Two Thousand Leopards Later

Aug 5, 2017 | News

Mozambique: 2009
Two Thousand Leopards Later…
By Bob Adkins

I’ve “shot” over 2,000 leopards in the recent past, but the one I was presently watching was about to escape. This particular leopard was in Mozambique. Specifically, it was in Simon Rodger’s Safaris de Mozambique Bawa Concession on the southwestern shores of Lake Cahora Bassa.

My friend Jack Hodnik had come over one snowy Alaskan afternoon the previous February and announced, “I inherited some money last fall, and I’m going to use it to take Bob Jensen on an elephant hunt in Mozambique. He’s always wanted to hunt elephant.” (Bob was my next door neighbor and one of Jack’s long-time friends.)

“By the way, you’re invited along to hunt that leopard you’re always talking about. You’ll have to pay for your own transportation over and back, but I’ll pay for everything else. All you have to do is tell me your stories when you get back to camp each night.” What an offer!

Jack, an educator in Alaska’s bush for many years, had retired and moved to Haines after suffering a heart attack and stroke several years ago. His stroke left him unable to get around in the woods, so Bob Jensen and I were to “proxy hunt” for him on this safari. He would ride along and video whatever he could from the vehicles. Bob and I would then recount our experiences as we all sat around the evening campfires.

Bob J. and I both had reservations about this, but Jack eventually convinced us that we would be helping him fulfill his life-long dream of going on an African safari, so we finally accepted.

Everything I read about leopard hunting led me to believe that they have a mysterious and disconcerting effect on people. Hunters that could normally hit running rabbits at 300 yards tend to panic and fire their rifles into the air when leopards are the target. As soon as I realized that this leopard hunt was really going to happen, I decided to practice. And practice. And practice some more!

I burned over a thousand rounds of ammunition on trips to our local rifle range. I pinned two 8” x 10” leopard photos to my den wall, one quartering towards the viewer, and one broadside. A camera tripod served double-duty as a rest for my rifle. Every evening I carefully dry-fired 15 or 20 times at one or the other of my leopard photos.

Mentally coaching myself, I repeated over and over again: “Pick a rosette …hold your breath … s-q-u-e-e-z-e the trigger … follow through …” Over a period of four months, I “shot” over 2,000 leopards, and now the real thing was at hand.

For eight days we had driven slowly up and down the primitive one-lane tracks on Simon Rodgers’s million-acre concession. Some days Jack went with us, and other days he chose to go with Bob J. and his PH, Bryn Jolliffe. Each morning we checked our growing number of baits and then looked for more impala to put up yet another. The truck crawled up and down the steep banks of the myriad dry sandy riverbeds, and over promontories pockmarked with huge rocks and boulders, caves and cliffs. The hilly mopane woodland was ideal leopard habitat. The suspense and anticipation grew stronger day by day. When would a shootable leopard be attracted to our baits?

Every day we’d see lots of other animals, and if we saw a herd of impala or a male warthog or bushbuck, I’d jump out and grab the shooting sticks that Obert, Greg’s head tracker, had waiting, and make a stalk. Often the animals would run, but occasionally curiosity would get the better of one, and my rifle would come up on the shooting sticks, a bullet would speed through he thornbush, mopane scrub and tall grass, and another leopard bait or incidental trophy would be procured. One morning Jack was able to video the entire sequence as I spined a nice 21-inch impala ram.

I kept reminding myself I was in Mozambique, hunting real live flesh and blood leopards. But the first one I’d ever seen had just left the bait and climbed down out of the tree…

We could hear the sound of bones snapping and the occasional grunt and growl even before we got into the blind, so we knew there was a leopard on the bait that morning. We had slowly and quietly crept along the trail to the blind in our stocking feet, guided by PH Greg Michelson’s barely visible toilet paper markers. Reaching the blind in the dark just before six a.m., all we could do was sit and listen as the leopard ate at the impala wired to the underside of a tree branch.

We had sat in this blind the previous evening until full dark, hearing baboons curse, guinea fowl chatter and flush, hornbills squawk, and vervet monkeys scream in the distance – but no leopard appeared. While checking our baits the previous morning, the eighth day of our hunt, we found that a large male and female had discovered the bait and eaten nearly all of it. We replenished the bait with another impala, my ninth, and built a blind. Then we waited and waited, but the leopards didn’t show. (Meanwhile, Jack had decided to go with Bob J. and Bryn – he was concerned that he might spook the leopard while trying to sneak into the blind with us in the darkness.)

At 6.15 a.m. there was just a hint of light in the eastern sky. From 80 yards, the distance from our blind to the bait, we could barely make out the outline of the bait tree in the gloom of the predawn morning. As binoculars and riflescope details slowly became clearer, we saw that the leopard was leaving the bait and slowly making its way down the tree before we could identify its gender. Only males are legal game in Mozambique.

I was bitterly disappointed, but Greg motioned me to sit down and remain quiet. We sat there dejectedly for several minutes when, suddenly, we heard the unmistakable sounds of a leopard feeding again. As we cautiously looked, I could see a leopard back on the bait, but couldn’t positively identify its gender. It fed for several minutes, changing positions occasionally. As it turned broadside, we saw it was a male.

“Shoot the bastard,” whispered Greg. All my practice paid off. The crosshairs came to rest on a prominent dark rosette behind the leopard’s right shoulder. Half a breath … hold it … and the .300 Winchester magnum went off almost by itself. I’d practiced the same scenario hundreds of times. As Yogi Berra would say – it was déjà vu all over again.

I lost sight of the leopard during recoil, but seconds after the shot we heard a thud, followed by a low grunt. Then … silence.

“How did your sight picture look?” Greg whispered.

“Perfect!” I responded.

“Well,” said Greg, “he ran off! I’ll get the truck and my shotgun, and we’ll go dig him out of the brush. And you stay in the blind.”

I replayed the scene over and over in my mind. Everything had looked flawless, but I still spent the next 30 minutes worried sick that I had wounded this beautiful, but very dangerous, animal, and now we were going to have to go after him.

