Hunting in Benin’s Western Savannah

Oct 6, 2023 | Hunting Stories

By Enrich Hugo

 

West Africa has a special appeal not only for hunters. The mix of geographically diverse zones offers savannahs, marsh and rainforest lovers plenty of opportunities to explore fauna and flora. This time is Benin our hunting destination. This elongated, small West African country is considered the cradle of the voodoo religion. In Abomey you can visit the old royal palaces as well as the voodoo temples. The capital is Porto Novo. The international airport where our journey start is in Cotonou. A typical West African city. Stinky, hectic and a lot of traffic. Surprisingly fast, by African standards, are the immigration formalities, and weapons import documents are done by customs and police.

 

After that, the luggage will be stowed in the waiting Land Cruiser. Our host and outfitter from Pendjari Safaris wants to start as soon as possible. It is still early in the morning and he wants to reach the end of the city of Cotonou before morning traffic starts. Ahead of us is a nine-hour drive. Cotonou is located on the southern border of Benin, directly on the Gulf of Guinea.

 

Our destination and camp is located in the north of the country, on the edge of the National Park Pendjari.

 

The 700-kilometer drive gives us another insight into this, for West African conditions, very stable and peaceful country. No religious or racial tensions make Benin a special oasis in West Africa and is gently governed by a democratically elected government. The influence of the former French colonial era can not be denied and is reflected not only in the French official language. The main income of Benin, one of the poorest countries in the world, comes from agriculture. In addition to corn, sweet potatoes, cashew and pineapple, it is mainly the large cotton plantations that catch the eye. It is exactly this cotton that we can see again and again on completely overloaded trucks on our way to Batia.

After about eight hours driving we leave the paved road and after another hour on a sandy road we reach our camp. In addition to the typical round huts stands a completely newly built building with four rooms. Each bedroom with its own bathroom and toilet and of course with air conditioning. Anyone who has ever hunted in West Africa will be extremely pleasantly surprised here. After a long shower, we meet again at dinner. There we will also be introduced to the two professional hunters and our trackers, who will guide us in the next few days. One of the two professional hunters is a Portuguese, who works in Benin from December to May, during the hunting season in Benin, and earns his living as a professional hunter from June to November in Mozambique. The second professional hunter comes from neighboring Burkina Faso and has been working here for over 15 years as a professional hunter with Pendjari Safaris. How valuable the experience of our two professional hunters is will already evident on the following first hunting day.

Camp

We take the first day of our hunt calmly and after a good breakfast we go out for the first terrain exploration. The camp is located on the edge of a small village. The people wave friendly to us and children run after our car. Here, too, the ethical and serious hunt has written its success story. Conservation programs, a rigorous anti- poaching, and appreciation for wildlife has contributed to the development of not only a high stock of wildlife but also a small but considerable wealth in their village. Not only the meat of the hunted game support to the local villages with protaine, also a large part of the revenue of the trophy fees is used to expand the infrastructure. After twenty minutes we are already in our hunting zone. Here my two hunting clients check their weapons and after a threefold series, it’s ready to go. Khalid has opted for a double rifle 9.3×74 and my second hunting guest Rodrigo leads a 375 H&H. Our hunting area is especially known for its abundance of Western savannah buffalo and Western roan antelope. But also Western Hartebeest, Nagor Reedbock, Harnest Bushbuck, Defassa Waterbuck, Oribi, Warthog and two different Duiker are huntable here. We chose the month of January for our hunt and therefore the high grass is not dry enough to burn it down. Despite the sometimes high grass level, we can still recognize the typical savannah character. Small to medium sized bushes and trees dominate the landscape in addition to the extensive grassy areas. The first game drive should serve primarily to get a small overview of our hunting area, but after one of our professional hunters has discovered fresh tracks of buffalo is instantly aroused our hunting fever.

 

Khalid gets the preference and we start our first stalking in the Savannah of Benin. As usual, the stalking is led by one of the trackers. Then Burkina, as our professional hunter from Burkina Faso is affectionately called and then Khalid the Hunter. Because of the tracks we estimate that it has to be a smaller group of five to eight buffaloes. The tracks are relatively fresh and since they are not particularly deep, it also tells us that they are moving slowly ahead of us. The direction of the wind is also perfect and after about an hour of stalking we see the small buffalo herd in front of us. As already suspected, there are six Savannah buffalos. Four cows and two bulls. This little group already shows us the special of the Western savanna buffalo here in Benin. It is the variegation of these buffaloes. From almost black to dark brown but also reddish, the buffalos are colored here and very often these different colors are found in one and the same herd. That is also the case here. The Western savanna buffalo is the third largest buffalo species in Africa alongside the Cape and Nile buffalo. Despite the successful stalking we do not come to a conclusion. The two bulls are too young and should be given the opportunity to pass on their very good genetic before they get hunted. But no reason to be disappointed. On the contrary, the first stalk was already excellent and we had a successful overview. Our trackers and professional hunters have been able to prove their skills and experience at the first stalk, and my two hunters already have the feeling that they are in good hands. After a short time we are back on the road where our car is waiting. After a little refreshment we continued our game drive. We pass two larger waterholes that are full of tracks but due to the time of day no game can be seen. Since there are some larger trees next to the last waterhole and the sun is directly above us at the highest point, we set our lunch break here. A shady place with a great view.

Lunch break.

Hunter heart, what do you want more. Lunch tastes particularly good here and we enjoy the boundless freedom in the middle of West African nature. But after a long rest, things continue. It is already an hour before sunset when Burkina gives the driver the sign to stop. He points to the east and still the sun is in our backs, I can see nothing without my binoculars. Burkina instructs me and with the help of the binoculars I can then also recognize what he has already identified only with his eye. A dark, almost black dyed Dagga Boy, as here also the single living buffalo bulls are called. You can already clearly see Khalid’s excitement. The buffalo is 300 meters away and our professional hunter decides at short notice that he will only stalk with Khalid and 

a tracker. The terrain between us and the bull is too open and too many people would make it much easier for the buffalo to discover us. Me, Rodrigo, and the rest of the team follow the stalk out of good hidden place. The buffalo is still grazing and shows no suspicion even though Khalid and Burkina are only 50 meters away from him. I can see that Khalid have his gun on the shooting stick and is already aiming the bull. The shot does not wait. The buffalo immediately draws and breaks to the right. 

 

After ten meters he stops and the second shot breaks. Although the first shot was excellent for me and in my opinion a deadly hit, the second hit finally drops the Bull to the ground. When Burkina and Khalid are by the buffalo and both give us signs to come, we are on the way to go to the harvest buffalo. Of course, a heartfelt congratulation the shooter and congratulation to the professional hunter to this successful conclusion of the first hunting day. A really old fighter lies here in knee-high grass. Numerous traces show of old turf wars and one or the other scar suggests that he was also the target of attacks of lions. An excellent launch. Khalid is overjoyed and describes in detail the course of the stalking and the killing of the buffalo. The loading of the bull is routine for our experienced team and then it’s back to the camp.

Just at sunset we arrive at the camp and there we are greeted. Despite the enjoyable beginning of our safari, we are in bed shortly after supper to rest and be fit for the next day. The second day is similar to the previous day. Game drive through the vast savannah and a part of our team is looking for fresh tracks and the other half explores the environment for movements that could close on antelopes or buffalo. And again, Khalid is challenged when we discover a three-headed group of roan antelopes. All three are old and strong trophy bulls. This time I accompany Khalid with his stalking. Very slowly and over again we observe this second largest antelope of Africa. Up to a distance of 90 meters we stalk closer and Khalid sights the extreme left roan of this group of three. Optimal shot distance for his 9.3 caliber and the Roan antelope breaks down after firing. Already on the second day of our safari Khalid killed both main game species from Benin. Of course, always a big dose of luck with it but also the experience of our professional hunters and trackers and over years game management here are fruits of success. In the afternoon we still see the first Hartebeest and waterbuck but all female or young animals. Nevertheless, a successful hunting day comes to an end and we let it end comfortably. The next three days of hunting also show us that we are not here in a fenced hunting farm in South Africa or Namibia and really hunting in the wild. Three days of stalking for hours, with backsliding by a sudden change of wind direction, attentive game or carelessness on our part. It’s nothing out of the ordinary for me, and I know that from my many previous savanna hunts

Loading the buffalo.

Stalking

However, it is important for my hunting clients to prepare for such a hunt so far that they can handle even those thirsty streaks that a savannah hunt entails and that they do not lose the desire for the further safari. For Khalid and Rodrigo, however, the last three unsuccessful days leave no trace. On the contrary, I have the impression that they absorb everything in and this hunting trip will keep a special positive memory. The sixth day of hunting is again at its best. On this day we return very successfully to the camp. A West African Hartebeest, a Harnest Bushbuck and a Nagor Reedbock could be killed after successful stalking. We were able to detect and shoot the latter two at two different waterholes. Now only the buffalo of Rodrigo falls to complete a completely successful safari. Two days are still available and we look forward to these days. The penultimate day is already starting promising. Fresh traces of a larger herd. We try to stalk these herds. We succeed and I count more than twenty Savannah buffaloes. It is a mixed herd with cows, calves and also some bulls. I even see two of the reddish colored bulls what Rodrigo wants to hunt. But we do not want to shoot a buffalo out of a herd. Our goal is to find a single Dagga Boy. We just enjoy the big herd we were able to stalk so successfully and then continued our hunt. Although we can no see a red-colored loner on this day we still have plenty of material for our cameras. Herd of young roan antelopes, some hartebeest, oribis and a young waterbuck can be photographed and filmed.

 

The last day of our safari is approaching and this time it starts earlier. Today we want to look for the Dagga Boy in the northeastern corner of our hunting zone. The idea does not come from somewhere. Some of the rangers employed by our outfitter, who implemented the anti-poaching program and are busy patrolling the hunting grounds, have just seen a reddish bull at this northeast corner. And just where these rangers last saw the bull, we also find him. An old, mature bull. The red is almost reminiscent of a forest buffalo occurring in the rainforest, but which is much smaller than the Western savannah buffalo. An absolute dream buffalo. This time, Jorge, the professional hunter from Portugal, introduces us. The buffalo stands in the shade of some trees and the wind is excellent for us. I estimate between 250 to 300 meters separate us from the bull. Jorge, Rodrigo a tracker and myself start the stalking. Each step is checked twice. Just no hasty movement or a careless kick now. Suddenly Jorge stops petrified. He makes us understand that we should not move and shows something in the left direction of our stalk. An elephant bull watches our approach. A fantastic experience to experience the elephant so close but still we are glad when he makes off and pulls back into the dense undergrowth. Finally we can continue our stalking. Our buffalo seems to have heard and seen nothing of all this. The rangefinder in my binoculars shows 80 meters. After another 15 meters and a tree with perfect rifle rest Rodrigo is ready to go. The weapon is already unlocked and he just waits until the buffalo shows him his broadside. I can understand that this moment has to fill up like hours for him. Finally the time has come. Uncovered with the full side of the bull shows up and the finger writhes on the trigger. The red draws immediately and breaks in place in the fire. Jorge keeps track and asks Rodrigo to reload immediately. After another minute, Jorge gives the ok and all-clear and lets Rodrigo secure the weapon. It needs no further shot. A red colored buffalo with an extremely strong trophy lies in front of us. We give Rodrigo alone for a few minutes with his harvest bull. A sensitive moment that probably every hunter can understand too well.

