Out Of Africa: The Best Boot Company You’ve Never Heard Of

Aug 8, 2018 | News

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]The global footwear market is estimated to grow to $426 billion by 2022. The boot and shoe industry is growing at 6.2% annually and is experiencing one of the longest and most profitable periods in the history of the footwear market.

To compete, industry leaders like Nike, Wolverine, Red Wing and the Thursday Boot Company are embracing high-tech automation, analytics to identify and understand customer demand and buying behavior, machine learning to automate manual processes, and digital solutions to maximize customer engagement in stores and online.

One boot company, however, has found success by doing the opposite. In fact, the company many boot and shoe experts consider to be the best in the world has a factory that can only manufacture 30 pairs of boots per day. All are made to order. The company does not keep any shoes or boots in stock. Boots require three weeks to be manufactured and the waiting time for a customer to receive his/her shipment averages three months.

Welcome to the world of The Courteney Boot Company.

The Courteney Boot Company, named after the famed explorer, hunter and conservationist, Frederick Courteney Selous, is located in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe.

I have visited Zimbabwe on multiple occasions and have traveled throughout the country. As an animal lover, especially a lover of wildlife in Africa, I do not hunt but I enjoy going on safaris to view wildlife. I especially enjoy visiting lion conservation parks where its possible to mingle with lions and walk with them at sunset. I have given many lion cubs a big smooch on the forehead only to be rewarded with the lick of a tongue that feels like sandpaper. It still takes my breath away to visit Victoria Falls, one of the 7 Natural Wonders of the World.

Gale Rice, who owns The Courteney Boot Company, learned the industry from her late husband, John Rice. John began making shoes at 15 and eventually made his way to Rhodesia (now modern-day Zimbabwe) in 1972. John is a legend in the shoe and boot industry for his design and manufacturing skills and encyclopedic knowledge of footwear and manufacturing.

John and Gale founded the company in 1991. Courteney remains committed to making high-quality boots and shoes using methods and machines first introduced more than 40 years ago. Gale is one of the few women who run a business not only in Zimbabwe, but in all of Africa.

The company utilizes relationships with select global retailers referred to as “stockists” that take orders for Courteney’s products and pass them on to the company. Courteney also sells its products online but online sales are less than 15% of the business.

(Full disclosure: I own a pair of the Classic Courteney Selous boots and I plan on ordering a pair of the Classic Courteney Scout boots.)

In the age of Amazon and Fulfillment by Amazon, readers may wonder why Gale doesn’t sell Courteney’s products through Amazon or Alibaba. On the surface, the idea makes perfect sense but in a high-volume, high-visibility marketplace like Amazon or Alibaba, Courteney’s make-to-order retail model doesn’t fit. With no plans to ever modernize the current factory, Courteney’s business model will remain untouched.

Readers may also wonder why Gale doesn’t turn to China for its manufacturing. In doing so, The Courteney Boot Company would exist in name only. The workers who are more like members of the family would lose their jobs. The factory where Gale worked side-by-side with her husband, John, would be shuttered. Boots and shoes would be shipped and sold with a “Made in China” stamp on the soles of each pair.

When I asked Gale about China, she said: “Not even worth discussing.”

Whereas the vast majority of boot and shoe manufacturers rely on leather as the primary material for its shoes, Courteney is unique in that it manufactures boots, shoes and other products using game skins. Courteney wisely created a relationship with Zimbabwe’s Department of National Parks and Wildlife when it started.

Hundreds of big-game animals die of natural causes every year in Zimbabwe. Big-game hunting is legal in Zimbabwe but the industry has seen a severe reduction in customers in recent years. Most big-game hunting camps use the meat but rarely use the skins. Courteney sources hippo, crocodile, ostrich, impala, and Cape buffalo skins from conservation agencies, safari companies, rural district village councils and game parks. Unless Courteney sources the skins, the skins are left to rot or are thrown away.

What Does The Future Hold?

On July 30, Zimbabwe will hold its first election without Robert Mugabe, Zimbabwe’s leader since it declared independence in 1980, on the ballot. In a country wracked by poverty and one of the weakest economies in all of Africa, there is palatable excitement at the idea of electing a leader that can return Zimbabwe to its glory days.

For many companies in Zimbabwe, time stood still once independence was gained. Government corruption resulted in lost business and a mass exit of many businesses to other countries in Africa and Europe. Land grabs by the government resulted in many wealthy and educated citizens leaving the country. A country revered for its agriculture and manufacturing prowess became a shell of its former self.

It will take more than an election to cure the ails of Zimbabwe.

As for Gale, her plan is to do as she has always done—focus on the customer. Gale understands that rulers will come and go but that quality and style never go out of fashion. There will always be a market and a need for The Courteney Boot Company and the company will live on.

Brittain Ladd is a globally recognized thought leader on strategy, M&A, and business.

I am recognized globally as a thought leader and expert in digital supply chain management, Business Model Transformation, e-commerce, cross-border trade, operations, omni-channel retail and strategy. I have hands-on experience living and working in India, China, Latin Ameri.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Uganda 2018

Aug 7, 2018 | News

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Uganda 2018
By Jofie Lamprecht

As I descended through the clouds to land in Nairobi, I finally understood why Ernest Hemingway called his famous book The Green Hills of Africa. The swelling and shifting cumulonimbus clouds floated over these green hills about which so much is written and romanticized by those who coined and made the word “safari” famous. For me, this was just a layover on the way to a destination referred to by Winston Churchill as the “Pearl of Africa”, the old stomping grounds of Idi Amin.

