Aug 2, 2018 | News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]A Tailgate and a Trip
By Matt Shaw
“There’s your cat! You will have to try him from here. He will be sitting facing us. Just put the crosshairs on his eyes,” whispered my PH Garth. We had been out night hunting for the last two and a half hours. I flexed my fingers to get some feeling back into my hands, (riding around in the cold wind of the Mpumalanga Province of South Africa at night in the back of the Land Cruiser was not what I had had in mind while packing back home in Alberta) brought the rifle up, found a solid rest, and slowly squeezed the trigger…
This was my second trip to South Africa. My first safari was to the Eastern Cape, which was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime. But as that safari wound down I knew that I would be back, stalking the majestic animals of Africa again at some point in my life – I just had no idea that it would be in less than two years.
I had dreamt of hunting Africa since I was 10 years old, and because of this I talked to every African Outfitter I could find at the various Sportsman shows around Alberta, and I even started visiting the Africa Shows held in Edmonton and Calgary. I became friends with some of the outfitters and enjoyed visiting with them when they were in town. In January of 2016, The Africa Show was held in Calgary. I attended, and went out for drinks and dinner with a couple of outfitter friends after the show closed. We shared stories of the past season’s hunting adventures, and when we left the restaurant later on, discovered that someone had decided to steal the tailgate from my new truck.
I was ANGRY like you wouldn’t believe, because the truck was less than three months old – it replaced the truck that had been stolen out of my driveway in the fall! The next day, while sitting on the couch and growing angrier with every ad I looked at for used tailgates (they aren’t cheap) my cell phone rang. It was Birgit from The Africa Show telling me that I had won the door prize, a 7-day Safari with Legelela Safaris in the Free State of South Africa! Miraculously my mood improved, and to this day I say that I will gladly trade a tailgate for a trip to Africa!
A year and a half later I was headed back to Africa with my good friend Brent who was joining me on his first safari. We would be hunting in the Free State, Mpumalanga and KwaZulu-Natal for 10 days, looking for a variety of plains game as well as the serval I wanted. We would also be crossing off another bucket list item for me, as we were going to spend a day angling for Tiger fish while we were there.
And now, here I was in the cold and dark, with a chance to finally get my cat.
I lined the crosshairs of the scope onto the serval’s eyes, and slowly squeezed the trigger of Garth’s .375 loaded with a solid. The rifle kicked up at the shot, and there was a solid “Whap.” “You got him, he dropped!” was Garth’s somewhat surprised exclamation. I stayed where I made the shot so that we would not lose the location in the dark and could guide Brent and the ranch owner up the hill to the spot. Meantime, I asked Garth why he was surprised that I had made the shot. “A 200-yard shot at night is something that most people miss, especially when they are doing it for the first time,” he said.
After a quick search, the serval was found right where he had dropped. While waiting for the other two to collect the cat, I asked Garth why you would shoot a small animal like a serval with a .375 H&H.
“Loaded with a solid, the large caliber would do less damage than a smaller caliber like a .223 loaded with a soft bullet,” he explained. I couldn’t believe how beautiful the spotted cat was when I finally got my first up close look at him. He was long and lean with an absolutely gorgeous coat. We took a few field photos, and Garth said we would take more detailed trophy pictures the following morning in daylight.
We continued to hunt that evening, and Brent almost took a jackal, but it disappeared into a valley full of long grass, never to be seen again. We were out again the following evening. This time I was armed with my bow, and the goal was to try for a steenbok. I had declined one on the first day of my previous safari, and had never had another chance. I had regretted that decision over the last two years, as those tiny antelope are beautiful. We attempted several stalks but I wasn’t able to get a shot off. There was a full moon, so that allowed the animals to see me off to one side drawing my bow while Garth held the spotlight on the animal. Brent had another close call that night as we spooked some bush pigs in a corn field, but we weren’t able to chase them out. They just circled Garth in the corn before disappearing.
Hunting at night was a great experience as it is not something that we are able to do in Alberta. It gave us the opportunity to see a totally different group of animals that we would not see by daylight. Some of them were caracal, jackal, steenbok, porcupine and springhare.
After hunting for three days, and doing the two night hunts, Brent had taken a blue and a black wildebeest, and I got my serval. We had several close calls on zebra and fallow deer, the latter now being bred in South Africa, but ended up leaving them for the next trip, and headed to a new lodge for spiral-horned animals in thicker bushveld. The drive went smoothly, with Garth stopping along the way to pick up some delicious biltong for us to enjoy. Brent was somewhat leery of the dried meat as he had misheard, and thought we were eating bull tongue. This was quickly sorted out, and the bag of biltong didn’t last long.
At the new lodge we settled in quickly and headed out for a drive to see what we could find before the sun set. It didn’t take long to start seeing different game that first evening – giraffe, impala, kudu cows and buffalo – leaving us excited for the next morning. We hunted hard the next few days, with me sitting in a blind by a water source, and walking and stalking nyala with my bow, but with no success for me. (Nothing new for a bowhunter!) I was enjoying the challenge and was seeing lots of game. Brent was able to take a nice mature kudu bull and a cool, non-typical blesbok.
Before we knew it, we had been in Africa for a week, and it was time to go and see if the fish were biting. We left at dawn as we had to drive for a couple of hours to get to the reservoir where we would be fishing, and wanted to be out on the water nice and early. I have been fascinated by Tiger fish since seeing one in the trophy room of some good friends at home in Alberta, and couldn’t wait for the chance to hook one of these underwater predators. At the boat launch in the bay we were leaving from we were greeted by an ornery bull hippo. He marked his territory, then submerged and appeared to leave the bay. We hopped onto the pontoon boat and slowly made our way out onto the lake. Right as we were leaving the mouth of the bay I spotted the hippo running back into the water, and alerted Brent. The hippo then decided to charge the boat. (It really is amazing how wide they can open their mouths.) Garth was shouting
“Go! Go! Go!” Garth shouted to our captain as Brent and I watched and fumbled for our cameras. The hippo managed to get so close to our boat that I probably could have reached out and hit him with one of the paddles. Brent and I laughed as the hippo finally fell back, as our boat got up on plane. Then Brent noticed the look on Garths’ face. He didn’t seem to think it was as cool as we did, and proceeded to tell us that the hippo would have had no trouble flipping our 20-foot pontoon boat over, tossing us into the water, and possibly attacking us.
That was the most excitement that we had that day. The fishing turned out great, and we were able to land 13 Tigers and had at least that many that got away. It proved to be a challenge for me to set the hook into the hard mouths of these fish as I am used to being gentler with a small hook and flyrod. Brent and I landed the majority of the fish with Garth only able to bring one into the boat. At the end of the day we were all a little apprehensive about what we might find in the bay, but the belligerent hippo was nowhere to be found.
After our great day of fishing we were down to three hunting days. Brent and I each managed to take a few more great trophies, thanks to Garth. I took a very nice springbok, which just happened to be my birthday gift from my wife. This animal was at the top of my list, because despite trying very hard on my first safari, I had failed to get one. I wrapped the trip up by taking a beautiful nyala on our last afternoon. After taking some pictures and getting him up to the skinning shed, I was able to spend the last evening enjoying one of Africa’s amazing sunsets and reflecting on all of the great memories made over the past week and a half.
This trip was first class from the moment we arrived at the airport and were picked up by one of Reinier’s guides. The accommodations and the food were all exceptional as was the quality of the animals that we saw and took during our stay. Our PH Garth Lee was amazing, easy to get along with, and really determined that we had the experience of our lives. On our way home, Brent and I were already discussing plans for a return trip to Africa with Legelela Safaris.
I would like to thank a few people for making this trip possible. Thanks to the people who continue to put on The Africa Shows here in Canada, despite the challenges posed by various anti-hunting groups. A huge thank you to Reinier Linde of Legelela Safaris for generously donating this hunt. And thanks also to my favorite outdoor writer, Craig Boddington, for instilling a passion to hunt Africa into a young Canadian hunter.
