Jun 22, 2016 | News
Namibia: 2012
Biggest Is Not Always Best – An African Lesson
By Donald Roxby
I’ve made a number of African plains-game safaris over the years. After each trip, a short period of satisfaction is followed by a sudden longing to go back.
One evening as I watched a colorful sunset, I started daydreaming about the red sands of Africa and the many friends I’ve made there. I could almost feel the fingers of the Dark Continent reaching out to draw me back. I went inside and asked my wife Denise if she was ready to return. Her answer was immediate – she looked me in the eye and said, “Let’s start planning.”
This time, however, I wanted to take along some other family members and invited my stepson, Levi Hulsey, to come along as his college graduation gift. When I told my daughter Brandy, she decided to give her husband the safari as a wedding anniversary gift, and my son-in-law, Robert Smith, was added to the group. It would be their first safari, and I was sure it would be a great adventure for all.
I spoke with my friend, Johann Veldsman, the owner of Shona Hunting Adventures, and he promised to make the trip very special for Levi and Robert, who were both interested in taking large antelope trophies.
Upon arrival in Windhoek, we were met by apprentice PH Willie Ilse, and traveled to Shona’s Tualuka Safari Lodge, in Kaokoland in the Kunene Region, in north-western Namibia. The beautiful, five-star lodge offers hunting on 16,500 acres of privately owned land on the banks of the non-perennial Huab River.
As promised, Johann and his staff lead Robert and Levi to the gold-medal animals they desired: blue wildebeest, kudu, gemsbok, and a tremendous 14-ich warthog that Johann and Levi worked at for three days. Since I’d previously taken these animals, I focused on black wildebeest, impala and Cape eland. With our trophies in the salt, we all took a break from hunting and found ourselves talking about other hunting possibilities. Johann’s seven-year-old daughter Zoe was listening to the talks with interest.
Zoe is a lovely little girl who quickly wins the hearts of all the hunting clients. She was born in Swakopmund but moved to the family’s hunting camps in Kaokland shortly after her birth. The first time I met Zoe, she was very shy and elusive. But with some effort, we became friends and enjoyed sitting under a tent flap in the afternoons to talk to the birds. She knew them all by name and could mimic their every sound with precision. It was amazing to watch her do this.
Hunting was a big part of Zoe’s life, and her dad took her for small game with her little pink .22 caliber rifle. She was very familiar with safari routine and, without realizing it, was becoming Africa’s youngest PH in training. She’d already become the camp’s unofficial social director. She enjoyed being around the clients and kept them entertained when they were not hunting. She has a bubbly laugh and you could not help but love her.
Since the subject that evening was small game, I pulled Johann aside and suggested we allow Zoe to take Levi on a guided “small-game” hunt for dassies, which is the Afrikaans name for hyrax. There are hundreds of these squirrel-like creatures living in the rocky ridges surrounding Tualuka.
Johann thought it was a great idea, and Levi thought it would be fun. He was happy to help Zoe show off her hunting skills. When we asked Zoe if she’d like to guide a client for pay, she jumped at the chance. That evening Zoe took Levi aside and instructed him on shot placement, using a mounted dassie she’d shot herself.
In the morning she greeted her client and, with Dad in tow, started out on the great dassie hunt. She led Levi to a dry riverbed and pointed out a group of dassies sunning in the rocks. They moved in slowly, trying hard not to spook the wary critters, which always position themselves in a good vantage point high in the rocks. Dassies have keen eyesight, so hunting them can be very challenging.
The range was a little far, and Levi’s first shot with his .17 caliber rifle was a miss. One shot is all you get. At the first sign of danger, the dassies dash for the safety of the many cracks and crevices in the rocks where they hide.
With this group now hidden from view, Zoe led Levi to another kopje where she spotted more dassies. She moved in closer to this group of hyrax, put up the sticks, and pointed out the large male she wanted him to shoot. It all came together. The shot struck home and Zoe congratulated Levi, and then led him up the ridge to find the trophy. She was brimming with pride when they found the dassie dead on the rocks.
After supervising the photo shoot, they walked back to camp to settle the details of the hunt. Levi gave her US$20 for the hunt and a $5 tip for her services. She was all smiles, having successfully completed her first safari.
That little dassie may have been the smallest trophy taken on our hunt, but it is the first memory that comes to mind when I look back upon it. That day is burned into everyone’s mind, and it was a thrill for all of us to take part in what will probably lead to the development of another outstanding Namibian PH.
If you’re hunting Namibia, look up Zoe for a small-game hunt. She would love your business and will leave you with memories that will hang with you forever.
Don Roxby has over 50 years of hunting experience and has hunted extensively in the lower Untied States, Canada, and Alaska. In Africa, he enjoys hunting plains game.
