Aug 8, 2017 | News
It’s strange how sometimes the people you meet change your life for the better, and the safari industry is just such a place. You meet interesting people from all walks of life, and some of them do change your life forever – bankers, oil men, entrepreneurs, doctors, nurses and gamblers… But it was the vet and the nurse that really changed all our lives for the better and gave the meaning to the words, “friends for life”.
Africa is a wonderful place and the best way to see it is through hunting. Hunting takes you to all the places less traveled, and to all those little (and sometimes big} corners of this vast Dark Continent. Africa, with its mystic, colorful people and its magnificent wildlife allows people to fall in love with it and yearn to come back time and time again.
This story is about a couple who told me that their trip, a birthday present, from her to him, was a once-off and that they didn’t intend to come back!
I picked up a tired, but excited Isabella and Juan, at the East London airport and it immediately dawned on me that language would make for a difficult safari. Isabella could speak a little English, and Juan, who would do all the shooting, could only say, “hello”. With hand signals and patience we claimed all their bags and rifle, and proceeded to drive two hours to the ranch where they would be staying for the next 10 days.
The ranch is part of the 140 000 acre Kat River Conservancy and the group of ranchers that own the properties take an active interest in the conservation of all animals there, wild and domesticated. These are not game ranches – game is not bred artificially but is free-roaming, as it should be.
I asked Isabella how they came to hear about us, Stormberg Elangeni Safaris.
“Juan like hunting. I see advert in this magazine African Hunting Gazette, in Spain. I read all things about this safari company and I look at website. I like. Juan birthday next week, I book, simple like that.” I was a bit gobsmacked at this answer, as prospective clients from halfway across the world would normally like to meet the people they are paying money to, or at least have a reference of some sort. When I enquired about this fact, she replied, “Juan very busy, I very busy, no time for that and we book all holidays like that.”
We arrived at our Manzikhanya Lodge as the sun was setting, to a blaze of light from the kerosene lanterns casting shadows everywhere, and a very inviting campfire. Isabella remarked that it was just like in the photos, and they soon settled down to a drink and a wonderful meal. That night was about getting to know each other, and the hand signals and miscommunication plus language barrier, slowly but surely dissipated amid peals of laughter and big smiles. Isabella said, “I feel like I am at home with my friends. You are now my new friends.” Juan just nodded and enjoyed his third Johnny Walker Black.
We started hunting after sighting in rifles and, as the day progressed, her English got better and my non-existent Spanish also improved. On Juan’s wish list was a Cape bushbuck and Cape kudu. The only problem was that Juan couldn’t see dark-colored animals, and when they were in the bush, well camouflaged, he couldn’t see them at all. The hunt went something like this.
Me: “Juan, do you see the big green round tree?”
Juan “No comprende.”
Me: “Isabella, what is tree in Spanish?”
Isabella: “Arbol.”
Me: “What is big? What is green? What is behind?”
Isabella: “Grande, verde, atras.”
Me: “OK, “Juan, un bushbuck macho atras de arbole verde grande. Comprende?”
Juan: “Si”
Me: “Do you see it?”
Juan: “No.”
Me: “OK, Isabella do you see it?”
Isabella: “Si.”
Me: “OK, explain to Juan.”
As I looked where she was pointing I saw that she was indicating a dark patch of bush that was about 50 yards off of where I was looking, and it was just a dark shape, not the bushbuck in front of us. This was going to be a hard safari. And so it went. We managed to shoot an old bushbuck out in the open the next day and also some of the more common animals like springbok and blesbok, and also a black wildebeest in the following days – but no kudu.
Although there are a lot of kudu in the steep valley bushveld where we were hunting, kudu can be quite a challenge. These thickly wooded slopes and sometimes impenetrable tangles of vegetation are perfect kudu habitat.
On Day 9 it started raining and turned very cold. Still no kudu, and I thought, “Fat chance of that happening now.”
We left the warm lodge a little later than usual, as we weren’t going far, just to a little valley that I knew was a good place for kudu in bad weather. We’d glassed the hill for about an hour, and finally I noticed the horns of a kudu that was lying down behind a low bush about 150 yards from where we were sitting. As the time passed and the kudu wasn’t moving at all, the rain came down softly, soaking us and robbing us of body heat. I said to Isabella that we were going to be there a long time and that she could go back to the vehicle if she wanted to, as it was parked about 700 yards away from us. Ike, the tracker would take her back. She looked at me and said, “No, I tough Spanish woman, I stay”.
So be it. We all found an uncomfortable place to sit and we waited. Isabella wasn’t comfortable, and hearing a little shuffling behind me I looked around and couldn’t see her. I looked at Ike and he pointed at a big aardvark hole, and there I saw just the top of her head sticking out. I shuffled over to her and she lifted her head with a big grin and gave me the thumbs up. “All fine,” she said.
To cut a long wait short, the bull finely got up to stretch and Juan actually saw it clearly through the rain, and shot it where it stood. He ecstatically turned and hugged Isabel and me, all muddy and wet and dusty, and let out a whoop and hugged us both again, as well as Ike the tracker, and time actually stood still for all of us. Isabella said, “This was my gift to Juan for his birthday, I knew we would get this kudu.”
Juan loves hunting kudu, and since that day has hunted many more with me, as well as a couple of buffalo and all the plains game that South Africa offers, but kudu are his passion. That first kudu bull that we shot was an old, beautiful, worndown bull, not very long, but way past his prime and in the twilight of his life. Juan has shot seven kudu bulls that are much bigger than that first one, but that old bull has pride of place in his house.
Last year Isabella, for the first time ever, said that she would like to hunt, and after a bit of practice she managed to shoot a beautiful impala trophy. After that she said, “Now I understand more about our love for Africa and especially South Africa.”
That was sixteen years ago this year, and Isabella and Juan have hunted with me and Ike the tracker, with Stormberg Elangeni Safaris twelve times in that sixteen-year period. My family and I have been to Spain to visit them on several occasions, and we have become life friends like no other. They never miss my kids’ birthdays. My wife and I plan to go back soon to visit and look at all the wonderful trophies we have hunted together and talk about the memories, especially that first safari.
When I asked about all the times that they have hunted here in South Africa staying at Manzikhanya Lodge and why they continue to come on safari, Isabella smiles and says “Africa, South Africa, hunting, and all of the Stormberg Elangeni team are like a never-ending birthday present, now not only for Juan but for me too. I love all.”
Aug 8, 2017 | News
Bounce. Pronk. Spring – Bok!
By Wayne van Zwoll
Nobody visits Africa just to see or shoot a springbok. Then again, rhinos were once vermin!
We’d pushed through scrub and across barren pans, ever on tracks. The sun grew red, our shadows twice our height. Karen stayed close behind the tracker as he picked up the pace. Falling back to glass a corridor, splitting a copse of thorn, I saw the rams.
White bellies spotlighted against a pale wash of sourgrass to the east, they were poised to fight. My 8×32 brought the horns into focus just as they lunged, dust boiling. In and out of the bush they dashed. Then they were out of sight. But sometimes you must play a hunch. Though my companions had walked well ahead, I whistled them back. Crouching, I kept my eye on where the rams had vanished. A wink of action confirmed they were still there.
“That’s a very fine springbok,” I hissed as Karen and Harold knelt beside me. “The ram to the right.” Only its nose was visible now, at two hundred metres.
“Sun’s behind us,” I whispered. “Wait till you can’t see his face, then make for that bush. Keep low.” As if on cue, the animal dipped its head. We heard the scuffle, saw the dust and scurried ahead. Both rams came clear in the corridor as Karen settled her 7mm on the sticks.
“Shoot as soon as you can.” I had sensed her hesitation. A springbok is so, well, small. And cute. Gemsbok are heavy, raw-boned and wild, intimidating with those rapier horns. Even a big springbok is dainty enough to delay a shot.
“On the shoulder.” The rifle jumped. A blink, and both animals were gone. In the stillness after the explosion, Karen cycled the bolt, steadied the rifle again. Stay until you’re sure. A minute later we eased ahead.
“It’s very pretty.” She knelt. The ridge of long white hair on the ram’s back had risen, a silent requiem. Reverently, she stroked it. I would tell her later this springbok was the best I had ever seen shot.
Mercifully, age has dimmed memories of countless blunders afield. But still raw is my failure to take a springbok with an arrow. I’ve never loosed one at a ram, because I’ve not yet stalked close enough.
