Nov 17, 2017 | Hunting News, News
By Zig Mackintosh
An interesting article was recently posted on the Kenyan-based African Wildlife Foundation’s (AWF) website entitled: “Trophy hunting not an option to finance conservation in Africa.” The article makes reference to the recent, legal safari hunting of a male lion in Zimbabwe in the Ngamo-Sikumi State Forestry block. This hunting concession borders the Hwange National Park, is 420 000 acres in extent and gets one lion on quota a year. Briefly here’s what happened on the hunt, according to the Zimbabwean Professional Hunters Association’s press release:
- 14 kilometres outside of Hwange National Park, tracks of a big male lion were picked up and followed by the professional hunter and client.
- After tracking for seven kilometres the lion was spotted and the hunters were able to get a good look at it before it disappeared into the long grass. They noted that it had a GPS collar.
- The park researchers were contacted. They told the hunters that they knew of the lion and that its age was around 6½ years, well within the legal hunting age.
- The lion had been ousted from its pride by a coalition, and was now extensively traveling outside the park. It had no dependent cubs. The hunters were told that it was the correct lion to harvest. It is not illegal to shoot a collared lion in Zimbabwe as the collaring of a lion is for research alone and not protection, as is the case for elephant.
- After the lion had been shot the collar was returned to the researchers along with mane hair and blood and tissue samples.
So no news here, nothing controversial, except that the lion was “Xanda” who we all (now) know is “Cecil the Lion’s” son. The Cecil saga was a fantastic money-spinner for the animal rights groups, so never to let a crisis go to waste, time to cash in again.
In the AWF article, Kaddu Sebunya, AWF President trots out the usual anti’s drivel about banning sport-hunting and any trade in wildlife products and that other non-consumptive means be put in place to replace the revenue earned from hunting. He contends that Africa must not rely on the killing of “rare” species to finance conservation, and calls on the conservation community, institutions, and governments to increase investment in alternative financing to support programs such as relocation, eco-tourism development, and securing space for these species to thrive.
But then he contradicts himself in saying that the presence of lions signifies a healthy ecosystem with prey species and symbolizes conservation success. This is a pretty good description of Hwange National Park and surrounds where the lion population is just about at carrying capacity. In closing he goes on to say that as an Africa-based organization (whose headquarters are in Washington DC) they have a deep appreciation of the cultural and economic value that lions and other rare and iconic species play in a modern Africa. They expect that their interpretation of how to realize an economic value be taken as gospel, everyone else be damned.
The one thing that you can’t help but notice on the website is the donate button with a cute little heart sign. This is the only motive for the AWF’s concern for “Xanda”. Their Facebook following stands at around 1.2 million, a substantial pool in which to trawl for funding. In the comments section below the article’s posting there is the normal hate speech towards hunters, how trophy hunting is fueling poaching, how they would like to hunt down the hunters, etc. The name and address of the professional hunter is also publicized, resulting in his wife receiving death threats. Social media is notorious for its lack of decorum, it is easy to insult and threaten from behind a keyboard, but one would have thought that the AWF would insist on a level of decency on their Facebook page to maintain some level of professionalism. Could it be that it is much easier to raise money when your subjects are all frothing at the mouth?
Kaddu Sebunya’s call to ban safari hunting is reckless, and he probably knows it. He also knows that donations alone could never support the wilderness areas that are presently supported through safari hunting. This is irrelevant to him and the AWF. Raising money for the foundation is the goal. The real problem is that this no longer shocks us. We have become impervious; no-one is holding the anti-hunters accountable for their dangerous shenanigans.
It is perhaps ironic that the AWF, formally know as the African Wildlife Leadership Foundation, was founded by hunters. One wonders what Russell Train, Nick Arundel, Kermit Roosevelt, James Bugg and Maurice Stans, all members of the Washington Safari Club, would have made of the Cecil and Xanda debacle.
Nov 15, 2017 | Hunting News, News
Leica’s Flagship Magnus Riflescopes Now Available In Non-illuminated Verson
Leica has launched three non-illuminated versions of its highly successful range of Magnus riflescopes: Magnus 1.5–10×42, Magnus 1.8–12×50, and Magnus 2.4–16×56. This new line is priced at a lower entry point than the illuminated version, making it one of the best value European premium riflescopes on the market.
Magnus non-illuminated riflescopes boast proven optical and mechanical systems as well as innovative features, such as turret scale zeroing without tools. Excellent light transmission of approximately 92% and extraordinarily high contrast enables dependable sighting under even the most challenging light conditions. Magnus non-illuminated riflescopes are extremely reliable and versatile companions, and provide razor-sharp and crystal-clear resolution, thanks to their legendary Leica optical performance.
The Leica Magnus non-illuminated models join four illuminated models in the Magnus line, ranging from the safari-ready Magnus 1-6.3x24i to the powerful 2.4-16x56i.
For more information, visit www.leica-sportoptics.com
Nov 10, 2017 | News, WingShooting
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Taking Wing in Namibia
By Ken Bailey
They come out of the sun as though they’ve stolen the playbook of the Red Baron, so it’s not until the last moment that we see them.
By then it’s almost too late and, having obviously seen us, they’re already twisting skyward as I shoulder my gun. I manage to get off two shots, but it’s a desperation effort, and I don’t cut a single feather before the flight of a dozen sandgrouse disappears into the horizon. But they’ll be back, I know. They keep to their schedule with the precision of a Swiss watch, and I’ll be waiting for them, better concealed, when they return the next morning. In the meantime I’ll go chase guineafowl and francolin. Such is the bird hunting in Namibia – if you miss one bus, there’s always another only minutes away.
To many, the appeal of an African safari is the combination of abundance and diversity. Understandably many think only of big game, with literally dozens of antelope species to choose from, not to mention the Big Five and a wide assortment of other unique animals of all sizes and descriptions. And compared with most other parts of the world, the sheer numbers of most species is breathtaking. I, too, have been captivated by the intoxicating lure of Africa’s big-game hunting.
But along the way, safari by safari, I found my attention being increasingly distracted by game birds. Whether flushing a covey of francolin while mid-stalk on a fine kudu bull, watching with amazement at the endless flights of doves as I check out a waterhole for warthogs, or being sold out by squawking guineafowl when closing the distance on buffalo, I was discovering that the opportunities for bird hunting were every bit as numerous and notable as they were for four-legged critters. So when planning to hunt Namibia a couple years ago, I dedicated time to hunt birds as a “must-do” on the agenda.
I admit I’m an avid wingshooter by nature – if not by nurture. It wasn’t as though the numbers of game birds I was seeing in Africa awoke any feelings in my soul that weren’t already stirring. It’s simply that with each flush and flight and flurry of feathers, the idea of devoting time to birds grew from a germ to an all-out determination. Packing a favourite over/under smoothbore into the two-gun case before leaving for Namibia just cemented my commitment.
Rather than risk temptation and fall back into old habits, I took my shotgun for a walk the very afternoon I arrived at Danene van der Westhuzen’s Klawka camp, one of two hunting concessions she manages with her husband, Gysbert, under the Aru Game Lodges banner. Whenever you’re hunting new country it takes some time to get accustomed to your surroundings, so I wasn’t fully prepared when a couple of common buttonquail rocketed up from the tall grass at my feet just minutes into our walk. PH Stephan Joubert and I both emptied our doubles, and in quick succession the two quail tumbled to the earth. Despite a thorough search, unfortunately we weren’t able to recover them. Perhaps they were merely wing-tipped and ran off to distant cover, but I still got that queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, known only to hunters who wound and lose an animal. It matters little that it’s “just” a bird and not something larger.
We hunted on, and over the next hour collected four red-billed francolin, or spurfowl as some refer to them, chunky common residents a little bigger than a Hungarian partridge. They tend to inhabit open, grassy wooded cover, especially near watercourses, and much like pheasants would rather run than fly. To get them up we’d first push them into dense thickets. Crash the thicket, and they’d flush, rather like hunting ruffed grouse in dense stands of young poplar. The francolin provided the perfect conclusion to a first day’s hunt.
