By Ken Moody

Now that you’ve decided to hunt this menacing beast [the cape buffalo], let’s discuss what you’ll need to do the deed. There are scores of calibers and types of rifles one can use to cleanly dispatch a Cape Buffalo; single shots, bolt actions, double rifles, even lever actions can be utilized with calibers galore to satisfy the requirement of delivering adequate killing power, but unless you’re set on using grandpa’s old iron sighted Mauser, I’d suggest we look at the best client options. For me, I prefer to see a client arrive in camp with a well-used, bolt action rifle carrying a 1×4 power scope in a caliber that he/she can shoot accurately. While I believe a buffalo caliber should begin with a 4, the most common caliber used for buffalo hunting is the .375 H&H Magnum. In capable hands, the .375 can do the job and double as a good caliber for various plains game species as well. Its big brother, the .416 (Rigby or Remington), is what I’d consider the best client option when buffalo is the primary game to be hunted. Thousands of buffalo have been dropped with these two rounds and thousands more will be dispatched with ammo bearing a .375 or .416 headstamp.

Other calibers are certainly worthy of mention when it comes to hunting buff. The .404 Jeffrey is an old standard that still works and if you need your jawline re-aligned, the .505 Gibbs will help in that regard. For the client determined to hunt with the larger bores, a .458 Winchester Magnum is a good choice for close work, but if you can handle the recoil, the ultimate big bore bolt action caliber for hunting buffalo is, in my opinion, the .458 Lott. This caliber was designed specifically for buffalo hunting and remains atop the field of big bore stoppers in bolt action. Let’s discuss this caliber in a little more detail.

One cannot explain the genesis of the .458 Lott without first delving into its controversial predecessor, the .458 Winchester Magnum. Introduced to the hunting world in 1956 as a less expensive but equally powerful alternative to its high dollar double rifle brethren, the .458 WM in bolt action quickly gained worldwide acceptance and became the standard African dangerous game rifle/caliber combination. Now, professional hunters, game wardens, and the like could go a field with affordable solutions for nasty situations. In the early 1970s, however, problems with powder clumping and erratic powder burning began to surface due to the compressed ball powder being utilized by Winchester. To remedy the problem, Winchester simply reduced the pressure of the powder column, which, in turn, slowed the velocity of the caliber to around 1950 feet per second, a full 200 feet per second slower than the original design specs. Enter the .458 Lott.

After suffering injury during a 1959 Cape Buffalo hunt in Mozambique while using a .458 WM, Jack Lott surmised that something better must be made available. Beginning with standard .375 H & H Magnum brass, Lott married that existing brass with a .458 bullet, resized at the base to fit the .375 casing. Through the process of fireforming, the .458 Lott was born. Not only did Lott build a .458 that met the original performance intent of the Winchester Magnum, this new shoulder cannon exceeded it. Capable of firing 500 grain bullets at 2300 feet per second (at safe pressure levels), and yielding nearly 6000 pounds of energy, this new wildcat cartridge surpassed not only the old .458 WM but the .450 Nitro Express as well. When loaded with a 600-grain projectile, the Lott still speeds past the WM loaded with a 500 grainer in that it can attain a velocity of 2150 feet per second. All this extra performance does come at a price, however.

The felt recoil of the .458 Lott is substantial and easily more damaging than that of the WM.

If you are small in stature and lack the bulk to accept this punishing round, then I’d suggest a less aggressive caliber that you can shoot more accurately. It’s far more important to place your shots in the right spot than to flinch at anticipated recoil and miss the mark. Many an over-gunned client has suffered the consequences of poor shooting at dangerous animals. Once found only within the purview of the handloader, the cartridge became so popular over the years that now many factory-loaded options are available. Quality offerings from Federal, Hornady, Barnes, Nosler, Swift, etc. are available for those who do not wish to delve into the tedious, albeit rewarding, task of handloading. Find out what your rifle likes and feed it that! Just make sure it’s topped with superb, quality bullets. When hunting dangerous game, the two most important aspects to success are where you hit it and what you hit it with. The rest is just recovery. If you can handle it and shoot it accurately, then there’s no better cartridge for dispatching the big nasties than the .458 Lott. It’s not a long-range cartridge so your work will be close, but close is the goal and when things go bad, and sometimes they will, you’ll be confident knowing that you’ve armed yourself with the solution provided you can do your part. While the Lott is king, don’t be swayed against the Win Mag version as advances in powder have solved the old clumping issues and the newer .458 Winchester is now a sufficient buffalo caliber.

If your heart is set on hunting buffalo in the classis sense, with a double rifle, look at a caliber suited to the job and one that is not too clumsy in the bush. For client use, the perfect double rifle caliber is one of the .450/400s. These rifles are normally nimble in the hand, a pleasure to shoot, and devastating on buffalo provided good shot placement is realized. I’ve owned a .450/400 3” and loved shooting it, the mild recoil a bonus for long sessions on the range. Other classic double calibers include the .470 Nitro Express, the .500 Nitro, and the big hammer itself, the .600 Nitro Express. All these big bores will certainly make mince out of a buffalo, but double rifles are expensive and must be regulated to ensure both barrels strike in proximity to one another. While hunting with a double is something to romanticize about, one certainly isn’t required for client use. A good bolt action will work just fine. For the professional, however, a double rifle is a near necessity when facing a buffalo charge. There isn’t much time to cycle a bolt when Nyati comes calling.