“I used to sit by a tree on that pan,” said a PH who’d shot some with a .22. He pointed to a sourgrass plain dotted with clumps of thorn and the occasional acacia. “Be patient, and you’ll get a shot inside 30 yards.”
But I’m not patient. Also, ambushing game, though widely accepted as both ethical and sporting, is less appealing to me than stalking, which requires more skill, entails more risk of discovery. So I haven’t sat for springbok. Repeatedly I’ve muffed chances – or been beaten by a fickle wind, a cruising ostrich, even the random wanderings of the ram.
Even with centerfire rifles, you must take care on the approach.
“Are you with us?” Jamy, Tamar and I were 250 metres from a fine springbok alone in a strip of grass. The ground in front of us was bald as a buzzard’s pate. Behind the ram, an occasional flick of white in deeper cover indicated more springbok. The only option was to crawl. I wanted to crawl. The excitement of a stalk is an intoxicant. But…
“I’ll stay.” It was a painful sacrifice. Over the next half hour I watched my friends inch, lizardlike, across the pan. They parted the grass strip a rifle-shot to the right of the ram. Tense minutes later, the animal vanished. The flat crack of the .308 followed immediately.
When stalking springbok, you’re smart to shed baggage and companions. Once, under evening clouds, two other hunters and I spied springbok ghosting between thickets a kilometre off. The number of animals and their non-stop movements made a sneak difficult, and daylight was fast slipping away. As often happens, windows into the thorn closed as we got near. When I asked to proceed alone, there was no argument – only the offer of a scoped rifle. I declined, content to lose the contest with my open sights rather than kill at distance with optics.
The ram had long since disappeared as I dropped to my knees, crawling on a path I hoped would intercept his. Then, a flash of white! Now on my belly, I angled toward a corridor, the Mauser cradled in elbows sandpapered with each movement. The springbok walked into the corridor. I steadied the bead. No pause. There’d be no other chance. I shoved the sight forward and pressed the trigger, and the ram crumpled. Close and proper, that 70-metre shot was still twice as long as I could have made with an arrow.
The ubiquity of springbok in many areas of South Africa belies the limited range of the animal. I saw no springbok at all on my first sub-Saharan trip in 1985. Other game abounded; springbok remained a southern exotic, like bongo to the north. The range of the springbok is spotty. Despite its catholic diet, it thrives only in a specific habitat.
Long ago on a hunt in the middle of springbok nirvana, I accompanied a pal on his quest for an outstanding ram. A quick and easy task, I thought, planning thereafter to look for a big kudu. We glassed hundreds of springbok wherever we looked. Alas, this horn of plenty proved my undoing. My friend found it impossible to fire.
“That’s a great ram,” he’d say. “But we haven’t seen them all.” What if the next herd held a bigger set of horns? There was an endless supply. If we committed the entire week to the search, he’d still have a last-hour poke at a mature springbok. “We can always get one like that. Let’s keep looking for the ram.” So my chance to find a worthy kudu evaporated.
Later, helping new hunters on their first safaris, I came to see springbok as he had. Reluctant to end the chase, I’d discourage shooting at ordinary rams – “We can probably do better.” And we often did. Actually, I just wanted to keep looking at springbok. On the American prairie, I sift many pronghorns before even chambering a cartridge and, likewise, I combed springbok herds because I could. Prowling through bush in search of a stand-out kudu – or impala or eland – was instead to spool out hours of looking without much seeing. And any shot declined might indeed be the last opportunity of the trip.
“What do you think?” Janie hadn’t yet shot a springbok. And this mature ram was certainly bigger than average for the area. I considered the alternative – hunting springbok to the exclusion of other species that, if less plentiful, would give her other memorable experiences in the coming days. We started crawling.This day, fortune favored us. A wall of thorn shielded our movements from the right; a bush just big enough hid us from the ram. Knees raw, we reached the bush and rested behind it – a hundred metres. “You can fire from here. Take your time.” She eased behind sticks. The blast from her .270 sent the animal into a final sprint. We waited, then approached – a beautiful ram. Janie was quiet, touching the horns, watching the white crest rise, then fall.
“What a marvelous little animal,” she said at last. END
BIO:
Wayne van Zwoll lives near the Cascade Range in the northwestern U.S. He’s published 16 books and 3,000 magazine articles on hunting and shooting, and earned a doctorate in wildlife science. Since 1985 Wayne has traveled often in Africa, where he hosts annual safaris to introduce people to hunting’s role in conservation.
BOX Esther: (If the box is too long for the mag, just do the above for the mag, and then the whole article to be in the WEB including the box below, if Richard agrees)
Like the pronghorn antelope in North America, the springbok is plentiful and visible in its native habitat, but not widely distributed across the continent. Unlike the pronghorn, which is not a true antelope but a taxonomic loner with no close relatives, Antidorcas marsupialis belongs to Gazellinae, a subfamily with a dozen African species. Like other gazelles, it has a lithe body and ringed horns that vary from S-shaped, to hooked, to almost straight. The lyre-like horns of springbok appear on both sexes but are shorter and more slender on the female. Ewes weigh 15 to 20% less than rams, which can exceed 55 kg but average closer to 40. Rams stand as high as 90 cm at the shoulder, but again, average less – about 75. There’s regional variation in the size of these animals and their horns. The largest occur in Namibia.
Springbok are distinctive with their white face, belly and rump. Buff to cinnamon color on the upper ribs contrasts with a broad chocolate side-stripe, slanted as if in race-car crouch. Dark face stripes run from the temples through the eyes to the corners of the mouth. From its dark-tipped tail halfway to the shoulder, a white crest of long hair lies folded in a slender pouch on the back. That hair stands erect during pronking displays and, briefly, at death. It hides yellow glands that emit a sweet odor. Springbok have preorbital (eye) and digital (hoof) glands too, but no metatarsal (leg) glands. Hooves measure 4 to 5 cm in length, with slender toes and rounded heels.
A springbok ewe carries a single lamb about 170 days. Twins are very rare. Lambing most places in South Africa and Namibia peaks in September and October to take advantage of early summer rains. In southwest Angola, northern Namibia and the Kalahari, most lambs drop in the wet months of December and January. Springbok in Namaqualand lamb into July’s winter rain. The young are precocious, grazing at two weeks of age. They’re weaned at two months. Females are fertile at seven months, but males don’t reach sexual maturity until 16 months. The rams breed only after securing territories at 30 months or so. These they mark with dung middens. Territorial fights between mature males are fierce, sometimes fatal.
Ready travelers, rams may defend areas as big as 70 hectares, as small as a 300-meter section of riverbed.
Social otherwise, springbok also seem to have formed mutual protection pacts with other plains creatures: “You watch for me; I’ll watch for you!” Partners vary by region, but in places I’ve hunted, the most problematic are ostriches and gemsbok. They’ve scuttled as many of my springbok hunts as have the springbok themselves!
Opportunistic eaters, springbok graze, browse, even dig up bulbs and roots. They drink regularly but can thrive without water for days. They relish mineral licks and evidently have some tolerance for salt water in their diet. While in small groups these animals seldom strain local plant communities, large herds can defoliate places stressed by drought. Mass springbok migrations on record were probably caused by food shortages. Reports of hundreds of thousands to millions of springbok moving as a great tide predated sub-Saharan fencing and farming. The last such event occurred in 1896, when a rippling sea of springbok covered an area 220 km long and 25 km wide!
Farmers know that when forage permits, the prolific springbok can overpopulate its range. Lean seasons that follow then put great pressure on the habitat and on all species that share it with this little gazelle. Its numbers have also prompted commercial harvest for meat markets.
A delicacy in hunting camps and at market, springbok meat is also prized by predators. While not easy to catch (the dainty creatures can sprint at 85km/hour!), springbok are much easier to kill than are the wildebeest, gemsbok and hartebeest that share their habitat. Besides the big cats, springbok fall to caracals and jackals and hyenas. Martial eagles take lambs. The cheetah’s speed and hunting style make it deadly. On the Kalahari, studies found 87% of cheetah kills were springbok, in Etosha NP, 97 per cent! It’s little wonder springbok prefer areas of short grass, with firm, not sandy footing!
Pronking is signature springbok behavior. Four feet leaving earth at once, the animal launches forward, high into the air, tucking (and often shaking) its head. The pronk is a visible sign of health and vitality, signaling predators looking for easy prey to look elsewhere. It can also warn herdmates of a threat.