 

With this last buffalo we killed on this hunt we can say that we had a hundred percent success. The passing of Benin ends with a promise from the two hunters. We are infected with the Savannah virus and we promise to see each other again when it says: Savannah hunting in Benin!

 

Father of Them All

Oct 6, 2023 | News

This Enfield-made Martini carbine in .303 British compares favorably with the much later Lee-Enfield No. 5 Mk. 1 – the famous Jungle Carbine.

Even after the Martini-Henry rifle had been retired as the British service weapon, various manufacturers (including the royal arsenal at Enfield) continued to build rifles on the actions in .303 British.

The original .577/.450 Martini-Henry (left) with the .450 Express No. 1, the later .450 Nitro Express, and the .303 British.  All .45-caliber English cartridges are descended, one way or another, from the .577/.450.

By Terri Wieland

 

Thanks to Zulu, the classic 1964 movie starring Michael Caine, the Martini-Henry rifle enjoys a celebrity among citizens at large that is rare among military weapons. Tens of millions of people have seen that movie and, if nothing else, learned about rifle drill in the British Army in 1879.

 

For anyone who might have missed it, Zulu depicts, with quite admirable accuracy, the battle of Rorke’s Drift, in Natal in 1879. The army awarded 11 Victoria Crosses; in my opinion, there could have been a twelfth, for the Martini-Henry certainly played a heroic role.

 

The old Martini is one of the lesser-sung military rifles in history.  It was not used for long – about 15 years – and was really a transitional weapon between the muzzleloader and the repeating cartridge rifle.  Still, it had an enormous impact in several different ways. After it was officially retired in favor of the bolt-action Lee-Metford in 1888, stocks of Martini-Henrys were distributed to colonial troops, militia battalions, hunters, and target shooters throughout the Empire – and that meant, literally, throughout the world. For a century afterwards, you could walk into a farmhouse in Kenya, Rhodesia, Natal, Saskatchewan, New Zealand, or New South Wales and find a Martini-Henry behind the door, ready for action.

 

Over the long term, its cartridge, the .577/.450, was even more influential than the rifle itself. For one thing, its 480-grain bullet set the standard for .45-caliber dangerous-game cartridges that lasts to this day. Subsequent nitro-express cartridges, starting with the .450 NE in 1898, used 480-grain bullets. When .450s were banned in India and the Sudan around 1905, to keep ammunition out of the hands of insurgents, it was because there were so many old Martini-Henrys in the hands of the would-be rebels.  Substitutes for the .450 NE included the .470 Nitro Express, .475 No. 2 NE, and Holland & Holland’s .500/.465. More often than not, the standard bullet weight was 480 grains.

 

The Martini-Henry proved to be so durable, reliable, and adaptable that many were rebarreled to .303 British after 1888, and thousands of new Martinis were also made in .303. Many of these continue in service to this day. With .303 British ammunition one of the most common calibers to be found from Cairo to the Cape, it was natural to arm everything from game scouts and park rangers to camp guards and farm workers with them.

The flip side of that coin is that untold numbers of African animals have been either poached, or wounded, by a Martini-Henry, whether chambered in .577/.450 or .303 British, but that is hardly the rifle’s fault.

 

A lesser known negative of the old Martini is its horrid recoil. Viewers of Zulu might contest that statement, since every shot fired in the movie appeared to have no recoil at all, nor was there much in the way of black-powder smoke. Of course not – they were using blanks.  The real-life Martini was noted for brutal recoil, mainly because of the shape of the stock. For its time, however, it was extremely fast to operate – tests showed trained infantrymen capable of maintaining a rate of fire of 20 rounds per minute. The roughly 140 defenders of Rorke’s Drift fired more than 20,000 rounds during the battle.  Considering there were 4,000 Zulu attackers, the Martini’s rate of fire evened the odds somewhat.

 

The rifle is also enormously strong. Tests at the Providence Tool Company in Rhode Island, at the time they were fulfilling a contract to supply 600,000 Martini-Henrys to the Ottoman Empire, proved the action to be a beast. At one point, they put five (5) 480-grain bullets in the barrel ahead of a double charge of gunpowder. The rifle took it without a whimper.

 

It’s no wonder, then, that the Martini-Henry is still relatively common to find in use, 140 years after it was retired from the British service as obsolete. A 480-grain, hard-cast bullet, in the right place, will still stop virtually anything, and there is little in the way of plains game that can’t be taken with the .303.

 

To the best of my knowledge, Kynamco in England is the only company that now manufactures .577/.450 Martini-Henry ammunition. Finding some would be the difficulty. If you want to shoot one, handloading is about the only real option.  Fortunately, with a little work, brass can be fashioned from .577 cases, which will take Boxer primers; the Martini can handle smokeless-powder pressures with no problem, and cast bullets are common as dirt.

 

In fact, loading some ammunition and trying to match the 20 rounds a minute record of a Victorian infantrymen would be an interesting challenge. Let me know how you make out.

10 Days with a Rigby

Oct 6, 2023 | Hunting Stories

By Buzz Nady 

 

 

This whole thing started in September 2021. I was at Afton, Richard Lendrum’s lodge in Joburg. Richard was promoting a raffle in The African Hunting Gazette magazine, and the grand prize was a SSB Rigby Rifle in .416 Rigby! A proper buffalo rifle! I took a ticket and headed back to the States to start harvesting with my two sons on our farms, not giving a thought to the raffle. I never win.

 

The first week of November I got a call from Richard.

 

“I suppose you called to say I didn’t win the rifle,” I laughed.

 

“Just the opposite,” said Richard, “you did win the rifle!” I was ecstatic, to say the least. After paperwork and emails back and forth with Maria Gil of Rigby in London, my rifle was shipped to their importer in Texas and then to my gun dealer in my hometown of Nevada, Iowa. 

 

What a rifle! I immediately started planning a buffalo hunt with Pete Barnard, owner of Pete Barnard Safaris in Harare, Zimbabwe. Pete and I have been friends for over a quarter century, and he was the guy I wanted to hunt with. Plans were made for September 2023, and practicing with my Rigby started immediately at the range on my farm. Eighteen months and 150 rounds later I felt ready and was on my way to Zimbabwe. 

 

I spent a couple days with Pete and his family just to relax, and then with Pete, Manager and Manuel we headed about 390 km to a beautiful camp in the Gache Gache area in the Zambezi valley and met the camp owner Corris Ferreria. We had a couple of beers as we watched a herd of elephant across the river, drinking. The whole camp is run on solar power converted to 12V with great staff of cooks, house cleaners and skinners to take care of us. Had a great meal that first night, took my Malaron, and was off to bed.

 

 

DAY 1

Day one began with Pete, me, and the team – Manager, Manu and Cry the trackers, Koda and Ragoon the game scouts. We sighted in the rifles and went looking for buffalo. Leaving camp we saw lion, some impala and elephant, and after finding a good set of Dagga Boy tracks, we set out on foot to track him. Ran into some elephant and decided to go around them and pick up the buffalo tracks on the other side! En route, we found a beautiful old bushbuck. Without hesitation, I got on the sticks with my .416 Rigby and got him.

 

Suddenly the bush erupted. Some elephants close by did not like the shot, and they did not like us there. Game on! Pete was hollering, “Run, run,” as he stood his ground between my trackers and me to make sure everyone was safe, and out of harm’s way. After the dust settled, we went and collected my bushbuck. Picked up the buffalo tracks again and looking down I saw a bunch of elephant hair, and I handed it to Manager. He is talented in using it to make bracelets. On our way back to camp, we saw more impala and a nice herd of about 35 eland, all females with little ones. On the banks of the Gache Gache River that flows into Lake Kariba, quite close to the lake, we saw a few small pods of hippo and decided to take a walkabout and get a closer look. Got to within 50 meters of one group but decided not to take the shot. We did need a hippo for bait for crocodile but wanted to take care of the bushbuck first.

DAY 2

We were up at 5 a.m. had some breakfast and coffee and took off looking for buffalo tracks. Found a nice set to follow, but after being busted twice we finally got up to the buffalo only to have the wind start playing games with us, so decided to give up the tracks and look for hippo for crocodile bait. Mid-morning the hippo started coming out of the Gache Gache River to sun themselves. Finally, a big bull clambered onto an island and after careful examination with the binoculars, Pete said it was the one we wanted. I put a good heart-lung shot on the hippo and got a second shot into him as he went into the water. He came up and we worked our way around and I finished him with a side brain shot in the water. The massive hippo sank, came up, and I could see I had hit his brain. When he went back under the water and stayed there, we decided to go have lunch and wait for him to bloat and float to the surface.

 

We went back out after lunch looking for the hippo and did not find it and spent the rest of the afternoon searching. Gave up, and on the way back to camp that evening we saw a herd of approximately 350 to 400 buffalo on the plains down by Lake Kariba. Topped off the day with an excellent dinner and beverages. 

 

DAY 3…

started out with everyone looking for the hippo. Thoughts of not sure of what happened to bullet performance raced through my mind. After lunch, we set out looking for buffalo. We found a herd of about 100 buffalo but just couldn’t get in position. Too many eyes and ears watching us. We did get within about 100 yards a few times but then the wind would change or swirl around. We decided to run back and look one more time for the hippo on the way back to camp. No hippo!

DAY 4…

started early. We went back to find a couple of Dagga Boys we’d seen earlier, and we found them. They don’t get old by being stupid. They winded us as the wind would change often. Busted! Off they’d go. After stalking buffalo all morning, we saw lots of nice crocodiles and after lunch we collected Corris’s Bruno .30-06 for crocodile.

 

We went to shoot the Bruno, but it just didn’t fit me. It just didn’t feel right, but Pete’s .375 was perfect, and we headed to Croc Central on the Gache Gache. Some local native fishermen had moved in to where we wanted to look for crocs. Plenty of crocs there, but they had all gone into the water because of the natives fishing, so we went instead to find our two Dagga Boys.

 

Manu and Cry cut the tracks of the two nyati, and it was game on. Because of the brush, Pete wanted me to load a solid .400-gr Woodleigh. After several attempts, we decided to give the bulls a half-hour break and let them calm down, which paid off. The day was getting late, and this would be our last chance. The third time we found them, they spotted us again as they have sharp eyes and a keen sense of smell. I got on the sticks as they were walking away.

