Grey? It’s actually Black and White – Anti-Poaching in Cameroon

Nov 14, 2022 | Archive, News

Written by Grey, head of anti-poaching at Mayo Oldiri Safaris

I was hired to go to Cameroon to work for Mayo Oldiri Safaris to train people in anti-poaching. However, the biggest challenge for me was that I had basically no experience as an anti-poaching guy. But with a military background in the French Foreign Legion, that helped me a lot, because it’s still the same thing – we’re fighting a war, this time, against poachers. We still use military tactics to work the whole process to catch them.

There were 30 people that I needed to train. How to walk in the bush, how to do a patrol. There were four teams with about between seven and eight guys in a team plus a driver. So in reality we have more like 32 guys.

We have a team in each area, and I am the one who drives between all the areas. I stay for a week or two weeks in an area. If there are a lot of problems, I stay there maybe for a whole month and then I work closely with the park officials from the national park.

The main problem is not snares, but mainly cattle or nomads coming in. Nomads coming in from Nigeria, from Chad, Central Africa with their cattle. So we have to get rid of all those cattle, everything, burn down the camps, catch the guys or whatever, and then we move on.

We do get support from the National Park and they are happy to help us because our hunting area is right next to the Park, and therefore our zone is a buffer zone for them and they need our help. If we don’t do anti-poaching in our areas, the next thing will be that the poachers will attack the Park. And because the Park has no fencing, it’s a free-range area.

The biggest problem now, is that there are a lot of outfitters in Cameroon right next to our zones and who have abandoned their zones because there’s too much poaching going on. So, without a good anti-poaching system to work in their zones, as it costs money, they just gave up – it’s money just going out, going out, going out, which causes the main problem – and that is the guys, the outfitters, leaving their zones. The result is no control whatsoever.

We need more people, more guys, more equipment, more money.

As we can’t change any laws either, that’s why we work closely with the National Park. They’ve got some big ‘connected’ guys working there, and they are working closely with the government, and they’re trying to change some of the laws around poachers. Also, we need to allow each guy to carry firearms because so far they are not allowed to – I’m the only one that can. My guys can’t have a firearm, yet the poachers are all armed. I’ve got photos and everything on my phone now. We caught people with AK47s.

Because we cannot use the firearms, we need militias, and they are expensive – we can’t afford them. If we could get financing from interested parties overseas, that would be a big help. The money could go a long way to providing a solution – more people, more cars, more motorbikes, maybe drones and everything that would to help me a lot.

The law needs to change to be like it is in Botswana, then everything would be fine. Basically, the law there is that poaching is illegal, from a small antelope to the biggest elephant – it’s illegal. You can shoot on sight if the poacher is carrying a rifle, but we can’t do that in Cameroon because of the human rights that came in from the French side back in the day – they are working on a French system. Because of those human rights, we can’t stop the poachers like we would want to stop them.

For example, at one time I posted a photo of a poacher and I got an immediate call from ‘’an authority’’ and the matter was hushed up. It happens everywhere.

So we need a system that is essentially an anti-poaching programme, working with the parks and the buffer zones, and the other outfitters that have got areas but aren’t supporting the programme.

Part of my dream would be including the other outfitters and other areas to buy into my macro plan for Cameroon. If I can get outfitters to join us with anti-poaching and everything, that would be so much better. We would like to have everybody collaborating with us because it is mainly the outfitters who are doing something about anti-poaching, and so this would have the potential to develop. And that’s why other outfitters called Raquel and asked, “Can Grey come to our area and check it out?”

We need to try to deliver the message, which puts the outfitters in the spotlight to say, “Hey guys, you’ve got to come and help.” It also encourages the hunters to say, “Hey, if I’m coming to Cameroon, I want to make sure my outfitter’s part of this whole process.” So that almost pressurises the outfitter to support the programme.

If they can do that, it would be excellent. If I can run the anti-poaching programme for them, I will do it gladly because there are a lot of people who could contribute. There are a couple of outfitters that do anti-poaching, but ideally, I would like to try and control or run the anti-poaching programme for all these areas in Cameroon.

Sango Wildlife Lodge & Camp

Nov 12, 2022 | Archive, News

As I write this – John Ledger is fighting for his life in an ICU at a leading hospital in Joburg. He is either about to – or has had some big heart operation to try unclogging his arteries. It will be a tough ask for any surgeon as John, by his own admission has done a good job of clogging them up!

John won’t mind a little latitude and some humor, in the conservation section this month. He and I had a fantastic conversation this week, he was upbeat, has officially given up and not drunk a drop of alcohol since 21 October (to be fair that was when he had the stoke and was hospitalized – so he could at least have all the support he needed) and now says – “Rich, I have to really change my life now! After colon cancer, liver cancer and now a stroke, I have used up all my chances.”

No kidding I say!

The picture at our recent lunch sums up what was on the menu! It is hard to spot the salad – come to think of it, anything healthy on the table – but man, what a meal!

Anyway – our thoughts are with this great conservation giant and his family.

Not to miss an opportunity of showing exactly how Great Plains, under the leadership of Derek Joubert operate in their “conservation” world of eco-tourism, as they march on with their quest to stop hunting – I thought, let me deliver the facts for you all to read.

It is with reference to the Savé conservancy (arguably one of the great conservation success stories in Africa) who caught this chap out red handed – on his usual PR stunts. This time it backfired, and the losers will be the game – exactly who DJ claims to have front and center in his heart. The subsequent pulling of the plug on a deal purely because of his PR stunt is going to be hard to explain but damn interesting to read! Enjoy!

Richard Lendrum

Sango Wildlife Lodge & Camp

Statement by Wilfried Pabst, founder Sango Wildlife Conservancy, commenting on the termination of the “Rewild Zambezi” partnership between the Savé Valley Conservancy as well as the Sango Wildlife Conservancy and Great Plains Foundation.

Great Plains Foundation and its staff have made numerous recent public statements that are misleading, factually incorrect, and damaging to the reputation of Savé Valley Conservancy (SVC) and Sango Wildlife Conservancy (Sango).

In 2022, the Savé Valley Conservancy and the Sango Wildlife Conservancy entered into a partnership with the Great Plains Foundation under which they committed to donate wildlife at no cost to the Rewild Zambezi project. The SVC’s conservation model based on the use of and funding by sustainable hunting proved to be highly successful. The relocation was prepared with anticipation of the ever-growing wildlife herds and the known inability to increase the SVC’s landmass at the same time. A Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) was agreed as the basis for this relocation of a total of ~2,700 wild animals, planned over a two-year period.