Aug 8, 2017 | News
It’s hard to know where to begin this story. I guess I should start with WOW!…. What an amazing experience! It was everything I hoped it would be and more, yet it was nothing like I expected at least in terms of how the hunt would go down. The main focus of this safari was going to be a Cape buffalo hunted spot & stalk with a bow. No hides, no tree stands, no water holes, and no food sources… Open ground, cutting tracks and stalking in… Not that I am against any of the aforementioned methods, but that is not how I wanted to attempt my buffalo hunt. I entered this hunt completely aware that my chances of success would be small, but for me, trying to take one any other way would not have been the same challenge or reward. So here we go….
Like many safaris, this hunt began many months prior in the planning. Although I have been fortunate enough to have visited and hunted many places in Africa, I have never had the opportunity to hunt anything other than plainsgame and the smaller predators. Although I have always had dangerous game ambitions, I unfortunately also had a plainsgame budget. I was not likely that I would ever get to chase my dream of hunting Black Death with a bow & arrow. Thanks to lots of sacrificing, saving, and lots of overtime shifts at work, my wife and I were able to put some money aside and seriously consider making this hunt a reality. That, along with the very gracious opportunity provided to us by my “South African boss” and great friend Hannes Els, owner of Limcroma Safaris, we were able to put things together. Hannes recommended that in order for us to have the maximum opportunity to attempt this hunt the way I wanted to do it, we would need to dedicate at least 10 full days… I opted for 12… He suggested April or May so we would still have ample grazing grasses and lots of green cover still on the bush essential for successful stalking. The dominant strategy would be to catch the buffalo grazing with their heads down early in the morning before they bed up for the day, or late afternoon as they graze before sunset. A grazing, relaxed buffalo would be much more approachable than buffalo bedded or on alert. The problem is that the thick cover that would provide us with the concealment that we needed would be doing the exact same thing for the buffalo. One of the most remarkable observations I made during this experience was that for an animal the size of a Cape buffalo, they have an uncanny ability to disappear in the dense bush. When they are found grazing and relaxed, they can often be heard a hundred or more yards away beating through the bush with their huge bodies and hard bosses making quite a ruckus. In this mode, they are anything but stealthy. However, they can amazingly disappear silently especially when they think that they are being pursued.
*The outfitter for my hunt was Limcroma Safaris located in the Limpopo Province of South Africa. Hannes Els, the owner, is one of the most qualified and experienced PHs in Africa. He is a specialist at hunting dangerous game with a bow. We would be hunting one of Hannes’ own properties very close to the Limpopo River on the Botswana border.
Pictured below is one of the lone dugga boys on the potential hit list. We never did see him again after the first day. He mock charged the bakkie as we drove past to let us know who the boss of this bushveld was.
(Insert photo: Lone dugga boy)
Upon our arrival day in camp, we did what most safari guests typically do in preparing and assembling gear, and shooting our bows to ensure that the nice folks at the airport did not do too much damage. Thankfully, our arrows were grouping tightly out to 40 yards just where we left them at home on the practice range. The late afternoon was spent with the entire hunting team heading out to do some scouting, brush the roads, and make a plan for early morning. Hannes had told us that there were several groups of buffalo on this particular concession that we would be hunting ranging from one or two lone dugga boys that have been ousted from the herds to several bachelor groups of bulls of various ages. There were also several small herds of mixed ages of both bulls and cows. Finding fresh spoor would not be the problem…. Finding the right spoor would be the first challenge. We encountered several fresh sets of tracks that evening so we knew what areas had been most active. The plan was to be on ground at daylight looking for the freshest spoor.
The next morning we headed out making to the hunting area as planned just as the sun was breaking the horizon. We headed straight for one of the water holes to see if any fresh tracks had been laid since last evening. After a few minutes of discussion, Hannes, our tracker Bolla, and our accompanying PHs Otto Bousema and Drian Laas, determined that there were at least 6 bulls that had watered sometime early in the morning. This group would be our best bet for the first stalk. The pursuit goes down in the following manner: Hannes would lead the hunting party with binos and his .416 Rigby in hand. He would go 30-50 yards ahead. Far enough so he could move alone in silence, but not so far as to lose sight of him. I would be first in the group behind Hannes, followed by Otto on the second rifle, our PH/videographer Drian, and my wife Lisa close by his side. Bolla, the tracker, would attend the bakkie and monitor the radio. All of us were in full camo with face masks and me in full hood and face paint. Hannes would follow the tracks for an indefinite period and then stop periodically to listen and glass the dense green bush. The pace must be slow and methodical to be successful. It is very easy to go too fast and run right up on an unsuspecting buffalo as we would soon find out…. After about an hour or so of following the tracks, we were given the hand signal to stop and get low. Hannes dropped to one knee and peered carefully through the tall grass and dense brush. Before anyone could make another move, we heard the disappointing sound of heavy hooves galloping away. We had slipped up on a single bull bedded down which must have come in from a different angle. The good news was that this was not the group we had been tracking and no other buffalo seemed to spook from the immediate area. We could regroup and continue on the original spoor. By late-morning, the steady wind that was in our face was now swirling from every direction. Even if we found the group, they were likely to be bedded down by now. Hannes suggested that we back out and come back in the afternoon to pick up the track when the conditions were more favorable. So, it was back to the bakkie for some lunch.
Although I was excited at the prospect of this adventure, I was also an experienced hunter in my own right and more importantly a realist. The reoccurring thought that I had all morning was how am I going to get a clear bow shot in this terrain? As we stalked the bush, I was constantly looking for shooting lanes and angles as any hunter would. I wasn’t finding many. In the planning stages, we figured that I would likely have to draw and shoot from my knees. That was not a problem as I was practiced and comfortable shooting from my knees for years. The problem was to find lane under 40 yards clear enough for a shot. From my knees, the grass was at or over my head in most places. Forget about the endless bush that was still holding its leaves. This was going to be even harder than I thought….
After a wonderful bush braai of kudu sausage sandwiches and a short siesta, we were back in pursuit refreshed and optimistic. The wind was lighter than the morning, but steady once again. We found the group of bulls we had been tracking bedded after a stalk of about a half of a mile from where we left the tracks. It looked to be 6 bulls, with 4 shooters and 2 really nice shooters among them. We crawled to within 40 yards, found good cover, and bedded down with them. It was an incredible experience to hear them drawing deep baritone breaths only yards away. We would have to wait them out until they got back on their feet to graze. It was about an hour or so before the first bull got back on his feet. The others joined him one by one. While Hannes and Otto were careful to maintain cover and still try and glass our best option, one of the older bulls started to graze and work the bush toward us. He would rake his tremendous bosses cracking the branches and shaking the bush violently. What a spectacular moment to see and hear such a beast that close! Unfortunately, he got too close… He made his way to 15 yards before he smelled us or pick up our movement. He snorted loudly putting the rest of the group on high alert. Hannes and Otto scrambled to their feet, grabbing me and Lisa by our collars to drag us to a safer position behind them. Rifles forward, we hastily backed out. Thankfully, the herd chose to flee rather than charge. You could literally feel the pounding of the hooves hitting the ground in your chest as they thundered away. At that moment, I had never felt so helpless and non-threatening with a bow in my hands. It was an eerie feeling. What a first day….!
(Insert photo: Drian Lass with video camera)
This is a shot of me taking a photo of our cameraman for this hunt. Drian Laas is not only an extremely talented safari videographer; he is a very respectable PH in his own right. Drian joined our hunting party courtesy of Bush Bro Productions. I really believe that you have to be a PH and at least a hunter to have an eye for what detail to capture on a hunting video. Drian got some incredible footage for us on this trip. In fact, he captured what could have been my last moment on this earth on the second day. We got caught in the wide open with our butts in the breeze by a very angry bull. We were trying to crawl to a better position for a shot when the bull caught our movement and busted us. He charged into 15 yards blowing and snorting. All I could do was freeze in place and trust the pair of rifles that I knew were fixed on his head from Hannes and Otto behind us. After staring us down for what I am sure was just a few seconds yet seemed like hours, the bull raised his head to check our scent and then whirled around to make an abrupt exit into the thickets. I am glad that bull chose to retreat and fight another day. The old expression that says a Cape buffalo looks at you like you owe him money could not be more true… I would add that this particular bull not only looked at us like we owed him money, but also like we had been dodging him for weeks to avoid payment.