They say everybody has a fight plan until they’re hit by that first punch. That’s guineafowl hunting in a nutshell. Pushing with beaters is one of the popular ways to hunt these strange birds, and invariably your strategy sounds pretty good – beaters here, moving in that direction, shooters there. Of course, that’s before the first guinea recognizes something’s afoot. Then the plan falls apart, as guineafowl have a nasty habit of not following the script you wrote. In part, it’s what makes them incredibly fun to hunt, but their ruthless unpredictability is also what makes them so frustrating.
We set up two drives for helmeted guineafowl, both thoroughly and precisely battle-planned. Total body count for the two drives? Two! I guess by some standards, that that could be recognized as a success, but on each occasion we reckoned that there were 20 or more guineas within our theater of operations. And our reckoning was right, based on the number of birds I counted flushing early, late, and in every direction but the one we wanted them to fly in.
But, my, they’re beautiful in the hand – hefty and colourful, if a bit odd-looking with a horny helmet and bald head of blue and red.
One morning we opted to walk-up hunt guineas, much as one might for sharp-tailed grouse or pheasants, the primary difference being that we were hunting without a dog. From several hundred yards away, however, we’d spotted a several guineas cavorting through a grassy flat area, pockmarked with the odd thorn bush. We circled to ensure the wind was in our faces, not to manage our scent but rather as a means to help reduce the noise we’d make, then walked slowly forward to where we’d seen them last. Guineafowl have incredible eyesight and hearing, so it was more than a little surprising when they held until we were well within range. Four shots between us and four birds down – it really couldn’t have unfolded more perfectly. I don’t want to spoil my story, so I’ll refrain from describing the majority of our other attempts at sneaking up on these crafty veld denizens!
Nobody goes to Africa for the doves. That’s what Argentina’s for, after all, or perhaps Mexico. But if you don’t take advantage of the dove hunting opportunities Africa offers, you’re missing out on some exceptional gunning. You won’t experience the powder-burning extravaganza common to the dedicated dove destinations – there will be no 500 and more bird days. What you can expect, however, is sustained shooting, morning and evening, for a wide array of species.
At Aru, we had three primary species to target. The largest is the Cape Turtle dove, with that distinctive early-morning call that I associate with southern Africa more than nearly any other sound. Only slightly smaller is the Laughing dove, with its distinctive black-mottled rusty-coloured breast. Finally, we enjoyed flights of Namaqua doves, pretty little birds sporting unusually long tails; the males have a characteristic black facemask and throat. Our standard tactic, simple as it may have been, was to hide beneath the shade of a large tree adjacent to a watering hole. Each morning and late afternoon, as if on cue, the flights would arrive. Generally it would be half a dozen birds or less, though on occasion as many as two dozen would fly in en masse. Seldom would we wait more than 10 minutes between volleys, though this would carry on for an hour in the morning, a couple hours during the late-day hunt.
On our best hunt I think we tumbled 70 or so doves between the two of us -impressive, though certainly not Argentinian numbers. The trade-off? In Argentina you don’t have the opportunity to watch giraffe, zebra, wildebeest, springbok and many more species go about their business while you’re reloading or awaiting the next flurry. Having experienced both, I much prefer the relaxed, yet steady pace and otherworldly backdrop of Africa’s dove hunts.
Before reluctantly packing for home, I insisted on one last Nambian sandgrouse hunt. As with the doves, three distinct species were available – Namaqua, Burchell’s and Double-Banded. Despite their names, they resemble doves or pigeons much more closely than they do grouse. More importantly, I can assure you their flight doesn’t resemble anything close to the predictable, even flight path of most grouse. Think of a pigeon on amphetamines trying to escape a peregrine falcon, and you’ll have some idea of how sandgrouse fly.
I was so keen to hunt them not just for their sporting qualities, but more because classic African literature is rife with references to clouds of sandgrouse arriving daily at hidden waterholes, and I wanted to better understand what the fuss was about. The truth is, the clouds are no longer there, much as they aren’t for many other species. At Aru we could expect flights of anywhere from four to a couple dozen birds. Unlike the low-flying doves that would arrive suddenly, invariably we’d see the sandgrouse coming from a long distance, winging high over the trees for their date at the local watering hole. I suppose that opportunity to prepare should have translated into better shooting percentages, but it never did for me. Not that I cared much – as I said, there’s always another bus just minutes away when bird hunting Namibia.
I’ll go back to Africa – I always go back. Now, whenever I do, hunting birds will be a regular part of the plan. In just a few short days in Namibia I discovered in a new way that, for hunters, Africa remains the land of opportunity.
Ken Bailey is an outdoors writer from Canada. When not hunting big game or birds, or fly-fishing, he’s writing about his experiences. And when the bills need to be paid, he is a consultant in the wildlife conservation industry.
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Nov 7, 2017 | Countries, Hunting, News
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]By PH Jofie Lamprecht
Everybody has a favorite place. Your favorite table at a restaurant. A special spot on the beach. A spectacular view. Your hideaway in your home.
Mine starts with a 300-foot ascent up to a plateau overlooking the surrounding countryside. Vast vistas of the African bush. So different on the top compared with the below. Trees, bushes and grass have been preserved on the top for 850 million years when two tectonic plates of soft, red sandstone clashed, eventually slipping, and one was forced on top of the other. Dinosaur tracks from 200 million years ago and more recent Bushmen etchings mark its history.
This unique plateau is my favorite place.
Patrick joined me – our second safari together, buffalo being the primary target animal. Sable and eland were also on the list, but our foot-dragging quarry was what this hunt was all about.
Ascending the plateau for the first time, Patrick was immediately captivated by the aura this place has on people.
“Welcome to Jurassic park,” is what I usually say as we grind up the steep incline. Day One had seen us skunked by several herds of buffalo bulls – they all ran away from us in our clumsiness. Hunters too noisy in the thick bush.
Day 3: It was a cold morning with the golden orb of the sun just breaking the horizon. The Cruiser ground to a halt in thick red Kalahari sand, and the dragging spoor of bulls was evident for all to see. Soup-bowl-size tracks connected with drag marks between each of the big, old, short-legged buffalo bulls’ steps. We disembarked from the vehicle for closer inspection. The dung cold, but very moist. The urine had not sunk too deep into the sand, and the night-mice had not scampered over the tracks. It would not take too much effort to catch up with these bulls – but would we get a look?
Our Heym double rifles unsheathed – one ‘older’ 88B in .500 NE – mine called, “the Hofman” after a late friend of mine, and the new – 89B in .470 NE. Both rifles true masterpieces of German engineering, the 89B with more classic English lines – more my cup of tea, I have to admit, to my chagrin. The double ‘thunks’ as the large cartridges are dropped into their barrels made for this special chosen war.
We load essential gear and start our trek on the spoor up the road, the tracks following the two-track for almost a mile. Barrels were cold in our hands, muscles just starting to loosen from the night’s slumber and the previous day’s exertion. The spoor swings off the two-track into the bush, into a wide-open field that had been burnt clear the previous year by a lighting strike. I grab Gideon by the shoulder. He’s a master tracker with vast experience who I have known for over 30 years.
“Buffel,” I say in my native Afrikaans.
At a distance of approximately 200 yards I see the black mass of at least three buffalo busy grazing on the grass of the recovering field. With the wind in our faces, but no cover to put the stalk on our quarry, I decide to loop around the outskirts of the field to make use of the available concealment, burning valuable time while these buffalo are moving in the open. This gives the hunter more opportunity to get a view of their horns from more than one angle, preventing them from disappearing into the thick bush, which makes judgment very difficult.
We get around the cover of bush and I glass around. My heart sinks a little. Only one buffalo left cropping peacefully undisturbed in the grassland. We put the stalk on him. Going through the checklist – big body and hard bosses seen from the side, but how wide? Plucking grass with his teeth and lips, he slowly turns to show his genetics. Horns are much narrower than his body from behind. A solid pass on this buffalo. We can do much better in this area.
Patrick taps me on the shoulder and points – two bulls passing in the dense bush to our left. I silently nod, and we soundlessly sneak out of the close proximity of the first bull. The other bulls are going to be tough to get up to in the thick stuff now – and with the added complication of this other bull at our backs. Once clear of our first bull we advance toward the tracks of the bulls Patrick had spotted. I turn over the lead to Gideon – his talent in the spoor – mine the stalk, trophy judgment and the minor issue of a .500-carrying bodyguard. Gideon finds the tracks and turns on them, walking easily, looking 10 feet ahead at the sign left by our quarry.
