leaped and bounced off in all directions.

I stood over the beautiful dark springbok, enjoying a successful hunt. We had overcome the gusting winds and were able to close the deal. It was a very satisfying moment for a hunter. The predator versus prey game has existed since the dawn of man. You add in a crazy windstorm on open plains, and the feeling of accomplishment is incredibly fulfilling.

We took the animal to the skinning shed, and after lunch and a siesta were ready to head out again in our quest for a white springbok. The coloring on this animal makes it by far the easiest to spot, but irrespective of color, they are all very wary and easily spooked, and will bolt away at the first whiff of danger.

We looked over a few very nice herds and found a couple of good shooters, but inevitably the wind gave us away, and an animal would catch us creeping along, and off they would go moving quickly out of sight. Springbok are just tough little critters to get close to. It is no wonder they are the symbol for South Africa as they are extremely tough and challenging animals.

Back in the vehicle, we were off, still searching for a beautiful white springbok, when we came upon a fairly large herd. We stopped the truck and ranged the animals, which were around 400 yards away.

“If we try to get down off the truck they will be gone in a flash,” Steven whispered in my ear. I wanted to get on the shooting sticks, but he was right. If we moved even a little, the herd would spook. I started to get set up on what was going to be a very long shot on a small animal.

“You have been shooting great all week, you’ve got this,” Steven encouraged.

I tried to find a spot on top of the Cruiser where I could get comfortable and relaxed. I felt pretty solid, but at that range a little gust of wind in a split-second miscalculation would either result in a clean miss or, at worst case, a wounded animal. I got zeroed in on the buck that Steven had chosen as the best of the bunch. I fired the shot but flat out missed. The herd wasn’t sure what just happened, so they didn’t up and run, but just moved off about 50-75 yards. Steven had the truck close the gap and shut it down when we were within 360 yards. I made the next shot count, and less than a second later the animal just dropped. I was happy. I was able to redeem myself for missing the first shot, and I had bagged a very nice white springbok.

It had been one hell of a day, and I was extremely happy with the results. We sat around the supper table reliving the highlights of the hunt. I was beaming – I had accomplished the springbok slam, or so I thought. Steven smiled at me.

“You know you’re not done yet. There is still one more springbok left to complete the slam.” I thought he was kidding me.

“What color? Let me guess. Purple or pink?”

“It’s the copper springbok,” he laughed. He showed me a picture of the unusual animal. He also told me that he had plenty of them on the property if I wanted to get it done. I sighed. Although I wanted to finish what I started right there and then, the truth was I had already spent way more than my budget on this safari.

I will return one day soon to complete my slam, and bag a copper springbok.

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Start Them Young!

May 8, 2018 | News

Start Them Young!
By Bill Head

During a walkabout on Mbula Pro Safaris property near Bella Bella, 11-year old grandson Dylen spotted a crocodile and begged to get one. Really? That calls for superior marksmanship. So, stupidly, I bet the landowner’s reduced fee and lost. Dylen showed he had the art of shooting perfected. Practice pays , or should I say, pays our landowner host, the gracious Henry Gomes. Eighty yards across a small pond, one shot to the base of neck, done; a couple of anchor shots from my .375, and there you go. Another conservation hunter is born! But, it was not easy to get him to this exuberant moment!

Hunter’s first African success. A true prize.

We talk around the camp fire about saving wild life, join groups, and maybe send money to conservation leaders. But let’s face it, not many people today grow up with a non-military rifle in their hands on some farm or ranch. Children today are reared with an iPhone or game console, Earbuds installed, and probably some attitude. I can guarantee ALL of them are getting anti-hunting, anti-gun messages, subliminal and overt. Where? On that device, from their teachers, from TV and Hollywood, and from many of their friends. Amazing that so much “anti-hunting” messaging is happening from the paint ball crowd. Play-shooting humans is ok, but not game management. No one wants to hear the value of genetic selection or culling when eating a cheeseburger.

Real African elephant in Real Africa, not in a zoo.

What to do? Take time to invest in a young person. Conservation principles are learned, not bequeathed. Simple to say; but not easy. My children are grown, but since I am a cowboy, they did grow up on a ranch. I started their centerfire training when they were five. My grandchildren visit the farm, but that is far from their daily freedom. I encouraged my adult children to train their children in the art of shooting and the responsibility of being a sport hunter.