The value of trust and experience in an outfitter cannot be overstated. Although we had plenty of adrenaline-filled moments during this hunt, never once did I fear for my safety or the safety of anyone else in the hunting party. These guys are the ultimate professionals, and it was impressive to see them in action. Very few African outfitters possess the qualifications, experience, and skill necessary to successfully and safely pursue dangerous game with a bow and arrow. Hannes Els and Limcroma Safaris is one of them. I was lucky to have the opportunity to hunt with one of the some of the very best.
Each subsequent day we would start out with a similar plan. Look for fresh spoor and pursue accordingly. 6 days has passed, and we had several encounters getting as close as 20 yards on a few more occasions. Each time, something would just not be quite right for a shot, or the wind would swirl and the buffalo would bust us. As I mentioned earlier, my concerns over getting a clear shot were realizing to be all too true. More than once, I could see a nose, a boss, or a hind quarter, but not the vital open shoulder that I needed for a lethal shot. The animals’ vitals would either be obscured by tall grass, bush or both. On one encounter, the hunting party a few yards behind me could see the entire head and shoulder of a shooter bull at 22 yards. Yet, from my vantage only a few yards to one side, I could only see the rear half of the body. No shot once again….
I would be lying if I was to say that I was not secretly getting discouraged at this point. So many close calls that took hours upon hours of tracking, crawling, crouching and waiting in the thorns to create, would vanish away in seconds. I was starting to believe that this was not going to happen. Although I never said as much, my body language must have reflected it to the rest of the party. I began to feel pressure that I was letting the rest of the hunting party down. They all worked so hard for days to get me so close, yet I couldn’t take the shots. Still, the entire time, no one but myself, ever remotely got discouraged. The positive energy and encouragement from all the others kept my head in the game. That is what you need from your team to get it done.
So, the morning of Day 7 started out like the rest with one major exception. Hannes had to drop out as our lead PH. He had a prior commitment to a very good client to do a rhino hunt in the Northwest Province. Although we would miss his experience and encouragement, I was in good hands with Otto and Drian. We soon got back on the group of 6 bulls that we had stalked the first several days. They relocated to a different area about 4 miles from where we had originally pursued them, but the tracker and my PH team were very sure this was indeed the same group with 2 very respectable shooters.
I would guess that we followed the tracks for about 90 minutes when we came upon the herd grazing lazily a hundred yards ahead. This time, they were in a rare open area that had much less bush and tree cover than all of the encounters before. If we could figure out an approach without getting busted, I just may get a shot. Things can turn around in a big hurry…. While we were formulating a plan, the herd gradually made their way straight for us. They were relaxed, grazing, and best of all, upwind. Otto decided to find suitable cover just ahead and sit tight to see what happens. Within 10 minutes the herd had made their way to 50 yards and closing. Otto whispered for me to get ready and nock an arrow…. Holy crap, I’m thinking to myself. This might just happen! He whispered for me to crawl my way to a crossberry bush about 5 yards ahead and get ready for the shot. As I SLOWLY crawled, I kept peeking over my right shoulder to get an update. I could not see the bulls from my position. Otto hand-signaled 1 shooter bull out front… He had my range finder and called it 40 yards from his spot. Being the mathematician that I am, I figured 40 yards minus 5 for my forward position should put him at 35… So I set my single-pin Truglo Rangerover sight for 35 yards. One last peek over to Otto and I got the signal that he was coming… Go ahead and draw….!
Now the adrenalin was flowing! As I peeked over the top of the crossberry bush, I could just make out tips of his horns. I told myself in my head to remain calm and focused…. Control your breathing, pick a spot and release… I smoothly drew the bow and leaned out from behind the bush. The massive shoulder of the bull came into full view in the wide open. No tall grass, and no bush, this time… All black and LOTS of it! I swept the pin up the front leg, settled it on the sweet spot mid-body, and touched off the arrow. It seemed to happen in slow motion. I can still see the fletchings rotating in flight. The arrow hit the bull with a resounding thwack! For what seemed like something that would never happen, happened so fast. I stood to watch him thunder away with the yellow and white trademark fletching of the Grizzlystik arrow embedded in his shoulder. Within that split second of elation and relief came great concern. It occurred to me that there was still a lot of arrow sticking out of that bull. With my set-up, that arrow should have buried to the fletching at the very least. It also looked a bit high… Much higher than where I put the pin. What happened?
I glanced back and looked to the rest of the group for reassurance. I got none…. “Look high to you?” I asked Otto. “Maybe a bit,” he answered displaying the same concern on his face. “I’m not thrilled with the penetration either,” I added. “What did you range him at there at the shot? I inquired. “Otto answered, “22 yards from me where you shot him.” “What do you mean 22 yards? What the hell happened to 40 yards?? I set my pin to 35… From where I was, if you got him at 22, he must have been more like 17.” “A different bull came out that was even closer,” he said to me. “I thought you saw that?” he asked. “No, man. I didn’t. I had my pin at 35 and all I saw was a black wall of muscle step out with horns on it. I put the pin on my spot and let the arrow fly. If he was inside 20, it was definitely going to hit high. There is a solid 10-12” drop differential from 17 to 35 yards with these heavy arrows. “My fault,” I said. “I should have recognized that he was much closer than 35 and made the mental adjustment. I got tunnel vision in picking the spot and focusing on that. All I could think about was hitting my spot. It never occurred to me that there was another bull 15-20 yards closer.”
*As a side note, upon examination at the skinning shed, the first arrow penetrated 12″ splitting the lower portion of the right shoulder bone completely and entering the upper chest cavity lacerating the very top of the right lung. The second shot penetrated 24″ breaking the right side ribs, getting both lungs, and lodging into the rib cage on the opposite side. This was a true testament to the arrow and broadhead combination that I used for this hunt. I could not have been happier with the performance of the Grizzlystik arrow shaft and Bishop Archery 315 grain broadhead.
Nobody panicked…. Drian had the shot on video. We looked at it several times. What a tremendous advantage it is to have the shot captured on video. The shot definitely looked high, but the vertical alignment was good. It looked as if half of the arrow got in. Maybe a little less or a little more if we were lucky. It definitely hit some shoulder bone, but maybe I got the top of one lung if the arrow pierced the bone. We had a few spots of blood on the ground where the bull stood. So, we headed back to the road to meet up with Bolla and make a plan for the tracking job ahead. It was a nervous walk back to the bakkie.
From the field, Otto called Hannes and told him our situation. Without hesitation, Hannes said to hold off and he was sending Franz to the rescue…. Franz is one of the best Cape buffalo trackers in Africa. Not just RSA…. I’m talking all of Africa. He is the African equivalent of Winston Wolf from the movie Pulp Fiction. Franz has earned the local nickname “Buffalo Assassin” and with good reason. He is responsible for more dead buffalo than bovine tuberculosis….. After watching this guy work, I could see why. He was nothing less than amazing.
When Franz arrived, the track was about 90 minutes old. Without a word from us other than to point out the spot of the shot, Franz was off. Within minutes, he told Otto that the bull was dragging his right front hoof, and he could not bear as much weight on it as the others. The buffalo was wounded but how badly? Franz continued casually along the track as if it were a lighted superhighway. Ten minutes or so into the track, Franz stopped and walked around in a 10-yard radius occasionally using his shooting sticks to part grass or push branches to the side. He whispered to Otto that our bull was no longer with the herd. He explained that there was a scuffle and that the other bulls likely smelled the blood and sensed the weakness of the wounded bull. They had forced him from the group. Our bull had split to the right 90 degrees from the rest of the group. We were now on a single track. Once again, I stood in awe of the proficiency of Franz’s skills.
We also utilized Otto’s hunting dog “Impy” to help take up the track. Impy is also an impressive tracker if there is any blood to be found. Using him would bring the advantage of a bark alarm when the bull was found, and he would help to keep the bull distracted until we could close in. Maybe another 20 minutes on the track had passed when we heard Impy’s frenzied bark coming from a thorn thicket approximately a hundred yards ahead. Impy had found our bull and jumped him from his bedded position. We all raced up in a fury, with Impy barking wildly, he held the bull’s attention while I nocked another arrow in a fast trot. In a blur, I drew my bow, guessed the range at 40 yards and shot. The second arrow buried itself it deep into the crease of the wounded bull’s shoulder. The shot looked good. Better than the first… The shaft of the first arrow was no longer visible. We would give him some time before we would take up the track again.