I often wonder about concentration levels. The average child today lacks concentration for more than a few minutes at a time. In Gideon’s master class caliber – a whole day of tracking is not a problem.
The breaking of bushes, and crushing and crunching of grass, clear my thoughts as we silently and carefully approach. I take the lead from Gideon, Patrick closely following behind me – a shadow of my steps – alert and ready. The morning cold being broken with the welcome sun now warming our backs, as the thick sand-slogging turning this into an early-morning workout. The noise gives way to the sight of moving black shadows feeding noisily through the African savannah.
Having hunted Cape buffalo in five African countries – these Waterberg buffalo certainly had to be the hardest to hunt. Aware and alert – any noise brings them to a standstill – noses and eyes seeking the disturbance. We had to be ‘very quiet and very sneaky’ to get close – just like Elmer Fudd.
On the left, a huge mass of black filled my Leica binoculars. I go through the checklist. A white scar on the rump of the buffalo is noted. He is another pass – old, but not what we are looking for. I turn my attention to the third one. He is facing away from us. His horns hang well past his body from the back. An average Cape buffalo’s body is 40 inches wide – the benchmark for most buffalo hunters. Big body. But what about his boss? He disappears into the thick bush!
We loop around. Each step is taken carefully in the ‘corn flake’-strewn bush. Our feet are clad in very quiet Russell Moccasin boots. Concentration is absolute on our mission. We advance – slow and steady. With each step the bush is getting thicker. “K-dup k-dup k-dub k-dub,” we hear the advance from behind. With the wind in our faces, the first companion already checked got our wind. I look behind us, and here the bull comes in slow motion in the thick red Kalahari sand to warn his mates. My heart sinks. “This stalk is over,” crosses my mind.
We are close, 25 yards from the two bulls we followed. The third bull runs up behind us and circles around. The two bulls ahead of us have their heads up – their full attention on any potential threat. The third bull has made a full circle and is now with his comrades.
In the thick bush, movement draws my attention to my left. The black mass moves branches and pushes trees out of his way. He turns, and the white scar gives him away. I turn my attention to the ‘wide’ bull I had seen just moments before. I can see he is hard-bossed – polished to a red-black patina. He lifts his head as the first buffalo gets to him, and they touch noses. My hand reaches back, and Gideon instinctively passes me the shooting sticks – not really necessary at this distance, but always better to use them if you can for a safe shot. Patrick slowly slides his Heym 89B .470 onto his rest – safety quietly clicked off.
“The one on the left. Wait for him to clear the bush,” my quiet instruction. The bull takes another step forward in apparent annoyance at the first bull’s disturbance and clears the bush. A long second passes, and then the blast from the 500-grain Hornady DGX soft-nosed bullet breaks the silence of the otherwise tranquil morning. The bush erupts with breaking branches and grunting.
Bomb-shock aftermath in the bush. We wait. A black mass stands to our left in the bush. Our bull?
Rifles at the ready, rifle slings and shooting sticks left behind, we advance. The buffalo to our left seems healthy and flees the scene. To our right I see a buffalo down – after quick inspection my finger indicates where the next shot needed to go. Patrick did not waste time to use his right and left barrels. With no reaction to the large pieces of copper-lead that were discharged, it was safe to move closer to ensure that this hunt had come to a successful conclusion. Insurance shots a must whenever buffalo hunting, in this case a waste of ammunition, the first bullet being perfectly placed through the heart and both lungs. Hugs and high-fives all round. An amazing morning just got better.
We admire the giant-bodied bull, with horns to match.
“When can we do this again?” Patrick’s only question.
Everyone has a favorite place. This one is mine.
Authors note: Patrick’s Cape buffalo made the NAPHA top 10 list, proudly being the NEW #9 Cape buffalo of all time from Namibia.
Husband. Father. Big Game Professional Hunter. Photographer. Writer. Jack Russell Lover, and a trained wine expert and a passionate “foodie” who adheres to blue-ribbon standards of food and service. Jofie’s specialty is dream safaris custom-tailored to each client. He is proud to uphold the traditions of ethical and fair-chase hunting, and works hard to get his hunters close to the game. He has a special place in his heart for the children who come on safari.
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Nov 5, 2017 | News, Uncategorized
By Wayne van Zwoll
It likely isn’t the rifle, ammo or scope, the wind or the rotation of the earth. Guess who’s left?
Honesty and diplomacy both fail when your pal is already crestfallen. But, “You made a bad shot” is more helpful, in the long run, than the dodge, “Maybe something’s wrong with your rifle.”
Rarely, something is wrong with the hardware. But the rifleman still bears responsibility. On safari years ago, I called a good shot on an eland, but heard the “whump” of a paunch hit. We trailed the bull, and I killed it. Confidence restored, I kept hunting. But my next shot was again off the mark. Then I saw that a windage screw on my Redfield scope mount had backed off the ring. Recoil had bounced it from the opposite screw. The next shot had sent it back, and so on. I should have checked zero right away, with three shots.
A zero isn’t likely to shift, but each is precise for only one person, load and position! Recently, I hunted with a fellow who worked for the firm that had built his rifle. One morning a fine buck appeared 120 metres off, and stood. I waited for it to wilt. But a couple of shots later, the animal left. Thick silence ensued. When I asked if he’d checked his zero, the man barked, “Our staff zeroed this rifle!” He targeted the .30-06 later and found it shot 40 cm high at 100 metres! Using a rifle zeroed by someone else is an easy way to miss game. There are others.
I once watched a hunter shoot a brow tine off a bull elk at short range. Fully exposed, the animal was statue-still while my pal steadied his rifle on sticks. But this was his first elk, and he had his eye on the antlers. Game is often missed – or crippled – because hunters lose focus. The target is not the beast or what’s on its head. With few exceptions, the target is the sphere of life between its shoulders.
A rifle-scope can help you send a bullet through the vitals – or impede your view of the animal. Night was zipping up the sun one evening when a young woman and her PH came upon a fine kudu just 30 metres off. All actors froze, the PH like a bird-dog on point. The rifle danced about as his client tried to find the bull in her scope. Its ribs were shadowed but unobstructed.
“Everything’s a blur!” she hissed, desperate. The kudu sunfished to the blast of the .300, and galloped off. Skilled tracking by the PH brought a second, killing shot at last light. Equipped with a powerful variable scope, the woman had neither a sharply focused image nor an adequate field. A 2½x sight would have served her better, without sacrificing 250-metre precision.
Powerful glass can also delay a shot by magnifying wobble. The longer you aim trying to settle a reticle bouncing violently about the field, the more desperately you want to breathe. Pulse-bump becomes an earthquake as eye fatigue burns the target image into your brain. Muscles tire, wobbles become shakes. Aware the shot is unraveling, you yank the trigger and miss.
Long isn’t hard.
Shivering in the November dawn, the kid was also shaking from excitement. He couldn’t steady the crosswire, even when he leaned against the fence post. It would be a long shot – the deer looked small. He’d have to aim high. With the sight bobbing above the buck’s shoulder, the kid pressed the trigger. The buck kept eating. Two more shots brought no more reaction. The deer might as well have been cropping wheat on the moon.
Since that humiliation 50 years ago, I’ve avoided aiming high. Before every hunt I chant, under my breath: “Your barrel is already pointing up!” It is, relative to the sightline. It got that way when I zeroed!
When you zero a rifle, you’re adjusting the sightline to cross the bullet’s path at the distance of your choice. Because a bullet starts dropping as soon as it leaves the muzzle, the barrel must be elevated to hit a distant target. Your sight-line is a straight path at a downward angle to bore-line. The sight-line cuts through the bullet’s arc, meeting it twice. The second intersection defines the zero range.
Point-blank range is the distance at which a dead-on hold brings desired results. Most of my hunting rifles are zeroed at 200 metres. Given this zero, popular cartridges like the .30-06 keep bullets within 8 cm above or below center to 250 metres – a long effective point-blank range. A center hold to 250 will hit vitals on all but the smallest game. Bullets will strike highest just beyond mid-range (trajectory is parabolic).
Many hunters overshoot because game looks farther than it is. In broken country, your eye takes in lots of terrain. But bullets don’t follow ground contours. “Never hold off hair,” renowned hunter and outfitter Jack Atcheson told me. “If you think an animal’s so far that you must aim above it, you’re wrong or too far away for an accurate shot.”
