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Not for the Faint-Hearted – Hunting Bushpig in the Eastern Cape

Jun 22, 2016 | News

By Kim Gattone

South Africa: 2014

It was a calm, cool morning, wet with dew, the low-lying fog quickly evaporating in the rising sun.

These are perfect conditions for scent dogs and, sure enough, the strike dog Blue, was already “giving tongue” from the back of the truck before his feet ever hit the ground!

Blue is an older, three-legged bluetick hound; he’d lost that leg in a close encounter with a bushpig, and is a better dog on three legs than many are on four! Blue, leased to a houndsman, bayed the pigs in their nest. Unfortunately, the pigs “broke their nerve” quickly and scattered rather than holding up.

The first best chance at a bushpig is right there when the dogs strike the nest, but I was not right there, and so the pack was released and the organized chaos was on! This is where the relentless hounds pursue the bushpig until it tires of the flight and turns to fight.

Second-best chance at the a bushpig comes if one is fleet of foot and determined – then one might be able to intercept the fleeing quarry and dispatch them in a clearing as they cross ahead of the dogs. Now this is only possible if the gunner can stay or get ahead of the chase. At this stage of the day, having a middle linebacker from the NFL to break trail through the thorn and brush, running uphill, would come in handy! The third best chance for the gunner – and the one that usually ends the hunt – is to be close enough to the spot the pigs choose fight over flight and “bay up.” This is where the real danger to the dogs is, and time is of the essence.

There is a code of ethics that every bushpig hunter must accept and agree to going into the hunt. Houndsmen have the right to take the pig with their shotgun if the dogs are in danger of getting killed by the vicious pig, whether the hunter has arrived or not. I agree with this code and have great respect for the hounds and the specialized technique that goes into training them.

In another life, not so long ago, I confess to being a bit of an adrenaline junkie. I had a good, long career as a distance runner, and 13 years as a high-altitude mountaineer. My base level of fitness now is not what it was “back in the day,” but it is still above average. I mention this because this hunt was physically and mentally demanding. Crashing nonstop through the thorn and scrub for over two miles at a run with a shotgun, and trying to keep close to the chase so as to not endanger the dogs with an unnecessary delay once the pig was held up, was no simple task. Many a PH has lamented the lack of condition of their clients, at times having to go to great lengths to compensate for it. In this case, if you cannot pursue the chase, you cannot expect to close in in time for the kill, so if you want to run with the “big dogs,” you had better be fit!

Let me back up for a moment. I flew from Joburg to Port Elizabeth over the Indian Ocean, above the white sandy shoreline. I was excited to visit a new province of South Africa and would be spending the next three days with my PH Gary Phillips, owner and operator of Gary Phillips Hunting Safaris. Gary is the sixth generation of a family devoted to wildlife and farming in the Eastern Cape. He has over 20 years’ experience in the hunting industry, with access to over two million acres of private concessions over lush coastal bushveld, semi-arid Karoo, and the mountainous savanna. The noticeably diverse landscape was emerald-green during my visit.

Just an hour’s drive from Port Elizabeth is Gary’s exclusive lodge, Assegai Bush Game Reserve – a lovely five-star camp nestled in the lush coastal bushveld, where I was greeted by camp manager Carla who lavished me with her exquisite meals and warm hospitality for the next three days.

Gary and I intended to hunt both caracal and bushpig with hounds, but after two days’ effort hunting caracal, we never cut scent. On my third day, with the arrival of Paul Mills and his enthusiastic hounds, a change of fate took place. Paul’s hounds are used exclusively for hunting bushpigs.

Bushpig hunting with hounds is an Eastern Cape tradition that has gained legendary status over the years. Bushpigs are one of the hardest trophies to take in South Africa. It is a physically demanding hunt that requires an all-out effort, and certainly is not for the faint-hearted. The pigs are fast and powerful, with upper canines that form small tusks with razor-sharp edges that make them an animal to fear. When cornered they become aggressive beyond description and potentially dangerous.

