The leopard hunt was never really planned. I had a trip for elephant planned with BoschNel safaris and since I would already be in Zimbabwe I thought I might as well secure a leopard tag to give it a shot.
Leopard hunting is always unpredictable—opportunity comes down to luck and persistence. With this being a combo hunt, we knew there would be times to shift focus and chase both goals.
Finding Bait
The team had pre-baited an area before our arrival, but for another prime leopard concession, all bait must come from the property itself. That became our first task.
Our first evening, after a long day of travel, we set out looking for bait. A group of kudu gave us a chance, but my rushed shot at 350 yards missed low—the scope wasn’t dialed for the distance, and the heavy bullet’s arc didn’t help. We spotted zebra, but they were across the boundary line—very expensive zebra, to be precise—and when they crossed back, they stayed out of range. On the way out, a large warthog burst onto the road, but with the truck bouncing, there was no clean shot to take.
The next morning, we tried again. Early success came when a small baboon was taken for bait. Not long after, a pair of warthogs dashed across the track. A quick shot dropped the boar—a fine pig, both as a trophy and excellent bait. Shortly after, another group appeared, and the lead boar fell to another well-placed shot. This one was even bigger, with heavy tusks. With enough bait for the area, we headed back to camp to prepare for the afternoon hang.
As we loaded bait at the skinning shed, a troop of baboons appeared at the waterhole. We crept over and took a big male on the near side of the pond. Two more ran around to the far side—one dropped cleanly at 280 yards. Now we had plenty of bait and a golden trophy skull to go with it.
Selecting the right tree for baiting is a deliberate process: find the perfect overhanging limb, clear enough brush for a clean view, and drag scent trails leading back to the bait. With everything set, all we could do was wait.
Shifting Focus
The next few days were devoted to elephant hunting while we waited for signs of a big tom. By day six, it was time to refresh the baits. We’d seen several giraffe while tracking elephants, so we decided to take one before returning to the first camp.
With just over an hour of daylight left, we stalked a large bull but couldn’t get close. Soon after, we found another—an old, light-colored male. I aimed for a head shot but missed. The bull started to run; a second shot slowed him, and a third clipped a tree limb. We moved fast, reloaded the .375, and managed a final neck shot that dropped him.
My wife would have a beautiful flat skin, covered in scars from a long life among lions, and we had more than enough leopard bait—or so we thought. The landowner reminded us that half the meat stayed on the property. Still, we had enough to get back to work.
We returned to camp with the truck heavy with giraffe meat, spending the midday heat checking baits, replacing spoiled ones, and hanging new ones to expand our coverage.
The Waiting Game
The first bait we checked had been hit—a surge of excitement! The trail cam showed a young male two nights earlier, not the tom we were after. We refreshed the bait and moved on.
By day eight, confidence was high. We started later that morning to let any early visitor feed undisturbed. The day was hot and slow, but one new bait showed claw marks up the trunk—a leopard had fed there. No clear tracks, and no camera yet, so we set one that afternoon.
Two more baits went up on the far side of the property, one near fresh tracks. Spirits were high; if the cats went quiet, we even had plans for a hippo hunt.
Morning of day nine: another check. The same bait was hit again. The camera revealed a large female who’d spent six hours at the tree. Encouraging signs—activity was building. We hoped a tom would soon follow.
Later that morning, word came in: a new bait had been hit. We’d be in the blind that evening.
The Shot
Just before dark, a massive tropical storm rolled in. We fought to keep the blind from blowing away and ourselves from getting drenched. When the rain eased, a huge tom appeared in the tree.
He moved around, tugging at the bait. When he turned broadside, I settled the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger. Everything felt perfect—until it wasn’t. A clean miss. The cat looked around calmly, then slipped away as if mistaking the shot for thunder.
We hoped he’d return, but heavy rain chased us out for the night.
Lessons in Humility
Day eleven started with a restless 6 a.m. wake-up after a 3 a.m. return. I replayed the miss again and again—after all the effort collecting bait, checking trees, and dragging scent, I’d squandered the team’s hard work.
Back at camp, we tested the rifle with the thermal clip-on—it was dead on. The problem was me. In the dark, I’d reattached the Bog Pod clamp too far back, putting pressure on the barrel. A small mistake with big consequences.
Still, there was a chance the cat was hungry and might return. More rain was forecast; it would be another long night.
That evening, we approached the blind on foot, moving quietly in case the cat was already feeding. Instead, a large honey badger was chewing through the wire, trying to steal the bait. We chased him off and rehung the meat—an unusual twist to an already unpredictable hunt.
Throughout the night we heard the leopard’s distant call, but he never came in. The honey badger did, several times, steadily working through what remained.
As dawn broke, we packed up, exhausted. This would be our final night before departure.
We decided to move the bait and blind—one last change of scenery might tempt him back. Just before dark, three honey badgers charged the tree, but quickly left. Unlike the previous nights filled with leopard calls and hyena chatter, the bush was silent. The stillness stretched until 2 a.m., when it was time to leave, clean up, and make the long drive to the airport.
Just like that, the hunt was over.
Reflection
To say I failed would be accurate—but to say the hunt wasn’t successful would be far too harsh. The experience, the challenge, and the journey of pursuing one of Africa’s most elusive predators made the effort worthwhile. Even without the leopard, it was a hunt I’ll never forget.