20.3NamibiaDassieRoxby 980 words
Pull-Out “She moved in closer to this group of hyrax, put up the sticks, and pointed out the large male she wanted him to shoot.”
Jun 22, 2016 | News
Zimbabwe: Yesteryear
Bushpigs By Moonlight
By Doctari
My book, “It Shouldn’t Happen,” contains four stories: Being Dumb, Even Dumber, Dumber Still, and Dumbest Yet. This incident also qualifies.
In the early 1980s my wife Catherine and I purchased Halstead, our Zimbabwean farm. With it came a small herd of six very wild and spookish sable antelope. Halstead lies in Mashonaland West, just outside the one-horse town of Karoi (now Chinoyi), and those of you who have ever driven from Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital, to either Lake Kariba or the nearby Zambezi Valley that lies beyond Makuti and Marongora will have passed through it. The area is described as miombo woodland and it is prime agricultural country with reliable rainfall, good soils, and an almost perfect climate.
Sable used to occur in this area naturally, and I made it my mission in life to protect the traumatized few that hid out in a remote and undisturbed area of Halstead farm. I never high-fenced Halstead simply because I couldn’t afford to in the kick-starting years of my farming career, but what I did manage to create, however, through careful management and the employment of three game scouts, was the right environment in which the sable could thrive – and this they did. Without fail their number doubled every two-and-a-half years, and by the time my world was turned on its head by Mugabe’s disastrous land reform program, there were at least 120 of these magnificent antelope on not only Halstead, but neighboring farms as well.
I soon became convinced that Africa’s various wildlife species can in some way communicate with each other, because all of a sudden waterbuck, bushbuck, impala, even warthogs appeared in the wildlife haven I had created, which I referred to as my “game section.” Unfortunately Potamochoerus porcus, the bushpig, also flourished there, and they are the reason for this story.
In the late 1980s and early 1990s, Zimbabwe’s cattle industry was booming. The reason for this was the Lomé Convention – a treaty that granted cattle ranchers access to the lucrative European Economic Union export market. Deboned, vacuum-pack and chilled, Zimbabwean beef hindquarter cuts commanded a premium price on the EEU markets and this translated into good prices. Only the best quality beef was exported and this necessitated the pen finishing of young steers with high-energy, maize-based diets.
Like much of Zimbabwe’s higher rainfall areas, Karoi was also good for growing maize, and I took advantage of this so as to be able to finish for slaughter the offspring of my rapidly expanding beef herd. My cattle thrived on the maize I grew for them, but so did the bushpigs!
It’s amazing the knowledge that could be gathered at the local country club’s pub. One evening after a farmers’ meeting, I complained to Jack Waddle, a grizzled local farmer, about the damage bushpigs were causing to my maize crop. Over a couple of scotches he told me of a “plan” to alleviate my problem. He said he’d done it once and claimed it was “deadly.” Due to being both young and, in those long ago days, foolish (and a few too many beers), I neglected to ask Jack why, if his plan was so “deadly,” it was not more commonly practiced. I also should have asked why he’d only used the plan once, but foolishly I didn’t…
The plan is as brilliant as it is simple. On a full-moon night (because any form of artificial light makes bushpigs very wary and this defeats the object), take a 44-gallon metal oil drum to where the bushpigs are causing havoc, and stand in it while clamping a domestic piglet between your legs. Squeeze the piglet enough to get it squealing nicely and the action will quickly be forthcoming. (Remember, this all took place well before predator-calling gadgets became available.)
To his credit, Jack did offer up a piece of very sound advice – and it was simply this: “Make bloody sure you dig the drum into the ground and fill it with the soil so removed – otherwise the bushpigs will knock it, and you over!”
Thanks to good Scottish Highland genetics and the typical Zimbabwean “three Bs” diet – beef, biltong and beer – I soon realized there wouldn’t be enough room for both myself and a “Babe” in the oil drum, so I prevailed upon the services of my ever-faithful tracker, Special. He was slightly built and just the right size to fit into an oil drum along with Babe.
The plan was subsequently modified to use two oil drums. It just so happened there was, in one of my bushpig-damaged maize lands, an area about half the size of a basketball court that was stony. When preparing it for planting, we just ploughed around the stones; to mark the spot, a nice and big msasa tree had been left to grow there. This made the area easy to find at night, and I soon realized it would make a fine bushpig killing ground.
In the storeroom that secured all my safari equipment were two good, thick-metal oil drums usually used in my operation to heat bathwater during the winter hunting season. They were perfect for my plan, so I had then carried to the open stony area in my maize land. My labor also cut all the grass there nice and short so the all-round visibility would be good.