Just as important as caliber is bullet type and weight. I have never advocated for a client to bring or use solids for hunting buffalo. Solids are for elephant, rhino, hippo, and backup work, not as a primary bullet type for client use on buffalo. They can over penetrate and can cause two or more buffalo to be struck with one shot. No, leave the solids to the professionals that are there to stop a charging buffalo, not the client who has little to no experience in such circumstances. A client should use softs on buffalo and my favorite is the Swift A Frame, a bullet simply designed to work. The A Frame delivers the goods, and equally as good, is the Barnes X or TSX. Rounding out the field are Trophy Bonded Bear Claws, Nosler Partitions, Accubonds, and even the Hornady DGX, which is tremendously better than previous Hornady offerings. The bullet is the most important aspect of the hunter’s arsenal and only quality, proven bullet designs will consistently bag a Cape Buffalo whose only reason for living at times is to torment and harass safari operators. Don’t skimp on bullets. Buy and use A Frames or other acceptable options and practice with them extensively.

Once you’ve settled on your rifle/ammo arsenal, go to the range and practice. Buffalo hunting is normally done in thick bush, so practice shooting from your knees, in the prone position, and from shooting sticks. Every professional in Africa has a pair of well-used shooting sticks and it is from these that you’ll most likely be shooting. While most are a tripod configuration, some professionals carry a bipod version with two long sticks that are separated and extended to cradle the client’s rifle. Practice with sticks so that when they’re dropped, you can mount them effortlessly. The time to bungle it up is not in the presence of your quarry. Save the screw ups for the range and practice until you can perform when needed. Also, you’ll not be entering into any long-range competitions while hunting, so practice at bush ranges. 50 to 100 yards is your likely firing distance, so become proficient at these so that you can mount the sticks, acquire your target, and get your shot off in an acceptable amount of time. Most opportunities are lost due to slow reaction times by the client or worse yet, cold triggers from a client who becomes a bit paralyzed when confronting a buffalo. Work these things out on the range and become an instinctive shooter so that when the time comes, you can do the job effectively.

And what about the client who doesn’t want to use a firearm to hunt the old dugga boy? Yes, believe it or not, there are many hunters who pursue Black Death with nothing more than a stick, string, broadhead, and good intentions. For the archery buff, pun intended, equipment choices can become a matter of life and death. Buffalo don’t like to be shot with arrows, so one must be sure to go afield with the proper rig to kill the beast.

Gone are the days of needing 100-pound bows and Herculean strength to draw it. Today, any good conventional compound bow drawing 70+ pounds can adequately kill a Cape Buffalo. Obviously, the greater poundage the better, but today’s bows are so much more efficient than those we used ‘back in the day’ that a 70 pound bow can do it. It’s the arrow that now matters and it must be of proper spine and weight. I highly recommend that the total arrow weight be no less than 950 grains and that the end of the arrow be collared to provide strength to that failure prone area where the broadhead screws into the arrow. Broadhead construction is crucial and cannot be anything other than a solid steel, two blade design. A Cape Buffalo is not the animal to try a stunt with, so leave the gimmicky heads at home and use trusted, proven heads like the original German Kinetics, Iron Will Buffalo Head, Grizzly Stik Heads, VPAs, etc.

A bow hunt for buffalo is already a dangerous proposition, so come prepared with the right gear. As with a rifle, practice, practice, practice. Draw and hold your bow for extended periods. Draw from your knees. Draw and move with your bow into a shooting position. Practice hitting a grapefruit sized target from 40 yards and closer until it’s second nature. Leave nothing to chance so that when opportunity is given, you’ll do your part. And don’t forget to pray, a lot!

I was raised in downtown Denver, Colorado, with loving, fairly normal parents, who were a bit flummoxed with my preoccupation with all things animal. After college, I never lived anywhere that wasn’t out in the countryside, surrounded by wild lands and creatures. As far back as I can remember, tales, books and TV shows of Africa, its wild spaces and exotic species, featured large in all of my thoughts and dreams. When I graduated with a degree in zoology, my parents rewarded me with a trip, anywhere I wanted to go. Of course, I said AFRICA! Once there, roaming the Serengeti and observing the amazing animals I had spent all my life admiring, I felt like I was home.

I became a full-time artist, and while my career took me down the path of duck stamps and over 150 print editions of North American wildlife, my heart remained in Africa. It was ten years after that first trip until I returned, and I have come back almost every year since then, 25 trips so far. Hunting became a part of these journeys and introduced me to a large group of people who shared my love and admiration for Africa and her wildlife. I visit national parks and conservation areas on every trip, gathering the photographic reference I need for inspiration…these photos are from my latest trip to Kenya, South Africa, and Botswana. Look for these images reflected in my artwork to come!

cynthieart@gmail.com

www.fisherart.com

By Zeke

Vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows. The black silhouettes of the acacia trees and giraffes. Perfect Lion King sunsets. One of the best experiences of my life was on my first trip to South Africa.

