Royal Antelope

Mountain, Bush, and Little Blue

Feb 9, 2018 | News, Uncategorized

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Mountain, Bush, and Little Blue.
By Ken Bailey
Blue duiker is not a species most hunters consider when creating their African wish list. They don’t have the immense size of an eland or a Cape buffalo, or the regal bearing of a kudu or sable. And in a beauty contest, an impala or lechwe would certainly put them to shame.

No, by most standards, the blue duiker simply does not match up. But rather than focus on what a blue duiker is not, hunters should focus on what they are, because if you’ve not hunted them, you’re missing out on an exceptionally challenging and enjoyable experience.
Blue duikers are among the smallest antelopes in Africa, and the smallest in South Africa, roughly the size of a large jackrabbit, about 15 inches high at the shoulder. Their coat color is variable, but is often the bluish-grey that gives the species its name. Both sexes have horns up to two inches long, making it very difficult to distinguish males from females, especially given that you seldom see them standing still. They’re secretive and cautious by nature, nearly always confined to dense forested cover where they feed on leaves and fruits.

I recently hunted blue duiker in South Africa’s Eastern Cape, a province I’d not previously hunted, and it completely exceeded my expectations. Leading the mission was long-time friend and PH, Eldre Hattingh, owner/operator of Lucca African Safaris. I’d last hunted with Eldre in Limpopo a few years previously and had quickly said yes when he invited me to explore the Eastern Cape with him. To fully appreciate the diversity of the region, we planned to hunt from the thick coastal thorn bush along the Indian Ocean coastline up to the very peaks of the inland snow mountains. Our quarry would be the iconic species that characterize the Eastern Cape – blue duiker and Cape bushbuck along the coast, mountain reedbuck and, if the opportunity presented itself, Vaal rhebok at the highest altitude.
We hunted near Port Alfred, a small coastal town settled by the English in the 1820s and named in honor of Queen Victoria’s son, Alfred. The area is dominated by mixed farming, but is also the widely acknowledged blue duiker capital of South Africa.
In the thickly-forested slopes that we hunted, every plant seemed to have thorns. We duck-walked and crawled, invariably snagging our shirts every few steps, often having to back up to get free. Stepping into this dense thorn bush is like entering another dimension – there’s no transition. In one step you literally cross from the light into the dark, and your first impression is ominous and foreboding.

Blue duiker forage under the canopy along well-defined trails. They’re territorial, so it’s unusual to find more than a pair in any one bush. The trick is to find a small clearing adjacent to one or more of their active pathways where you can sit and wait. Once you’re settled, the handler turns his dogs loose to find and pursue a duiker. Our handler uses braces of beagles and Jack Russell terriers, allowing one to spell off the other when they tire. By the frequency and volume of their baying or barking you can tell when they’re on a hot scent. You wait in expectation, hoping the duiker will run near you in its efforts to shake off the dogs.

You don’t really see the first blue duiker. Or the second. It’s more that you sense them or, if you’re really lucky, you catch a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye. No matter how much warning your PH gives, it’s never enough in the beginning.
They say some blue duikers are runners while others are sneakers – the sneakers seem to be pretty rare in my experience! We set up in four locations the first day, and at each saw a blue duiker – or at least a flash of movement I was told was a duiker! In any case, I didn’t get so much as a shot off at any of them. They were too quick, or I’d see them too late, or they emerged from a direction opposite to where I was watching. Still, I was having great fun, and Eldre assured me my experience was pretty typical for a first-timer, and that persistence would pay off.

Day two, on just our second setup, things started to change. Remarkably, as I crouched among a tangle of thorns listening to the baying of the beagles, a duiker ran straight up the trail towards me, stopping only 30 yards away. I raised my shotgun as quickly as I could and took the shot. A shower of earth revealed that I had missed low. There was no second shot, as the tiny antelope wasn’t about to stick around to see what all the fuss was about. It was frustrating, as in reflection I probably had time to aim more carefully. But considering the previous day’s episodes, snap-shooting seemed like the best option. All we could do was laugh at my ineptitude and keep hunting, so I settled back, listening to the familiar sound of dogs on the trail.

Only 20 minutes later at nearly the same spot, I picked up a flash of movement darting from left to right. Pure instinct took over, and I swung the smoothbore just as I do dozens of times each fall on crossing bluebills at my favorite duck lake. Just that quickly, our blue duiker hunt was over.
From there we set our sights on Cape bushbuck, heading southwest along the coast towards Jeffrey’s Bay, a town revered in the international surfing community. Bushbuck are one of my favorite antelope to hunt. Elegant and compact, they’re also maddeningly elusive. They’re also exceptionally pugnacious and have a well-documented reputation for being dangerous when wounded – no other antelope is as likely to attempt to separate you from your bowels as is a bushbuck. The smallest of the spiral horns, perhaps they have “little man’s syndrome”, such is their predisposition to aggression at any perceived injustice.
I’d hunted Limpopo bushbuck successfully with Eldre, and was especially excited to pursue the Cape subspecies, mid-sized in the bushbuck family and noted for its dark, almost black, coat. We’d be hunting on a large dairy farm and, like much of the Eastern Cape, it would be completely free-range hunting – fences designed to confine cattle and sheep mean little to game animals. Pulling in before first light, we hiked to the back of a secluded irrigated hay field, sitting inside the treeline for bushbuck that, as it turned out, would never arrive. Two bushbuck ewes feeding three-quarters of a mile away at least provided hope and entertainment while we sat. With late morning the wind picked up, which has a tendency to discourage notoriously nervous rams, so we opted to regroup and headed back to the truck for a snack.

Early afternoon we hiked towards the same field, and had not gone far when we spotted movement. Through our binos we could make out 11 bushbuck grazing at the end of the hay flat, nearly a mile distant. Closer inspection revealed a ram with eight ewes and a separate pair of rams. From our vantage point, both appeared to have pretty good horns. So, from within the cover of the thorn bush we slowly picked our way towards them, pausing occasionally to peek out and confirm they were still feeding. Chacma baboons frequent the area, so we remained well hidden to help avoid the inevitable alarm barks if one saw us.