This time we had good blood, Franz the Buffalo Assassin, and Impy. I felt much better about the situation that earlier in the day. However, I also realized that the seriousness of this hunt had gone to the next level. We were tracking a severely wounded Cape buffalo. This was no joke…. Our pace slowed considerably. Every team member would meticulously scan back and forth peering deeply into the thickets looking for a patch of black before moving forward. With the safeties off and rifle bolts locked down, we cautiously proceeded on the track. We had only tracked another hundred yards when Franz dropped to a crouch and pointed out the bull bedded once again in a heavy thorn thicket 50 yards ahead. The buffalo’s head was down by not rolled to the side. Otto said he was still drawing breath. We were all confident that the second arrow would soon prove to be lethal. However, the bull was entrenched in a spot that was too thick for a third arrow shot. We discussed that we could wait him out to either expire, or move closer for another bow shot. At this point, I made a decision and asked Drian for his .375 H&H to finish the job. I felt ethically obligated not to push this bull any farther or make him linger any longer than necessary. It was also a decision of safety for the entire team. Maybe he would expire in the next few minutes or maybe the next time we push him he charges and somebody gets hurt. It’s no secret that these animals are at their most dangerous when wounded. Too many “dead buffalo” have injured or killed numerous hunters, trackers and PHs over the years who have failed to give a mortally wounded animal its due respect. It was the right call…
I placed the first rifle shot squarely on the point of the shoulder and the animal hunched up noticeably at the impact of the .375 soft tip. “Keep shooting!” was shouted in stereo by Otto and Drian. I slammed two more solids into the body for good measure and this incredibly impressive animal was down for good. “My God, these are tough animals,” I thought to myself. As we approached my buffalo, I cannot begin to express the range of emotion I felt at this point….. Elation, relief, accomplishment, and a bit of sadness for putting this incredible creature through more than it should have endured if my initial shot would have been better. Never before have I experienced such an emotional roller coaster of highs and lows on the same hunt. We all took a brief moment to catch our breath and silently put this moment into perspective. Then, it was time to celebrate with handshakes and hugs for what was truly a team effort. I cannot say enough about the skill and professionalism of the team that made this hunt possible. Hannes Els, and his staff are collectively the most impressive individuals that I have ever hunted with. This buffalo was my first, and likely to be my last of the Big 5. It was also Otto’s first Cape buffalo as the lead PH, so the hunt was very special for the both of us. It is a memory that we will share for the rest of our lives. My heartfelt thanks goes out to everyone on the team that made this possible for me.
(Insert trophy photos of Cape buffalo)
*My equipment selection for this hunt was a Diamond Black Ice compound bow. Considered to be a dinosaur by today’s high tech bow standards, the Black Ice is accurate, durable, and has the smoothest draw cycle of any bow I have ever shot. I had it cranked up to 72lbs. at a 29” draw length.
My arrow shafts were custom made for me by the great folks at Grizzlystik. Their technical knowledge was spot on. The arrow they built for me performed as promised. The shafts for my set up were Momentum Black 175’s cut to 30” and fletched with Blazer vanes. They were built to have a 26% front of center weight distribution which was a critical component to the amount of penetration I would need for this hunt.
The broadheads I selected were from Bishop Archery. I chose the 315 grain Bridgeport 41L40, 2-blade, right single bevel, in forged tool steel. After testing several brands and styles, I chose the Bishop heads because they flew like field points and they seemed virtually indestructible during my “backyard” testing process. I finished the arrow with a Nocturnal lighted nock at 20 grains. The total arrow/broadhead weight was 975 grains.
With my bull in the salt, we could all relax and enjoy the rest of the safari. The pressure was off and to my wife’s delight, it was time for her to hunt. Although she was completely committed to letting me hunt the entire 12 days if that’s what it took, I know inside she was chomping at the bit to shoot some arrows for herself. She is just as passionate of a hunter as any that I know. She is equally skilled with a rifle as she is with a bow, and she won’t pass up a chance to put either one to good use. Turns out she had a hunt of a lifetime for herself….
This same concession where we hunted my buffalo had an abundance of giraffe. The first day Hannes commented that he had too many for this concession, and that 5 or 6 of the old females no longer breeding needed to go. You don’t have to ask Lisa twice….. The only stipulation was that she really wanted to hunt one spot & stalk with her bow. This raised some issues to consider because she doesn’t really shoot a big enough rig to be ethically effective for a broadside shot on a large, thickly hided animal such as a giraffe. Otto and Drian agreed that she would need a frontal shot opportunity. They made it very clear to Lisa that the chances of getting one in bow range and getting a preferred frontal shot would be next to impossible. That said, they were willing to try if she was willing to accept the challenge. Challenge accepted!
They tried several stalks that day not even getting close to bow range let alone a frontal shot. They were already prepping her for the idea of trying to take one with a rifle the next day. However, late that afternoon on the way off the property, they spotted one female by herself. They got out of the bakkie about 150 yards downwind and stalked in. This female’s curiosity got the best of her and it resulted in a 30 yard shot between the shoulder blades. The 650 grain arrow with a Helix broadhead sunk deep into the chest cavity. The massive female fell within 300 yards.
*Lisa’s equipment selection for her hunt was a Mathews DXT compound bow at 52lbs. and 27.5” of draw length. Her arrows were Momentum Black 330’s also built by Grizzlystik with a 25% front of center weight distribution. The total arrow weight was 670 grains. Her broadheads were Helix 200 grain, right, single bevel, 2-blades. She got 20” of penetration on her giraffe with a perfect frontal shot between the tips of the shoulder blades.
(Insert Giraffe trophy photo)
I spent the remaining days on safari doing what I love to do most in Africa, and that is spot & stalking the river bottoms with bow in hand. My opportunities are fewer than hunting from the hides, but this is what I love to do. I am okay with not getting a shot as long as I can be on the ground trying. My first morning on the Limpopo River resulted in my second porcupine taken with a bow. Ironically, I have taken 2 porcupines in Africa with my bow and both were early in the morning in daylight. I caught this massive female digging a new burrow around 7:30 in the morning.
(Insert Porcupine photo)
I had numerous encounters with warthogs throughout my remaining days. However, I was having a hard time getting any shots on big males. There were lots of young males and females with young ones, but very few shooters. On the last evening, I was finally able to close the deal on this female cull. She was old, battle scared, and a prime candidate to take out of the population. The warthog meat was tasty, and the ivory will make a beautiful towel hook.
(Insert Dan’s warthog photo)
Lisa’s luck continued with an opportunity to take a great cull waterbuck from one of the hides over a waterhole. This young bull came in displaying his wear and tear prominently. He had obviously been fighting with another bull and took the worst of it. Drian was hunting with Lisa, and he glassed multiple gashes and puncture wounds all over this bull that had become infected. He gave her the green light and she put a 20 yard shot on the money. The young bull was down within sight of the hide.
(Insert Lisa’s waterbuck photo)
We cannot go to Africa without trying a little night hunting…. This trip it would be Lisa taking the shots. She had never taken an animal at night before. I explained to her that it’s is difficult to do that when you spend every night around the campfire drinking wine and socializing…. She actually put in the time this trip and was rewarded with a great small-spotted genet cat.
(Insert genet cat photo)
Lisa and Drian were also struggling with the warthogs that were visiting the hides. They, like myself, were seeing lots of young males and females but few mature males. Still, persistence pays off…. She got an opportunity to take out an old female for cull and made it count. More braai meat and another ivory towel hook.
(Insert Lisa’s warthog photo)
Lisa rounded out an incredible hunt for herself by taking an exceptional trophy springbok on the last afternoon. This springbok was one of 3 males that frequented the area around the main lodge which is also happens to be in the heart of a bow hunting concession. She tried to spot & stalk him for several days without getting close enough for an ethical shot. On the last evening, Lisa and Drian sat in a hide near the springbok’s home range. This big, tall male came in for a lick of the salt block. She double-lunged him at 32 yards. He will make a fine addition to our trophy room.
(Insert Lisa’s springbok photo)
This was our 5th safari with Limcroma Safaris. In addition to being long-time clients, and dear friends with the Els Family, I have the privilege of representing Limcroma as one of their USA based representatives. The main reason I became involved in representing Limcroma is precisely because I was so impressed with the great lengths they take at every opportunity to exceed the expectations of their guests. No effort is spared and no detail is left unattended to ensure that each and every guest has a very personal experience while in camp. The Limcroma folks are family to Lisa and myself. But, each guest that visits is made to feel like family. When hunting at Limcroma, you will be spoiled! Prepare yourself to gain 10 pounds from the fantastic authentic South African cuisine. Each and every PH at Limcroma is a consummate host and ambassador for African hospitality. You will be treated like royalty and hunt some of the finest trophy animals on the most beautiful properties in southern Africa. Whether you are planning a first-time safari for the family or planning your next addition to the Big 5, I can’t imagine a finer host than Hannes Els or a better outfitter than Limcroma. Thanks for allowing us to share our adventure with you!