In the MOU, Great Plains Foundation and all pledged to coordinate public outreach efforts with its partners and not to discredit its partners’ reputations in any way. This pledge was not honored by the Great Plains Foundation. The SVC and Sango repeatedly attempted to get the Great Plains Foundation to honor this agreement and to engage in factual, truthful reporting. Great Plains Foundation rejected these interventions and continued to make misleading statements. Among others and as an example, the following inaccurate statements were disseminated:

“…animals will die if they are not relocated…”

“…animals would be culled if they are not relocated…”

“…It costs $10,000 to relocate each elephant…”

“…to save 400 elephants from drought…”

“…Climate change has made food and water scarce in the Save…”

“…Kill them or relocate them…”

and more…

In order to protect Sango’s and my reputation from the effects of this behavior, the consequences this might have for our credibility and reputation built over nearly 30 years, and our >130 employees, we felt compelled to terminate our partnership with the Great Plains Foundation.

After six successful relocations of wildlife in the past (including 100 elephants, rhinos) and the proof of how good conservation through sustainable use besides other successful models use can be, Sango will do everything in their power to assist and help find safe destinations for the remaining animals of this project and in the future.

Detailed information about our conservation model, the situation in the Savé Valley and a list of “fact checks” of the misleading GPF statements is available upon request. Please visit our website for the complete statement: https://sango-wildlife.com/statement-by-wilfried-pabst/

Classic and Contemporary African Hunting Literature

Nov 11, 2022 | Archive, News

Facing Down Fear

John Sharp (Ex Montibus Media, 2021, 336 pages.)

Reviewed by Ken Bailey

That bigger-than-life professional hunters are not relegated to a bygone era becomes quickly evident when reading John Sharp’s Facing Down Fear (Ex Montibus Media, 2021, 336 pages.) Today best known as a PH in Zimbabwe’s Bubye Valley Conservancy, Sharp’s candid and revealing tales of his hunting experiences describe a man who earned his stripes the traditional way. At times out of work and scrambling for his next gig, Sharp’s willingness to take risks in an effort to build his career and reputation has led him to Mozambique, Zaire, Tanzania, Botswana, South Africa and Namibia over the last four decades.

Sharp is almost a caricature of Hollywood’s depiction of a PH. Most often he’s photographed shirtless, his muscular frame evident (workouts were a constant part of his daily regimen, even when hunting), knife on hip, his long, blond hair held back with a bandana. But despite the physically-imposing outward appearance, Sharp’s prose reveals him to be very much a thoughtful and considerate people-person, with a deep sentimentality barely concealed below that tough outer shell.

For those looking for tales of adventure about charging buffalos, wounded leopards, truculent elephants and wrestling crocodiles, it’s all here. If you’re a rifle enthusiast looking for opinion and insight, he’s got you covered. And Sharp’s story of being bitten by a puff adder, and the subsequent ordeal of his recovery, is at once both compelling and gruesome. But what separates Facing Down Fear from the pack is Sharp’s willingness to reveal his passions and vulnerabilities. He talks at length about his personal fears, lavishes sincere and respectful praise on his trackers and staff, and it’s his clients, many of whom he’s clearly grown close to, that are the focus of many chapters. Further, Sharp’s deep and abiding conservation and fair chase ethic emerge throughout his stories.

For a PH, Sharp is a helluva good writer. From start to finish I found this book to be engaging and well-written. The many photos are, by and large, clear and captivating and support the text well. Facing Down Fear kept me reading, anxious to turn the next page to discover what would happen next, and I can think of no higher praise for a book.

Buy your copy here

Wato – The Book

Nov 7, 2022 | News

By Brian Watson

Wato – The Book is a beautiful 324 page hard cover compilation of some of Wato’s hunting adventures in wild Africa and other wilderness places.

The book can be purchased here: https://watosbook.square.site/

To give you a taste of what’s in store between the covers, here is just one chapter for your pleasure.

The Call of the Dove

The Cape Turtle Dove, endemic throughout most of the African continent, was doing its best to intrude into my thoughts as we trudged over the burnt savanna of North East Namibia. The echolalic call repeated thirty to forty times has been likened phonetically to ‘work harder’, but others have suggested it sounds more like, ‘drink lager’, a similarity I embrace enthusiastically, especially that excellent Tassle beer they serve in Namibia. Still, in this instance, work harder was far more appropriate, as we were on the spoor of a giant of a bull Elephant that was doing its best to outpace and elude us.

Hunting after the world’s largest Elephants in 9000 square kilometers of Bushman conservancy, it was presumed that a suitable target would be a given. With an estimated population of 2,000 Elephant, large old bulls are reasonably plentiful in this area and normally, a track would be picked up early in the safari, leading to a successful hunt. This year however, it had

Ian Wilmot

rained heavily in the district and most of the big bulls and cowherds were enjoying ideal conditions in the south, where access by vehicle was impossible, except maybe for amphibious vehicles, or boats.

Ian as usual accompanied me, but on this occasion we hunted separately. He was being guided by Gerrit Utz, a quietly spoken man that Ian had used in his business previously when sending people from Australia on safari to Namibia.

Gerrit had picked us up from the airport in Windhoek and we drove in the front of his Cruiser. It was pleasant enough drive until night fell and Gerrit started to fall asleep. It was bit scary watching him nod off but luckily the roads were wide enough so that Ian or I could grab the wheel and avoid disaster if he veered towards the edge of the road. We arrived safely, had a good sleep and started hunting at first light next morning.

Subsequently, my guide from the Caprivi trip, Felix Marnewenke and I had, over the next seven days scoured the roads – or should I say primitive bush tracks – for a footprint that was large enough to suggest an old ancient bull that was well past its breeding days; one that would be a candidate for the serious business of a challenging follow up. Ian and Gerrit did likewise in another direction. Neither party had found anything, except tracks of young bulls – although huge – and, when all seems lost, Felix and I just got lucky. Day after day we traversed the barely drivable vehicle tracks, always on the alert for a good big track to follow. Day after day we were disappointed, finding only the spoor of cowherds or young bulls. After a brisk walk into a well-known pan one morning on the hope that big track could be crossed, once again nothing was found. A glint in the perimeter of the pan turned out to be some 500 mm of broken off tusk tip. The owner had apparently been digging for a food item at the base of a bush when the substantial end snapped off. We souvenired the heavy piece for display back at the camp.

The camp incidentally was my pick as the best, most unique camp I have stayed at. Not the most luxurious but beautifully unique. Situated in a region called Nyea Nyea, the kitchen and relaxation area was built under the massive branch of a twisted old Baobab tree. Not the most pristine clean place, it was to my mind full of the atmosphere you would expect of an isolated hunting camp. At night we sat around the ubiquitous campfire with a strong soothing drink and sometimes a cigar. Toes were rubbed in the soft dust while stories of past hunts were related or lied about in this magical place.

Once back at the vehicle we continued our search of the sandy tracks and came across something that was an amazing example of the life and death struggle creatures this part of the world dealt with daily. A dead Caracal was right in the center of the track. On examination of the large specimen and the surrounding spore it was determined that a massive fight between two rival males had taken place early that morning and the victor had partially eaten the front shoulder of the vanquished. I could only imagine the ferocity of that battle that had occurred only hours before, and presumed the victor was bigger than the dead combatant. I cut out the dewclaws as a memento of that ferocious struggle.