 

My bull presented a shot at a hundred meters, broadside. I let the Woodleigh fly, hitting its mark on his shoulder. The bull jumped and took off. Pete could tell by the sound that the bull was hit well. We ran, catching up to the bull, and I let a 400-gr Barnes TSX fly, hitting the bull just behind the shoulder again. We ran after him. He stopped again and I put a second TSX Into his shoulder. Bull down! We got up to him and I put one more soft into him just for insurance and good measure. I had my bull! It was close to sundown. Picture time with Pete and my team!

 

We loaded the bull and headed to camp.

DAY 5

We left camp around 7 a.m. and headed to Croc Central to look for my hippo and a nice crocodile. Didn’t see my hippo floating anywhere in the river and the crocs were out sunning themselves! We went back to camp, had lunch, and then headed out again. No hippo floating! I was getting concerned about what was going on with the hippo.

 

I knew I put a great shot right on the shoulder, and then the head shot as well. We spent the afternoon looking at different crocodiles and sizing them up. Nothing that really tripped our trigger, so we drove around trying to shoot a couple guinea fowl for supper. Only got one. Had supper and called it a day. 

 

DAY 6

 

Pete, the trackers, game scouts and I headed out again looking for my hippo! With lots of native fishermen about, we were starting to wonder if maybe they had found it and cut it up and taken it. After searching many bays on the river, we felt it quite odd that the three pods of hippo had kind of disappeared. We hadn’t seen them since day two after I shot my hippo. 

 

Back to the camp for lunch and a little nap afterwards, then loaded up and went looking for crocodile as they would be up on the banks sunning themselves at this time of the day. Pete found one he really liked, and we tried to put the sneak on him. Got to about 50 meters, and were just getting the sticks up, when he slithered into the water. He must’ve seen movement from one of us.

 

Pete decided it was time we put a blind up and use some buffalo remains from my buffalo for bait. Blind and bait were set for us to come back in the morning. Back to looking for guinea fowl on the way back to camp for supper. Got one guinea fowl with the .22 and gave it to the boys for their supper. 

DAY 7

Had breakfast then went to check the crocodile bait. To our surprise, we saw a hippo out floating in the bay! Could this be my hippo? Corris’s staff showed up with the tractor, trailer and boat and got the hippo to the shore. Sure enough, the side-brain shot told the story – it was, in fact, my hippo!

 

I was excited and relieved all at the same time. One, I had my trophy and two, we had more crocodile bait. The guys built another blind 50 meters from the hippo and Pete and I went back to the blind we had built the day before, freshened it up with some hippo meat, and we got into the blind at about 11 a.m., each of us with a book to read. 

 

We heard the splash in the water 30 minutes later and focused on the bait with our binoculars, as the crocs started coming in. By noon the crocodiles were stacked in there like cordwood. I couldn’t believe it. The feeding frenzy that was going on! Twelve-foot crocodiles, biting on the hippo, doing the death roll to tear a piece off and then gobble it down. After nearly three hours in the blind, Pete saw the croc we wanted, on the bait and eating. Through my little portal, I could see at least 20-25 crocodile around the bait. And I have no idea how many more were around outside my field of view. 

 

Finally, our crocodile got into a position we liked, slightly quartering away from me. I was using Pete’s .375 H&H with a scope. I put the crosshairs just below the horn and a little bit to the left and squeezed. The crocodile dropped immediately. I quickly loaded another round and put one right behind his shoulder for insurance. I had my crocodile! Congratulations, handshakes and pictures followed. Back to camp to get the crocodile to the skinners. Coris put the tape on him and measured 13‘8”. What a crocodile and what a day in the blind watching them feed, death rolling, ripping meat off the hippo. Time for lunch. It was three in the afternoon. 

 

We would go out in the evening just to look at the baits and see what kind of activity there was and try to find a couple of guinea fowl for supper. There’s nothing like a great bowl of guinea fowl soup! But I think the guinea fowl were on to us. They like to run and then fly at the sound of the Land Cruiser. But we did shoot two francolins – we’d see what the chef could do with those for tomorrow night’s dinner. 

 

At dinner that night Corris mentioned he had a fellow PH who needed some bait for leopard, and asked if we would shoot four impala for him the next morning. Of course, I obliged and said I would be happy to help out.

DAY 8

Coffee and toast to start the day, then off to try to collect a few impala. Found a herd, and I shot one male from the group. Drove around for another couple hours, but nothing presented itself, so we headed back to camp. A cup of coffee, and we started getting things ready for fishing that afternoon. After lunch, we took a little nap as it was the hot time of the day. About 3 o’clock we loaded up the boat and headed down to the Gache Gache.

 

It was a slow afternoon on the river – we caught a few catfish and saw a few elephant on the bank. Very cool! Around the campfire and supper that night, Pete and I talked about looking for Sharpe’s Grysbok in the morning.

 

DAY 9

Got up early, had coffee and breakfast. It had cooled down nicely last evening and night, so it was good sleeping. Didn’t need my solar-powered fan. We loaded up the Cruiser and were headed to the bush by 5.30 looking for Sharpe’s Grysbok. Saw a female with a little one. They are nicknamed ‘greased lightning’ here because when you see him they’re gone immediately. On the way back to camp we saw a herd of probably 300 buffalo and 250 impala. 

 

Pete got a call from his wife, Laura with a new mission for the kids: Picking up different kinds of dung or spoor for show and tell at school. 

 

A short lunch nap and we were heading back to the river to fish. Barbels and squeakers were what we were catching. Back at the river, we encountered some fish poachers that Corris took care of. The lake and river were low as we made our way up the river. We encountered two pods of about 30 to 40 hippos each. What excitement that was! One young bull decided to show off his stuff to scare us away. Quite impressive when you have a two-and-a-half-ton of hippo coming at you.

 

Another beautiful sunset over the river and we headed back to camp for supper.

DAY 10

Breakfast was early. Corris asked if we would shoot two more impala, one for camp meat, and one for the game scouts. Of course! Pete and I and the trackers headed out to look for Sharpe’s grysbok. Didn’t see any, so back to camp for lunch. 

 

I will have to look for grysbok the next time, as this was the last day of hunting, and we wanted to go fishing again in the afternoon… Looking for that elusive tigerfish!

 

If you want to know more about this African Dawn Outfitter – Click here Pete Barnard Safaris

Rigby’s Rising Bite Shotgun

Oct 6, 2023 | News

Diggory Hadoke examines the re-emergence of Rigby’s classic shotgun in modern guise.

 

When you buy a new British gun, you actually buy an old British gun, made recently. Every major maker still in business is selling products developed from patents dating back to the reign of Queen Victoria. Fortunately, the reason for this is because the designs of the Victorian inventors were extremely good. Match the inventive genius of the originators with the exquisite skills of time-served, apprenticed gunmakers and the result is sporting gun perfection.

 

The best British designs have never been bettered, only manufacturing cost and time-saving developments have been influential in the success of later types of shotgun. To date, the typical choice for the buyer of a best English shotgun has been Holland & Holland’s ‘Royal’ (the current model is the self-opener produced from 1922 but the basic ‘Royal’ has been in production since 1893), a Purdey (built on Frederick Beesley’s 1880 design) or a Westley Richards hand-detachable lock (another Victorian original, patented by Leslie Taylor in 1897).

 

Enter Rigby. Re-located to London six years ago after an ambitious investment and purchase by the German L&O Group, the same company that owns Blaser, Mauser and Sauer, Rigby has grown from a small team, under managing director Marc Newton, to a serious player. In fact, Rigby now makes more sporting rifles than any other London gunmaker. Let that sink in for a moment. Rigby has sold close to 1,000 rifles in six years.

 

The Rigby policy has focused very much on re-imagining classic models from the firm’s back catalogue. The Big Game and Highland Stalker models re-visited the hugely successful Rigby-Mauser rifles of the first quarter of the 20th century for inspiration and became the gentleman’s rifle of the modern era: classic, functional, aspirational, yet affordable, at around £7,000 (by comparison with best bolt rifles made by any of the top gunmakers today, including Rigby, which run between £25,000-£35,000).

 

Building on the success of their bolt-action rifles, the Rigby team then embarked on a more ambitious project; resurrecting the double rifle for dangerous game with the iconic vertical-bolt side-lock action patented by John Rigby and Thomas Bissell in 1879.

 

To give that some historical perspective, 1879 was the year in which British forces under Lord Chelmsford were decimated at Isandlwana by Cetshwayo’s Zulu impis. Around the same time, Henry Morton Stanley was fighting his way through the Congo to rescue Emin Pasha, and Thomas Edison was preparing to demonstrate the first workable light bulb. The world was a very different place. That gun patents dating back this far are still being launched as new models in London is a mark of their cleverness and utility.

Given the success of their rifle projects, it was only a matter of time before the shooting public expected to see a new Rigby shotgun emerge from Pensbury Place, Rigby’s workshop on the south side of the River Thames. That day has come, and the new shotgun mirrors their double rifle in being built around the Rigby & Bissell action.

 

Thomas Bissell was a gunmaker with whom John Rigby had a close relationship. Some Rigby guns made in the late 1800s bear his stylised ‘TB’ initials on the face of the action denoting their origins. Patent 1140 of 1879 remains his best-known work. Rigby made it as a signature action from September 1879 until 1932 as a shotgun, a black powder express double rifle and as a nitro express double rifle. Its demise was due to the high cost of manufacture, rather than mechanical obsolescence.

 

The action is inherently very strong, with a traditional Purdey patent double under-bolt holding the barrels on the face from below, by way of bites in the two lumps. Additionally, the vertical bolt rises from the top of the action and locks into a bite in a top rib extension, providing a third anchor point.

 

Aesthetically, Rigby has stuck to the original bar action lock-plate with dipped edges. It is so distinctive that anyone with a modicum of knowledge will recognise it immediately as a Rigby. Marc Newton told me once that his customers want traditional-looking rifles and shotguns. Part of buying into the family of Rigby ownership is the distinction it provides.

 

Rigbys are not like other guns. It would have been so much safer to build a copy of a Holland & Holland ‘Royal’. A London-pattern stocked to the fences side-lock of conventional appearance would be the sensible choice, but it would not reflect Rigby’s ethos of being true to their history. Not everybody will understand. Rigby customers will. And the word will get around.

Marc Newton told me recently: “The gun looks old-fashioned”. It really has the look of the era in which it emerged. The early 1880s was a period of variance. Every maker was building a style of gun they hoped would catch the public’s imagination and be blessed with general approval. In the two decades that followed the introduction of the Rising Bite action, a number of things happened that streamlined the look and mechanics of what became known as the London Pattern side-lock. First, most makers dispensed with third grips for best shotguns. Rib extensions and machined recesses in the action are expensive to fit properly and it became apparent that for normal usage, a Purdey bolt alone was sufficient. Some argued that third grips were unsightly and the protruding rib extension was an impediment to rapid loading. For many, the crucial factor was cost.