It all started a few years ago, when my dad suddenly became obsessed with cape buffalo. A few months of research, a connection with Dave Freeburn of Dave Freeburn Safaris and all of a sudden, there was a trip to Africa on the calendar for June of 2025. It didn’t even seem real to me when he told me. And then – he invited me! As long as I took care of half of the trophy fee of any animal(s) I hunted, he would take care of the rest. I decided to try for a gemsbok, with red hartebeest as first alternate. Uncle Mike and his son (Gabe) and step-son (Ethan) would also be coming.

As we settled into “camp” (using the term loosely; our accommodations were amazing), we spent some time to ensure we all passed the rifles test. Our hired rifle for plains game was a nice Berretta BRX1 straight-pull in .308 Win., shooting Sako 180gr Arrow tip II bullets. It was set up with a Sako suppressor and a Vortex 3×15 scope. Other than the straight-pull action, the rifle was very similar to what we were all used to with our rifles back home. After the Berretta test, Dad took on the test for the 500 Nitro. Dave was extremely generous and allowed Dad to hire his custom Verney Carron 500 Nitro for the buffalo hunt which was paired with Norma 570 grain solids and softs. Dad has always loved side by side shotguns for bird hunting back home and he fell in love with the gun instantly.

We woke up at 6:30 the next morning to eggs and bacon and packed our gear into the land cruiser. I could feel the cold crisp of the morning air in my face as we rode around checking the trail cameras and the water pans for signs of buffalo. We found some relatively fresh sign early on, but didn’t locate any tracks that made sense to follow just yet. There were some great animals on the trail cameras, though, and everyone was starting to get excited about what the coming days would bring.

As we were checking the last of the cameras in the afternoon, we saw some zebra pop out of the bush. Dave took Gabe to stalk them, but the stallion only provided a frontal shot at a bit farther than Gabe was comfortable taking. A bit later, we spotted a blesbok, which Ethan elected to try for. Ethan executed a great shot at the end of a nice stalk and got us on the board to wrap up our first day.

The next morning, as we were looking for fresh buffalo tracks and replacing trail cameras we came across a herd of red hartebeest. We tried three or four times, but there were a lot of animals in the herd and I just couldn’t get settled for a shot. This was my first try and turned out to be a good warmup on how to follow Dave on a stalk, but I was still a bit disappointed.

On the way to the next water pan – I couldn’t believe my luck to see gemsbok!!! I was determined to make up for not having success on the hartebeest, and off we went for a stalk. I could hear my heartbeat pounding as I anticipated making the shot. Dave set me up on the sticks and I awaited his instructions. While I was settling in on the herd, Dave spotted one off to the side so I shifted the gun and fired. I reloaded the rifle as I saw the herd running away. Dave caught a glimpse of it and saw it was not a fatal hit. After some failed attempts at tracking the wounded gemsbok we went to a nearby water hole hoping it would come in to drink, but we only saw a few warthogs.

With a few hours of daylight left, we tried to locate some buffalo that were spotted a few kilometers away. While searching, we were treated to our first sighting of giraffes of the trip. It felt so cool to see creatures with legs taller than me in the wild. And then on our way back to camp, we saw our first buffalo. It was a herd of young bulls, so we just watched in amazement at the sheer size of them.

By the time we got back to camp, I was feeling pretty low, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep hunting. This was such a horrible way to start the trip. But Dad talked to me, and so did Dave, and after that we had some of Ethan’s blesbok for dinner. I went to bed after our wonderful dinner to try to sleep it off and I vowed to let the next day start fresh. 

For the next day, Uncle Mike declared that this was the day we needed to get Dad his buffalo and that “he had a plan”. “His” plan was for us to sit at the water hole that the buffalo were hitting in the day time (the “Secret Pan”) and just wait for one. We’d actually been talking about this plan the whole prior day, though, so there really wasn’t any debate. With the plan sorted, off we went to the Secret Pan. We set up with a breeze in our faces and waited. Not very long into our sit, however, both the wind shifted and the silence was broken (Uncle Mike sneezed). Even the birds went quiet… everyone seemed at once to silently acknowledge that we were busted.

As we looked around the waterhole, we saw some fresh leopard tracks. By the way of the tracks, Dave suspected that the leopard was on the way into water and either heard or smelled us as we were sitting there. Thinking about that was both scary and exciting, as we’d seen a nice tom on one of the trail cameras the first day, and it reminded me of hunting among cougars back home.

After what seemed like a forever but wasn’t very long at all, we spotted Dave walking towards us. We collected our things and followed Dave to Dad and the buffalo, half in disbelief of what just happened in front of us.

It was huge! After we got him into position Dave took some fantastic pictures, ensuring to get all of the right angles. When we got to the skinning shed, Dave measured the buffalo’s outside spread and he was roughly 45 ½ inches wide. Dad’s jaw about hit the ground when he heard the number – it was quite a bull.