Some magnificent Roan were sighted, along with a 42 inch Gemsbok bull. We went after that bull but could get no closer than 180 meters with no cover whatsoever between us and that fabulous animal. I chanced my luck, and, at a target that was standing face-on watching my every move, took a shot with open sights but missed to the left of a very alert critter. A fantastic trophy went begging, next time I will carry the riflescope with me.

Seven fruitless days later, after staggering out of bed in the dark, and once again driving along the endless sand tracks, we were snapped out of our morning stupor by the casual tap on the vehicle by Twee, one of the two Bushman trackers with us. To our left and only one kilometer away, the backs and waving ears of two very large bulls appeared towering taller than the thick bush.

Felix threw his Zeiss binoculars up and without hesitation exclaimed, “That’s exactly what we are looking for”. Looking through my own Nikon EDG glass, I saw a young sixty-pound bull and a magnificent old fellow trudging along behind his Askari. Most agnostic hunters would say a prayer at finding a sixty pounder, but this was an animal in the prime of life that would only grow bigger over the next ten or twenty years. The old bull however; his tusks were very short, but thick, with maybe half of the right side one being broken off. The left tusk was not as well developed. We watched mesmerized for many minutes, not wanting to break the solemn procession of the two. Finally, almost reluctantly, Felix snapped out of the observation and willed his team to go and collect this grand old gentleman.

As I clinched up my ammo belt and checked one more time the correct load was in Miss Rigby, I had the preposterous thought that this would be a walk in the park. I should have known better as I have had Elephant elude me on more than one occasion before. We headed upwind to gain a shooting position but the early morning wind was fluky, and, sure enough, a cool waft of air hit me on the back of the neck. The response was almost instantaneous; both bulls turned and started a purposeful walk upwind. We still had a chance but the young bull was now on full alert and started to circle in a wide arc. There was nothing we could do but watch them gradually disappear.

Amazingly, they passed within 50 meters of our vehicle, which we had left one kilometer behind. Maybe we should have just sat on the bonnet and sent one the trackers to give the bulls his wind. They cleared the bush, crossed the road and headed across the burnt savanna on the other side. By now we had covered several kilometers and after regaining the vehicle position, took stock of the situation. We drank deeply, rechecked our gear, and prepared for a long walk. The animals were now barely visible in the distance even though there was nothing but burnt wasteland covering their progress. “Looks like the walk in the park has turned into a monumental trek”, I offered. Felix shrugged knowingly, nodded, and motioned for the trackers to set off. We followed.

Halfway across the wasteland, with powdered charcoal covering everything from our boots to our eyeballs, was when I became aware of the incessant call of the Dove in what remained of the burnt out trees they chose to perch in. By now the Elephant had disappeared from sight into the distant tree line, their tracks showing no sign of them slowing. They were well and truly spooked and ‘work harder’ would be the only way of catching them. Once again I shifted the weight of my rifle, then, paused to take a quick photo of my boot in the massive footprint we were chasing.

The edge of the bush was reached after an hour or so, but the tracks showed that the bulls had not slowed. I set myself for an all-day affair and hoped I would not let my team down by faltering. Finally the animals slowed. The bush gave them the sense of security they sought, although the young Askari was still nervous and constantly checking his rearwards position by circling, his elder then passing him and turning to face rearwards. Another hour and we caught sight of them.

Jockeying for position was tricky, as each time a shooting lane was gained on the old bull, his Askari would foil our move by getting between our target and us. He was doing his job of protecting his leader well. Several times we moved in only to have our position compromised and have to back off in less than ideal surroundings or winds. Eventually, the cat and mouse game fell our way when the young bull moved 80 meters forward of his fellow. He positioned himself in a copse of trees where he could observe any danger coming from the path just followed.

An approach was worked out with Felix before I moved in under the cover of a huge anthill covered by foliage, to within 15 meters of the old jumbo. Peering around the bush and trying desperately not to step on any loose twig, I saw up close an animal that took my breath away. A quick glance back to make sure of where Felix and his trackers were drew a frantic hurry up sign from him. Emboldened, I stepped into the open, but could not get a clear brain shot so ripped a heart/lung shot into the bull. A practiced reload, and another heart/lung shot as the bull recovered then started to move off. He accelerated up to top speed. What happened next will live in my mind’s eye forever; as the bull cleared the trees some 30 meters away and running at close to full speed away from me, I placed another Woodleigh Hydrostatic solid projectile over his shoulder and behind the ear, and found the brain.

Seven ton of Elephant bull was suddenly pole-axed, and the ground thundered as it came to earth. The dust swirled up while the leaves of the surrounding trees fluttered down in a cascade. The trackers went up in profound excitement, similar to a Toyota advertisement. Quickly reloading, I ran up and put in an insurance shot, then paused to relax. Felix was highly complementary in his appreciation of the running brain shot, and through all this I thought I was one hell of a cool dude, with the trackers Kaqece and Twee slapping my back in jubilation. But as I looked at my hands, they were shaking uncontrollably under the influence of bucket loads of adrenalin. So much for cool dude! It took several minutes to regain my composure.

Examining the bull, I was overjoyed at the sheer size of the animal. Never did I think that it would be written in my stars to hunt an Elephant of this magnificence. The tusks although short, and as previously mentioned, the right side was broken in half, were very thick, measuring 21 inches in circumference.

After a long spell, a couple of quick photographs and a deep drink, we started the return to the vehicle. After embroiling myself in all the happy thoughts of the hunt, it occurred to me to ask Felix did he know what happened to the Askari when I opened fire, and he replied, “He ran straight at us, but luckily turned when he saw his fellow running towards him”. Hmm! Perhaps it was good fortune that I could not initially shoot for the brain, as otherwise we may have had to deal with a very protective Askari.

By now the sun was at its zenith and the heat oppressive. I trudged on slower and slower. The Doves again let out their mournful drone of, ‘work harder’. We reached the vehicle and I had absolutely nothing left in the tank, my legs were jelly and my energy levels were completely depleted. Flat on my back for ten minutes rest however, a bottle of water and wet handkerchief on my face worked wonders, although the euphoria of the hunt was probably playing its part. I could drink no more without feeling sick, so found a sweet to suck on.

A massive sense of achievement and satisfaction is felt after a successful hunt, but some largely unexpected warm and fuzzies for ones fellow man came as well, and made me even prouder to be a hunter. We returned to dress out the dead bull to recover the meat for the local villagers, and several hours later had two Land cruisers, each with a large trailer following, loaded with fresh Elephant meat. The reception we got as we drove into a village and started to unload the precious cargo was amazing. I have a stored memory of a small boy carrying a large Elephant bone home to his mother. The joyous look on his face was of a lad that had been to ‘his’ supermarket, no styrene tray, no cling film, no refrigeration, but immense happiness that he and his family had been provided with a rare protein commodity and delicacy, meat.