Here is my formula: My Lesson Plan starts with you.

Best training tool available.

• I began by giving each grandchild a Daisy Red Ryder BB gun the day they were born. Ryders come in original blue and pink. When they were about five, we started talking Safety. Handle the BB rifle, shoot it. That helps to take some of the mystique out of guns and mom’s fear. I begin with scheduled lessons on safety and marksmanship with their BB rifles. Safety glasses are a must. Remember that many subdivisions and all parks do not allow BB gun fire. And do not trust your neighbors to understand. Start taking the child hunting as an observer, explaining basics. They can carry the BB rifle, but control the destruction. An adult with a shotgun is good exposure, since that type of hunting generally requires a lot of walking, and thinking about where game hide and why.
• After many BBs and years, graduate to a short-stocked, moderate power pellet rifle. They weigh similar, still give a sound, and a tiny amount of recoil. Flinch-mentality training begins here with the sound, and so should trigger control. Place targets 5-10 yards. I use water-filled cola cans, and free-swinging devices. Here is THE big patience test. Kids want auto. A single shot is slow but essential to marksmanship and learning to make the first shot count. Continue simple hunting experiences. Concentrate on getting very close.
• When your trainee is aged 9-13, acquire a single-shot 22 rimfire rifle. These can be expensive or cheap. Cheap works. You will feel less remorse cutting the stock to fit. Fit is everything at this point to learn proper sight picture. Use open sights, telescopic sights and even a Red Dot or Holographic sight on the same rifle. Go to a range. This is important because at a range all noise is useful to teaching concentration while firing. Practice squeezing the trigger. I wish I had known this flinch mediation when teaching my children. There are few ranges interested in training a child, sorry. Most range officers are tactical-oriented.

H&R single shot 22, open sights and Red Dot for first range practice.

• Move to a repeater 22, preferably a bolt, or lever. If you must use a semi, load two cartridges only, forcing the student to learn mechanical steps needed to fully understand that firearm. Semi-auto is not allowed in Africa. I always re-emphasize that a 22 rimfire has a range of over one mile. This is the best time to let the child actually hunt and shoot with you. Rabbits are good targets. Not birds.
• Now we go centerfire. I use a bolt 223. It has a “fairy” kick, but a loud report. Noise is the issue to control. Students usually like this newer rifle, more adult, and since the 223 is accurate, enjoy shoot-n-see targets at 25 yards, then to 50 yards. Go back to the 22 at the same range distances. Switch between the two, over and over again. One shot 223, 10 shots 22 rim.

Satisfaction in a good 22 score has its own reward for a 9- year-old.

• The last jump is .243. Unfortunately, my grandchildren are right handed, so I deliberately use a left hand .243 starting with one shot in the magazine. This gives me control and forces the student to learn mechanical issues. Such solutions could save a life, and certainly will improve the hunting experience when guaranteed to occur problems happen to the rifle or cartridges when hunting. The .243 is not a child’s or “woman’s” rifle. That label implies it is toyish, not real, or not a serious killer. Reality is what we pursue. This cartridge in a normal hunting rifle creates a lot more noise than a .223 with some kick. Students here face a confidence problem, and failure. Every student of mine has failed with the first few shots, always loaded one at a time. The problem is noise so close to their face. That is when Grandma shows up. She picks up “her” rifle – usually offhand – fires one round, prints inside the 10 ring at 25 yards, and then hands the rifle back to the student. The student stares at the now magic rifle and ponders. Wait! Let that visual sink in. “If Grandma can do it, so can I.” Add some ear plugs under those range ear muffs and hand the student a cartridge. Don’t shoot too much. Over time they will get to see trigger pull and BANG as normal. When that happens, move to 50 yards. Now they can deer, hog or coyote hunt WITH you. Teach anatomy by visiting a zoo explaining aiming points using the Perfect Shot We do. I promise you will get a reaction from Millennial moms. With some experience, you might stay at .243 or move up slightly to say a 6.5, 7×57, 7-08 or even 270. Avoid until later .30-06 and .308 if you can.