Fast forward a week. I was overlooking the spectacular vista of the eight Virunga Volcanoes – one glowingly active, the highest volcano towering 15,000 feet on the horizon. A fire was crackling in the hearth to keep out the cold at 7,000 feet, and soothe a sore body after the previous day’s trek – a whole day with the incredible gorillas. It was one of those ‘bucket-list’ items many have on their list and, sadly, few ever realize.

Jim and I have known each other since 2004. With six Namibian safaris, both hunting and photographic, Tanzania and now Uganda. Jim has had the privilege of hunting all of the Big Five, and six of the Dangerous Seven. His excuse for not shooting a crocodile was that “my house is full – and I am NOT moving.” He has fulfilled his African hunting aspirations, and at 69 is still in love with the continent, and wants to explore more of it.

I arrived in Entebbe – the original capital of Uganda – at 22:00 on the first night, sans check-in luggage. The lights of the plentiful bars lit the streets, the presidential palace illuminating the night sky, overpowering and unnecessary. I was happy to see Jim at our guesthouse for a nightcap before the safari started in earnest the following day.

The morning light brought the sound of beautiful birdlife. Birds a-plenty with common names that I knew, but not the specific sub-species. After a hearty and very healthy breakfast we made our way to the airport to fly to our destination.
Our accommodations were high up on the hill with a spectacular view sweeping over the plains and the seemingly endless Lake Victoria below.
“Any hippo or crocs in Lake Victoria?” I asked our driver.
“Yes… there are a few crocs, but if they are seen they are saved and taken to the zoo!” This was not the answer I wa expecting. With my vehement distaste for zoos, I was not impressed that these animals were incarcerated for the rest of their lives just for being where they naturally belong.

A scheduled flight took us over a very rural and agricultural Uganda to Kasese. Jim and I were both surprised to see that all we flew over was agricultural land – small plots cut into the red Ugandan soil with a multitude of different crops growing in the fertile soil, subsistence agriculture supplying most of the food for the population. Forty-two million people inhabit this country, a third the size of my native Namibia. The country is 241,038 km² (150,000 miles2). (Three times smaller than Texas.) On a firm grass landing strip we were met by our driver and guide, Mali.

There are two types of roads in Uganda – bad and worse. The asphalt version has giant potholes in it, and speeding is next to impossible. And then you hit the speed bumps, just to slow you down a little more. Scheduled flights are both affordable and strongly recommended to save you from the worst of these roads.

We spent our first night on the edge of an extinct volcanic crater lake at the foot of the Rwenzori Mountains. I loved the quaint and very different lodge, and understood why it was built where it was, and the vision that the owners had when building it, with the mist, the sun, the clouds, and the view. A real treat was their homemade goats-cheese and locally sourced honey. In the afternoon, we explored the nearby village.

In Uganda one has to pre-book permits to see both chimpanzees and gorillas – and there are two options – trekking and habituation. Trekking simply means a hike in, have about an hour with the primates, and then the hike out. Habituation is a much more intense hike in, finding the primates and spending several hours with them, watching them interact, feed and just being the primates they are.

For both chimpanzees and gorillas we opted for the habituation experience, and bought permits for both trips.

In the black pre-dawn we followed the lights of the Cruiser as we bounced our way down the road to Kibale Forest National Park. The rural subsistence farming world of Uganda was slowly lit with a soft light of the early sun.
Civilization would suddenly stop, and one was immediately plunged into pristine wilderness.

The road improved, and there was evidence of elephant and other animals. In the eerie pre-dawn, the forest looked dark and mystical, waiting to share its secrets with us – but only after some trekking on foot.

We met our armed park ranger for the day, a cheerful Jennifer, an old AK-47 slung over her shoulder as we started our trek into the forest. She occasionally used the weapon as a walking stick, barrel down. With the smells of the wet soil, the drops of water constant like rain, it was like no place I had ever been, a place where fairy tales are set – with trees displaced by forest elephant. Vibrant, colorful butterflies of every variety were everywhere. Unseen birds were vocal in the canopy through which rays of sunshine streamed.

The trees were enormous. At a particularly big tree with a yellow trunk, figs rained down from above – our first chimp sighting. We spent some time looking straight up, catching glimpses of them as they moved about picking fruit.

With stiff necks, we followed Jennifer in a different direction and found a large troop of chimps in low trees. Our habituation started in earnest – as did the photography. It was a thrilling experience to spend time with these interesting animals, especially when the dominant male made a brief appearance by climbing down the tree and walking among us.

The swiftly flowing brown flood waters of the Ishasha River gurgled by our tented camp set on its banks. Topi and Ugandan kob were plentiful. We saw seven magnificent small tree-climbing lions with distended bellies, snoozing in a fig tree,. The bird life was incredible – something I truly enjoy.

The river ran red with clay, high on the banks, swollen, its tributaries adding to its girth. Several pods of hippo were submerged in the shallow water.

In the distance, bordering the Congo, lay the daunting snow-capped Rwenzori Mountains with summits reaching 17,000 feet.

On leaving the Ishasha River area we encountered several elephant bulls. It was interesting to see both forest and savannah, in the same herd, interacting and living together – the forest elephant with their smaller physique, straight, almost translucent ivory and smaller heads, and the savannah with their gigantic bodies, curved ivory and massive heads. The transition area for this subspecies, is in the savannah plains of Uganda, and seeing this was one of the highlights of my trip.