Take it from me as I have eaten Elephant meat and though sweetly delicious, it is as tough as tough can be. An uncle of mine once proclaimed that an old rooster that the dog used to follow around the back yard was so tough; that when it finally ended up in the pot after 6 hours cooking, you could barely cut the gravy. I am sure that if Elephant meat were stewed at low temperature for a long time, it would be fantastic, and the gravy cuttable.

Two thousand five hundred Bushman live in the conservancy. They exist on a diet of maize meal that is boiled into grey, glue like consistency, being utterly tasteless and containing precious little nutrition. Every couple of months, an Elephant is hunted and its meat is distributed among the residents for a vital shot of protein and mineral. Some of it goes straight into the cooking pot, but most is cut into strips and hung in the shade to air dry. In this form it will last for some time.

Remember the figures: 2,500 people: 2,000 Elephant. The Bushmen that administer the conservancy allows 10 animals per year to be culled, 0.5%, and strict requirements must be adhered to as regards each animal’s status. Cows must be barren or carrying a genetic defect, bulls must be trophy bulls, or, non-trophy bulls past their breeding time, or carrying a genetic defect. The people also benefit from employment from the hunting.

The most compelling evidence for me that hunting was a positive thing was two beautiful newly completed schools; one primary, one secondary thatthe community had built mostly from the financial advantages that hunting brings to the area. In the one small decrepit town, there is evidence of massive poverty and appalling squalor, but the children heading down the road to school each morning were dressed in clean uniforms and carrying their books for their days education. I hope they too listen to the call of ‘work harder’.

The same day I shot that bull, word was passed into camp of Buffalo at a waterhole nearby. The Buffalo that infiltrate from other parks adjoining Nyea Nyea however have a disease that must be kept at bay. Not sure, but I think the disease was Foot and Mouth, and consequently all PH’s operating in the area must pledge to eliminate these beasts on sight.

“Do you want to shoot these Buff?” said Felix. “Hell”, I answered, “Is the Pope a catholic? Does water run down hill? Do Zebras have spots?” (Careful with that last trick question] “Of course I’ll have a go at catching up with them.” We waited until late afternoon and then went to the muddy waterhole in the hope that the Buff may seek a drink before nightfall, but they had already been and gone. Next morning it should be game on.

We arrived at the water immediately after sun-up but again the Buff were too clever for us, having drunk and moved on before the light came. We started to track with Twee leading, then Kaqece, Felix, and me following. We moved from light grass to light bush, then long grass and stunted bush to short timber. Every type of terrain was in evidence, although we could see well ahead.

Several hours later, the sun was up and the heat rising with it. We had tracked roughly 8 kilometers with no sign of the beasts. The tracks led through a small group of trees. We were bunched up close in the shade when suddenly Twee dropped to the ground, the rest of us following suit, but we did not know why. Carefully lifting our heads we could see the reason for Twee’s reaction. Seven Buffalo cows were laying down under the small shady trees chewing their cud in close proximity, the closest not more than 4 paces away. We all had a silent giggle that the cows had amazingly not heard our approach.

Neither Felix nor myself had a round up the spout as we thought the herd would be seen at a distance, allowing us plenty of time to load and stalk. After several minutes Felix indicated I should load my rifle. Although I tried to do so silently, a slip of the bolt made an audible click. The other three men rolled their eyes in dismay, but the Buff never moved.

The one furthest from us however got to its feet, and ever so slowly moved off. As if on notice, the others stood and also started to move. A frantic attempt to get to a shooting position before they discovered our presence led to the inevitable. One of the cows detected movement and moved away. One however, turned to see what the fuss was about and stood broadside at 60 meters. I let fly with a 450 grain Woodleigh soft nose pill and the cow lumbered off. Another shot failed to drop the cow. Hurriedly moving towards were we thought the cow had gone, we were rewarded with the sight of her dead, only 100 meters further on.

Fantastic, not very often do you get to bag two of Africa’s dangerous game creatures on successive days. This was turning in to one of my best experiences ever.

Unfortunately for Ian, he and Gerrit were still trying every trick in the book to locate an Elephant while we were cleaning up the pests. He never found a suitable bull, but did get to follow some decent tracks, even though they led to animals that did not qualify as shootable. As some sort of consolation, he bagged a beautiful Roan. Although I have never thought to collect a Roan, once having seen Ian’s trophy mounted on a pedestal, it now may be something to collect in the future.

Ian and I now had to drive back towards Windhoek together with Gerrit. We were heading back to his farm to collect a few extra plains game trophies. As well, we would examine the possibility of organizing a wing shoot in the near future. They set off in one vehicle while I followed in a hire car that had to be returned.

It was a long drive but I enjoyed the experience of loping along while viewing the distinctive countryside. Travelling some two kilometers behind my friends to avoid the dust of the gravel roads, I got into that trance like state bought on by participating in something enjoyable, that being the wonderful exciting memories of the past few days. The constant hum of the vehicle’s motion also had its effect.

I noticed from some distance that the others had stopped to irrigate a parched bush, so slowed so I could join in the ablution rites. As we had stopped on the top of a large hill, we achieved phone capability and Ian was just finishing a call. “Felix is in trouble”, he said to me, explaining, “Somebody has shot a huge Elephant”. Still half drowsy I presumed that poachers had killed another beast illegally, “No, I mean you”. “They have just extracted the tusks and weighed them”. He let this information sink in a little, noting my confusion. “Wato, they weighed 69 and 70 pounds”.

Wow! What a prize, but I couldn’t tell anyone as that was way over what a non-trophy bull was supposed to measure. As it was, the 70-pound tusk was broken off, so conceivably, it may have gone 80 if unbroken. We all did a hoop and holler before settling down and resuming the drive. No longer was there any trance like state, the thought of that magnificent Elephant kept me alive and kicking goals for the rest of the journey.

As we approached Gerrit’s farm it was clear that the area was rich in wild life. Warthogs and their babies ran across the road, tails held vertical in that comical fashion, only to disappear under the wire fence on the roadside. Beautiful Gemsbok did the same; you would expect such an athletic creature to leap over the fence, rather they got down on their knees and pushed their head under the bottom wire, then lifting it slightly, seamlessly wriggled under while holding the wire up with long rapier like horns. Greater Kudu with a standing jump, simply sailed over the wire.

We had a day, two days, to organize the wing shoot, and look around the expansive property. Guinea Fowl were everywhere. It seemed that several clearings could be baited with grain to hold the birds in place before they had time to run for the thick bush. A shooting lane was envisaged just back from the clearing so once the shooting started the Guineas should fly towards cover, thereby offering some sporting targets.