 

The other stylistic feature which became the norm as the 19th century waned, was the stocked to the fences look of the Purdey and the second pattern Holland & Holland ‘Royal’. This means the wood from the horns extends right up to the fences, without the shoulders that actions like the earlier Boss, Grant and Rigby guns feature. When Marc Newton says his gun looks old fashioned, it is the differences here to which he primarily refers. There is also the matter of the dipped-edge lock plate. It is a distinctive feature that dates back to early models like the Gibbs & Pitt, and the first model Holland & Holland ‘Royal’. The dipped-edge plates of the Rigby serve no particular purpose, but they are a recognisable house style which Rigby decided to resurrect for the new gun.

 

Available in early 2019, the new Rigby Rising Bite shotgun is priced from £79,000 (excl. VAT) and is built in London at the Pensbury Place factory, where Rigby’s craftsmen and management operate side-by-side.

 

With dipped-edge lock plates, Rigby scroll engraving and the vertical-bolt action, it is immediately identifiable as a Rigby. The new Rigby offers a distinctive alternative to the discerning game shot at a price significantly lower than its main competition.

The confidence the Rigby team has in itself and its product is evident in the decision not to build a copy of a Holland & Holland ‘Royal’, which has become the generic style for most British makers over the last 50 years, but to make a very distinctive, very different shotgun.

The reasoning goes right to the heart of Rigby’s 21st century success. Marc Newton told me that his experience with the buyers of Rigby rifles was that they wanted classic designs, as close to the originals as possible in feel, look and style. Modern innovations were not seen as desirable, unless incorporated almost invisibly into the design. If you want a high-tech modern rifle in a cardboard box, you can buy one; but not from Rigby. Rigby provide tradition, quality and classic rifle-building. For their shotguns, the same strategy is evident. If you buy Rigby, you want different, you want distinctive.

 

Of course, the stylistic quirks only succeed if the product is flawless. Hand-built in London to the finest traditions of the London gun trade, with chopper-lump steel barrels, the best Turkish walnut stocks and engraved with the house style of Rigby scrolls, the standard gun is a bespoke product, with everything made expressly for the customer.

 

Modern production methods have been employed to produce the machined components. This is the way all shotgun production is going. Spark erosion and CNC machinery improves every year, and we have now reached a level of 

sophistication that means, for practical purposes, a working gun can be made entirely by machine. The best guns are made to fine tolerances and then hand-finished at the final stage of fitting to achieve the traditional levels of perfection in every moving part and chain of mechanical interaction. Engraving, stocking and barrel-making are unchanged, being carried out entirely at the bench in the traditional manner. Finishing is to the best London standards.

 

Even with the use of modern machinery, the creation of a best-quality shotgun is a time-consuming process and, therefore, expensive. Rigby’s new gun is not cheap, but it is competitive and sits at a price point significantly lower than its London rivals. Rigby has proved already that it is a reliable producer of quality rifles, and many who doubted the ability of a young team to take on the trade’s top names and compete successfully in a small and difficult market, are now ‘eating crow’, as my American friends like to say.

 

It is typically brave and impressive that the first shotgun to emerge from Pensbury Place is such a classic form and so clearly a Rigby. Rigby’s management broke the rules before with their rifle-building strategy, and succeeded. They have done it again, and I wouldn’t bet against them being a winner this time either.

 

For more information on Rigby’s new Rising Bite shotgun, visit: www.johnrigbyandco.com.

A View on Hunting by a Traditional Leader in Namibia

Oct 5, 2023 | News

By Dr Margaret Jacobsohn

 

Chief T J Mayuni, traditional leader of the Mafwe people in the Mashi district of Namibia and patron of Mayuni Conservancy, is an ardent conservationist and an animal lover. He can describe and recall the name of every dog he has owned since childhood. He is also fiercely pro-trophy hunting.

Chief T J Mayuni

“If the hunting ends and the income it brings to conservancies in Namibia stops, the conservation will stop,“ he told me.

 

Speaking at his tribal khuta (court) at Choi in north-eastern Namibia, the chief expressed outrage that people who live in the west think they have the right to dictate to Africans how they should manage their wildlife. He was responding to news of the new British laws against the import of hunting trophies.

 

“These people are pretending to do conservation in nice air-conditioned offices, sitting at computers. They don’t understand the realities of living here with wild animals. These animals share our land where we farm and live. Our national parks are too small to contain our wildlife – they have to leave the parks and move across our lands.”

Chief Mayuni had a question for those contemplating laws that could cause the decline of hunting in Africa: “You once had wildlife in your countries. Where is it today? Where are your bears and wolves? You killed them all because you could not live with wild animals – as we do. Now you have the audacity to tell us what to do, we who still have wildlife and who have helped it to increase in the past decades.”

 

The chief raised a laugh among his indunas (headmen) with a typical Mafwe metaphor: “You don’t have a wife, yet you presume to advise us who are married how to behave.”

 

Chief Mayuni is well qualified to lecture the West about confusing individual animal rights with conservation which works, as it must to be effective, at the population, species and ecosystem levels. He was the first traditional leader in Zambezi Region in the early 1990s to support community-based conservation in an area that was hostile to nature conservation because of the protectionist approach being taken by the colonial authorities.

 

He personally pioneered various initiatives aimed at stopping rampant poaching which, by Namibian independence in 1990, had reduced most species to remnant numbers. Giraffe and rhino in what was then called Caprivi, now Zambezi province, had already been poached to extinction.

Today, with abundant wildlife in Zambezi, many people have forgotten how close Namibia came to losing its wild animals in this area which, sandwiched between Angola, Botswana, Zambia and Zimbabwe, is the key to essential connectivity for wildlife. 

 

Without the Zambezi Region, and its community-conservation successes, the world’s largest multi-country conservation area – the 520 000 square km Kavango-Zambezi transfrontier conservation area, KAZA, would be a non-starter. 

 

The Mafwe Khuta was the first in Zambezi to agree to appoint community game guards, answerable to the khuta, not to the then-Directorate of Nature Conservation, which was seen as unsympathetic to local people and their conflicts with wildlife in their fields and with predators killing livestock – and people. The protectionist approach pre-independence aimed at catching poachers whereas the community-based approach has a longer-term perspective aimed at stopping poaching.

 

In the early 1990s, Chief Mayuni led the way in not only fining poachers but also his indunas in the villages where poachers lived. As he said at the time, these headmen should have known that game meat was being brought into homesteads under their noses. In 1996/97, he also pioneered a compensation scheme for farmers who suffered economic losses to wild animals.

 

“What I did,” he recalled, “was invite tourism operators to donate to this pilot scheme, initially for livestock losses to lions. We paid N$500 per cow. Then IRDNC – Integrated Rural Development and Nature Conservation, (the NGO that pioneered community conservation in Namibia) – added N$300 so we could pay N$800 per cow.”

 

The Ministry of Environment and Tourism, now the Ministry of Environment, Forestry and Tourism (MEFT), later took over these pilot schemes but applied them to all conservancies in Namibia, including those that do not have lions and other large predators. The amounts paid are limited and never enough to cover all farming losses so the issue remains a major ongoing problem for conservation.

 

Chief Mayuni reminded us how serious problem-animal incidents were often handled in the 1980s up until the time community-based conservation was embraced in the 1990s.

 

“People used to poison the remains of a cow taken by lions so that when the pride came back to feed, they died, as did hyena, jackal, and many vultures and birds that also fed on the poisoned carcass. Even crocodiles died this way.”

 

But he pointed out that in the very early days, his forefathers knew how to look after wild animals which was why wildlife was so abundant when the colonists arrived.

“In the old days, the chief used to send his own hunters to shoot a limited number of elephant for a celebration, for example. No one but the chief’s hunters were allowed to hunt. The old people knew how to harvest a few animals without damaging the population.

 

“Today, however, people have increased and wildlife has increased so we have more conflicts. This does not mean wildlife has to decline just because we stay together. Trophy hunting is a conservation method, carefully controlled with quotas set after annual game counts.”

 

Earlier in the morning, Mrs Beatrice Muyafwe, the Ngambela, (speaker of the house who is in charge of the khuta) had followed protocol by inviting indunas to speak before the chief. He is required to listen to his indunas, and then his Ngambela, and always be the last to speak.

Senior Induna Bernhard Munembo: “If hunting should stop, it will touch the lives of all our people. Conservation and hunting are together and have brought jobs and income, plus meat.”

 

Senior Induna Christopher Mawaya: “This anti-hunting story will kill Namibia. We hope our government is talking hard to Britain.”

Induna Patrick Natamoya said that human-wildlife conflict was effectively tackled by the hunters who targeted problem animals.

 

Other indunas spoke in the same vein, also airing some of their concerns about the challenges currently facing conservancies.

The Ngambela talked about the immense gap between people in the West and the rural people of Zambezi.

 

The chief then took the floor and said he shared the concerns some of his indunas had expressed about the jobs and incomes lost because of the collapse of tourism during the pandemic lockdowns. This poverty meant poaching, which had become almost non-existent up until 2020, was on the rise. Attempts to stop trophy hunting income could therefore not be coming at a worse time when conservancies were struggling to keep their members supportive.

 

Conservancies were valuable as employers but not everyone in the community had a son or daughter who worked for a conservancy, he pointed out, referring to the ongoing challenges of getting sufficient benefits from wildlife into homesteads, especially now that tourism, which stopped completely for nearly two years during the lockdowns, was only slowly starting again.

 

Much had been achieved by conservancies, Chief Mayuni said, with solar and electrical infrastructure going into villages, boreholes, and piped water, conservancies having offices and vehicles, being able to provide jobs, bursaries for post-school tuition, funeral assistance, game meat distributions from trophy hunting, and much else. However, more was needed.

“But, let us not air our problems now. We need to focus on the people who are trying to stop trophy hunting.”

 

“How can we explain to them that if our people do not benefit from the wild animals that share their land, they will farm the core wildlife areas and chase wildlife away. More wildlife will be killed. The wildlife corridors in all conservancies will close without hunting income.

 

“Community conservation is in crisis because of the economic situation after the pandemic, and losing our hunting income would be the nail in the coffin,” was the chief’s final, sobering comment.

The Ministry of Environment and Tourism, now the Ministry of Environment, Forestry and Tourism (MEFT), later took over these pilot schemes but applied them to all conservancies in Namibia, including those that do not have lions and other large predators. The amounts paid are limited and never enough to cover all farming losses so the issue remains a major ongoing problem for conservation.

 

Chief Mayuni reminded us how serious problem-animal incidents were often handled in the 1980s up until the time community-based conservation was embraced in the 1990s.