A caveat: game on a flat pan or plain can seem closer than it is, because your eye snares so little earth. Your brain tells you: less terrain, shorter shot.
Distance is commonly assumed the biggest obstacle to accurate shooting. It does magnify errors in aim and shot execution, and the effects of wind and gravity. But other variables can also ruin your day. The longest poke I’ve taken at elk was twice the measure of the next-longest. Still, my bullet struck less than a minute of angle from point of aim. Perfect light, still air and a slinged-up prone position made this long shot an easy shot. Last month at this writing I missed – twice! – a gemsbok close enough for a chat. Clipped by another hunter, it was dashing through bush. My stance was poor, the iron sights hard to see.
Close shots don’t ensure kills. Neither do rifle-scopes with reticles born of calculus in tubes the size of irrigation pipes. Accomplished rifleman David Tubb has designed a scope reticle that compensates for spin drift – vertical displacement of bullets in wind. For right-twist rifling, a 3-o’clock breeze kicks a bullet not directly left, but to 10 o’clock. Left wind shoves bullets to 4 o’clock. Tubb’s horizontal wire is curved to track bullet paths down-range. Still, David insists hunters must master shooting fundamentals before sophisticated hardware is of any help.
To miss is human!
Marksmanship is an acquired skill. When you come to think yourself a “natural,” your targets are either too big or too close. Or you’ve bought into the myth that shooting prowess comes to every man as inexorably as facial hair. The pitiable souls who hang their egos with their targets are bound to be humbled.
Shooters who say they can’t practice because ammo costs too much or because they can’t access a range have little hope of shooting well. Many drills burn no powder. Practicing for small-bore matches, college team-mates and I donned shooting jackets and held rifles while we studied or watched television. We strengthened and stretched our muscles as they “memorized” bone-supported positions. We practiced deep breathing to bring oxygen to our eyes for sharper sight pictures. Empty hull in the chamber, we dry-fired to hone our trigger technique.
Once, closing the bolt of my Anschutz in a match, I brushed the trigger. The rifle fired. I’d barely sunk into position, had established no sight picture. The best I could hope was that the bullet had missed the paper entirely, as any hole would be scored. To my surprise, the bullet had centered the correct target on a sheet of 11 small black bull’s eyes!
Any shot to the middle without aim is great good fortune. But verily, this bullet went where the rifle had directed it. My position had allowed the rifle to point naturally at the target.
Many hunters miss game because during the off-season they fire only from a bench. Deprived of a rest in the bush, they don’t know how to align their bodies quickly with the target, so the rifle is supported by a platform of bone and relaxed muscle. Muscles under load tire and twitch; the rifle bobs and quivers. When you trigger a shot, tensed muscles involuntarily relax, shifting the rifle before the bullet leaves. A rifle relaxing onto the target will spend more time there during the firing sequence.
You’ll do well to keep both eyes open. A squint against bright sun, pelting sleet or swirling dust makes sense. But depth perception requires both eyes working in tandem. Using two eyes also gives you a wider field, so you see more details that might affect your shot. Each pupil has evolved to control the light reaching the retina, dilating in dim light, constricting in bright sun. Darkness imposed by closing an eye encourages that pupil to dilate, as the other wants to throttle light. Closing one eye strains both. Animals you seek use both eyes to stay alive or launch an attack; why close one of yours at the moment of truth?
You see best when looking straight ahead. Aiming, your face is best kept upright on the stock. Prone and sitting positions tilt your brow; but the less tilt the better! Kneeling and offhand, your head should be erect, even if only the stock’s toe meets your clavicle.
While aiming and firing a rifle is a physical process, “Marksmanship is as much mental,” said my first coach, Earl. He tapped ashes from a cigar long enough to holster. “But don’t over-think. When you feel a good shot, let it go. Don’t analyze it. Don’t tell yourself it’s too good to be true. Just turn it loose.”
Late shots don’t count.
“I should have fired sooner,” Don told me. “At six metres, he lowered his head. I didn’t want to kill that bull.” The Norma solid connected at just two steps. Momentum carried the elephant forward. As Don leaped aside, the falling beast’s trunk broke his arm.
Even if your life never hinges on a quick shot, precision has a price. Opportunity may be fleeting as an animal pauses at cover’s edge. For close encounters, fast shooting can trump gnat’s-lash accuracy.
The era of exhibition shooting stateside passed during my youth, as Herb Parsons gave his final demonstrations to pie-eyed audiences. He’d milk a Model 12 in volleys that rolled like thunder, leaving smoke floating where seven clay birds had hung briefly. Herb would toss oranges and pulp them with .30-30 bullets. Emptying a 10-shot .351 self-loader from the hip, he’d dust 10 clay targets standing on edge. “They’re not hard to hit, folks,” he’d laugh, “just easy to miss!”
Arguably, smooth, fast, instinctive shooting is disappearing, as shooters (and now, hunters) focus on ever-more-sophisticated rifles, optics and loads to hit targets far away. But some long-range marksmen have missed spectacularly up close. The equipment that helps them at distance can impede them in cover.
Better prepared for catch-as-catch-can hunting were shooters whose exploits date back a century or more. Early among them: Phoebe Ann Moses, born in a cabin in rural Ohio in 1860. Hunting to feed her family, then for market, she came to hit quail on the wing with a .22. At age 16, after thrashing him at a local match, she married visiting sharpshooter Frank Butler. They later joined Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, she under the name Annie Oakley.
Petite and sweet-tempered, Annie became an audience favorite. Aiming in a mirror, she fired over her shoulder to burst glass balls Frank tossed. Germany’s Crown Prince, later to become Kaiser Wilhelm II, asked her to shoot a cigarette from his lips. She did, allowing after World War I that a miss might have changed history! Annie shot coins from Frank’s fingers. Firing 25 shots in 25 seconds with a .22 repeater, she could make one ragged hole in the middle of a playing card, or split that card edgewise with a bullet. Johnny Baker, another Wild West Show marksman, tried for 17 years to outshoot Annie. “She wouldn’t throw a match,” he said. “You had to beat her, and she wasn’t beatable.”
But nowhere do fast hits matter more than in Africa, when surly animals come for you. His brush with the elephant fresh in memory, Don took a client out for a lion. Big pug marks led the hunters to a fine male. At close range the client fired a black-powder load from his Holland 10-bore. The lion ran off, but the cloud of white smoke hung tight, obscuring three lionesses nearby. They charged. Two broke off, but one pressed on, low and lightning-fast. Don fired instantly. His 9.3 bullet smashed the spine between the shoulders. Dead in mid-air, the lioness cart-wheeled past the hunters.
Mused my friend: “Accurate may not be enough if you’re slow. But a miss is always worse!”
Nov 2, 2017 | News
Hi Richard,
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Kind Regards
Will Tottle
Nov 2, 2017 | News, Wildlife Game
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Namibia – Leading Africa in Community Wildlife Conservation
By John Ledger
In 1967 a young man of 23 took a vacation from his job on a mine, working underground deep below the dry surface of South West Africa. Through the good offices of a friend who worked in government, he was allowed to visit the Kaokoveld, a restricted ‘native reserve’ the size of Belgium, in the north west of the country, bounded by the Atlantic Ocean on the west, and on the north by the Cunene River, the border with Angola. It was an experience that changed his life, and also the destiny of wildlife conservation in this vast southern African country.
Garth Owen-Smith was astonished to find the local people and their livestock living alongside wild animals of every description, from elephants and rhinos to springbok, gemsbok and kudu. He resigned from his mining job, and set off on a bicycle to Botswana and Rhodesia, desperately looking for employment that would enable him to fulfil his dream of working with wildlife in wild places. He found none, and returned to Durban in Natal, the province of his birth. He applied to the Department of Bantu Administration and Development (BAD) and in August 1968 he reported for duty as an agricultural supervisor based in Opuwo, the dusty little administrative centre of the Kaokoveld.