“I survived the road up to the clouds”, is what the T-shirt should say. The road up the mountain passes was rough. Very, very rough. Cut into the side of the mountains down to the bedrock, the road was hard and bumpy. When it rained, red soil slid down the side of the steep embankments, making them slippery. We climbed from 4000 feet to over 7000, with sheer drops that looked twice as high as they really were, and there were no guard rails.

Our final lodge for this trip was literally in the clouds. A place of peace and tranquility. A place meant for recovery from the physical challenges of gorilla trekking.

On a misty morning we were given our briefing in the southern end of Bwindi Impenetrable Forest and introduced to our police and military armed escort, guide, trackers and porters. April is the rainy season in Uganda, with ground slick underfoot and many streams to cross. Physically it was challenging with the up-and-down, slip and slide, high altitude and the crossing of streams – all of this exertion to see some of the 850 highland gorillas that remain in the wild.

After three hours of the forest’s slow torture, we climbed a hill covered in foot-grabbing vines, rounded a bush and there was a juvenile gorilla, reclining on a branch looking at me, as if bored, waiting for our appearance. The walk forgotten, camera gear was spread out and covered under rain ponchos, and the photo session began.
I had no idea we could get so close. Being six feet from a 450lb silverback, with its head the size of a colossal cannon ball, is intimidating, I don’t care who you are!

I inched forward, expecting to be attacked at any second. The trekking team was ready, and I settled in to get my shots. Completely habituated, we were able to move as freely as the vines let us around these amazing animals. After an hour a mother with a newborn moved towards the silverback from thick cover. The different interactions were amazing – the tenderness when the baby came close to the massive figure of the dominant male; the reaction of the female when she disapproved of her man’s actions, swinging backhanded at the male, not hitting him, but resulting in him throwing his hands up in the air and falling theatrically on his back. There was another female with a snare-damaged hand.

Plan your trip to Uganda. It is worth the terrible roads and speed bumps, and the multiple police searches at the airport. The lodges and people are incredible, the food fantastic and the scenery truly amazing. The wildlife that coexists in the islands of remaining sanctuary is absolutely worth the trip. These animals exist, squeezed by human over-population into the last areas of this enchanted impenetrable forest.
And this wildlife will not exist if it has no value, so your trip will help keep these wild places wild.

A trip of a lifetime for me. I cannot wait to return.

Namibian-born Jofie is a licensed PH in both plains-game and dangerous-game hunting in Namibia, proud to uphold the traditions of ethical and fair-chase hunting, loving to walk Namibia’s varied terrain, from desert to high mountains to sub-tropical environments. He works hard to get his hunters close to the game, enjoys sharing his country’s wildlife and unique
environment with visitors, and has a special place in his heart for the children who come on safari. Jofie is based in Namibia’s capital city, Windhoek.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16662,16665,16661,16660″][/vc_column][/vc_row]

A Namibian Eland – a father daughter hunt

Aug 6, 2018 | News

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Namibia: 2017
A Namibian Eland – a father daughter hunt