Later that year when I went back with some shooters for the big event, we discovered to our horror that when Gerrit lay down the expensive grain to attract the birds, all that was attracted was several hundred bloody Baboons. So much for that brilliant idea! As it transpired, we went back to the first principle of, ‘walk up’, or ‘rough shooting’, which worked fine, and I think the participants enjoyed themselves immensely. One of the guys was my own next door neighbor of the last 10 years, Tom Tweedie, and apart from chasing Guineas and Doves every day, he managed to bag some lovely trophies including a Kudu and a wonderful old Warthog. He stills gets a silly smile on his face every time we sit around a barbeque with a red wine or whiskey and reminisce about that trip.

African Conservation Awards 2022

Oct 12, 2022 | News

Winners at the Game Rangers Association of Africa 2022 African Conservation Awards © GRAA

Africa’s conservation heroes were celebrated at the prestigious awards ceremony at the African Rangers Congress in Botswana on 17 September. The awards are an annual celebration to honour the courageous men and women who are committed to protecting Africa’s natural spaces and in doing so raise awareness of the critical and diverse work they do to ensure that our wildlife and wild places are safeguarded for generations to come.

Now in its eleventh year, the event was hosted by the Game Rangers Association of Africa (GRAA) in Kasane, Botswana where rangers from across Africa gathered to share experiences. His Serene Highness Prince Albert II of Monaco, who is the Patron of the African Conservation Awards, reminded us of the threats and dangers this selfless group of individuals face by referring to the assassination of Best Game Ranger Award finalist Anton Mzimba in a video message; “It reminds us of the importance of your profession, the risks you face on a day to day basis but also the determination and dangerous nature of those you confront and whom you often face alone. I applaud the fact that you are now honouring all the heroes of biodiversity beyond the rhino alone. You are the fighting vanguard of a global movement which should be promoted, encouraged, supported and prolonged by all of us.”

GRAA background

The Game Rangers’ Association of Africa (GRAA) is a non-profit organisation, founded in 1970 which provides support, networks and representation for rangers across Africa. The GRAA is a proud member of the International Ranger Federation (IRF) and the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) where it serves as the voice of the African ranger.

The Winners

The winners, selected by evaluation of the work done over the last 12 months, starting in July 2021 were announced as follows:

BEST FIELD RANGER

Winner: Boris Harding Ndourou, Manovo-Gounda St. Floris National Park, Central African Republic. As Head of Sector, Boris leads a team of 80 rangers and ensures tactical advice on operational deployments where he leads anti-poaching and biomonitoring activities. Until 2019, this park was subject to poachers, illegal wildlife traders and armed groups, but Boris took the lead in relaunching operational activities in the park, resulting in an increase in wildlife. To date, Boris’s anti-poaching operations deterred 147 infringers from poaching and confiscated 41 hunting weapons. He has also reached 258 transhumance pastoralists through awareness-raising activities and helped divert 23,000 heads of livestock out of the national park.

Anton Mzimba, Head of Ranger Services, Timbavati Private Nature Reserve, South Africa. © Bryan Havemann

BEST GAME RANGER

Winner: Anton Mzimba (posthumous), Head of Ranger Services, Timbavati Private Nature Reserve, South Africa. Anton began his career at Timbavati Private Nature Reserve as a general worker in the mid-1990s where he fixed roads, built gabions, maintained fences and completed the daily tasks required of a general labourer. He always strived to be a ranger and over the next 25 years, Anton rose through the ranks, progressing from ranger to Corporal, Sergeant, and finally becoming Head of Ranger Services.

Besides the numerous accolades and press, Anton’s greatest gift was his ability to lead and inspire the people from the local communities that border Kruger National Park. Anton led by example, working to change the stigma that conservation was a wealthy minority’s privilege, and instead a birth right to all of humanity, from all backgrounds, races and cultures. He believed in developing his team and wanted both local men and women to have the opportunity to climb the ranks into leadership roles.

On 26 July 2022, Anton was assassinated outside his home by three gunmen alleged to be linked to poaching syndicates, paying the ultimate sacrifice for being a ranger and a leader on the front lines of the rhino poaching war.

BEST CONSERVATION TEAM

Winner: Simba Community Wildlife Scouts, Maasai Wilderness Conservation Trust, Kenya. Simba Scouts are a conservation team working within Kuku Group Ranch in south-eastern Kenya. They include a dedicated team of 18 Maasai warriors (Moran’s), who monitor GPS collared lions and other wildlife species which is a very significant measure for mitigating human-wildlife conflict within the local Maasai communities.

Another impact of the Simba Scouts has been the influence of the community in embracing conservation.

BEST CONSERVATION SUPPORTER

Winner: Kenya Wildlife Conservancies Association, Kenya. In the last four decades, Kenya has lost more than 68% of its wildlife. Kenya Wildlife Conservancies Association (KWCA) was established to address this issue. KWCA has mobilised a membership of 174 mainly community conservancies to adopt a holistic approach to addressing the biodiversity crisis and tackling the complex problem of habitat loss. Today the network of over 215 conservancies in the country are a celebrated success as the organisation marks its ten-year anniversary. The network of conservancies has more than doubled the area under conservation from 8% of the country’s landmass to 20% (addition of 7.2 million ha of conserved land) today mainly due to the enabling policy environment and incentives negotiated through KWCA.

“In these dark times of unchecked human overpopulation, which causes climate degeneration and destruction of wildlife and the natural world, our conservation heroes are the last hope! The assassination of Anton Mzimba and the deaths of hundreds of his conservation hero colleagues worldwide emphasises the crisis. Please join me in congratulating all of the winners and finalists of the African Conservation Awards 2022! We are incredibly grateful to you” – Dr Larry Hansen, Founder of the African Conservation Awards.

Source: https://www.conservationawards.africa/news/50-african-conservation-awards-announces-winners-at-african-ranger-congress.html

Dr John Ledger is a past Director of the Endangered Wildlife Trust, now a consultant, writer and teacher on the environment, energy and wildlife; he is a columnist for the African Hunting Gazette. He lives in Johannesburg, South Africa. John.Ledger@wol.co.za

My Hunting Journey

Oct 11, 2022 | Hunting Stories, News

By Valerio Ventriglia

My hunting life began in in Zambia, at a very young age. I used to go for my school holidays to Zambia, spending three months at a time. I used to pester my father to let me go with him when he went hunting, but as I was too small, I used to be left behind. I was six or seven.

My brother Danielle is older than me, so he used to get to go with my dad and uncle, but without me. You can imagine the emotions, the feelings, the crying. And eventually, year after year, my dad couldn’t take it anymore and he said, “You know, you’re ready to go, let’s go.” So at the age of nine he took me for the first time, and I remember the first trip was in southwestern Zambia, and we spent 10 days in the bush. For me it was like living a dream. And the talking was non-stop, you can imagine. I wanted to know more, and I wanted to get the knowledge all in one trip, which, of course, is not possible. But that was my idea.