Charging through the brush we came upon the bayed bushpig, and the only description that comes to mind is complete mayhem: My PH and the houndsman trying to maintain order in a world gone wild, hounds barking and clamoring about, and my quarry, a bushpig almost as exhausted as me, fighting with everything he possessed – for certain he understood that his life depended on it.

The houndsman stepped aside and with no more than 25 feet separating me from the pig, I shouldered the Winchester 12-gauge, shooting twice the 00 buckshot into him. In my book, when shooting something that dangerous, it’s worth shooting twice to finish the fight! A rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins!

Over the last seven years it has been my good fortune to hunt in Africa. I have one of those dream jobs – as the advertising sales manager for the African Hunting Gazette, my job is sweet. I’ve had a number of wonderful safaris hunting plains game species with both rifle and bow. As weapons go, I am most familiar with, and found of, the smoothbore shotgun. Shooting birds over dogs is one of my passions. As for dogs, I love them. So when this opportunity came for me to use both a shotgun and dogs in the Eastern Cape, needless to say, I was pretty excited. This wasn’t birds over pointers with one ounce of #6 shot, but 00 bush shot for a very large and ferocious bushpig surrounded by baying hounds in thick brush!

As quick as I was afoot and with my two shots, the pig had still scored some licks before he succumbed to my shotgun, and several dogs took wounds. Their owner and lifelong houndsman, Paul Mills of Bunker Hill Hounds, turned his truck bed into a surgery center and stitched up four hounds on site. I am a tenderhearted dog lover of the highest order and these gladiators of the canine world won my admiration. They are remarkable in their uncomplaining courageous service facing a formidable and deadly opponent, and they are the heroes of this story, deserving every accolade we can bestow!

The controversy of hunting with hounds will range on long after my story has ended. I understand both sides of the argument. I am a huntress and a conservationist, an animal lover and a meat eater. Whether you agree with hunting with hounds or not, it is a timeless argument. Hunting with hounds is an ancient, efficient, and long-practiced art. For centuries, man and his faithful dog, be it purebred or cur, have hunted multiple species on multiple continents. Wild boar, red stag, African lion, mountain lion, bushpig, bear and wolves; duck, geese, partridge, pheasant and grouse – and on it goes, great and small, all have been successfully brought to bag with the help of our courageous canine companions. So here’s to Blue, the three-legged strike dog, and his pack of baying brothers! Long live the hunt, and long live the hound!

Bio

Kim Gattone makes her home in beautiful southwest Montana and enjoys writing about her adventures to share them with others.

Hunting Caracal with Hounds in the Eastern Cape

Dec 21, 2011 | Hunting Stories Online

South Africa: 2011

Volume: 17.3

Hunting Caracal with Hounds in the Eastern Cape

Over the last few years I’ve throttled back and, as a more “mature” PH, traded chasing 100-pounder elephants, marauding lions, and lying for hours on riverbanks waiting to shoot that sly and elusive 15-foot crocodile for far more gentlemanly pursuits.

No more tsetse flies! No more malaria! Yes, sad as it may seem, I’ve replaced the hallowed hunting grounds of the Zambezi Valley, the Mnondo forests of Zambia, and the stark beauty of Mozambique’s Lugendainselbergs with a less stressful East Cape vista, one of rolling hills and the backdrop of the Indian Ocean.

I recently joined forces with Jeff Ford, a big but quiet-spoken man, native to the Eastern Cape, in an effort to provide clients with a unique hunting experience. Jeff, a cattle rancher until a few years ago, has run two packs of hunting dogs, inherited from his father, for almost 20 years. These specially trained hounds, a mixture of blue tick and foxhound, are controlled by two dedicated houndsmen, Tim Mbambosi and Maron Fihlani, and form an integral part of the Problem Animal Control program in the KowieKareiga Conservancy. Jeff is employed by the Conservancy to control predators such as caracal and jackal. He puts his vast knowledge of the area to test in the dense and often extremely rugged broken terrain that encompasses the area adjacent to and between the Kowie and Kareiga Rivers.