He explored the vast region and learned much about the local people, the wildlife and the arrogance of the South Africans who were in charge of governing South West Africa. Originally annexed by Germany in 1882 during Europe’s ‘scramble for Africa’, South Africa was asked to invade the territory by the Supreme Allied Command at the start of World War I. In July 1915 the outnumbered German colonial forces surrendered, and a military government maintained law and order until June 1919, when Pretoria was given control through the Treaty of Versailles, consolidated in 1921 as a ‘C Mandate’ by the recently formed League of Nations. South Africa implemented its particular brand of racial segregation in the territory under its mandate, seeking to create separate areas for the different tribes of native people living in the country.
Garth clashed with his superiors over the illegal hunting of game in the Kaokoveld, and after two and a half years was transferred, without explanation, to a post with BAD in Natal (he discovered later that the real reason was that he was regarded as a ‘security risk’). He resigned from that job, went to university and did various and diverse other things, all the while dreaming of returning to the vast open spaces of the Kaokoveld.
After visiting Australia, and finding it rather boring in comparison to wild Africa, Garth managed to return to the Kaokoveld for a brief sojourn in 1973, working on an ethnobotany project for the Windhoek Museum. Then a stint in Rhodesia saw Garth managing one the Liebig’s cattle ranches, while also becoming involved in Allan Savory’s pioneering experiments on intensive grazing systems. As the war escalated in that country, and friends and colleague started to pay the supreme price, Garth was given an opportunity to return to South West Africa as an employee of the Department of Nature Conservation, initially stationed in the south of the country, before being transferred to Etosha National Park in 1980. In 1982 he resigned to join the newly-formed Namibia Wildlife Trust, with his salary guaranteed by the South African NGO, the Endangered Wildlife Trust (EWT) for at least two years. At last he had returned to his beloved Kaokoveld!
But it was depleted of its wildlife wealth by years of drought and poaching. Everyone had participated in the slaughter, including the South African military, civil servants, opportunistic hunters as well as the local people, who had been given .303 rifles and ammunition to defend themselves against the ‘freedom fighters’ of SWAPO (South West African People’s Organisation). Having lost their livestock in the drought, they killed wild animals for food. But the elephants and rhinos were often killed by the more sophisticated hunters, including military men in helicopters.
Garth was faced with turning around this dire situation, in an area of nine million hectares, with very few resources indeed. His previous contact with the local people of the Kaokoveld convinced him that their support and co-operation would be the key to conserving wildlife and restoring its numbers to their former abundance. Together with a local headman he had befriended, Joshua Kangombe, Garth came up with the idea of hiring ‘community game guards’, appointed by their own headman, to look after wildlife in their designated areas. They would get a small cash allowance and also rations sufficient for their families. Several former poachers changed their ways in return for a less risky life, with the assurance of daily meals besides! This was the start of one of the world’s most remarkable nature conservation successes.
Owen-Smith, Garth (2010). An Arid Eden. A Personal Account of Conservation in the Kaokoveld. Jonathan Ball Publishers, Jeppestown, South Africa. Soft cover, 15 x 23 cm, Colour and monochrome photographs, 610 pages.
This is Garth’s story, an excellent book that should be read by anyone interested in Africa and wild places. Today Namibia has become a top destination for hunters, who play a critical role in ensuring the success of this remarkable effort to build a rural economy on the value of wildlife. The important ingredients are all in place: the proprietorship of the animals lies with the landowners, whether private or communal. These landowners are allowed by government to use their wildlife to create wealth and improve their lives, and government also protects these landowners from those who would illegally hunt their animals.
Initially equipped with a single Land Rover, two assistants and six community game guards, the challenges that Garth faced were indeed daunting. Nonetheless, with the support of the community leaders, and a number of successful prosecutions and convictions for illegal hunting, the situation slowly turned around. However, politics again reared its ugly head, as South West Africa was still under the control of Pretoria, although nature conservation issues were handled by the Department of Nature Conservation (DNC) in Windhoek, staffed largely by South Africans. There was a conflict between the DNC and the Damara Council about the land-use of a large section of the Kaokoveld, and Garth was seen to be on the side of the local people.
The Namibia Wildlife Trust informed him that they were closing down the Community Game Guard project. The EWT agreed to fund the project until he end of 1984; but in the middle of that year, an EWT delegation was told by the DNC officials in Windhoek that they were to stop funding Garth’s salary and that of his two assistants, and that in future the rations for the game guards (paid for the EWT!) would be controlled and delivered by DNC staff. The old epithet of ‘security risk’ was implicit in the actions of those DNC officials, and they clearly saw him as a ‘trouble-maker’. The EWT Board of Management was reluctant to clash heads with government, and equally reluctantly cut off Garth’s livelihood.
After surviving for two years without a salary, a change of guard at the EWT saw the DNC challenged and Garth was once again financially supported by the EWT from April 1987. He wrote a ground-breaking article for the Trust’s magazine entitled ‘Wildlife conservation in Africa: there is another way’, which laid out his philosophy of working with local communities, not against them. With wildlife populations steadily increasing, Garth persuaded the DNC to allow some meat hunting for the local communities who had supported the conservation initiatives, and this helped to create goodwill and bolster the authority of the traditional leaders.
Another initiative of the EWT was to organize fly-in safaris to Palmwag Lodge, which Garth led, and 30 such tours resulted in around 300 people from all over the world experiencing the superb scenery and wildlife of this little-explored land. This pioneering tourism income helped to pay Garth’s salary. A number of these tourists would later become important financial supporters of the project, as well as spread the word back home, and the innovative programme of community nature conservation was beginning to gain momentum. All of this was happening against the background of a fierce military conflict in the northern part of the country and Angola, with the looming independence of South West Africa the subject of intense debate and negotiation at local and international level. On 21 March 1990, Sam Nujoma became the first president of the Republic of Namibia after SWAPO won the democratic election.
The new Minster of Wildlife Conservation and Tourism, Nico Bessinger, was a leading member of SWAPO and had been very aware of the pivotal role that Garth and his partner, Margie Jacobsohn, had played in community conservation in the Kaokoveld. He asked for their help to implement his plans to make nature conservation relevant to all Namibians. So Garth was promoted from a ‘security risk’ to ’government advisor’!
The project morphed into the a non-government organisation called Integrated Rural Development and Nature Conservation (IRDNC), which spread its wings further afield into East and West Caprivi. Major international donors now moved in after independence with significant funding, including WWF, USAID and LIFE (Living in a Finite Environment), a contract between the governments of the USA and Namibia. The EWT did not have the financial muscle of these global big-hitters to play a further role, and moved on to support some community conservation initiatives in war-torn Mozambique.
The final step in this historical process was the creation of ‘communal conservancies’. Under the old South African regime, trophy hunting and game farming on freehold land was already established as a viable economic land-use option based on wildlife. The challenge was how to extend this to communally-owned land? In 1996 the Nature Conservation Amendment Act was passed into law. It made provision for rural communities to register ‘conservancies’ and have ownership as well as management and use rights of the wildlife on their land.
There were many difficulties and obstructions to overcome, but in June 1998, the first four conservancies were legally gazetted and registered. President Sam Nujoma received the WWF-US’s prestigious ‘Gift to the Earth’ Award on behalf of Namibia – but there were certainly many other unsung heroes responsible for this remarkable achievement!
In the nearly twenty years since then, the progress has been astonishing. Interested readers should go straight to www.nacso.org.na for further interesting details. NACSO is the acronym for the Namibian Association of CBNRM Support Organisations. There are now 83 registered conservancies, covering 163, 017 square kilometers of land, and benefiting some 190,000 people. NACSO comprises funding partners, hunting partners and tourism partners. The Namibian government firmly supports sustainable wildlife utilisation and trophy hunting. Namibia’s wildlife is flourishing, while that of many African countries is in decline (as is the case in Angola, Namibia’s northern neighbour).
While many individuals and organisations have helped to fashion this exemplary state of affairs, the role played by the young man who fell in love with the people and wildlife of Namibia fifty years ago deserves much more than a special mention. Thank you, Garth Owen-Smith!
North of the Cunene, wildlife is under siege
Huntley, Brian J. (2017). Wildlife at War in Angola. The Rise and Fall of an African Eden. Protea Book House, Pretoria (www.proteaboekhuis.com). Soft cover, 17 x 21 cm, colour and monochrome photos, 432 pp.