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So, this is a thing that I’ve had since I was a kid, and obviously with time, year after year, every school holiday for me was not going to the sea in Europe, but going to Africa to see my dad and spend time with the family there, and obviously looking forward to our trip in the bush.

And then, with time, growing up, I shot my first buffalo. Obviously, you climb the ladder slowly. The leopard came, the lion after that, and then the elephant. By the time I was 17, I had already done four of the Big Five. That was a big achievement for me at a very young age.

Then in 2007 I registered my company in Zambia and it was a challenge, because obviously – you’re new, you’re young, you’re not well-known in the industry, and regulations around the world had started changing already. So, it was hard, but I put in the time, the effort, the passion especially, to achieve this goal. Unfortunately, Zambia closed its big-game hunting for a few years, so that was a big opportunity for me and my brother to move to Tanzania. We opened up a company there, and we got a few hunting blocks between the Selous and Kilombero Valley – fully licenced also there – and we started hunting and bringing our international clients to Tanzania.

It worked very well. It was a very hard experience – new country, we didn’t know the national language, which is Swahili. Very tough. Stayed there two years. It made us strong, I would say. And then when things stabilised again in Zambia, we came back home and then started hunting around, bringing my clients in the odd hunting game-management areas in Zambia. And then finally the opportunity came up and I got my own block in 2017.

As I’ve said, I started hunting in Zambia as a kid, so I had shot quite a bit of game already at a young age. When I moved to Tanzania, I did that there, too. In the recent years, I would say I’ve taken a trip every year to different countries in Africa, like Burkina Faso, Cameroon, Congo Brazzaville; gone back to Tanzania, and at this stage (early 2022) I’m in South Africa now to live this different experience with its indigenous species that are found here, and I am looking forward to it.

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Campfire Thoughts & Reminiscences Part 9

Oct 11, 2022 | Archive, News, News

Written by Neil Harmse

Chapter 10. Bad Luck Safari

There are times when, no matter how carefully things are planned, nothing seems to work out as one hoped. I remember one safari to Botswana years ago which seemed to go wrong from the very beginning.

I was contracted to do a photographic safari with a client who was the principal of the College of Photography in Johannesburg. He wanted to experience and compile a photographic journey through a varied wilderness region, desert, swamp and bushveld. I felt that Botswana would offer exactly the trip he was seeking.

In those years, there was not as much choice of four-wheel-drive vehicles in South Africa as there is today. Toyota Land Cruiser and Land Rover were about all. Just before commencing this trip, the Jeep agency brought out the model CJ-6 long wheelbase and, as my old Land Rover had seen a lot of wear and tear, I decided that this Jeep seemed a good proposition for the safari and decided to purchase one. I had it fitted out with a bush bar, roof rack, jerry-can brackets and high-lift jack and felt this vehicle from the USA was just the right thing for our pending adventure.

Stephen and I left Johannesburg early in the morning with the aim of travelling across the Botswana border at Martin’s Drift and carrying on to Francistown, where we planned to overnight. This stage of our journey was quite uneventful and I must admit that the Jeep seats were a lot more comfortable than the old Landy. Instead of finding accommodation in the town, we travelled a few kilometres out of it and set up a fly camp on the road to Nata in order to get an early start the following day. Little did we know what was in store for us.

After early-morning coffee and rusks, we packed up camp and set off for Nata, one of the few places where we could refuel en route to Maun. Our plan was to refuel and have ‘brunch’, then travel south-west along one of the tracks leading to the Makgadikgadi Salt Pans. This system consists of several desolate pans, collectively covering about 16 058km² of nothing but white salt-covered expanse, an extremely inhospitable area with virtually no wildlife or plant life. Stephen was very keen to experience and photograph this region.

After a few hours’ grinding along in fourwheel- drive, we made our way to Sua Pan, one of the largest of the salt pan systems, where I stopped to allow Stephen to walk along the crust-covered surface taking photographs of some of the few varieties of algae which occurred in spots. It was impressive to just stand and stare across the vast expanse of white salt surface stretching to the horizon.

After about two hours, I suggested to Stephen that we get going if we still wanted to reach Maun by late afternoon. After he had stored all his photographic paraphernalia safely in his boxes, we were ready to set off. I turned the key – and NOTHING! The engine did not turn over. I tried several times, with the same result. The Jeep was dead. I checked everything, but could not get it to start. The battery was stone-dead. We were now in a very tight spot. We tried to push-start the vehicle, but because of the thick salt crust surface, there was no way of moving the Jeep. In desperation, I used the high-lift jack to raise the rear wheels, wound a rope around the tyres and, with the vehicle’s gears in second, tried hauling on the rope to spin the wheels in order to start the vehicle. We simply did not have the strength to get a kick out of the engine. It was now growing late in the day and I suggested that we get some food going and try to take stock of our situation.

After a meal of mostly tinned foods, I suggested that I take a knapsack with some food and two water bottles and make my way northwards, towards the main Nata road, to find help. I planned to leave early the next morning, while it was still cool. Stephen would stay with the vehicle and supplies to wait for my return. I warned him that it could be two days before I got back.

Following a fitful night’s sleep, and after taking some careful compass bearings, I was ready to leave the next morning. About roughly 3km along our backtrack, I heard a droning sound which I thought could be an aircraft or vehicle. As the sound got nearer, I realised it was a vehicle. After a while, I saw a Land Rover heading towards me. I have never felt so relieved in my life. It turned out to be one of the Botswana Department of Wildlife & Fisheries rangers who had seen our tracks from the previous day and decided to follow them to investigate. I could have hugged him! Before long, and with a pull-start from his Landy, the Jeep was mobile again. He offered to follow us to the main Nata-Maun road and then he would have to turn off on the Pandamatenga road. We would keep going non-stop to Maun, where we could hopefully get a new battery.

Maun in those days consisted of Riley’s Hotel, Riley’s Garage, Riley’s General Dealer and a few trading stores. The mechanic checked the battery, only to find a dead cell, but he had no suitable battery in stock. He managed to contact a supplier in Francistown who had a truck coming through the following day and would bring a battery for us.

We managed to book in at the hotel for a comfortable and congenial evening. After an excellent meal, we spent an interesting evening in the bar chatting to some of the guides and professional hunters. They included the famous Harry Selby, Lionel Palmer and Darryl Dandridge, who were killing time in the off-season. It was a great privilege to spend time with these guys and hear their hunting stories and experiences. I must say that Stephen took all this in his stride and accepted it as part of his ‘African adventure’.

The truck with the new battery arrived at about 10.30am and an hour later, we were ready to begin the next leg of our safari. We had arranged to hire two camp helpers and guides to accompany us to the Okavango. We had planned to travel along the road following the Thamalakane River, turning off along a track following the Santantadibe River, skirting Chief’s Island on the west, and making our way north to Seronga, then westwards to Tsodilo Hills in the far north, famous for its Bushman rock art.