It took some careful thought as to how best to position the oil drums, because the very last thing I wanted was to inadvertently shoot Special when the action got going. His drum was subsequently positioned behind the msasa tree, the trunk of which was thick enough to offer him good protection. Large stones and some strategically placed branches behind Special’s drum would also force the pigs to only approach from the front. The best position for my drum was a couple of paces off to the side so that I could get a clear, close-range view of any bushpigs that approached Special, but without me being able to see either him or his drum. Holes were dug and the drums duly buried to about a third of their length. Special’s was also wired to the tree for extra support – just as well that this precaution was taken!
My other profession, that of being the local veterinarian, made it easy for me to acquire a suckling-sized, just-ready-for-the-spit, domestic Babe, small enough for Special to carry and to fit into their drum together.
We chose the night for our “attack” carefully – the night after full moon so it would still be dark when we entered the field after sunset but with enough time to prepare ourselves before the moon rose. On a clear autumn night, the bright rising moon would provide enough light to see the end of my shotgun barrel and any bushpigs that Babe’s squeals would attract.
For the occasion. I armed myself with a Mossberg 12-gauge pump-action shotgun. With its magazine plug removed, it could be loaded with six shells. This number, plus one up the spout, would be plenty of very effective firepower, especially when stoked with Special SG buckshot.
To say that the plan worked would be an understatement! Two things really surprised me. The first was the level of noise that comes out of such a small bundle of bacon, ham and pork chops! No doubt, the amplifying effect of the empty metal drum had something to do with it, but WOW, what an ear-splitting racket Babe produced when dear old Special firmly squeezed her abdomen between his knobby knees! The second was the ferocity of several big bushpig sows and the protective boar that soon came running in, in response to Babe’s ear-numbing squeals.
It quickly became obvious why the oil drums were a necessity and why, indeed, they needed to be dug in and secured. In fact, so vicious were the attacks to Special’s drum, they dented it! A large, very angry bushpig is a fearsome creature. By moonlight, when it’s trying to climb into the drum you’re standing in, is something extremely intimidating.
Unless you’ve done it before, shooting at night, even with a shotgun and at close range, is something a lot easier said than done. I shoot a shotgun with both eyes open and at night, even in bright moonlight, the muzzle flash blinds you for a few seconds. In such situations you’re supposed to close your eyes the moment you pull the trigger, and I simply could not force myself to do this. Alternatively, you’re supposed to close your non-aiming eye the moment you pull the trigger, and then close your aiming eye and open the non-aiming one immediately afterwards, so you can still see what’s going on around you while your suddenly night-blinded aiming eye re-adjusts itself. (As a result of the muzzle flash, the pupil of the aiming eye quickly closes. This results in temporary night blindness. A few seconds are needed for it to open up again and for your night-vision to return.)
But unless you’re thoroughly practiced in this art – and an art it really is – because to be able to open and close your eyes alternatively, like a blinking railway-crossing warning sign, takes lots and lots of practice. I wasn’t, and in the heat of all that action I quickly became confused. Every shot I took, and it was many, was with both my eyes open and this repeatedly night-blinded me.
To stand totally night-blind, with screaming pigs all around you, even banging into the drum you’re standing in, is most definitely not for the faint-hearted! In all honesty, it soon became very clear to me why you only do this “plan” once in your life. The action was fast and furious, and I can recall having to recharge the Mossberg’s magazine more than once. However unpleasant the experience might have been, as a population reduction exercise the occasion proved itself to be extremely effective.
Over an almost two-decade period, a lot of which was spent pursuing dangerous game in the Zambezi Valley, I never once had to question Special’s intestinal fortitude. Many was the time we’d together faced tense moments and yet, although he carried only a knife, ash-bag and the shooting sticks, while I was invariably armed with my .505 Gibbs, he never once displayed an ounce of fear. For this, I respect his courage and admire him greatly.
Special’s date with Babe in the drum that night was, I somehow suspect, different. Like myself, he too, was very obviously out of his comfort zone. At the conclusion of it all, at least a dozen bushpigs of different sizes littered the killing field; and despite the fact that he and his family were to gorge themselves on their meat for the next few weeks, Special absolutely refused to even consider doing such a stupid exercise again. I can’t say I blame him. I’d held the shotgun, and even I had been scared spit-less! Like those before me, I also only ever tried this foolish exercise once.
Kevin Robertson, a.k.a. “Doctari,” is the author of the well-known Safari Press published books, “The Perfect Shot,” “Africa’s Most Dangerous,” and “It Shouldn’t Happen.” A Zimbabwe-licensed PH and wildlife veterinarian, Kevin spends many months each year in the mid-Zambezi Valley, and currently lives in Namibia.