I currently reside in southeast Florida where I was born and raised for the last 50 years. This was my 6th African safari and my 5th hosted by Limcroma. I grew up hunting and fishing all over south Florida. I am a lifelong hunter and fisherman, but especially passionate about bow hunting and particularly spot & stalking. I started my first professional career running sport fishing charters out of the South Florida area. That career led to 20 plus years of both charter and tournament fishing incredible destinations world-wide. In my lifetime, I have been lucky enough to have fished or hunted in 4 continents and over 20 countries so far…. For the last 17 years, I have been a full-time professional firefighter and paramedic in South Florida. For the last 8 years, I have had the privilege of representing Limcroma Safaris as one of their USA-based representatives where I assist with internet marketing and safari consultations.
Aug 8, 2017 | News
South Africa: April 2017
By Dan Leahy
No hides, no tree stands, no waterholes, and no food sources… Open ground, cutting tracks and stalking in. I wanted a Cape buffalo, hunted spot and stalk with a bow, and I wanted to do it my way. My chances of success would be small, but for me, any other way would not have been the same challenge or reward.
I had hunted many places in Africa, but never big game. Although I had dangerous-game ambitions, I only had a plains-game budget, not enough to chase my dream of hunting “Black Death” with a bow and arrow. But after much sacrificing, saving, and overtime shifts at work, my wife and I could make this hunt a reality. Our destination – Limcroma Safaris in South Africa, owned by my great friend Hannes Els.
I chose a 12-day safari in April-May. There would still be ample grazing grass and lots of green bush. It is incredible that animals the size of a Cape buffalo can disappear in dense bush. When grazing and relaxed, they can often be heard a hundred or more yards away, beating through the bush, their huge bodies and hard bosses making quite a ruckus. Yet, they can vanish silently, especially when they think they are being pursued.
On arrival in camp, we did the usual – preparing and assembling gear, and shooting our bows to ensure nothing had been damaged en route. The late afternoon was spent scouting, brushing the roads, and making a plan for early morning. Hannes said that there were several groups of buffalo, ranging from one or two lone Dagga Boys that had been ousted from the herds, to several bachelor groups of bulls of various ages, and several small herds of bulls and cows. Finding fresh spoor would not be the problem… Finding the right spoor would be the first challenge.
At dawn we headed out to one of the waterholes to check for fresh tracks. Hannes, our tracker Bolla, and our accompanying PHs Otto Bousema and Drian Laas, said there were at least six bulls that had watered sometime early in the morning – our best bet for the first stalk.
With binos and his .416 Rigby, Hannes led the hunting party 30-50 yards ahead, far enough to move alone in silence, but not out of sight. I led the rest, followed by Otto on the second rifle, our PH/videographer Drian, and my wife Lisa close by his side. Bolla stayed at the bakkie to monitor the radio. All of us were in full camo with face masks, and me in full hood and face paint.
Hannes followed the tracks. After about an hour we were given the hand signal – stop and get low. Hannes dropped to one knee and peered through the tall grass and dense brush. Before anyone could make another move, we heard the disappointing sound of heavy hooves pounding away. We had slipped up on a single bull, bedded down, that must have come in from a different angle. However, this was not the group we had been tracking, and no other buffalo seemed to spook from the immediate area. We regrouped and continued on the original spoor. By late morning the wind was swirling in every direction, and the animals were likely to be bedded down. Hannes suggested we back out till the afternoon when conditions were better. So, it was back to the bakkie for some lunch.
All morning I was wondering how I was going to get to get a clear bow shot in this terrain. I was constantly looking for shooting lanes and angles, and not finding many. I had originally figured I would draw and shoot from my knees. Not a problem, as for years I was comfortable and practiced shooting like that. But the problem would be to find a lane under 40 yards clear enough for a shot because, from my knees, the grass was at or over my head in most places.
After a wonderful bush braai of kudu sausage sandwiches, then a short siesta, we were back in pursuit, refreshed and optimistic. The wind was lighter now, but steady. We stalked about half a mile from where we left the tracks, and found our group of six bulls bedded – four shooters and two really nice shooters. We crawled almost 40 yards, found good cover, and settled down near them. It was an unbelievable experience to hear their deep, baritone breathing only yards away. We would have to wait until they got back on their feet to graze.
It was an hour before the first bull got up. The others joined him, one by one. As Hannes and Otto maintained cover, glassing our best option, one of the older bulls started to graze and work the bush toward us. He raked his tremendous bosses, cracking the branches and shaking the bush violently. It was incredible to see and hear such a beast that close!
Unfortunately, he got too close… He made his way to 15 yards before he was aware of us. He snorted loudly, putting the rest of the group on high alert. Hannes and Otto scrambled to their feet, grabbing me and Lisa by our collars to drag us to a safer position behind them. Rifles forward, we hastily backed out. Thankfully, the herd chose to flee rather than charge. You could literally feel in your chest the pounding of the hooves hitting the ground as they thundered away. I had never felt so helpless as at that moment. What a first day!
Six days passed. Each day we would start out as before – look for fresh spoor and pursue accordingly. We had several encounters, getting as close as 20 yards, but each time something would just not be quite right for a shot, or the wind would swirl and the buffalo would bust us. Often I could see a nose, a boss, or a hindquarter, but not the vital open shoulder that I needed for a lethal shot. The animal’s vitals would either be obscured by tall grass, bush or both. On one encounter, the hunting party a few yards behind me could see the entire head and shoulder of a shooter bull at 22 yards. Yet, from my vantage only a few yards to one side, I could only see the rear half of the body. No shot once again…
On Day 7, we began the hunt without Hannes who had a prior commitment, but we were in good hands with Otto and Drian. Our group of six bulls had relocated to a different place, grazing lazily a hundred yards ahead – in an open area! Perhaps I could get a shot.
The herd gradually made their way towards us, relaxed, grazing, and best of all, upwind. Otto decided to find suitable cover just ahead and sit tight to see what happened. Within 10 minutes the herd was 50 yards and closing.
“Get ready and nock an arrow,” Otto whispered. Holy crap, I thought, this might just happen! “Crawl to that bush and get ready for a shot,” he added.
As I slowly crawled, I kept peeking over my right shoulder to get an update. I could not see the bulls from my position. Otto had my rangefinder and hand-signaled: One shooter bull out front, 40 yards from me. From my forward position, I put the bull at 35, and set my single-pin Truglo Rangerover sight for 35 yards. One last peek over to Otto… Another signal: He’s coming – go ahead and draw!
I could just make out tips of his horns over the top of the crossberry bush. I reminded myself to remain calm and focused… Control my breathing. Pick a spot and release…
I smoothly drew the bow and leaned out from behind the bush. The massive shoulder of the bull came into full view. No tall grass and no bush this time… All black and LOTS of it! I swept the pin up the front leg, settled it on the sweet spot mid-body, and touched off the arrow. The arrow hit the bull with a resounding thwack! He thundered away with the yellow and white trademark fletching of the Grizzlystik arrow embedded in his shoulder, but there was still a lot of arrow sticking out. It should have buried to the fletching at the very least. It also looked a bit high… Much higher than where I put the pin.
I glanced back at the rest of the group for reassurance. I got none…
“Look high to you?” I asked Otto. “Maybe a bit.”
“I’m not thrilled with the penetration either,” I added. “What did you range him at?” “Twenty-two yards from me where you shot him.” “What do you mean 22 yards? What the hell happened to 40 yards? I set my pin to 35… From where I was, if you got him at 22, he must have been more like 17.” “A different bull came out that was even closer,” he said. “I thought you saw it.”
“No, man, I didn’t.”
If he was inside 20, it was definitely going to hit high. There is a solid 10-12” drop differential from 17 to 35 yards with these heavy arrows. I should have recognized that he was much closer than 35 and made the mental adjustment. I got tunnel vision in picking the spot and focusing on that. All I could think about was hitting my spot. I didn’t realize there was another bull 15-20 yards closer.
Drian had the shot on video. It definitely hit some shoulder bone, but maybe I got the top of one lung if the arrow pierced the bone. There were a few spots of blood on the ground where the bull stood. So we headed back to the road to meet up with Bolla and make a plan for the tracking job ahead. It was a nervous walk back to the bakkie.