Eventually we ran out of cover and huddled behind the last available tree, about 275 yards from the grazing rams. One was clearly the elder statesman, with thick black horns, one noticeably broomed, his swollen neck a sure sign the rut was in full swing. Despite a good rest, my initial shot was a couple of inches low; a second anchored him before he could escape into the adjacent stream valley. Had he made it, we’d have been challenged to root him out of the thick stuff. As we walked up to where he lay in the tall grass, his magnificence became apparent. This was a true “Dagga Boy” of a ram, well-muscled with thick horns, and bearing a wound in his side undoubtedly suffered fighting a rival for dominance. Eldre estimated him at nine years or more.
The ecological variability of the Eastern Cape is second to none in South Africa, and while best known for its beautiful coastal region, it also boasts the highest mountains in the country apart from the Drakensberg. It was to those mountains we headed, arriving at a secluded lodge high in the Sneeuberge, an Afrikaans word meaning “Snow Mountains”. This is not an easy place to hunt – the steep terrain makes every stalk a lung-scorcher, and vast properties with few fences ensure truly free-range pursuit.

The diverse habitats of the Eastern Cape support a wide array of species. Glassing from the lodge our first evening revealed no shortage of game on the surrounding hillsides. Without leaving the comfort of a deck chair, I identified kudu, red lechwe, impala, bontebok, waterbuck, steenbok, giraffe, zebra, eland, gemsbok and black wildebeest. And I knew, somewhere high on the open grassy slopes, was the mountain reedbuck I was seeking.
Mountain reedbuck are the smaller, prettier cousins of the common reedbuck. Standing 30 inches or less at the shoulder, a mature ram weighs about 60 lbs., with a woolly reddish-grey coat and forward-curving horns. As the name implies, they live on mountain slopes, descending into the valleys each evening to graze and water, climbing back early in the morning. There they take refuge in the highest, open slopes, intermittently grazing and bedding in sheltered nooks among the rocks.
I quickly discovered that, while calm when undisturbed, mountain reedbuck become extremely skittish at the first sign of anything unusual. With little cover beyond the natural swales of the open slopes to conceal one’s movement, closing the distance on them is difficult. If they do spot you, they quickly flee with their distinctive “rocking horse” gait, rarely stopping until they’ve covered several hundred yards.

Over a few days, Eldre and I made several half-hearted stalks on reedbucks, mostly to familiarize me with the species and to learn to differentiate rams from ewes, and good rams from average. That’s a much more difficult task than it sounds, complicated by the relatively short horns of even the largest rams and their long, slim ears.
At some point we had to get serious, however, so decided to make a concerted effort one afternoon. We slowly walked the grassy tops of the highest peak, pausing regularly to glass the surrounding slopes. It wasn’t long before we spotted a lone male that looked promising, about three-quarters of a mile away, so we ducked behind cover and began to work our way over. We hadn’t gone more than 100 yards, however, when a ram and ewe scrambled out of a rock pile and galloped towards the edge of nearby ravine.
“He’s a good one. Get ready in case he stops,” Eldre whispered excitedly, simultaneously setting up the shooting sticks. Instantly I nestled into the “V”, trying to follow the up and down motion of the escaping ram.

We all need a little luck now and then, and good fortune smiled on me that afternoon. Rather than follow his mate over the crest and out of our lives, that ram, for reasons known only to him, stopped on the precipice for one look back. I didn’t waste the opportunity, and the largest mountain reedbuck a client of Eldre’s has taken was down.
My hunt ended the following day. As it turned out I didn’t get to hunt Vaal rhebok before leaving, but I wasn’t the least bit disappointed. There will be another time, another hunt. For if I learned only one thing while hunting the Eastern Cape from top to bottom, it’s that there is no shortage of reasons to return.
Ken Bailey is an avid hunter and fly-fisherman from Canada who has pursued sporting opportunities across four continents. A wildlife conservation consultant by trade, he has been writing about his outdoor experiences for more than 25 years. He has served as the Hunting Editor for “Outdoor Canada” magazine since 1994.
Note: Hunting the Eastern Cape or the nearby Karoo with Eldre Hattingh and Lucca African Safaris begins in Port Elizabeth, which is serviced by air from major cities in South Africa and elsewhere. To learn more about the many hunting opportunities offered, check out their website at www.luccasafaris.com or call Eldre at (011 27) 82 879 5966.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”14099,14100,14102,14104,14105,14106,14107,14101″][/vc_column][/vc_row]

One for the Road

Feb 1, 2018 | News, Uncategorized

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_btn title=”View article in E-ZINE” color=”orange” align=”center” link=”url:https%3A%2F%2Fafricanhuntinggazette.com%2Foctober-november-december-2018%2F%23october-november-december-2018%2F146-147||target:%20_blank|”][vc_column_text]By Terry Wieland

In his book, African Rifles and Cartridges, John “Pondoro” Taylor often mentioned “cheap Continental magazine rifles,” and his comments were usually disparaging. Taylor set great store by reliability, not only of the rifles he used, but of the cartridges and bullets they employed.

The two major names in “Continental magazine rifles” were Mauser of Germany, and Mannlicher-Schönauer of Austria. No one could knock either on the grounds of workmanship or materials; they were legendary then, and they’re legendary now. Where Taylor did have a point was with Mauser sporters (or sporterized military rifles) chambered for some eminently forgettable cartridges.

Today, most hunters have never heard of the 10.75×68 Mauser or the 11.2×60 Mauser. There were several, mostly rimless, in the 9mm to 11.5mm range (.358 to .44 or .45, roughly.) In the case of the Mauser, many appeared in East Africa between 1919 and 1939, built on surplus military actions, and produced in one- and two-man shops across Germany. These were most likely the rifles Taylor had in mind.

In the years after the Great War, the British gun trade was struggling and the German trade was desperate. Tanganyika, of course, had been a German colony until 1919, with many European settlers. Once it joined Kenya and Uganda in what came to be known as British East Africa, the greatest big-game hunting region in the world, it was natural that German gunmakers would look there for new markets. And, with ex-military Mausers readily available, those naturally became the basis for building inexpensive hunting rifles.

If you look at the cartridges themselves, there is nothing much wrong with them except bullet construction. Often, the bullets were flimsy, flew apart, and didn’t penetrate. This was not true of all, but there was enough to lend the rifles a nasty reputation.

John Taylor himself was not anti-Mauser, by any means. His Rhodesian friend, Fletcher Jamieson, owned a .500 Jeffery on a Mauser action, which Taylor used and liked very much. If a Mauser-actioned rifle came with the name Rigby, Jeffery, or Holland & Holland on the barrel, it immediately got Taylor’s vote.