 

“People used to poison the remains of a cow taken by lions so that when the pride came back to feed, they died, as did hyena, jackal, and many vultures and birds that also fed on the poisoned carcass. Even crocodiles died this way.”

 

But he pointed out that in the very early days, his forefathers knew how to look after wild animals which was why wildlife was so abundant when the colonists arrived.

 

“In the old days, the chief used to send his own hunters to shoot a limited number of elephant for a celebration, for example. No one but the chief’s hunters were allowed to hunt. The old people knew how to harvest a few animals without damaging the population.

 

“People used to poison the remains of a cow taken by lions so that when the pride came back to feed, they died, as did hyena, jackal, and many vultures and birds that also fed on the poisoned carcass. Even crocodiles died this way.”

 

But he pointed out that in the very early days, his forefathers knew how to look after wild animals which was why wildlife was so abundant when the colonists arrived.

 

“In the old days, the chief used to send his own hunters to shoot a limited number of elephant for a celebration, for example. No one but the chief’s hunters were allowed to hunt. The old people knew how to harvest a few animals without damaging the population.

 

“Today, however, people have increased and wildlife has increased so we have more conflicts. This does not mean wildlife has to decline just because we stay together. Trophy hunting is a conservation method, carefully controlled with quotas set after annual game counts.”

 

Earlier in the morning, Mrs Beatrice Muyafwe, the Ngambela, (speaker of the house who is in charge of the khuta) had followed protocol by inviting indunas to speak before the chief. He is required to listen to his indunas, and then his Ngambela, and always be the last to speak. 

 

Senior Induna Bernhard Munembo: “If hunting should stop, it will touch the lives of all our people. Conservation and hunting are together and have brought jobs and income, plus meat.”

 

Senior Induna Christopher Mawaya: “This anti-hunting story will kill Namibia. We hope our government is talking hard to Britain.”

 

Induna Patrick Natamoya said that human-wildlife conflict was effectively tackled by the hunters who targeted problem animals.

 

Other indunas spoke in the same vein, also airing some of their concerns about the challenges currently facing conservancies.

 

The Ngambela talked about the immense gap between people in the West and the rural people of Zambezi. 

The chief then took the floor and said he shared the concerns some of his indunas had expressed about the jobs and incomes lost because of the collapse of tourism during the pandemic lockdowns. This poverty meant poaching, which had become almost non-existent up until 2020, was on the rise. Attempts to stop trophy hunting income could therefore not be coming at a worse time when conservancies were struggling to keep their members supportive.

 

Conservancies were valuable as employers but not everyone in the community had a son or daughter who worked for a conservancy, he pointed out, referring to the ongoing challenges of getting sufficient benefits from wildlife into homesteads, especially now that tourism, which stopped completely for nearly two years during the lockdowns, was only slowly starting again.

 

Much had been achieved by conservancies, Chief Mayuni said, with solar and electrical infrastructure going into villages, boreholes, and piped water, conservancies having offices and vehicles, being able to provide jobs, 

bursaries for post-school tuition, funeral assistance, game meat distributions from trophy hunting and much else. However, more was needed. 

 

“But, let us not air our problems now. We need to focus on the people who are trying to stop trophy hunting.”

 

“How can we explain to them that if our people do not benefit from the wild animals that share their land, they will farm the core wildlife areas and chase wildlife away. More wildlife will be killed. The wildlife corridors in all conservancies will close without hunting income. 

 

“Community conservation is in crisis because of the economic situation after the pandemic and losing our hunting income would be the nail in the coffin,” was the chief’s final, sobering comment.

 

Later, in his office, having left the indunas in the khuta to continue with their work, effectively governing the Mafwe people in the Mashi district, hearing and resolving issues and conflicts, the Chief and I discussed how to close the gap between people in the West and Africa.

 

Few conservation projects in Africa are better monitored, documented, reviewed, researched and criticized, both internally and externally, than Namibia’s community conservation program, with annual results published online and hardcopy in its State of Community Conservation booklet. Here the achievements and shortcomings of the 68 communal conservancies, 43 community forests and 10 communal fish reserves, plus two community associations within two national parks, managed like a conservancy, are annually reviewed. The various websites are open to all, and data from game counts across the country, income, benefit distribution, facts and figures, are unflinchingly laid out. So it is not for a lack of information that the gap between Africa and some Westerners remains so wide. 

 

Chief Mayuni observed that travelling to other areas, experiencing and seeing with his own eyes, had been a major driver in educating and informing him. In France and at CITES meetings, he had heard animal rights talk – where the rights of an individual animal, such as an elephant, was put before the lives and welfare of African people.

 

Many African countries have visited Namibia to learn about its community conservation which has resulted in a major increase in wildlife and benefits for people. 

 

“So, we should do the same: invite those animal rights people to come here where we can show them examples of how our people suffer because they live with wild animals. And how much they sacrifice for conserving those animals. Let them come here and see the hard efforts we put into conservation. Those ‘pretend conservationists’ need to see some real conservation.” 

Dr Margaret Jacobsohn is a renowned, award-winning anthropologist, conservationist and author based in Namibia. With her partner, the late Garth Owen-Smith, she was co-founder of the IRDNC (Integrated Rural Development and Nature Conservation), an NGO pioneering community conservation in Kunene Province. She is Chair of the GOSCARs grassroots conservation awards Panel and a Trustee of Conservancy Safaris Namibia Dr M Jacobsohn: mjacobsohn@iway.na

Not Just Hunting in the Eastern Cape

Sep 9, 2023 | Hunting Stories

Abigail with her white-horned blesbok bull at the Hotfire property.

By Abigail Prevost

 

I was not sure what to expect when we stepped off the plane in East London, but I got the feeling that the next two weeks were going to be something incredible – and my gut feeling was correct. We would be leaving with the experience of a lifetime and were already planning to come back in the next few years to this stunningly wild country.

 

My family and I spent the first two weeks of June in the Eastern Cape of South Africa at Hotfire Safaris, near Cathcart. After being in the air for almost 24 hours and taking three different planes from Calgary and finally to East London, we were all so excited to put our feet on the ground we would be hunting on. After collecting our bags, we were greeted by the two PHs from Hotfire, Pat and Ryan, whose light-hearted banter was the perfect cure for our airplane hangover.

 

The five of us split into two cars – Ryan took my older brother Jonah and his girlfriend Farrah while Pat took me, my younger brother Spencer, and my father Dean. As we drove the two hours north through the Eastern Cape to reach the property, I was stunned into silence by the beauty of the landscape. Maybe it was because I had never been on the African continent and the geography was so different from the dryness of Southern Alberta and the Canadian Rockies, but each rolling hillside we passed seemed more beautiful than the last. When the sun finally set, the blue sky was quickly replaced with a blanket of stars – more than I had ever seen in one place. I was again in awe of this country I knew so little about.

Stunning sunrise on our first morning at the Hotfire property.

At Hotfire, we had wonderfully designed tents for accommodations (including heated blankets which was greatly appreciated since we seemed to have forgotten that Canada is not the only country that gets cold in the winter) and a fantastic meal of local game accompanied by an array of delicious traditional side dishes. After dinner, we sat by a roaring fire with Ryan and Pat, getting to know one another. While everyone laughed around the fire, I was feeling a little bit nervous about the hunt the next day – it had been a few months since I’d held a rifle and I worried that I would be out of practice. This was also going to be my first big-game hunt.

 

The next morning, we headed out for some target practice. After hitting the swinging yellow target 100 meters away a few times, I felt much more confident in my shot.  Then in two cars we were off for our first taste of an African hunt. Ryan took Jonah, Farrah, and a pre-64 model 70 Winchester in .270 to search for a kudu bull and although the rest of us wished him luck, we were secretly hoping that it would be us who got the first animal of the trip.

 

Within a half hour of leaving target practice, Pat’s tracker Ayunda, had identified a few blesbok in the bush. We made 

our way in, following Pat towards the spot where he and Ayunda had seen it – stopping every so often for Pat to point out various species of wildlife. Then we dropped off Spencer and Dean to wait while Pat and I moved closer to the blesbok. (We found out later that they had got up close and personal with a warthog while we were gone.) Pat handed me the Mauser 98 in .270 with a suppressor, warning me, “It’s live,” before clicking on the safety.

Jonah with his nyala bull on the Hotfire property.

Bent-kneed and hunched over, we slowly crept through the bush with the rocks, trees, and brush giving us cover. When we were as close as we could get without the four blesbok bulls spotting us, Pat spread the shooting sticks and I lifted the rifle onto the stand and got comfortable. Through the scope I could see the four bulls running around, and Pat told me to look for the one whose horns had turned white at the front as that indicated that he was quite an old bull. The blesbok were unaware of our presence but kept hiding behind trees and lying down. After standing ready for a while and realizing the bull was not going to give us a shot from that position, Pat found another angle, and this time when I looked through the scope, I had a broadside shot on the old bull. The nerves started to come back once the safety was switched off and I felt a little shaky. I steadied myself with a deep breath, centered the scope on the spot above his front left leg, and gently squeezed the trigger as I breathed out. I reloaded but in the time that it took me to get a second bullet in the chamber, the bull jumped, then dropped down a few meters away. I could barely hear Pat’s congratulatory, “Nice shot” over my pounding heartbeats from by excitement and shock.

 

Meanwhile, at the other end of Hotfire, Ryan, Jonah and Farrah were stalking a kudu bull, Jonah’s first animal of the safari. He made such an impressive shot from one cliff across a valley to another cliff that we almost forgot about the truly gruelling trek that it took for us to get up there to help bring the animal down, and it took ten of us all together to carry the bull and the equipment – needless to say that we earned our dinner that night, which again was delicious.

 

After that first day, we fell into a routine: hunt in the morning, return to camp for lunch, go back out in the afternoon, return to camp, and sit around the fire talking until dinner. It was a routine that I really enjoyed, especially the evening fire. It was the perfect way to close each day’s hunt and wind down for the night.

 

At the end of our six days of hunting, we each had a trophy and many memories to take home to Canada. But Ryan and Pat were not finished with us just yet – we still had a week to go. We spent the afternoon of our seventh day bird hunting near Stutterheim, camouflaged behind huge stalks of corn. The hunt itself was enhanced by the sun slowly sinking over the horizon till it finally set and colored the sky just above to a faded purple, signalling that it was time to pack up.

We spent the following two days flyfishing at Gubu Lake surrounded by beautiful green hills – also just outside Stutterheim. There was a slight breeze which I didn’t consider when I was strapped into my float tube and began kicking towards the middle of the lake. I focused on practicing my cast. It was my first time flyfishing and as a result I stopped kicking. It’s hard to do two things at once. As I continually cast out my line the wind carried me to the opposite end of the lake, and it took me more time and effort to get back to shore as I was now moving against the wind. But after two days my legs were a lot stronger, my cast improved, and I was able to catch and release a decent-sized trout. The last night at Hotfire we lingered around the fire a little longer, reminiscing about our trip so far.