20.3ZimbabweBushpigRobertso 1925 words Pull-Out
“Due to being both young and, in those long ago days, foolish (and a few too many beers), I neglected to ask Jack why, if his plan was so “deadly,” it was not more commonly practiced.”
Jun 22, 2016 | News
Namibia: 2014
The Shortest and Most Amazing Kudu Hunt – Ever!
By PH Kirk de Bod Late
One evening, not too long ago, I received a phone call. The caller had a very distinguished “Queen’s English” accent.
He immediately started telling me about all about his African experiences, multiple kudu hunts all over Africa, and three times to the C.A.R., walking for a total of 63 days to get the Lord Derby eland and bongo trophies he was seeking. While he continued rambling on about his wanderings throughout Africa, I thought to myself, “This guy I have on my hands looks like he’s very picky and specific about his desire for ‘the ultimate kudu hunt.’” “By the way, I’m Jeremy Boyd and I’m gamekeeper on a large English estate,” he said. Then he stopped talking and asked, “Are you still there?” “Yes, when are you coming over?”
He musingly replied, “Come to think of it, when do you think is the best time for the opportunity to harvest a 60-inch-plus kudu? I know you can do it, I see in the books you’ve got quite a few over the mark.” “May,” I told him. “I have an opening from the 17th to the end of the month. But like all other hunting, I can’t promise a jackpot. All we can do is try.”
So the 17th comes and I sit at the airport, waiting for the flight from London. Now just while I was wondering whether I’d be able to identify him before he does me, when out the door he walks, clean-cut, a military-type English gentleman, and with him his friend Chris Squance. We shook hands, did the formal introductions all around, and off we went.
“How far?” he asks. “Sixty kilometres south, close to Dordabis, in the mountains to a game ranch called Bergzicht in Afrikaans, which translates to ‘mountainview.’” At the lodge in the 60,000-acre privately owned rangeland, we unpack, have lunch, and then go out to sight in the rifles. When I let them sight in the guns, they are one inch high at 100 yards; because most shots here range from 150 yards to 200 yards, with that adjustment, the hunting rifles will be close to spot on.
My assistant, PH Hannes, and Chris decide to head for the plains; we decide to carry on with the two-track road into the mountains.
About 15 minutes later down the bumpy road, the tracker, Sakkie, points out a thicket about one-third of the way up the mountain and says, “Kudu, but it looks like they’re all cows.”
We stop the truck, take the guns and shooting sticks, and make use of the available black hook thorns for cover to close the distance for a better look. You never know whether Mr. Grey Ghost might be in there with the cows and do his famous “invisible” trick. One by one the cows break cover, look around nervously, then hastily walk higher and higher up the mountain. We still have good cover. I set up the shooting sticks to rest the binoculars on in order to observe the cows and just enjoy the moment.
The next moment, there he is, out of nowhere, in the open in all his glory – the Grey Ghost. My heart jumps out of my chest and I become speechless. He is the best kudu I’ve ever seen in my entire hunting career! Huge, deep curls with very heavy bases.
I am still elated and stunned. While I try to speak, Jeremy politely asks, “May I take him?” I suddenly find my voice and say, “Shoot, or I will.” Jeremy takes his first shot – we hear the delay in the thump as the kudu is 250 yards plus and still moving up. “Reload and shoot again – aim high!” Jeremy hits the bull again, but there is still no change in the bull’s stride. Again the bullet has found its mark, but the bull pushes on briefly before coming to a halt and then going to ground.
We are breathing hard and still shaking, going up the mountain. After a 25-minute climb, we reach the bull. There he is… What a sight! I still cannot believe what I see. What a magnificent animal; so much better than I ever thought. Jeremy says, “He looked pretty good to me.” “You won’t believe how good!” I reply. We set him up for the pictures in the late cloudy afternoon.
The light is fading behind the clouds when the trackers finally reach us with all the tools to skin him and pack him out. I search in my backpack and find my trusty old SCI measuring tape. The moment of truth. I know the horns appear to measure well over 60 inches – but how much over?
Jeremy helps me and we very carefully follow the ridge along the outside of the spiral Then we run out of tape at the 60” mark – with still some horn left to measure! Jeremy starts to yell, “Thank you, God!”
We mark the 60” spot and measure the remaining horn, reaching an unbelievable 66½”. What a day! What a remarkable trophy to be long remembered by all. As of today, the kudu still ranks #3 in NAPHA’s Top 10 Trophies.