The thick sand of the track along the Thamalakane made for terribly slow travelling and by late afternoon, after turning off on the Santantadibe track, we decided to set up a fly camp to call it a day. We soon had a fire going with some of our fresh meat on the coals and relaxed with cold beers from the cooler box. The meat done, we placed it in a dish and were busy preparing a salad when a hyena rushed in, grabbed the dish and made off, leaving us staring and cursing. Our stock of precious fresh meat had just been drastically reduced. Our first supper turned into tinned sausages and beans, but at least we still had salad. We would have to take more care in future. Hyenas proved a damn nuisance, as they tried to get at meat and supplies in our Coleman cooler boxes and chewed one corner almost off. A few uneventful days took us into the swamps, where Stephen managed to get some good photos of game in the area, including elephant, buffalo, lion and the usual selection of antelope species. Unfortunately, trying to get shots of hippo and crocodile proved a challenge, as these would never quite come out of the water and just photographing their heads in the water made for rather indifferent images.

There was a pool with some hippo and a few fairly large crocs, and earlier we had come across a camp of local citizen hunters. They had shot a buffalo and I had the idea of drawing a croc out by baiting it with a buffalo lung. After a bit of haggling, we traded for a lung, which we hauled near the water. I hacked off a few pieces and threw them into the water to attract the creatures. Then, with the help of our guides, we started to drag the lung to the water’s edge. I motioned to Stephen to keep his camera ready. He was walking along with us as we dragged the lung when a croc of about 5m suddenly came charging out the water at great speed, heading directly towards us. I had never realised just how fast these creatures could move on land. The guides dropped the lung and fled. With a lunge, the croc grabbed the lung and, in a flash, was back in the water, lung and all. I looked around for Stephen, but he had taken off with the guides and did not even think of using his camera. He did manage to get a few photos of the frenetic activities as the crocs twisted and tore at the lung in the water.

To make up, a while later Stephen managed to take some great shots of a pride of lions which were fairly close and some cubs engaged in playful antics with the adults.

Our next misfortune came the following day, and the blame was mostly mine. While crossing one of the smaller swampy streams, water splashed up into the engine compartment of the Jeep, which brought us spluttering to a stop about midstream. The water was only about knee- or thigh-high and we climbed out to dry the spark plugs and distributor. I opened the distributor taking out the rotor and then dried and sprayed Q-20 into the unit.

After this, I replaced the cap and dried and sprayed the spark plugs. I then tried to start the engine. It simply cranked, but would not start. I told the guys to push it across to dry ground, where I would check it. After moving it about 15m, a thought occurred to me. Had I replaced the rotor? Jumping out, I found the rotor was not there. I remembered placing it on the edge of the mudguard panel, but it was now missing. It was somewhere in the water. I realised that I did not have a spare rotor – after all, who brings along a spare rotor!? Moreover, it was about four days’ walk back to Maun. Our tracks could be seen where the Jeep had moved through the water. I had everyone on hands and knees, chins above the water, groping on the bottom along the tracks, trying to feel the missing rotor. After about an hour’s search, finding bits of wood and stones, as well as the odd piece of bone, one of the guys finally found the rotor. I was so relieved that I could have kissed him! I now always carry a spare rotor as part of my spares kit.

The next few days were quite uneventful and a good variety of game animals kept Stephen busy with camera, lenses and filters. He was enjoying the trip immensely and just as I was hoping we had used up all the bad luck in the barrel, the Jeep suddenly lost all its brakes. When I pushed the brake pedal, it simply sank to the floor with no pressure. On crawling underneath the vehicle, I found the problem: a metal brake pipe had been rubbing on the side of the chassis and had worn through, leaking brake fluid out and resulting in a loss of pressure. I turned a small self-tapping screw with adhesive sealer into the broken pipe and managed to bleed the brakes with four bottles of brake fluid I had in my spares. Then we were off again, with brakes on only three wheels.

After this, our luck finally seemed to change and we managed to complete the rest of our journey northwards with no further mishaps. However, while heading back to Maun through some longish grass, we suddenly crashed to a grinding halt. The Jeep had hit a hidden tree stump, badly buckling one of the tie-rods, so we now had no steering. After a lot of head-scratching and throwing ideas back and forth, one of our guides remembered experiencing a similar problem and suggested cutting a straight mopane branch and binding it in place. We removed the buckled tie-rod and managed to use binding wire to fix a reasonably straight mopane branch on the steering system. This did not give us much of a turning circle, but at least we made the last part of the journey, very carefully, to Maun, where we could have the vehicle repaired. We then drove the long road back to Johannesburg, still with brakes on only three wheels.

Thus ended a rather disastrous safari, although Stephen enjoyed his African adventure and said it was a trip he would always remember.

Stephen viewing the vast salt pans of Makgadikgadi

Above: Discussing routes with a game warden.

Left: Stephen viewing the vast salt pans of Makgadikgadi.

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

Classic and Contemporary African Hunting Literature

Oct 10, 2022 | Archive, News

Land of the Black Buffalo

Paul Smiles (Faber and Faber Limited, 1961, 184 pages.)

Reviewed by Ken Bailey

On a comparative basis, there is very little in the way of classic hunting literature focussed on what is today’s Botswana; professional hunting wasn’t prevalent there through the golden years of East African hunting. Paul Smiles’ autobiographical Land of the Black Buffalo is one of the few available books dedicated to this wonderful game land.

In 1948, after serving in WWII, Smiles took on the job of game ranger in northeastern Bechuanaland, in what became Botswana following its independence in the mid-1960s. He lived in a camp called Chuchubegho, which was little more than a small two-room house and a couple of outbuildings in a grove of trees, from where he and his small staff had responsibility for a vast and remote region. His job was twofold – to rid the area of tsetse flies and, concurrently, of buffalo. Tsetse’s and the sleeping sickness (Trypanosomiasis) they carried were a threat to the emerging cattle industry, and buffalo were prime hosts of the disease. Land of the Black Buffalo details Smiles’ time battling these two disparate animals in a linear area created by the establishment of two miles-long fences that separated the “settled” area from the game area.

As one might expect, the book describes his many harrowing encounters with buffalo in the thorn veldt, but he gives equal billing to his efforts to eradicate the tsetse, and the reader is sure to learn plenty about the ecology of tsetse flies and their impacts on game, cattle and people. Did you know, as an example, that tsetse flies don’t lay eggs? Instead, as Smiles describes, they extrude nine or 10 grubs, or larva, that they hide in rock piles and under logs. There the larva pupate before eventually emerging as adults, winged marauders that live on blood and potentially transmit a disease that can be fatal to people and livestock, but to which game is immune. And they aren’t born carrying the parasite that causes sleeping sickness, but pick it up when feeding on the blood of animals carrying it. It was for that reason that his orders were also to wipe out any buffalo between the fences.

In Land of the Black Buffalo, Smiles also describes his encounters with elephants and giraffe that were notorious for destroying the fences, along with his many confrontations with lions, one of which had severely mauled his predecessor.