Angola was one of Africa’s last great wildernesses. Gorillas and chimpanzees shared the pristine rainforests of Cabinda, giant sable antelope roamed the miombo woodlands of Luando, and the enigmatic Welwitschia mirabilis crowded the plains of the Namib. But war, intrigues, and arrogance have resulted in the loss and near extinction of most of Angola’s formerly abundant wildlife and the decay and erosion of a once endless Eden.
In this brand-new book, Brian Huntley lifts the lid on Angola’s tragic destruction of its wildlife and protected areas, writing that “The national parks in Angola are in a chaotic and critical state – a situation that must be recognised for what it is, and widely publicised both within the country and globally”.
While Huntley is optimistic that the situation can be turned around, and he gives a number of recommendations as to what should be done, he also comments: “But evidence-based criticism is not popular in Angola. I have been warned not to return to Angola in the wake of this book’s publication.”
Dr John Ledger is an independent consultant and writer on energy and environmental issues, based in Johannesburg, South Africa.
John.Ledger@wol.co.za
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Oct 31, 2017 | Hunting Stories
By Ken Bailey
Kudu were not on my “want” list. But they invariably become part of conversation whenever you’re in kudu country, for these regal spiral-horned antelope have a way of capturing the imagination like few others. And so it was, that Aru Game Lodge’s PH Stephan Joubert and I talked kudu as we sat high on a hill glassing the vast bushveld below, while searching the thorn bush for eland!
The truth is that I had no intention of shooting a kudu. Having taken a respectable bull on a hunt years earlier in South Africa, on this Namibian hunt I was focused on the kudu’s big brother, the eland. (Also high on my list were springbok, steenbok and caracal – the ubiquitous lynx-like cat found across much of Africa, although given how few caracals I’ve seen over several safaris, I am not convinced that they’re as widely distributed as the range maps suggest.)
The icons of hunting writing that popularized kudu wrote about their experiences in East Africa, largely in what is now Tanzania. Perhaps it was Hemingway’s Green Hills of Africa that jump-started the kudu mystique, or maybe it was Jack O’Connor’s assertion that the kudu was the Dark Continent’s top trophy, and his coining of the term “the grey ghost” that inspired all those who followed in his footsteps. At that time, kudu were decidedly uncommon, undoubtedly contributing to their reputation as a trophy in high demand. Today, however, kudu are thriving, particularly in South Africa, Namibia and Zimbabwe.
From our hilltop vista, Stephan and I carefully and methodically identified a great diversity and abundance of game. A mixed herd of zebra and blue wildebeest, two separate groups of gemsbok, clusters of red hartebeest, numerous springbok and a sprinkling of warthogs, ostriches, waterbuck and steenbok. But – no eland. So, we settled back more firmly against the rocks and began to sweep the landscape all over again.
Ten minutes later, in the typically understated manner of all African PHs, Stephan leaned over and said, casually, “There’s a pretty decent kudu bull down there. He only has a horn and a half, but the intact side looks pretty good. Maybe 55 inches. Are you interested?”
Decision time. I’d arrived with little interest in taking a kudu, but 55-inch bulls don’t grow on trees, especially in this part of Namibia where kudu, especially the bulls, had been hit hard by an epizootic outbreak of rabies, and the population was only then beginning to rebound. However, this was a one-horned kudu, irrespective of the length. Not generally a trophy animal.
“Let me give it some thought,” and we both settled back to continue glassing.
The whole notion of what constitutes a trophy has been undergoing a metamorphosis in recent years. In an effort to ensure that hunters are targeting only the oldest animals as a means to help ensure the health and sustainability of populations, there have been numerous biological and social initiatives aimed at educating hunters and the professional hunting community alike. In 2006, sponsored in part by Conservation Force and the Dallas Safari Club, a paper on ageing lions was released describing how various traits, including facial pigmentation, could be used to select older, post-breeding animals. A few years ago, and championed by noted veterinarian, author and PH Kevin Robertson, the importance of selecting past-their-prime Cape buffalo bulls was reinforced. Hunters were encouraged to choose the oldest and ugliest bulls. Today, what should count is age, not size.
I considered this as I continued to scan the Namibian veld, returning repeatedly to scrutinize the lone kudu bull browsing in the camel thorn. He was alone, not a herd bull, as one might expect of a breeding-aged animal. Given the length of his one intact horn, he had some years on his hooves. He definitely appeared old.
I pondered my own hunting ethics together with where the hunting community is headed in defining trophy quality.
“Let’s do it.” Without another word the two of us, along with our two trackers and Stephan’s constant companion, a friendly Rhodesian Ridgeback, made our way down the little mountain.
Height is a strategic advantage in pinpointing game. By the time we’d made it down and onto the flat veld, we found our perspective had disappeared with the altitude. We were now staring at a sea of thorn bush and although we’d identified a landmark or two, it was difficult to know exactly where the bull had wandered out of our sight.
Stephan sent one of the trackers up a fortuitously positioned windmill to see if he could spot the bull. Five minutes after scaling the rickety structure the tracker signaled that he’d spied our kudu. After scrambling down he excitedly relayed its location – only a few hundred yards distant among the scrub. A quick confab between the three of us to discuss tactics, and we were on the hunt.
From the direction we knew the bull to be heading, Stephan guessed that it was feeding towards a watering hole, so we set out on a trajectory that would intercept the bull along his path. Keeping the wind in our faces, we hunched over and began quickly duck-walking, always wary of the needle-sharp spines of the camel thorn and black thorn trees along the path. Eventually Stephan and the trackers got right down into a catcher’s-stance waddle. Too many years of basketball has left me with knees that have all the flexibility of rebar, so I was on my hands and knees, scurrying along behind as best as I could.
A hand raised is the universal sign that game has been spotted – at Stephan’s signal we all froze. Staring intently to where he pointed, I eventually made out the bull moving slowly through the dense cover, feeding as he went. He was headed toward a clearing, and I got into position to be ready for when he stepped out.
Breaking into the open, the bull did as he was hard-wired to do – stopping to check that the coast was clear. That hesitation was all I needed, and at the shot he was down in his tracks.
It’s always a bittersweet moment when you first approach a downed animal, and that feeling was only amplified when we realized what an ancient warrior this kudu truly was. In many places his hair was abnormally thin or worn away, and he had obvious cataracts in both eyes. His “good” horn was broken, battered and splintered, and stretched the tape to just shy of 54 inches. The wear on the stub side made it obvious he’d been handicapped for quite some time, likely from having performed double duty, given that the other horn was little more than an 18-inch remnant.
Stephan estimated the bull to be 13 years old, well past his prime and considerably older than the eight- and nine-year-old bulls that are typically taken. With his poor overall health and impairments, it was unlikely he’d have lived another season – more probably destined to become dinner for one of the local leopards.
Despite folks having asked several times why I’d willingly shoot a kudu with only one horn, when I look back on this hunt, it’s without a smidgen of hunter’s remorse. In fact, it is just the opposite. Among the many animals I’ve been fortunate to take over the years, this bull is among those I’m most proud of.
Rather than only evaluating physical attributes, age should be an important consideration when defining what constitutes a trophy. My one-horned kudu more than meets trophy standards by any measurement.
Biography
Ken Bailey is an outdoors writer from Canada. When not hunting big game or birds, or fly-fishing, he’s writing about his experiences. And when the bills need to be paid, he is a consultant in the wildlife conservation industry.
Oct 30, 2017 | Hunting Stories Online, News
By Ray Cox
To leave footprints in the ancient homeland is a privilege, and earning its bounty comes with three possibilities: a great deal of gratitude, being humbled, or both.
“Did you hear that?” exclaimed my son, Sean, from across the pitch-black chalet. “Yeah,” I said, speculating wishfully. “Sounds like it’s a couple of miles away.” It was 2.30 a.m., our first night in the Zambezi Region (the Caprivi Strip) camp. After a few minutes the lions roared again. Our senses now quite alert, we lay quietly, eventually drifting off to sleep until the generator rallied us around 5 a.m. For much of my 60 years, Africa had resonated within me. Deeply embedded instincts drove a desire to return to the ancestral common ground. That night, we were welcomed home.
We were on a 15-day dangerous- and plains-game safari with Omujeve Hunting Safaris. Eighteen months earlier, I had found Omujeve in AHG’s “Visited and Verified”, the African Visited Outfitter verification program.
“What are your priorities?” PH Steyn asked, while loading the bakkie that first morning.