Dirk de Bod has been hunting Namibia professionally for the last 22 years; he holds a number of Top 10 trophies in the NAPHA listing. Winner in 2008 of the SCI Professional Hunter of the Year award, de Bod is an avid conservationist and game rancher. He is the co-owner of a private game reserve 90 km north-east of Windhoek, where he operates from a luxurious hunting camp. 20.3NamibiaKuduDeBod 940 words “But like all other hunting, I can’t promise a jackpot. All we can do is try.”
Jun 22, 2016 | News
South Africa: 2013
Abraham’s Grin
By Brian Gallup
I’d hunted South Africa before, but this was my first Cape buffalo hunt and I was excited…
It was early spring and the morning was perfect. Laughing doves were calling all around us, and the bush was thick and green in the morning light. The sun had filled the meadows with warmth but hadn’t yet reached the deep shadows under the acacia trees.
We were walking on fresh tracks in the high bushveld of Limpopo province at my favorite place, African Dawn Hunting Safaris. The local name for this vast farm is Thaba Metsi, which is a Northern Sotho name meaning “Mountain of Water.”
Our own shadows lay out in front of us as we moved quietly through the still air. After a short walk, the tracker stopped and watched from the shadows when the doves went silent. I didn’t get it then, but things were about to happen.
A mixed herd of about 30 buffalo quietly stepped into the sunlight in front of us; they were close and moving closer. My son Russ was videoing it, and he could have used a wide-angle lens.
Our tracker, Abraham, was from one of the Zulu tribes. He was focused and joyful in his work. We’d hunted together a lot at African Dawn over seven years, and I considered him to be one of those exceptional trackers with that heightened sixth sense you hear about. Watching him work was half the fun, and I would keep one eye on him like I would a bird dog. I had learned to thumb the safety on my rifle when his demeanour intensified. When he would point with his eyes and flash his great, big, white toothy grin, it was time to be ready. On this particular morning in the buffalo herd, he was really grinning.
Abraham had mischievously led us to the one spot in the bush where this restless herd would soon pass on their way to water. They came twitching their ears and snapping their tails as they peered into our shaded hiding place. At the front of the herd was a young, dark bull with really good horns, that came within 15 paces before he noticed something was wrong. He couldn’t see us clearly in the shade with the bright sun in his face, so he would drop his head, take a short step, then raise his head up high again and stare some more. He wasn’t happy.
I had my safety off when PH Marius Kruger Junior whispered, “Not that one. Your bull is at the back, behind those cows.” Glancing to my right, I saw that Marius Kruger Senior had this young bull covered with a lot more gun than I was carrying. I made a mental note about hunting Cape buffalo with a “little” .375 H&H before I exhaled and looked around for the old bull we were after. I found him where Junior said, at the back of the herd shuffling towards us, gently pushing his cows along.
Most of the herd walked straight towards us to within 25 yards. Then, catching our scent, they would stop abruptly and give us a dirty look before turning to move past us on both sides. I don’t know how close they were when they walked past; I was afraid to look.
Our old grey bull with his huge boss pushed forward through the herd until he was frowning at me from 22 paces away. He just stood there, like he was in no hurry, facing me with a yearling and a fat cow between us. I kept the crosshairs on him and waited. My new FN Winchester Model 70 Safari Express in .375 H&H was scoped with an old refurbished Weaver wide view turned down to 3x, and the three animals more than filled the scope.
The Kruger men, both professional hunters, were guiding this hunt as an extra margin of safety. Marius Junior stood beside me holding a Remington pump-action 12-gauge shotgun with a long magazine full of slugs. He would whisper calm, deliberate instructions into my ear and it helped me keep my head. Marius Senior, standing several steps to my right, watched the herd over the express sights of his CZ 550 American Safari Magnum in .416 Rigby. I was in the sticks with my .375 H&H. We were hunting buffalo!
My recollection of what happened next is a bit hazy. It was just as hazy a few minutes after I squeezed the trigger as it is today. I figure that means that I can tell it any way I want.
Unis, a big, good-natured kid, was with us as a novice tracker. Abraham had hunted all the Big Five before, but this was the first time on dangerous game for Unis. He crouched anxiously to my right, behind a slender acacia tree with both his large hands around the trunk. I thought he looked a little pale. I also noticed peripherally that the leaves in that particular tree were shaking.
Meanwhile, I was operating on courage borrowed from Marius Junior as the herd milled around us, and I was surprised to hear words rasping from my dry throat that sounded like, “Ooh, crap!” It occurred to me that I might be losing it. Junior chuckled and steadied me with some half-truths.
While I waited for the cow and yearling to move away from the old bull, I took a quick glance over my left shoulder at Russ; armed with his camera, he was steady as a rock. To my right, Senior held true like Horatius at the Bridge. Abraham was still grinning.