Leopard hunting is always unpredictable—opportunity comes down to luck and persistence. With this being a combo hunt, we knew there would be times to shift focus and chase both goals.
Finding Bait
The team had pre-baited an area before our arrival, but for another prime leopard concession, all bait must come from the property itself. That became our first task.
Our first evening, after a long day of travel, we set out looking for bait. A group of kudu gave us a chance, but my rushed shot at 350 yards missed low—the scope wasn’t dialed for the distance, and the heavy bullet’s arc didn’t help. We spotted zebra, but they were across the boundary line—very expensive zebra, to be precise—and when they crossed back, they stayed out of range. On the way out, a large warthog burst onto the road, but with the truck bouncing, there was no clean shot to take.
The next morning, we tried again. Early success came when a small baboon was taken for bait. Not long after, a pair of warthogs dashed across the track. A quick shot dropped the boar—a fine pig, both as a trophy and excellent bait. Shortly after, another group appeared, and the lead boar fell to another well-placed shot. This one was even bigger, with heavy tusks. With enough bait for the area, we headed back to camp to prepare for the afternoon hang.
As we loaded bait at the skinning shed, a troop of baboons appeared at the waterhole. We crept over and took a big male on the near side of the pond. Two more ran around to the far side—one dropped cleanly at 280 yards. Now we had plenty of bait and a golden trophy skull to go with it.
Selecting the right tree for baiting is a deliberate process: find the perfect overhanging limb, clear enough brush for a clean view, and drag scent trails leading back to the bait. With everything set, all we could do was wait.
Shifting Focus
The next few days were devoted to elephant hunting while we waited for signs of a big tom. By day six, it was time to refresh the baits. We’d seen several giraffe while tracking elephants, so we decided to take one before returning to the first camp.
With just over an hour of daylight left, we stalked a large bull but couldn’t get close. Soon after, we found another—an old, light-colored male. I aimed for a head shot but missed. The bull started to run; a second shot slowed him, and a third clipped a tree limb. We moved fast, reloaded the .375, and managed a final neck shot that dropped him.
My wife would have a beautiful flat skin, covered in scars from a long life among lions, and we had more than enough leopard bait—or so we thought. The landowner reminded us that half the meat stayed on the property. Still, we had enough to get back to work.
We returned to camp with the truck heavy with giraffe meat, spending the midday heat checking baits, replacing spoiled ones, and hanging new ones to expand our coverage.
The Waiting Game
The first bait we checked had been hit—a surge of excitement! The trail cam showed a young male two nights earlier, not the tom we were after. We refreshed the bait and moved on.
By day eight, confidence was high. We started later that morning to let any early visitor feed undisturbed. The day was hot and slow, but one new bait showed claw marks up the trunk—a leopard had fed there. No clear tracks, and no camera yet, so we set one that afternoon.
Two more baits went up on the far side of the property, one near fresh tracks. Spirits were high; if the cats went quiet, we even had plans for a hippo hunt.
Morning of day nine: another check. The same bait was hit again. The camera revealed a large female who’d spent six hours at the tree. Encouraging signs—activity was building. We hoped a tom would soon follow.
Later that morning, word came in: a new bait had been hit. We’d be in the blind that evening.
The Shot
Just before dark, a massive tropical storm rolled in. We fought to keep the blind from blowing away and ourselves from getting drenched. When the rain eased, a huge tom appeared in the tree.
He moved around, tugging at the bait. When he turned broadside, I settled the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger. Everything felt perfect—until it wasn’t. A clean miss. The cat looked around calmly, then slipped away as if mistaking the shot for thunder.
We hoped he’d return, but heavy rain chased us out for the night.
Lessons in Humility
Day eleven started with a restless 6 a.m. wake-up after a 3 a.m. return. I replayed the miss again and again—after all the effort collecting bait, checking trees, and dragging scent, I’d squandered the team’s hard work.
Back at camp, we tested the rifle with the thermal clip-on—it was dead on. The problem was me. In the dark, I’d reattached the Bog Pod clamp too far back, putting pressure on the barrel. A small mistake with big consequences.
Still, there was a chance the cat was hungry and might return. More rain was forecast; it would be another long night.
That evening, we approached the blind on foot, moving quietly in case the cat was already feeding. Instead, a large honey badger was chewing through the wire, trying to steal the bait. We chased him off and rehung the meat—an unusual twist to an already unpredictable hunt.
Throughout the night we heard the leopard’s distant call, but he never came in. The honey badger did, several times, steadily working through what remained.
As dawn broke, we packed up, exhausted. This would be our final night before departure.
We decided to move the bait and blind—one last change of scenery might tempt him back. Just before dark, three honey badgers charged the tree, but quickly left. Unlike the previous nights filled with leopard calls and hyena chatter, the bush was silent. The stillness stretched until 2 a.m., when it was time to leave, clean up, and make the long drive to the airport.
Just like that, the hunt was over.
Reflection
To say I failed would be accurate—but to say the hunt wasn’t successful would be far too harsh. The experience, the challenge, and the journey of pursuing one of Africa’s most elusive predators made the effort worthwhile. Even without the leopard, it was a hunt I’ll never forget.