 

The following day we were off to Addo Elephant Park and then to Port Alfred. After seeing so many different species of wildlife at Hotfire – kudu, blesbok, wildebeest, warthogs, baboons, impala – I was not expecting to feel so overwhelmed at Addo. But, yet again, South Africa surprised me. Pat’s hawk-eyes spotted everything from hartebeest to black-backed jackal to even a dung beetle on the side of the road. Thank goodness for Dean with his Canon camera or there’d be no photographic evidence of our time at Addo. 

 

Patrick, Ayunda, and Spencer looking for warthogs on the Hotfire property.

Later in the afternoon we came across an Addo elephant. I knew they were big, but I truly had no idea how big until one came up right beside our Land Cruiser and I saw the size of its tusks and the length of its trunk. Though it was moving slowly, each step it took covered a lot of ground.

From a viewpoint in the park, we watched the sun slowly set behind the hills, the animals mere shadows in the evening light. We ended the day with a big family dinner – Pat and Ryan’s families came up to Addo to join us and we got to know a little more about our PHs.

 

In less the 48 hours we were in Port Alfred – bleary-eyed at the breakfast table before the sun had risen, ready to jump into our fishing boat for the day. I had never been deep-sea fishing before and thought, “It can’t be that hard.” Was I ever wrong! There are certain muscles in our body that don’t get much use, sitting in a university lecture hall taking notes – and it was these such muscles that ached for days after we got off the boat. I was completely taken aback by the strength required to reel in the collection of bottom feeders we were landing every couple of minutes.

 

But I loved every minute on that boat – the slight ache in my left arm from reeling in the fish, the rush of excitement when I felt a bite on the line, the communal celebration when someone landed a fish, and the brilliant orange on the horizon above the crashing waves as the sun rose over the back of the boat.

Spencer with his warthog on the Hotfire property.

From Johannesburg to Port Alfred, we covered a lot of ground in just fourteen days. We went big-game hunting, bird hunting, fly fishing, elephant spotting, and deep-sea fishing – and we can’t wait to come back and do it all again.

BIO

 

Abigail Prevost lives in Calgary, Alberta in western Canada. She works in consulting but enjoys many types of outdoor activities in her spare time, including bird hunting and fishing. Most of her hunting experience has been in Canada, though she hopes to travel for hunting more in the future.

Great Bulls of Fire

Sep 8, 2023 | Hunting Stories

By Enrich Hugo

 

The smoke stings something in the lungs and the ash particles that whirl through the air tickle the nostrils. And occasionally we had to deal with glow around us. In addition to the ash, the air is full of insects and other small crawlies. Wherever you look, there are birds of prey that, in breathtaking maneuvers, catch mice and other small mammals fleeing from the fire.

 

We were in the north of Uganda, near the border to South Sudan, where the dry grass is being burned down to provide the soil with new nutrients that grow fresh green grass. As well as the abundant waterholes, this nutritious green grass provides the base for a thriving and diverse wildlife in Uganda. The Dark Continent wears many shades of green in Uganda, leaving no doubt as to why it is called the Pearl of Africa.

 

The starting point of our safari was the Kidepo Valley, where our hunting area is separated from the Kidepo National Park only by a gravel road. Everywhere you looked there were big herds of oribi and Jackson’s hartebeest. But our goal this time is to hunt Nile buffalo, which is only to be hunted in Uganda. It looks very similar to the Cape buffalo that is found in Namibia, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Mozambique, Botswana and Tanzania. With a weight of 600 to 700 kilos, the Nile buffalo is about 200 kilos less than the Cape buffalo. It is a shade lighter in color than its stronger, almost black-colored cousin. Significantly more pronounced is the difference in the horn. Generally, the Nile buffalo’s horn is not as wide and has a slight downward curvature. This flatter curl gives it its characteristic beefy appearance.

Normally, I organize and accompany my hunting clients, but this time I was the hunter carrying the rifle. I was with Christian, who has been living in Uganda for years and has made a name as the leading outfitter from Uganda, and we have a long and strong friendship. I was excited and looking forward to hunting with him.

 

From my numerous hunting trips where I have accompanied my clients in Uganda, I know the hunting area already very well, but nevertheless I am always overwhelmed by the fauna and flora which is offered here. The temperature is extremely pleasant and there are no big differences between day and night as we know in other African hunting countries. The several light rain showers over the year are also a reason for the lush green which covers the country, but do not detract from the hunt. 

 

We used the first few days of the hunt to get a good overview and we repeatedly encountered large herds of Nile buffalo, which were often more than two hundred head strong, but this time we were on the way to find single bulls. Here, a buffalo is never shot out of a herd. Only old bulls expelled from the herd, known as Dagga Boys, are stalked and shot. These Dagga Boys were usually the lead bulls of their herd for years and have passed down their genetics over time. But even for these strong leadership bulls comes the time when a younger bull takes his place and he is rejected by the herd, and it is precisely this expulsion that makes the buffalo even more dangerous. These loners can no longer rely on the protection of the herd and are on their own.

Of course, the main threat is from lions, which have a much easier time attacking a single buffalo than an animal protected by a herd. Always keeping an eye on these threats makes them nervous, irritable and extremely dangerous. In some cases, several of these Dagga Boys join together in smaller groups. It is these two to five groups you must be extremely careful of.  Irritated, nervous, aggressive and an all-round radar of several pairs of eyes can define a buffalo as Dangerous Game.

 

We tracked one of these groups, a group of three.  They were still small black dots near the horizon, but the trained eyes of our trackers clearly confirmed them as Dagga Boys. Christian considered the situation, and we briefly discussed it with a tracker. It would not only be reckless and risky to stalk through the head-high grass between us and the buffalo, but it would also be a matter of luck if we stalked almost without knowing where to go. However, the wind was very good for us and Christian sent two of his trackers ahead.

We were on a small hill, and he could instruct his trackers by radio. Then they started to set a fire. The dry grass burnt like tinder and spread quickly with the wind in behind in the direction we wanted. In this controlled burning it is essential to know the area one hundred percent. The wind blew from east to west, and about two kilometres to the west it lead to wider gravel road which acts as a natural barrier to prevent the fire from spreading. Behind us, in the north, the grass had already been burnt a few days previously and therefore there was no dry grass left in that direction.

The fire was started in a small depression and Christian explained that there was a small waterhole where the buffalo could safely go to drink. The fire that was placed on the other side of us did not bother them, and as the wind was blowing our way, they did not smell us. And indeed, the three Dagga Boys walked undeterred in our direction. The two trackers joined us and we started our stalk, crouching and often on all fours. Without the protection of the high grass, we had to now proceed very carefully. We used every bush and tree that lay between the buffalo and us to hide behind.

Everywhere there were ash particles from the fire. It smelt of burnt insects, and over our heads flights of hawks and falcons were swooping for food. Again and again Christian stopped to scan with binoculars to see what the buffalo were doing. The careful stalking took much time, but the distance was decreasing between the buffalos and us. Just as Christian foresaw, they were moving towards the waterhole. After another half hour suddenly only two of the three bulls appeared on a small edge of the terrain. Somewhere between the last two smaller hills, number three must have decided to take a break in the shelter of a group of bushes and no longer followed the other two bulls. But we needed to take extra care now. Christian instructed one of the two trackers to wait and keep an eye on this edge of the terrain, and if the third bull should appear to tell us immediately by radio.

 

After more than three hours of stalking, we were now very close to the waterhole. And at that precise time, the two bulls appeared. The distance was now about 40 meters between us and the buffalo. The terrain in front of us sloped down, and from our cover we could easily watch the two buffalo. Both were very old boys. Numerous scars decorated their faces and bodies, irrefutable witness of many fights with their own kind, but also remains of attacks by lions. Each bull had a huge hard boss emphasizing his age as an old warrior.  But that was not the only thing that stood out. Both bulls had similar massive testicular inflammation. In all my many years as a professional hunter and hunting companion of my hunting clients, I had never have seen anything like it. Christian shook his head and said that it was a first for him. The two must have been in hell of a pain. The testicles were red to purplish-blue and were extremely long and swollen. There was no doubt that my goal should be to kill both and free them from their agony.

I had an open sight rifle without a scope in .460 Weatherby with Mauser system, with two cartridges in the magazine and one already in the barrel. Christian as backup carried a .500 Jeffery. By now the two bulls seemed to become nervous. I do not think they were aware of us, but it may be that they have sensed a predator. I decided to take the first shot on the right buffalo. My instinct told me that the other buffalo would turn to the left and escape to the open side of the terrain. Christian was ready as my insurance.

 

My first shot broke and the first buffalo went down where he stood. Automatically I reloaded. The second buffalo stopped after only 10 meters to see what had happened behind him. He took two steps towards the fallen buffalo, giving me enough time to take him too. The .460 Weatherby had done a great job. After a short wait in our cover, we went to inspect the beasts, and up close the inflammation looked a lot worse than we had already seen.

We took some tissue samples which Christian later handed over to the National Park Authority. One thing was certain. The game meat that is usually handed over to the local population to provide them with much-needed protein would be destroyed in this case, and the two buffaloes left to the vultures. For safety, Christian still ordered three park rangers to guard the carcasses until only the bones were left. He did not want to take any risks in case some people from the neighboring villages decided to acquire some pieces of meat.

 

For me, but also for Christian, this hunt goes down in our hunting history books. Both for him in Uganda and for me personally, it was the first double with two buffalos.  It could not have been better.

 

Once again, this proves that ethical hunting is a main tool of conservation.

 

The Baobab Buffalo

Sep 7, 2023 | Hunting Stories

By Kevin Cunningham

 

It is almost a cliché to say that hunting Cape Buffalo is special. For me it began, curiously enough, many years ago hunting whitewing dove in Mexico with Ralf. Ralf was a successful, greying guy who loved the hunting and fishing life, and who was fortunate enough to have safaried in Africa from the time he was twelve years old. After a hot day of shooting doves, he and I would sip icy margaritas and he would reminisce about hunts and the animals he had taken – hissing crocs, trumpeting elephants, roaring lions, hyenas, baboons, leopards, horned plains game of every sort, and Cape buffalo. To my youthful ears it sounded like high adventure and a test of personal courage. Ralf had been everywhere and stalked everything, but he always came back for buff because, he said, they live up to their reputation for exchanging human damage for a poorly placed shot, and for fighting to the end, especially when they knew who killed them!

