By Ron Machado
When I stepped out of my room this morning, it was cold and dark. I grabbed a sweater near the door and went to meet my PH and his tracker. They were waiting near our hunting truck and within a few minutes, we were on our way.
But let’s back up a few months to lay out this hunt.
Early this year, I turned 85 and wanted to do something different for my birthday. I contacted an old friend, Carl van Zyl, the owner of John X Safaris in South Africa, and spoke with him about hunting a Cape buffalo. I had taken a Cape buffalo many years ago, but this time, I wanted a Dagga Boy, an old buffalo that had been kicked out of the herd by the younger males and was forced to live out his remaining years alone. We agreed on a time for the hunt, and I sent off the deposit. Several months passed, and after a two-day flight, I was in South Africa; more closely, I was at Woodlands. Woodlands is the main ranch for John X Safaris.
That is how I ended up, sitting in a nearly new Toyota pickup with my PH, Clayton, his tracker, Bull, and a professional video operator, Aiden, looking at different animals and getting some great photography of the many wild game species. Yes, there were Cape buffalo, hundreds of them, but none were Dagga Boys.
Late in the morning, we had driven to the top of a ridge and spotted a large herd of Cape buffalo drinking at a waterhole and got out of the truck to glass them. There were several nice buffalo in that herd, but that was the problem; I wanted a loner, one that had been kicked out. After a short time, Bull pointed to a dark spot a long way off in a large treeless pan; a shallow area where, during the rainy season, water collects, making a small lake for the animals to drink. Because the rainy season didn’t start for another month, the pan was dry. Our binoculars only told us that it was a dark spot. Clayton went to the truck and retrieved his spotting scope, setting it on the hood of the truck and watching the spot for a few minutes. Then he turned and said, “It’s a buffalo, and that’s all I can say. We need to get closer.”
With that, we drove down the hill and past the waterhole as the buffalo there quickly exited on the far side. We approached the area near the pan but could not see them because of a stand of trees. Clayton pulled to the side of the trail, looked at me, and asked, “Are you ready for a walk?” And therein could lie the problem. Being well into my eighty-fifth year, my knees aren’t in the best condition. Looking at him and smiling, I replied, “Hell, yeah.”
As we started in single file, Clayton said, “Walk slowly, and watch you don’t make any noise.” We moved through the trees, for several hundred yards, and came to the open area. We could see the buffalo about 130 yards away, lying in the sun sideways to us, his head facing away. Clayton motioned me to his side.
“I can only see one half of its horns. But the one side looks good,” he said quietly.
“If one side is good, I don’t care about the other. It doesn’t matter if it is broken or not,” I replied. Nodding his approval, he set the gun on the shooting sticks and put me in place for the shot. We waited, as the animal was still sleeping. Clayton whispered, “When he stands, he will take a few minutes to stretch. That is when you will take the shot.” Time passed with me on the sticks, Aiden with his camera over my shoulder, and Clayton and Bull waiting. What felt like an hour and was actually only ten minutes or so, the buffalo stood, turned towards us, took a healthy dump, and started walking directly towards us.
“He is coming to the water,” Clayton whispered. “Shoot him low in the chest.” But its head was held low, covering its chest and the buffalo offered no shot. Closing the distance to about sixty yards, it started moving to its left, opening up a part of its right leg and chest. I squeezed the trigger, and my shot hit low on its chest, just inside the leg. The buffalo turned, dust flowing off its back and, moving sharply to its left, it crashed into the brush at the side of the open area. We approached the animal with our guns ready when Clayton, smiling, said, “This hunt is over.”
I had my Dagga Boy.
Note: For anyone who is concerned about the meat, none of the buffalo was wasted. We the hunters enjoy what we shoot. Also, John X Safaris sponsors a school for local children and provides all the meat and side dishes, and also donates to a food pantry that helps feed local families. Nothing is wasted.