Greg drove down a little side trail to within 100 yards of the bait tree. I heard the vehicle grinding closer and closer and then stopping. I heard Greg load his shotgun and cautiously start through the brush towards the tree. Then a pause.

“Bob, he’s right here under the tree,” he shouted. “He’s dead! Way to go, buddy.”

A tidal wave of relief and euphoria swept over me. The trackers were ecstatic, and Greg was as pleased as he could be. Greg and his crew had done a first-class job of putting me in position to take the leopard I’d dreamed of for over fifteen years. They had all worked really hard for eight full days, and then allowed me to pull the trigger.

My leopard had died instantly and fell out of the tree into the dry sandy riverbed. There was no sign that he’d even twitched after he hit the ground. We would have exciting stories for Jack around the campfire tonight!

As we waited for the sun to come up enough to take pictures, Greg radioed Bryn, Bob J’s PH, with the news of our successful leopard hunt.

At the same time Bryn told Greg that Bob J. had just shot an elephant, and that Jack had been able to see it all. They had caught a small herd ravaging a village maize field.

“We took the herd’s leader – still had corn on its breath,” he said.

However, that’s a story for another campfire.

Bob Adkins moved from Michigan to Alaska in 1964 and spent 32 years in public education. He has degrees in engineering, math and physics, counseling, and school administration. He has spent 14 summers as captain of his own commercial fishing boat, and 12 summers as a commercial bush/air taxi pilot in southeast Alaska. He is married and has two adult daughters.

He is a self-taught photographer, and since retiring from education in 1996 has photographed extensively in Alaska, the Yukon, the Pacific Northwest, England, Europe, and southern Africa. His photos and articles have appeared in numerous magazines, calendars, books, CD covers, and news journals from coast to coast and in Europe.

Burkina Buffalo Magic

Aug 5, 2017 | News

Burkina Faso: 2017
Burkina Buffalo Magic
By Glaeser Conradie from African Echo Safaris
The sun was not out yet, but there was just enough light to notice the small herd of buffalo moving slowly across the broken savannah about 500 metres to our right. The Sahara winds crossing over from Mali in the north created a misty sky that contributed to the magic of entering the unknown.

The driver, unaware of the buffalo, continued driving. Everyone on the back was as silent as the night. Buffalo don’t seem to mind the Land Cruiser’s distant diesel engine rumbling, but any human voices will travel crisply through the early morning air and surely alert them. About 700 metres further, the tracker tapped on the cabin roof of the Cruiser. The wind was perfect. We couldn’t mess this up. Although everybody had had a good night’s rest, we had walked about 18 km the first day, following two bachelor herds. The West African sun is merciless and the dry air sucks up all the moisture in your body. At least that’s how it feels.

The sun was barely showing its glancing rays over the baobab-covered horizon, and the early morning air was still cool. Everybody was on high alert. Things happened fast. Within literally a few seconds, everyone was walking in single file on the way to break the line of the approaching buffalo. Christian Jensen was close behind me with his Steyr Mannlicher .375 H&H Magnum. Christian and his lovely wife Vivi, followed perfectly in line. I never needed to correct their positions while stalking – and for good reason, which I was only to find out at the end of the hunt. We didn’t have to walk too far in order to be in perfect position. With Christian on the home-made shooting sticks, he was ready – safety off. The herd slowly moved past us about 50 metres away – females, a few calves and a young male. As we got off the vehicle and quickly glassed them, I was sure I saw a bigger body within the herd. Then he appeared at the back of the herd, walking behind a large female.
“The one at the back?” I heard Christian whisper.
“Yes, take him when he’s clear.” The female got ahead and the shot went off.
“Reload, safety on and stay right behind me,” I said while taking the shooting sticks. We saw the dust dancing around in the misty dawn air as the big old bull stumbled and fell. Although it was a well-placed shot, the buffalo was not yet dead. Christian shot again, and the Norma African PH 300-grain bullet did a perfect job.
Christian, not a man of too many words, was overjoyed, and the setting was perfect for the trophy photos. The sincere joy among the whole team in such a beautiful environment, after such an exciting hunt reminded me once more why I’m so extremely fortunate to do what I do for a living!

With hunting in West Africa, especially Burkina Faso, the animal is seldom quartered in the bush. It is first dragged by the Cruiser to the closest suitable tree, pulled up a few metres from the ground over a thick branch, then is lowered into the vehicle below. Most clients want a shoulder mount, so we try and keep the buffalo on its belly while dragging, with the shoulders off the ground. So if you ever come to hunt buffalo in Burkina Faso, try and shoot it close to a big tree. 

We took the buffalo back to camp and had brunch and short rest before returning to the concession. Each member of the team enjoys a coke or beer – the clients, driver, trackers, game scout and me. Sharing hunting moments with the whole team is very much part of the West African hunting tradition. And it’s not just a beer and saying “Thank you.” The locals are extremely happy for the client, and relive the hunt relive the hunt in Móorè, their local language. Although French is the most commonly spoken language in Burkina Faso, in the rural areas the local dialect is generally used.

Talking about traditions – West Africa is full of them! With buffalo and especially lion hunting, sacrifices (mostly chickens or goats), strange rituals and prayers are very common. Early morning the vehicle will suddenly stop at the beginning of the concession. I then indicate to the clients to keep quiet, although they are desperate to know why.
“What is going on?!” Then they see the trackers making four small fires a few metres away from the hunting vehicle, facing each wind direction. Oually, the head tracker, will sometimes ask for the client’s rifle and slowly move it through the smoke. Oually normally leads these ceremonies. Regarding religion, Burkina Faso consists mostly of Catholics and Muslims, but most of the people are animists. Often chicken or goat meat will be placed in trees as an offer to nature. This is all part of the experience. Hunting in Burkina Faso is far more than just a hunt!

Even the drive from Ouagadougou to the concession, about 280 km southeast of the capital, is an experience. Depending on the state of the roads, the drive can vary between five to seven hours. Photo opportunities are plentiful. Public transport takes on a whole new dimension. Often you will see motorbikes with pigs tied onto the back, taxis with scooters and livestock (from goats to cattle) on the roof, as well as buses transporting literally anything from people to donkeys. An American or European traffic officer would have an immediate nervous breakdown!