Jeff’s dogs are out with their handlers each morning before sunrise, ready to react to calls from local farmers who have lost livestock to predators. As a result of Jeff’s success in controlling these predators, small game species such as oribi, blue duiker, Cape grysbok and Cape bushbuck have flourished in the Conservancy, and a quota of these animals along with caracal is now available for trophy hunting.

PH Don Price (L) has exchanged chasing 100-pounder elephants for more gentlemanly pursuits, like hunting the indigenous species, like blue duiker, of the rolling hills of the Eastern Cape, in collaboration with former cattle rancher, Jeff Ford (R).

I first met Sean Scott, or as I call him, Scotty, a few years back when we traveled to Argentina as part of a group of guests invited by Alfonso Fabres to case out his new bird-shooting operation. We spent two weeks together and, having like interests – hunting, fishing, guns, good wine, women and song – immediately bonded and a great friendship was formed. Although my new friend hails from “Mud Island” he is definitely not the normal pompous “Pom” (Englishman)! Far from it, he is just the opposite, a rugged guy who thrives on the outdoors and who has hunted four continents, from the heat of Botswana to the freezing mountains of Kazakhstan. A booking agent, hunting consultant and shooting instructor, Scotty proved to be proficient with a both a rifle and shotgun, and his knowledge of diverse hunting species was even more impressive.

In mid October 2010 Scotty, accompanied by girlfriend Lauren, arrived in Port Alfred on a three-week working holiday. I had invited them to the Eastern Cape on a fact-finding mission to check out hunting opportunities I have on offer right on my doorstep. The emphasis was to be on the specialized species unique to the KowieKareiga Conservancy. And on top of Scotty’s wish list was the elusive caracal or African lynx, as it is commonly known.

Scotty and Lauren were happy to spend their first night in Africa unwinding at Gisa’s Beach House adjacent to Kelly’s Blue Flag beach in Port Alfred. As we relaxed with a glass of fine Stellenbosch Merlot in our hands recounting hunting stories, the fire crackling in preparation for the rack of Karoo lamb I was going to cook on the braai, my cell phone rang. It was Jeff, informing me that his old neighbor Rob Clayton had called to report that he’d lost two sheep to caracal. ”Are you and Scotty available early tomorrow morning?”

Hunting country here is rugged and broken, thickly vegetated with thorn scrub, euphorbia and spek-boom – and no game fences.

What a question! Wild horses couldn’t have held him back, and early the following morning Scotty, Jeff and I were out early to give it a bash. The big question on all our minds was: Would the dogs pick up scent? The country was rugged and broken, thickly vegetated with thorn scrub, euphorbia and spek-boom. There were no game fences. This was going to be tough, the real thing!

The houndsmen had deployed their two teams of dogs 10 km apart approximately 25 km inland on the Kowie River, and we were quick to position ourselves on top of a commanding feature in the middle so we could respond to either team. It was quite beautiful – the sun was just coming up with a blanket of early morning mist below us in the valleys and along the river off to the north.

While we waited, Jeff and I seized the opportunity to brief Scotty on what could possibly happen if the dogs picked up cat scent. ”Bwana, listen carefully for any giveaway noises and sounds – bushbuck barking, the alarm call of the tree hyrax, baboons, the screech of the crowned eagle – in fact anything out of the norm,” were our instructions.

Sure as God made little green apples, the words had just drifted away on the morning breeze when below us and to our right we heard a bushbuck bark! The noise, faint at first, grew louder, and we ignited into action. Off down the ravine at a run close on the heels of our leader, Jeff Ford. We slid, barely managing to stay on our feet, grabbing at branches that whacked us in our faces, as down the mountain we went, Scotty clutching my Browning over-and-under 12-gauge, and me with my camera slung around my neck. The pace quickened as we dodged and slid in an effort to keep up with our leader.

