By Divan Labuschagne

It was April, and the vegetation in Bwabwata was thick. Grass towered six feet tall in some places with visibility mere meters. I love this time of year, up close and personal with some of my favorite species – elephant and buffalo. Bwabwata is a 280 000-hectare wilderness area sandwiched between Botswana to the south and Angola to the north, with elephant, sable, buffalo, leopard, lion, and many, many more. This is truly a hunter’s paradise. It’s normal later in the year to find huge groups of elephant numbering into the high hundreds, with daylight sighting of leopard, African wild dogs and lion.

Erin and Mike had joined me for an epic safari in Namibia’s famous Caprivi. Mike’s focus was a big elephant, and for the next two safaris we were hunting elephant the way it was meant to be – by tracking – while also hunting buffalo and hippo along the way. Erin, from Giving Back TV, was filming. Bwabwata is known for its big herds of buffalo and has produced some of Africa’s very best Dagga Boys. Bull herds with up to 20 in a group were very common, and tracking these bulls into the thickets was as exciting as it gets.

One late afternoon on our way back to camp my tracker Johnny caught a glimpse of a buffalo about 400 yards off the road. We got our rifles ready and started following. The bull was alone and slowly walking in grass taller than the Land Cruiser. I knew right there and then it was going to be close and personal, just the way I liked it. We tracked the bull for about 20 minutes when Johnny suddenly spotted it and pointed. Right in front of us was the bull feeding, totally unaware of our presence. The wind was good and quite strong, thus giving us the chance to get in even closer. I got Mike in close behind me. We slowly made our way forward, eyes fixed on the bull’s every move. The grass was so thick that Mike was struggling to make out the buffalo now standing broadside. We inched forward a couple more steps and put Mike on the sticks, and I whispered to him to make sure before squeezing the trigger.

There was a loud bark from the .416 Rem mag. The bull bucked and was gone before a second shot was possible. As a professional hunter I like to wait some time for the shot to take effect before following. We stood there for about five minutes then slowly walked to where the bull had been. Straight off the bat we found some lung blood. We followed the bull that was now heading into some very thick scrub, and heard it crashing through the bushes a couple of times. Time was ticking and we were losing light quickly.  

On high alert I got Mike in right next to me with Erin as camera man and Johnny following the tracks of the departing bull. We tracked, stopped and listened. At one stage the bush was so thick it was almost dark in there. Then spotting the bull standing in some thick brush facing us, Mike managed to put in another shot, hitting the bull behind the shoulder but a little too far back. We waited a few minutes before following with caution. The bull was heading into some very thick bush, and with daylight fading quickly we continued after it. Johnny spotted it once more, facing us and Mike put in a frontal chest shot. The bull grunted and came straight for us. I fired the first barrel of my .470 NE hitting it in the chest, and Mike followed with a perfect brain shot, putting him down for good. Everyone was relieved at the outcome. Mike got a fantastic bull, and it was a great start to a wonderful safari ahead.

Later that same week we followed another bull close to the Botswana border. It was slowly walking southeast after a nice mud bath, and it wasn’t long before we saw it feeding towards us. This was ideal, and I got Mike on the sticks. The bull was now about 25 yards, coming our way. Then, from our right another bull appeared, a slightly younger one and still soft. We stood motionless trying to hide behind some tall grass. The younger bull suddenly winded us and took off, spooking the first bull that had been unaware of us, and he also took off, seemingly not sure what had just happened.

We followed and saw him once more, slowly walking away into the omuramba (ancient riverbeds found in the Kalahari Desert). Inside Bwabwata, every few kilometers there were these beautiful open omurambas running from northwest to southeast.  In the rainy season they were filled with water, and buffalo just loved visiting the mud pools. We could now see the bull’s back as he moved from one mud pool to the next. Buffalo love to bath in mud to cool down and to get rid of parasites, as this time of the year it was hot, and ticks were everywhere. We leapfrogged to the right trying to intercept the bull. The wind was good, and we had plenty of good cover in the long grass, but it was impossible to take a longer shot because of the grass.

The bull then walked parallel to us, giving Mike the perfect opportunity to take a fatal shoulder shot. It ran about 50 yards before stopping. I could see it was struggling to stay on its feet and Mike put in another great shot. This was buffalo number two for Mike, and what a bull it was. We loaded it, and by the time we were done it was dark. We had about a two-hour drive back to camp in time for dinner and a good night’s sleep, ready to be on the road the next morning at 5 a.m. looking for elephant.

At this stage of the safari we had followed some elephant bulls but none that excited us. Big cow herds were plentiful. We knew it was just a matter of time before finding the right track. Slowly driving the cutline between Namibia and Botswana one morning we found the tracks of a big bull heading into our area from Botswana. We followed the bull that at this stage was just walking, not too fast but fast enough to keep in front of us. We followed the tracks into the omuramba to a pan where it drank. We could clearly see the tracks in the mud, and they looked even more impressive than they had earlier that morning.

After almost six hours of fast tracking, we were still not catching up to it. We cleared another omuramba and saw the bull had changed course, walking north. The sun was setting fast, and we had only a few hours of daylight left. We followed him for another six miles before time ran out. We had to abandon the tracks, as daylight was now almost gone. We had walked about 42 km from 8 a.m. that morning to sunset.

We followed more elephant that safari without any luck of a big bull. We saw plenty of elephant but just couldn’t find the right one. Mike had to leave without an elephant, but the plan was to return later in the year to try and find the right bull.