Anyway, back to the hunt.
Next up was Vivi using the same rifle as her husband and looking for the same trophy as well. We spent the next few days leaving camp after a 04h30 breakfast, following buffalo herds varying from large ones of over a hundred to smaller bachelor herds. The best scenario would be to find a lone old Dagga bull and track him down. Some days we covered up to 20 km and drank up to five litres of water a day. I always advise clients to bring some electrolytes to help supplement lost minerals and salts. It helps a lot to boost energy, especially after a long walk.

Normally around 11h30 it becomes hot, and we relax in the shade close by the Wamou River. Lunchtime while hunting in Burkina Faso is a different experience from other concessions in Africa. You realize that lunch is drawing near when the trackers’ attention turns from buffalo to guinea fowl. I tell the clients that shotguns might be fired from the back of the Cruiser, from approximately 11h00 onwards. Some clients are quite shocked when they realize that they are not the only hunters there, but they get to realize that it is part of the deal in this neck of the woods. The trackers prepare the guinea fowls on a small fire while our packed lunch is served. After we have enjoyed canned sardines, cold pasta salad, bread and boiled eggs, the trackers will offer some of their precious game bird meat. Dressed with olive oil, salt and pepper and served on fresh green leaves, it’s really good! Not to mention the ice-cold beer and soft drinks in the cooler box, with fresh fruit for dessert.
Our afternoon naps are often disturbed by hippos snorting nearby in the river, and the ever-present group of vultures that surround us looking for food.

As we left the camp on the last day everybody on the Cruiser knew that it was now or never. We found fresh tracks just before sunrise and followed hard and fast. The sun was just about to rise when the tracker in front of me whispered, “Lions.” Great was our surprise when we realized that we and the lions were both stalking the same herd of buffalo! We could hear them roaring in frustration as they trotted off.

About 45 minutes later the herd of buffalo started to feed, moving very slowly. This gave us time to set up and get Vivi into a shooting position. There were two good-sized bulls. One was slightly reddish, and the other, a bigger black bull was behind a bush far to the left of the herd. He was about 70 metres away – we couldn’t get any closer. As soon as he appeared, the shot went off. I didn’t see any reaction from the bull or hear any thud sound of the bullet impact.

The herd ran off – as well as Vivi’s bull. Vivi is a very good shot, so something was wrong. She assured me that it was a steady shot. We followed up immediately and spent the next 30 minutes looking for blood. We found nothing. Then the game scout pointed out a small tree that Vivi had hit – about 50 cm behind the buffalo. Everybody was a bit disappointed, Vivi most of all.

We decided to sight the rifle again, have an early lunch and hunt right through the day. It was the last day after all. Sure enough, the rifle was way out. How this happened, we don’t know. After quickly bore-sighting the rifle, Vivi put a few perfect shots in a target at 50 metres. No time to over-analyze the situation; we had to get a buffalo.

Roughly 20 minutes after leaving our early picnic spot, we saw a herd of Dagga bulls a good 200 metres away. The wind was right and they were staring at us through some tall grass. We remained motionless for them to calm down and let get off the truck. After about 20 minutes following their tracks, the tracker indicated that they had joined a bigger herd of buffalo. Not the perfect situation, but we continued for another hour and a half. Again the herd slowed down to feed. This was around 16h30. We didn’t have much time left. We found an old bull more or less in the middle of the spread-out herd of buffalo. This time the distance was about 90 meters and again we probably would have given our presence away by stalking any closer. We put Vivi on the sticks, and I took a few seconds explaining exactly which buffalo to take. Just as the shot went off, it moved.

Missed again! Everybody was quiet. I felt sorry for Vivi. We were hunting so hard together as a team and everyone felt her disappointment. As I put my hand on her shoulder for some reassurance, the tracker pulled me by the arm pointing at the herd of buffalo slowing down. A few hundred metres on, they had started to walk. They probably didn’t see, hear or smell us, and were getting relaxed before sunset. I told Vivi to reload and put the safety on. She was more than ready to oblige! We followed as quickly as possible until we spotted the herd moving slowly through some broken bush. This time they were all mixed up and it was extremely difficult to identify an older bull. They were constantly moving – although slowly – and it was not easy to identify one and take a shot. The herd was about 50 metres away. The time was 17h20 – very close to our cut-off time. As Burkina Faso is not too far north of the equator, dusk turns to night very quickly.

We put Vivi on the sticks. Suddenly the game scout vigorously started pointing at a buffalo roughly in the middle of the herd. “It’s an old bull,” one whispered. How these guys can identify the animals without binoculars, I don’t know. We confirmed exactly which buffalo to take. This was it. The shot went off and the buffalo went down on the spot. I immediately told Vivi to reload and stay right behind me while approaching the fallen animal. Experience tells that when a buffalo goes down, it definitely does not mean that he is not still extremely dangerous, let alone dead. After making sure that everything was safe and the job was well done, we let go.

Vivi was in heaven! And so was her husband. I turned to Vivi and gave her a solid kiss on the cheek. “You have your buffalo,” I said. High-fives and congratulations were going around while the hero of the day, the game scout, went off to call the driver.
“One of the best hunts of my life,” Vivi said while we were positioning the buffalo for photos. The light was fading fast and we worked quickly.

It was then that Christian and Vivi told me they are both qualified professional hunters as well. Hunting is their passion. A few things started to make sense to me. They were really both very hard-working hunters and I never had to tell them what to do.

On the way back to camp, a good two hours’ drive, everybody was quiet for a while. With a cold one in hand, we needed to relive the perfect end to a safari, from different perspectives, I’m sure, but all with a happy ending.

Burkina Faso provides some of the best hunting in Africa and combined with the friendly people of this West African country, makes for a unique hunting experience. The accommodation is modest and basic (with air-conditioning and daily laundry service). The food is reasonable to good but nothing beats the hunting!