I attempt to take each grandchild to Africa on their 11^th birthday. If a grandchild is in tow, mama says I can hunt anywhere! Eleven is good, since no diapers, they can feed themselves and carry their own luggage. A bonus? At that age they are too young to be smart-mouthed teenagers who think you are the world’s dumbest human.

A long plane ride is an adventure, and they carry their own luggage.

Expensive? Most outfitters have reduced rates for children-hunter-learners. Some offer accompanied minor hunters a charge for just a trophy fee. Others offer a reduced observer rate and even reduced trophy fees. Observer rates today are a serious impediment to family hunting. $3000-plus airfare to watch a hunt, or $3k for a cruise? What do you think?

First grandchild Andrew went to Africa in 2007. We hunted the Limpopo Province near the Botswana border with my wife Jane, friend Rob, his father Igor, and some of our Frio Canyon cadre with outfitter Intrepid Safaris. Andrew was using grandma’s .243 rifle, with a red dot scope. The idea was for him to take an impala. The impala were spooky and we could not close to within 200 yards remaining outside Andrew’s 100 yard comfort zone. Andrew continued hunting from an elevated blind, familiar since he grew up sitting in a deer blind with grandma and me in Texas.

When decent gemsboks showed up at a water hole, I reluctantly agreed with PH Phillip Du Plessis to let him try. The .243 is far from ideal for oryx, but as you can see, he shot one. Wounded in the mid-shoulder where told to aim, and now near dark, and we had to go out early the next morning to follow up. The 100-gr. conventional deer bullet did not get to the lungs. The PH finished the outcome with his .308. While this could have been a failure, it actually showed true sportsmanship to Andrew because we committed to doing everything possible to recover the buck.

Andrew’s first hunt ever. A memory not to forget.

Lessons learned: shooting is not hunting. Watching me in a blind teaches patience, but not much else. Andrew had not taken any game before going to Africa. A mistake. He has since collected a couple of nice, one-shot, deer with his new 7mm-08. Andrew will have to pay for his/our next trip hunting for sable when he graduates from TX. A&M.

Second grandchild Dylen’s turn, 2014. We went on a viewing trip to Idaho for him to experience big-game hunting. While Dylen had ranged my ranch with various rifles and shot at a lot of snakes, vermin and such, he had no Texas deer experience. He was supposed to just watch. He was taking a long time to set a shot, and I wanted him to see that big critters do not allow much more than 10 seconds once spotted. I agreed to let him take his new, Africa-bound 7mm-08 rifle – a lesson learned. Well, the guides managed to put him in front of a white elk bull – collected, but too big to fit his bedroom.

We booked with Pete and Alma de Villiers, Hunters Safari Southern Africa in 2015 to find Dylen a good Burchell’s zebra. Dylen had problems hunting from a blind having no experience with sitting still anywhere for 15 minutes.

Dylen and Pete de Villiers waiting at a waterhole for zebra. Or not waiting.

We could not get him into the discipline of being still and quiet, so after two days, we agreed on another approach – walk, look, shoot. This resulted in taking a croc, then a nice kudu.

Processing a warthog. Part of the hunt.

Later we went to Namibia to hunt with Jamy Traut and his family. Jamy invited his youngest son Nick to accompany us. That was a tremendous experience as it reinforced hunting ethics and outdoor skills at a level I could never offer. Jamy is a well-known expert in wildlife. He guided us while Wayne van Zwoll and Jim Shockey waited. Jamy missed adverts in an outdoor video to help me and my “beginner” have a lifetime adventure. Jamy and Dylen crawled up on a zebra herd to about 80 yards, while Nicky and I waited in the thorns. Jamy showed Dylen how to sneak over a sand dune and take a couple of springbok at more than 140 yards. Perhaps the most fun was finding and collecting an African “coyote” – a jackal.

A shot from way over there on top of that sand dune. 140 yards, 7-08, 140 gr. Hornaday.

Lesson #1: If your student can shoot, enjoys hunting, and wants adventure, bring more money. Second: Taking animals, carcass processing, seeing people save and use meat is important in teaching the real lesson: Managed hunting is a big positive, leaving an abundance of game that remaining habitat can sustain. At no point was the word poacher heard.