“Cape buffalo with distinctive bosses is more important than spread,” I replied, and added, “Kudu over 50 inches, eland, gemsbok, and other plains game – let’s hope for good specimens.”
Smiling broadly Phillip said, “Let’s get on with it.” We climbed into the cab. The others rode in the open back of the bakkie – Sean, who was handling game-spotter/photographer/videographer duties, Foster the Mashi Conservancy Game Ranger, and Tracker Chris. Thirty minutes later at Bwabwata National Park along the Angola border, Park Ranger Carl joined the group, and the hunt was underway.
Within four hours, we saw several buffalo, had an unsuccessful stalk, and encountered tsessebe, lechwe, impala, sable, and roan, none of which were on license. That afternoon, Phillip was reassigned to another party that arrived earlier than planned, and Jacobus Wasserfall was now my PH. Over the next few days buffalo were scarce, but we had quite a few stalks for kudu, usually groups of two to five. There were no shot opportunities, just brief glimpses of bodies and heads before they vanished. We were thrilled nonetheless as several stalks involved kudu in the 52-55″ neighborhood, and one upwards to 60″. The biggest of the “Grey Ghosts” are equally as smart as they are endowed.
We searched the park and the neighboring conservancy for buffalo, and stalked the elusive kudu, but saw no eland, gemsbok, or other animals on quota.
We relocated to nearby Nkasa Rupara National Park, bordering Botswana. A brilliant sunrise cast long shadows on the misted landscape. Lagoons surrounded by expansive islands of grasses and woody vegetation considerably improved visibility, compared with the dense tree and shrub savanna of Bwabwata and Mashi, and increased game sightings.
A Park Ranger navigated our vehicle through the savannah, and within an hour, a mile distant, we spotted a herd of more than 100 buffalo. Abandoning the bakkie, we used the many islands of vegetation to close the range. Jacobus diligently studied the herd, found a mature bull, and plotted our approach relative to the wind. Despite having ample firepower, a Winchester Model 70 Safari Express in .416 Rem. Mag., I wanted to stalk in close. Jacobus selected a buff. It was between 65-70 yards from where I shot. The buffalo ran, and a second Hornady 400-grain bullet stopped him near a thicket. Three more shots up close produced a death bellow. Its very large bosses, with horns spread 43″ in near-perfect curls, made for a very happy hunting party. To touch those horns realised the fulfilment of a Cape buffalo dream.
We traveled to Omujeve’s main camp in central Namibia, entirely different from the Zambezi Region. Vistas were extraordinary, with unobstructed views toward the horizon in every direction. The veld, stark yet beautiful, was mostly plains and undulating hills punctuated by occasional kopjes. Shots could be 300 yards or more, yet despite the extraordinary visibility, finding game was suitably challenging.
Though kudu remained a primary objective, plains-game PH Jean Cilliers seized opportunities to take the other game on my list. Near dusk on the first afternoon, a blue wildebeest presented broadside at 240 yards. Shooting off sticks from a sitting position, my Sako Hunter V in .338 Win Mag using Federal 250-grain Nosler Partition bullets put him down within yards of where he stood.
Meanwhile, my wife Denise had arrived in camp that afternoon after multi-day tours in South Africa and Namibia, just in time to keep me company as the next day Sean was heading home. Over sundowners, we shared safari and tour stories.
The following morning as we returned to camp for lunch, a warthog darted up a fairly open hillside at 100 yards. I quickly uncased the stowed Sako, and a single shot turned him into leopard bait.
During numerous stalks on gemsbok we would come across zebra or waterbuck, but Jean would say, “We can always circle back for them.” Thus it was that we took a 28″ waterbuck. We had spotted him standing, elegant and stately, under shade on the edge of a dry riverbed about 600 yards away. The gemsbok had eluded us, so we made our way back toward the waterbuck. Our approach was cautious for a typically wary quarry, as we weaved undetected through the thorn bush. At 166 yards, the shoulder shot sent him stumbling in our direction. He stopped, facing us at 50 yards where another shot dispatched him.
The following morning, we headed out for eland. After working three sides of a broad hilltop, we sat quietly. The wait was brief. We heard the telltale clicking of eland hooves, followed by movement in the bush. As silently as possible, Jean and I tried intercepting them, but we soon realized that they were gaining distance on us. We went back to the bakkie, headed down the two-track about a mile, stopping just below a ridge that offered an advantage in spotting the eland.
As we reached the hilltop, instead of an eland, a gemsbok appeared on the opposite hillside. Jean had me on the sticks, when suddenly in the valley below us a group of gemsbok ran through, spooking the subject in the crosshairs. The herd moved off and there in the exact spot where the spooked gemsbok had stood on the opposite hillside was another, even more impressive specimen. At 288 yards, the gemsbok bull folded at the shot. His beautiful, prime-condition horns measured 37.5 inches.
Still eager to intercept the eland, we drove a few miles, Jean saying that they cover ground quickly. Leaving the bakkie and our new tracker, Hafani, behind, we double-timed it to a broad, flat depression completely surrounded by hills. Jean said that he was familiar with this area, suspecting that here the eland would take a mid-day rest. Dense ground cover provided concealment as we entered and slowly made our way through the depression. Suddenly, a group of eland appeared and a large male stopped broadside 160 yards away, but a dense thorn thicket blocked any clear path for a shot. Jean waved me into the thicket. I balked at first, thinking he was crazy, but he insisted, indicating that we had precious little time to get set and shoot. From a low sitting position on sticks, I found space through the thorns, and put a .338 round through the shoulder. The eland staggered forward and piled up on the edge of another thorn thicket. The bull had a thick tuft of tawny blond hair in front of his 36.5” horns.
Over lunch at camp, Denise suddenly announced that she would join me that afternoon. Not only was this her first safari, it was the first time she had accompanied me hunting. I was thrilled!
Common springbok, on license, were hard to find, and we were fortunate to spot a herd bedded about 500 yards away. Jean and I snaked our way through some thick cover, where he positioned the sticks at 175 yards and whistled. The nicest buck stood up, but my shot was high, kicking up dust behind him. Off they ran, the last springbok we saw on the safari. Disappointing, but that’s hunting.
An unpredictable wind picked up that afternoon and we decided to return to camp a little early. On the way, we scattered a large herd of Burchell’s zebra. They in turn spooked a small group of Hartmann’s mountain zebra. We drove forward to a high plateau, left the bakkie and made to a vantage point. At first, the Hartmann’s were moving away, but the swirling winds carried our scent, reversing their retreat. The zebra came up the opposite side of the plateau, and at 150 yards, the stallion halted, staring at me. He was jittery, and as he turned broadside my shot was good. Denise was able to see it all – her introduction to the wonderful world of safari!
The last day arrived, the priority kudu. Jean took us quite a distance from camp and brought Hunter along, a Jack Russell terrier. Hiking up the first hill that morning, we spotted a kudu across a ravine, a bull Jean estimated in the mid-50″ range. I settled on the sticks, pausing to catch my breath for the certainty of the 250-yard shot.
“Shoot quickly, the kudu won’t stand there for long,” Jean urged. At the shot, the kudu dropped hard. Suddenly it jumped up, running. Re-engaging, I sent two more shots without effect as it disappeared over the hill. I’d forgotten the advice I’d read from PH Tony Tomkinson about kudu. “Reload and keep your sights on him. Remember, the ones that go straight down are often the ones that get straight up again and bugger off for good!”
On the hilltop, Jean, Hafani, and I spread out looking for blood. After 20 minutes, we found bright-red drops, and optimistically followed the trail. Suddenly, Hunter started barking.
“What’s going on?” I yelled. “Hunter kicked out a rabbit,” said Jean. Seconds later, a massive kudu, with magnificent, long, deep, spiraled horns, bounded through the bush about 25 yards away. By the time I shouldered the Sako, he’d gone.
We followed the blood trail for over two miles. The kudu was never visible, but we knew he was aware of us. He would stop, watching his backtrack, and a denser blood splatter would form. The ground was only slightly hilly, but strewn with loose, ankle-twisting rocks, preventing Hunter and us from gaining speed to close the gap for one more shot. Sadly, the blood-trail crossed over an adjoining property fence line.
I imagine that kudu from time to time, browsing on the hillsides, a scar on his flank where a bullet had annoyed him one day.