My breathing was intermittent at best. It was obvious that I was the only one among us who understood how dangerous this was! Then, I noticed something reassuring. Glancing down to my right, I caught Unis on his knees whispering over and over, “Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap!” while jerking his eyes around checking for climbable trees. A kindred spirit!
I got back into my scope just in time to see my bull step into the clear and hear Junior whisper, “Take him!” He was still facing me, and my first shot was a .300-grain North Fork cup point solid loaded moderately to 2500fps. The crosshairs were just under his chin, and the bullet hit him in the middle of the chest, went straight through his heart, and finally stopped behind his stomach. The bullet, as advertised, expanded slightly to a flat tissue-cutting meplate of .384 inch, causing a devastating wound channel.
The great bull reeled to his left and raced through the trees. I missed completely with my second shot, but he didn’t need it and was on the ground in less than 30 yards. Most of the herd must have scattered, but I didn’t actually notice.
Junior had said, “Reload!” and I rushed it, dropping one round into the grass. When I finally got the bolt closed over a full magazine, my old bull let out that haunting death bellow and there, standing over him, was that handsome young bull with the good horns. We watched him without moving forward as he seemed to have a lot on his mind. Junior got us to back off a ways to give him some space. He looked mean as hell and I braced myself for a charge. But, happily, he finally just trotted off after the cows, now their new master. So it goes in the veld.
The skinners were called on the radio and soon arrived full of enthusiasm. It was an important time for all of us; the huge bull was a great trophy and would also feed a lot of folks. There were no pretentious handshakes or high fives, and I liked it that way. It was a good hunt and it went without saying.
Sometimes I think that I can still smell that mid-day walk back to the truck and the ride to camp. But no matter how hard I try, I can only recollect a few isolated images along the way: Gulping down a bottle of water and handing my empty Winchester up to Marius Senior on the back of the hunting truck; the edges of conversations shifted back and forth between English and Afrikaans; thinking that “Oh crap” was a sort of universal Cape buffalo hunting term spoken by all the bushveld tribes, black and white. But I do remember Abraham’s grin.
Brian Gallup started out as a wrangler on a packhorse outfit in the Canadian Rocky Mountains in 1959 and has been an outdoorsman and hunter ever since. After living along the Mackenzie and Laird Rivers in the North West Territories and hunting big horn sheep and elk, careers took precedent over adventure. After surviving cancer 12 years ago, the Gallups started visiting and hunting South Africa several times a year, sometimes bringing the entire family, including grandchildren.
20.3RSACapebuffaloGallup 1530 words Pull-Out “My recollection of what happened next is a bit hazy. It was just as hazy a few minutes after I squeezed the trigger as it is today. I figure that means that I can tell it any way I want.”
Jun 15, 2016 | News
I hunt. I do this because deep in my makeup – call it my DNA – nature intended me to be a hunter just like my ancestors, and there is a basic drive inside me to do just that. I am a law-abiding citizen. I obey all the hunting regulations in the areas where I hunt and, in addition, I have my own strict code of ethics which I set for myself and which take the parameters within which I hunt one step further than the regulations. In the areas where I hunt, the game is carefully managed by the authorities and I have never, nor would I ever, hunt an endangered species. All Canadian hunters, including myself, have to write an exam in order to procure a hunting licence, and we have to conform to all the regulations pertaining to the game management areas wherever we legally hunt. Notwithstanding this, we are under attack from anti-hunting organizations with little or no understanding of wildlife and conservation or the way in which sustainable hunting is regulated. This has just been exemplified by the forced last-minute cancellation of two hunting expositions to be showcases for African hunting safari companies in Canada due to pressure from one such group. We are being portrayed as something akin to murderers of wildlife. The venue of the one cancellation was the Toronto Airport Holiday Inn, and in Saskatchewan, the Saskatoon Inn. Alternative venues were found and prospective clients had to run the gauntlet of protesters screaming at them and carrying signs such as “Psychopaths” and “Killers”. As an ethical hunter, I feel compelled to respond to the above attack on something that is special to me. The anti-hunting groups are extremely selective in their “outrage”. The so-called “Cecil” incident, the facts of which are still unclear and which occurred in a hunting block adjacent to the Hwange game reserve in Zimbabwe, was followed one week later within the borders of the same game reserve in Zimbabwe, by the killing of a photographic walking tour guide by a male lion. There was not a murmur from any of the anti-hunting groups. A week later, yet again in the same reserve, poachers poisoned a waterhole, resulting in the indiscriminate death of thousands of life forms if one counts all the living creatures right down the ecological chain – again not one protest, although over thirty elephants, bulls, cows and calves, targeted for their ivory, were among the dead. One can only deduce that in initiating their attacks against legitimate law-abiding recreational hunters, these anti-hunting groups display a blatant double standard. These groups appeal to the public at large for their support, using emotion and misinformation as their tools. To counteract these attacks from