Burkina Faso is a brilliant example of the direct influence hunting has on conservation. As in many other African countries, most of the wildlife unfortunately is only to be found in the hunting blocks. These are normally the only areas regularly patrolled against poaching. There are a few national parks but in most cases a lack of funds results in inadequate anti-poaching efforts.

African Echo Safaris have been hunting this 260 000 ha concession in the Eastern Province of Burkina Faso for seven years. The concession is for real hunters – it’s open, it’s challenging, and definitely mystical!

Professional Hunter and Hunting Outfitter, Glaeser Conradie, a member of SCI, PHASA and ACP (Confirmé), is a qualified and licensed dangerous-game hunter and experienced field guide. African Echo Safaris operates in Burkina Faso, Mozambique, South Africa and Zambia.

BOX

On a good day we easily see elephant, hippo, crocodile, buffalo, roan antelope, western hartebeest, sing-sing waterbuck, Nigerian bohor reedbuck and western kob. At least once or twice a week we can run into lion. The harnessed bushbuck is a bit shy, but we regularly take beautiful trophies.
BOX:
The best months for hunting are between January and April. January to March is still reasonable temperaturewise, but the last part of March can get quite hot (40 degrees plus). March and April are good for lion hunting with April getting very hot! The reason is that there are fewer lagoons and waterholes available, which makes it a bit easier to find the lions. Unlike other areas in Africa, baiting for lion is not allowed. We have to track them down. This really offers extremely good hunting!

Burkina “Fiasco” Safari

Aug 5, 2017 | News

The Sum of the Parts.

Aug 5, 2017 | News

The Sum of the Parts.
By Zig Mackintosh

According to the anti-hunting lobby, hunters do nothing for wildlife conservation. Even when irrefutable proof that controlled, sustainable hunting is an effective conservation tool is shoved under their noses, it’s dismissed as “fake news”. It is no secret that the animal rights’ agenda is to make as much money as possible out of unsuspecting donors through demonizing hunters and hunting. They will never admit that hunters can be conservationists. There is no point in trying to change the minds of these people, but we do need to make our case to the general public.

The objective of the “Custodians of Wilderness” video series is to document the anti-poaching operations and community work of select hunting outfitters across Africa. To date four episodes have been completed.

The Tanzanian episode relates the daily trials and tribulations of four outfitters who operate in different areas of the country. Their government firmly believes in the sustainable use of natural resources and has categorized wildlife areas according to how they are utilized. If wildlife cannot be sustainably utilized in these areas, the cattle herders and farmers will move in and the game will disappear. This has already happened in areas where safari operators have had to pull out, and 60 700 sq. kilometers of wilderness has been lost in this way.

The Dande Anti-Poaching Unit, DAPU, was set up by Charlton McCallum Safaris in the Dande Safari area in the Zambezi Valley of Zimbabwe. This is a strategic conservation area because it forms a vital corridor between the Zimbabwean National Parks controlled areas to the west and Mozambique to the east. With a limited budget this anti-poaching unit has had tremendous success, but the viability of safari hunting has been seriously compromised by the US Fish and Wildlife Service ban on the importation of elephant and lion trophies into the USA.

Jason Roussos is a native fourth-generation Ethiopian and co-owner of Ethiopian Rift Valley Safaris. He is a professional hunter, but also has a degree in wildlife biology. He has spent his whole life in the Ethiopian wilderness and has a deep understanding of the land and its people. In “Custodians of Wilderness: Ethiopia” Jason explains the link between safari hunting, mountain nyala, and the preservation of the Afro-montane woodland of central Ethiopia.

During Mozambique’s protracted civil war, the security situation made safari hunting impossible. Anarchy reigned as wildlife across the country was decimated. The Zambezi delta became a butchery to feed the troops on both sides of the war. The local bush meat trade thrived. Buffalo populations that were estimated to be in the region of 45 000 fell to around 1 200; waterbuck numbers shrank from 100 000 to 2 500. Species such as sable, hartebeest, eland, nyala and zebra were just about wiped out. In 1992 Mark Haldane and Zambeze Delta Safaris took over Coutada 11 and set about rehabilitating the area. The company’s anti-poaching and community work has proved a tremendous success, and today the buffalo population in the whole of the Zambezi Delta region has increased to around 20 000. Sable numbers are now up to 6 000 from a low of 44. It is now one of the greatest concentration of the species in Africa today. Waterbuck, zebra, hartebeest and other smaller game species have also dramatically increased in numbers. But it is the capacity to generate money through safari hunting that enables Zambeze Delta Safaris to invest in the area. If the company is not able to turn a profit, there is no incentive to be there at all. There is a real and present danger that foreign laws such as those enforced by the US Fish and Wildlife Service will be the single factor that puts the company out of business, thus ensuring that the area is turned back into a desolate wasteland.

The “Custodians of Wilderness” series is focusing on the higher profile hunting outfitters to clearly illustrate what is happening on the ground. But there are numerous hunting companies across Africa whose work goes unheralded. These are the guys who may not have same resources as the bigger companies, but who understand that anti-poaching and community work is critical to the survival of their areas and the wildlife within. These outfitters are more vulnerable than the bigger companies to the machinations of foreign organizations such as the US Fish and Wildlife Service.

Safari hunting companies, big or small, that undertake anti-poaching and community work need to be supported. So next time you are considering an African hunting safari, keep that in mind.

An Arrow, a Bow, and a Nyala Bull

Aug 5, 2017 | News

South Africa: 2016
An Arrow, a Bow, and a Nyala Bull
by Frank Berbuir

It is August 2016, and the South African wintertime, but the sun is shining warm and bright this morning when we pack our stuff in the bakkie, getting ready to head northwards to the impressive hunting grounds in the fascinating Limpopo Province.

I had returned again to beautiful South Africa to meet my friend and professional hunter Izak Vos from Vos Safaris, to hunt again with bow and arrow. On this safari, my most sought-after species was the common nyala bull – that graceful and beautiful middle-sized antelope, like a cross between a bushbuck and a kudu. Two days before, in a different location of Limpopo, we were very lucky to get a magnificent sable which was also on the bucket list. Now we wanted to go for a nyala bull.