This is where it becomes very tangled, because all the actions in those days were made by Mauser at Oberndorf. Firms like Rigby and Jeffery used them to build some pretty flossy rifles. So what do you call them, a Jeffery or a Mauser?

And the cartridges? The .500 Jeffery is actually the 12.5×70 Schuler, designed in the 1920s by the firm of August Schuler to create an elephant round that could be chambered in a standard military Mauser 98. W.J. Jeffery adopted it and renamed it, yet when Taylor was writing, and praising the cartridge at length, the only ammunition available came from Germany. Conversely, the .404 Jeffery was probably a Jeffery design, but it was adopted by Mauser as a standard chambering, and renamed the 10.75×73.

As you can see, there was considerable cross-over and adoption of each others’ design. The great London gunmakers had nothing but respect for Mauser Oberndorf, and the compliment was heartily returned. Both probably considered the periods 1914-18 and 1939-45 as highly inconvenient impediments to trade.

After 1946, the supply of Oberndorf-made Mauser 98 bolt-action rifles dried up, although other manufacturers stepped in to produce Mauser actions, and sometimes entire rifles. The London trade built rifles on whatever they could get — the Enfield P-14 and P-17, Brevex Magnum Mausers from France, Czech Mausers from Brno, Santa Barbara actions from Spain. Even with Rigby or Holland & Holland engraved on the barrel, however, these never carried the cachet of, say, a .416 Rigby, made in St. James’s Street, on an Oberndorf magnum action.

Sine the war, a lot has happened with both Mauser and its first and greatest associate in London – John Rigby & Co. The Mauser factory was razed in 1946 on orders of the French occupation forces, and its name and trademark passed through various hands before, in 2000, becoming part of Michael Luke’s Blaser conglomerate based in Isny im Allgäu. Rigby also changed hands, and was moved to the U.S in 1997. There it became the center of varying levels of fraud and ignominy before being purchased in 2012 and moved back to London. The purchaser was the Blaser group, which put Rigby under the management of Marc Newton with a mandate to return the Rigby name to glory.

One way to do this was to resume manufacture of the famous Mauser 98 action, so that Rigby could once again build its .416s on an action with the Mauser banner on the ring, and make its traditional stalking rifles in .275 Rigby (the name Rigby bestowed on the 7×57 Mauser when it adopted it in the early 1900s.)

Since 1946, the various owners of the Mauser name steadfastly refused to make any of the company’s most famous (and, in my opinion, by far the best and greatest) product: The turnbolt 98. Even after it took up residence in Isny, making the 98 once again was not on its immediate list of projects. As far as I know, it was not until the Rigby acquisition that it began seriously looking at it. Whether it was Marc Newton who persuaded Mauser, or whether that was the secret plan all along, hardly matters.

Around 2010, Mauser had taken a hesitant step towards making a 98 again. Using a magnum 98 clone produced by Prechtl, Mauser made a few .416s, but with a price tag of $40,000, I don’t imagine they sold many. Then they acquired Rigby and, in a surprise move two years ago, Mauser announced it would once again make the magnum action, supply it to Rigby, and also make entire rifles in Isny. Now, they have added the standard-length action to the line. In London, Rigby is using it to make its Highland stalking rifle in .275 Rigby, while in Isny, Mauser is chambering it in the venerable 7×57, 8×57 JS, 9.3×62, .308 Winchester, and .30-06.

Whatever John Taylor might think of these, he could never call them cheap. The standard model in the less expensive “Expert” grade lists for $9,100.

All of these calibers are familiar to Americans except, perhaps, the 9.3×62. This is an old and highly respected big-game cartridge in Europe. It was designed in 1905, and became a standard Mauser chambering. Even John Taylor thought quite highly of it, with the right bullets, and today ammunition is loaded by Norma, among others, in a wide variety of bullet weights and types.

Now, for the first time in many years, a hunter can go to Africa with a complete battery bearing the Mauser banner — a .416 Rigby for the big stuff, a 7×57 for plains game, and a 9.3×62 for in between.

It’s a funny thing, but in 1956 when Winchester introduced the .458 Winchester Magnum, and hired East African professional David Ommanney to tout the rifle for them, all predictions were that this was the end of the line for the big nitro-express cartridges, for the magnificent double rifles that fired them, and for all those “archaic” rounds like the .404 Jeffery. The .416 Rigby was consigned to the trash bin, and even the .375 Holland & Holland was put on the list of threatened species.

It’s now 60 years later, and look what’s happened: The .416 Rigby came roaring back, and has become a standard chambering; the .375 H&H is stronger than ever; there is a very vigorous market in double rifles, both old and new. Many of the nitro express cartridges are being made by Kynamco, loaded with Woodleigh bullets from Australia. The Mauser 98 — an action that is now 120 years old — is still the most popular bolt-action basis for a dangerous-game or plains-game rifle.

Anyone who buys a new Mauser, however, is not merely wallowing in nostalgia. There is still no better, more reliable, or versatile action on which to build a rifle, whether you’re culling wildebeest or pursuing pachyderms.

Through the 1960s, African Rifles and Cartridges and even John Taylor himself were disparaged. As an ivory poacher, Taylor did not command the reverence of professionals like Sid Downey or W.D.M. Bell. He died in 1955, and his books, Big Game and Big Game Rifles (1948) and African Rifles and Cartridges (1948) went out of print. It seemed to be the end for everything.

As it turned out, the books were reprinted, first by Trophy Room Books and The Gun Room Press, respectively, and Taylor’s reputation was gradually rehabilitated. Today, anyone interested in the history of African hunting and the actual performance of rifles, and of bullets on big game, should read Taylor. His earlier, smaller book, Big Game and Big Game Rifles, is unfairly neglected, in my view. I bought it from Ray Riling Arms Books in 1966, for $6. I was absorbed by it then, and still go back to it now when I want to recapture some of the magic.