Nicky Traut and Dylen position a hard-won trophy for photos after picking thorns out of their hands and clothes.

Moon over Africa. Jamy, Nicky and Dylen searching for a gemsbok.

Zimbabwe, Matetsi

May 7, 2018 | News

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Zimbabwe, Matetsi: 2016
Buffalo 2 Sable 1
By Emmett Reagan

How did it all begin? My wife Cristy and I were striding up and down the numbered rows of exhibitors at the 2015 Las Vegas Safari Club Convention, when we happened upon our good friend and PH Bill Lemon. I had hunted with Bill in 2008 and had a great time. Cristy particularly enjoyed that time because he constantly picked on me! Anyway, we were excited to see Bill, and I told him I wanted to book another buffalo hunt with him, and to add a sable. We agreed on the date, money changed hands, and preparations began.
Cristy and I traveled in November 2016 to hunt Cape buffalo and sable. The Falls are magnificent, even in the dry season. Then on our second day there we were notified that my wife’s father had passed away. Now all of sudden, our two-week adventure with Bill was going to be cut a week short.
Bill and PH partner Barbara picked us up at the Victoria Falls Hotel and took us to the hunting area, and we explained that our two-week hunt was now one week. We enjoyed a very nice breakfast in camp and then set off to the shooting range to familiarize myself with Bill’s rifles that I was going to use on this hunt. From the recoil of my first shot, I ended up with a severely scratched lens on my prescription glasses. However I was still able to use them, and Bill was satisfied that I was ready to hunt. We then set off to find some buffalo. Within an hour the trackers spotted a large herd of buffalo, some feeding and others resting in the shade of mopane trees.
The wind being in our favor, Bill parked the Land Cruiser under nearby mopane trees. We disembarked, loaded up with numerous bottles of water, secured our rifles, and Bill told me to load up with 500gr soft nose bullets. Soft nose bullets should always be a hunter’s first choice when hunting buffalo.
The temperature was a scorching 105°F although it was only mid-morning. Bill emphasized that we needed to get onto the buffalo as quickly as possible as they would shortly be heading for the shade in the gusu (a local word to describe teak forest on Kalahari sand with patches of commiphora, a haven for elephant, buffalo and sable.) Otherwise, we would have to abort the stalk and return later in the afternoon when the buffalo would begin to graze and start their trek to water.

We managed to reach the herd in time to plan a stalk on five bulls that had bedded down to the right of the main herd. The cover was perfect and the wind was still in our favor, which helped make our approach swift and precise. We got to within 50 meters of them, but after glassing them for several minutes, Bill decided that there were no trophy bulls in the group.

We immediately backed off, and Bill decided to approach the herd from the rear. Hunters can often find small pockets of bulls taking up the rear of large breeding herds. We hastily made a second stalk which failed to result in anything positive. Once more we retreated, regrouped, and drank copious amounts of water to quench our burning thirst. Bill then decided to attempt one more stalk from the front. He instructed two of his trackers to remain with the herd and told them to keep our hunting party visual and that we would be heading for the high ground in the gusu. Once we got there, the trackers were to slowly start pushing the herd toward us. Our plan started to fall into place. We had found a near-perfect position in the gusu, and Bill radioed the trackers to start the slow drive of the herd. The point buffalo began to move directly toward us. Bill and his head tracker Phillip were working overtime with their binoculars trying to locate a trophy bull for me. As the buffalo were closing in on us, Bill and Phillip spotted a trophy bull. Unfortunately it was not in a position to give me a shot. By this time the point buffalo were a mere 50 meters away. I could see the flies resting on the sides of their moist noses shining brightly from the fierce mid-day sun. The herd was getting too close for safety and comfort, and we also did not want to spook them and lose our opportunity at the trophy bull. Bill hollered at them and they immediately stopped, lifted their heads, and looking over the bridges of their noses scanned the gusu ahead, trying to locate what and where this noise came from.