By now we could clearly hear the dogs barking, followed by a deep baying that sent blood-curdling chills up my spine! Jeff’s radio crackled to life and breathlessly he answered Tim Mbambosi’s call in fluent Xhosa. ”Scotty, they have a good-size cat on the run,” he reported. “He has treed twice already but has jumped again and is now heading towards the Kowie River!” And off he spurted again, down towards the baying and barking dogs. As the pace hotted up, Scotty’s shirt stuck to his back, wet with perspiration. There was no giving up now; we had to get to the cat as fast as possible as a caracal can only be treed a few times before he vanishes for good.

PH Don Price (R) and Jeff Ford (L) with their hounds, along with English hunter Sean Scott with his beautiful trophy caracal in the Eastern Cape’s KowieKareiga Conservancy.

The radio crackled back to life and this time all Jeff said was, “Inkosi!” (Thank-you). “The cat has jumped again …we don’t have much time …push guys, push!”

The noise from the dogs intensified into a crescendo, and I knew Tim had the cat treed again. We could make out the river by the belt of thick vegetation in front of us, and I prayed, “Please Lord, let it be a big cat and keep him in the tree!”

Then we were at the river’s edge. Tim and his dogs were holed up just 50 metres away in some really thick riverine vegetation that included a few taller trees. To our astonishment Jeff suddenly began to tear at his clothes, flinging off his shirt and trousers as he ran towards the dogs and the treed cat. What in the world was going on? Scotty and I didn’t realize that Jeff had spotted the caracal high in a tree overhanging the river and was preparing for any eventuality. He hastily signaled Scotty forward and together they crawled towards a big tree surrounded by the baying, barking dogs. Surrounded by the rest of the pack, Punch, the big black and white lead dog, was baying profusely, front paws as high as he could reach up the tree trunk, while out of the corner of my eye I saw Tim, the houndsman, waiting quietly to one side for the business to be completed.

I suppressed a chuckle as I watched Scotty and his semi-naked PH creep forward, quickly take aim, and pull the trigger. But Instead of the blast of the shotgun there was dead silence. Scotty anxiously pulled a second time, but still nothing happened! In a split second he broke the gun, examined the caps of the 12-gauge shells in the barrels and slammed the gun closed again. This time the gun bucked and a shot echoed in the valley. The cat came crashing down out of the tree but halfway down it caught in a limb, seemed to hang on for a brief second and then, in slow motion, fell to the ground.

The next few seconds were crucial as hunt-frenzied dogs can tear a trophy from limb to limb. In a flash Tim was with his dogs, shouting commands and swatting them on their heads, which gave Jeff the opportunity to snatch the caracal up and out of harm’s way. Scotty was ecstatic! What a beautiful specimen, truly a magnificent trophy, deep red in colour, the pointed ears fringed with black. “Don, look at this, mate… he is beautiful… what a cat! What an experience!”

Houndsman Tim Mbambosi (L) is in charge of Jeff Ford’s (R) specially trained hounds, a mixture of blue tick and foxhound, which form an integral part of the Conservancy’s Problem Animal Control program

We all regrouped and Jeff gathered his clothing. ”Sorry for the sudden strip-show, guys, but I’ve had a caracal drop into the river before and we never found it… so I was ready to dive in and retrieve your cat if necessary,” Jeff explained with a smile.

Caracal are incredible predators for their size and kill ad lib if not checked. And, contrary to popular belief, there are still thousands of caracal in Africa, especially in the coastal vegetation of South Africa’s Eastern Cape. Their population is strictly monitored by both Nature Conservation and private organizations such as the KowieKareiga Conservancy. As a result, this formerly elusive species that used to be collected by spotlighting can now be harvested with the aid of well-trained dogs. No longer a dream or a chance trophy, caracal is now very much a reality.

See you soon in South Africa!