What the old-timers learned and knew is still worth learning, and well worth knowing. Many years ago, boxing writer A.J. Liebling wrote in the New Yorker, quoting Heywood Broun, an even earlier writer, “After all, the old masters did know something. There is still a kick in style, and tradition carries a nasty wallop.” It seems that every new generation of boxers needs to learn this, and while Liebling and Broun were both writing about boxing, it could just as well have been big game and big-game rifles.[/vc_column_text][vc_btn title=”View article in E-ZINE” color=”orange” align=”center” link=”url:https%3A%2F%2Fafricanhuntinggazette.com%2Foctober-november-december-2018%2F%23october-november-december-2018%2F146-147||target:%20_blank|”][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Classic .505 Gibbs Express Rifle

Dec 24, 2017 | News, Uncategorized

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Classic .505 Gibbs Express Rifle

By John Mattera

.505 Gibbs—just the name commands respect. From the days of Hemingway’s The Green Hills of Africa, we have lived in awe of the reputation of this grand African caliber and the rifle that bears the name. It’s built for the singular purpose of delivering a well-placed behemoth round changing the nasty beast’s intentions post-haste.

From accounts of the fictional Robert Wilson off Hemingway’s pages through to today, the .505 Gibbs is a rifle of grand African proportions.

Predominantly the heavy tool of the professional hunter, it was designed and built to compete with the expensive-to-manufacture double rifle just after the turn of the last century—the Golden Era of the world we know as safari.

If a professional hunter wanted the added security of that third and fourth round with a turn-bolt rifle that could address any situation with authority, the .505 Gibbs was the answer.

But beware – it is not a rifle for the faint of heart!

Within the ranks of professionals today, there are still legends of the industry that rely on the .505 to sort things out and deliver their clients home safely at the end of a safari.

Simon Rodgers is just such a professional hunter. An old-school PH worthy of the name, applying the skills needed in the field for almost four decades since the early 80s, breaking into the hunting industry in Matetsi, Chete, and then off to Chewore North and South, Tsholotosho South, the Rifa Safari Area, and for the last fifteen years hunting exclusively in Mozambique, as the owner of Safaris de Mozambique.

His rifle of choice? Etched across the top of the barrel the legend reads: “George Gibbs Bristol & 35 Savile Row London W.” A genuine .505 Gibbs the tool of professionals. Rodger was in good company as the likes of J.A.Hunter, Bror Blixen and Tony Sanches-Arino – all legends of the hunt carried original Gibbs big-bore rifles in .505 as well.

Founded in Bristol in 1830 as “J & G Gibbs,” the Gibbs company produced fine rifles and developed wonderful cartridges for the London Trade. Renamed “G Gibbs & Company” in 1835, the small company soon gained an impressive reputation for their innovation and design. The Gibbs company manufactured high-quality muzzle-loading rifles and shotguns under the direction of the founder George Gibbs Senior. Then it expanded when George’s two sons—George C. and Herbert—joined their father.

A series of well-thought-out and crafted partnerships proved that the Gibbs family was more than just craftsmen – they were astute business men. The most telling example was their partnership with William Metford and the adoption of the Metford/Farquharson patent action. This made Gibbs the only manufacturer licensed to produce the most successful black-powder, falling-block rifle for the last part of the nineteenth century.

Gibbs may have made rifles for hunters, but the Gibbs family were shooters first.

George Gibbs Jr, the heir to the company, was arguably the best rifleman on the British Isles in his day. So it is safe to say that he understood accurate rifles.

While their rifle-building skills were noteworthy large, they produced a much more pedestrian- grade rifle than their counterparts—most without the frills and adornments that turn of the century English guns were noted for.

What the Gibbs company did exceedingly well was manufacture high-quality working rifles and design very good cartridges to go along with them.

Meanwhile, in Africa, some of Gibbs’s best big-game cartridges began life as target rounds. Like the infamous .461 Gibbs, which dominated the famous Wimbledon and Stirling long-range target meetings, it was to become a favorite dangerous-game round of its day, used and lauded by the great hunters like Frederick Selous, Arthur Neumann, and others, for decades. Selous’s very rifle still resides in the Bill Jones collection in Birmingham, Alabama.

The .505 Gibbs cartridge was designed in 1911, originally intended to be a rimmed cartridge for the double rifle market. However, Gibbs believed they could capture a greater share of the big-game market by mating this new cartridge to the Mauser bolt-action rifle, and introduced the new cartridge as the .505 Rimless Nitro Express, or just the .505 Rimless. The design was a unique bottleneck-cartridge with voluminous case capacity that helped the round operate under lower pressure.

This was very important at the turn of the twentieth century as the temperature sensitivity of cordite proved unreliable when compressed. This made the .505 cartridge less susceptible to the dangerous variations in temperatures as the mercury rose or fell in sub-equatorial Africa.

Operating at just under 40,000 psi, the massive case has a capacity of 178 grains by weight of water. Loaded with the measured amount of cordite it drove a 525-grain bullet, measuring .505 inch (12.8 mm) out of the muzzle at 2300 fps, well within the magic velocity-band for terminal success.

The bullet diameter is unique to the Gibbs, as most other big 50’s utilized bullets of .510 inches.

The only serious competition in the first half of the twentieth century came about with the introduction of the .500 Jeffery bolt-action rifle, which first appeared around 1920, originally designed by the August Schuler Company as the “12.7×70 mm Schuler”.

While the .500 Jeff was more powerful, the .505 proved much more reliable with a longer case- neck offering more reliable feeding. The Jeffery was also plagued by a rebated rim and operated at higher pressures, both contributing to extraction issues.

These concerns could prove problematic when your primary job is stopping dangerous game, and that second and third shot may be “the” game changer!

Rodgers’s rifle has the look of a weathered heavyweight prize fighter, a bit haggard about the edges, but still dangerous in the clutches. The wood is polished smooth from countless days in the field, and the checkering has long since lost its biting edge. The hand/pistol-grip is opened nicely as a heavy caliber rifle should be to prevent trigger-guard bite on recoil. The Monte Carlo raised cheek-piece also helps to dissipate energy as you touch off the round in the chamber. The recoil pad, heavy and thick, has seen much better times, now faded and worn. You can see the thought towards recoil management that went into the construction of this heavy rifle. It was designed and built by a shooter. The metal surfaces are worn in spots from untold sweat-filled miles of being carried, dragged and pushed through the bush.

At one time, the rifle sported a rear peep aperture where the base still resides. The folding leaf rear sight was seated atop the barrel with a barrel band swivel far enough in front to protect the hand from recoil, with a foldaway, hooded front sight and pop-up ivory bead. It was called a moon sight in the London trade, but I’ve always thought of them as lion sights.