With the buffalo in the salt and four more days to target plains game, we transitioned to a newly-renovated camp that Dave was excited about.

In no time at all upon our arrival, we spotted a herd of zebra. Dave took Gabe on a stalk and not long after we lost sight of them – POP!! A few zebra ran off but they kept looking back… After a few minutes, we heard a whistle signaling success. When we finally got the zebra out of the bush, two black rhinos came out of the bush in front of us at about 150m. It was so cool to see them on the ground and without a fence!!

After a short break at camp, we headed out to hunt some more. It wasn’t long before we located a group of impala rams. Dad told me to take one to help me recover from the rough day I had on Day 2, so we tried a stalk on the impala. Admittedly, I was nervous… I got set up and POP! I reloaded the rifle and got ready to follow-up, but there was no sign of a hit. Confused, I looked around desperately in search of an answer. In discussing it with Dad, we figured out that I had rested the barrel on the sticks, likely making my shot bounce the rifle high.

Frustrated, I resolved that I would get things sorted on the next opportunity. We found another herd of impala quickly and were able to try again, while my resolve was fresh. We stalked in as quiet as possible and I set up on the sticks. This time, I made sure the rifle was set correctly and that I was stable. I found the shoulder. I squeezed the trigger. POP!! WHOP!! I heard the bullet hit the ram. It ran off, but it was clear he was injured.

Doubt crept in instantly, though, and I started to think the worst had happened again… but as it ran behind a bush and didn’t come out, I started to allow myself to hope. As we approached, there he was, on the ground taking his final breath. He expired before I could finish him. I knelt over him and said a short prayer in appreciation. He was an average-sized impala, but he was old, and I am so very proud of him. I’ll be forever grateful to him for his role in helping me to overcome my initial adversity. 

After lunch we headed back out, and Dad confirmed to me that we were still looking for a redemption gemsbok, in addition to a blue wildebeest for each Uncle Mike and Dad. Not far from camp, something was spotted off in the distance. After some time I realized it was a lone gemsbok. I couldn’t believe it!! So, off we went to try a stalk on it. We moved into the bush and would peek out from the edges to keep an eye on it. As we were stalking, I felt ready and nervous at the same time. When we got close enough, we set up on the sticks, just barely poking out of the edge of the brush. The old gemsbok caught sight of us, but wasn’t very alarmed. After the past couple of days of ups and downs, I tried really hard to take my time to settle in. I found the shoulder. I squeezed the trigger. POP! WHOP!!! The shot felt really good! It sounded really good! The gemsbok wheeled and ran into the bush. I was hoping it was a good hit… praying it was a good hit, but this time, the doubt didn’t creep in… I was confident. We walked to the point where it ran into the bush and then Dave, Dad, and the game scout (Bussman) went in to track it, due to the density of the bush.

Not even a minute after they disappeared into the bush, we heard Dave calling us over. And as I stepped around a bush, I saw it there. My gemsbok. I was overwhelmed with joy that I had done it – I had successfully taken a gemsbok. I knelt down next to it and said a prayer. It is hard to put into words how happy I was to be able to accomplish my goal, especially considering what had happened earlier that trip. It was such a feeling of both joy and relief.

With a third animal on the day, we thanked Bussman and put the rifles away. For the rest of the afternoon, we were treated to viewing multiple groups of elephants and giraffes, as well as a few white rhino (including a calf estimated to be 10-14 days old). Such an amazing day.

Uncle Mike was up next and all eyes were looking for wildebeest now. Fairly early in the morning, we saw a nice bull and off Dave and Uncle Mike went. A few moments after they rounded a tree, POP! WHOP!! Success! He was a nice, old bull.

After Uncle Mike’s wildebeest, only Dad was still hunting. Over the course of the trip, Dave’s passion for finding exceptional impala and warthogs rubbed off on Dad, and we finished up the hunt looking for both while in search of a wildebeest to beat Uncle Mike’s. Dad connected on a great impala later that day, but was unlucky on warthog. That night, over dinner, we heard a leopard territorial call coming from the water hole behind camp which was really cool.

For the final day, Dad pulled me aside and told me we should spend some time looking for my wounded gemsbok, to make sure we gave it a final effort to find it. We looked and looked, but ultimately, we weren’t able to turn it up. We returned to camp with a few hours of daylight left, and Dave and Dad went back out on a last hunt, on which Dad was able to connect on a dandy blue wildebeest. A great end to a great hunt.

The next day, we left for home. I was sad to leave, but since Dad was already talking about a return trip, I let myself hope I’d be back and was able to leave with a smile, excited to return someday.

Chapter Seven

A Koppie Called Kevin

Via a South African operator, we received an enquiry from a hunter from North Dakota named Ralph Kieley. Ralph mentioned that he had been on nine safaris for leopard and not even seen one. Once we had met Ralph it seemed that he had been on the safaris mentioned, but the main focus had not been leopard on all of them. However, it was clear that he’d been in the wrong areas or else had damned bad luck. Ralph wanted to hunt in 2001 but I was almost totally committed to prior bookings that season. We decided to contact a friend who hunts freelance and who had run several successful hunts for us in the past. I had met Kevin du Boil when he was working for Big Five Safaris, a big game operation in Chewore north safari area in the Zambezi Valley. Kevin had good big game experience under his belt but I was not sure that he had the necessary guile and leopard experience to outwit our Matobo private land leopards.

I had about a week between safaris and decided to accept Ralph’s booking, hire Kevin, but accompany the first part of the hunt. I did not want Ralph to have failed leopard safari number 10, especially since we had been recommended to him as the place to get a cat. I was confident we’d have the leopard wrapped up in short order and I organised George and Bee to take care of a careful pre-baiting plan.

One week flew by without a single hit. I could not believe it. It was just one of those dry spells where the cats were somewhere else. I’m sure Ralph was as sceptical as hell. Two professional hunters, pre-baiting, numerous baits out, and nothing happening. Just like the last time. It must be said though, that it was obvious Ralph had safari experience. He put us under no pressure at all with sarcastic comments and whining complaints. He remained in stoical good humour as the days went by checking baits, hunting for new tracks and calling surrounding farmers for news of any kills. We had one young male start feeding on day six but he was not a shooter.

My own safari was only days away, when on day nine we found a large female had fed on a bait down on the Project. When I asked Ralph if he was prepared to sit for the female since things were looking a little desperate, he answered “No problem – I’m not going back again without a leopard!” After checking the feed and heading back toward camp to collect all the gear for a night out, we saw fresh male leopard tracks on the road, about a mile down the road heading east away from the bait area. I was bitter. This big boy had missed our bait so narrowly. I stopped the jeep and we had a war council with Ralph, Kevin, the trackers and myself. I wanted to track the male’s spoor as far as we could, then flood the area where we lost the track with fresh bait, leave the big female feeding, and hope the male found one of our baits. But time was against us, not only because I had to leave, but also because of the limited time remaining that day to either get all the new baits organised for the male, or back to camp, assemble all our equipment, and set up for the female before dark .We went for the bird in the hand and decided to leave the male. I had a careful look at the track and we measured it. It squared ten. He was obviously a good mature cat and I was irritated and reluctant to let him go.

We returned to the bait at about 3pm and made up our beds, carried out last minute adjustments to the hide camouflage and attached my warning line. It was a drizzly grey overcast day, and we were not looking forward to a possible thickening of the drizzle and a wet night. I put up a frame of sticks over our blind and covered it with leaves and grass to try to keep off the inevitable rain. The plan was for Kevin, George, Peter, Bee and Kevin’s tracker to take the jeep out along the road for about a mile to the east, not far from where we had seen the male track that morning. There was an open rock dwala there and the men could bed down without sand and dust. We were finished with final preparations by 5pm and we settled in for the night. Kevin and the staff rumbled off in the Land Cruiser and slowly the bush sounds hesitantly returned.

As we sat in the blind, we faced east. Imagine three giant whales all swimming away from you to the east. Imagine the two right hand whales being 70 yards apart and the third one to the left, about 130 yards away. Our bait was in a fig tree at the tail of the right hand whale. This particular koppie actually did look a lot like a big whale – as it rose away from us at the tail into a huge domed head to the east. Our hide was about 90 yards away against a leadwood tree which had donkey-berry and other debris as well as some fallen branches at its side. Otherwise we were in an open vlei. Not ideal for camouflage but it was the only spot we liked because of the approach of the cat from the left, or north, and the wind direction from the south east. When we originally hung this bait we had to clear an avenue through some overhanging limbs and other brush for about 25 yards from the bait tree toward the blind in order to see the bait clearly. The leopard, when it fed, would be standing on two horizontal branches and reaching up over its head to feed. The scratches and small pieces of meat and hair left by the female indicated that she had fed in this position.

At about 6pm the drizzle thickened. I was worried that all the moisture would mist Ralph’s scope up so we draped a green cloth over it. Ralph was using a .300 Win Mag made by Magnum Research, which was loaded this night with 180 grain Barnes X bullets. Ralph was quiet in the blind, which was surprising as he is above average in size. I was confident that the big female would come in. Shortly after 7pm the dassies grated out their alarm call and about ten minutes later the warning stick bent like a big catfish taking bait. The stick relaxed, then began to jerk backwards and forwards repeatedly.

She was feeding with gusto. I motioned Ralph into position and when he was comfortable behind the scope, I turned on the light. The now light drizzle was easily visible in the beam but the leopard was not. I was taken aback. We were silent, the wind was good and the blind was a good distance off. What had gone wrong? Ralph could obviously see no leopard in the scope either and was a little confused. I asked him to leave the rifle and aim the spotlight while I looked through my binoculars.

Suddenly, like a snake, the leopard’s tail hung down. The damned thing had climbed on top of the meat, not underneath it! I saw the green-white flash of its eyes as the tail flicked this way and that right where the leopard’s torso should have been! There was no shot as the cat was hidden by the foliage I had left untrimmed at the top of our shooting “tunnel”. I had enough experience to know that a cat may not eat a bait from the same position it had eaten from before, but the flimsy position above the meat had certainly not seemed a possibility to the trackers and I that morning. It was frustrating; there was nothing we could do except sit and watch and hope the cat changed position and offered a killing shot. A few minutes later she flowed down the main trunk and was gone. “What now?” Asked Ralph. I told him that we were warm and comfortable and at this stage, not yet wet, we should stay put. There was always that slim chance that she’d be back. We got back under our blankets and settled in for the night. From so many nights of sleeping out in pursuit of the big cats, I seldom slip into a proper heavy sleep. The slightest noise will wake me and every time I change position, I will sit up and watch the warning stick for a few minutes.

That night the ‘guti’ or heavy winter drizzle increased around midnight then it eased off completely. Shortly after the drizzle ended I must have resigned myself to trying to catch a few good hours of rest before the new day because I don’t remember waking again until just after three-thirty, when violent thrashing of my warning stick woke Ralph and I. She was back! And biting the meat with a fury!

I quickly took the rag off the scope on Ralph’s rifle and cleaned the fogged glass with cotton wool. Ralph moved up behind the rifle and I opened the ‘window’ I’d made for the light. Please, let her be standing in the right spot! I hit the light and even without the binoculars, saw the leopard standing beautifully, exactly where it was supposed to be.

I whispered to Ralph “Shoot, its the leopard” – No shot. Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds … “Shoot Ralph, it’s standing perfectly, side on, head up in the meat. Hit her behind or in the shoulder!” No shot. Just as I was about to ask what the problem was, the rifle cracked and the leopard fell immediately, straight onto my warning wire, snapping it as it hit the ground. There it spun in a fury, growling all the while, then it bounded away towards some rocks and a big fig tree at the tail of whale No.3.

“What took you so long Ralph? How did you feel about the shot?” I asked.

“Couldn’t see clearly,” he answered, “scope still seemed a bit foggy.” We chatted excitedly for a few minutes and it seemed to me that Ralph was not absolutely sure of where he’d hit the leopard. A lightly nicked leopard, and sometimes a leopard shot cleanly sideways through the lungs without hitting bone, will make its way quickly and carefully out of the tree and leave with a controlled leap. A leopard hammered in the shoulder bones or near or in the spine will drop like a sack of meat.

Ours dropped that way, but as I said, it roared and spun around on the ground madly then disappeared. My guess was close to the spine causing temporary paralysis. I’d seen this horrible shot many times on safaris on dangerous game and on all kinds of plains game. The animal drops as if poleaxed. Everyone shouts and shakes hands and there’s joy all round. Then the animal gets up, leaves at speed, dropping very little blood, and an increasingly fruitless follow-up ensues. The sun gets hot, the client gets angry and there is no more laughing and clapping.

However, we were both excited, and I said nothing about my worries. We had not seen the blood yet and all could be well. I fired a shot over where the team had bedded down and they arrived shortly thereafter. Peter and I kitted up for follow up. We moved the Land Cruiser as close to the bait as possible, connected the spotlight and looked carefully where the leopard had fallen. There were a few drops of blood but certainly no lung blood. We decided to make a fire and keep warm for the last forty minutes of the night.

We were champing at the bit to get going but it didn’t make sense to put ourselves in jeopardy since it would be light soon. As soon as we could see clearly, Peter took up the splayed running tracks. I was immediately behind him with the .460 off safe and my 9mm Glock, cocked, and tucked into my belt. Butterflies rose in my stomach as I looked up into the rocks. Into the thorns we go. The tracks led directly to the large fig tree growing against whale No.3’s tail. Koppies two and three were strewn with boulders from basketball size to vehicle size. Plenty of places for a wounded cat to hide. As we reached the fig tree, smears of blood were visible where the cat had gone up the granite into the boulders heading for the head of the whale. The most dangerous part of a follow up on a wounded leopard is when the blood is lost and the day gets warmer, and everyone starts to do their own thing. Nobody covers anyone else. Rifles and shotguns go onto the shoulder or into a one-hand carry. This is when the problems occur.

However, we were 100 percent focused and had blood. Kevin for some reason did not have his rifle and was carrying Ralph’s scoped .300. He was following behind me and George behind him. Ralph and the others remained at the bait. Peter was low down scouring for blood on the rocks. I was over him and very slightly to one side looking into the cracks and rocks expecting the charge. It was not looking good. There was very little blood and the cat seemed to have plenty of power and all limbs working to climb the places he was climbing.

Light droplets and the odd smear now led down off the head of the whale down the left (north) side and angled up the right side of the middle whale. Here we found a place where the cat had rested. The blood was a little thicker, and amounted to about a tablespoon full. Unfortunately, as so often happens in a situation like this, the cat licked the wound until the blood stopped dripping. We were now up onto the head of the middle whale with no blood at all. We carefully tried a few avenues where we thought the leopard would have gone. When those failed we broke into two groups. Kevin, Bee and Kevin’s tracker stayed up in the boulders on top moving eastwards along the ridge. Peter, George and myself followed various paths through the low bushes and rocks down the left hand, or north side. We all moved very slowly, almost inch by inch. It was now about eight o’clock and warming rapidly. I felt that the cat had been hit solidly because of the way it had fallen from the tree. But there was not enough blood to indicate any major artery or organ damage. There were no bone slivers indicating a fractured limb. My guess was high, and behind the shoulder – above the heart and lungs but under the spine. My second guess would be guts – but there did not appear to be an exit wound and no watery stomach blood or gut content.

Almost at the bottom of the middle whale on the left side, Peter found another smear. We beckoned Kevin and his group down, and we sent for Ralph so he could still be part of the hunt – albeit in a safe place. Once again it was Peter and myself leading. I asked the others to all remain in one spot with Ralph. The drops of blood indicated a line to the north, from whale number two, aiming at whale number one about 130 yards away. Between us and the next hill was a fairly open meadow with thick green grass about knee high. Closer to us, at the base of the middle hill, a narrow thicket of Dichrostachys grew along the rocky edge of the vlei – or meadow. Once again the blood disappeared. We literally got down on our hands and knees and went over every blade of grass. Nothing. This went on for another hour or so as we carefully combed through the thicket, returning all the time to the last blood smear. I heard a Natal francolin burst noisily out of koppie number one and decided to go and check it out. It may have been spooked by our leopard. Kevin remained, covering the trackers and I went through the small meadow, rifle at the ready, to where I’d heard the francolin. This is when you are at the highest risk. You’re alone, trying to spot blood at your feet, and you are unable to cover the prime danger area of four or five yards out, let alone to either side of you.

My heart was racing and my adrenaline surged. This hill was much thicker with vegetation and more like the typical koppies in our area. But I found nothing. No blood, no tracks. This was becoming futile. Without blood, we could not close with the cat. I contemplated sending George with the truck to Graham’s house to see if the phone was working, and if it was, to see if Tristan and his dogs were available. Lots of ifs. I walked back across the meadow to the last blood. Again we all got down and swept forward, both to the north and toward the meadow. A successful conclusion was looking unlikely. I had to make a decision – we could not just potter around for the rest of the day. I felt that the cat had licked its wound clean and gone up into the thickly wooded koppie across the meadow. I decided that all of us except Ralph and Bee – who would stay with him -should go across to the koppie and give it a thorough going over. If that failed we should start trying to get hold of some dogs.

Off we set once more, all of us across the grassy meadow to the hill. We were just organising ourselves for a sweep up into the rocks when Bee called us from where he and Ralph had remained. He had found a laying-down position and he said there was a good amount of blood. He was not far from where we had left the last sign, but further west by about four yards – the opposite direction to where we had been looking. I shuddered. Here was Bee and the client, unarmed, and they’d stumbled onto the cat’s last laying down spot. I yelled at them not to move and we all turned out of the koppie’s base back toward the meadow. At this stage Kevin, Peter and Kevin’s tracker were about 20 yards away from George and I, to the east, or left. They were partially hidden from me by scrubby Malalangwe bushes. We were all slowly walking south back towards Bee. Suddenly that guttural burping charging cat belch – like a giant burp inside a 50 gallon drum! A yell from Peter at the same time! The roaring continued! I sprinted a few paces in order to see what the hell was happening – Kevin was yelling blue murder!

I now saw Kevin on his back flailing to keep an enraged leopard off his face! Kevin’s tracker was standing directly behind the leopard exactly in my line of fire – I screamed at him to get down – I had my .460 up ready to go. I could blast the cat easily without hitting Kevin as I was only about four yards from them at this time.

It was now that I saw that we had no wounded female on our hands. This was a giant male leopard! His huge tail was up and thrashing and I saw his balls clearly in that split second. As I screamed at Kevin’s tracker, the giant head came up and the leopard looked straight at me. He leaped off Kevin towards the cover of the hill to my left. Who knows what made him stop. Maybe the pain of his wound or just the fury of battle inside him, but he pulled up short, spun around and came at me. As leopard charges go, it was not a difficult charge to face. The ground between he and I was open and I was ready and could see him clearly. I don’t remember aiming but the .460 roared and the leopard was clubbed to a stop immediately. He never even twitched. He was about six paces from me. The bullet entered his chest just high of centre, and came out the back of his left thigh near the tail. I yelled to find out who was hurt. Peter stood up and Kevin got up slowly nursing his right hand. Ralph and Bee came over while we shredded a shirt and cleaned Kevin’s wounds. I bound his band up tightly to stop the bleeding and made a sling to hold his arm up. On reconstructing the last ten seconds, it turned out that the leopard had been lying all the time in the green grass at the edge of the meadow! I had walked past him three times!

When we had all turned to go back to investigate Bee’s discovery, Peter had walked straight into the cat. As he saw it and yelled “Nansi” (there!) – he hit the ground. My staff had learned this as I hammered it into them over and over -when the shooting starts, they must be out of the way, flat on the ground. As Peter hit the ground, the enraged animal had streaked out of the grass, landed on Peter’s back and sprung at Kevin leaving Peter with two shallow scratches.