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Jul 31, 2018 | News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Mesengesi Croc
By Darby Wright
The Mesengesi River is a tributary of the mighty Zambezi River that runs from Angola, between Zambia and Zimbabwe and across Mozambique and empties into the azure Indian Ocean. This river is literally the lifeblood of villagers living on its banks, supplying all water for drinking and washing, as well as for crops grown in the fertile soil along the bank. And every year, along these river banks, hundreds of villagers are attacked by crocodiles. And so it was that Rob, our PH came to my tent early one morning. “You and Kayleigh get packed and ready right away. We must make the 2½ hour drive to the village ASAP, and look for a problem crocodile!”
My daughter Kayleigh and I were hunting Cape buffalo on a 1,000,000 acre concession in central Mozambique when our professional hunter received the news that another villager had been attacked and killed while washing clothes on the river bank. Her family and the other villagers were distraught, and the village chief wanted something done about it right away. It was bad enough that the woman had been attacked and dragged under water, never to be seen again, but her four children aged between two and seven would have to mostly fend for themselves – their father worked on a kapenta boat on Lake Cahora Bassa, only coming home several times a month. (Kapenta is a small fish, netted from boats at night, and a great source of protein.)
We spoke to the chief of the village who was upset that another villager had been attacked and killed by a huge crocodile. It inhabited the Mesengesi River, and had been menacing people up and down a 15 mile stretch of river for years. We were told it had distinctive markings on its head which was over two feet wide, and that the body was longer than a dugout canoe.
No one had been able to outsmart this cunning creature. Over the years many government hunters had tried to get within shooting range, but to no avail. It was almost as if it sensed that it was being hunted, and would relocate to another part of the river until things calmed down. After living over a hundred years, this croc had become very wise!
These cunning, dinosaur-like creatures are the descendants of reptiles that have been in the rivers and swamps of Africa for millions of years. They have pulled countless sheep, goats, cattle, wild game and even young elephants into the waters. When a big croc attacks, it’s like a lightning bolt striking. One second its unknowing victim is peaceful and relaxed. The next, the croc snatches its victim in a flash, pulling the unsuspecting person or beast underwater to be drowned and torn apart by its massive jaws lined with gruesome teeth. Often the croc will carefully stash its victim under a river bank or log, letting it rot for several days before ripping it apart.
At first we spent a lot of time glassing from the dense reeds in the general area where the village woman was attacked, but we never saw any sign of a large croc. Day after day we hiked and glassed along the river banks and found nothing.
We had gone upstream several times. We saw a few small and medium-sized crocs, but not the one with the distinctive markings. Kayleigh was the hunter and I would be there to back her up if necessary. We began to wonder if this illusive croc would also elude us. Fourteen-foot high reeds grew all along the sandy banks of the river, and were full of hippo trails! It was scary crawling through these pathways, always wondering if we would encounter an enraged hippo at point-blank range! Often we heard hippos snorting in the river – now this was getting a little dodgy! We were more worried about coming face-to-face with a hippo than about crocs in the river. Once we heard rustling coming from the tall reeds and we all immediately pulled up our guns, only to see a small duiker dash by!
But still no croc. After several days we decided to search downstream along the many pools in this croc- and hippo-infested river, back to the area where the woman was attacked. We hid in the reeds all day, hoping for a sighting of the killer. It became very hot, and sweat dripped in our eyes. Malaria-carrying mosquitos buzzed us continually. Cobras and mambas were an ever-present threat in the thick reed beds. Our hunting days were winding down, when Rob said that we should try much further downstream, and again check out each large pool.
So early the next day, after breakfast and strong black coffee, we started out. We walked far downstream, and once crossed the river in a shallow area several feet deep. Once on the other side we slowly approached a large pool, through the reeds so as not to disturb any croc that might be in the area. As we crawled through the hippo tunnels and reached the edge of the river, Rob motioned for everyone to keep down.
There on an island in the middle of the large pool lay a massive croc, sunning itself. We just waited. As we glassed it, Rob said, “That’s the one, no doubt. It’s got the distinctive markings of the killer.” It looked as though someone had shot at its head and the bullet had only grazed its skull.
Rob told me to stay where I was, and he and Kayleigh would try to maneuver into a spot with a clear shooting lane. Now everyone was getting tense! The village scout stayed back with me, and we waited. At the sound of the .375 H&H going off, several other medium-sized crocs on the bank immediately launched into the river. But the monster croc was anchored, only slightly moving. There was no need for a follow-up shot. Kayleigh had done it!
After days and days of hunting this beast, it was finished! Bush news carried the message back to the village. The villagers were ecstatic about the good news – the croc that had been terrorizing the area for years was now gone. All night a celebration raged, with villagers singing and chanting!
Our Cape buffalo hunt had ended with the removal of a problem croc. It had been very exciting, and we felt good knowing we had made a difference to the lives of these villagers.[/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16514,16510,16511″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 31, 2018 | News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] Off the Beaten Track in Zimbabwe – a father-son quest for plains game and Cape buffalo
By Alexander Richter
As dusk was falling on the dry savannah, I steadied my breathing and prepared myself for the shot. From the tall grass, his head lifted to reveal pitted bosses, flaring nostrils and glaring eyes. Darkness was encroaching as the last day of the safari came to an end. At sixty yards I squeezed the trigger of my Montana .375, the crosshairs steady between the animal’s eyes. A thunderous “crack” rang out and I lost sight of the large Cape buffalo bull…
Two weeks before that night, my father and I had driven six hours from Harare’s airport through Zimbabwean bushveld to the Save Conservancy. The landscape was totally new to me, and in the rural setting I was fascinated to see the round mud huts with their neatly thatched roofs.
Late in the night we arrived at the boundary of the area we would be hunting for the next fourteen days. Our PH, Lloyd Yeatman greeted us and helped transfer our luggage to the hunting vehicle. We drove on muddy roads through sugar cane fields, following the smell of burning wood, and finally arrived at Mkwasine Camp, lit with hanging lanterns. I chatted a while with Lloyd and his wife Sabine that first night, and later, possibly with the help of a local ale, I was soon in bed, falling asleep to the sounds of the night.
A gentle tap on my tent flap woke me. It was already the next morning, still dark. Breakfast was being prepared. We sipped coffee next to the warm coals from the previous night’s fire, and after breakfast we conducted a preliminary assessment of the area we were to be hunting, and sighted in our rifles. My father, a custom gunsmith and avid reloader, brought along a .416 Taylor, while I brought my new Montana .375.
It was not long before we were focusing on the game in the area. We came across four kudu bulls and I was quick to get on the shooting sticks. There were two very mature bulls. My scope must have been on six power from sighting in at the range, because when I settled my gun on the shooting sticks, my field of view was limited and shaky. I blew the shot on the large kudu, my bullet glancing over the rise in his shoulders and into the dirt. This sent the four animals running into the thick brush never to be seen again for the remainder of the trip. I contemplated many reasons and excuses for my shot being wrong, and sulked back to the vehicle. I always seemed to shoot poorly in Africa.
The following morning, I regained confidence when we encountered a group of eland in the open grass and I was able to drop the large bull with a single shoulder shot from my .375. A few days later, I placed a solid neck shot on a big waterbuck that was facing us straight on in grass up to its chin. The shot dropped the magnificent waterbuck, and I felt even more confident in my gun and shooting ability.
Lloyd thought it was now time to hunt my dad’s buffalo. Masanyani, an exceptionally skilled tracker, guided our crew through thick brush and reed swamps that afternoon. The reeds were so high that I could have been twice as tall and still not be able to see over them. At times I could hear buffalo crashing away, but it was too thick to see them. Crossing a sand road, we came across elephant tracks as well the prints of a black rhino. I was amazed that there was a rhino in our area – two armed government rangers were tracking it to protect it from poachers. The men had a small outpost just down the river from us, close enough that we could see their campfire at night.