It was now October and hot as hell. Mike and Erin made their way back to the Caprivi in pursuit of a big tusker for Mike. Most of the pans had dried up and most of the animals were concentrated close to the Kwando River. Hundreds of elephant drank daily, and we were following them left and right. The sun was extremely hot, and walking in the soft Caprivi sand didn’t make it any easier. I had two teams of trackers. If we got on a track and followed it, the other trackers and driver would continue scouting. We came across a very nice track of a bull elephant close to Horseshoe Bend, heading west. The only problem was that every day, hundreds of elephant drank there and tracking was not easy. Once we had found the track again it wasn’t long before the bull joined up with yet another giant cow herd. This made things difficult as we had to maneuver our way between these cows to get to where the bull was. We had numerous close calls in the thickets only to lose the track again.

This bull had an unmistakable front left foot with a very distinctive deep crack, making it easy for the trackers to follow. An elephant’s track is like a human fingerprint, and if you can read a track, you will be able to follow such an animal for a long way. For the next few days we repeated the same process over and over, just to lose his track in the middle of thousands of elephant heading daily to the river and back. On day 10 of Mike’s second safari of the year, we found the tracks of the same bull again, heading west after being to the river to drink. It was about midday and actually very late to start tracking an elephant that had walked there the previous night. But knowing they don’t go too far, we set out to follow once again.

This time we got lucky. The bull was walking along a well-worn elephant path, and every now and then had stopped to feed. Later on he joined a group of cows in a burned area, feeding on some fresh leaves from the cluster-leafed terminalia trees. We could now hear elephant not too far away and we set off at pace. Soon enough we could see elephant here and there. The problem was to find the bull without spooking the rest of the herd. We swung around to the right to try cover the whole herd before they went into the thickets again. As we came close to the end of the burned area, we saw the body of a big bull towering over the few cows that were surrounding him. I looked through my binoculars trying to see his tusks, but the angle was not great. We moved back to the left, zig-zagging our way between some young bulls.

The 500-grain bullet took the bull on the forehead just to the right, missing the brain. As the elephant swung around, Mike put in the second barrel, getting the bull in the stomach. I took a shot with my .500 Jeffery, hitting the bull as he was now running away from us. I knew we had hit him and it was just a matter of time before we would catch up again. We tracked him for a few miles, but we were losing light fast. Then we found blood and realized that bull now only walking. A good sign.

Suddenly my tracker Johnny spotted another elephant walking our way, a younger bull. We detoured to the left trying not to spook it as we didn’t know where the big one was. Then Kenneth, another great bushman tracker, found the bull standing still. We moved into position and Mike dropped the bull right there. What a giant he was, truly a bull dreams are made of. The weight of the heavier tusk came in at 70lbs and the smaller one at 67lbs.

It was a remarkable hunt – by day 10 of the second safari we had walked 139 miles to find the right bull. This is what elephant hunting is all about. It is said that you hunt buffalo with guts; leopards with your brain; lion with your heart, and elephant with your feet. I couldn’t agree more. At the end of a wonderful safari Mike had taken two beautiful Dagga Boys, a hippo, and a big Caprivi tusker.

It was a worthwhile walk!

By Tayvi Rae Stilson

I kept thinking, “What will my family do if I die in Africa?”

This is the story of how I died.  Well, not literally, but a little inside.

From the time I was a little girl living in a small town in the United States, I wanted to visit Africa. The day after my high school graduation, my dream came true. I got to start my amazing hunting journey in Africa at Comre’ Safaris.

Comre’ was stunning and our perfect guide Richard made the journey so much fun. The first two days it rained, and I couldn’t get anything on my list, but my grandpa did, taking an amazing heavy black wildebeest. It took some chasing to get it to the right spot, but just as the sun was setting, he was able to take it. We woke up the next day to rain again, but that was okay because we were still able to go out and hunt, and I was able to shoot my first animal with one shot. I was lucky enough to get a very old, but beautiful white blesbok.

After this, things got crazy, and I thought I was going to die in Africa. It rained for almost three days straight, and the water in the rivers was pretty high and rough. In our vehicle we started to cross a river that had been flooded, where boulders had been washed down. We couldn’t see them and got stuck on a big one. At first, it wasn’t too bad, but then the water started to fill up in our vehicle. That’s when my grandma and I decided it was time to leave! We climbed out of the window, waded the rest of the way across the river to the bank, and waited until a tractor came to pull the vehicle out. It was some experience, to say the least!

The next two days my grandpa and I were able to shoot some beautiful animals. He took a fantastic yellow blesbok and a great blue wildebeest bull, while I was able to kill an impala with a deep back sweep, and an awesome nyala cow with very beautiful markings.

The next day started with my grandpa trying to shoot a zebra from over 700 yards away, but he didn’t get it. Then it was my turn. I took a shot at a kudu 

The Sunday we were leaving was sad, to say the least. It was hard to leave the camp and come back home, but the time I was able to spend there had moments I will cherish forever, some of the best memories I’ll ever have. Comre’ is so beautiful and has the prettiest scenic places. I got to see so many cool new animals including zebras, giraffes, and monkeys. My trip to Africa was amazing and so much fun!

So, thankfully, I didn’t die in Africa, but I certainly learned some fear of rivers!

This Texas heart shot founds its way into the vitals and we had our trophy.

By Ricardo Leone

While a respectable number of hunters may wish to debate the ethics of taking a Texas heart shot as your initial shot on big game – few will dispute the effectiveness of this infamous shot as a follow-up. For those who do not know what I am referring to, a Texas heart shot is simply shooting an animal in its’ south end as it is heading due north – yes, in the ass while the animal is facing away from you.

The first time I was party to this tactic was on my first safari, when my Zambian PH instructed me to shoot the third of three running greater kudu at about one hundred yards out while they ran past a small opening in the bush. While drawing blood, my shot was a touch low and barely slowed the kudu’s stride as it ran for cover. Before I could even discuss our next move, my PH raised his double barrel .470 Merkel and sent a 500-grain bullet directly up the kudu’s backside at about one hundred yards. The kudu ran another seventy-five yards and dropped. My PH pointed to the steep hills on our left and explained if he did not shoot then, we would be climbing those hills, in the heat, for the next few hours tracking blood and if lucky enough to find my kudu, we would then have to carry the trophy back down. As I was a novice at the time, I was grateful to have my trophy in front of me and did not mind my PH making that executive decision.

For those doubters of the effectiveness of a Texas heart shot, I can personally attest that a well-placed bullet will either find its way to the vitals if shot directly up the backside as was the case with my kudu or it will do enough damage to stop the animal for a quick mercy shot. In fact, this past year I had two such examples myself.  In both cases, instead of watching my PH shoot my trophy, I had no choice but to use a Texas heart shot or risk losing my trophy all together. In the most recent case, it was shoot fast or watch the animal run into an area where the guide had pre-warned, we could not track an injured animal.

Allow me to set the stage. My dear friend Pete and I were in West Texas chasing aoudad. Aoudads are also known as Barbary sheep which, despite its name, are neither a sheep nor a goat – it has its own genus. This may sound odd chasing African game indigenous to the mountains in North Africa, in Texas. However, aoudads were introduced to West Texas in the 1950s and have thrived ever since. A sizable number of hunters, ranchers and wildlife management professionals would say they have done too well, both crowding out desert bighorn sheep and threatening wild sheep by passing on disease. Aoudads are now considered an evasive species and can be hunted year-round. Unlike other African species in Texas that are referred to “Pasture Art” for the rich and famous, most aoudad are free range and make for a challenging hunt, where one often has to climb steep hills like when chasing desert bighorn sheep.

Enough about the origins of African animals in Texas – let’s relive the hunt. My initial shot was taken late in the morning with my Griffin & Howe Highlander .300 Win Mag off my small tripod while sitting with my pack in my lap for stability in a howling wind facing downhill at 350 yards. The wind was welcome as it let me fumble around in the rocks while I set up as the aoudad stayed bedded down below out of the wind and oblivious of me. When they finally moved, the guide had me follow three big rams in the herd that were grouped together. The guide initially instructed me to follow the second in line. However, when the lead ram stepped up on a rock in the open sun, I found him more appealing. In the end my guide said to pick the one I most fancied. I kept adjusting my scope for more distance as the rams meandered away from us and when the lead one stopped and turned broadside with its long chaps glowing in the sun, I took aim on its front left shoulder and squeezed the trigger. I could hear the bullet hit it, making a loud noise that sounded like the crack of a whip. My guide confirmed it was a solid hit. Before we could even think about retrieving the ram, the guide quickly turned his attention to the running herd knowing we had to get Pete a ram too. My guide told me he could see my aoudad walking off clearly affected by the shot. “We will come back for him later, he said. I was not bothered given his quiet confidence.

We spent the next hour or so chasing the same herd trying to get Pete an opportunity, but unfortunately there were too many eyes on us, and they could feel the pressure. We needed to back off and let them settle. We turned back towards the cliffs from where I had made my shot. From the ledge, our guide pointed way down and across the ravine to a light green bush.

“It is the one with the dark green tree just below it at the bottom,” he pointed out. After I confirmed I could see where he was pointing, he said the aoudad would be down somewhere near that tree. Again, I appreciated his confidence. My guide lightened his pack and Pete left his pack and rifle in the buggy. I took my pack, shooting stick and my rifle which still had two bullets in it – do not ask why I did not load a third bullet. I did remember to open the scope aperture back up and dial the distance turret back to zero. Off we went to make our way to the bottom picking our way through the loose shale. At least an hour and 45 minutes had passed since my initial shot. I walked along the bottom of the ravine, and my guide crossed it and stayed higher up than me for a better vantage point. He told me to get ready, he could see the aoudad under the tree as predicted. As he alerted me, I caught sight of the horns under the tree, and I could see the ram start to bolt.

This was one of those hero or zero moments. I had a small window to the right of the tree as the ravine hooked left and out of sight after the tree. I shouldered my rifle as if I were pheasant shooting, and through the scope I could only see the tail end of the ram. Without hesitation I pulled the trigger at the moving animal. I quickly moved down the ravine past the tree and could see I had dropped the ram taking out his hind legs. With my last bullet I quickly applied a mercy shot. I had my trophy. Thank goodness that my scope was reset, and I did not need a third bullet.

A fine aoudad trophy with horns more than 30 inches – note the beautiful chaps.

My second example happened less than two months prior, when I was in the Selous Game Preserve in Tanzania. After successfully chasing Cape buffalo, greater kudu and Nyasa wildebeest, we set out to find a Roosevelt sable, the smallest of the three sables, only indigenous to the Selous. On our second long drive looking for them in the hills, we followed a dried riverbed for a long while until the terrain transformed into a sea of long grass. Our head tracker spotted a set of sweeping horns within the grass. My PH instructed the driver to stop. I grabbed my Griffin & Howe Highlander .300 Win Mag and hopped off the Land Cruiser. My PH set the sticks next to the vehicle and I aimed for a neck shot given I could not see the body of the animal within the dense grass and our angle was not ideal. The sable turned and started to move away from us uphill. If sable start to run, they will keep running for a long distance, so my instinctive action was to administer a Texas heart shot in the small window I had within the grass which stopped the sable in its tracks. A final mercy shot finished the job and I had my Roosevelt Sable. It was a spectacular trophy, I must say.

While we are all taught how to shoot a broadside animal and, in some cases, a frontal shot, there are other shots that can be used. Again, without debating whether a Texas heart shot should be your initial shot on an animal, it is an essential shot to know if you have an injured animal that may take flight.

By Owen Maddox

The seed was planted when a young boy of ten years old was given a copy of Outdoor Life Magazine by his uncle.  During these early years, the uncle introduced him to hunting a variety of animals in Kentucky.  Among the uncle’s favorites were Bobwhite Quail and the Eastern Grey and Eastern Fox Squirrel.  Using an old, single-shot 12-gauge shotgun, given to him by his grandmother, the boy’s favorite hunting at the time was for Bobwhite Quail, that were pursued with the highly energetic and extremely tense two English Pointer birddogs that belonged to his uncle.  Nearly 12 years of age brought a new hunting experience for the boy – hunting the Whitetail Deer of Kentucky. His uncle let him “borrow” a used Marlin .336 Lever Action Rifle, which he used for several years in the pursuit of the Whitetail Deer. This quickly became his second hunting passion along with the Bobwhite Quail.  His uncle never asked for the Marlin to be returned and continued to supply the young boy with his used copies of the magazines until he got his first job, cutting a two-acre yard of the motel just down the street from his home.  At the age of twelve, with two additional jobs, delivering the Louisville Courier Journal newspaper and obtaining a TV Guide route, he then bought every monthly copy of Outdoor Life Magazine and Field & Stream Magazine.  

All the articles were read at least once, but the articles by one author, Jack O’Conner, completely fascinated the boy.  Jack O’Conner wrote about a variety of hunting subjects, but the most interesting ones discussed which calibers were best for the different species of game, including many African animals.  The African Cape Buffalo stood out among them all.  The boy then began purchasing and requesting African game hunting books from his family for a Christmas or birthday present.  He was then hooked on the thought of hunting Cape Buffalo in Africa with a “Double Rifle” and informed his grandmother, whom he had lived with since age six, that he would someday take a “African Cape Buffalo” with a “Double Rifle”.  That boy was me, Owen E Maddox, Jr.

The next 61 years were filled with school, Air Force aviation for 20 years, another 20 years with United Airlines and then retirement.

The next 61 years were filled with school, Air Force aviation for 20 years, another 20 years with United Airlines and then retirement.

In 2017 I once again started to think about the number one goal the 12-year-old boy had told his grandmother he was going to achieve one day.  I met six Safari Outfitters at a show in Denver that year and quickly decided on one Professional Hunter, Dave Freeburn, who runs Dave Freeburn Safaris in South Africa.  I communicated with him several times about scheduling a Buffalo hunt in 2018 but that plan was derailed due to a cancer scare.  It was finally determined that I did not have cancer, but the African planning was down the drain at that time.

My spouse and biggest supporter in my life, Amy Brandon Maddox. I finally brought the subject up again in the summer of 2020.  We gave the issue an abundance of dialog and we finally agreed that if I was ever going to fulfill that bucket list item, I needed to get busy scheduling the trip.  I once again checked out the references for Dave Freeburn Safaris — all with outstanding comments.  I contacted Dave and he did remember me from 2017 and we scheduled a safari hunt in August 2021.

In 2019 I, as a Federal Firearms License (FFL) holder, sold an estate of a local firearms collector who passed away.  His wife did not want any of the firearms in her home after her husband’s passing, and 96 of the 104 firearms were sold; eight of the more expensive guns did not sell and I tried to return them to their owner.  She would not accept them into her home and offered them to me at a rock-bottom low price which I accepted.  The most prized firearm in the remaining collection was a Krieghoff Classic Five Double Rifle in the .500/416 N.E. caliber.

Before my hunt was scheduled, I knew the double rifle was going with me to fulfill my long-awaited dream.  The PH advised me to practice often, both shooting off sticks and offhand at 50 yards.  I averaged ten rounds of reloads per week for four months and got very good at reloading the double quickly even though it did not have ejectors on the rifle.  One of my best friends, Jim Madere, encouraged me through the entire process of preparing for the hunt but especially in practicing with the double.  I know he also really enjoyed shooting that rifle.

A month prior to my departure to South Africa, rioting, looting, kidnapping, and shootings broke out in Africa and the U.S. State Department recommended against travel to that destination.  I had already received about ten vaccinations and was determined not to cancel my “dream trip”.  Amy agreed with the decision to continue.

I had previously decided on going to Johannesburg two days early, to avoid jetlag on my first day of hunting.  I booked two nights at the Afton Safari Lodge, located only 15 minutes from O.R. Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg.  The Afton Safari Lodge is owned by the publisher of the African Hunting Gazette and managed by Elize, who does a wonderful job in making all safari hunters feel at home.

My first African safari ended in total success as I took my first African Cape Buffalo with my double rifle and several other plains game animals.  My 61-year dream had finally been fulfilled.  But this story is about my third Cape buffalo hunt in Zimbabwe, so, let’s get on with that.

Departure day has finally arrived for my third trip to the Dark Continent.  Preparation has been limited this past year due to an accident in October 2022.  While building a lean-to on my barn, a 16 foot 2”x6” rafter fell, and I caught it behind my back on a ladder.  That resulted in four muscle tears around my left rotator cuff.  Surgery on the four tears was accomplished in December 2022 resulting in physical therapy for the next four months.  The surgery had to be repeated in April 2023 due to an additional tear of the bicep.  I knew immediately that would place my August 2023 safari in jeopardy.  I called my professional hunter, Dave Freeburn of Dave Freeburn Safaris, to give him the bad news.  He said there was an opening in October for the Zimbabwe hunt – and the date was set.  I had hunted in South Africa for the past two years with Dave and he thought the change in location would be to my liking.

Physical therapy for the following five months led to about 70% recovery, but I was still limited in my use of the left arm.  I was concerned that I miight not be able to carry or shoot my Krieghoff 500/416 N.E. double rifle.  Two weeks prior to my departure date, Dr. Mitch Seemann, my orthopedic surgeon, cleared me to make the trip but not to carry the rifle with my left hand.  I practiced shooting about 75 rounds at my club range, Buffalo Creek Gun Club, in Colorado.  I did not have the mobility nor the quickness I needed to be going up against one of the Big Five dangerous game animals of Africa, the African Cape Buffalo.  I felt very comfortable shooting off my sticks for the first shot but still had concerns for the follow-up shot which is normally required.  My decision was made – I was leaving for Zimbabwe in two weeks.

My wife of over 31 years, Amy, took me to Denver International Airport (DIA) the morning of October 21st, 2023, to begin my journey.  Hank, our one-and-a-half-year-old Weimaraner, accompanied us but was dropped off at his favorite play-time kennel for the day since Amy had to work at the United Airlines Training Center after our trip to DIA.  My rifle was checked through by security to Johannesburg with no problems since all my paperwork was completed correctly.  I had a great breakfast at the United Club and daydreamed of my adventure to come.  My flight from Denver to Newark was on time and uneventful and after a few hours in the Newark United Club I boarded my familiar Boeing 787, Flight number 188, to Johannesburg.  Sixteen hours later I was retrieving my bag and rifle in O.R. Tambo Int Airport in Johannesburg.  That evening was spent at the City Lodge Hotel at the airport and after the next morning’s delicious breakfast, I checked my bag and rifle for my flight to Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe.  Dave Freeburn and I met in the boarding area and continued our journey to Zimbabwe on South African Airlines flight number SA40.  One and a half hours later I paid $30 for my Zimbabwe Visa and retrieved my baggage and rifle.  At the front entrance of the airport, we were met by Stewart “Stu” Taylor, our Zimbabwe PH along with an apprentice PH, Kirsten, who had finished PH School and was now doing her four years of required training, on safari, with a qualified PH.  Two and a half hours later we arrived in camp, located in Matetsi, Unit 2.  Along the way we picked up our Government Game Scout, Johnathan, from his government compound, one hour from our camp.  We also dropped off Kirsten for her short walk to Unit 1, where she was working.

After unpacking and meeting Guav Johnson, a PH and part owner in the Matetsi, Unit 2, lease permit, along with a friend of his and the camp staff, which included our primary tracker, Davey, his son Giff, our secondary tracker; Johnathan, the Game Scout, Moraine, our housekeeper and Internet expert, and our waiter, Nelson, we proceeded to ensure my rifle had remained sighted-in.  One shot at 50 meters satisfied Stu, the PH, but I shot a second shot to satisfy my double was good with both barrels for the hunt.

The first evening was spent on a drive showing me the terrain we would be hunting and discussing how we would hunt the African Cape Buffalo in Unit 2.  This Unit is part of a huge concession of close to 1,000,000 acres with no fences.  Every animal on the concession is totally free and wild.  On that short one-hour drive, I saw approximately 250 elephants and many other plains game animals. 

However, everything was not all good – a lightning storm we were watching started a huge fire that burned a significant part of the west side of Unit 2.  Another fire two weeks prior to our arrival burned thousands of acres right up to our camp.  We made a quick return to camp, where Stu directed workers to the fire with equipment, including a tractor, to make fire breaks.

A great dinner that evening was accompanied by many hunting adventures relayed by all three PHs.  The adventurous storytelling was interrupted by the soothing sound of a lion’s gentle roar, which continued through the evening.  Little did I know at the time, but Guav Johnson is a legendary PH who has guided many famous hunters in several countries on the African Continent.  He told to me that Simba’s roar was very common in the evening at that camp.  On no other previous hunt had I ever heard that sound throughout the night.  As I lay in bed that evening, I realized that sound was reinforcing my determination to continue my African journeys.

The next morning we were up at 4:45am, had breakfast with Guav and his friend, and drove out of camp at 5:30 to hunt for an old Dagga Boy, an old bull that normally has outlived his usefulness in the herd and might live by himself or with a couple of others like himself.  They generally have been replaced by a younger, stronger bull in their herd. 

I had told Stu that my left shoulder might be a problem, but my preference was for him not to assist with shooting the Dagga Boy, if we could find one.  The exception was if I did not make a clean first shot, but hit the buff, then take him down, especially if I was not fast on the follow-up shot.  He agreed.

The entire morning was driving the roads looking for big buff tracks.  We saw two sets of good tracks on the dusty road, but the two stalks yielded no Dagga Boys.  We saw one large herd in the distance, but we decided not to follow it since I was looking for a big old bull that had probably been pushed out of the herd, so went back to camp for lunch.  While having lunch, Stu got a call from Guav who had spotted three big Dagga Boys at the southern tip of the unit so Stu decided to cancel our previous plan and go the long distance where the bulls had been seen.  I had a good feeling about the change of plans because we were the only hunters in the area and the three bulls would not be under any pressure and therefore would probably remain in the area undisturbed. 

We reached the location about an hour after leaving camp and set up on a rise with all of us glassing the area.  The area was vast and covered with tall grass, scrubby trees and rolling hills – it provided lots of cover for the bulls and would be hard to locate them unless they either got up from the afternoon rest to go to water, picked up our scent, which was not likely due to keeping the wind in our face, or being bumped by other animals.  This was a possible problem due to many elephants in the area.  We stalked across the plains for about one-half mile while continuing to glass the area.  A slight rise gave a good view from a slightly higher position and we spotted our Dagga Boys. 

They were on the move and heading to water – or so we thought.  They disappeared in a low gully as we stalked closer, where we had good cover, and the wind was still in our favor.  Thirty minutes later we reached a position where we thought we would see them again, but they were nowhere to be seen.  We were then worried that our stalk had taken too long, and the “Dagga Boys” had hastened their pace to get to the water which was beyond the southeastern edge of our area. 

Our hopes faded the longer we glassed the area for them and finally Stu sent Giff, the youngest tracker, up a tree some distance behind us.  Still no sighting of the bulls.  After 30 more minutes of glassing, Dave told Stu that he would return directly to the location where we had spotted them from a good, elevated position.  He hurriedly returned with a big smile and informed us the bulls were lying down in the tall grass right in front of us at 150 yards.  Stu told us to stalk directly into the wind toward the bull’s position, very slowly across the area that had minimal cover for us.  We had to stalk low the entire way, only rising to ensure the bulls had not stood up.  At 100 yards from their position, the two trackers and Game Scout, remained behind a few bushes and Stu, Dave and I continued the stalk to 50 yards.  At that point Stu set up the shooting sticks for me and told me to shoot the bull to the left of a small tree when he stood up.  I focused the rifle sight on the tips of horns, which I could see protruding from the golden grass.  After 10 minutes, (it seemed like forever), the bulls started to move their heads around and I saw the tail swish of the bull I was focused on — I was ready for him to stand, and finally he did, but he and the other two bulls immediately turned the opposite way than I expected.  I held my shot to avoid hitting two bulls and at the same time Stu and Dave said, “Don’t shoot him, the bull on the right is bigger.” I had no time to get on the other bigger bull because they were intermingled.  They all three ran to the west, away from some elephants which had spooked them out of their afternoon rest and which, in my concentration on the bull with the horns protruding through the tall golden grass, I had not even been aware of.

Stu picked up the shooting sticks and all three of us ran in a direction to cut off some distance to the bulls.  We paused once to check on the bulls which had slowed to a fast walk.  They were 180 yards away and Stu asked if I was comfortable making a long shot if necessary.  I said, “No, it has to be close to 100 yards or closer with my double.”  We kept moving and then we saw elephants coming towards the bulls from the west – the bulls slowed which allowed us to get to 110 yards from the bulls where Stu set up the sticks once again and I got my rifle sight on the big guy, but they were still moving from right to left.  From behind me, Dave bellowed twice, the first was not loud enough for the bulls to hear at 110 yards, but the second bellow was loud, and all three bulls stopped to look our way — the biggest Dagga Boy stopped at a perfect side position view, and I was on him with an immediate shot through both lungs.  He jumped a couple of times before crumbling to the ground – he was done.  The other two bulls did not immediately leave him but did so after several seconds.

Even though my Krieghoff kicks hard, I did not feel anything but elation in knowing instantly that I had make a good shot at 90 yards and I had seen him jump when hit by the 400-grain soft-tip Nosler bullet.  I immediately reloaded with a solid in the right chamber, exactly like the cartridge in the left chamber.  We walked to the bull but could not see him in the dense grass until within 25 yards, where I placed an insurance bullet into his spine.  I know Stu knew the bull was finished because he did not intervene when I walked up and placed the tip of my barrel on the bull’s right eye. 

I unloaded and said a short prayer over this magnificent creature which was much bigger that my previous two bulls taken in 2021 and 2022.  Everyone arrived from their hide in the bush with broad smiles and congratulatory hands reaching out. The old Dagga Boy was then pulled out of the tall grass and positioned for many pictures with our entire crew.

The process of loading the bull onto the vehicle was like art in motion by the entire crew as I watched the one-ton buffalo being loaded in the Land Cruiser.  Arrival back in camp was a joyous occasion – the celebration started with a shot of Port and was followed by repeated stories of the stalk and how lucky we were, in so many ways.  Dinner and bed followed but the adrenalin was still flowing throughout my body and finally the last look at my phone showed midnight.  I awoke again at 05:00 to start another day in the bush.

Because I had filled my tag with a tremendous African Cape Buffalo just short of 43” and did not have any other species on my list, Dave asked if he could use my rifle for some hunting of his own.  Of course, I had no objection, and each day we searched for a tuskless cow elephant and possibly a trophy bull, which we had not yet encountered.  Every day that we hunted, we saw many herds of elephants consisting of 10 to 50 in each herd.  However, we never found either of the two desired animals.  Dave also wanted a good bushbuck which we found, and he took one afternoon. I had never considered a bushbuck, but it has a beautiful set of spiraled horns, so I may consider it on future hunts. 

The whole time pictures were being taken I was in my own world thinking about taking the life of this magnificent animal and justifying it by knowing many others will live out a full life, as this one had, due to the money that the hunters like me pay toward keeping and growing the numbers of animals living and thriving in the wild.  Without the hunters’ money going into this type of adventure and curbing the massive amount of poaching, the animals would lose their value to many of the local people, and they would be killed for subsistence and eliminated quickly.

minutes and then headed back to the riverbank with the trees, where they had initially been spotted.  We hid in the bush and waited in a nice hide.  They did not disappoint and returned to the area.  Again, one or more spotted us and once again they ran but this time from our right to left.  Stu quickly realized the big male was going to cross an opening between two trees on the riverbank and let me know to shoot when he was visible.  I was ready for the big guy when he appeared and let a 400-grain solid fly as soon as I saw his fur hit the opening.  The big bullet connected, and he was finished.  After pictures were taken, we headed to the waterhole for a chance at a big-tusked hog.  We built a perfect blind in the thicket 50 yards from what seemed to be the favorite mud-bath location.  We were prepared to wait most of the day for the right opportunity.  Although nothing appeared that we were satisfied with taking, we did see13 warthogs, 29 sable, a giraffe, a herd of 20 impala and a herd of zebra visit the water hole within the next four hours.  We packed up after the visitors went about their daily visit and hit the trails again to check out our possibilities before heading back to camp at sunset.

On my last day in Zimbabwe, I again awoke at 04:30, even though I did not have to be up before 07:00.  Nelson, as was normal routine, had a pot of coffee and a kettle of hot water sitting on the open fire situated in the middle of the concrete outdoor porch.  I poured a cup and sat outside in the cool darkness waiting for the sun to rise.  The fire had mostly been subdued and the hope for rain looked promising in the overcast dark sky.  I listened intently for the beautiful and soothing sound of Simba in the calm cool morning of darkness.  Simba’s soothing sound did not come, probably because the huge fires drove most of the animals away from Unit 2 and into the surrounding areas which had not been touched by the fires.  Knowing Simba was not near, I immediately started glassing the plains in the distance to the east and northeast in search of the herd of roan antelope which we had watched just prior to sunset the previous evening.

The 20 roan included two young calves which were fun to watch trying to keep up with their moms in the herd.

They were nowhere to be found that morning which did not surprise me.  What did surprise me was I saw no elephants, where I normally saw herds of 20 or more, off to the east prior to the burn areas.  A couple of kudu cows did show up a short distance from camp as the sun continued to rise.  I had already finished my coffee and oatmeal with toast when Stu and Dave arrived.  On the previous night I had counted out tip money for the camp employees and after Dave and Stu had finished breakfast, the employees came into the dining area one at a time for me to thank them and say our goodbyes.

Packing to leave this beautiful country left me with many mixed thoughts and emotions.  However, the one that I will embrace is that I will be back in a few months to start another great adventure on here, once again, looking for an old Dagga Boy.

We left camp after the vehicle was loaded with all our gear and trophies.  Our first stop was at a government facility where the Cape buffalo, baboon and bushbuck skulls were dropped off to be recorded and measured.  At the facility, we once again saw and talked to Kirsten who was delivering many animal skulls for recording, including two elephant and two lion skulls.  Jonathan was then delivered to his home in the government compound located another 30 minutes away. 

When we finally got back on a tar road, Stu quickly picked up speed for the 40km distance to Victoria Falls Airport.  After unloading and saying our goodbyes, Dave and I headed toward the check-in counter for South African Airlines.  Afterward is when the delays started – we waited 25 minutes for the Zimbabwean police to show up to clear my rifle.  Eight of them took me, with my baggage, into their small office and went through the paperwork for at least 15 minutes, then counted each bullet remaining that I possessed to take back home.  I was finally released to exit the room with my rifle and case being carried to the proper location for weapons to be loaded onto the flight leaving Zimbabwe.  I had to retrieve my rifle in JNB after our flight from Zimbabwe and recheck it for the flight back to Newark.  I then went through customs and rechecked my bag and rifle, all within the two-hour layover I had before my final flight that day to Denver, Colorado. 

Although I am 76 years old, I will continue to hunt the African Cape Buffalo in one of the many great countries of Africa for my remaining years.  Hunting it is at the top of my list of adrenalin-pumping adventures which I can accomplish.  All of this would be impossible without the outstanding dedication of the many great professional hunters and their staff.  My experience in hunting the African Cape Buffalo only extends back to 2021 when I hunted with Dave Freeburn of Dave Freeburn Safaris in South Africa.  Both 2021 and 2022 with Dave were outstanding, professional, and successful hunts, resulting in two old Dagga Boys.

This year’s hunt, 2023, took place with Classic African Hunting, located in Zimbabwe, Matetsi, Unit 2, with PH Stewart “Stu” Taylor.  Stu is a mild mannered, totally professional PH.  He conducts your hunt at your pace and ensures you know exactly what is needed from you and himself for the hunt to be successful, while at the same time getting all the excitement and enjoyment from your hunt that you deserve.

Next year, 2024, is shaping up to be one of my most enjoyable hunts with Dave Freeburn Safaris when I hopefully can take two additional hunters and friends to Dave’s Silent Valley Camp. 

I encourage all of you hunters, if you have not yet experienced an African Safari, to start your preparation now for the hunt of a lifetime.  My only regret is that I did not start down this path until later in life.  However, I am quickly making up for the adventures lost.

The hunters looking for springbuck on the plains below them.