I remember quite well my first encounter with a common nyala a couple of years ago. During our stalk on buffalo we suddenly spotted this gorgeous wildsbokke (antelope in Afrikaans). They are shy and wary animals. Nyala are native to southern Africa, including Malawi, Mozambique, Swaziland, and Zimbabwe. It has been introduced to Botswana and Namibia, and reintroduced to Swaziland, where it had been extinct. Nyala (Tragelaphus angasii) is the Swahili name for this handsome antelope. It is also called inyala in Zulu, or njala in Afrikaans. A male nyala is dark brown or slate grey, often tinged with white vertical stripes, a ridge of tufted hair running all along the spine, yellow-stockinged legs, and a white chevron mark between the eyes. They are most easily recognized by their distinctive spiral horns.

Because they are active mainly in the early morning and late afternoon, the first day of our hunt started at sunrise, scouting the area to find sign of nyala. The spoor is similar to that of the bushbuck, but larger. We spotted some nice kudu, blesbok and warthogs, as well as Cape buffalo, giraffe and … nyala! We tried our luck with several stalking attempts, but were unsuccessful because the bush was very dense, and each time we came in close range, one animal in an alert group sensed or spotted us, sniffed or barked, and they all bounded off. But to compensate for all our efforts, we had an excellent braai of tasty homemade blesbok burgers in our lunch break in the bush. After a short nap we continued looking for nyala, but could not get sufficiently close to them, and we drove back to camp in the glow of a stunning sunset.

The next two days were pretty much the same – spotting, stalking, detected by the animals – that´s hunting. So we decided to try our luck in a blind at a waterhole the next day, so early in the morning we sat in a nicely constructed pit blind near a waterhole waiting for what the day would bring. After we had fixed our stuff and I had drawn my bow to familiarize myself with several different shooting positions, we sat stock-still, quite chilly in the mid-August early morning. However, the rising sun warmed the awakening African bush (including us in the blind!), as I listened to all the chirps, tweets and singing of the birds.

A couple of small warthogs came, followed by vervet monkeys. Later some nyala females with young trotted to the waterhole to drink. A handsome bushbuck showed up and stood perfectly at 25 yards, and behind our blind we could also hear a giraffe feeding on leaves from the treetops. All very exciting, and then things quietened down. At about three o’clock in the afternoon a nyala female approached the waterhole, but no bulls, and nothing else happened. After sunset around the campfire that night, with excellent sable schnitzel (escalopes) and some smooth Castle Lager, we decided to stalk again the next morning.

Shortly after sunrise we were at the place where we last saw the nyala.

We spotted. We walked.

We spotted, we walked.

Finally, in the afternoon at about three o´clock it seemed that our hunting luck was turning when we found fresh tracks, scat, and saw with the binoculars a small group of three nyala. They were two females and a nice bull standing in the shadow of an acacia tree. An impressive bull – and I felt the adrenalin rush just by observing him.

“That´s a big bull – let´s go for him,” Izak murmured.

Slowly but surely we stalked our way towards them, which took us about one and a half hours. As we got closer to them, the tension rose as we focused on them. The cows and bull were standing relaxed beneath the tree. One female was left of the tree, the other was behind the bull on the right side. We were hiding behind a thicket observing them through the bush. Izak gave me a sign to get ready.

“Look at the bull. It is a monster.” For a shot I had to move one step aside to have a clear shooting lane. The arrow with the Silverflame XL broadhead nocked in quietly and lay on the rest. Silently I engaged my release to the loop on the string and simultaneously pulled my bow to full draw.

“Thirty-two yards broadside,” Izak whispered. “Shoot when the female is not standing behind him.” I was at full draw when I moved one step to the right beside the thicket, aiming at the bull’s chest. For about 20 seconds I stood like that, and luckily they were still unaware of me. When the female behind the bull stepped forward, she cleared the way for a clean shot so I would not shoot her as well, in case of a pass through. By slightly pushing the release trigger, the carbon arrow took flight on its mission and penetrated fully through the vital area of the animal. The nyala bull flinched before he jumped to the right, and sprinted forward with both females following him in his tracks. We were both quiet, following the crashing sounds he made through the bush before there was silence.

Izak raised his thumb to indicate a good shot. I felt that the shot placement was good, and was a bit giddy with excitement. Izak tapped me on the shoulder, smiled and winked.

“Let´s give him a bit of time before we look for him.” We waited a half-hour, then went to the spot where had I shot him, and found the arrow about ten yards behind full of blood. We could follow clearly his tracks and blood trail. After about 60 yards we saw him dead, lying under an acacia tree – our magnificent and beautiful nyala bull. It was another long sought-after bowhunting dream came true. Once more, together with Izak, I was overwhelmed and more than happy about this awesome experience and result.

We took our time to honour the moment and animal, along with admiring the trophy. After some good, respectful pictures, we radioed the landowner to collect us and load the animal on the back of the pick-up. Back in camp we all enjoyed an ice-cold beer and celebrated this wonderful hunting adventure. The slaughtering brought 60 kilogram (132 pounds) of first-class nyala venison.

In the end, good things come to those who wait, and our patience paid off with a splendid nyala bull.

What an exciting safari again. Once more thank you very much to Izak for this outstanding experience, his company and organization. Combined with the extraordinary performance of bow and arrow, this was an event of a lifetime.

Shoot straight, always good hunting, “Waidmannsheil” and “alles van die beste”.

Frank

BOX:

Equipment:

Bow: Mathews Z7x @ 70 lbs

Arrow: Carbon Express Maxima Hunter 350

Broadhead: Silverflame XL 2-Blade @ 125 grain

Optics: Zeiss Victory Binocular & Nikon Rangefinder

Release: Scott

Camo: Sniper Africa

German hunter Frank Berbuir is passionate about the outdoors and hunting – especially bowhunting, which he has practised for more than 17 years. Although he’s bowhunted in several countries, he’s become addicted to hunting in Africa since his first safari in 2004. Frank is a mechanical engineer and risk manager in the automotive industry.