A Namibian safari offers much opportunity, and regardless of inches of horn, you are ever-grateful when trophies are earned. Jean explained that animals sometimes “shock drop” to non-lethal wounds. Remember PH Tomkinson’s words. You take what is offered, if you earn it.
I’ll heed Africa’s call again, entrusting a “Visited and Verified” outfitter.
And that first night back will be like a welcome
Oct 27, 2017 | News, Yester Year
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Volker Grellman Early
Since the 1930s, the SWA Jaeger Verein was founded to organise and control the local sport hunters who could also be classified as local trophy hunters. The hunting times were limited to the same as the meat-hunting season, being June and July of every year. In that time also, the South African biltong hunters flocked in numbers into the country.
It was not until the late 50s and early 60s that some international hunters showed interest in collecting trophies in Namibia. Among the first was Elgin Gates, a famous hunter from the US. He had contacted Basie Maartens, requesting possibilities to hunt some “desert” species. Since 1959, a clause in the Ordinance no. 18 of 1958 stated that the administrator was allowed to give permission to VIP visitors to also hunt during the non-hunting season.
In these years, Kenya and Tanzania were still fully operational with safari hunting, which only made it possible for Namibia to play a role after the closure of Kenya. The East African Professional Hunters chose to move to Botswana, not only because of the language, but also because Botswana had open concessions with big game to offer. Apart from the local languages, in the then South West Africa (former German colony), German and Afrikaans were mainly used, and the country lacked big-game hunting possibilities.
In the early years, game on the SWA farms was considered a liability and definitely not an asset. The rural farming community was still fairly poor because of the constantly occurring droughts, where food and water shortages were rather the rule than the exception. Any additional mouth to feed was a burden and loss to the cattle breeders. Newspaper adverts by someone selling a farm stated, “Good cattle farm for sale – guaranteed no game.” Furthermore, the game belonged to the state and was only allowed to be hunted in June/July for biltong or own-use purposes. That was no incentive for the cattle or small-stock farmers to keep game or large numbers of grazers and browsers on their property.
In the late 60s, the Jaeger Verein and some visionaries assisted the Nature Conservation Agency to influence and adapt the law so that the landowner in future should also be the owner of some huntable game species and huntable game birds, and be able to utilize them in the best way possible. This brought about dramatic change.
In 1970, we started a small conservation/hunting organisation (ANVO Safaris). This grew with time to such a size that at a general meeting of that organisation, we could establish in 1974 the first Professional Hunting Organisation, which later was renamed NAPHA after the independence of Namibia in 1990. There were no laws or regulations controlling the “profession” at that time. In 1975, the Ordinance on Nature Conservation No. 4/1975 was proclaimed. Then, immediately following that, the early visionaries jumped into action to build up the regulations on trophy hunting and, under the leadership of Nature Conservator Mr Stoffel Roche, these regulations – No. 240/1976 – became official in 1976. While going through the old files, for the first time we found words like, “wise use of natural resources”, “sustainable utilisation”, “the importance of biodiversity”, etc., in the discussions among conservators and in the hunting community.
Because we only fixed the terms in the Laws and Regulations after 1976, we had no terminology fixed for Professional Hunters or Hunting Guides. Anybody involved in guiding hunters in the country considered themselves Safari or Hunting Operators. The first guide in this country who comes to mind was Basie Maartens. Basie was 10 years my senior – I would therefore probably fall into the second generation of PHs, together with Paul Klotsch (mainly Botswana), and some others who did it part time.
If we look at the game that was available for the early trophy hunters – it was kudu, oryx, hartebeest, springbok and warthog. Later, it included protected species like steenbok, duiker, Hartmann’s zebra, eland and wildebeest. Only in 1991, were dik-dik and klipspringer allowed, after careful scrutiny of population numbers.
In the very early years, the Department of Nature Conservation was heavily opposed to trophy hunting, but as game populations grew, attitudes changed, and today we probably have the closest working relationship imaginable. Animals in the big-game category were only allowed in the late 70s in my big game concession in Damaraland, where our clients hunted lions, leopards and elephants (later dubbed “Desert Elephants”). The last trophy bull, named “Skeur Oor” hunted by us in 1983, also drew the first anti-hunting organisations into the picture. Although we had a quota of black rhino, we voluntarily did not utilize any as we did not have any scientific evaluation of their status.
Big-game concessions became possible after 1988 in Bushmanland for really heavy old ivory carriers – also in the Caprivi (now Zambezi Region), East and West. After Independence in 1990, all the communal areas in the North-West and North-East were given concession rights on established limited quotas for elephant, buffalo, hippo, crocodile, lion and leopard.
Trophy prices in 1975 were:
Kudu – R125;
Oryx – R100;
Springbok and warthog – R40;
Mountain zebra – R180;
Ostrich – R50.
Daily rates 1×1 were R48 per day, and R18 for observers. A three-course lunch at a better hotel cost R2.20. The first Land Cruiser we bought out of the box cost R3 500 – can you believe it!
(Today’s exchange rate is plus or minus R13.30 = $1)
PLEASE GET A PICTURE OF THE EARLY LAND CRUISERS FROM TOYOTA
One of the greater challenges that we experienced in the earlier days was to convince the Nature Conservation authority that selective trophy hunting, when done properly and through targeting over-mature male animals, could be beneficial to the species and, through the trophy fees, beneficial to the landowners. Another great challenge was to influence legislation to change and make international trophy hunters feel more welcome to visit this country, as well as needing to market the country as a hunting destination, and find the clients to assist in this program.
The main success for trophy hunting in Namibia is that it started from virtually nothing and developed into a well-established “industry” that is very popular. The game nowadays is treated with respect, and trophy hunting practices are on an absolute professional level. Game numbers have increased to their highest level ever and are gradually pushing domestic animals off their former primary position. Game is definitely not a liability anymore, but rather one of the greatest assets to landowners, conservationists, and tourism in general. Now Namibia can offer some of the best hunting in Africa, not only on plains but also on big game.
As with everything in life, change happens. The wildlife industry in Namibia developed quite steadily and sustainably. But, as always, where money is involved, excesses can be expected, especially on some farms that have developed in recent years to get involved with breeding programs that were imported from South Africa. Luckily, those practices were not allowed. For instance, no predator breeding is allowed at all. Breeding of color variants reared its head, but presently seems to be fading.
Many large portions of land were converted to wildlife ranches with just one outside game-proof border fence and no internal fences. Hunting offered there is also done on fair-chase rules. Wildlife ranches are normally without any cattle or domestic animals, and have introduced African species on condition that they find a suitable habitat on such lands. Otjiwa, 10 000 hectares in extent, was the first one to be established in 1969. From early times on, virtually all trophy hunting took place on cattle farms that also hosted good populations of wildlife species. Such farms are still the mainstay of trophy hunting in Namibia. Legally, they have to be registered as hunting farms, and the persons guiding hunting clients should be registered as Hunting Guides. ***
Presently, after 42 years, Namibia Nature Conservation authority is finalising the Protected Areas and Wildlife Management Act that will replace the Ordinance of 1975. Also, the regulations on trophy hunting will be updated, Additionally, we at NAPHA are presently working on a new, all-encompassing Code of Conduct which could become the National Code.
Yes, we are very proud of having achieved the highest ranking of good standing in hunting standards and levels of hunting ethics. This was possible through good leadership and the doings of many passionate landowners and hunting professionals. That includes the dedicated Nature Conservation Officials.
After 42 years, we all feel it is time to adapt to more modern conditions, though without discarding the old trusted and proven good portions of the former Act. For the first time, Namibia envisages having a Council of Professional Hunting (Statutory Body). A two-decade-long dream becomes reality!
Looking at the present situation, one has to get the impression that all the role-players in hunting in Namibia will be able to meet the future with full optimism, even with droughts, anti-hunting pressure and climate change. Everybody seems to be prepared and better trained and educated to face the challenges. One of the main aims for the short-term future would be to improve the image of hunting in general, as well as trophy hunting in particular. We might even have to change the terminology of some debatable definitions.
Regards,Volker
(Mr) Volker Grellmann
ERPHAN
NAPHA Ombudsman
Cell: 081-124-4848
e-mail: vgrellmann@afol.com.na
P.O. Box 90161, Whk
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