Kevin was in pain now with some deep bites to the hand and fingers and various claw scratches on his arm and abdomen. As it turned out later, his finger ligaments were quite badly damaged and he received a good number of stitches – and many painful visits to his doctor. He was lucky, in this instance, that we were all together as I feel the cat would have mauled him longer than the few seconds it allocated him this time. The yelling at Kevin’s tracker had probably pressured the enraged cat into leaving Kevin and going for cover.

We all went over to look at the giant leopard. It was a beast of a male and I kick myself for not having had a good spring scale in the truck at the time. It was definitely one of the heaviest cats I have ever seen. He was in prime, beautiful condition with a few fight marks on his neck and head. He had magnificent mountain-type markings, especially along his spine. It was just pure luck that we had not been offered a shot at the female. If we had, we would never have seen this beautiful animal. This male was the one whose tracks we’d seen the previous day. They returned down the same road, skirted where the boys had slept, followed the southern-most whale, and walked straight into the bait in the early hours of the morning! The female’s tracks went north from the bait towards a pool in the Ingwezi riverbed. This big female was taken two seasons later in the same spot, and she was a beauty. The big male had been hit just above the left hip and through the kidneys into the guts, and then into the right back leg. It must have had its back legs at extraordinary angles on the branches as it sought to tear the bait down. The internal damage had ensured that he didn’t get far. Although the external bleeding was minimal, there was considerable bleeding inside and had we not found him, I think he would have expired that day.

Ralph was happy that we had recovered his cat, but obviously was concerned over Kevin’s wounds. We gutted the cat as it was now quite hot and it was a good hour and a half back to the mountain camp. When we got there we cleaned up Kevin’s wounds with hydrogen peroxide and hot water, followed by a powerful disinfectant and then dispatched him to Bulawayo for proper medical attention.

We took many beautiful pictures of Ralph’s cat before skinning him out. His skull later measured over 17 inches, which put him right up near the top of the record books. Another giant Matobo male had walked his last mile and Ralph finally had his leopard. From that day on, all our hunters and staff, when referring to the three whale hills or giving directions nearby, would say, “lapa – Kevin” (there at Kevin). It seemed a good name for a koppie, and the name has stuck.

Into the Thorns is now available at Good Books in the Woods

www.goodbooksinthewoods.com

jay@goodbooksinthewoods.com

By Richard Sowry. Edited by John Ledger

In the riverine forest of Pafuri there is not a single top canopy tree that is not scarred by elephant. Most of these trees are in the process of dying, and the rest are barely coping. The only species of top canopy tree they do not touch are the Sausage Trees, and they are few and far between anyway.

Elephant have also cleaned out the understory creepers and scrub. I have been birding seriously since the early 1990s, and in the late 90s spent a lot of time birding in the Pafuri area. The dawn chorus of bird song during mid-summer in the 90s used to be deafening, it was so loud. Today it is not. You still hear the same species, but there is a representation of only a few individual birds, and it is very far from deafening.

I would like to share some FACTS relating to the issue. Firstly, FACTS differ from BEST AVAILABLE KNOWLEDGE. Best available knowledge is what we find in scientific papers and the like, and it should be continually changing as we learn more. But FACTS remain.

Simply put, Wildlife Management is the ‘simulation of what’s missing yet essential for healthy ecosystem functioning’. To rationalise what’s missing in modern day KNP is easier to assess from the perspective of rather what’s changed, since a time when we believe the system was sustainable. So, for argument’s sake and covering all bases, let’s go back 300 years. There are basically two major issues that have changed in the KNP:

1. The animals can no longer freely migrate and follow rainfall and food gradients – this in short results in selective and continual feeding without interruption.

2. Since 1995 the elephant and the hippo of the KNP no longer have a natural predator. For many thousands of years, and before colonial times, the only African predator of elephant and hippo of any significant consequence has been man.

The effect of a predator is that it reduces the population of the prey species and, very importantly, it also changes the behaviour of the prey species. The prey aggregate (herd) and they move in response to predation. No naturally behaving prey species lives and feeds in the same place where its predator lives.

The situation in the KNP at present is unnatural, to say the least. Our elephant population is unnaturally high, and they are behaving unnaturally. Man used to live along the major river systems, and as a result the riverine vegetation was protected from elephant. Today elephant move up and down a river during the day, feeding at will. Historically they would have probably drunk at night and during the day moved inland, away from the river where man lived. They are the largest represented biomass of mammal in the park and they eat approximately 95% of all plant species, so the consequences of them no longer having a natural predator are huge.

It is interesting to note that when I showed Ron Thomson the Pafuri Riverine in 2021, which he had never visited before, he remarked that “This reminds me of the Chobe River when I visited it in the 1960s”. We all know what the Chobe Riverine and associated biodiversity in Botswana looks like to today…

If we do not manage elephant, the riverine forest of Pafuri and the associated biodiversity will not exist in 15 years. Simply, our refusal to fulfil our natural role is not fair on other biodiversity.