Captions:

Pictures:

• Happy author and PH with a magnificent nyala.
• Dense South African bush.
• Beautiful Limpopo countryside.
• Our hunting area.
• The stalking grounds.
• 60 kilogram (132 pounds) of fine nyala venison.
• A relaxing break.
• A special encounter with giraffe.
• A tasty blesbok burger!

Mbogo and the greeks

Aug 5, 2017 | News

One for the Road, AHG 23.1
Wieland

It’s tempting to change the names in this piece to protect the guilty, but instead we’ll just go with Christian names and let the reader speculate. It all happened a long time ago — almost a quarter century — and those involved are dead for all I know.

There’s an old saying in America: “As serious as a heart attack,” and hunting Cape buffalo is every bit as serious. Sometimes, though, it’s a comedy of errors you look back on with sheer gratitude that you survived.

We were hunting buffalo on Mount Longido, near the Rift, got a good bull high on the mountain in a hair-raising escapade, and returned to our home base, which was a large flower and ostrich farm outside Arusha. A Texan named Jerry owned the farm with a consortium of friends, and was starting a safari company as well. He’d hired a couple of Rhodesian professional hunters to run it. I’d killed my bull up on the mountain with one of them, and now I was going buffalo hunting again, down near Tarangiri, with the other, a grizzled PH named Gordon.

Jerry and Gordon detested each other. Gordon, being a licenced professional of long experience, felt he should be in charge. Jerry, as the owner of the company, disagreed. He treated Gordon little better than a manservant, and this did not sit well with a guy who’d fought through the bush war in Rhodesia, and had been a PH for years before Jerry ever set foot in Africa. Gordon was also whipcord lean the way professional hunters were in the days when they walked almost everywhere, with sun-creased eyes that had seen too much, and Jerry’s well-fed Texan ways did not sit well.

Our trip down to Tarangiri encountered endless delays involving special licences, so one evening, with no prospect of hunting on the morrow, Gordon and I headed into Arusha for a good, old-fashioned pub crawl. We drank our way from saloon to saloon, down one side of the main drag and up the other, and around two in the morning found ourselves at the old Greek Club on the edge of town. That’s where everyone ended up when the other pubs closed.

Gordon said he was too unsteady to drive and assigned me the wheel, even though I had no idea how to get home and was just as unsteady as he was. But off we weaved. Every so often I’d shake him awake and ask which way to go. He’d point a finger and nod off again. Somehow, we reached the farm in the dead of night, and there we found Jerry, madder than hell, waiting up for us and brandishing a sheaf of licences.

“We’re going hunting,” he snarled. “We have to leave in an hour!”

An hour! Gordon staggered off for a nap, but I figured, with some convoluted logic, that if I was going to die, I wanted to die clean. I had a bath, then passed out on the bed for 15 minutes before being shaken awake with the beginnings of a hangover such as only over-strength East African beer, combined with gin, can inflict.

Jerry was still tight-lipped angry as he assured us the truck was loaded and ready to go, and off we went with Gordon at the wheel. How on earth he could drive, I’ve never figured out. In about an hour and half we got there, pulled off the tarmac and headed cross country toward the park boundary. We were going to hunt the edges, in the area that inspired Hemingway’s title Green Hills of Africa. Green they were, too, and extraordinarily beautiful in the early dawn. It was a good day to die, and I was rather looking forward to it. My hangover increased as we drove, doubling and redoubling every hour.

As we climbed out, we made two unwelcome discoveries. One, Jerry the Mastermind had forgotten to pack any water, and Gordon and I were both suffering a hangover thirst like I had never experienced before. And never since, as a matter of fact. Jerry, of course, blamed Gordon who “should have checked” the water supply.

The second discovery was that Gordon had neglected to bring his rifle, so off we went to hunt mbogo with a PH armed only with his little bag of ashes to check the wind direction.

“Don’t worry,” Jerry muttered, “he probably couldn’t hit anything anyway.” That was reassuring.

Traversing a sort of plateau, we spotted a half dozen bulls in the distance, and Gordon and I dropped onto our stomachs to crawl forward to a deadfall. Gordon was making the usual signs to keep quiet, keep down, stay out of sight. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the bulls thundered away. We looked behind, and there was Jerry, strolling along, making no effort at stealth. If Gordon said something, he was going to do the opposite. Crawl? No way. From that moment, the two did not exchange a word the rest of the day.

We continued through the green hills, the day warming steadily, and thirst became all-consuming. We spotted all kinds of buffalo sign, and soon found ourselves flushing them like grouse — generally getting fleeting glimpses, at a distance. The grass was high, there was no way to stalk them, and taking random shots at departing bulls is not something your insurance company would approve.

At one point, though, as a big bull jumped to his feet and paused, Jerry shouted “Shoot! Shoot!” and like a fool, I did. He stumbled, disappeared into an overgrown donga, and reappeared a few minutes later on the far hillside, making tracks. I was about to take another crack at him — slim chance though it was — when Jerry grabbed the rifle out of my hands and started fumbling to put the scope back on, which he had insisted on removing earlier. Meanwhile, the bull disappeared.

Then began a memorable day of following the track of the wounded bull, mile after mile under the hot sun. Gordon concluded he was not badly hurt, and had probably suffered a hit in the foot. Don’t ask me, I have no explanation. But it allowed us to pick out his track from others we came across. And on we went, as my all-devouring thirst reached epic proportions and I began to hallucinate about icy mountain streams.

At midday, we stopped to rest in a dry riverbed, and Gordon began scooping a hole in the sand, hoping to reach water. About a foot down the sand became moist, and soon there was a yellowish liquid seeping in, forming a frothy pool in the bottom. From somewhere he produced a cup and an old handkerchief. Placing the cloth over the cup, he lowered it into the yellow muck, allowing the handkerchief to filter the water as it dribbled in. He handed me the cup with a flourish.

“Warthog and buffalo piss, mostly,” he said gallantly, “But it should help.”