The white ivory stands out against the tawny coat of a lion better than a small, gold bead.

Turn the rifle about in your hands and you notice that despite hard use, it is neither tired nor disheveled. The Gibbs is well cared for, cleaned and oiled ready for use, and can deliver that knock-out punch when needed.

What a storied work of art this old war-horse is!

By putting this cartridge into the time-proven, square-bridge, magnum Mauser action, George Gibbs built a hard-hitting and surprisingly accurate heavy thumper while operating at safer and more reliable case pressures, providing more hunters the opportunity to own a rifle capable of serious knock-down power with a greater round capacity at a more affordable price.

When you pick up and handle such a storied tool that has “seen the charge of the elephant,” it is a solemn experience. My thoughts are firmly planted in the history I now hold in my hands – the excitement and adventure that this rifle must have witnessed.

When you touch a dangerous-game rifle that has lived in the darkest of Africa for almost a century, the mind swirls as imagination fills in the missing pieces.

The worn surfaces smoothed over by years of arduous work paint a picture of hard use through difficult times. You turn the bolt and it rolls and closes fast, well-oiled and maintained, and you know instinctively loved!

The combination of good looks and raw power are melded together in this classic express rifle. Your mind races through the old-time African adventure this rifle must have seen. Fingering the cigar-sized cartridges as you feed them into the magazine only adds to the excitement, as they each seat with a “clunk.”

When you shoulder the rifle, it rises and falls in place between your hands, just heavy enough to handle the force of recoil that you know will come, but not overly so. The rifle is ready to stop the charge of any of Africa’s dangerous game.

The trail of Rodgers and this legendary Gibbs has been long and fraught with danger and intrigue for almost thirty years, through Zimbabwe and Mozambique, and places without a name.

Rodgers’ decision to arm himself with the big rifle came from a near-tragic encounter. After all, we learn much more from our failures than we do from our successes.

Armed with a .375 H&H proved humbling for Rogers when facing a charging Cape buffalo wounded by a client, and required a bit of dancing about and multiple rounds to sort out. He vowed then and there to never again be caught under-gunned for the situation. When the opportunity to purchase the original .505 Gibbs presented itself, Rodgers did not hesitate. He plonked down the cash and went home with a legendary rifle that was to become his constant companion over almost three decades.

While hunting with Simon Rodgers in Safaris de Mozambique outside of Cahorra Bassa late in 2016, I talked him into switching rifles with me for a day or two in the bush. He didn’t argue much. Why would he? I was handing over Philip Percival’s .470 Rigby to him as consolation. The look on his face spoke volumes, as if I offered the queen’s dowry.

I guess it was as if receiving royalty—to steal an old phrase: The silence was deafening.

So, with the temporary trade in hand, I had the good fortune to carry this great old Gibbs in the field for the last few days of our safari. However, much to my dismay, I only had the opportunity to fire it at a cardboard target, as the buffalo we sought remained elusive. Still, the experience for me was historic.

The recoil was not as bad as you would think. The low-operating pressure of the .505 on this well-built rifle gives the shooter a good shove back with its inertia, as opposed to shoulder-pounding cartridges like the .500 Jeffery or the .460 Weatherby which came along in 1957 and unseated these two classics in raw power.

Simon Rodger’s .505 Gibbs is a classic dangerous-game safari rifle with a deep, rich history. Some of its history is known, as stories attest to this rifle’s stopping power. Numerous elephants and buffalo have fallen to the incredible penetration of the .525 A-Square monolithic solids.

But like most of the old classic rifles that I have had the pleasure of hunting around, there are gaps in their stories, and some of its time-gone-by remains a mystery.

For me that may be the best, as I can let my mind wander across the decades, across the miles.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”12583,12584,12585,12586,12587″][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Why Hunters Miss

Nov 5, 2017 | News, Uncategorized

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Why Hunters Miss
By Wayne van Zwoll

It likely isn’t the rifle, ammo or scope, the wind or the rotation of the earth. Guess who’s left?

Honesty and diplomacy both fail when your pal is already crestfallen. But, “You made a bad shot” is more helpful, in the long run, than the dodge, “Maybe something’s wrong with your rifle.”

Rarely, something is wrong with the hardware. But the rifleman still bears responsibility. On safari years ago, I called a good shot on an eland, but heard the “whump” of a paunch hit. We trailed the bull, and I killed it. Confidence restored, I kept hunting. But my next shot was again off the mark. Then I saw that a windage screw on my Redfield scope mount had backed off the ring. Recoil had bounced it from the opposite screw. The next shot had sent it back, and so on. I should have checked zero right away, with three shots.

A zero isn’t likely to shift, but each is precise for only one person, load and position! Recently, I hunted with a fellow who worked for the firm that had built his rifle. One morning a fine buck appeared 120 metres off, and stood. I waited for it to wilt. But a couple of shots later, the animal left. Thick silence ensued. When I asked if he’d checked his zero, the man barked, “Our staff zeroed this rifle!” He targeted the .30-06 later and found it shot 40 cm high at 100 metres! Using a rifle zeroed by someone else is an easy way to miss game. There are others.

I once watched a hunter shoot a brow tine off a bull elk at short range. Fully exposed, the animal was statue-still while my pal steadied his rifle on sticks. But this was his first elk, and he had his eye on the antlers. Game is often missed – or crippled – because hunters lose focus. The target is not the beast or what’s on its head. With few exceptions, the target is the sphere of life between its shoulders.

A rifle-scope can help you send a bullet through the vitals – or impede your view of the animal. Night was zipping up the sun one evening when a young woman and her PH came upon a fine kudu just 30 metres off. All actors froze, the PH like a bird-dog on point. The rifle danced about as his client tried to find the bull in her scope. Its ribs were shadowed but unobstructed.
“Everything’s a blur!” she hissed, desperate. The kudu sunfished to the blast of the .300, and galloped off. Skilled tracking by the PH brought a second, killing shot at last light. Equipped with a powerful variable scope, the woman had neither a sharply focused image nor an adequate field. A 2½x sight would have served her better, without sacrificing 250-metre precision.

Powerful glass can also delay a shot by magnifying wobble. The longer you aim trying to settle a reticle bouncing violently about the field, the more desperately you want to breathe. Pulse-bump becomes an earthquake as eye fatigue burns the target image into your brain. Muscles tire, wobbles become shakes. Aware the shot is unraveling, you yank the trigger and miss.