the anti-hunters, we hunters as a group, have to formulate clear and logical arguments in our defense that the non-hunting public can understand. In the current context as part of the argument, hunters have to clarify two terms – the one is “conservation” and the other “hunter” .They are, in fact, connected. “Conservation” and “Preservation” are words that cause confusion. The difference is that conservation implies utilization of whatever is being conserved. Preservation is a word that simply implies preserving something and nothing more. In this context I will be discussing conservation using Africa as my model. Conservation begins in the soil – in good old mother earth – and what grows out of it. The human population in this impoverished continent is exploding exponentially. The indigenous populations who live in rural Africa count their wealth in domestic livestock, generally cattle. In this exploding population with their attendant livestock, the need for grazing brings man and his livestock into direct confrontation with “nature’s livestock” – the indigenous antelope and bovines of Africa and the predators that feed on them. The predators are one of nature’s way of balancing the African ecosystem. Mother Nature is not benign. Nature is what it is – it can be magnificent, but also it is not only cruel at times in human terms, but utterly ruthless. To the African villager – often poor and living at a barely subsistence level – his livestock is his wealth and just about everything else that occurs naturally and threatens his very existence, is an unwanted nuisance. The antelope and wild pigs compete for feed and trample his meagre crops – his food. The elephant can destroy those crops and the economy of a community overnight, and in addition pose mortal danger to any puny humans that attempt to interfere with their feeding depredations. The predators sometimes view the human population and their livestock as food, and as a result are hunted (at best) or simply poisoned by the native peoples. The wild animals that we Westerners glowingly describe as magnificent, majestic, etc., are seen somewhat differently by the rural African. I have heard many times that they would simply like to see them disappear. To the rural African, the Westerner’s view of conservation is a somewhat vague notion – something we Westerners can afford – and which they cannot. Out of all this there is one obvious solution which is all-important to understand and that is, put an economic value on the wild animal. A value where the indigenous populations share in that value and can see a return and a benefit to themselves and their communities in the form of protein, cash and employment. Once the value of a wild animal exceeds the value of a cow to the owner of that cow, human nature being what it is, that wild animal will be protected by that owner . Protected in the conservationist sense, in that at the end of the day this protection does return a visible economic benefit. Recreational hunting safaris referred to as “consumptive” and photographic safaris referred to as “non-consumptive ” are two forms of utilizing wildlife, and they are not mutually exclusive. There are also several different types of hunting, so let’s look at some of them. For example there are still subsistence hunters living all over the planet who rely on their efforts to garner food in the form of protein, hides for clothing and shelter and material for tools utilised in their everyday lives. Their lives depend on the hunt. One example is the Inuit of Northern Canada. Then there are the aforementioned recreational hunters of which I am one. Individuals who do not have to hunt in order to survive but still have that stray atavistic gene in their makeup and have that age-old hunting imperative etched into their DNA – an “imperative” that drives them to want to hunt. Sustainable, regulated hunting, whether for food or for a trophy provides an outlet for that imperative and, as a result, cash, meat and employment to the local people. Then there are the poachers. There are many different levels of poaching, some involving different forms of hunting. These people operate outside the laws and regulations. Some poachers are so poor that any form of food be it fish, animals, birds, insects (such as locusts – a delicacy) are killed in order to sustain life. Sometimes their prey is shot or speared, but generally their prey is snared – often dying agonizing deaths, the meat left to waste away and to rot in the bush. Operating outside the law, often in game reserves, these people cannot run the risk of constantly inspecting their snares for fear of being caught. This form of hunting is non-selective and can have a hugely adverse effect on the wildlife of a region. One step below this “subsistence poaching” is the poaching for bushmeat – to be sold for profit. A cruel, destructive and indiscriminate way of making a living. The worst form of poaching is carried out by those who operate in conjunction with sophisticated international criminal organizations who make enormous profits on such items as rhino horn, ivory, bear gall bladders and animal parts such as the floating bones of lions which are passed off for tiger bones now that just about all the tigers have been wiped out. Hand in hand with this is the corruption of officialdom and government functionaries because there are enormous amounts of money to be made. Poisoning waterholes has become the preferred modus operandi for these criminals Banning licensed regulated sustainable hunting is NOT the solution. In the 70s Kenya banned all safari hunting. Supposedly this was to “protect” their wildlife which was utter nonsense. The real reason for the ban was so corrupt government officials who were working in conjunction with poaching organizations could get a free hand with their lucrative poaching activities. The result is that Kenya has lost approximately 70% of its wildlife – particularly its elephants – the big tuskers for which the country was famous. The reason for the ban was to get the safari companies out of the way because they could see and report poaching activities. On top of that, all licensed professional hunters were honorary game rangers empowered to make arrests. On the Internet check out “Kenya’s hunting ban in the 1970s” to find out the shocking truth from pieces written by internationally respected conservationists, wildlife biologists and wildlife experts. The numbers say it all. I reiterate, after the hunting ban in 1977 Kenya lost 70% of its wildlife, and recreational hunting cannot be held accountable for that indisputable fact. In contrast, the southern part of Africa where licensed, regulated and sustainable hunting is flourishing, so is the game. The fees from hunters, the meat from the animals harvested and the jobs provided by this industry have been a boon to all. To attack hunting as some misguided and ill-informed groups are doing, is working towards hastening the end of the game rather than the conservation of the game, and the public at large should be made aware of this. The hunting industry and the photographic industry are not mutually exclusive. On a per capita basis the hunting industry earns more revenue. This is exceeded overall though by the photographic industry, which, being far more affordable, attracts a far larger client base. The photographic safari client generally expects to experience a more luxurious safari camp than the hunter does. A camp with all the attendant creature comforts requires a more elaborate infrastructure, and because these camps are more numerous, they have a greater impact on the natural environment. Generally the client expects to see animals – lots of them – and so the prime big-game viewing safari companies operate where there are larger concentrations of game. The positive benefit to the indigenous people in terms of jobs is obvious, but most of those employed have a higher degree of education, skillsets and familiarity with client expectations than those employed in remote hunting camps, and are often brought in from elsewhere. The hunting safari can operate effectively in areas in which the game densities are far less. One has to hunt to find the quarry. Because the numbers of hunters are less than the number of photographers there are fewer clients and fewer camps. The environmental impact is negligible. All hunting is totally regulated by the game departments, taking in such factors such as sustainability and setting hunting quotas and seasons. The hunting is carried out only by licensed hunters guided by licensed professionals. The local is at no disadvantage here, being more attuned to the environment than someone brought in from elsewhere and, as a result, is a valued contributor to the operation. The often overlooked benefit the hunting safari offers is that it provides protein, tons of meat to the local people and that those wonderful trackers, who are usually from the community, get an outlet for that hunters imperative in their own DNA by being legitimately employed in an industry that lets them do what they love. Having a free and legitimate supply of meat also curtails the business and the need for poaching In conclusion I can only ask that consideration be given to the above points rather than the emotionally charged rhetoric of the anti-hunting groups who call themselves “animal lovers”, who seem to only want to promote their own point of view and are doing their best to have all hunting banned. Groups who drown out the voice of the ethical hunter to have a respectful discussion. I would go so far as to say that by doing so, the anti-hunters are sounding the death knell of the very animals they purport to protect. Tony Marsh. Jan. 2016
Sep 4, 2015 | News
After years of competing, Birgit Johnstone (host of the African Events) and Richard Lendrum (host of African Hunting Gazette’s African Hunting Expos) will be joining forces once again, hosting and organizing African Shows & Exhibitions. Initially in Canada and the USA, but ultimately launching in other regions of the world, the stage is set.
Reaching this decision was made in the best interests of the hunting industry, in particular the African hunting outfitters who invest time and money travelling internationally to promote their safaris. We believe this is a microcosm of what the entire industry should be doing – putting aside petty differences for the greater good of the industry’s survival.
Both parties are in full agreement, that working together they can represent the industry better, promote the events better and offer the potential hunting client an exceptionally better and more comprehensive insight into the wonders an African safari has to offer.
No more confusion of multiple and competing shows in Alberta, capitalizing on the magazine supporting and promoting the shows and using the skills of both parties to ensure a more successful outcome.
Birgit Johnstone says “I am delighted with this significantly positive step forward. Richard and I have always worked well together and joining forces again, I truly believe is in the best interests of our industry. Together we plan to grow and improve our current shows plus explore and expand into new markets.”
Richard Lendrum says “My objective has always been to promote hunting in Africa. This is undoubtedly the best thing to do. Birgit is a really talented event organiser and we have a really well liked magazine with a huge following. Our relationships with all stakeholders are really strong, so the combination is something I am tremendously excited about reviving.”
The united shows will go forward in January 2016, with some changes to dates and venues. Booths will be limited to 30 outfitters per show.
United and stronger the Canadian based African Shows will proceed.
Toronto – 16 & 17 January 2015
Saskatoon – 23 & 24 January 2016
Calgary – 30 & 31 January 2016
For further information contact:
