By Barry Parks

About 10 AM, a waterbuck herd walked in from our right. The “Waterbuck Bull of a Lifetime” was the last one to enter. He mingled with the herd as they ate and drank. No animals could be in front of or behind him. About 10 minutes went by before a hole opened. I stood up, grabbed my bow, drew, and stepped to shoot…

It was late February 2023 when a friend called to cancel an August trip to Ireland. Determined to go on an adventure, I decided to honor my late wife, Kim. Covid pneumonia took her life on October 1, 2021. We were married for 25 years. She was 51… A South African Safari was on her bucket list. I called Carl Drake, a friend to inquire. Carl is a member of the Eland Safaris Pro Staff. He told me that there were spots available in early or late June 2023. After checking my schedule, I opted for the late June Safari. Inspired by another friend, I decided to bow hunt. I had not shot archery in over 10 years and had never harvested an animal with a bow. With only 3 months to prepare, it would prove to be a tough personal challenge.

Leading up to the safari, I was asked to provide a list of target animals. Mine included an impala, warthog, gemsbok, blue wildebeest, and a baboon. They are all considered Plains Game. For plains game, Eland Safaris recommends at least 60-pound draw weight, 400+ grain arrows and fixed blade broadheads. Preparation for my journey continued with a call to Eric Grippa of Grip’s Archery, YouTube channel. Eric and I have been friends since childhood. Archery and deer hunting are his passions. I asked Eric if he had a bow that I could buy for my upcoming safari. He offered to sell me his hunting bow from the previous deer season. It was a PSE Evoke Lite with 60-pound draw weight and 80%-90% let off. Perfect for my upcoming hunt.

Eric adjusted the draw length first, then the peep sight. I strapped on a release and shot a few arrows to test the setup. Once finished on the range, we discussed arrow specifics. Eric suggested PSE carbon fiber arrows, Bohning Blazer vanes and Dirt Nap Broadheads. He showed me a post hunt photo of a broadhead buried in a tree to the insert. The kicker… The Dirt Nap Broadhead passed through a doe before hitting the tree. One word, penetration. South African animals are known to be tough, and penetration is key. Dirt Nap Broadheads have a single bevel with a 1-3/16 inch main blade, and 5/8 inch bleeder blades. When my 12 arrows were fully assembled, they each weighed between 432 grains and 435 grains including a 125 grain tip / broadhead.

I purchased a Block 6×6 Archery Target and began to shoot in my backyard. Practice started with 12 arrows per session. After a few days, I realized that my back and shoulders would not tolerate 12 arrows per practice for 3 months… So, I reduced the number of shots to 6 per session. Over the next month I made some additional changes, adding grip tape and a wrist strap to my bow. With “old” eyes, I found myself looking at fuzzballs instead of pins. Accuracy was still acceptable despite my vision.

Two weeks before departure I searched the internet for Archery Optics and discovered Verifier Peep Sights. The Verifier Peep Sight has a lens in it for near sighted shooters. With new insight, I headed to Broken Rack Archery, Batavia, Ohio. They handed me a device that had multiple lenses. After selecting a lens, a Broken Rack staff member installed the Specialty Archery – Verifier Peep sight on my bow. Instantaneously I saw pins instead of fuzzballs. My accuracy improved immediately. I finally felt ready to hunt.

On Thursday June 15, 2023, I flew from Cincinnati, Ohio to Johannesburg, South Africa. The flights were very smooth and uneventful. After clearing South African Customs, I gathered my luggage and bow case. As I exited the airport terminal, I was met by Eland Safaris Staff Members Alex Thomson, Divan van den Heever, Villa Viljoen and Pro Staffer Carl Drake. 

A few minutes later the other hunters arrived, Maria Brophy Garrett, her son Levi, Jeanette Vest, and Beth Brannigan. After brief introductions we walked a short distance to the parking lot. A van and a truck were waiting for us. Luggage was loaded and we climbed in for a short drive to the Afton Safari Lodge. We were served a delicious steak dinner that also included “drinks”, and dessert. With full bellies, we retired to our rooms for a shower and good night’s sleep.

The next morning, we ate breakfast, loaded our gear, and headed North. It was a four-and-a-half-hour drive to Maasstroom, South Africa. Near the Botswana border, Maasstroom is in the Limpopo Province, and the home of Eland Safaris. Upon arrival we were promptly greeted by the rest of the Eland Safari Staff. Then, we were shown to our chalets. Each chalet had brick walls, thatched grass roofs and sliding glass doors. I was pointed to the Kudu chalet, home for the next 8 days. It had a queen-sized bed, a full bath and was decorated in South African décor. Suitable accommodations for my stay.

During lunch I was introduced to Johnny Thomson, my assigned Professional Hunter (PH). After some time to settle in, we headed to the range to sight in our guns and bows. Rifle hunters went first. Then, it was time for the archers. Jeannette, an experienced bow hunter, shot first. Her arrows flew straight and true. Then, it was my turn… My nerves kicked in and I did not shoot very well. I couldn’t believe that 3 months of work had come down to this… Thank goodness for some last-minute pointers from Divan & Johnny. With their assistance, my shot placement improved.

I woke up to a beautiful South African sunrise, ate a quick breakfast, and headed back to the range for some last-minute practice. With settled nerves, I flung a few arrows. They were on target. Finally, it was go-time in South Africa!!!

The Dirt Nap Broadhead struck just above the left shoulder and the arrow passed through his chest cavity. Shot placement was perfect. The impala jumped, then darted to our right. Peatry, my tracker was called on the radio. He showed up in the truck a few minutes later. Pete climbed out of the passenger seat. The three of them immediately started the track the impala ram. I intentionally stayed behind so that I would not accidentally step on any sign. They studied the ground and followed tracks for about 50 yards. Then, I thought “What if I find it??” At that moment my eyes scanned the perimeter. Much to my surprise, I spotted the downed impala ram 50 yds to my right and called out “Hey guys!! It’s over there!!” We celebrated with high fives. I was absolutely thrilled that my first bow harvest was in the books. In South Africa of all places!!! We took some pictures. Then, Pete and Peatry loaded the impala into the truck bed and drove back to the house to wait for the next call.

About an hour later a mature male warthog entered from the left. He walked in slowly and stopped at the water’s edge. Johnny ranged him at 20 yds. Again, I drew my bow, aimed, and released the shot. The warthog jumped my string and broke the arrow as it passed through him. Most of the arrow shaft exited the hog and landed in the watering hole, broadhead down. The fletching was still in him. Video showed that my shot may have been a couple of inches behind the target area. As a result, Johnny suggested that we wait until after lunch to track the warthog. After returning to camp for lunch, we climbed back into the truck and headed out to track my warthog. We stopped by Pete’s house and again, he climbed in. When we pulled up to the watering hole, a mature gemsbok was standing by the blind. It ran off a few seconds after spotting us.

It was time to track the warthog. Johnny, my PH grabbed a rifle to shoot it if necessary. Again, I stayed to the rear and watched them track. We ducked under several thorny trees and squeezed through thickets. It seemed like every tree and bush in South Africa wanted to stick, poke, or grab you… After following tracks for 20 minutes, Peatry spotted the warthog, dead. It fell about 150 yds from the watering hole. We rolled it over and discovered the exit hole in the opposite shoulder, another well placed arrow. Johnny and Peatry loaded the warthog into the truck. Peatry and Pete again drove off while Johnny and I walked back to the blind.

During our afternoon sit, we saw several species of animals including waterbuck cows and young kudu bulls. It was quite an experience to watch wild South African animals at such close range. A few hours passed. It was dinner time, and we were hungry. Peatry was called on the radio and a few minutes later, he returned with the truck. We loaded our gear and drove toward the Eland Safari Camp. While in route, I was overcome with joy as I recalled my first day hunting in South Africa.

Monday, the action continued. Mid-morning, an impala ram with a broken rear leg limped into the watering hole from our right. It stopped at the water’s edge to get a drink. Johnny ranged him at 18 yards and gave the OK to shoot. I felt a slight adrenaline rush, as I drew and released the arrow. My shot was a little low… The Dirt Nap Broadhead split the shoulder blade and penetrated the vital organs of the impala. It ran 30 yds and laid down within sight of the blind. No tracking required. While loading the impala, Peatry told us that he heard the grunt of a nearby kudu bull. We finished quickly and quietly. Pete and Peatry drove back to the house.

Johnny and I headed back to the blind for lunch. Soon after we ate, several kudu cows and calves entered the watering hole from our right. A few minutes later they were joined by 2 young kudu bulls. As I watched in awe, another kudu bull entered from the right. It had ivory tipped horns and was much larger than the others. Johnny whispers “it’s a shooter.” Again, I felt the “jitters” and started to shake a little. The mature kudu bull walked behind the watering hole to feed. After a few minutes, he turned around, walked to my right, and paused. While standing broadside the kudu bull lowered his head to feed. Johnny ranged the shot at 30 yards. The kudu lowered his head to feed a second time. With my heart racing, I took a deep breath, drew, aimed, and released the arrow. My shot was perfect. It struck just above his right shoulder and easily passed through his chest cavity. Overwhelmed with adrenaline and emotion, I immediately choked up and cried. Johnny held his hand up and said, “my hands are shaking too.” What an incredible scene! After we composed ourselves, Peatry and Pete were called on the radio. Johnny reviewed video to identify the initial path of the kudu. After 20 minutes of tracking, Peatry found the bull piled up next to a tree, 200 yards from the blind. As we celebrated, Johnny said to me, “you were supposed to shoot the kudu so that it died in the sun.” We laughed at his joke then scooted the bull away from the tree for photos. Oh My God!!! What an amazing animal!!! The kudu is also called the “Grey Ghost of Africa” for its ability to quickly disappear into the bush. This bull was almost 600 pounds with ivory tipped horns almost 4 feet tall. Peatry trimmed branches so that the truck could be brought in to load my latest harvest. The truck was equipped with an electric winch on the front bumper to assist with loading heavy game. After backing the truck in behind the kudu, the winch cable was run over the cab of the truck and hooked to the rear legs. As Peatry loaded the kudu, I told Johnny that I was done hunting for the day. It was time to celebrate an incredible hunt!!

Tuesday morning, we changed blinds. Several animals visited the watering hole. Among them were Impala, warthogs, and a mongoose. Mid-morning a gemsbok cow walked in. She was big and beautiful. Gemsbok cows have horns that are longer and skinnier than the bulls. She stopped at the watering hole for a drink, standing broadside at 20 yards. Johnny told me that he needed to verify that she was neither pregnant nor nursing. He looked closer with binoculars. She turned away and gave us a view of her udder. It was slightly dropped and showed signs of nursing. As a result, I was not allowed to shoot. She got a pass… A short time later the wind picked up and started to swirl. Animals that approached the watering hole became very nervous or turned around and refused to come in. We determined that they could smell our scent so, we gathered our gear and changed blinds.

Wind direction was more favorable by the new blind. We grabbed our gear from the truck, climbed in and ate lunch. About an hour had passed when I spotted a young baboon as it jumped into a tree. A few minutes went by. Then it returned to the ground and walked into the watering hole. A congress (group) of baboons soon followed. The last baboon to enter was a mature adult male. He walked to the near side for a drink. Baboons are very skittish and have eyesight like humans. As a result, I had to draw while hidden, step into shooting position, aim, then release my arrow. Johnny ranged him at 16 yards. I drew, stepped, attempted to aim and… My peep sight was twisted… I whispered and asked for help. Johnny reached up to fix my sight while I held at full draw. One of the baboons spotted the motion… They fled… No shot… It was the baboon’s lucky day… We twisted the peep sight back into proper position.

Later that afternoon a herd of waterbuck walked in from our right. They were led by several cows with calves. A couple of young waterbuck bulls joined them. We sat quietly and watched. Then we heard cracking branches. To our amazement, a big waterbuck bull crashed through the brush directly in front of us. His horns were much longer and wider than the younger bulls. Johnny looked at me and whispers “that’s the Waterbuck Bull of a lifetime!” I told him that he was making it tough but would like to hold out for a gemsbok. An hour or more passed before the waterbuck herd left the watering hole. At dusk we loaded our gear into the truck and drove back to camp.

While eating dinner I noticed a waterbuck bull on the wall of the Eland Safari lodge. It was smaller than the bull that I had just seen. During dinner I was told that “target” animals don’t always present themselves. Sometimes it becomes necessary for a hunter to harvest what mother Africa offers. As a result of the conversation, I had a better understanding and decided to hunt the BIG waterbuck bull the next day.

Wednesday was the last day that I had permission to hunt Pete’s property. Johnny and I were back in the same blind as the previous afternoon. While we waited, Johnny told me that waterbuck are very skittish animals. If a shot presented itself, I would have to draw while hidden, step into shooting position, aim, then release my arrow. I acknowledged, and the wait continued… About 10 AM, the waterbuck herd walked in from our right. The “Waterbuck Bull of a Lifetime” was the last one to enter. He mingled with the herd as they ate and drank. About 10 minutes went by before it looked like I would get an opportunity to shoot. No animals could be in front of or behind him. A hole opened. I stood up, grabbed my bow, drew, and stepped to shoot. Animals moved… So, I was forced to let-down my bow. 5 minutes passed before another hole opened. Still standing, I drew and stepped to shoot. Again, I was forced to let-down my bow. Several minutes went by. I continued to stand, bow in hand. The “Waterbuck Bull of a Lifetime” finally presented himself. He was facing to my left, broadside at 26 yards. I drew, stepped, aimed, and released my arrow. While the arrow was in flight, I cursed. It was a gut shot… Apparently, fatigue from holding my bow for so long played a role in my poor shot… It was an awful feeling… I could not have shot that bad on purpose…

Johnny suggested that we wait for at least an hour before tracking the injured bull. I decided to look for my arrow and Johnny soon joined me. We searched for at least 20 minutes and couldn’t find it. Maybe my arrow was still in the waterbuck bull. Hopefully the broadhead was still cutting. We continued to wait… Finally, it was time to go. My PH asked me “If I see it, can I shoot it?” “Yes, please” was my response. Johnny grabbed his rifle from the truck. Peatry led us on the track. About 150 yards from the blind, we heard breaking branches. It was the injured bull. We inspected his bedding area and found that it had left a sizeable bright red bloodstain, a promising sign that arrow may have struck a vital organ. We backed off again.

Another hour went by, it was time to go. We grabbed water bottles and headed off. 200 yards from the truck we bumped him from another thicket. We got a glimpse of his rump, and he was gone… I followed Peatry and Johnny as they continued to trail the injured bull. They tracked him for a mile and a half over the next four plus hours. Twilight settled in and it was time to stop for the evening. We walked to a nearby dirt road. Johnny used his boot to draw a line on the road to serve as a starting point in the morning. On the way back to the truck, Johnny said “it was likely that the waterbuck bull would die overnight.” Despite Johnny’s reassurance, it was difficult to keep my spirits up. I was dejected because of my poor shot and physically tired from the track. One looming question remained… Would we be allowed to resume in the morning??

We stopped by Pete’s house on the way out. He was waiting for us. Johnny explained the situation and asked for permission to return. Pete told us that he was headed to Victoria to visit family and did not like people on his property when he was not there. Then he looked me in the eye and said “Barry, I would feel bad if I did not let you come back in the morning to track that waterbuck.” I graciously thanked him and shook his hand before we headed back to camp.

After a restless night’s sleep, I woke up hopeful. We ate breakfast and headed towards the truck. Jeanette, one of the other hunters, suggested that I take my bow for pictures, just in case. I returned to my chalet, grabbed my bow. As I walked to the truck, Maria was headed to her chalet. She looked at me and said, “Good luck, maybe Kim will help you this morning.” I grinned and replied, “Thank you. I’ll need all the help that I can get.”

With a second tracker and a Jack Russell Terrier to help find the waterbuck bull, we climbed into the truck and headed back to Pete’s. Once we arrived, we slowly drove down a single lane dirt road. While creeping towards the spot that Johnny marked, one of the trackers yells from the back of the truck. “Stop, there it is!!” With a smile on my face, I jumped out of the truck and saw that it died on the roadside of a bush. What a blessing!! Had it been on the other side of the bush, we would probably have driven past it. I felt a rush of emotion and began to cry tears of joy. It was my lucky day for sure!! The waterbuck bull was scooted away from the bush. After a short photo session, the truck was backed up a few feet to ease loading. While the bull was winched into the bed, I looked at Johnny and said in a joking voice, “At least he died in the sun!!” Johnny smiled and laughed. My bow hunt was now complete!! What a feeling of accomplishment!!! My afternoon was spent about 70 feet in the air in an elevated blind over a big watering hole. I took photos of gemsbok, waterbuck, warthogs, and eland. That evening the sky turned vibrant colors of red, orange, purple and blue as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon. It was a very peaceful sunset over the South African bush.

Friday morning, I partnered with my buddy Carl Drake. We rode in the bed of a safari truck with his PH, Alex Thomson. Carl was hunting for a mature male velvet monkey. We did see some, but none offered themselves up for a shot. Later, a herd of cape buffalo was spotted. The truck was stopped 20 yards from the largest bull. It was big enough to flip the vehicle. Johnny eased out of the cab to check a trail camera. The herd watched him with fearsome scowls. After checking the camera, Johnny climbed back into the passenger seat, and we drove away. What a humbling experience. That afternoon I was asked to ride along with Levi and his PH, Villa. Levi was hunting impala and jackal. It wasn’t long before a mature impala ram was spotted. The truck was stopped, and we climbed out to stalk. Unfortunately, after a short time the impala gave us the slip… An hour before sunset we setup for a jackal hunt. An electronic call was placed about 100 yards from us. Sounds of wounded and crying animals filled the air. Darkness fell… After retrieving the call, Villa told us that he had just seen a jackal. It was too dark to shoot… Saturday morning, I joined Jeanette and her PH, Divan. She was after a mature blesbok ram. During the hunt, we saw several species that included giraffe, zebra, and ostrich. Finally, a group of four shooter blesbok rams were spotted. The truck was stopped about 100 yards from the group. Divan instructed Jeanette to shoot the blesbok furthest to the right. From the bed of the truck, she aimed through the scope of a suppressed .243 rifle. Jeanette squeezed the trigger and hit him with a good shot. After a short track / stalk, she placed a shot across the shoulders that finished him off. We celebrated with high fives and hugs!! It was awesome to be part of another successful hunt.

Jeanette, Beth, Maria, Levi, Carl, and I lined up behind the trophies in two rows. Ladies sat in front of the men. For the final photo, the women joined hands and raised their arms in victory. A suitable end for an outstanding safari.

Aside from my own success, camp was filled with positive energy the entire time. I sucked it up like a sponge. The staff at Eland Safaris did an excellent job taking care of us. The Eland Safari camp is beautiful and well maintained.

. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were provided each day. Meals included eland, kudu, waterbuck, crocodile, impala and more. Most evenings, a South African game loin was seared over the campfire. Then, it was cut into chops / steaks and returned to the campfire

grill to finish cooking. Before each meal, Brighton, the camp chef would announce the entrée and side dishes. Several evenings at dinner, he instructed us to keep our spoon. In other words, we would also have dessert. My favorite was called “A Slice of Heaven”. It was a rich, moist chocolate cake with cream icing. Certainly, one of the best that I had ever eaten.

By Ricardo Leone

“Son of a … Klipspringer!”  How could I miss it? Yes, I was over-excited again and lifted my head to see if I hit the damn thing as I was pulling the trigger. You would think on my eighth safari with numerous other big-game hunts under my belt, I would know to stay in the gun. My PH, Abie du Ploy, was none too pleased with me either. We had made the climb up into the kopjes at least a half dozen times that week hoping to find and shoot a klipspringer – one of my priory species on this, my third safari in Zambia. I had never thought about looking for a klipspringer on my two prior trips to the Lower Lupande on the Luangwa River. As I write this story, I am still fed up I missed that klipspringer – it would have been number eight of ten tiny antelopes.

When I started hunting Africa – I had never heard of the “Tiny Ten.” Who would go to Africa to hunt tiny anything? Africa is known for the Big Five or Dangerous Seven! Back in the day, any self-respecting hunter would covet the Big Five. These days – chasing the Big Five is not so easy unless you have serious financial resources and are willing to go into the witness protection program shortly thereafter. I have seen all the Big Five in the wild and have successfully hunted three of the Dangerous Seven. I will never grow tired of hunting Cape buffalo which seems to be a frequent theme of many articles in all the hunting magazines – rarely do you read about the Tiny Ten. I first heard of them after my common duiker trophy in Namibia on my third safari. At the time, my PH could hardly contain himself that we shot a duiker. He told me I could not understand – he was right. My PH, Kobus, was the first to mention the Tiny Ten and how difficult it is to both find and successfully hunt these pigmy antelope. I again saw the excitement when my son shot his steenbok – a 6½ inch monster. Our two PHs were truly stoked at the size of Mac’s trophy. The PHs told Mac that a 6” steenbok is as prestigious as a 30” nyala or a 60” kudu – those stats resonated and led me to research the Tiny Ten.

As the name suggested – they are the ten smallest antelopes in Africa. While there are many sub-species of them the so-called official list below is in alphabetic order:

• Dik-dik
• Blue duiker
• Common duiker (also called gray duiker or bush duiker)
• Red forest duiker (also called red duiker, Natal duiker or Natal forest duiker)
• Cape grysbok (also called southern grysbok)
• Sharpe’s grysbok (also called northern grysbok)
• Klipspringer
• Oribi
• Steenbok (also known as Steinbuck or Steinbok)
• Suni

The intention of this story is to open hunters’ eyes to the thrill of chasing the Tiny Ten. Do not wait for the lightbulb to go off as I did, make this a day-one goal. In a recent article by Craig Boddington, he calls the Tiny Ten an “acquired taste.” If you believe yourself to be a species hunter, one that enjoys diversity of game – the Tiny Ten are a must. That said, beware – this is not an insignificant goal. You will not achieve this goal in one safari in one country in one year – it will take many trips to many countries over many years. Akin to many North American hunts and some African safaris where you chase only one species knowing you may go home empty handed – if you just set out for any one of the Tiny ten, there is also a good chance you will go home empty handed. A hunter must rely on some luck of chance sightings or randomly bumping a member of this tiny club. Thus, the sooner you embrace this quest, the more likely you are to be successful – something I still dream about.

By the time I arrived in Coutada 11 in Mozambique in 2018 to hunt with Mark Haldane of Zambezi Delta Safaris, I had three of the ten from three separate safaris in three different countries. While studying the species list, I saw there were several Tiny Ten antelopes. At that time, I had no official goal, although I was more than intrigued. I had come around to shooting smaller game; in fact, one could argue that they are as challenging as many big game. Below are tales of my seven Tiny Ten in the order I hunted them, I may even elaborate on my lost number eight. You may ask why I am writing before I completed my goal. Well, I am a realist and know I may never get there despite the many trips ahead – I just feel compelled to share my passion with the hope other hunters will share this adventurous goal.

Common Duiker

The first of my Tiny Ten was taken at Hunter’s Namibia in 2014. Back in 2014 Joof and Marina Lambrecht hosted us at their stunning farm, sadly Joof passed away the following year. One species indigenous to Namibia is the gemsbok or oryx – this species was on the top of my wish list for Namibia. Late afternoon on our first day, we spotted an oryx that my PH, Kobus, thought worthy of stalking. We jumped out of the Land Cruiser and quietly stalked in single file. Kobus asked that I walk close to him to ensure our entourage was as quiet and tight as possible – he even held Fang, his little Jack Russell. I was so close to Kobus, I could not see the oryx and really had no idea what was in front of us.

 I had a sense that it was just in front of us off to our right, when abruptly, Kobus set the sticks down and pointed left at this tiny creature telling me to “SHOOT.” Seriously, I had a flash back to Zambia in 2012 when we poked fun at my long-time African hunting partner, Manno, for shooting a Sharpe’s grysbok with his Rigby .416 – we teased him that he shot the neighbor’s pet Chihuahua. Well, in front of me was another Chihuahua. Instinctively, I set my Griffin & Howe .300 Win Mag on the sticks, pointed, and shot. The tiny critter disappeared – as it vanished, I looked right hoping to see the oryx we were stalking and simultaneously asked Kobus – “what is going on – I wanted that oryx.” Kobus was not naturally a forceful person, in fact the opposite; however, Kobus looked at me and said – there are tons of oryx here – you just shot a duiker! He asked me if I knew how rare it was to see a duiker here – let alone shoot one! Kobus went on to say that in the last five years, this was only the second one taken. He was quite pleased with himself that he was the PH that successfully guided this duiker. Heobus was so excited that he carried it to the Land Cruiser to drive to a special spot to carefully place the trophy on dirt hill for photos. Only years later in Mozambique did I genuinely appreciate how challenging it was to achieve all ten. My first day in Namibia was truly memorable.

Dik-dik

The second member of my Tiny Ten came in 2015 while hunting with Kwalata Safaris in Maasailand, Tanzania. We were with Peter Chipman again. It was day six of our safari and we had successfully hunted most of our list. We then talked about shooting a dik-dik. At that point, the Tiny Ten was still not a priority for me but I was persuaded to go after a dik-dik given the challenge of hitting such a small target after a nice breakfast as we were not going far from camp. The area was low-lying with a lot of shrubs – the perfect habitat for dik-dik with a spectacular view of Mt Kilimanjaro. I soon realized there was no shortage of dik-diks – there were many. 

The trick was to find a mature male – not easy with an animal that is only a foot high at the shoulders, weighs about 10 lbs with horns about three inches long and would not hold still for long. I had my .300Win Mag – essentially a high-powered cannon – way too much gun for the job. My PH, Quintin, told me to aim just behind the engine room in the center of the animal or I would ruin the trophy if I wanted a full mount. We drove and saw several dik-diks – we would get off, glass and normally the little buggers would run off before a conclusion could be made on gender and horn size. As we were driving – the tracker, Thomas, spotted a mature male, a shooter, about 75 yards off the road in the shrubs. We got off the Land Cruiser using the vehicle for cover. Quintin told me just get on the sticks and shoot – we knew the dik-dik would not hold for too long. I put the gun on the sticks and aimed as I usually do – at the engine room and shot! Oh no – I was supposed to shoot at the mid-section behind the engine room. C’ést la vie – I have my dik-dik and the taxidermist earned his money doing a full mount.

Steenbok

For my third animal, we traveled to the Karoo in South Africa in 2017. We hunted at Ratelfontein, a farm owned by Jan Pickard who would become a good friend and future hunting partner by the end of the trip. My PH, Mynhard, had a dental emergency and had to find a dentist. This gave us an opportunity to switch things up a bit and we took a family-style drive with Jan Pickard, Manno and his PH, Jan Westdyk, who we had met in Namibia a few years prior. We made a plan to go to an area known for steenbok. Manno had taken one earlier in the trip and both my son, Mac, and I still had a steenbok on our respective lists.

We all traveled out on Manno’s Land Cruiser and as hoped, they found a nice steenbok in no time. It was approximately 8 a.m. when Jan W stopped the Land Cruiser and told me to shoot from the top of the cab. I had a 60-yard shot – perhaps the pressure of so many people watching me had me shoot behind the engine room taking out the rear quarters of the tiny antelope. My .300Win Mag was too much for a mercy job – a better job for the Jan W’s blade. With trophy in hand, we drove to a better spot for pictures where had some elevation, a rock and red clay to set it up. The trophy was a good one – a 5-inch Rowland Ward steenbok. Mac took the real monster whose picture I had to include. He took his steenbok with his G&H .270 – much more suitable for the small antelopes.

Red forest duiker

In 2018 we travelled to Zambezi Delta Safari’s Coutada 11, a magical place with several distinct ecosystems. Upon review of the species list the light bulb went off for me – I could add to my Tiny Ten goal while in Mozambique. If the list were not enticing enough, just outside the camp were a couple of red duikers. Before I could say anything, I was told those are the camp’s red duikers – not for shooting – more like pets. The color of the red duiker was incredible; a rich, red-brown color that really showed up well in the evening light – clearly one of these would be on my list.

 My first full day was a ride in the forest with my PH, Rye Pletts, to see what we could bump. I brought both my rifles, the G&H .300Win Mag and G&H .375 H&H Mag.

Off we went, turning left out of the camp and then left again up the main road next to the camp. This was a sandy road – straight and took one literally to the border with the next Coutada. It was a long road with plenty of side roads to take depending on the destination. I realized that sitting on top with no one to talk with was going to be frustrating – not the social aspect, but the lack of ability to ask questions about wildlife and our ever-evolving plan. This became more apparent as the morning continued as I really had no idea where we were going or what the plan was – we were just driving. Occasionally Rye and the tracker would communicate – however, I could not understand. The first time Rye stopped the Land Cruiser for a stalk, he said we just passed a suni. It was about 9 a.m. and Rye suggested I take his .22LR as the .300Win Mag was too much. We chased the suni for a bit – I did get one shot off – a miss. The experience was a real revelation in that these little antelope were really tiny and getting a good shot off was not so easy – to be clear, it was easy to get a shot off; it was hard to hit the target!

Back on top of the Land Cruiser and shortly after our suni encounter, we spotted a red duiker on the right side of the sandy road. It was big enough and far enough away for me to use my G&H .300 Win Mag. I climbed off the Land Cruiser while one of the trackers grabbed the sticks. We were able to set up the sticks without the red duiker moving – he was facing to the right with his head down feeding. I set my rifle on the sticks, took aim, and fired – I had my first trophy of the safari. Before going to retrieve the trophy, I ranged the duiker at 83 yards. Perhaps I should have some solids for these small critters – I just did not plan for them. Rye was very particular about setting up the trophies for pictures – this was something I was incredibly happy about. Rye loaded the animal and we drove down the road a bit and turned off to the right where he could place the duiker on a mound of sand with the sunlight on it. I have never seen such a color on a trophy – its fur really shone in the sun. We took some great photos. Rye was always good about taking the measurements too – 3¼ x 3½ inches – easily Rowland Ward quality with a minimum threshold of 2½ inches per horn.

Suni

After the photo session we loaded the red duiker again and made our way back to the main sandy road. However, this time I jumped into the cab with Rye who suggested I hold the .22LR to be ready. Within 30 minutes one of the trackers spotted another suni. This time, all I had to do was roll down the window and aim at it – he was no more than 20 yards away. Rye needed to just check the size of the horns and he told me to shoot – it was a good one. After having just shot my G&H .300Win Mag about an hour prior, the measly pop of the .22LR was an anticlimax. My one shot was not perfect, and we had to chase the little guy through the woods. As he was hit, we caught him on foot using Rye’s knife to finish the job.

Once in hand, we could see that we had a great suni trophy – the horns measured 4 1/8th inches each which far exceeded the Rowland Ward minimum of 2 1/8th inches. Suni horns are unique – set wide and spike-like with well-defined ridges. As there was an opening in the trees over the road where we were parked, Rye created a mound of sand in the road for pictures. The .22LR in my arms – looks fiercer than it was. The suni trophy was taken at 10.30 a.m. so we still had plenty of time left in the morning before lunch. We continued our drive seeing more suni and red duiker. I learned they were territorial critters, and we would see them again and again as we travelled the roads.

Oribi

My first full day in Mozambique was amazing – including two of the Tiny Ten. With the three I already had prior to Coutada 11, I had 50% of the Tiny Ten. Given we had another full day to hunt in the woods before my turn to go to the swamps to chase Cape buffalo, I told Rye I wanted to focus Day 2 on Tiny Ten species. Despite an abundance of sightings of both oribi in the morning, including a missed shot on my part, and many stalks in the afternoon on blue duiker, also including a missed shot – I was reminded the Tiny Ten are not easy to take. Day 3 we went to the swamps to chase Cape buffalo, so we had to wait till Day 4 to resume our quest.

Day 4 started well with a reedbuck then we were treated to lion watching. We had come across three of the twenty-four recently re-introduced lions to Coutada 11. Seeing the young male and two lionesses was special as is the entire conservation miracle Mark Haldane has created over the last three decades.

After watching the new residents of Coutada 11 for nearly an hour, we continued our hunt. Rye knew where oribi were likely to be – again, our goal was to find a good trophy. A Rowland Ward oribi must be a minimum of 5 inches, which sounds small – but not in the context of the Tiny Ten. After a bit of a ride – Rye finally found one, although in a wide-open expanse with no cover. I ranged it at 120 yards. Again, Rye had me stay on the Land Cruiser and shoot over the cab with my G&H .300 Win Mag on my pack. Not my finest shooting with the oribi was on the move; however, I was happy with my third and final shot on a moving target. We had our trophy. I knew I was having one of those days – poor shooting with no apparent reason – perhaps exhausted from the swamps. The oribi fell shy of the Rowland Ward minimum, measuring 4 ½ inches on each horn. The horns were like the suni with the spike-like shape and ridges. However, the oribi’s horns were noticeably blacker and closer together. We had a great blue sky for pictures – our challenge was to show the trophy without too much evidence of the damage the .300 Win Mag can do to small animals. Nevertheless, I had one more trophy to add to my Tiny Ten count – the oribi made six in total with a blue duiker still available on Coutada 11.

Blue Duiker

After a successful morning’s hunt, a filling lunch, and some rest, Rye and I headed back down the main sandy lane to look for blue duiker, checking our playbook from the prior morning knowing where we had seen five of them. Hopefully, one would be bold enough to hold position for me to take a shot. Despite a good plan – we did not see one blue duiker in the first three territories where we had seen them before. As all good plans would have it, we did see one where we had hoped. I was in the cab of the Land Cruiser next to Rye with the .22LR and the window down. Rye glassed it and said it was a good male – he told me to shoot if I had a clear angle. The duiker was about 20 yards away and I was able to put my scope on him, aim and fire. I was certain I hit him.

However, the little bugger ran from on my left across the road to Rye’s right at which point we all scrambled to get him. Both trackers, Brasil and Delice, thought he went under a very dense thicket about 10 yards off the sandy lane. Rye told me to stay on one side of the thicket while the three of them surrounded the far sides of the thicket. Rye then popped out and asked me to bring him the .22LR – he went back to the far side and started to bury himself into the brush. Within a few seconds, I heard the .22LR fire. At first, I was thinking it was not too smart of me to be standing where I was – how did Rye know where I was when he shot? Then Rye came out from under the thicket with his .22LR in one hand and a tiny antelope in the other. The blue duiker was seriously small. Rye and the trackers were stoked. Rye took the duiker and walked down the sandy road a way and found an open spot for the sunlight to shine. The three guys then created a mound of sand and carefully placed the duiker for photos. Rye assured me this was a good specimen – confident the horns would meet Rowland Ward quality which was confirmed later. The horns measured 1 7/8 inches vs the minimum of 1 ¾ inches Roland Ward threshold – we had a monster. We shot it at 4 p.m. and took our time with photos and enjoying the moment. It was the fourth Tiny Ten member I successfully hunted while at Coutada 11 and my seventh overall.

Klipspringer – missed opportunity

No need to scroll down and look for my trophy picture – there are none. I missed the only real shot I had for my eighth member of the Tiny Ten. During our 2019 ten days in Zambia with Kwalata Safaris, we must have driven up on the rocks a good half dozen times looking for klipspringers. The color of the klipspringer’s fur coat ranges from yellowish gray to reddish brown which is perfect camouflage allowing it to blend into their rocky habitat. In all our trips, we only saw klipspringers three times – twice they were on the run, and we could not determine the gender in time to take a shot – the third time was the perfect opportunity.

The rocky habitat was across the road from the camp up in the hills. The ride would take a good 30 minutes from camp and then the bumpy ride up the hill would take another 30-45 minutes. Once in the hills we would creep up the hill with the Land Cruiser in low gear all the while on the lookout. On Day 4 of the safari, we drove near the top of our route. On that day – my PH, Abie, spotted a good male klipspringer on a large rock. I was sitting on the left side and should have seen the klipspringer, but I could not see him against the rocks. Abie guided me by describing the trees I should be looking at and I finally had the klipspringer in my sight.

I had chosen to use my son’s G&H .375 with solid bullets I borrowed from Abie. The choice of rifle was a point of much discussion earlier in the week. My .300 Win Mag was too fast, solids or not; besides, I did not have any solids. We even discussed whether I should use my Rigby .416. Manno shot his klipspringer in these same rocks back in 2016 using his .416 and the 400-grain bullet did the job with limited damage to the trophy. My .416 was still new to me, so opted for a familiar gun. The klipspringer was no more than 40-50 yards with little foliage to obstruct the shot. I was seriously excited – I could feel my heart pounding, which was not usual for me given I was sitting on my butt with the gun on my knee. The excitement was clearly from the notion of adding another member to the Tiny Ten collection. I had the klipspringer in my sights and pulled the trigger – MISS! I knew exactly what I did, and Abie called it out as soon as I shot – the same damn rookie error I always do when I get excited – I lifted my head in anticipation of seeing the game fall. We got out of the Land Cruiser and had a good look around the rocks – just in case. We never saw that klipspringer again.

This was my eighth safari. I have hunted a lot of game. How could I still be making rookie mistakes? I am not sure if I have a blind spot and will never learn or if this is a positive sign that I still get excited on each hunt. Either way – I still am short one klipspringer and stuck on number seven of the Tiny Ten.

My hope is there is another klipspringer awaiting me some day and as well as the two grysbok species for me to complete my goal. In the meantime, I will continue to hunt and if possible, add sub-species to the collection. In 2022 we travelled to Uganda and hunted with Lake Albert Safaris which proved to be an extremely productive trip with both new species and subspecies to chase. I took the opportunity to use my new Griffin and Howe Highlander in .300 Win Mag. Still no solids, but with the carbon-wrapped steel barrel, long accurate shots were possible. Proving the point, we took an oribi and duiker – both at approximately 200 yards. Both trophies were allegedly new subspecies – I am still fact-checking with biologists. Regardless, I had full mounts done of each trophy to have all my seven of my Tiny Ten in full mounts.

As for my hunting partner, Manno, he has six of the Tiny Ten. While he is not as enthusiastic as me to achieve the full Ten, I know if he bumps into another one, his Rigby .416 will be ready. Together we have nine of the Ten – one of us needs a Cape grysbok for the two of us to achieve the Tiny Ten collectively.

Very likely a clone of the rifle Ruark took to Africa in 1951:  A Winchester Model 70 in .220 Swift.  A very fine combination for its intended purpose—varmints at long range—but a dreadful choice for an African safari.

By Terry Wieland

The Last Laugh

The .220 Swift in Africa

Many years ago, a well-meaning friend gave me a copy of a book by a noted anti-hunting writer.  I don’t recall the author’s name, or the title of the book—long-since trashed—but one thing sticks in my mind.

The frontispiece, the quote that appears on the very first page, was a passage from Robert Ruark’s Horn of the Hunter.  In it, Ruark recounts an episode in which he shot a hyena with a .220 Swift.  The first shot did not do the job, nor did the second.  Nor the third.  After he’d struck the hyena with seven bullets and the poor critter still wasn’t dead, Ruark discarded the Swift, called for his .470 Nitro Express, and finished it off properly.

Disgusted, he informed all and sundry that he would “never again shoot at any animal he respected” with the Swift.  To the best of my knowledge, he never did.

When I first read Horn of the Hunter in the 1960s, I had no first-hand knowledge of the Swift and was blissfully unaware of the controversies that had dogged it since its introduction by Winchester in 1935.  For its intended purpose, which is dispatching varmints such as woodchucks at long range, no better cartridge has ever been developed.  Its detractors, however, insisted that it burned out barrels in a few hundred rounds, that its accuracy was erratic, and that it could not be loaded down to counter either of these supposed faults.

One accusation aimed at the Swift that cannot be denied, however, is the complete unsuitability of its 48-grain factory bullet for use on anything bigger than an underfed coyote.  With a muzzle velocity of a sizzling 4,110 feet per second (fps), it was designed expressly to open up extremely rapidly on contact.  Crows, prairie dogs, woodchucks, and similar beasts are not very thick.  The bullet needs to expand rather than penetrate, because little penetration is required.  As well, this virtually ensures that no Swift bullet will ever ricochet; they fly apart on touching so much as a twig, which is very desirable in settled areas.

Should Ruark have known this?  Maybe, or maybe not.  He was, admittedly, a shotgunner, not a rifleman.  Jack O’Connor, in one of his more acid moments, said Ruark “lacked ballistic sophistication.”  In 1953, when Horn of the Hunter appeared, Ruark probably would have agreed with him.  It was only later, after spending a good portion of his time in Africa, hunting everything up to and including elephants, that Ruark began presenting himself as an authority on rifles.

Much as I admire the man in many ways, and for many things, he is about the last person I would take advice from when it comes to big-game rifles.

Later on, after the episode with the Swift, he developed an infatuation with the .244 Holland & Holland, a rather ill-conceived creation from the venerable London firm that consisted of the .375 H&H necked down to .243 (6mm).  In one article, Ruark said its velocity was so high, and its trajectory so flat, that no adjustment was needed, up or down, for ranges all the way out to 400 yards.  Huh?  Methinks not.

Ruark even went so far as to say he was getting rid of his other, bigger rifles, and using only the .244 in future.  Presumably, he hung onto his .470 in case anything went wrong.

Few people today even know the .244 H&H ever existed, and when you raise the issue with the rifle people at Holland’s, they tend to change the subject at the first opportunity.

Trajectory aside, the .244 H&H claimed 3,500 fps for a 100-grain bullet.  It was introduced in 1955, and Ruark got his hands on one sometime after that.  It’s odd that he would take to it the way he did, only a couple of years after his experience with the Swift.  In 1955, 100-grain expanding bullets in .243 were nothing to write home about.  I don’t know what bullet Kynoch loaded it with, assuming Kynoch loaded the ammunition, but I suspect it was not something you’d want in your hands in a tough situation.

One thing the Swift and the .244 H&H had in common was that they were marketed as being astonishing killers of big game as well as varmints, with the usual tales of large animals dropping “as if poleaxed” or “in their tracks” if so much as touched by one of these high-speed projectiles.

The mid-50s were also the era in which Roy Weatherby was first really beating the drums for his creations, taking his .257 and .270 Weatherby to Africa and sending back outlandish reports of their effect on everything up to, and including, Cape buffalo.

These high-speed wunderkind have been proven, over and over, to work spectacularly sometimes, but fail just as spectacularly at others.  Slower, heavier bullets, however, work doggedly time after time—rarely spectacular, but always effective if the bullet’s put in the right place or anywhere close.

One can trace the history of “high velocity as super-killer” all the way back to James Purdey’s initial work with express rifles in the 1850s, wherein he discovered that lighter bullets traveled faster and sometimes—sometimes!—dropped animals where they stood.

Obviously, the Swift was not the first cartridge to be touted this way.  In America there was the .303 Savage (1895), then the .22 Savage High Power (1911), then Savage’s .250-3000 (1915).  Arthur Savage was as much a promoter as Roy Weatherby, and he sent hunters all over the globe to hunt big beasts with small, fast bullets, and followed it up with magazine articles about their wondrous performance.

In one of his articles in Field & Stream, Ruark told of going off to the Campfire Club, north of New York, to sight in his rifle, having not held a rifle in his hands since he’d returned from Africa 18 months before.  Well, other guys have gone on safari with rifles they’ve never fired, and tales of their performances are standard fare when professional hunters get together and the whisky flows.

At this late date, it’s impossible to tell how much influence Ruark’s story might have had on the career of the .220 Swift.  Ruark was a hugely popular writer, not just on hunting, but as a syndicated newspaper columnist, and his book was an instant best-seller.  I would imagine it was widely read in anti-hunting circles, and presumably that’s how the above-mentioned anti-hunting author saw the tale of the hyena that he later used to introduce his own book.

The .220 Swift was discontinued by Winchester only eight years later.  It was already banned in several states for hunting deer and similar animals.  One thing we can say for sure, that anecdote, on top of the Swift’s other travails, wouldn’t have helped it.

For the record, I cannot think of a single use for the .220 Swift on a normal hunting safari, although I admire the cartridge greatly for doing what it was designed for, and doing it superbly well.  Even after almost 90 years—wildcats and short-lived wonders like the .22 WSSM aside—no cartridge has come along that can do what it will do.

What about today’s heavy-for-caliber bullets in .224—the 60- and 70- and even 90-grain bullets some are using for long-range shooting?  I still can’t think of a use for one in Africa.  Sorry.

One has to admire Ruark for putting that story in print, in gory detail.  It paints a grim picture of the Swift, but does not flatter Ruark by any means.  At best, he looks like a beginner who took bad advice—which, in fact, is exactly what he was.  But at least he owned up to it.

(I can almost hear the salesman in the gun department of Abercrombie & Fitch in New York extolling the virtues of the .220 Swift for Africa.  As if he’d know.)

To the best of my knowledge, no other hunter in far-off lands ever returned to mention any failure, of any kind, with whatever wunderkind cartridge he was using.

It’s ironic that in his attempt at total honesty, to tell the story of a safari as it actually was and “without all the derring-do,” Ruark handed his detractors (and ours) some rather potent ammunition with which to attack him.  The story was quoted out of context, and only the hyena’s suffering was included, with no mention of Ruark’s own reaction and resolve never to make that mistake again.  In a way, the hyena had the last laugh—which they are noted for.

Is there a moral?  Yes:  Be careful whose advice you take, and get to know all your rifles, intimately, before you board the plane.

By Kendal-Ray Kaschula

If there’s a cattle rancher reading this book, then you’re about to understand this next story better than anyone.

I lived on a cattle ranch from fourteen, and for as far back as my memories went, we were plagued by hyenas.

And no, they were not just any old hyenas. They were professors…..they were graduates in avoiding a bullet. They were the holders of PHD’s in how to avoid a hunter. They were the kind of hyenas that could put a sane person in a mental institute, and in a place as tough as Zimbabwe’s Lowveld, the last thing anyone needed was another reason to go insane, but who said the weary get to rest?

Hunting hyenas, was, and still is-in fact I’m about to go out and try shoot some the very evening that I’m writing this-a regular activity of mine. Baits, blinds, sitting on roads where they frequently walk, hanging around in trees like a bat, calling them-insert gag noise here-whatever could ever be done to kill a hyena, I did it.

And believe me when I tell you that such commitment gave me about a hundred adventures. Everything from jimmying electric fences so that I could slide under them like a fugitive, to calling in leopards and lions because they responded to the caller more than a hyena, to seeing and getting to witness an entire pack of wild dogs sing their night cry of howls, and, the list could go on.

I don’t regret those experiences, because they were beautiful, but I still would have liked to win against a four-legged spotted scavenger though.

Unfortunately, they won far more often than I did.

There was one occasion, when I was seventeen, fresh out of school and having passed my Learner Hunter’s License, I was left with an expanse of time that I decided-for the sake of hunting which I still adored, even if it was hyenas-and for the sake of the money doing PAC hyenas got me, that I would tackle the ranch’s hyenas with a vengeance.

And when I say vengeance, I mean vengeance.

Picture those medieval Vikings with six-foot beards, skins across their shoulders, and battle axes raised as they charged screaming like banshees into battle and then multiply their crazy by ten. That was my version of vengeance.

The only problem was that despite my dedication to the cause, they still whipped us every time. That year I spent more nights in a blind than my own bed, and on one occasion I nearly gave up.

We’d been hunting the same cattle killing hyenas-a pair of them-every night back-to-back for three weeks and Tracker and I were starting to resemble drugged zombies. Not to mention our patience was wearing thin to the point of being as brittle as spider silk-spider silk not produced by Golden Orbs(those things weave webs of steel)-and all around we were pretty run down.

I decided, after so many nights of sitting on kills that the culprits just wouldn’t come back to, that we should have a break. Just a week or so to recollect ourselves-maybe sleep-but, on the very day we were meant to start this, we were told of another cow that had been killed, and despite our resolve, we were clearly suckers for punishment, so back we went.

There was one on either side of the cow, and when the one feeding on the opposite side raised its head, I planted a bullet in its chest, dropping it where it stood.

Its friend bolted, and I reloaded, searching for what I hoped would be a chance to shoot its pal, and thinking I saw it, let loose another round. Was that a hyena or just an unfortunate shaped tree? I’ll never know, but, either way, my second bullet roused the one remaining hyena from wherever it was and I saw it loping away, and planted, by God’s grace alone considering its pace, a bullet in its ribs.

And then, a second of silence except for the heavy breathing in the blind. In later years Prosper would get a flir to use as a second spotter, but back then it was just me and the thermal with eyes, meaning he had no choice but to sit beside me in darkness with no clue as to what was going on around us.

‘And?’ he whispered, breathless.

‘One down,’ I whispered back, hoarse. ‘Let’s go see.’

We all but flew from the blind, torching around as we made our way up to the carcass. I had seen the hyena fall, it wasn’t a surprise to find it there, but when you’ve finally gotten the one thing you’ve been searching for, for months, you believe it’s real when you’re right there and it’s glowing in your spotlight.

‘We did it,’ I was breathless. Could barely breath. ‘We did it!’ I said again, though it came out more of a squeal.

‘Very good!’ Prosper put in, shaking in his boots, and dancing around the hyena chanting, ‘you thought you could get away, but not today. You are done. You are finished.’

‘Finished!’ I joined in, yelling, as we egged each other on, and then we were both dancing and prancing around the dead hyena in what could only be called a primal dance of celebration. All that was missing was the leopard skins around our waists.

Vikings gone rogue.

Now, I know that some would say we disrespected the animal, but I know that whoever that is won’t be a cattle rancher. After the damage they do, that I’ve seen and experienced firsthand, and after months of dedicated hunting, well, lets’ just say my respect for hyenas when it comes to whether or not I can prance around them is nonexistent.

DEATH TO HYENAS! I say, DEATH BY ALL MEANS POSSIBLE!

What makes you think I hate them huh?

After we’d drifted down from our adrenalin and joy induced high, we searched for the second hyena, but failed, and ended up getting him the next morning, already dead atop an anthill.

And so, there finishes the story of the three-week hyena hunt. Cattle killer status: destroyed.

Until a new clan moved in a few weeks later, but hey, I’ve already declared no rest for the weary and I reckon I’ve got sanity to spare.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Hell, why am I even writing this down….I should be loading up my rifle.

By Matt Blymire

I am a 40-year-old from Pennsylvania who grew up hunting whitetail deer with my dad.  I started hunting with him at the age of 12 which was the legal minimum age in Pennsylvania, and then continued hunting deer on my own.  Now married, with nine-year-old twin boys, I get to hunt whitetail deer with my wife and sons who can now hunt on a Mentored Youth program in Pennsylvania.  I have taken many trips to Ohio to spend a few days hunting whitetails with my father, reminiscing about the years I hunted with him growing up, and all that he’s taught me.

Over the past years my dad has taken many trips to Africa hunting with Dubula Safaris in the Eastern Cape.  He has shared hunts there with his friends, past co-workers and made many friends on his safaris.  Dad asked my every trip to go along but with hectic family life, finding the time was difficult.  I remember saying “Maybe next time” or “When the boys get older” or “Hopefully in a few years.”

In the fall of 2022, my dad’s mom passed away unexpectedly, but I just got to her in time. Fast forward to March of 2023.  I learned I was unsuccessful in drawing my Montana Deer Tag yet again, and I called my dad telling him as I was looking to plan a different hunting trip in the States.  He suggested I came with him and my wife to Africa in September.  This time the words felt different.  Life at home was still hectic, nothing had changed, but what did change was learning in such a hard way just six months before how valuable life is with your family, and how quickly it can change and be taken away.  I submitted my time off request at work that same day, and once approved booked our flight for my first African safari with my wife and parents.

I flew to Newark Airport to meet them, and we arrived in Johannesburg the next evening and were greeted by staff from the Afton Lodge, for a one-night stay before our flight into Port Elizabeth the next morning.  The Afton was an extraordinary way to kick off the African safari experience.  The lodge was beautiful, the food and drinks were amazing, and the staff was superb.  Looking at all the taxidermy in the lodge and listening to the stories of hunters who were on their way home had me excited for my hunt to begin.  I could barely sleep that night from excitement.

In Port Elizabeth we were picked up by Ryan from Dubula Safaris. On the way we stopped at Hunters & Collectors Taxidermy shop to look at some of the taxidermy work in progress from my dad’s previous safari.  Seeing the extensive number of mounted animals in the shop had me even more excited. On the way to the lodge, we stopped at the Nanaga Farm Stall where I was introduced to some South African culture seeing the local foods, produce and drinks.

The evening that we arrived at the lodge I was amazed at the beauty of the landscape and the mountainous terrain. Even after seeing pictures and videos from my dad’s previous trips, it was beyond my expectation. I was greeted warmly by everyone at Dubula Safaris and met my PH Ricky. We discussed the animals on my list with kudu being my top animal, and a zebra because my wife and I wanted a zebra rug. 

The first night in the lodge I was too excited to sleep.  Morning came quickly and my dad and I went outside onto the porch and there were animals everywhere.  The amount of game I could see with my binoculars was nothing I could have imagined.  After breakfast we went to the rifle range and confirmed my dad’s .30-06 was shooting accurately and we planned the morning hunt.  We soon spotted a group of zebras in an open area but stalked unsuccessfully.  We came out of a dry creek and a beautiful blue wildebeest stood in front of us.  Ricky said it was great male and if I wanted a blue, I should shoot this one. Only the night before Ricky had said they were tough animals and will rarely go straight down with one shot.  We waited for the blue to turn and Ricky said, “On the shoulder halfway up.”  I steadied on the sticks and squeezed the trigger. He went straight down!  What a way to start the hunt.  A few hours into the trip, one shot and one animal down.

As we hunted the next few days, we saw so many species of animals it was almost hard to comprehend.  It brought a lot of clarity to the discussion Ricky and I had on my flexibility of huntable animals.  I was successful on the second evening with the targeted zebra close to where we had seen them the first day. That evening the sunset and nightfall was gorgeous, like something you would see in a book or in a painting.  The third day had us hunting around the lodge for plains game.  I had seen in the first few days a white blesbok. I thought they were neat-looking animals.  As the hunt continued, we saw a few white blesboks in a large herd, but they were winning the stalking game.  Then a common blesbok stepped into an opening in the bush, and Ricky said it was a very good common, so I steadied on the sticks and took the shot.

While enjoying our midday break, I discussed with my dad a black springbok we had seen the first morning, but had not seen again, and I said that a black wildebeest was only a bit more pricewise.  He agreed that it would be great to get a blue and a black on my first trip.  When we met Ricky prior to the evening hunt, we said we would like a black wildebeest and he planned to target them in an area we might also see kudu.   We spotted a small group of blacks and Ricky identified a shooter in that group.  We made a long stalk and got into position.  We had to wait for the shooter male among the other animals in the herd to give us a clean shot.  As the sun began to fade behind the mountains he presented a shot, at which the small group turned out to be a thundering herd of over 30 animals.

Wednesday morning came and we made the trip to Kamala and began our hunt there.  A few hours into the hunt we found a tsessebe, and my dad made a successful stalk and took his target animal. We saw so many animals on this property and I got to see animals I hadn’t yet seen including gemsbok, ostriches, golden gemsbok and more.  We again saw a large black springbok but could not get the opportunity for a shot at it.  On the way back for our lunch break we found a great impala ram and I was lucky to take it.  After lunch we went to a cliff overlooking a dry creek as they had seen warthogs there.  A warthog was on my list, but I said I only wanted to shoot one for a nice European mount.  We saw warthogs but they were female and cull males.  My mom, who hadn’t hunted before decided she would take a shot at the cull male.  Ricky worked extraordinarily well with her and got her set up, and she made a perfect shot for her first ever animal.  What a great experience for us all to share this.

As the afternoon went on Ricky spotted a big fallow deer, and I realized from his tone that it was a trophy and that if we saw it again, I’d like to hunt it.  Later, we glassed a large eland but it wasn’t something I wanted, so we hunted on and as luck would have it spotted the fallow deer again.  After a very short stalk we bumped the deer but were able to get on the sticks, and when he stopped and presented me with a shot, I took it.  We followed the blood and found the deer. As we grabbed his antlers the ground shook under our feet as four warthogs bolted out from a wallow.  While it was a cool experience, I was a bit startled as they ran out from underneath us.

Ricky quickly spotted a shooter male.  I got set up on the sticks and made a successful shot.  What a great way to end this hunting safari, getting all three wildebeests on the same hunt.

This trip exceeded any expectations I had. The staff at the lodge were superb, the food was amazing, with sights and memories I would never have imagined.  As the sun set on my first African safari, I cannot wait to begin booking my next with Dubula Safaris. I am so grateful to my parents for making this trip possible and for sharing it with me.