By Piet van Rooyen

The springbuck ram stood quartering towards us at just over 200 meters, its impressive set of horns clearly outlined against the background of yellow grass and granite outcrops. My son, Chris, had the 30-06 Ruger Hawkeye rifle steady on the sticks, with Robin giving extra support with his left shoulder, his well-worn floppy hat shading his eyes from the slanting sunrays. It was just after 10h00 and we had been following different groups of springbuck since early morning. The hunting method was to drive to a promising area on Robin’s almost 26000 hectares hunting farm, climb up to a vantage point from where we could glass for springbuck, and then approach via one of the dry river beds in the broken terrain. We were a group of four: myself, my son, Robin Hurt and Gabriel, Robin’s tracker. The animals were tame enough, with Robin only accommodating a minimum number of hunters each season, and allowing nobody to shoot from a vehicle.

Once he identified a suitable ram, Robin took the lead in the slow approach to the springbuck, sometimes crouching low, but often walking in plain sight of the springbuck, in a wide, gradually closing half-circle, with the springbuck staring at us from a distance, without taking off in full flight. I realised that Robin knew exactly what he was doing, with habits ingrained from many years of hunting experience. He carried a modern Winchester .300 Short Magnum as the backup rifle, but his shooting sticks were in a class of their own – no modern fancy-folding stuff, but sticks made from the indigenous Salvadora tree, prevalent in the nearby Gaub River. “It’s difficult to teach an old dog new tricks,” said Robin when he saw me smiling at this setup.

I am an old-timer hunter, hunting many animals in my lifetime of seventy years, among others some good specimens of the big five. All of these hunts were self-generated, often with the help of an indigenous tracker, whom I could trust, and on whose instincts and knowledge of the veld and of animal behaviour I could depend. I never had the desire to hunt under the guidance of a formal professional hunter (PH). This probably stems from my individual personality, and from a jealously-guarded emphasis on my personal freedom to make decisions the way I prefer, and not to be told what to do, unless I specifically ask for advice. The main drawback in this regard was that the tracker/guide usually had a strong craving for fresh meat and would urge me to shoot, whatever the consequences. On this basis I made many mistakes in the hunting field, leading to wounded animals and hours of painstaking tracking work, which should have been avoided.

Robin Hurt under his well-worn floppy hat glassing the terrain.

I am, at the same time, an avid reader of stories, especially those on hunting and adventure. The well-known Hemingway story, “The Short and Happy Life of Francis Macomber”, has always been one of my favourites. From this, it is evident that the relationship between the professional hunter and his client/s is often a complex one. Since the proliferation of good-quality hunting videos on the internet I also became a dedicated viewer of these. Professional Hunters like Jeff Rann, Ivan Carter, and others, became a hallmark of how a successful hunt can be conducted. In this regard, one must probably take into account that only the successful outcomes will be presented to the audience.

A few years ago, I also watched the full-length big-screen movie “In the Blood’ about the growing up of a young boy and his “first blood’ in the hunting fields of Africa, in which Robin Hurt as Professional Hunter for the expedition plays a prominent role as the guide and mentor of this boy. The stories and video clips awakened in me the desire to see how such a “guided” hunt is conducted in practice, and to allow myself to participate in such a hunt.

Some may call it ccoincidence, but I call it serendipity that myself and Robin Hurt became neighbours on our respective farms in the Khomas Hochland of Namibia, since some fifteen years ago. Robin Hurt has guided successful hunts for clients on hundreds of trophy elephant, buffalo, lion, leopard and other animals over his decades’ long hunting career in Kenya, Tanzania, Sudan, Uganda and elsewhere in Africa. Known as “the hunter’s hunter” for his dedication and professionalism, he became a legend in his lifetime. Hunting organisations like Safari Club International, rightly so, view Robin as one of the top living professional Hunters in Africa.

Springbuck in their habitat on Robin’s land.

My son, Chris, nowadays lives and works in Australia. He has a much more accommodating personality than myself, and is much more willing to take and follow orders. When he and his family came to visit us here in Namibia for a week or two, I thought the moment ideal to put the possibility of a hunt under guidance of a Professional Hunter to the test, and in which I could participate as an objective observer. When I asked Robin if he would take us, he was immediately willing to do so, on the basis of our friendship and neighbourliness. The hunt would be for a good springbuck ram from his herd of altogether almost 600 springbuck.

The terrain was mostly quartz-strewn undulating plains, not heavily bushed, with granite outcrops in between and dry river beds winding down via the contours. The massive Gamsberg, one of the highest mountains in Namibia, at over 2300 meters high, was a blue-hazed presence in the near distance. It was clear from the start that this was to be a different sort of hunt than what I was used to. The decision-making was in somebody else’s hands. That, to me, was a liberating experience that I did not experience before. For the first time in my hunting career I did not feel the pressure to make decisions. All decisions, up to the moment of the final squeezing of the trigger, now depended on the Professional Hunter. Robin knew his hunting area, he knew his animals, he had confidence in his abilities. He calmly surveyed the land and the animals below through his binoculars before starting to move out. His calm assurance also affected us. I experienced none of the former highly charged adrenaline rush and frantic movements as when on a self-guided hunt. I think that this calmness also affected the animals which we were stalking, and they moved away only slightly before starting to graze again. In this way we could approach to within shooting distance before setting up the sticks.

Chris and Robin with the trophy ram after the hunt.

The final shot was almost an anti-climax. The buck stumbled head-down for a few meters before succumbing. Robin gave my son a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. “Good shooting!” he said. That was all that was needed. I again realised that the essence of the journey lay in the whole hunt, not in the eventual kill only.

The trophy was of exceptional quality, thick, symmetrical horns curving back at the tips, and measuring nearly fifteen inches a side. I already prepared a special place for them on my verandah wall, mounted on an indigenous piece of wood, the outlay indicating the lucky triangle of father, son and PH.