Otto called Hannes about the situation, and he sent Franz to the rescue. Franz is one of the best Cape buffalo trackers in Africa. Not just RSA… all of Africa. He is the African equivalent of Winston Wolf from the movie Pulp Fiction. Franz earned the local nickname “Buffalo Assassin” and with good reason. After watching this guy work, I could see why.
When Franz arrived, the track was about 90 minutes old. We pointed at the spot, and Franz was off. Within minutes he told Otto that the bull was dragging his right front hoof. Ten minutes into the track, Franz stopped and walked around in a 10-yard radius, using his shooting sticks to part grass or push branches away. He whispered to Otto that our bull was no longer with the herd. There had been a scuffle. Likely, the other bulls had smelled the blood, sensed the weakness of the wounded bull, and forced him from the group. We were now on a single track.
We also had Otto’s hunting dog Impy, an impressive tracker if there is any blood. He would bark an alarm when the bull was found, and help to keep it distracted until we could close in. Twenty minutes later we heard Impy’s frenzied bark from a thorn thicket a hundred yards ahead. We raced up as I nocked another arrow. In a blur, I drew my bow, guessed the range at 40 yards, and shot. The second arrow buried itself it deep into the crease of the wounded bull’s shoulder. It looked good, but we waited before taking up the track again.
We were now tracking a severely wounded Cape buffalo. This was no joke. Our pace slowed. Every team member warily scanned the bush, peering into thickets, looking for a patch of black before moving on. With safety off and rifle bolts locked down, we cautiously continued. We had only gone another hundred yards when Franz dropped to a crouch, and pointed out the bull bedded in a heavy thorn thicket 50 yards ahead. The buffalo’s head was down, but Otto said he was still breathing, and we were confident that the second arrow would soon prove to be lethal. However, the bull was deep in a spot that was too dense for a third arrow shot.
I asked Drian for his .375 H&H to finish the job. I did not want to push the bull any farther or make him linger any longer than necessary. It was also a decision of safety for the entire team. He could expire in the next few minutes or could charge. These animals are at their most dangerous when wounded. Over the years, too many “dead” buffalo have injured or killed many hunters, trackers and PHs who failed to give a mortally wounded animal due respect. It was the right call…
The .375 soft point hit him squarely on the shoulder. “Keep shooting!” shouted Otto and Drian. I slammed two more solids into the body, and the impressive animal was down for good. As we approached my buffalo, I was overwhelmed with different emotions – elation, relief, accomplishment, and some regret for putting this incredible creature through more than it should have endured had my initial shot been better. I had never before experienced such an emotional roller coaster of highs and lows on the same hunt. We all took a brief moment of silent respect, before celebrating with handshakes and hugs for a truly team effort.
I cannot say enough about the skill and professionalism of the team that made this hunt possible. Hannes Els and his staff are altogether the most wonderful individuals that I have ever hunted with. My heartfelt thanks goes out to all of them.
BIO
Born and raised in southeast Florida, Dan Leahy grew up hunting and fishing in the Everglades, Gulf of Mexico, and the Atlantic Ocean. After running sport-fishing charters locally, he later became a firefighter/paramedic, now in his 18th year of service. For the last nine years he has been the US-based representative of Limcroma Safaris in marketing and safari consultation. He and his wife enjoy an outdoor lifestyle of fishing and hunting all over the globe.
Aug 8, 2017 | News
South Africa: 2007
By Wade Gear
She heard the truck that first day. It seemed to crisscross through her home range, and although it was a constant droning sound it did not affect her rest under the shade of the mopane trees. Her home range was surrounded by thick mopane, and although it overlapped with two young males from her own bloodline, it offered the protection she needed as well as good hunting. She was alone, had not mated in several years, so she hunted only for herself.
It was a very hot July, and her thirst got the better of her early on the second day. The watering hole at Edmonsburg was close by and she knew the elephants would not be there that early. She drank in the muddy water and returned to the protection of the mopane to wait until dark when she could hunt again.
It was late in the afternoon when she first noticed it. Although faint, it was something she would never forget – the smell of humans. While the breeze only brought the slightest scent she knew they were in her territory and it immediately brought back memories from when she was a young adult – the odor, the burning sensation in her hindquarter, the collar on her when she woke. She needed to move to another area to put more distance between her and the humans, so as nightfall came she hunted to the north.
On the third day she noticed it again. It was mid-afternoon. First the distant sound of the truck, then the faint smell, then voices much too close for her liking. The area she had chosen was thick mopane about six feet high, and the ground underneath was sandy. As she lay there testing the air and listening, she realized that they were moving in her direction. When they drew near her she sprang up and growled viciously. As they hesitated, she slipped away, following a well-known path that led her away, slightly circling the humans. In the thick brush she was confident that she had not been seen.
But they were closing in. She moved off at a trot, now headed back to the west. As she crossed a road she saw the vehicle – the man in the back did not see her though she was only 75 yards away. She immediately kept to the thickest areas of brush, taking her pursuers through it and slowing them down in the process, but now she had lost the wind. She needed it in her favor, so once again she circled and headed east back to where she had been.
After several hours of trying to evade her pursuers, she was over-heated and thirsty and needed to head back to Edmonsburg for a drink. As she was about to move back to the south she scented a black rhino, and skirted it at 25 yards, slightly downwind. She heard the commotion, snorts, and the silence that followed as her followers were distracted by the rhino. When darkness fell she heard the drone of the engine fading in the distance, and approached Edmonsburg for a drink. Then it was time to hunt again.
Her territory was large, and as she hunted she once again moved farther south and east from where she had been. Her constant pursuit had taken its toll – the heat and lack of sleep and food was making it more difficult to hunt. And on the fourth day, just after sun-up there it was again – the unmistakable drone of the engine.
Her pursuers came fast. They followed her for miles, pushing and pushing, and by mid-day she needed that drink, and she headed for the stream. She did not know if the stream had any water left, but with the thick brush there was a good chance, and the cover would help conceal her. But the pools had dried up and the cover was too thick to allow her free movement. She was cornered between the mopane and the riverine brush which checked her stealth. At one point she was totally exposed, but with one bound she was hidden again. She moved almost towards her pursuers, looking for the chance to cross the small opening and get back into the thick mopane.
A bushbuck was bedded down close by – she moved so that it would get her scent. The bushbuck snorted and broke. That was her chance. Once again the commotion gave her just enough time to clear the opening on her belly without being seen. She was back in the mopane, but still they followed.
Finally, she was given a break. Her pursuers stopped, which gave her the time to find a shade tree that had a view of her back trail. Taking advantage of the breeze she waited and rested until once again she knew they were following. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity she broke and made for deeper cover, driven by fear, anger and thirst.
Shortly after sunrise on the fifth day she heard the vehicle again. She waited until they were close before she roared and headed off downwind to keep the rancid scent of the humans in her nostrils. This time she kept them close, only moving when it was necessary to remain hidden. But the humans pushed her hard, keeping her moving. She circled close by and behind them, continuing until at one point the scent of the humans was all around her as she walked over her own tracks and theirs. As the sun burned down still hotter she needed water, and broke from her pattern of endless circles and figures-of-eight, and headed towards the waters of Edmonsburg.
There she found a shady spot facing into the breeze, stretched out and slept peacefully the remainder of the day.
Dawn the sixth day found the cat in an area surrounded by mountains on three sides, more open, but almost devoid of roads. It was mid-morning when it happened. The wind had covered the sound of the approaching enemy till suddenly she heard the rustle of leaves and noticed movement: About 40 yards away, three figures looked intently in her direction.
She was frozen in the low grass and shade of the mopane, watching. If she moved now she would be exposed. She waited.
One figure knelt.
She stood to turn away, then heard it – the click of metal.
Nothing but the click.
There was no burning in her flank like before, no drugged awakening – only the sound of the click followed by voices, the voices of her pursuers, and then silence.
She had escaped. She moved once again into thick mopane to sleep the rest of the day. She would sleep all day without being pushed, and then she would hunt. It would be a good day for her.
This story is about one the most memorable hunts I have had. Hunting is not about the kill; it is about the pursuit. I had been given an opportunity to hunt a particularly old lioness that had been part of a lion study project. She was off on her own and had not had cubs for the past two seasons. I was hunting the Venetia Limpopo Nature Reserve with Madubula Safaris in the Limpopo Province of South Africa, and since baiting was prohibited we tracked this particular cat for six days. The “click” was the sound of my double rifle as it misfired at the only good shot that we had during those six days! As I watched her disappear into the brush I could not help but think that it was just not meant to be, and almost a year later I got a call that once again she had had cubs.