By Sydney Pendergast
At the age of thirteen I killed my first elk. That cold November morning, which I remember clearly, began a new, lifelong love for hunting and the outdoors, a “hunting bug” fueled by my father who has enjoyed hunting here in our home state of Montana for over 37 years. His lifelong dream was to take a hunting trip to Africa, and as my senior year of high school came to a close, his lifelong dream would become a reality.
After months of careful planning, we took a father daughter trip to Namibia, to spend eight days hunting with Jamy Traut Safaris. We got on a plane in Montana, and within 24 hours were on the other side of the world. In many ways, I had no idea what to expect. When we met our guide Jaco, he suggested we each make a list of the animals we would most like to hunt. I was open-minded, since we were unsure of what we would see and what we would have the opportunity to hunt. However, when we arrived at our camp and were relaxing in the lodge, I got a better idea of what would interest me – I noticed an iPad set up with a slideshow of some of the impressive trophy animals taken by other clients. I became particularly intrigued with pictures of a massive yellowish animal. Jaco told me that it was an eland. After watching the slideshow several times, and focusing on the eland, I decided that that was what I wanted most to hunt.
It was the fourth day of my hunting trip in Namibia. Eland are the largest antelope in Africa, and I thought that their size would make them easy to spot, but the old bull that we had been hunting had proved to be difficult. Two days previously my father and I shot two animals each – a hartebeest and a gemsbok for me, and a wildebeest and a springbok for him. We felt very blessed to have been able to come to Namibia and experience such great hunting, hunting vastly different from anything that we would experience at home.
We had searched for a specific eland bull an entire day without sight of him, but were lucky enough to run into some giraffe. In Namibia, at least at Panorama Camp, it seems almost impossible to go out hunting without seeing such varied wildlife and so much of it.
We start our eland hunt today. Everyone has a good feeling about it. Panda, a brilliant tracker, keeps an eye out for eland tracks at one of the waterholes where we had started bright and early following an eland herd. From the spoor, Panda points out that there is a large bull, the bull that we have been searching for. It is impressive to watch Panda and Stephanis tracking. They know which tracks are from what species and how long ago they were made. They have no problem identifying and following those of the large bull, in spite of the countless tracks from different animals all crisscrossing the trail.
We end up walking quietly along for two or three hours, me wondering what is in store. The eland, because of their size, can travel a great distance in no time at all, and it is obvious that we are far behind. If they do not stop, we won’t be able to find them. Soon the sun is blazing down, and I am sweating, pestered by a fly, its persistent buzzing the only sound apart from our soft footfalls in the red sand. Suddenly, Jaco spots something. We strain to see, peering through our binoculars, and Panda climbs a tree for a better view. We finally see a herd on a sand dune very far away, and decide to take the truck to get closer, and then realize that it is the very herd we have been seeking. The bull is with them!
As soon as we got close enough we began our stalk. There were several eland visible, standing on the top of a sand dune near some trees. We had some cover from trees and small bushes, but there was also a lot of open space. We would have to crawl a long way to get close enough to them, while using the scarce cover to avoid being spotted.
As we began to approach, walking hunched over at first, we realized that there was a lone gemsbok standing under a tree between us and the eland. He stared at us before deciding to run off, fortunately heading away from the herd. We were all relieved – he could so easily have spoilt our hunt. We continued, moving very slowly, and at noon we decided to sit under a bush and wait, hoping that during the hot part of the day, the eland would relax and settle.
I lay back on the prickly African grass trying to calm down. I had sore knees and aching back, and several cuts on my hands from crawling through the bush. I was nervous, but the sun on my face and the peaceful silence helped me unwind. Hunting takes much patience. Finally, after moving along again slowly for a half an hour, we settled behind a bush around 240 yards away from our target. We couldn’t get much closer without being spotted.
Jaco set up a tripod, and I put my gun on it, kneeling for the shot. The bull was massive, with very worn-down horns and a face that had become bluish-gray with age. He stood broadside, then moved behind a tree before I could get a shot. He makes me wait. There was a cow in front of him, and another lying in the shade of a tree 30 yards to his right. The hot sun is in my eyes, and I was covered in a thin layer of sweat and dust. I took some deep breaths and readied myself, waiting to get a good shot.
Through the scope I watched him stand on his hind legs to pick some leaves off a tree. It seemed like ages. Finally, he is in my crosshairs; the bright afternoon sunlight is shining on my scope. I stop breathing. Time seemed to slow down as I squeezed the trigger. I heard the sound that I was hoping for, as my bullet hit him solidly. He disappeared over the sand dune with the rest of the herd. By the time they made it to the other side, we were on the top of the dune with guns ready. He was weakening fast, and the rest of the eland were moving steadily away. Finally, he just stopped, I shot once more, and he fell. The one that we had been searching for was dead at my feet. A picture cannot do such a powerful animal justice. As we took photos in the hot Namibian sun, I once again felt truly blessed to be able to experience such a trip. I could not have been happier with the hunt.
That day, and for the rest of my safari at the Panorama Camp, I was reminded again and again of the impressive beauty and power of nature. In Namibia, a hunter can experience an adventure that is truly unparalleled. Each hunt was a fulfilling experience for both of us. Over our eight days I took a hartebeest, a gemsbok, an eland, and a waterbuck. My father got a black wildebeest, a hartebeest, a gemsbok, a kudu, and even an ostrich. He also had time to bowhunt, taking two springbok with a recurve.
But it was not just the trophies that made our safari so special. On the first day we had met a group of strangers – by the end of the week our hosts felt like family. We spent our days hunting with Jaco and Stefanis. At night we gathered around the dinner table, eating and talking for hours with the family and friends, exchanging stories, getting to know each other more and more.
It was difficult to say goodbye. On our last day in Namibia, we promised all the special people we had met that we would return someday. Although we live halfway across the world, we had started to feel at home hunting on the plains of Namibia. We dream of going back someday, as soon as possible. As I look back on my trip to Africa, I am thankful to have been fortunate enough to have had such a wonderful experience. I hope that one day soon my father and I will have another chance to watch the sunset in Namibia.
Bio:
Sydney is currently a pre-pharmacy major at the University of Montana in Missoula MT. Along with hunting, she enjoys lifting weights, skiing, and (sometimes) going running. She likes to read books and also spend time with friends she made in college. When she graduates from college, Sydney hopes to take her Dad on a trip back to Namibia to celebrate![/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16497,16496,16495,16494,16493,16492″][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Crouching Lion, Hidden Hunters…

Aug 2, 2018 | News

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Crouching Lion, Hidden Hunters…
By Thomas Newcomb
I had always heard that you are never afraid when a lion charged you! It happens so fast, you react instinctively and won’t have time to get nervous. I had been charged by several Cape buffalo, and chased by more elephants than I can count, but never by a lion, so I had no reason to argue. In all previous encounters, the faster they happened, the less the stress. To me, there is nothing worse than waiting outside a hopeless tangle of vegetation for the buffalo you’d just shot to weaken or die before you go look for him. It’s the waiting that is hard.
My wife Vickie and I had traveled to Tanzania. There we met up with my old hunting partner Natie Oelofse. We had been on many safaris with Natie. We met him in 1990 on our second safari, a rhino hunt in South Africa, followed by an exploratory hunt to Mozambique in the Marromeu Delta. We were the first hunters to be allowed there after the war between the Frelimo and Renamo factions had finished killing each other. With all the excitement and danger we faced on that hunt, we became fast friends. When we weren’t hunting together, Natie and his wife Corné would spend time at our house in Tennessee, and we would visit at their home in Arusha.
I didn’t keep track, but we had probably been on at least 10 safaris together. We had killed the Big Five and many buffalo. Now we were on the track of what we hoped was a big bull elephant. Natie had bought the Wengert Windrose Safari Company. As the owner and the boss, he could do what we wanted as long as we obeyed the Tanzanian game laws. And what we wanted was a good adventure to spend with our wives, and both Corné and Vickie were accomplished big-game hunters and wing shots.
We set off in our Land Cruiser with our wives, Kariba, Natie’s fearless hawk-eyed tracker, a cook, and a skinner. We were traveling light and fast. Our Land Cruiser was full of fuel, a drum of water, rice, and cornmeal, beer and Scotch. We would shoot game for meat. Robert Ruark would be proud. My wife had a 21-day license. At that time you could shoot three buffalo, a leopard, a lion, and an elephant among all the usual plains game. We had hunted for 10 days or so, gradually getting used to the 10-15 miles a day you put in tracking and running from elephants. Anyone that has hunted elephants probably knows what I’m talking about.
My wife’s rifle of choice was a Winchester Model .70 African .375 H&H with which I have seen her shoot a running guinea fowl. My rifle and Natie’s were always the same. We each had .470 SxS from Austria, .416 Remington Mags from Conco Arms, and SxS Browning 20 gauge shotguns for sandgrouse. In the States we each carried a Glock 23. We thought if something went bump in the night we could grab whatever weapon was closest and know how it worked.
It was a typical day in the Selous, cold first thing in the morning. We got up from our fly camp, had a breakfast of ugali (a local porridge) and coffee, and headed off to find a big bull elephant. Riding in the back of the Land Cruiser we wore gloves, sweaters, and scarves. A couple of hours later we were down to T-shirts. We had stalked probably 10 bulls in the first 10 days, only to get in a good shooting position and decide they were too small, hence illegal. Very exciting, but very frustrating. When we very close to elephants, Natie made us take off our shoes, and stalk closer in just socks. My first thought was if I had to run I would get thorns in my feet. And I was right, but I never noticed them until I was safely seated back in the Land Cruiser, after running madly from enraged cow elephants.
It was while we were stalking what we hoped would be a good bull elephant that we saw a large lion dart off into the high grass about 100 yards from us. We were so intent on seeing the tusks on the elephant, we had not seen him until he ran. We made a mental note to check out the lion if the elephant turned out to not be a shooter – which he wasn’t – so we went back to where the lion was when we last saw him. And in the high grass we found a dead buffalo cow the lion had been feeding on.
“He’ll be back, we’ll wait,” said Natie. We backed up from the dead cow across a little clearing. We couldn’t see the buffalo, but we could see most of the angles the cat would have to approach from, so we sat in the shade under a tree to wait. Once we sat down, we couldn’t see anything – the grass was too high! What to do?
“I’ll climb the tree,” Natie said to me. “You wait at the bottom with the girls, and when the lion comes back you stand up, put up the shooting sticks, and Vic can shoot it.” OK, there was no other way. Natie’s .470 was at the base of the tree, with him squatting in the fork like a big baboon. Vic, Corné, Kariba, and I were lying in the grass at the base of the tree. We waited about an hour.
“Thomas, he’s back,” Natie hissed from above. I looked at my wife.
“Are you ready?” She nodded, her eyes shining with excitement. I have never seen her afraid. We stood, and I put up the shooting sticks. She rested the .375 on them.
“Can you see him?” I asked. The lion was facing broadside and tearing at the buffalo hide. She nodded. “Yes, should I shoot?” “Wait until he is still, then fire.”
She waited a few seconds. Then the lion had his two front paws on the side of the buffalo. We could see him clearly, his chest and shoulders fully exposed. He turned his head toward us and it seemed as if those yellow eyes looked right at us.
“Shoot him,” I said. The .375 boomed and the cat jumped straight up in the air like a frightened house cat. That’s when I made a mistake. I fired my .470 at the lion while he was in the air, and missed. When the cat hit the ground he knew where we were, and who had hurt him. He was now coming for us.
My wife’s first shot had broken his left shoulder. He hit the ground running straight to us, growling with every bound. Natie was in the tree yelling, “Wait Tom, wait!” He knew I only had one round left in my double and it would have to be our last chance when the lion was on us, but my wife’s .375 cracked again. The lion kept coming. He was charging toward us, but fortunately his left leg was flopping because his left shoulder was broken. Again the .375 went off while Natie was still yelling, “Wait, Tom, wait!” Vic had hit the lion, but he was still coming.
All our practice and experience was paying off. Vic never took the rifle from her shoulder and was working the bolt. Again the .375 went off and this time the cat faltered, turning on his side, and Vic hit him again. It was over. Natie jumped out of the tree and the three of us cautiously approached the now still lion. He was gone. We all heaved sighs of relief.
I remember reading a story once where at SCI an old PH was listening to new PHs discussing where you shoot a charging lion. One young boy said you aim at the bottom of his chest, while another said no, you aim at the black of the nose. The discussion went on and on, until the old PH, having heard all he could stand, walked over to the new guys and asked, “Have either of you ever seen a charging lion?” They both sheepishly said, “No.” The old PH smiled. “When the lion charges, you aim at the front and keep shooting,” he said.
I think he was right. We recreated the event from the tracks in the sand. Vic’s first shot was at 60 yards and she made a perfect shoulder shot, breaking the left shoulder. When I shot and missed, the lion came for us on three legs and covered 10 yards per bound. He made four leaps towards us and dropped at around 20 steps from us. Vic had hit him twice as he charged, the first around the edges of the hips, and the second was a good frontal chest shot. When he rolled over the final time, I had shot him through the spine for insurance.
The whole event may have taken 10 seconds, if that. Vic’s hands never shook until we started to take pictures. The adrenaline pump, was over and now she could relax. We all could. Natie summed it up: “The best day of your life you never want to do again.”[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16648,16647,16646,16645″][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Free-Range Hunting in the Eastern Cape

Aug 2, 2018 | News

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Free-Range Hunting in the Eastern Cape
By Vanessa Harrop

You never know what kind of hidden gem you will find, until you expand your horizons.
TJ and I had already experienced and enjoyed several typical plains game safaris, but we now wanted something a little different. We just didn’t know what it was until, at the Africa Hunting Show in Calgary, a small picture of a hunter with a Barbary sheep caught our eye. We stopped, and Raymond Kemp and Edward Wilson of Lalapa Safaris introduced themselves. After speaking with them for a while, we got really excited. Not only did they offer hunts that were a little different, they had some totally unique hunts that we’d never considered.
Lalapa specializes in free-range and indigenous species, and also offers hunts for all 40-plus species in the Eastern Cape. We ended up booking a hunt for Vaal rhebok, mountain reedbuck, Barbary sheep, blue duiker, caracal, bushbuck and bush pig. It would start at Lalapa’s main lodge near Cathcart and then move down closer to Grahamstown to finish our adventure. And what made us even more excited were some of the unusual hunts Ray planned for us. He suggested blue duiker over a small pool deep in dense forest; caracal with hounds; bush pig with infrared, and spending a few nights in the mountains for Barbary sheep. Hunts all new to us, and all free-range.
All our previous South African hunts had been in the heart of the Kalahari in the North West Province. We never expected the Eastern Cape to be so incredibly diverse, with landscapes ranging from the dry and desolate Great Karoo, to the lush forests of the Wild Coast and the Keiskamma Valley; the fertile Langkloof, renowned for its rich apple harvests, to the mountainous southern Drakensberg region. From the endless beaches and craggy bays of the coastline, the province gradually crosses an interior of grassland, rivers and dense forests to reach its northern boundary in the majestic Drakensberg. And the animals available to hunt were no less diverse, each carving out their own niche in this varied landscape.
The Eastern Cape region was settled by the British in 1820 and one only need drive through the countryside and chat with the locals to see that British influence is still very strong today. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you are in Africa when you look out over the lush, green, rolling hills dotted with sheep and cattle. Although there are fenced hunting ranches in the region, there are vast areas of open farm and ranch land where wildlife still flourishes. Those that believe there’s no free-range hunting left in South Africa have never been to the Eastern Cape.
Our first few days were spent hunting Vaal rhebok and mountain reedbuck, and TJ managed to take very respectable animals of both species. It was a great way to acclimatize to the elevation before heading to the more rugged Stormberg Mountains to scout for Barbary sheep. It was Ray’s plan to check out the area and, if need be, return with camping gear for a couple days of spike camping. Barbary sheep were originally brought to the Stormberg from Chad in the early 1960s. They were kept behind a high fence until 1994, when the property was converted to a cattle ranch and the fence fell into disrepair. The Barbary sheep rapidly expanded their numbers and range, and now there is a large herd of approximately 1,000 free-ranging sheep in that area.
As we headed up the mountain behind the main ranch buildings, the terrain became very rough and rocky. Vegetation was sparse, but to my surprise there was some water, with flowing creeks in several of the draws. After ascending the steep terrain in the Land Cruiser for a couple of hours, we parked and headed off on foot. A couple of trackers spotted a large herd of sheep right away, so we went for a look.
The rut was just kicking in and there were several large rams with the ewes. Ray picked out what appeared to be the best one and we made a hurried stalk. At 80 yards I put a big ram down with the .338. As they headed off toward an adjacent mountain, Edward counted 87 sheep in total.
Ray had a good idea where they were headed, so after dealing with my ram, we drove another hour or so and then headed off on foot over two more mountains before spotting the sheep again. They’d split into two groups and we were looking at about 20 and there was one exceptional ram in the group. Directly between us and the sheep were blesbok, black wildebeest, mountain reedbuck, fallow deer, Vaal rhebok and about a dozen Cape Mountain zebra. Ray decided to drive around the mountain and meet us near where the sheep currently were. We would continue on foot and try to get to the sheep. It would take several hours to drive around, and would be nearly dark before he got there. We figured we had little chance of scoring on two rams in one day, but Edward and the trackers were keen to give it a try.
As expected, the zebra spooked as we topped the final ridge and scattered the sheep. They headed over the next mountain, and with the truck now gone, all we could do was follow, in the hope they stopped. We descended into a deep canyon and as we were coming up the far side, we ran right into the sheep that had at some point returned. Spooked by our sudden appearance, they ran across another valley and started up into the cliffs. We scrambled to get up above the creek and TJ found an ant hill to rest the rifle on. The big ram was at 460 yards and he was still climbing. As TJ pulled the stock to his shoulder, the ram was now close to 500 yards. He settled the crosshair on the ram’s shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The big ram dropped right on the spot and tumbled a hundred or so yards down the hill. Our three-day sheep hunt had turned into one day. For all the hunts that never work as planned, you learn to take luck when it comes your way.
We had a few extra days to kill before we headed south for the second half of our adventure. It had been my birthday a couple days previously, so TJ asked me what I’d like to hunt for a birthday present – I chose a black springbok. So, early the next day we headed to a neighboring farm, and after playing hide-and-seek with one exceptional ram for much of the morning, around noon I finally got in position on a high point above him. The ram was standing in the shade under a tree at 240 yards and, once comfortable on the sticks, I gently squeezed the trigger and the ram was down – my best impromptu birthday present ever.
With our wish list filled and still two days remaining before heading for the coast, we decided to add a couple more species to the list with bows. We fixed up a blind and sat at a waterhole for a day. Though many impala, eland and mountain reedbuck came in, we opted not to take anything the first day.
The next afternoon we went back to the bow blind. Eventually two big warthogs appeared. They drank for several minutes then shuffled off to eat grass. Finally the larger of the two offered a broadside shot at 36 yards. I slowly raised my bow and let the arrow fly. But the boar jumped the string and the arrow caught him quite far back. I was devastated, but we picked up blood immediately and called in the reinforcements. Penny and Mechanic, two incredible blood-tracking dogs came to the rescue, and before long I had my big warthog.
The following day we headed toward the coast with our new PH, Ross. Our destination was an amazing tent camp perched high above a waterhole that had lion and elephant and loads of plains game as regular visitors. After dinner we headed out to hunt bush pigs. Ross had two baits going, both with huge boars on them. Bush pig was on my wish list, and we were going to be hunting with a rifle equipped with infrared technology. The first evening, at about 10:00 p.m. we heard a group of pigs starting to make their way to the bait, but at the last minute, the wind swirled, and they got our scent, sending them scurrying away.
The following morning we sat at a blue duiker blind. A good male made a brief appearance but offered no opportunity for a shot. We hunted bushbuck at mid-day and ended up passing on a great male at about 30 yards, a decision that would later haunt us. We saw large numbers of kudu, impala, eland and zebra, and some truly spectacular waterbuck and nyala – we are still wondering why we didn’t decide to add those last two to the list. That afternoon we sat at the blue duiker blind again but had no luck. They had been coming regularly into water before we arrived, but some unseasonably hot temperatures seemed to have interrupted their schedule.
Back to the lodge for a quick dinner, then out to the bush pig blind. We’d been sitting for about an hour when I saw Ross point to his ear. I heard nothing, but Ross said he could hear the pigs crunching corn, about 70 yards away. I quietly reached up and switched on the IR scope, and there were seven pigs at the bait. Much to my chagrin, the big boar was hidden behind the piglets. It took every ounce of patience not to shoot, but eventually I had a clear shot and dropped him on the spot.
I enjoy hunting cougar with hounds in Canada, and when I learnt we could hunt caracal with hounds in the Eastern Cape, I was beyond excited. As with cougars, hunting caracal needs an expert houndsman with a skilled pack of hounds, and that’s where Jeff Ford entered the picture. Jeff has run two packs of hunting dogs for almost 20 years in the region. The hounds were controlled by two dedicated houndsmen, Tim Mbambosi and Maron Fihlani. Jeff uses his hounds to hunt both caracal and jackal in the dense bush and often extremely rugged broken terrain.
Jeff’s dogs head out with their handlers each morning before sunrise. Typically, they will receive a call from local farmers who have either lost livestock to predators or have heard the bark of a bushbuck in the vicinity, and they will begin the search there. As this is all dry land tracking, the handlers must work meticulously through the area until the dogs strike on a scent. Because of Jeff’s success in controlling these predators, small game species such as oribi, blue duiker, Cape grysbok and Cape bushbuck have flourished in the area.
As the morning sun was just starting to rise, a blanket of mist shrouded the lower-lying areas and we got a call from Jeff that the hounds were on a caracal. We raced to the meet location, only to be told that the caracal had jumped from the tree and been killed by the hounds. But, Jeff’s other houndsman, Maron, was out looking for a scent so we headed toward his location.
We could hear the hounds in the distance, working the trail in the bottom of a very steep canyon. The footing was treacherous, and I fell on my butt several times on the way down the steep slope. It was more of a controlled slide, with branches and vines slapping my face as I skidded down. Once in the bottom, we hit a rocky creek that was surrounded by a nearly impenetrable wall of thick vegetation and vines. Dropping to our hands and knees and squeezing our way through the heavy bush, I could hear Jeff and Ross further down the ravine, with Maron and the hounds off in the distance. I pushed myself harder to shorten the distance, my breath running ragged and the sweat pouring down the sides of my face and my back.
By now, we could clearly hear the dogs barking, followed by a deep baying that sent chills up my spine! I finally caught up to the group and was quickly prodded on. Ross whispered that we had to get there quickly before the cat jumped the tree. The noise from the dogs intensified into a crescendo, and I knew the cat was treed. We needed to sneak in unnoticed or the cat would jump for sure, so we crawled on hands and knees until I could just make it out high up in the tree. Ross handed me the shotgun and I managed to catch what little breath I had left, took aim and pulled the trigger. Hunting a caracal had always been a dream and doing it free-range with hounds was more than I could have ever imagined.
We realized that the more we hunt South Africa, the less we know. I had just assumed that all South Africa was the same as the North West Province, but I now know that South Africa, in particular the Eastern Cape, is incredibly varied both in terrain and huntable species. If you want to have a truly unique and diverse adventure, you need look no further than the Eastern Cape. And, if you believe that there is no true free-range hunting remaining in South Africa, you have obviously never been to the Eastern Cape.
For more information, check out Lalapa Hunting Safaris at www.lalapasafaris.co.za[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16627,16628,16629,16630,16631,16632,16633,16634,16635,16636,16637,16638″][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Warthogs Not Just Any Pig

Aug 2, 2018 | News

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Warthogs – Not Just Any Pig
By Archie Landals

Our magical first trip to Africa was in September 2011. My wife Carole and I were on a two-week photo safari of Namibia. The attractions were spectacular, from the iconic red sand dunes in Namib Naukluft Park to the lesser-known fascinating petroglyphs at Twyfelfontein, designated as Namibia’s first World Heritage Site in 2007. The more than 2500 rock carvings were made by the ancestors of the San (Bushmen) and date back more than 2000 years.

Large mugs of hot coffee to combat the chilly morning were served as we embarked on a boat tour in Walvis Bay that allowed us to get up close and personal with seals and pelicans that came onboard for handouts. The plankton-rich waters of Walvis Bay enables oysters to be harvested after eight months compared with three years in other parts of the world. We were treated to oysters, both raw and cooked, and empty coffee mugs were regularly refilled, and fine South African sherry was on offer.

Etosha National Park was our first great wildlife viewing opportunity. I only needed to look out of the bus window at the constantly changing scenery to be enthralled – everything was new and exciting. We photographed many species of plains game and four of the Big Five – Cape buffalo are not in the park. The first few days I spotted gemsbok, ostrich and a distant herd of mountain zebra. Springbok were everywhere. And I saw my first warthogs. My initial experience with warthog meat was on a braai at Taleni Etosha Village. It was delicious!

Back in Canada we traded emails with PH and guide Louw van Zyl, owner of Track a Trails Safaris, and settled a 12-day package that would give us 10 days of hunting and two travel days. Four trophies were included in the package: kudu, oryx, impala and warthog. I was determined to shoot a kudu and thought I would be content with one other trophy. I rather liked the idea of a springbok as a second smaller trophy.

Initially, I had no interest in shooting a warthog. “Why do you want to shoot a warthog?” friends asked. I really had no answer, but Carole kept telling me they were so ugly they were beautiful. “You need to shoot one,” she convinced me.

In 2012, our hunting destination was Aandster Farm, a six-hour drive from Windhoek, about an hour east of Grootfontein in north-eastern Namibia, in the Kalahari Bushveld. The ancient, low relief dunes of the Bushveld are covered with thick scrub, most of which has sharp thorns. The only open areas are a few old fields that have reverted to what now looks like grassland savanna. These fields are renewed by periodic burning, giving habitat favored by springbok and impala.

It was the dry season, and Stephan Jacobs, the owner of Aandster, told us that the only likelihood of finding a warthog was at a waterhole. He was right. Over the next few days as we tracked kudu, we saw glimpses of warthogs as they hightailed it through the thick scrub and grass. Although I tried to convince myself that I saw tusks, I am sure there was not a good boar among them. These were not like the rather docile warthogs we had seen in Etosha where they lived a life of leisure, habituated to the traffic along the main roads in a protected area.

There were half a dozen man-made waterholes at Aandster, several of them with tree stands. We climbed one in the middle of the day, but saw little.

On Day 7, we drove to a neighboring farm. It was seldom hunted and we hoped to find good warthog boars. A large tank in a remote part of the farm stored water for filling cattle troughs. It leaked, causing mud holes that attracted the wildlife. We built a ground blind of Kalahari Apple-leaf and settled in and spent a magical afternoon watching wildlife and listening to the birds. Giraffe, jackal and warthog all came to drink. A kudu bull effortlessly jumped the fence around the water trough. There were flocks of guinea fowl, doves, grouse and songbirds. A herd of about 20 Nguni cattle came to drink. An indigenous African breed, they are truly beautiful animals, with hides of many colors and patterns. Memories came flooding back a year later when I watched the highlights of the funeral of Nelson Mandela. His casket was draped with the hide of a magnificent Nguni bull.

We saw a lot of warthogs, mostly sows and piglets, and a few boars that I decided to pass in the hopes of a better one, though towards dusk I was starting to regret that I had not shot one of them. Then just before dark, Louw confirmed a decent boar and suggested that I take it. I could not get a clear view from where I sat and decided to stand and use the shooting sticks. After sitting for seven hours my legs would not work and I almost fell on my head. Controlling my laughter and getting my legs under me, I steadied the borrowed .300 Winchester Magnum on the shooting sticks and made the shot. Photos done, we loaded the pig and went back for supper and Amarula around the fire.

The following day we built a ground blind at one of the waterholes at Aandster hoping to get a warthog for my brother. Shortly before five a herd of blesbok, including one good ram, came for a drink. Louw said I could take it if I wished, and quickly got me on the sticks. Just before the ram disappeared behind the brush, I added him to my growing list of trophies, now six. I am not sure what happened to settling for a kudu and one small trophy!

Oscar, our driver, dropped us off at the tree stand on his way to the skinning shed with the blesbok. Warthogs were soon sneaking out of the bush toward the waterhole, and just before dark a good boar came for a drink, but was hidden behind the bow blind that obscured part of the water hole. Eventually it headed back towards the trees, and my brother was able to take it. Those big boars were extremely wary, only arriving to feed or drink after dark.

My brother decided that he wanted a blesbok as well, and the next morning he took a good ram. We decided to make the drive back to Windhoek over two days to avoid a 4 a.m. start to get there in time for our flight. Waterberg Guest Farm, about half way to Windhoek was a great place to stop. On an afternoon game drive, we watched herds of oryx and hartebeest with their calves. The oryx calves already had well-developed horns. Spotting and photographing the diminutive Damara dik-dik was a bonus. A magical sundowner watching the flamingoes as the sun set blood-red behind the mountains was a perfect end to an exciting first hunt in Africa.

A visit to the local taxidermist was not necessary after our hunt. We had met Casper Oosthuizen at his studio the year before while on our photo safari. One of his staff picked up our trophies from Aandster. The warthog now hangs on the wall with our other trophies. The open mouth showing the needle-sharp lower tusks gives the warthog a rather rakish grin. He is the first animal noticed and talked about by our non-hunting friends. Those that hunt agree that he is a fine trophy worth every hunter’s attention. The kids, of course, know him affectionately as Pumba, the Disney character from The Lion King.

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