 

Fast forward thirty years to a lion-colored grass airstrip in the Save Valley of Zimbabwe. The little Cessna bumped down onto the hard dirt and came to idle in the shade under a towering baobab tree. When the engine shut off, all I could hear was the sound of the wind blowing a dust devil down the runway. A Toyota pickup drove to the plane. The driver got out, a junior professional hunter, introduced himself and me to the trackers, then loaded my gear. We watched the plane lift off over the tree line and turn north. I looked at the red ground and crackling dry landscape of thornbush and tan-barked trees with new green leaves brought on by early November rains. The horizon in every direction seemed 100 miles away. There was no sign of man. A lone silhouette of an elephant lumbered across the far end of the airstrip casting a silent shadow before the setting sun. I was back in big buffalo country, and only the fates knew what would happen over the next ten days.

 

After zeroing my rifles, we arrived at Sango Conservancy. This is the famed reserve of the Pabst Brewing Company family. It is managed to the highest standards in terms of protecting and preserving wild African animals in their free-range habitat and in a sustainable manner that includes very limited hunting. The hunts they allow are under strict quota and are conducted only with select PHs. The money raised helps to support anti-poaching, wildlife studies, and the feeding and livelihood of the workers and their communities. Those funds represent only a portion of the total personal cost to the owners in their continuing and tireless efforts to preserve 150,000 acres (60,000 hectares) of pristine African habitat and its precious wildlife.

 

Ingwe Camp, mine for this hunt, is a private camp, so I had the place to myself except for staff and my PH who stayed in a thatched bungalow across the compound.  I was greeted by staff with a tray of iced melon juice and cookies and shown around. Boss Rob, my PH, would be back shortly as he was attending business at headquarters. I stowed my gear and headed to the bar for an anesthetic after the 34-hour trek from Texas to Zim via Doha, Qatar. I settled into a leather chair on the veranda, watching the last light of sunset filter over the veld, sipped my iconic South African drink – a double brandy and Coke – and relaxed in proper bwana fashion.

A truck ground to a halt and a door slammed. In strode my friend and PH Rob Lurie. I had met Rob two years before under unfortunate circumstances. My previous PH,

Phil Smyth, had been killed by an elephant. Rob had stepped in along with other generous PHs to pick up Phil’s booked hunts for the benefit of Phil’s family, and so I had hunted the Senuko camp, about fifty kilometers down valley, with him the following year. We hit it off, and so when he called to offer me a hunt at Sango that another client had cancelled, I jumped at it.

 

Rob is head of the distinguished Zimbabwe Professional Guides Association. Though I have hunted with wonderful PHs from other parts of Africa I have been impressed with the professionalism that Zimbabwean PHs display as a result of their rigorous training and licensing program. Just ask any learner Zimbabwean PH what they have to go through to get a full license to escort clients into harm’s way. You would sooner sign up for Marine Corps boot camp and a couple of years in green hell than go the distance they go to get their ticket. Like Rob, the PHs I have had the privilege and honor to hunt with, are dedicated to preserving an ancient way of life. I got to share that life for the next ten days.

 

After a lovely dinner, more than enough Stellenbosch wine and catching up with Rob, I turned off my bedside lamp and sank into crisp sheets under a mosquito net. It was pitch dark. I listened to the trickle of the stream in the gully below and the chirping and calling of the night creatures. I thought of my rifles, going through a mental checklist – Dakota .416 Rigby bolt action with a new Swarovski Z8i 1.7-13×42 red dot scope for old eyes needing lots of light in often shadowy environments. For years my Z6i had served me well, but the improvements of technology over time enticed me into the new optics. They say in Africa, shoot the largest caliber you can shoot well. I chose the .416 Rigby as it is a legendary caliber for tough African dangerous game. I shot this rifle confidently and killed efficiently and humanely.  My other rifle on this hunt was a new, out-of-the box Hill Country Rifles custom .224 Valkyrie with a Z8i scope for smaller game. I had brought thirty rounds of ammo for each. For buffalo I prefer custom loads – 20 soft and 10 solids from Safari Arms with Swift A-Frame bullets – or whatever is next best available in the post-Covid market. Nothing against production ammo, but if I have the cash and order time, I want to know I have the best. For dangerous game, failure is not an option!

 

The morning knock-knock came at 4.00 along with a pot of coffee. An hour later, Rob and the team were waiting at first light with the truck.

 

Day one is always a wakeup call. This was real. I was jet-lagged. My shoes were stiff. I was not used to the new sling. I had conveniently forgotten the effect on my arms and shoulders of carrying what is a rather heavy rifle. That first walk of the morning was not like strolling to the shooting bench at home. My muscles were not in shape to follow much younger men all day. No taking a coffee break and chatting with a friend before going to lunch. A sip of water and let’s get on with it! That first day was meant to see how I walked in the bush, how I behaved, how I handled my rifle. By evening I was beat, but hopefully Rob could see that I was getting my muscle memory back, leaving my other life behind and getting mentally into the work at hand.

 

Over the next few days we bundu-bashed. Rob and I were in the cab while our trackers and game scout were above us on the top rack and bench where they could see what we could not. Around us monolithic grey boulders stacked up into kopjes. We bundled warmly in the early mornings and sweated in the afternoons, heads on constant swivel for sign and animals. There were the occasional close calls with unhappy elephants, appearing and disappearing lions, menacing shadows moving through the trees, and crocs feasting like Jaws on giraffe legs from the one that I had shot for bait. We ambushed a pair of klipspringers, and the trophy ram dropped to the shot from the .224. With that and a well-placed shot from the .416 on that old bull giraffe the day before, I was feeling good on the gun.

Over several days, we crossed paths with buffalo herds that had always passed that morning or the night before. The Dagga Boys’ tracks we saw were too either old or not big enough. One morning we glassed a herd that was climbing a steep bank on an island in the middle of a river opposite us. Most of the herd had moved into heavy cover. There was a big Dagga at the rear. He even looked big through my binos at 400 meters. I watched the tick birds on his rump. He paused, turning a black-horned head to watch us. He lifted his chin, stared, then disappeared in the blink of an eye into a wall of leaves. I was not too keen about crossing the croc-filled river barefoot to take up a stalk on this guy. 

Fortunately, Rob said the island was too dangerous to hunt. In it were poachers’ snares that caught and wounded elephants, buffalo, lion and leopard. Bumping into predators while hunting wounded animals in those tight quarters or, even worse, meeting wounded animals themselves, could be considered a life-altering experience. For once I was pleased to be excluded from the git-go!

 

As we stood on that riverbank looking at Monster Island (my name for it), I looked behind and around us and noticed the trackers doing the same. We were standing in a tunnel of twenty-foot-high reeds and tangled vines, no different from on Monster Island. I was last in line, so I watched our rear, wondering what shooting at close range in that tangle would be like with a scoped rifle.

 

We crept back out. I began to relax when we got back to the truck until I looked at Rob as he hurriedly started the truck and revved the engine. He was staring hard at a young cow with calf that was barreling down the narrow lane which was to be our exit 40 meters ahead. She came ears flared, trunk held high, and trumpeting. Behind us was another group of clearly nervous head-swinging bulls. I envisioned jumping from the truck at the last second before the inevitable collision, but luckily the cow suddenly backed off for a moment to check on her baby hidden in the bush nearby. Rob wasted no time in scooting past her with spinning tires and throwing up a cloud of dust.  I looked right into her eyes through Rob’s window as we passed.

 

 I am in no way a professional hunter. I have read Capstick and Boddington and John Taylor and whatever else I could find about African hunting. This time I was hunting my sixth Cape buffalo. I have spent hours looking through binos, hunkered down in grass or behind a termite mound. I have sat around fires talking to PHs and other buffalo lovers about what makes a great trophy. Early on I thought “wide” was the way to go, and then “drop” became the object. I got my “wide” in the Eastern Cape of South Africa and was lucky to have it rank 165 of the many buffalo recorded as of July 2019 in the SCI records. Now, after seven years of chasing them, I only hunt Daggas. Old warriors with fighting scars on their faces and necks, lion claw streaks on their backs, chunks of their hocks torn out by chewing beasts, healed in thick masses. I want to see dropped horns down low to their ears and lots of grey mascara under drooping and wrinkled eyes. I search for a boss that looks like the burl of an ancient oak. I hunt for a “character.”  A helmet of broken horn and one eye would be perfect! Past breeding age, they wander alone or in twos or threes, no longer fighting for herd dominance or breeding rights; they fight to survive another day unprotected except for maybe a loyal mate nearby. I have developed an affinity for them, a kinship that perhaps comes with my advancing age, knowing that there are no hospices in the bush and that the end can come unmercifully slower than from a well-placed bullet. Rob knows what to look for. I trust him when we have stalked two bulls through a searing afternoon only for him to call me off the sticks at the last moment because neither of them is a “proper Dagga.” All I want to hear is a whisper: “He’s a shooter!”

And so around 4.30 in the afternoon on the sixth day of the hunt, I put my boots back on swollen feet, bent down to stretch an aching lower back, and fumbled with my shoe laces with hands and arms stiffened from toting the .416. I was definitely on the old man side of the equation.

 

A buffalo had attacked some camp staff not far from our compound the night before. The same buff had chased a man up a tree two days ago in the same area just down by the creek. Rob thought that the culprit might still be in the neighborhood, so we were back in the truck. Sure enough, we cut two Daggas’ tracks in the road not a mile from camp. Rob switched off the engine and we rolled to a stop. The tracks were fresh and big.

 

As I stepped out of the truck, I put a round into my rifle’s chamber and felt my gut tighten.  I took two deep breaths, checked that I was on safety and fell in behind Rob and our lead tracker. What I like is that generally the stalk is a slow affair.  My legs are not what they used to be. Slow is good.  Making as little noise as possible I looked down, watching the heels of Rob’s boots as we angled down a forested hill towards the creek. I tried to step where he stepped and stop when he stopped. My heart picked up rpms as our progress got slower and more deliberate, until it was two or three steps, then stop and wait, a few more steps, stop and wait.

Then we stopped still. Rob looked through his binos, peering around a tree trunk. He slowly turned and smiled at me.

The lead tracker moved silently to a large boulder fifteen meters in front of us and slowly peered over the top. He froze. I could feel everyone’s tension rise. I concentrated on looking at Rob’s back in front of me, slowing my breathing to try to relax. Rob quicky moved forward and I followed close on. We reached the boulder. By hand signals the tracker told Rob that the companion buff had run away, but the older one was just on the other side of our boulder, perhaps twenty meters away and not seeing us because of the rock. However, the animal seemed to know something was afoot and was motionless. To our left at the far end of the rock was a small gully that opened into a hollow about four meters across. If the buff chose to go forward, he would emerge into that hollow to our left. In that case I would have a shot at him broadside from about 15 meters. Rob and I crept to that end of the rock and put up the sticks. Rob looked up to the tracker who by now was crouched about three meters above us on top of the rock, looking straight down at the buff just on the other side. The tracker’s hand fluttered.

 

“He is coming!” Rob whispered, this time clear urgency in his voice. “Get ready!”

