The One That Didn’t Get Away

By Ken Moody

Richard, our client, was cheerful as always, never doubting that we would persevere in the end, but those of us in the know were becoming a bit anxious. Day in and day out, we had spotted, tracked, crawled, snuck into, and engaged dozens of buffalo bulls within the large herds we were hunting. Still, no dice. Everything so far had been soft bossed and too young to consider. ‘Where are the big boys?’ I pondered as we pulled off another group of six bulls not up to snuff. Returning to camp that evening, I decided that we would implement a new plan and split up our resources to cover more ground and find more buffalo. It had been a hard hunt to this point. Five days into a 10-day safari and still not a quality bull spotted.

The following day I left camp at 4:30am with binos in hand, determined to locate a shootable bull. Richard and our PH Jannie would scout in the denseness of the northern portions of the property while I headed south to check out the larger waterholes in other areas known to hold buffalo. If I spotted anything, I would radio and relay to them my findings. If not, we would meet back at camp for lunch and discuss an afternoon plan. A fruitless morning ensued, with me scouring every haunt and hiding place I knew of, but no trace of the black beasts was found. My hours of searching proved to be a bust.

Returning to camp around noon, I spoke with Jannie, and we decided to continue in the areas we had hunted that morning. The property was huge with a few hundred buffalo, but they had to drink, and they had to feed. We would make contact with a big boy if we were persistent and kept to the bush as much as we could. At 2:00pm we were back at it, driving, checking for tracks, and climbing the little rocky hills, glassing for buffalo. A routine we had grown all too familiar with. With me this afternoon were my daughter and son-in-law, riding in the back, hoping to capture photos of the game. My daughter, a professional photographer, was fully equipped with her long-range lens Canon, which could provide some nice marketing material if I could find subjects for her camera. At around a half hour before dark, I decided to check an old, dirt airfield that was close to camp. The airfield was long and open terrain surrounded it. Many times, we had spotted herds of buffalo feeding adjacent to the field just at dark and if I could find them there now, we’d have a good place to start the hunt the following day.

I pointed the Toyota towards the airfield road and proceeded to drive upon it, searching the surrounding plains for any sign of movement. A quiet rap on the roof of my bakkie caused me to stop as I entered the airfield and as I looked up to see what had caused it, I saw my daughter pointing across the field and out onto an open flat. Her elevated vantage point had allowed her to spot what was impossible for me to see, buffalo! I quietly exited the truck and climbed into the bed where I too could see the ‘black river’ of a buffalo herd coursing through the bush, feeding as they snaked their way towards a large waterhole some 3 kilometers away. A rough estimate put the herd at around 100 beasts and I could see in the waning light of the day, several bulls within it. While we much prefer to go after the lone dagga boys or small groups of bachelor bulls, the large herds could also Cape Buffalo hold superb bulls. The obvious problem is getting to them with the many eyes and ears of the herd providing early warning of anything predatory. I hopped off the truck and left my companions to take photos and eased quietly across the airfield and began to glass the buffalo as they moved. As any experienced buffalo hunter will tell you, dusk is the best time to approach buffalo, as it’s the only time of the day when they seem to get ‘stupid’ and pay much less attention to those things that they should. I moved to within 150 yards of the line of buffalo and looked for a candidate. I saw about a dozen bulls and identified at least two that appeared to be hard bossed, but at that distance and with the lack of light, I was ‘best guessing.’ My Austrian glass was doing all it could and as the light faded to near darkness, I returned to the truck and headed back to camp. Little did I know that the superb optics of my daughter’s camera and the vantage point from which she was shooting would reveal a buffalo that I could not see from where I was glassing. A real buffalo. A once-in-a-lifetime beast that would make even the most seasoned buffalo hunter sit up and take notice.

Back in camp, Jannie and Richard told of finding spoor and tracking a group of buffalo, but fickle wind and alert noses proved too much to overcome. Yet another of many stalks stymied by mother nature. I relayed to all the encounter we’d just had less than an hour before and as my daughter powered up her laptop and began to download the photos, we all sat around the fire, sipping good bourbon, and waited on the results. In about fifteen minutes, the downloaded pics found their way to me and, after a bit of scrolling, I stopped and stared at the image now appearing on the screen.