My memorable “trophy” is proudly displayed in my trophy room: The bullet that misfired is mounted in a shadow box frame below a picture of one of her tracks in the sand.
Wade is a Texas native who has hunted Alaska, Arizona, New Mexico, Montana and Colorado, plus Africa 12 times, completing the Big Five. As well as being a writer, he believes in teaching his kids to respect the outdoors and wildlife, and that the most important aspect of the hunt is not the kill, but the hunt itself.
Aug 5, 2017 | News
South Africa: 2014
By Lavon Winkler
The Dark Continent – a mystical land for many, and especially for hunters, young and old. The simple word, “Africa” conjours the magic and mystery embodied in the great writings of Hemingway, Roosevelt, Chapman, and Capstick. This enchanting land has been the catalyst for a plethora of dreams formed and fueled in the hearts and minds of generations.
I recall watching movies set in Africa. There was the 1962 movie, Hatari! (Swahili for “Danger”) starring John Wayne, about a group of professional wildlife catchers. As a child I could hardly wait for Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom on Sunday evening television as Marlin Perkins took us to this land far away and taught us about these amazing animals. For me, this curiosity about Africa rarely waned, and followed me into adult life – Africa was seen as this unique and mysterious land which I desired to someday visit.
As time marched on I wondered if I would ever set foot on that vast continent. Whenever my thoughts strayed to Africa, they’d conclude with, “After all, safari hunting is only for the wealthy, well beyond my financial reach.”
Even so, it was still fun to dream.
Despite the yearning to one day fulfill the dream of Africa, I continued to follow my hunting and fishing passion in North America – the United States, Canada, and Mexico – which are rich with great hunting and fishing opportunities. I truly enjoy the annual pursuit of deer, ducks, geese, rabbits, squirrels, and upland game. But Africa remained neatly tucked away in my sub-conscious as a “maybe, someday” destination. And over the years, while talking with many hunters, I learned that I was not alone in this yearning.
But sometimes, there is that defining moment when an unexpected opportunity arrives and changes one’s life. For me, this happened in 2012 when I met Jim Rice of Cutting Edge Taxidermy in Macon, Missouri.
On opening day of the 2012 firearm season for whitetail deer in Missouri USA, I was fortunate to take a nice buck on my farm. I took the deer to Cutting Edge Taxidermy to see if they would be willing to do a shoulder mount. The shop was swarming with hunters dropping off whitetail deer and an occasional bobcat, but I was warmly greeted by Jim, and without delay he went to work, caping my deer.
As I looked around, I noticed something significantly different about this small community taxidermy studio – there were African mounts everywhere! Beautiful plains-game mounts and spiral horns. Once home, I emailed Jim about a slight change for the mounting instructions for my deer, and casually mentioned I dreamed of someday hunting in Africa. A few hours later I received his reply:
“I am taking three or four guys to Africa in 2014. Why don’t you go with us?”
“When you come to the fork in the road, take it,” Yogi Berra once said. I did just that!
This would be Jim’s sixth safari to Africa, having hunted in Namibia and South Africa. He knew the ropes, had the contacts, and takes great joy in being with hunters when they experience Africa for the first time. Lora, my wife and best friend, agreed to join me in this once-in-a-lifetime experience.
This was the trigger point for an onslaught of emails to Jim asking every question possible about hunting in Africa: gun selection, shot placement, ammunition, field care of the hides and horns, the outfitter, the PH, what we would eat, what to wear, temperatures, weather conditions… He answered my questions in great detail. I thought he was taking me on a hunting trip – but Jim knew he was training a safari hunter. I am amazed Jim didn’t go crazy trying to keep up with my endless curiosity. However, because I have taken many first time fly-in anglers to the remote corners of Ontario, Canada, I appreciated and respected the time Jim invested in me and Eric Krichbaum, the third hunter in our group. Like me, Eric was a rookie safari hunter, and he too, had many questions about our upcoming adventure.
After over a year of planning, preparation, and revising my “hopeful” list of animals many times, in May 2014 we boarded the plane for South Africa.
“I will experience this hunt of a lifetime and my desire for Africa will be satisfied,” I had assured Lora. I had read the articles and books that talked about Africa always calling you to return, but I just thought this was simply folklore for selling books and magazines.
All of our hunting was on three concessions in Northern Limpopo very near the banks of the Limpopo River and Botswana. Our base was Ingala Lodge, and my PH was Manuel van Rooyen with Madala Safaris. There have been many articles written about the magic of a hunter’s first safari to Africa – and rightfully so. It’s an experience beyond description. To see all the animals in their natural habitat is both enlightening and inspiring, although with the population growth, loss of habitat, poaching, and the re-emergence of the safari industry post 1980, it is not the Africa of Hemingway. However, it is still Africa.
Our safari was for seven days, and I hunted with Manuel exclusively since I had a rather long wish list. Jim and Eric hunted together for most of the week, which worked well because they wanted different plains game. I soon learned this hunting approach was different from my other hunting experiences – using the vehicle to spot the animals followed by a spot and stalk approach on foot, instead of sitting in a blind.
On my first day I took a beautiful female Burchell’s zebra and a waterbuck. Around the lapa that evening, the reality of being in South Africa had yet to soak in. Each day was filled with adventure, expectation, exuberance, disappointment, frustration, and celebration – each day filled with awe for this amazing land and its great people.
The hospitality of the outfitter and staff was exceptional. I learned much from Jim and Manuel, and was very impressed with the skinners, while the ability of the native trackers to find, follow, and interpret spoor is something to behold.
After seven days of hunting, seven days of highs and lows, I ended my safari with new friendships, nine animals and a lifetime of memories. Among my animals taken was an eland and, on the last morning, a beautiful kudu. As we were preparing to leave Ingala for our drive to Johannesburg, I knew I had one large problem. Having experienced this magical place, Africa now had a powerful grip on my mind and heart.
I knew I wanted to go back again, and I didn’t know how I was going to break the news to Lora. On the flight, and once home, I still kept thinking, “Africa is calling, and I must return.” When I did tell Lora she smiled, unsurprised, and was completely supportive. I did go in 2015 and hunted a lioness and other plains game (see African Hunting Gazette 21.4 Spring 2016 edition).
To say that Africa has impacted on my life is an understatement. That simple email from Jim Rice and his kind act in inviting me to hunt with him not only fulfilled a lifelong dream – it opened the door for me to see this continent in a way I never dreamed possible. It’s not only the geography and the wide variety of animals to which I am drawn. Most importantly, it’s the people. It’s establishing connections with the outfitters, the PHs, and all of the people that make the safari experience possible. Africa is not just a place. It is not just an experience. It is also a collection of people where a multitude relies upon the hunting industry for its livelihood. As in other parts of this world, in Africa there are many folk who each day struggle to survive. Through subsequent travels with Lora to South Africa and Ethiopia, doors of opportunity have opened for us to join efforts with others who are focused on the plight of orphans in many countries in Africa.
I am planning my next trip to Africa, taking a small group on their first safari. There is something very uplifting about seeing a hunter’s first safari and it would be great to read about it in a future edition of the African Hunting Gazette.
Hunting in Africa is within the affordable reach of many hunters who have assumed otherwise. If you have ever dreamed of hunting in Africa, make a plan and GO! If you have wanted to get even a glimpse of Africa and its amazing geographical and animal diversity, do not wait.
Develop your plan and GO.
Don’t wait for “someday” or “one of these days.”
Go to Africa…now!
Listen closely…Africa is calling…
Lavon Winkler loves the outdoors and the challenges of hunting and fishing for a variety of species mostly in North America. Lavon started hunting at age 10 with his dad and brother. While most of his hunting has been for small game and whitetail deer in the Midwest, he has developed a passion for hunting the broad variety of animal species in South Africa. In two safaris, he achieved the SCI “African 15” Continental Award, and has 10 entries in the SCI Record Book including a Gold Level Sable.
Box
Browning A-Bolt 30-06 – Excellent rating
Ammunition and bullet details and satisfaction rating: Hornady Superformance – GMX 165gr – Excellent Rating
Riflescope details and satisfaction rating: Leupold VX-2 4-12×40 – Excellent Rating
Taxidermist and satisfaction rating (only if you have received your trophies) – Jim Rice, Cutting Edge Taxidermy – Excellent Rating