 

I checked my safety to be sure it was at the half-on position. I gripped the fore end of the Dakota firmly in the V of the sticks and made sure my power was on low setting. Looking through the reticle down into the narrow hollow I could see the spot where I imagined the bull would step out. I waited, but nothing happened. I slowed my breathing again and stared through my scope, trying to blink as little as possible. Another minute passed. Rob gestured to the tracker above who signaled back that the animal was just standing still again, listening, smelling, sensing. Just then the tracker changed his hand, pointing in the opposite direction. The buff had turned around and was now moving back down the alleyway from where he had come. Rob and I moved quickly, resetting the sticks on a level place at the end of the boulder where the buff had first been observed. We were about a meter above ground level, but still partially hidden by rock, looking down at the place the buff where should now come out. I again set up on the sticks and waited. Events after that took on a dreamlike, almost like slow motion, but still quickly.

The buff emerged into a grassy area. I was on the sticks, moving my red dot around deliberately to find his center mass. He was facing us head down, eating little shoots of brilliantly green grass. He was lit up black and gold by the rays of the setting sun still bright over our shoulders. He looked up in our direction then turned slightly to his left in a quartering position. Rob hissed, “Now! Right on the shoulder.”

I shot. The red dot and all around it exploded in my reticle. The buffalo lurched forward instantly and came at us. I jacked another round into the rifle and shot at his hindquarter as he blindly plowed within a few meters of us, passing by our rock. I shot again, this time a raking shot from behind at 12 meters. With that he turned back towards us, coming to a stop at six meters from my rifle muzzle. For the briefest moment he looked up directly at us then turned broadside. At this point my scope was worthless as far as aim, so I looked over it, pulled the rifle in tight to my shoulder and basically shot-gunned my last round into his side just aft of his shoulder. In my peripheral vision I could see Rob’s double at ready in case the buff leapt onto the rock at us, but my last shot had turned him away. He trotted up the hillside near us. At about thirty meters he stopped in the shadow of a massive baobab tree and just stood there, blowing a mist of red with each deep breath. I could hear Rob saying, “Reload.” As I did so, the beast began to sway but his staunch legs would not buckle.

 

“Again. Shoot again,” Rob said.

 

This time I took careful aim on the sticks and put the last one just behind the shoulder crease halfway up the chest. He did not even flinch. The great head rose. He looked up at the tree and lay down. Still tossing his horns at his unseen enemy he bellowed once, then again, and all went still.

 

It is said in Mashonaland that only great chiefs may be buried under a baobab tree. The greater the chief, I suppose, the greater the baobab. When it is my time there will be no baobab. But I will always carry with me the memory of this valiant old chief and his tree, a sad, but good thing.

 

Ralf would have understood.

BIO

 

Kevin is a lifelong hunter who resides with his two black Labrador dogs on his ranch in Hunt, Texas.

 

Campfire Thoughts & Reminiscences Part 21

Sep 7, 2023 | Archive, News, News

Written by Neil Harmse

 

 

Chapter 22. Useful Equipment for Shotgunners

 

The long-awaited day has finally arrived. You have your licence for your new shotgun and have collected it from the gun shop – and the season is open! You cannot wait to get out into the field and hunt game birds. You also have a cleaning kit, a game licence, a letter of permission to hunt and a supply of ammo, as well as the necessary eye and hearing protection. What else do you need?

 

Before we look at the basic needs for most wingshooters, just a reminder: buy the best you can afford and if you look after it, it should last a lifetime.

 

It is assumed that all potential hunters have a good supply of old denim or khaki trousers and shirts that can serve as “hunting clothes”. If not, there are many styles of outdoor hunting clothes available at shops and stores throughout the country. Camouflage patterns are not obligatory for game bird-hunting, except perhaps for pigeon and waterfowl (especially when the hunter is concealed and shooting from a hide).

 

Firstly, a good shooting vest or waistcoat is essential. Look for a practical and well-designed one, which should be available from most shops specialising in shotgun equipment and accessories. This should be a light waistcoat with enough room in large box pockets to hold numerous bits and pieces, such as a pocketknife, cord, a few snacks and energy bars, perhaps a pair of gloves, a few shotgun shells, a small torch and other items that may come in handy. It should also have a spacious inside pocket with a zip closure to hold your game licence, gun licence, car keys and smaller items such as earplugs. In addition, the shooting vest or waistcoat should have a large ‘game pocket’ at the back, with a blood-proof lining to hold a few game birds that you may have to carry back to your vehicle or camp. This will leave your hands free to handle your shotgun.

 

The next important thing to consider is footwear. Invest in a pair of comfortable and durable boots, just high enough to give some ankle support, especially when crossing uneven terrain or ploughed farmlands. Leather boots with durable soles and a good tread are ideal. Cared for with waterproofing leather treatment, saddle soap or Neatsfoot oil, these should give years of good service. When walking across the veld, you often get grass seeds, blackjacks, khakibos and other weeds and burrs sticking to your socks or entering your boots. The solution is to invest in a pair of gaiters which fit around and over your boots and ankles, helping to keep out all these irritating seeds and debris. These gaiters can be made of canvas, corduroy, leather or oilskin material. I find that gaiters which fold over the boots around the ankles and legs, and fasten at the back with a strip of Velcro and press studs, are a good option. They can be fitted or removed without having to take the boots off.

A cartridge belt.

If you are hunting in areas where there are wetlands or marshes, or perhaps doing waterfowl hunting around dams and rivers, a good pair of waterproof ‘wellies’ or even gumboots is worthwhile purchasing. Imported wellies, if available, are very expensive. A good option is a pair of polyurethane boots that are lighter and softer than normal PVC gumboot. These are supple and comfortable, reducing fatigue and providing excellent insulation because of their neoprene lining.

 

A comfortable, warm and waterproof jacket is a must for cold winter mornings, but this should also have spacious pockets and should be large enough to fit over a light pullover and shooting vest, as well as being comfortable enough to swing your arms when gunmounting without catching in your armpits.

 

Now, heading out into the field, you realise that you need more than just your pockets to store and carry your shotgun cartridges. The ubiquitous cartridge belt, which is designed to hold about 25 cartridges strapped around your waist, is one option. This seems to be an age-old tradition, but it has its drawbacks. Firstly, when loaded with 25 cartridges, it is quite heavy around the waist, somewhat uncomfortable and always seems to pull your pants down. What is more, the rims of the cartridges are always knocking against the stock of your gun and soon the wood begins showing numerous dents and dings, making it rather unsightly. A Payne-Gallwey-style cartridge bag with a hinged lid or cover that folds back, allowing easy access to the ammo, is a good choice. These are made in either leather or canvas and designed to hold 50-100 rounds. They hang over the shoulder from a strap and are quite comfortable for a day in the field. Another option is an ammo pouch, which also hangs from your belt and allows easy and fast access to ammo when needed. If you feel like only carrying a few cartridges for a short walk, you can get a small pouch which holds 15-20 rounds and slides onto your belt. This can be made from leather or canvas and rides flush against the waist, so that it is comfortable.

 

The next consideration is what to do with birds you have shot. As mentioned before, you cancarry a few in the back pouch of your shooting vest, but this also has some disadvantages.

 

One, two or three francolin, or one or two guinea fowl, are not a big problem, but if you start carrying more than that, you start to look and feel like the hunchback of Notre Dame! It is definitely not comfortable – and don’t even try to climb through a fence with this ‘hump’ on your back!

 

So what other options are there? There is a bird-hanger that fits onto your belt and has several clips or thongs from which to suspend the birds by either their necks or feet, so that they dangle from your waist. However, birds carried in this way are inclined to thump against your legs when walking and your trouser legs are always blood-spattered. The hanging birds also tend to hook and drag on bushes and undergrowth as you walk, causing you to stumble. Trying to cross a fence with birds dangling from this hanger is also difficult.

A belt attached bird-hanger.

I find that a game bag is the easiest and most convenient way to carry birds, leaving my hands free to handle my shotgun. My favourite is an old, well-worn leather bag with are movable blood-proof lining (a large, strong plastic bag will also do) which holds about four guinea fowls or six francolins. The weight distribution is more comfortable when carrying birds this way, as the bag has a broad strap that hangs over the shoulder and if you are traversing fences and obstacles, it can easily be slipped off and passed over or under the fence or obstacle. Game bags are available on order in the traditional classic style, made of canvas and leather, which are hard-wearing, comfortable and have a bloodproof inner lining that can be removed for cleaning.

A game bag to carry birds.

A cartridge bag.

If you plan to do a fair amount of waterfowl – or pigeon-shooting, you might consider buying a camo bird hide to keep yourself out of sight. There are a number of good hides on the market. Some of them are rather heavy and awkward to transport and erect. I suggest a lightweight, pop-up hide which is easy to carry and get into the field.

 

If the hunting of waterfowl and pigeons appeals to you, you could eventually consider investing in a selection of decoys to bring the birds into shotgun range. The easiest ones to transport and set up are shell-type decoys for pigeons and geese. There are also decoys which stand on stakes pushed into the ground. Floating ducks and geese are great attractors for open water. If your budget will allow, there is a rotary pigeon device (‘pigeon magnet’) which works off a drive unit. It is battery-operated, with flexible rods on which the decoys are mounted and which rotate the decoys, making them look as if they are birds coming in to land and feed. This works well and brings birds from far out. Flapping shell decoys with extended wings and rotary wing decoys are also good attractors to bring birds into range.

 

You will have to transport your gun from home to and from the shooting field and may have to carry it in the field as well. A good choice for protecting and transporting a gun in a vehicle is a gun case or travel case. This can be purchased as a standard, lockable case made of durable ABS plastic with a foam lining, which is ideal for rough handling – especially when the gun shares space in a vehicle with hunting dogs and other equipment. Another alternative is a good aluminium case, which is also very strong and durable, although more expensive. If your budget will allow, you can have a handmade custom gun case in canvas and leather, or oak and leather. This is a rather expensive investment, and you may not want to subject such a gun case to the harsh conditions of hunting, but it does add considerable value to your shotgun.

 

Once the gun is assembled for hunting, you may have to transport it from one area to another. For this, a good gun-slip is ideal. These are normally made of canvas or leather and have lightweight padding to protect the gun. A broad strap allows easy carrying over the shoulder.

 

Over the years, you may find more items and equipment which will make your shooting more successful and enjoyable. There are many reputable dealers around the country who are hunters at heart and salesmen only by vocation, and can offer sound advice based on experience. They will not try to make a quick buck by selling ‘gizmos’ that you will never use.

 

I would also recommend joining a shooting association or club where novices can interact with like-minded members and obtain access to shooting opportunities.

To order Campfire Thoughts & Reminiscences – the complete book with illustrations (US $15 excluding S&H), contact Andrew Meyer at andrewisikhova@icloud.com

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