Long isn’t hard.

Shivering in the November dawn, the kid was also shaking from excitement. He couldn’t steady the crosswire, even when he leaned against the fence post. It would be a long shot – the deer looked small. He’d have to aim high. With the sight bobbing above the buck’s shoulder, the kid pressed the trigger. The buck kept eating. Two more shots brought no more reaction. The deer might as well have been cropping wheat on the moon.
Since that humiliation 50 years ago, I’ve avoided aiming high. Before every hunt I chant, under my breath: “Your barrel is already pointing up!” It is, relative to the sightline. It got that way when I zeroed!
When you zero a rifle, you’re adjusting the sightline to cross the bullet’s path at the distance of your choice. Because a bullet starts dropping as soon as it leaves the muzzle, the barrel must be elevated to hit a distant target. Your sight-line is a straight path at a downward angle to bore-line. The sight-line cuts through the bullet’s arc, meeting it twice. The second intersection defines the zero range.
Point-blank range is the distance at which a dead-on hold brings desired results. Most of my hunting rifles are zeroed at 200 metres. Given this zero, popular cartridges like the .30-06 keep bullets within 8 cm above or below center to 250 metres – a long effective point-blank range. A center hold to 250 will hit vitals on all but the smallest game. Bullets will strike highest just beyond mid-range (trajectory is parabolic).

Many hunters overshoot because game looks farther than it is. In broken country, your eye takes in lots of terrain. But bullets don’t follow ground contours. “Never hold off hair,” renowned hunter and outfitter Jack Atcheson told me. “If you think an animal’s so far that you must aim above it, you’re wrong or too far away for an accurate shot.”
A caveat: game on a flat pan or plain can seem closer than it is, because your eye snares so little earth. Your brain tells you: less terrain, shorter shot.

Distance is commonly assumed the biggest obstacle to accurate shooting. It does magnify errors in aim and shot execution, and the effects of wind and gravity. But other variables can also ruin your day. The longest poke I’ve taken at elk was twice the measure of the next-longest. Still, my bullet struck less than a minute of angle from point of aim. Perfect light, still air and a slinged-up prone position made this long shot an easy shot. Last month at this writing I missed – twice! – a gemsbok close enough for a chat. Clipped by another hunter, it was dashing through bush. My stance was poor, the iron sights hard to see.

Close shots don’t ensure kills. Neither do rifle-scopes with reticles born of calculus in tubes the size of irrigation pipes. Accomplished rifleman David Tubb has designed a scope reticle that compensates for spin drift – vertical displacement of bullets in wind. For right-twist rifling, a 3-o’clock breeze kicks a bullet not directly left, but to 10 o’clock. Left wind shoves bullets to 4 o’clock. Tubb’s horizontal wire is curved to track bullet paths down-range. Still, David insists hunters must master shooting fundamentals before sophisticated hardware is of any help.

To miss is human!

Marksmanship is an acquired skill. When you come to think yourself a “natural,” your targets are either too big or too close. Or you’ve bought into the myth that shooting prowess comes to every man as inexorably as facial hair. The pitiable souls who hang their egos with their targets are bound to be humbled.
Shooters who say they can’t practice because ammo costs too much or because they can’t access a range have little hope of shooting well. Many drills burn no powder. Practicing for small-bore matches, college team-mates and I donned shooting jackets and held rifles while we studied or watched television. We strengthened and stretched our muscles as they “memorized” bone-supported positions. We practiced deep breathing to bring oxygen to our eyes for sharper sight pictures. Empty hull in the chamber, we dry-fired to hone our trigger technique.
Once, closing the bolt of my Anschutz in a match, I brushed the trigger. The rifle fired. I’d barely sunk into position, had established no sight picture. The best I could hope was that the bullet had missed the paper entirely, as any hole would be scored. To my surprise, the bullet had centered the correct target on a sheet of 11 small black bull’s eyes!
Any shot to the middle without aim is great good fortune. But verily, this bullet went where the rifle had directed it. My position had allowed the rifle to point naturally at the target.
Many hunters miss game because during the off-season they fire only from a bench. Deprived of a rest in the bush, they don’t know how to align their bodies quickly with the target, so the rifle is supported by a platform of bone and relaxed muscle. Muscles under load tire and twitch; the rifle bobs and quivers. When you trigger a shot, tensed muscles involuntarily relax, shifting the rifle before the bullet leaves. A rifle relaxing onto the target will spend more time there during the firing sequence.

You’ll do well to keep both eyes open. A squint against bright sun, pelting sleet or swirling dust makes sense. But depth perception requires both eyes working in tandem. Using two eyes also gives you a wider field, so you see more details that might affect your shot. Each pupil has evolved to control the light reaching the retina, dilating in dim light, constricting in bright sun. Darkness imposed by closing an eye encourages that pupil to dilate, as the other wants to throttle light. Closing one eye strains both. Animals you seek use both eyes to stay alive or launch an attack; why close one of yours at the moment of truth?
You see best when looking straight ahead. Aiming, your face is best kept upright on the stock. Prone and sitting positions tilt your brow; but the less tilt the better! Kneeling and offhand, your head should be erect, even if only the stock’s toe meets your clavicle.
While aiming and firing a rifle is a physical process, “Marksmanship is as much mental,” said my first coach, Earl. He tapped ashes from a cigar long enough to holster. “But don’t over-think. When you feel a good shot, let it go. Don’t analyze it. Don’t tell yourself it’s too good to be true. Just turn it loose.”

Late shots don’t count.

“I should have fired sooner,” Don told me. “At six metres, he lowered his head. I didn’t want to kill that bull.” The Norma solid connected at just two steps. Momentum carried the elephant forward. As Don leaped aside, the falling beast’s trunk broke his arm.
Even if your life never hinges on a quick shot, precision has a price. Opportunity may be fleeting as an animal pauses at cover’s edge. For close encounters, fast shooting can trump gnat’s-lash accuracy.
The era of exhibition shooting stateside passed during my youth, as Herb Parsons gave his final demonstrations to pie-eyed audiences. He’d milk a Model 12 in volleys that rolled like thunder, leaving smoke floating where seven clay birds had hung briefly. Herb would toss oranges and pulp them with .30-30 bullets. Emptying a 10-shot .351 self-loader from the hip, he’d dust 10 clay targets standing on edge. “They’re not hard to hit, folks,” he’d laugh, “just easy to miss!”