There it was. A pic of a tremendous Cape Buffalo bull, pushing a hard bossed set of horns some 48” tip to tip. We had previously shot a few 45” bulls and one superb 44 incher a few months before on other safaris, but this one was bigger. I called Jannie over and we stared at the pic, both of us quite pleased. The only problem now was a plan. Finding that specific bull in such a large herd would be problematic, and then actually getting to him  would be another feat. Killing this buffalo would require a lot of luck. Jannie and I discussed a plan for the next day and given that this big bull was traveling with a herd of around 100, I thought the best option would be for Jannie and Richard to continue with the spoor of the small bachelor herd they’d found the day before while I went out and tried to sort out the big herd I’d found and see if I could determine where they might be. The odds of stalking into such a large herd and bagging that bull were slim. The only hope was to find the bull either in front or along the fringes of the herd so that a stalk from the flanks or ambush from the front might be executed. Jannie concurred and preferred to take his chances with the small group of bulls rather than risk another day of frustration pursuing the big herd. There were good bulls amongst those bachelors and Richard also liked his odds much better with them than with the prospect of pushing a huge herd around all day.

Around half an hour before daylight, we were off. I returned to the airfield and followed it to the end, walking out into the bush east of the field and going in the direction the buffalo would have likely crossed if they were heading towards the large, natural water pan a few kilometers away. There, I found the tracks of the herd, which had indeed crossed the dry riverbed and turned west a bit towards the water. Returning to my bakkie, I drove to the waterhole and found where they had entered the area, through a gap in the bush that led across the dam wall and out into the refreshment they sought. The entire perimeter of the little lake was saturated with buffalo spoor and unfortunately, it appeared that it was here the herd split up and broke down into smaller groups as they finished drinking and disappeared into the bush. The big bull could be anywhere now.

I sat in the truck and thought about what to do next. I knew that the herd had likely originated the night before from a terribly thick, inhospitable area we called ‘The Chad’ and that many would likely move back into it during the day. It was a huge block of bush that the buffalo loved, as it provided them great security during the bedding times of midday. This bull was fully mature and hadn’t grown to his size by accident. He would likely be one of the beasts that would seek out the Chad for rest. I started the truck with hope and a plan.

I drove to the northern end of the airfield and while I was searching for tracks to indicate that some buffalo had indeed headed back towards the safety of Chad, I spotted a glimpse of an approaching buffalo. As I crouched behind a small clump of grass, the young bull stepped out into the open and then back into the bush, heading away from me. With my binos, I could see that there was another bull with him but couldn’t determine anything more than that. Could this be the big bull?

I crawled back to my hidden truck and tried repeatedly to reach Jannie or his tracker on the radio. After minutes of calling, the base station at camp picked up my call and tried to relay my message, ‘Buffalo spotted, come to airfield.’ Jannie’s tracker responded and in about half an hour or so, the group burst onto the scene, a plumage of dust in their wake. I quickly apprised Jannie and Richard of the situation and told them that I could only verify that two buffalo bulls were slowly moving from the fringes of the airfield east of our position, staying in the bush along the side of the dirt road that ran perpendicular to the field.

Jannie got his team organized and, with his tracker to the front, led Richard slowly down the bush line, glassing the edges as he went. In less than a minute, a young bull appeared from the bush and walked out into the open. Shortly, another bull emerged from the thicket, it too a youngster. Jannie and the team froze and crouched behind some grass. I stayed back about 50 yards, not wanting to add to the noise and scent of those in front of me. Suddenly, the two bulls moved back into the bush and disappeared. They hadn’t been spooked, they had just moved into cover.

I watched as Jannie and the group moved further down towards the location that had once held the bulls and as they were moving, the monster bull from the night before appeared and walked directly out in front of the group, crossed the dirt road, and vanished into the bush on the far side.

No hesitation at all in his gait, just straight across and gone. A nervous pit began to grow inside my gut. Had we just blown our chance at this magnificent buffalo? Jannie and Richard lay prone in the grass while I held my breath and hoped.

Moments passed and then, as if summoned by the gods of luck, the big bull reappeared and crossed back towards the two youngsters. When he reached the perfect position, Jannie eased Richard into position and let out a grunt. I peered through my binos, manifesting success. BOOM barked Richard’s rifle and a feeling of peace entered my body. The bull was ours.