Entering a new area, we crossed the crystal-clear waters of a creek and scaled a steep hill. After patiently following fresh tracks without sight of buffalo, we made it to a vantage point overlooking another reed swamp. Frequent traffic had matted down a path just wide enough to make an ideal shooting lane. In the event buffalo were to cross it while migrating across the swamp, we would be prepared for a steady shot. We waited there as the sun set and the bush quietened. I heard a buffalo’s nasal exhalation, and then the sound of more grumbling bovines. Our strategy was paying dividends. One, two, three buffalo crossed the path, grazing their way across swampy meadow. A bigger buffalo trailed them and crossed the path with a little more speed and caution. My dad was in shooting position, waiting for a respectable bull to present itself for just a few seconds. All the buffalo crossed the path, and we realized there was neither a big bull in the group, nor an opportunity for a shot. The sun went down, and we retreated to camp for supper and fireside conversation.
Before the sun was up the next morning, we parked and walked into an area where the tracks of two mature buffalo led from the dirt road. We stalked around a bend in an overgrown path, and suddenly Masanyani signaled. He got low to the ground and pointed to a lone bull grazing in the dew-covered grasses. My dad got on the shooting sticks and, as the buffalo turned broadside, his shot rang out and the buffalo trampled the thick brush towards the edge of the sugar cane field. The shot was a definite miss – Masanyani saw the shot travel in line with the shoulder but over the buffalo’s back. We tracked the buffalo for a short while before deciding to let the area settle till the next morning. Though we did not see the buffalo the next day, I was able to crack a shot off to drop a beautiful bushbuck that exposed only its white neck patch to my crosshairs through the dense foliage.
In our extensive quest for mature buffalo the next few days, we came across friendly locals that spoke only the Shangaan tongue, lion tracks, a black mamba outside a den, restless and vocal baboons and a skittish bush pig – always something new. You could bet my adrenaline was pumping. After a few close encounters with big buffalo, my dad realized how hard buffalo hunting could be. Every time, we either came across large groups of buffalo that shielded the large Dagga Boys from sight, or we encountered big bulls that were always one step ahead of us in thick brush.
Eventually, on the last morning, we successfully one-upped a herd of buffalo with some mature bulls. My dad, Masanyani and Lloyd got into position within twenty yards of them. We were in an opening covered with vines overlooking the riverbed where the buffalo were walking. Near the back of the herd, an old bull with war-torn bosses made his way towards us. A quick field judge determined this was a bull worth taking. A few paces behind my dad, I had a movie director’s perspective as I watched him ready himself on the gun. The large bull was just a few steps in front of him. The heart shot rang out and echoed between the river banks, and the following stampede raised a dust cloud as the rest thundered off. The lead-stricken bull struggled to keep the herd’s pace. Another vital shot dropped it in the sand of the dry river. The pursuit of my dad’s dream Cape buffalo was over.
Many locals came to help pull the buffalo to a spot accessible to the vehicle. They all took their own photos with the buffalo, and provided lots of man-power for winching up the dead beast. Arriving at camp, my father was lifted onto the shoulders of the hunting crew and they danced with him, singing out a traditional song to honor the buffalo. I am lucky enough to have a picture of this scene to embarrass him in front of his friends in case he ever does so to me. (Just kidding, Dad!)
By now, it was within two hours of darkness. We wanted to take a final trip around the property before the sunset put an end to our Zimbabwean safari. A weight had been lifted from our shoulders after my dad got his buffalo, and our hunting crew began to relax. Our leisurely humor continued, then just as the sun began to set, Samuel let out a sharp whistle that sent Lloyd skidding the vehicle to a halt. Four big buffalo, standing in the open grass not more than a hundred and fifty yards away, stared at us. We glassed them and agreed the one showing huge horns was a very big beautiful bull. I had been convinced this whole trip that I was hunting a few plains-game species while my dad was hunting the buffalo, until the moment my dad told Lloyd he would like me to go after the big one. In twenty minutes the savannah would be pitch-black. I was so caught off-guard that I had no time to get nervous or anxious.
We crept a great distance up to a small tree but lost sight of the bulls. Suddenly, we saw just the top of the big bull’s head, sixty yards away, positioned to run straight towards us. I got on the shooting sticks with my scope on 1.5x and placed the crosshairs right between the eyes of the bull. I was shaking a little, but knew this was the shot I was going to have to take. I steadied my breathing and squeezed the trigger. Through the recoil, I was able to keep the tree that the buffalo stood next to in my scope’s field of view. Mysteriously, the buffalo was gone! I thought I had missed, but Masanyani and Lloyd convinced me that the bull had dropped. I wasted no time feeding another shell into the chamber of my .375, and lead the way up to where the bull had been standing. He was dead. We gave another shot for insurance, and then I could wait no longer to put my hands on the horns of my Cape buffalo.
My bull was everything I could ever desire in a perfect mature Cape buffalo. I initially felt sort of bad for stalking and taking a big bull on the last night of our trip, after my dad had pursued a quality bull for two weeks straight! But my dad was happy for me. We were in awe of what had just happened. Back at camp, everybody was surprised to know that the young man hunting plains game all this time, had shot a big buffalo between the eyes – one shot, twenty minutes before dark, on the last day.
I still dream of the days we had spent hunting in the Zimbabwean bush.[/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16504,16505,16506,16507,16508,16509″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 30, 2018 | News, Wildlife Game
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]African Vultures Threatened by Lead Poisoning
By Dr John Ledger
Internationally, concern has for a long time been expressed about the toxicity of lead from cartridges and bullets used for hunting birds and mammals; studies have mainly described cases from Europe and North America. But a new report has shown that African White-backed Vultures in Botswana are ingesting lead fragments in the food they scavenge from hunted game. It is highly likely that other African vultures and other scavenging birds are also affected. There is a strong case to be made for the use of lead-free ammunition in Africa, and hunters should demonstrate their commitment to the African environment and its conservation by their leadership in using non-lead ammunition.
Most people who have the privilege of visiting wild places in Africa will have looked up in awe and respect at the big birds high in the blue sky, riding the thermals in their quest for their next meal. Vultures are part of wild Africa – their ecosystem services are to quickly remove decaying bodies and flesh from the environment, so curtailing the proliferation of bacteria and viruses, and the flies that carry them around.
Vultures are pretty smart creatures, and superb aviators, riding the thermals to travel hundreds of miles every day in their search for food. They keep an eye on their neighbors in a network of airborne observers. Should one of their associates spot a carcasse, or a crow signaling interest on the ground below, that bird will immediately lose altitude to take a closer look. The network of observers will be drawn to that hole in the net, and like the knots of a net being pulled down, they fly towards the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. This is why a ground observer would see first one, then three, then fifty and then a hundred vultures appear miraculously from the sky and descend to feed on a carcass.
Vultures are long-lived, slow-breeding birds, and a pair must survive for many years to replace themselves in the wild. ‘Modern’ Africa is conspiring to shorten the lives of vultures, in many ways. Electricity transmission and distribution networks kill vultures by collision with wires or electrocution on supporting structures. The new curse of renewable energy is killing vultures by impacts with spinning wind turbine blades, or electrocutions and collision on the new powerlines to take the “clean, green energy” to the nearest grid connection. Then we have the poisoners, the farmers who lace bait with poison to kill predators; the poachers who poison carcasses to stop the vultures from being used by rangers to see where they are operating, and the suppliers of African traditional medicine who can find a ready cash market for vulture parts in the towns and cities of the continent. Vultures feature high in African beliefs in their spiritual and medicinal powers.