“Keep dead still,” Bill said. The wind was still very much in our favor. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity. The buffalo, seeing nothing, relaxed and started to move off to our left, exposing our trophy bull. This bull must have been the hottest bull in the herd because he was surrounded by a small group of cows that did not want to leave his side. The cows’ behavior was proving to be our nemesis. Every time I got a window of opportunity to shoot, a cow would move in front of some part of the bull’s anatomy. After what seemed like hours on the shooting sticks, I finally had a clear shoulder shot. Much to my amazement, I hit him. Most of the herd ran off, leaving him there. He turned to face us as though he was going to charge. I shot a second time, he went down. Game over! This was early afternoon on the first day, and I already had my incredible trophy buffalo.

Bill and the trackers went to get the truck. Once they got back, we took several pictures and then the work began. Buffalo are large herbivores, and getting them into the bed of a pick-up is no easy task. With the help of a winch and everyone lifting, we got him loaded.
Temperatures were still over 100°F. We showered, then gathered on the patio for “happy hour”, and I was still very excited about our early success. The patio overlooked a large open area where we watched game go by to water. Later in the evening we heard lions roaring on both sides of the camp. Welcome to Africa!
The next morning we were up early and ready to start the quest for a trophy sable. We hunted waterholes, saw lots of elephant, lion, impala, zebra, reedbuck, roan, Cape buffalo, and baboon – but no sable. We hunted hard, covered lots of countryside, saw some sign of sable, but no sightings. The third day we packed a picnic lunch and sat by a waterhole. This was good, because sitting in the back of a safari pick-up is not the most comfortable, and my butt was sore from the day before.
Again, we saw a large variety of animals, but no sable.

The fourth day we covered a large area still looking for sable, and still no success. Just lions and an ostrich. My enthusiasm was waning.
Day 5 began with us hunting in a higher area. Bingo! We found a herd that had just bedded down. We got comfortable and waited for them to head for water. After a couple of hours they moved, and guess what? We were not in position to get a shot!
So off we went, chasing them toward water. Barbara picked us up in the truck and rushed ahead to get in place for an ambush on the trophy bull. I had about a 200-meter head-on shot, and missed. They ran parallel to us and we were able to get in position for a second shot at 300 meters. I shot, and the bull went down with a broken spine, and a third shot finished him. I had my sable bull with two days left before we had to leave.
Bill offered me the opportunity for a second buffalo because not all of the permits had been sold. I jumped at the opportunity. We got up early on Day 6, and found a herd of approximately one thousand animals, and identified a bull that we wanted to stalk, but we could never get close enough for an open shot. We tried for the rest of the morning, but again to no avail. We returned to camp, had lunch, got some rest, and went back.
Bill spotted a large bull with mud on his back. We had to wait until he was in the clear. I shot him, but too far forward. We had a lot of blood, but no bull. He had gotten back into the herd.
Then the fun began. We were trying to find a wounded bull in this very large herd. A wounded buffalo is a very dangerous animal and we hadn’t yet located him. And on the other side of the herd was a pride of lions stalking the same herd! Finally, we saw my buffalo on the opposite side from us, and we had to approach very carefully so as not to spook the herd. The mud on his back was the identifier. We waited and watched until an open shot presented itself. I took the shot, but we couldn’t tell what happened because the herd ran. We began our approach cautiously, and there he was lying in a ditch.

As we approached the buffalo, Bill told me to shoot him once more time to ensure he was dead. Fortunately the bull was dead, because in all the excitement I had not chambered a round. Bill will never let me live that down.

Day 7 was strictly sightseeing and picture taking. We got some great pictures of the animals and the Zimbabwe landscape. Zimbabwe is such a beautiful country and has so much to offer to the outdoorsman,, hunter, fisherman, and photographer. It’s something to be experienced. This hunt was a true African adventure which I shared with my wife Cristy and our good friend and PH Bill Lemon and his PH partner Barbara Blaylock.

The next morning we started our long journey back to El Paso, Texas. I can tell you it is much easier to travel back into the States if you are not traveling with guns. The return trip came off without any problems.

I am hooked on Africa. I love the scenery and all the amazing animals that you see. Bill and Barbara are perfect hosts. This was my third safari, and the second one with Bill. It was tremendous fun. I would truly recommend it to anyone that is looking for adventure. There is nothing like it.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”14885,14886,14887,14893,14894,14895″][/vc_column][/vc_row]