What’s particularly enjoyable about Smiles’ book is how well it’s written. He was clearly well-educated and crafts a sentence well. His writing is descriptive but down-to-earth, not the stuffy writing you find from many Englishmen of his era; it’s an easy and enjoyable read that should be in everybody’s library of African hunting literature.

Ian Wilmot’s Monster Eastern Cape Kudu

Oct 7, 2022 | Hunting Stories, News

By Ian Wilmot

The biggest kudu we ever shot in the Eastern Cape was a 63-inch kudu, shot 3 or 4 years back. Still the biggest kudu to come out of the Eastern Cape. And it was an interesting hunt, an enjoyable hunt. The terrain is challenging. And this kudu had been known about for a good number of years. They’ve been trying… the owners told me that for 4 years they’ve tried to shoot this kudu, and there are a lot of kudu on this place, and quite a lot of good kudu – but nobody could get a shot at this kudu, for whatever reason. I had a very good client with me, and the guy could shoot pretty well. I just put it in the back of my mind. I didn’t even know if we’d see this animal, but I put it in the back of my mind then, that really, I would like to get this kudu if we could.

We started hunting, and I always try and get on very well with the staff, wherever I am. And in chatting with the tracker, local tracker from the place, I said to him, this kudu bull, that everybody’s talking about, does he still live in this area, general area? And he said, yes, still in the same general area. So I knew where the area was. The owners had told me where the area was. I said, well, how do you people actually hunt this kudu? And he said, the way we all hunt kudu – we go out in the morning, and we find some vantage points, we sit in that area and we look for 2 to 3 hours, and if we don’t see the thing, then we move off. We carry on hunting something else, come back in the afternoon any time from half past 3, 4 o’clock until dark, we sit there and we look for this kudu bull – and we never see it. And I said, so how do you know it’s still alive? He said to me, because in the off-season we see it, when nobody is hunting – Christmas time we’ll see it. I figured, okay, fair enough. Thank you, that’s the information I need. I thought well, so how do I find this kudu and get a shot at it?

I said to the client, tomorrow is going to be different to what we’ve been hunting. We’re going to get up early, we’re going to get up and we’re going to go and hunt, but we’re going to have a short hurt. Whatever it is, we’re going to have a short hunt, we’re going to be back here by 9 o’clock – nice prime time in the morning, but we’re going to have breakfast, and then we’re going to have a break, dry out our shoes from the dew in the sun, and then we’re going to go hunting again. And he quizzed as to why? I said, I’ve just got an idea; I’m trying to shoot a big kudu bull, get you a big kudu bull and we all know about this kudu. He knew about it by then. And I said, I want to try something that nobody else has tried, and that’s what we did.

Ian Wilmot

At quarter to 11 we got back into the Toyota and off we went, and in the general area I went and I parked, hid the pickup in some brush and there was this one particular valley that I wanted to look in, and then just over the rise from the pickup there’s another valley, and I said, you people head into that valley, there’s a nice vantage point from which to look around. I’ll catch up with you guys probably in about 15 minutes. And off they went. I then went and sat quietly in the shade, in some brush, and I just kept still. And I was just literally getting up to move when this bull showed himself. So I snuck out of there, went back up to the client, left the trackers and everybody trying to keep still, went back there, and we couldn’t get close to it. We had to shoot across the valley, and it ended up a 350-yard shot to be, and he hit it. And that kudu bull, clearly, every morning, every afternoon people were hunting – he knew. And he could see them out of the brush and things like that. So in the middle of the day, when there’s nobody hunting, is when he showed himself and that’s how we managed to get it.

Young and Dumb, but Alive!

Oct 7, 2022 | Hunting Stories, News

By Ryan Phelan of Hotfire Safaris

In the early 2000s, I was running a private game reserve in the Tuli Block in Botswana. We had one particular elephant bull that was becoming a nuisance, as he was destroying our solar pumps and panels and threatening my fencing staff.

I brought this to the attention of the Botswana Game Department, and they proceeded to show me the ordinance that said I could go ahead and destroy the animal and notify them of the GPS location and mark the left and right tusks.

Being still fairly young, cocky and relatively inexperienced, I loaded up my 9.3×62 with four 286gr Barnes Super Solids and hopped on my motorbike to find a culprit elephant.

Once I reached the area that the fencing guys were working in, it did not take long to locate the offending bull. I parked the bike, loaded a round, and adjusted my scope power to minimum, this being 4x magnification. I started slowly after the bull, which was walking slowly into the wind in the scrub mopane.

I sensed the bull knew of my presence, but he was not too perturbed. Each time he walked I would run closer, and when he stopped to listen, I would stop. This continued for a while, until I thought I was close enough. I then remembered my PH mentor saying to me, “When you think you are at the right distance, get closer.” So I did. At approximately 18m, I rested on a scrub mopane and took aim on the bull that had stopped to listen.

He turned broad-side, and I just remembered my teachings: “Aim for the top of the back of the zygomatic arch.” I squeezed off. In a flash the bull turned 180 degrees, and I fired the second round in the same place on the other side of the head. He spun right around once more. I let fly the third round, upon which his back legs gave way, and I put the fourth round into the back of his head as it flung up into the sky. I was later to discover that this fourth round exited the front of his head.

I was left standing and shaking, with an empty rifle and many thoughts running through my head. I put a few more rounds into the rifle, cocked it and slowly headed up to the bull. He was dead!

At the end of the conflict, my emotions hit home, very hard. I had read all the books on the early ivory hunters, and all I wanted to do was hunt my own elephant. I had done it. But the feeling was not what I thought it would be. Here I was, a mere 24-year-old, and this bull a good 40 years old or more. I walked away quietly and sat down under a mopane tree to gather my thoughts and to thank the bull for giving me this opportunity that many people nowadays will not get. It was a very somber moment.

Thinking about the lessons learnt from this, I was fairly inexperienced and had gone out on my own. Secondly, using a scoped rifle at 18m is not ideal, especially when trying to put second, third and fourth shots in when there is just grey matter in your scope picture. What I did learn was that if you are to miss the brain, miss on the low side, as it clearly interrupts the blood flow to the brain and disorients the animal. This was what saved me.

However, the penetration of all the rounds was faultless, as was evident by the last shot entering the back of the head and exiting the forehead.

This area in Botswana had high numbers of elephants and they were, in a way, boxed in between the backline fence, which was the western edge of the Tuli block, and the South African game farms all bordering it across the Limpopo River. It was inevitable that human animal conflict would arise, and nothing was being done about the rising numbers. The reason cited for this was that funding for the game department was coming in in part from NGOs that were anti hunting or anti culling. They thus felt stuck between a hard place and a rock. Knowing numbers needed to be brought down but not being able to do it themselves. They thus were quite happy for any landowners etc in the area to deal with the problems themselves as it absolved them from being in hot water.