I managed to gag down about three mouthfuls while trying to imagine bubbling brooks or bottles of Perrier. As he predicted, my thirst magically disappeared — for a minute, at least. I then went off into the bushes. When I reappeared, Gordon leapt to his feet, pulled a knife and came for me. Thinking thirst had driven him mad, I was looking for my rifle when he dropped to his knees and starting frantically scraping my pant legs with the blade.

“Pepper ticks,” he said. “You’re covered with them! God, what did you get into?” I looked down and sure enough, my khaki pants looked like a well-peppered potato. Ticks! Ugh!

And that, dear readers, right there, was the highlight of the day. The peak. The summit. We choked down a few more mouthfuls of the alleged water, resumed the trek, and trailed after the buffalo for a few miles until he crossed into the park, at which point we turned back for the truck. It was between five miles and ten miles away, Gordon estimated. It may have been less. It felt like more.

The slow, lurching drive back to the tarmac took an eon. The Greeks took Troy. Rome fell. Columbus discovered America. Time crept by on thirst-tortured, trudging feet. Finally, the pavement. We hit 50 miles an hour.

“How long to a ducca?” I asked.

“Half an hour,” Gordon replied. “Got any money?”

Well, no, I hadn’t thought to bring any, since we were hunting buffalo and I hadn’t expected to buy one, or leave a tip. In fact, no one in that Toyota had so much as a shilling. We searched the glove box, down behind the seats, all the usual places where coins migrate. Not a sou.

Finally, we reached a roadside duka and pulled over. Gordon looked hungrily at the watch on my wrist, then my Swarovskis on the seat. Without a word, he picked up the binoculars, disappeared inside, and reappeared in a few minutes with an armful of bottles of orange squash and warm beer.

My first bottle disappeared in a mouthful. My second — a warm Tusker, and warm Tusker never tasted so good — was half gone when I stopped slurping long enough to ask.

“Don’t worry, we’ll come back for your binos tomorrow,” Gordon said, and we resumed our long, gulping draughts of frothy, malty, bubbling elixir of the gods.

Finally, Gordon came up for air.

“You know,” he said, “I think tonight I’ll give the Greek Club a miss.”

***

Ilse ARTIST 2018 certainly kicked off on a high note for meproofed

Aug 5, 2017 | News

It was a high note for me, early 2017.

It was my first visit to Dallas, Texas and I was also going to exhibit at the Dallas Safari Club Convention held annually at the Kay Bailey Hutchison Convention Centre. My booth was next to the African Hunting Gazette’s, and together with Kim Gattone and Birgit Reprich from AHG, we made a great team.

The show is huge in every regard, and the cliché that “everything is bigger in Texas” certainly rang true! I met many new people and potential clients, and the feedback regarding my artwork was overwhelmingly positive.

Last year Richard Lendrum, publisher of AHG, came up with the idea that they could represent my work in the U.S. so I sent four pieces to Kim Gattone, manager of their gallery and curio shop African Oasis in Dillon, Montana, and I was very excited when my work was sold.

After this year’s DSC Convention I sent six large paintings and two small black and white paintings to African Oasis, and five pieces sold within the first five months! Although Dillon is a very small town, it is popular during the summer months, and Kim is doing a sterling job managing and running the shop.

I am an animal lover, with animals and wildlife being my prime subject matter, so conservation of our wildlife and its natural habitat lies close to my heart. That said, it’s not always easy to find ways to channel one’s enthusiasm, talent and energy towards projects and causes that actually make a positive difference, but last year two such opportunities arose, and if all goes well, both will come to fruition.

Last year, while visiting Phelwana Lodge, near the Timbavati Private Nature Reserve, I became aware of the amazing conservation projects the Timbavati Foundation runs. The Foundation’s vision is firmly rooted in the spirit of Ubuntu, a Zulu word meaning “a person is a person through other persons” – the fact that none of us function in isolation, and whatever we do (or fail to do) affects others, which in turn affects the whole world.

The Timbavati Foundation runs an environmental school which provides an interactive environmental education program for primary and senior school children, with training being tailored to the activities, needs and challenges of the communities in the area. Training takes learners out of the classroom and into the bush, and the funds that the Foundation receives are exclusively for direct project-related costs, such as the construction of netted gardens, the placement of water tanks, and/or the sinking of boreholes.

This inspired me to want to contribute in some way. I had a chat with the management team at Phelwana Lodge. A few months later I met with two of the Timbavati Foundation Trustees to discuss some practical options, and we settled on three black and white paintings that I wanted to donate. These paintings are currently displayed and available for purchase at the exclusive Makanyi Lodge’s curio shop in the the Timbavati Private Nature Reserve, and the money from these sales will be channeled back to the Timbavati Foundation.

Last year I also visited the Hoedspruit Endangered Species Centre with overseas clients. The center is a unique African wildlife facility focusing on conservation and the sustainability of rare, vulnerable, and threatened species. Cheetah conservation is one of the core disciplines, and I offered to contribute in some way if possible. I was later contacted by the founder of the center, Lente Roode, who goes annually to fundraise for the center in New York.

I offered to do a painting of one of the animals at the center that could be auctioned off at one of the functions, and she suggested a painting of a cheetah male, named Crunchie, one of the center’s cheetah ambassadors. We took many beautiful photos of him, and if all goes well, I will paint this beautiful cheetah.

Being an artist and creating beautiful lasting images with paint on canvas is, and always will be, my passion and privilege, and like most people I want to make a difference – through my art – no matter how small the contribution may be.

As Jane Goodall so aptly stated: You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.

To contact ILSE personally or to commission that special painting for your office or home, you are welcome to contact her via email: art@ilsewildlife.co.za

Website: http://ilsewildlife.com
FB: ILSE Wildlife

Leopard

Aug 2, 2017 | News

We were lucky enough to secure a tag on a property in the northern part of Limpopo Province, South Africa, a beautiful, picturesque area with scattered boulders and granite outcrops – a leopard’s paradise. Our animal was taken near the town of Mussina.