Arguably, smooth, fast, instinctive shooting is disappearing, as shooters (and now, hunters) focus on ever-more-sophisticated rifles, optics and loads to hit targets far away. But some long-range marksmen have missed spectacularly up close. The equipment that helps them at distance can impede them in cover.
Better prepared for catch-as-catch-can hunting were shooters whose exploits date back a century or more. Early among them: Phoebe Ann Moses, born in a cabin in rural Ohio in 1860. Hunting to feed her family, then for market, she came to hit quail on the wing with a .22. At age 16, after thrashing him at a local match, she married visiting sharpshooter Frank Butler. They later joined Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, she under the name Annie Oakley.
Petite and sweet-tempered, Annie became an audience favorite. Aiming in a mirror, she fired over her shoulder to burst glass balls Frank tossed. Germany’s Crown Prince, later to become Kaiser Wilhelm II, asked her to shoot a cigarette from his lips. She did, allowing after World War I that a miss might have changed history! Annie shot coins from Frank’s fingers. Firing 25 shots in 25 seconds with a .22 repeater, she could make one ragged hole in the middle of a playing card, or split that card edgewise with a bullet. Johnny Baker, another Wild West Show marksman, tried for 17 years to outshoot Annie. “She wouldn’t throw a match,” he said. “You had to beat her, and she wasn’t beatable.”

But nowhere do fast hits matter more than in Africa, when surly animals come for you. His brush with the elephant fresh in memory, Don took a client out for a lion. Big pug marks led the hunters to a fine male. At close range the client fired a black-powder load from his Holland 10-bore. The lion ran off, but the cloud of white smoke hung tight, obscuring three lionesses nearby. They charged. Two broke off, but one pressed on, low and lightning-fast. Don fired instantly. His 9.3 bullet smashed the spine between the shoulders. Dead in mid-air, the lioness cart-wheeled past the hunters.
Mused my friend: “Accurate may not be enough if you’re slow. But a miss is always worse!”[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”12540,12541,12542,12543,12544,12545,12546,12547,12548,12549,12550,12551,12552,12553,12554,12555,12556,12557,12558,12559,12560,12561,12562″][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Rusa on Mauritius

Feb 28, 2017 | News, Uncategorized

Rusa on Mauritius
By Frank Berbuir

What, you might ask, can one hunt on Mauritius, the “star and key of the Indian ocean”, that lies in the southwest of the Indian Ocean, east of Madagascar, nearly 2,000 km off the African continent?

Some time ago, on a hunting show in Germany, I met Lionel Berthault, the founder, and Nicolas Chauveau the director of Le Chasseur Mauricien. Their booth offered an attractive combination of hunting and holidays on the island of Mauritius. I had always associated Mauritius as a tropical paradise and vacation destination with white sand beaches and palm trees. It never crossed my mind that there might be a hunting opportunity on this Indian Ocean paradise out of a 5-star golf resort and spa. It sounded very interesting indeed, so I got acquainted with the gentlemen.(www.lechasseurmauricien.com)

I am addicted to bowhunting in southern Africa, that is for sure, but I have to admit that I was captivated to be and hunt on this beautiful island. There’s an old and important tradition there of hunting the rusa deer (Cervus timorensis rusa rusa) that were first imported from Java by the Dutch Colonial Power in 1639. You can also hunt Indonesian wild boar, Japanese hare, guinea fowl, pheasant, francolin and, if you want, peacock.

A male rusa deer is a bit scraggy but nevertheless a gracious stag with heavy, six-point antlers.
During the rut, which starts at the beginning of July and lasts roughly two months, they sometimes “decorate” their antlers with tufts of grass, branches and leaves. In 2010 we were there during the rut, and I collected two gold-medal rusa and a pheasant with bow and arrow. We returned in 2013 in the beginning of November when it is nice and warm and I was lucky again to shoot an old rusa stag. End of October 2016 we made it back to Mauritius – this time I wanted to hunt on an abnormal or “non-typical” rusa stag and an Indonesian wild boar that I did not get previously.

Our 11-hour flight from Frankfurt took us overnight to Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam International Airport where Lionel was waiting for us early in the morning. The sun was shining and it was comfortable 24°Celsius. The hour’s drive through small villages and large sugar cane fields, with the Indian Ocean to our left and interesting mountain scenery to our right, led us to our resort, the five-star Heritage Le Telfair Golf & Spa Resort in Bel Ombre, (www.heritageresorts.mu) a beautiful property right on the Indian Ocean with a private magnificent beach.

We spent the first day settling in and relaxing. The following noon Lionel, a certified professional hunter and bowhunter, picked me up and we drove about forty minutes to one of the three huge hunting grounds. As I mentioned, I wished to hunt an abnormal stag this time. Abnormal or non-typical would be less or more than six-point antlers. Less than six points are more easily found than more than six-point antlers, and I wanted to hunt one with more than six-points, which made it even more challenging.
Upon arrival at the beautiful hunting lodge we enjoyed a Mauritian coffee and discussed our hunt. We checked my bow and equipment and took some practice shots at several distances before Robby, a game warden and professional hunter, drove us deep into the hunting grounds where we started our glassing and stalking – hunting is only done by glassing, walking and stalking.

The vast area has some impressive mountains, savanna, pine and eucalyptus trees and sugar cane fields. We walked up a small hill and climbed for a better view from a high-seat, a “mirador”. We glassed for quite some time when suddenly three guinea fowl and a white duck sneaked in.
“Do you want to shoot a fowl?” Lionel asked. Why not, I thought. They can make a good eating – in Europe they are a delicacy.
“You can shoot a fowl, but don´t shoot the duck! I know her, she has been living here for eight years,” he added. Silently I pulled the arrow off the quiver and put it on the rest. The birds were standing at twenty metres. Slowly I pulled the bow to full draw and the green dot pin of my sight was focused on the breast of the left bird. When my release fired the carbon arrow, it smacked into the bird within a split second, killing it on the spot. Wow, a great start for the hunter and the guide. We could not see any deer so we climbed down and radioed Robby to pick up the bird. We went up and down hills, over some meadows and through a dense forest. At the edge of the woods we paused for a moment to glass the area. We were lucky to spot a small group with two stags, an old big rusa, and a young two-year-old.