Lead poisoning in scavenging birds was highlighted by the near-extinction of the California Condor, brought back from the brink by one of the most amazing success stories in conservation history. Having been somewhat involved in this drama, and knowing a number of the fine people involved, is of special significance to me. Lead poisoning turned out to be a major factor in the decline of the condors, and lead ammunition may not be used in any parts of the USA where the California Condor may forage.
Now we have new evidence from Botswana that African White-backed Vultures are also at risk of lead poisoning.
Association between hunting and elevated blood lead levels in the critically endangered African white-backed vulture Gyps africanus
By Rebecca Garbett, GlynMaude, Pete Hancock, David Kenny Richard Reading & Arjun Amar.
Science of the Total Environment: 631–632 (2017). © 2017 Elsevier B.V. All rights reserved.
Abstract
Lead (Pb) toxicity caused by the ingestion of Pb ammunition fragments in carcasses and offal is a threat to scavenging birds across the globe. African vultures are in critical decline, but research on whether Pb exposure is contributing to declines is lacking. In Africa, recreational hunting represents an important economic activity; however, Pb in leftover hunted carcasses and gut piles represents a dangerous food source for vultures. It is therefore important to establish whether recreational hunting is associated with Pb exposure in African vultures. We explored this issue for the critically endangered white-backed vulture (Gyps africanus) in Botswana by examining their blood Pb levels inside and outside of the hunting season, and inside and outside of private hunting areas. From 566 birds captured and tested, 30.2% birds showed elevated Pb levels (10 to b45 μg/dl) and 2.3% showed subclinical exposure (≥45 μg/dl). Higher blood Pb levels were associated with samples taken inside of the hunting season and from within hunting areas. Additionally, there was a significant interaction between hunting season and areas, with Pb levels declining more steeply between hunting and non-hunting seasons within hunting areas than outside them. Thus, all our results were consistent with the suggestion that elevated Pb levels in this critically endangered African vulture are associated with recreational hunting. Pb is known to be highly toxic to scavenging birds and we recommend that Pb ammunition in Botswana is phased out as soon as possible to help protect this rapidly declining group of birds.
There is a large amount of information on the Internet about lead-free ammunition, such as http://www.leadfreehunting.com/conservation.
As might be expected, there are widely divergent views on ammunition, and while I am certainly very ignorant on this subject, the following article did catch my eye:
Lead-Free Hunting Rifle Ammunition: Product Availability, Price, Effectiveness, and Role in Global Wildlife Conservation
By Vernon George Thomas
AMBIO October 2013, Volume 42, Issue 6, pp 737–745 |
AMBIO: A Journal of the Human Environment. Published by: Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.
Abstract
Proposals to end the use of lead hunting ammunition because of the established risks of lead exposure to wildlife and humans are impeded by concerns about the availability, price, and effectiveness of substitutes. The product availability and retail prices of different calibres of lead-free bullets and centre-fire rifle ammunition were assessed for ammunition sold in the USA and Europe. Lead-free bullets are made in 35 calibres and 51 rifle cartridge designations. Thirty-seven companies distribute internationally ammunition made with lead-free bullets. There is no major difference in the retail price of equivalent lead-free and lead-core ammunition for most popular calibres. Lead-free ammunition has set bench-mark standards for accuracy, lethality, and safety. Given the demonstrated wide product availability, comparable prices, and the effectiveness of high-quality lead-free ammunition, it is possible to phase out the use of lead hunting ammunition world-wide, based on progressive policy and enforceable legislation.
I recently had a very encouraging discussion with a friend who is a hunter and also a passionate conservationist with a deep concern for the future survival of vultures in Africa. He told me that he uses only lead-free bullets as a matter of principle. His passion for ethical hunting means that he will not contribute to the lead poisoning crisis faced by African vultures. If lead-free ammunition is a bit more expensive, he is willing to make that small contribution for the welfare of the big birds in the African blue sky.
My message to our esteemed readers? Please think about using lead-free ammunition on your next African hunting experience. It may be just a small gesture, but if you spread the word, it could become very important. Of course, lots of lead is going to be shot into African animals in the foreseeable future, but if YOU take the decision not to contribute to this avoidable threat to the big birds, their soaring spirits will look down on you as you walk under African skies, and thank you for your part in the greater scheme of things.
Dr John Ledger is an independent consultant and writer on energy and environmental issues, based in Johannesburg, South Africa.
John.Ledger@wol.co.za[/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16481,16485,16482,16480,16484″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 27, 2018 | Hunter Speaks Out, News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]South Africa: 2016
A River Record
By Thomas Lindy Nissen
Hunting bushbuck in its original habitat is one type of hunt. Thomas Nissen followed Jens Kjaer Knudsen in the search for a record bushbuck on the banks of the Limpopo River where it flows between South Africa and Botswana.
They hear a splash. PH Marcel Powell points to the rings that slowly spread on the surface near the opposite bank, and they know what it means. Alerted by the faint sound of the almost silent hunters, another crocodile has slipped from the grass into the river. The ancient animal is just one of many living here along the river.
Danish big-game hunter, Jens Kjaer Knudsen has great experience in hunting in Africa and has seen crocodiles many times before, but he is still fascinated. He nods to confirm the observation. Marcel silently indicates with his right hand to let Jens know that the stalk continues. After just a few steps, Jens notices a reddish shadow slipping into the closest bush to the right. Just a peripheral glimpse, but he knows it was a bushbuck – the goal of today’s hunt, the exact game species for which he has come halfway around the world. It is not the first time it happened that afternoon. But it’s a typical situation when hunting bushbuck in natural habitat along the river.
The next afternoon they are again hunting along the river, and suddenly hear a deep grunt. Through his binoculars Marcel spots two warthog sows in the high grass, but shakes his head. They were not the ones making a noise. He lowers the binos, and slowly turns his head to look at Jens.
”Do you want to shoot a warthog with large tusks?” Marcel points to a place in the bush to the left of the grassy open area. The pigs are at this time of the year in rut, and the grunt they heard came from an amorous boar, extremely impressive, big of body as well as of tooth.
At the sight of the magnificent animal, Jens feels an instinctive reaction and his finger touches the trigger, but although tempted, he focuses on the actual goal of the trip – a big bushbuck. He chooses to ignore this chance and concentrate on what he has come after.
Hunting bushbuck in Africa is a very special kind of hunt, especially in the natural terrain along a river. Bushbuck are similar in habits to roe deer, comparable in size to a young fallow buck. They prefer a solitary life, are very aggressive, and usually defend a territory of about five hectares. It is a very exciting species to chase, as the animals are found all along the river and rarely move out of their own domain.
To hunt along the river, where the mood, scents and sounds are so different from most of the bush, is exciting. You never know what game you will encounter, as the river attracts countless species. This is where the crocodiles rest on the riverbank, getting energy from the sun’s rays. This is where the leopard takes advantage of prey that is driven by thirst to the river. This is where the hippo finds protection from sunburn, submerging into the cooling waters.
Marcel sees a movement. This time it’s a young female bushbuck. As the animal suddenly senses the men, it stops. It stands for a few seconds staring at the hunters, one ear pricked, then bounds away. One of the advantages of trophy hunting is that it is usually only old male animals that are taken.
When hunting along a river you often see game on the opposite bank. And here, across the Limpopo, the men notice another spiral-horned bushbuck, with a female standing near it. They study the animals for a few minutes. But the 30 to 40 meters of water is teeming with hippos and crocodiles – a potentially fatal swim!
They continue along the 12 kilometers of riverbank belonging to the hunting area. Fresh hippo tracks heighten their senses. In spite of its size, the hippo is lightning fast and dangerous and ready to attack, and the bush is very dense here. The animals should, however, be in the river at this time of the day, and shortly afterwards when they find that the tracks lead to the river, attention goes back to bushbuck mode.
Francolins cackle warnings, and a tan shadow slips into the bush – another bushbuck. The sun is glowing just over the horizon as Marcel suddenly spots something. The animal stands with its head obscured by a tree trunk while the entire body is visible. Jens could put a shot into the shoulder of the animal – but is it worth shooting?
In Africa, the sun drops swiftly behind the horizon and dusk is brief, so time is not on their side.
”What do you think? Does the body size tell you anything?” whispers Marcel, binos to his eyes. Jens has already locked the crosshairs on the animal’s body.
For a few seconds neither the buck nor hunters move. It’s as if the bushbuck senses something is wrong, but is unable to locate the source of danger.
”Shoot it, shoot now,” Marcel urges. ”Shoot now, shoot!”
Jens obeys his PH, squeezes the trigger, feels the recoil and the adrenaline in his body. The buck stumbles a few steps forward and collapses into a patch of yellow grass. Jens can’t believe the size of the horns.
”How did you know it was that big?”
”It turned its head slightly to orient itself, and when it did, I saw the tip of the horn and knew that it was a monster,” Marcel replied.
As they marveled over the trophy in the rapidly diminishing light, the African bush became the domain of another hunt. A great roaring cry broke the silence. Not a victorious, confident or dominant roar, but the anguished despair of a large animal that, just like the record bushbuck, ended its day as prey. The despairing animal loses both game, set and match in a dramatic game of survival. Whether it’s a leopard, a crocodile or any third party who has taken the point, the two human hunters cannot tell, but one thing is certain, a life was taken further down the river.
To take a big bushbuck like this one requires not only experience. It also requires a good hunting area, a skilled PH, and good shooting skills. On this hunt, Jens had it all.
Although hunting is not all about size and measurements, in this case, at the time of writing, it was the biggest Limpopo bushbuck that been shot in the safari company’s more than 35-year history. It was later measured to be among the largest Limpopo bushbuck ever shot, and among the largest Limpopo bushbucks taken in South Africa in 2016 – truly a river record!
BIO:
Thomas Lindy Nissen is a European fulltime hunting journalist, who travels the world more than 120 days a year, documenting hunting adventures for various magazines, through photos, text and films. So far, he has produced books and articles describing adventures from more than 40 countries in six continents.
tln@jagtrejsefeber.dk
BOX
Subspecies of bushbuck:
Abyssinian bushbuck (Ethiopia).
Cape bushbuck (South Africa).
Chobe bushbuck (Zambia, Zimbabwe, Mozambique).
Harnessed bushbuck (Cameroon, Benin, Burkina Faso, Senegal, Chad, CAR, Gabon, Congo).
Limpopo bushbuck (Botswana, South Africa, Zimbabwe).
East African bushbuck (Kenya, Somalia, Ethiopia, Tanzania).
Nile Bushbuck (Uganda, Sudan, Ethiopia, Congo, Kenya).
Menelik bushbuck (Ethiopia).
Although all subspecies of bushbuck – seen in an African perspective – with a body weight of about 80 kilograms, are relatively small, the species is one of the most aggressive if it is pressed or when a bad shot has taken place. An attack from a wounded bushbuck can be extremely serious and occasionally costs human life. This mainly due to the size of the animal (about 90 cm height), causing penetration from the horn into the chest.
Virtually all hunting companies can arrange a hunting trip for the Limpopo bushbuck. But no matter how and with whom you book, please check with references from other hunters before the final agreement is set.
This hunt was arranged by Jensen Safaris:
www.jensensafaris.com
jensen@icon.co.za[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16470,16471,16472,16473,16474,16475,16478,16479,16477,16476″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 24, 2018 | News, PH Q&A
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]PH Almayne Hughes: A true man of the bush – with a wife to match!
African Hunting Gazette: Tell us when and where were you born, and about your family.
Almayne Hughes: I was born in Klerksdorp in 1989, but grew up in Centurion (Pretoria).
My wife, Natasha, and I are high school sweethearts and met at the tender age of 16. We were together for about 8 years when I proposed to her in 2013. We got married in September of 2014 and currently we don’t have any children. We have both always had a love for the bushveld and for working with people. Together we successfully manage game farms and lodges. Our families live in Centurion, and two of my sisters moved to New Zealand about three years ago.
AHG: How did you become a PH? How did it all begin?
AH: As a young boy our family always went on holiday in the bushveld and I loved every minute of it. I love the bushveld and have a passion for wildlife. I knew from a very young age that I wanted to work in the bush. However, when I finished high school I went ahead to study IT. After about a year I realized, yet again, that sitting in an office or living in the city was not something that I wanted to do. I then changed, and went on to study Game Ranch Management and did many other courses including my Field Guide courses with FGASA. When I turned 21, I went on a Professional Hunting course with the legendary David Sutherland. It was only after a family hunt on my 21st birthday that I decided to focus my energy on the hunting industry instead of working as a Game Ranger. By 2011, I was a qualified and certified Professional Hunter, and started my career as a PH and Game Farm Manager.
AHG: Which countries have you hunted and where are you hunting these days?
AH: As a professional hunter I have only been guiding and hunting with clients in South Africa, mainly in the Limpopo province. However, I have personally been very blessed to hunt all over South Africa, Mauritius, as well as in the Bubye Valley Conservancy (BVC) in Zimbabwe. The hunt in Zimbabwe was my absolute favorite and most recent, where I hunted buffalo in the majestic mountains of the BVC.
AHG: If you could return to any time or place in Africa, where would it be?
AH: This is such a great question and my wife has asked me this question numerous times.
a. I would enjoy the opportunity to see the great migration, in all its natural splendor, in the Serengeti during the early nineteenth century.
b. I would also love to return to South Africa during the late eighteenth century / early nineteenth century, to be a part of the hunter-explorers that explored the Limpopo River Valley and hunted the abundance of wild game there. I can only imagine how exciting it must have been to hunt dangerous game in this lush and wild bushveld area.
AHG: Which guns and ammo are you using to back-up on dangerous or wounded game? AH: When hunting dangerous game, I have complete faith in my Merkel .470 Nitro Express. This is a fantastic working firearm for me as a PH and has saved my arse in many dangerous situations. I currently reload my own ammunition using Perigrine bullet heads. Perigrine is a relatively new brand on the market – however they are extremely reliable. The people at Perigrine are always happy to assist with new load developments and I would suggest their product to anyone who does their own reloading. They are also a South African company – so I hope more people will support them as home-grown is best!
AHG: What are your recommendations on guns and ammo – for dangerous game and for plains game – to your hunting clients?
AH: I would strongly suggest using the largest firearm that the client is comfortable with. In my opinion you can never have “too much gun”. Secondly, I always recommend using premium ammunition. I like to say that one can ‘skimp’ on the gun and ‘skimp’ on the optics, but never skimp on ammunition.
AHG: What is your favorite animal to hunt and why?
AH: I would definitely have to say that my favorite animal to hunt is Cape buffalo. I enjoy that it is such a thrilling hunt and the reward after a difficult day of hunting buffalo is my favorite by far!
AHG: Looking back, which was your greatest trophy and why?
AH: I believe that a trophy is not necessarily the size of the horns of the animal, but that the story behind the hunt is what makes the trophy so much more special. The solid-boss buffalo bull that I recently hunted in BVC, in Zimbabwe, is my greatest trophy and story thus far. The hunt was difficult and strenuous, but so rewarding. It was also my first time hunting in the BVC (Bubye Valley Conservancy) and this is, in my opinion, one of the greatest conservancies that I have ever had the pleasure of hunting in. Furthermore, we hunted with Pete Fick as our guide and PH, and just spending time with him and listening to his great stories made this an unforgettable trip overall.
AHG: What was your closest brush with death? And looking back: Anything you should have done differently?
AH: While hunting plains game with a client, here in Limpopo, the client wounded a warthog. As we tracked the blood-trail into a dry riverbed, something felt very eerie about the situation. I instructed the client to rather head back and wait at the hunting vehicle, while I continued to follow the wounded warthog. As I came into the thickets surrounding the dried-up river bed, I was faced by a massive buffalo bull. This buffalo was just a few metres away from me. As I started to backtrack, to get out of there, the buffalo started charging. Luckily the sand slowed him down a bit, as I turned and ran back to the hunting vehicle. The buffalo bull chased me all the way to the vehicle, where he stopped the charge and turned away. If I could do things differently, I would have walked into that riverbed with my .470 Nitro Express, instead of my .30-06.
AHG: How has the hunting industry changed over the years? And the hunting clients themselves?
AH: I have found that the hunting outfitters have changed quite a lot over the years. It seems that some outfitters and PHs are more focused on the quantity of hunts that they book throughout a year, instead of quality. Some of these outfitters try to make sure that they book as many hunts as possible for the season, but then they don’t focus on offering their clients a good quality hunt and an original African hunting experience. Due to this, a lot of clients have become wary of new offers and outfitters, as there are so many “fly-by-night” outfitters out there, that have given clients some horrible experiences.
AHG: Which qualities go into making a successful PH and or a successful hunting company?
AH: There are many essential qualities to becoming a great or successful PH. Respect and passion for the wildlife; to be a “people’s person” as you have to work with many people from all walks of life; good social skills to entertain your guests, and determination as not all clients are going to be easy to work with and not all hunts will go down smoothly. But I would say the most important is to focus on ethical hunting practices and to not operate in any “grey areas”.
AHG: Which qualities go into making a good safari client?
AH: Importantly, a hunting client should be a good shot and have faith in their shooting ability and be an open-minded person. General good health and fitness is important as the bushveld terrain in South Africa can be difficult for some clients. Lastly, listen and trust your PH, as he is trying to give you a great hunting experience while doing his best to keep you out of dangerous situations.
AHG: If you should suggest one thing to your hunting clients to improve their experience of their safari, what would it be?
AH: First, I would suggest that they spend enough time practicing with their firearms, before coming to hunt in Africa. Spending a good amount of time on the shooting range and getting to know your firearm is very important. Secondly, I would say that the client that comes on safari with no expectations of specific horn lengths, will always walk away as a happy client. While I would always do my best to try and get the best trophies for my client, I believe that the story behind that hunt is what makes the hunt memorable.
AHG: Based on your recent experience in the field, do you think that any species should be upgraded to Appendix I or downgraded to Appendix II or closed all together?
AH: This is a difficult question to answer since I can really only refer to the area that I work and hunt in. Here in the Limpopo River valley, I can see a very healthy population of hippo and crocodile, and I would like to be able to hunt in the Limpopo River again. No permits are currently being issued for hippo or crocodile hunting in the Limpopo River. There is nothing else that I would upgrade to Appendix I or downgrade to Appendix II.
AHG: What can the hunting industry do to contribute to the long-term conservation of Africa’s wildlife?
AH: I always say that hunting is conservation and conservation is hunting. With this statement, I mean that hunting really is the largest contributor to conservation. Without hunting and private game farms, I think many species would be endangered. We would not have the quality of gene pool, that we currently have available. For example, there is a better quality of species available in private game farms, than in any national park in our country.
AHG: Ask your wife, if she could do it all over again, would she still? And what is her advice to future wives of PHs?
Natasha Hughes: I fell in love with Almayne when I was just a young teenager. I always knew that whatever he decided to do or wherever he decided to go, I would follow him and support his decisions. Being an independent woman came naturally to me, but it is also very important to trust your partner in their decisions and to support them in new endeavors. When Almayne was a freelance PH, it was difficult at times, as he would be away from home for weeks on end, for seven or eight months of the year. When I finished my diploma in Lodge Management, we decided to start working together in the bushveld. Working together is easy for us, as we are such great partners in business and in life. We both have a passion for the bushveld, for wildlife and to work with people. If I could do it all over again I would not change a thing. Everything works out as it should, and even difficult or bad times are necessary in our lives, so that we will appreciate the good things and great times even more.
The advice I have for future wives of PHs is to trust their partner. Be a supportive partner to them and treat each other as equals. Never forget who you are or give up your hobbies and interests. Stay true to yourself, but most importantly stay true to each other.
AHG: Anyone you want to say thanks to? Or to GTH (Go to Hell)?
AH: While there are many people that have let me down or disappointed me over the years, I cannot exactly say ‘go to hell’ to anyone in an article like this. ???? I would, however, like to thank my family, especially my wife, for standing by me from my ‘start up’ days of being a rookie PH, spending so much time away from home and for supporting me through all the decisions that I have made for myself and for us. Thank you for believing in me and helping me to become the man I am today, in my career as PH and in my personal life. I would not have been able to achieve many of the things I have, if it were not for her by my side. It is true what they say: “A man’s success has a lot to do with the kind of woman that he has in his life.”
AHG: Any Last Words of Wisdom?
AH: Throughout the years, I have met many aspiring PHs and the one piece of advice that I always give them is: Just keep your nose clean. Stay out of trouble! In this industry your reputation will precede you, so make sure you have a good reputation and uphold this. Don’t get involved in illegal practices as this type of behavior will get you in trouble sooner or later. You will have to start at the bottom, but pay your dues, put in the work and the hours, and it will all pay off in the end.[/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16460,16461,16462,16463,16464,16458,16459″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 21, 2018 | News, On Shooting
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]HOMAGE TO THE ANCESTORS
Johan van Wyk
I don’t think too many people will disagree if I make the statement that cartridges such as the .30-06 and .375 H&H Magnum came to be accepted over the years as industry standards. They are popular to the point where ammunition, reloading components and factory rifles are commonplace just about everywhere where hunting is conducted and rifles and ammunition are sold, and hence they are the yardsticks (rightly or wrongly) by which many other cartridges are judged.
Well, in days gone by, a number of different “yardstick” cartridges were out there as well, and even though they are now to a large extent forgotten or only encountered in gun rooms full of interesting old rifles or on the workbenches of slightly eccentric handloaders, they were the standards by which many others were judged in the days when a manservant and a pith helmet was considered essential hunting equipment.
The .450 (3¼”) Black Powder Express was in all probability the most popular black powder sporting cartridge of all time. Just about every British gunmaker worth their salt chambered rifles for one or other version of the .450 BPE, and ammunition was loaded in Britain, Germany, France and Austria. A state police department in Australia even adopted the Alex Henry falling-block single-shot rifle in .450 BPE as a service rifle at some point, and both single-shot and double rifles were available. Original ballistics were somewhat all over the place – mainly due to different manufacturers preferring different loads – but generally ranged from 270-grain bullets at 2 000 fps to 365-grain bullets at 1 750 fps. Even though the idea of shooting a 300-grain-plus bullet from a modern rifles sounds like serious stuff today, the .450 was actually considered to be somewhat of an all-round rifle for its day and judged to be fine for antelope and the bigger cats, but somewhat marginal for the really big, thick-skinned critters, even though John Taylor reported killing elephant with the cartridge.
The bullets of the day were lead projectiles in a variety of shapes and designs, including hollow-points for rapid expansion and round-nose hardened lead bullets for deeper penetration on big animals. Paper-patching was also in widespread use and was a necessity in many instances to ensure a proper grip on the bullet by the shallower types of rifling designs in use back then, such as Metford and Henry. As the .450 BPE’s recoil was quite moderate due to the low chamber pressure developed by the ammunition of the day, the rifles themselves were quite light (down to 8½ pounds or so in some instances) and handy. All these factors combined to make the .450 BPE a roaring success. Looking back, I reckon it is fair to make the comment that the .450 BPE was the .30-06 of its day. It was effective on a wide range of game, had modest recoil and almost everybody had one.
Moving on, the next cartridge worth taking a look at is the .577 (3”) BPE. This is a cartridge steeped in history and tradition that immediately conjures up images of Samuel Baker and Arthur Neumann, and it certainly paid its dues in Africa in earlier times. As was the case with the .450 BPE, the .577 BPE was chambered by a great many makers and was popular enough that ammunition was available well into the 1920s. It is worth noting that the 3-inch Nitro version of the .577 had been available for decades by this time, and had become a favorite of some in the hard-core elephant hunting fraternity such as James Sutherland, but the black powder .577 was still hanging in there as well.
The .577 BPE’s ballistics were impressive, even for its time. Bullets ranging from 560 to 610 grains were available (with later Nitro-for-black loads maximum bullet weight being increased to a hefty 650 grains) at muzzle velocities ranging from 1 740 fps to 1 650 fps. These were powerful enough to get the attention of just about anything, and in addition to thin-skinned game, the .577 BPE was used with success on the largest animals. Thus, the .577 BPE can rightly be compared to the .375 H&H: popular, available and powerful enough for just about anything, although not quite possessing the outright punch of the larger 8- and 4-bore rifles of the time.
A few years ago I took part in a big-bore shooting competition where many of the contestants used classic old double rifles in various calibers and configurations. For the black powder category my host offered me a lovely old Holland & Holland hammer double rifle in .577 BPE. We stepped up to the line on a damp and rainy morning and when the range officer gave the command to shoot, I hefted the old rifle, levelled the express sights at the target and pressed the triggers, one after the other. The result was a hefty but not uncomfortable PUSH on each occasion, a great cloud of smoke that took some time to dissipate, and two very, very impressive holes in the target. It was a very satisfying step back in time!
As mentioned above, Nitro-for-black loadings for many of the popular black powder express cartridges were available for many years after the advent of the Nitro era. This ensured a new lease on life for many an old rifle, and they remained in use for decades after the .450 (3¼”) BPE became the .450 (3¼”) Nitro-Express, the cartridge that blazed a trail followed by many others. The .577 BPE was likewise turned into the .577 (3”) Nitro-Express, arguably the quintessential elephant cartridge of all times.[/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16457,16458,16459″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 20, 2018 | News
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Jul 19, 2018 | News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]By L. Barbee Ponder IV
I’m in Southern Africa for a month on business with meetings scheduled further apart than I otherwise would like. So how should I spend a three-day weekend? At the hotel bar in JNB? Nope.
I have always wanted to take a massive bull hippo. Not sure why. Maybe it is because they are responsible for the most human deaths in Africa. Maybe it’s simply their sheer size and the idea of having to get dangerously close enough to the water’s edge – their world – in order to make it happen.
My friend, Conrad, arranged for me to spend the weekend with Jason Stone to get the hippo job done. Jason and I had never met or even spoken or emailed prior to this weekend. I told Conrad that I would land at Pietermaritzburg Friday morning as per his instruction. That’s it.
After spending two days in the same business suit and having flown overnight from Molabo to get there on time, Jason and Clinton were the first two people I saw inside the airport terminal, and it was game on.
I had no idea where we were heading; I only knew that Conrad had confirmed that the hippo would be massive, and that Jason’s track record is sterling.
On the way out of town, Jason said we were heading to a game reserve where hunting was not permitted, but they were having a serious issue with a 30+ year-old male hippo named (apologies to my father-in-law) Barry. The reserve only contained about 14 hippo in total, and Barry was the undisputed monarch. There was only one other mature male hippo there who was covered in scars from prior encounters with Barry.
Barry had run all of the other mature male hippos off the reserve and onto neighboring farms where they then had to be put down. (It’s a rare landowner that wants a 35 mile-per-hour, multi-ton killing machine on his farm.)
Most recently, Barry had started killing the new-born calves. John, the park manager, said that Barry unfortunately had 10 dead hippo calves to his discredit. So, the management had decided that Barry must go, and I was lucky enough to get the assignment.
After dumping our luggage in the Mahogany Bungalow and changing from suit to hunting clothes, we were off to an area of the property where I could take one shot with Jason’s Blaser .375 H&H with very nice Swarovski Optics. I was on with my shot, and we were ready to go to the various reservoirs to spot and view the quarry.
There were several large ponds that supported the hippo population. Barry could be in any of them, as hippos travel from one to another at night while grazing. During the day, they stay in the water as this is their safe place.
With only two mature bulls around, and one of them covered in scars, identifying Barry was not much of a problem. There he was, lying among the females and their calves. Though there were females with much larger bodies, Barry’s enormous head gave him away, with the massive bumps on each side of his snout caused by the upward protrusion of his lower tusks.
John confirmed that he was “hundred per cent” that it was Barry. Clinton set up the sticks on top of the bank looking downward at Barry about 60 yards away. He was quartering to me, so I waited till he was broadside. Jason and Clinton had spent the time in the vehicle with me that morning, schooling me on shot placement — an inch below the ear broadside should make a perfect brain shot.
Barry finally presented me with a clear shot. I squeezed it off, heard the report, heard the smack of the round into the hippo’s skull, and saw the tall spray of water caused by the round hitting the waterline.
Barry immediately sank beneath the water. The surrounding females were not at all startled. They held their ground. We all knew it was a perfect shot; Barry’s knees had buckled, and he was resting, dead, on the bottom. A piece of cake.
We were wrong.
After the shot and Barry’s immediate disappearance, everyone standing on the bank just knew he was done, him having dropped straight to the bottom. Two videos of my shot had been taken, and we watched them both to confirm that the shot was on the mark. All that we needed to do was wait about an hour for Barry to float to the surface. When a hippo expires, it releases all of the air in its lungs, causing it to sink. What then happens is that gas builds in the hippo’s stomach over the next couple of hours, causing the hippo to float back up to the surface. Once he does so, you (not me) swim out to the corpse, attach a rope, and pull him into shore.
An hour went by and Barry had not resurfaced — alive or dead. Then two hours went by, and Jason remarked that we were now at his all-time record for waiting on a dead hippo.
The weather was turning bad. Cold and raining. We thought that perhaps the cold weather was delaying the inevitable gas build-up in Barry’s stomach. And then three hours went by.
Jason sent three of his trackers into the water with a hook and rope to locate Barry. Please note that they could not swim, and all of the other hippos were maintaining their ground. There were three professional hunters with everything from .375s to .470 NEs standing at the water’s edge in case one of the females decided to charge.
The trackers were not able to make out where Barry was last seen, as the water was too deep, and one massive female hippo was none too pleased with their intrusion. So they came back in.
Still, no Barry.
Clinton then went and obtained a kayak and paddle from one of the neighbors. He hopped in the kayak, attached the hook and rope to it, and slowly paddled out to where Barry should be resting. He used the paddle to probe the bottom, but no Barry.
Clinton had been out there probing for a good 15 minutes when a hippo calf surfaced right next to him in the kayak, and then a female surfaced about 10 feet away. Yikes! Clinton came paddling to shore.
I asked Clinton if that was the closest he had been to a live hippo. He looked right at me with his perpetual smile, and said, “No.”
There were about 10 sets of eyes on that pond for the rest of the day, and a hippo can hold its breath only for about seven minutes, max. Jason showed me videos of what a wounded hippo will do when shot in the face with a .375. It isn’t pretty. Yet, night was falling and we had absolutely no explanation.
He can’t be dead, because he never floated. And he can’t be alive, because we never saw him again.
Did my round simply explode upon impact with the water? Had Barry made a run for it out the other side of the pond while we were too busy congratulating each other? When Jason, who has taken a thousand hippos, says he is totally perplexed by the situation… what do you do?
We went to bed that night with nothing but questions.
At first light the next morning, we raced to the pond, hoping to see a dead body floating. No such luck. We called John to ask him to check the other ponds to see if Barry had given us the slip the day before. We then decided to check the edges all the way around the pond to make sure he hadn’t somehow got in among the tall reeds and expired. Dangerous work in very close quarters.
Having spent about two hours checking everywhere around the pond, still no Barry.
We then decided to go to the lodge for breakfast while making sure that someone would remain at the pond looking out for him.
After breakfast, we returned to where I had taken the shot before, and found John who said he was sure that Barry was lying in the water on the other side of the pond near an old covered deck known as the Hippo Hide. Of course, that’s where Barry would be.
John, Jason and Clinton walked down the bank to get a closer look. They returned a few minutes later and all proclaimed that that was our guy. There he was, the same old Barry, up among the females and their young calves, acting like nothing ever happened. Perhaps our work along the edges earlier that morning had pushed him out of hiding?
We decided to make our way over the levee to the other side of the pond and set up in the Hippo Hide to take the shot. There I could shoot from a more solid rest than on sticks, but the shot would be a bit further than my last attempt.
We got to the Hippo Hide without spooking Barry, and took a good look at him. There were several other mature hippos in the water as well as calves that would pop up here and there. We all needed to agree on the one that was Barry. He was about 75 to 80 yards away.
I built up a rest with a couple of jackets on top a deck rail on which to place the rifle. I had no chair, so was in a half-split to get down to the necessary height for the shot. The deck was so rickety that any movement by anyone caused it to sway.
After some further discussion, everyone signed off on which one was Barry, and I was given the OK to take a shot when the opportunity presented itself.
Then, a cow went and put her head on Barry’s bum while some calves popped up behind him. A massive female that had not moved once from her same spot in two days suddenly decided to move next to Barry for a moment.
It was as if everyone knew what was about to happen and were saying their last goodbyes to him. I could not hold my current position forever. The shot would need to come soon.
The big female finally moved off and Barry was now in the clear. When he turned his head broadside to me, I would be ready. And I was determined not to hit water this time.
Here we go again: Barry turns to his right and I have a perfect view of the left side of his skull. I squeeze it off, and the smack of the lead into his skull was definite. There was no spray of water this time. Barry went down and then came up rolling violently. We saw his head and then we saw his feet sticking up kicking, all in a constant death roll.
The big female obviously felt threatened by this and moved forward to attack him. She went under water, digging her tusks into his side and pushing him away from the other hippos.
Jason told me to chamber another round and take a second shot if possible. I had to make sure I didn’t accidentally hit another hippo. I turned the scope to lower power and waited for an opportunity. I saw Barry’s head break the water going skyward, and let fly another round. I believe I caught him under his chin, and his rolling turmoil quickly ceased. We saw him go under for the last time, and watched the bubbles come up as the final air in his lungs was released. Barry was done.
An hour and 15 minutes later, Clinton spotted one of Barry’s feet breaking the surface of the water, right where he was supposed to be.
Clinton retrieved the kayak from the other side of the pond and then paddled out to the body to affix the hook into the corpse. The females were never far away and not happy with the intrusion. (It is difficult to convey in words a description of the tremendous personal risk taken every day of such a hunt by the PHs and their crew)
We all then grabbed the rope and towed Barry to shore until his massive body began to drag in the weeds. We then tied the rope to the buggy and dragged his upside-down, 3-ton body onto the bank. Additional help arrived from the kitchen staff to assist in the effort. It took everyone pushing in unison to then roll his body over onto his belly so we could prepare him for some final photos.
After rolling him over, we noticed small traces of blood coming from Barry’s right ear on the opposite side of my shot. I then looked on the left side and saw the hole from one of my shots with a thin flat piece of copper jacket embedded into Barry’s skin right next to the bullet hole. The flesh inside the bullet hole had darkened from being in the water for a day, so we concluded that my shot the previous day had penetrated deep into Barry’s jaw about six inches below his ear. I traced the bullet hole through a foot of flesh, but didn’t find the slug.
Absorbing my shot from yesterday must have been painful for him, but not enough to make him freak out. Barry had maintained his composure perfectly, even after being walloped in the face with blunt lead force. Barry could take a punch. This was the only bullet hole that we found, and concluded that my first shot today went directly into his left ear. However, after further investigation by the taxidermist, we learned that my first shot did go directly into Barry’s left ear, but exploded, and did not penetrate the skull. It was my second and final shot that pierced Barry’s spine and put him down quickly.
After using a log to prop his mouth open to expose Barry’s tremendous gift of ivory, we took plenty of photos and then began to skin him out.
It took a solid eight hours to cut, slice, hack, chop and finally chainsaw Barry into manageable pieces. Nothing about Barry was small. Even after eight hours, with him having been quartered, it still took between three and four men to pick up and hang each piece of meat on hooks in the cold storage room. Barry totally filled the entire room.
Many, many thanks to Conrad, Jason and Clinton for one hell of a weekend – I hope to visit the Hippo Hide in the future to see a much larger and diverse population. Meantime, I look forward to having Barry’s massive skull and ivory sitting next to me by the fireplace.[/vc_column_text][vc_gallery type=”image_grid” images=”16518,16517,16516,16515″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
Jul 18, 2018 | News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]It was a crisp autumn morning. I was overlooking the river, having coffee, when the Facebook message stunned me…
Not six weeks previously I had spent a night in the Makuya Game Reserve, a community-owned reserve bordering Kruger National Park, and arguably one of the finest truly big-game areas in South Africa. Claude Kleynhans, PH & owner of Guwela Safaris had a 10-year concession in the reserve, and had invited me to see this incredible area. Years back Claude and I had met through his best friend Natie Oelofse, with whom we published The Practical Shot. Natie (who had touched many lives) had entered a battle with cancer which, after giving it a really good go, he would eventually lose. Claude and I became great friends over that extremely sad time. Catching up with Claude this past January at Dallas Safari Club after so many years, was just fantastic.
It was ironic that the name of Claude’s safari business was Guwela Safaris, meaning “an old buffalo”, a Shangaan word from the tribe native to that area of the northern Kruger. Because, being Africa’s most iconic hunting trophy, it was the animal that would ultimately take Claude’s life.
Claude had safely guided his last buffalo hunt. With his loyal and right-hand tracker Simon, he was cutting a path to retrieve the felled trophy when, out of nowhere, Africa’s bushveld debt collector came calling – unannounced, on a mission, and for no reason that we will ever know. In seconds this gentleman of the African professional hunting industry was gone.
A deep love and understanding of nature; decades of hunting experience across the continent; having every skill – it all counts for nothing when it is your time. And so it was for Claude. Doing what he loved in the area he had told me was the finest bit of bushveld (next to Tanzania) that he had ever hunted. He had found the lady and soulmate of his dreams – Merissa – and had started a long business relationship with the people he loved, headed by Esther Netshivhongweni for whom he had the utmost respect.
But so soon? Those left behind feel it the most, and that beast of the bushveld could have at least waited a few more years – but we are not here to try to understand.
This prompted in me some questions: If there is anything you can do in your own way – whether you are a hunter who loves Africa with many friends and connections, (perhaps some with considerable influence), or an outfitter with a dozen, or hundreds of clients – just think.
Just think: If someone is prepared to die for their profession
- Why the questioning of what’s ethical or not, when really, ethics are personal, and all that should count is obeying the law?
- Why run a fellow PH or outfit down because he is from a different country, nationality, or area. If he is legal and he is in the same industry, trying to make a living doing something he loves, that must count for something.
- Why fight over what is free range, game-fenced, managed or cattle-fenced, when the animal is still ultimately the same species?
- Why fight over how heavy, long, old, or inch size – when it should be your individual experience of the African hunt that matters.
- Why squabble over all this? Unnecessary infighting, when there is a much greater battle to embark on. The future of our industry is at stake and we need to work together.
Dangerous game is called this for a very good reason. So whether you hunt Africa for the sheer magic of this land, or you hunt Africa to share the magic of this land – be careful.
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