I had been hunting this particular old male for four years, following his movements and habits on trail camera, trying to discern his habits. He was an Educated Super Cat! I dubbed him the “Sperm Male” due to a sperm-shaped marking behind his shoulder.

I had a client from the Philippines who wanted to take a large male leopard – so “sperm male” was our target.

The hunt started with the typical baiting and scouting for tracks and other signs. I had a handful of regular places that I baited for this particular tom. I had also established that he only fed in the pre-dawn hours, and seldom, if ever, returned to a bait the following night.

For 11 nights we slept in blinds over baits where I expected him to show, when finally we found fresh sign, close to a bait site. By then he had already hit a bait, briefly, where we sat, but before we could get ready to take a shot he had left again, obviously suspecting danger.
The site where I expected him to hit was a good set-up, except for a few pitfalls. The wind would change during the night to the exact opposite, meaning that I would have to build the blind on the “wrong” side of the bait, hoping that it would be right by 5 a.m. the following morning. Also, the only spot I could build a blind, was slap-bang in the middle of a path that the leopard regularly used when approaching the bait.

We built the blind about 85 yards away, and then we packed a wall of branches about 50 m long diagonally across the path of his normal approach, forcing him to change course and approach the bait through our shooting lane, but upwind from us.

This worked, and the leopard was on the bait at around 5.30 a.m. after a very long and cold night for us. My client was also quite noisy when lying down, so I had him in a chair, sitting upright for 12 hours! When the time came, I nudged him, and he got into a shooting position. When the light went on he could not see the leopard lying on the branch, but it slipped off into the shadows. My mood dropped into my shoes, but not five minutes later the tom was on the branch again and side on, and brilliantly exposed to our view.

The shot rang, and a feeling of elation and relief overcame both of us. That feeling cannot be described, and only someone who has endured and worked the same way for such a great trophy would understand.

Both the hunter and I were exhausted and full of aches and pains – but it felt great!

Checking Out the Most Thrilling Hunting Spots in Africa

Apr 25, 2017 | News

Some people hunt for sport, some hunt to relax, and some hunt for food. But there are others who hunt for the thrill and the sense of danger that comes with being out in the wild among some of the world’s most exotic and ferocious creatures. For this type of hunting, there’s no better place than Africa, the Dark Continent. Hunting in Africa offers big game and incomparable thrills, particularly in the following locales:

Namibia

Namibia is one of the more underrated hunting places in Africa, as most people struggle to find it on a map. However, the country has become quite hunter-friendly and is one of the few places where cheetahs, the fastest land mammal in the world, can be hunted. Some bigger game like lion, buffalo, and elephant can also be hunted. Namibia is where hunters should be able to explore different parts of the country and find animals that will be tough to find elsewhere on the continent.

Tanzania

Hunting in Tanzania is exciting, largely because of the vast number of species and their populations in East Africa. There are literally dozens of species on a hunter’s radar in Tanzania, including zebra, impala and water buffalo, plus bigger game like lion, leopard, and hippo. With enough time, ammo, and skill, you can bag several different animals during a hunting excursion to Tanzania.

Cameroon

Cameroon is a totally different part of Africa from the other countries on this list, so it offers unique opportunities and challenges. The country features the only active volcano in Western Africa, Mount Cameroon, which last erupted in 2012. Hunting around this area is bound to be thrilling. If you prefer to stick to the forests, they are so dense that when you’re hunting you may not find your target until you’re just a few feet away – this can create a real rush. The animals here may not be quite as ferocious, but there’s some big game in Cameroon, including the bongo, a species of antelope.

South Africa

South Africa is undoubtedly one of the most exciting places in Africa to hunt, as it offers a diverse array of climates and terrains, leading to a variety of hunting options. This includes some of Africa’s most dangerous species like lion, crocodile, and hippo. Even hunting elephants isn’t out of the question, allowing you to come face to face with the largest land animal on the planet.

Zimbabwe

Neighbouring South Africa is Zimbabwe, a country best known for challenging hunters with some of the most dangerous game on the continent. Lion, leopard, and elephant are all available. Also, in certain safari areas of Zimbabwe, those big game animals may be in the same areas as plains animals like zebra, wildebeest, and impala, giving you the chance to hunt multiple animals at one time.

Bowhunting – An Acquired Taste on the African Plains

Apr 11, 2017 | News

It’s not unusual for a hunter to open the lock box on his bakkie and pull out a Winchester M-70 as he prepares for the hunt. When it comes to crossbows, this is another matter entirely. Despite the personal preferences of hunters in Africa, crossbow hunting is a million dollar industry in the States. This is with good reason, and we explore those reasons here.

Spooked Game, Bad Recoil, and a Master’s Degree

Proficient hunters often tell you they’ve been in the game for a number of years. They started as a kid, and a parent or grandparent took them out back to practice their shooting on tin cans and old Coke bottles. This soon escalated to doves and dassies, and by the time they graduated from high school, they’d already landed their very first kudu. Their faces beam with pleasure as they relay the stories, but they don’t tell you how it took them years to get the hang of the recoil from the gun. In fact, it took a few bruises to get going.

Also, those long and arduous hours, and even days, waiting for game to pass your shelter because the last ring of a blast is still hanging in the air. Waiting for spooked game can be a difficult hunt, as their movements become very unpredictable.

Finally, they don’t tell you that it took hours and hours of practice to feel confident enough to pull that trigger. Once again that recoil becomes the biggest consideration as the kick takes a long time to master. Not just for the pain factor, but also to keep aim. The level of control to hit the target takes long.

Bowhunting Works In the States, But Will It Work in Africa?

With recent legislation changing favorably to those who want to nock their arrows, bowhunting is fast gaining momentum in Southern Africa. But before crossing the oceans in search of the best game, it’s important to have the right gear for the hunt. This ensures that the arrow, distance, and momentum is sufficient to land the prey. Deciding on the type of bow to use during the next hunt, will largely be determined by the quarry. The regulations are similar to many of the regulations in the States and will point the hunter in the right direction. This includes the minimum draw mass, kinetic energy, and arrow weight.