Lionel was excited. “Look at him. It is a non-typical male and has five points on the right and four on the left and a nice big rack too.” Unbelievable – impressive to see through the binoculars, the kind of rusa we were looking for –great. But now we had to find out how we could approach them.
We were at the edge of the woods, and they were on their way walking out on the other side. Between us and them were some small trees on dry grassland, and one high-seat built in a tree in the middle. That was maybe our chance to make it over there, as Lionel said that they might cross over to get to the small creek behind us. The wind was in our favor, so we stalked, crouched over, to the top of the stand. We stood up very slowly to check where the deer were, and were relieved to see them on their way, crossing our position. The wind was still good and the sun was shining bright behind us. The arrow was quickly and quietly placed on the arrow rest. The deer came closer and were at about 70 metres when I slowly pulled my bow to full draw. Lionel was focused on the rusa stag with his rangefinder-binoculars and whispered the distances …50…45…40.

Finally, at 32 metres, the stag was alone, when a left step forward exposed his vital zone nicely broadside, and I sent the arrow on its mission. The broadhead cut through the chest and flew out on the other side – full penetration. He kicked with his hind legs before he jumped and ran off, followed by the rest, to collapse after seventy metres’ flight. Lionel and I couldn´t believe it. We pulled down our face masks, gave high-fives, and hugged enthusiastically. What an amazing performance of bow and arrow. Before we descended from our high-seat I needed to sit for a moment to calm my blood pressure.

We found the arrow full of lung blood, and the follow-up was easy. A big, non-typical rusa stag with five and four points was lying in front of us. We were silent for a while to absorb the atmosphere of this special moment before we honored him with some nice trophy pictures. Robby arrived to fetch us, and we loaded the rusa on the pick-up. Luckily, Robby had brought three ice-cold “Phoenix” Mauritian beers, which tasted brilliant on that sunny, warm and special afternoon.

The next couple of days were spent on a bicycle tour exploring the region and enjoying the many attractions Mauritius has to offer, including a visit of the capital Port Louis with its shopping malls; the Blue Penny museum to see the original “Blue Mauritius stamp”; the spice market; the Pamplemousse Botanical Gardens; Casela or Vanilla Park; the Underwater Sea Walk; dolphin watching and deep-sea fishing.

Then it was time for Indonesian wild boar in the hunting grounds of Bel Ombre, not far from the resort. The lodge is on a mountain with a tremendous view of the hunting grounds, down to the beach and Indian Ocean.

These pigs were introduced to Mauritius during the English, French, Dutch and Portuguese colonial era. They have small bodies, and a boar of 30 to 40 kilograms is considered a big one. They can have nice big tusks – some, up to 20 centimetres. We drove deep into the hunting area before we left the car to start our stalk from a hilltop. The terrain made it exciting and physically demanding. Stalking in closely 30°C uphill and down, always keeping the wind in your favor, with many detours to prevent spooking deer or pigs, was extremely challenging. We went through little woods and grassland, crossed a small creek, and saw wallows that the boars frequented. We pushed through a bamboo forest that had arm-thick stems. We had stalked for several hours when we suddenly spotted a group of wild pigs moving uphill on a meadow. Excitement!

We followed them at a safe distance.
“They probably want to go to a wallow and eating area on the other side of the hill,” Lionel whispered. So we made our way there in a big circle, not to disturb or spook them. We had to go through a dense forest where there would be no shooting opportunity because of the thick foliage. Fortunately, close to the wallow was a tree-stand with good cover. Although some female pigs had arrived at the wallow, we sneaked to the stand and climbed up silently. The wind was perfect. Without making any noise I extracted an arrow and placed it on the rest. Then we saw the male boar coming and chasing the females around.

At snail´s pace I drew my bow, put the sight pin on his vitals and followed him. When the bruiser was standing still and broadside, I released the Silverflame XL-equipped carbon arrow. It hit the pig exactly where I aimed, behind the right shoulder, penetrating the animal´s body. The pig screamed and jumped up before it ran back into the woods. Both of us kept quiet, following the noise of cracking branches and leaves before there was silence. Interestingly, the females were still around and did not run away. I took a deep breath. Lionel gave me a tap on the back and whispered: “Well done, great shot. You shot your first wild boar on Mauritius.”

What an experience! Slowly my excitement subsided and my blood pressure and adrenalin level went back to normal. We waited for about twenty minutes before we climbed down, went to the shooting spot, and picked up and followed the blood track which was clearly visible. Dusk was falling, but with the flashlight we could keep on the track, and after several circles we found the dead boar roughly sixty metres from where I shot him.

We were overcome with elation. I had got my first Indonesian wild boar on Mauritius. What an awesome experience and hunting day. We pulled the boar out of the woods and placed him on an old anthill for some nice trophy pictures. Lionel walked back all the way to get the car to load the boar. Luckily, he had a cooler box with two beers – a welcome end to that magnificent hunting day.

After a few more days at the beach and sightseeing on the beautiful island, we had to leave again, and as we drove to the airport I relived this memorable time. Once more we had enjoyed a great combination of bowhunting and real vacation. Thanks to all who made the trip happen, especially Lionel, Nicolas, Kathleen and Vanessa and the other nice people from Le Chasseur Mauricien. We will come back, for sure.

Always, good hunting and all the best.

Frank

German hunter Frank Berbuir is passionate about the outdoors and hunting – especially bowhunting, which he has practised for more than 17 years. Although he’s bowhunted in several countries, he’s become addicted to hunting in Africa since his first safari in 2004. Frank is a mechanical engineer and risk manager in the automotive industry.

Box:

Equipment:
Bow: Mathews Z7x @ 70 lbs
Arrow Rest: Mathews Down Force
Arrow Quiver: Mathews 5-arrows, detachable
Sight: TruGlo Range Rover Green Dot
Peep-Sight: G5 Magnesium
Stabilizer: Sims Limbsaver Modular
Arrows: Carbon Express Maxima Hunter 350
Broadheads: Silverflame XL 125 & Slick Trick 125 Grain
Release: Scott Wildcat
Optics – Binocular: Zeiss Victory 10 x 40
Optics – Rangefinder: Nikon Archer´s Choice

Some pictures in smaller resolution with the related captions:

Spectacular countryside and hunting area Interesting stalking.