Africa At Last

[Elkeater]

This is one of the best right ups ever! Keep it coming! Also I’m pretty envious of your journey thus far.

 

[Hooked Now]

Replying just so I can watch the thread. I've learned something here already. When someone says "please excuse my writing skills" they should be treated with the same regards as the guy who shoes up to the quail hunt in jeans with a beat up .410. You know he's gonna drop birds and OP is laying down a very nice hunt report. If the guy from TX could just learn to use the camera function on his phone for game we'd be all set.

 

[Datchew]

Thank you. Never really tried this writing stuff but with the adventure comes inspiration and it seems to go ok and a little african dust and gin helps it flow. And it makes my nose run.

Trying to do some pics here of the impala scrotum gear shift knob and the dense thorns.

 

[Datchew]

Day 3 – Who hunts a buffalo in a swamp?!

Hyena woke me up a 0400. They sound like an animal feeling sorry for themselves. I guess because they’re so butt ugly. Couldn’t get back to sleep so stumbled out for early coffee.

Departed at standard 0530, breaking the pattern of “half hour earlier each day.” I did not argue against this.

Chatty Cathy had us on the same buffalo as we tracked yesterday. I tried to be respectful in asking (dubiously) whether he truly could tell. He and PH were willing to walk me through it. This one’s rear foot had one half of the hoof that was shorter and turned inward making it easy to identify. So that’s a thing I guess. I squinted my eyes and pursed my lips and nodded slowly as if I now truly grasped this esoteric interpretation of spoor. They bought it.

We tracked old crusty up and over a mountain and through thickets and down the other side, honoring the turd testing rules the whole way. Lots of mud in many areas.
Eventually, we got within approximately 50 yards from them and PH said he could see a horn so I began to get excited. Focused. Only I couldn’t see a damn thing and he could have been making it all up for all I knew. Then the wind swirled and betrayed us and after a short stampede like an old John Wayne movie, the command decision was made to have lunch.

Lunch was a slice of cheese and ham between 2 pieces of wonder bread and 2 hardboiled eggs. My eggs were next to impossible to peel and I ended up chopping it in half and scooping out egg with my knife. PH and Cathy had no such trouble. I begin to suspect that they’re in league together to give me the hard to peel eggs. I’ll keep an eye on them. Literally they sneak around for a living so I find my own suspicious assumption to be reasonable.

Back at the camp for a pitstop, I notice the camp staff housekeeper lady already managed to get clean sheets on the bed and generally sort everything out. God bless her, I’m sure she cussed when she saw all the blood streaks from my scratches. Hopefully she’s good with getting blood out. I add a bigger tip in my mental balance sheet for her.

Out again in the afternoon. There’s a lot of water here. Like a lot. PH says the mountain is springing leaks and they didn’t even need Moses to whack it with a stick because of the high water table. He’s never seen this much water and he’s NOT happy about it because the buffalo now have 6-8 water sources instead of 2-3. Also… it’s creates long, gently flowing streams down the roads which effectively turns the road into a 2-3 mile drinking trough and a mud pit. In some areas I need to have brought my wellingtons. We slog on, determined, and starting to look like swine that have crawled through muck.

We chase the ever elusive quarry late into the evening until sundown and moonrise like tracking feral pigs. Bits of hair on the barbwire trees, mud rubs against thorns and trunks, and each sample of crusty mud is starting to be more and more dry and hard as we go. We’re out of light, we're not gaining on him. Time to hang it up and start back.

Pushing through the thorns, I realize I’m performing triage actively. Protect the eyes, some of the face, the family jewels, and just let the rest go. Ho Lee crap these things like to grab at you.

Eventually, we emerge from the thorns and there is a massive pile of crap steaming before us. PH says "ol boi" must have held it in for quite some time while he was going through the thorns and then let it all out once he got clear. It was like the triceratops scene in the original Jurassic Park but with no Jeff Goldblum (thankfully.)

Impala heart and liver in gravy over toast for dinner appetizer. Fabulous.

Quote of the day: “Now THAT’s a heap of bullshit.” (Not metaphorical)

 

[Zinz]

I begin to suspect that they’re in league together to give me the hard to peel eggs. I’ll keep an eye on them. Literally they sneak around for a living so I find my own suspicious assumption to be reasonable.

That is hilarious!!

Great installment… can’t wait for the next.

Ed Z

 

[Jeffrey Masters]

I can't type for chuckling. I have a hunting report to write from Namibia that is much over due. Have you ever given thought to ghost writing? Have your people get with my people and see what we can work out. Awesome report, I am anxiously awaiting the rest!

 

[Hooked Now]

This has tones of Bill Heavey. And I mean that as a compliment. This guy is invited on my next Africa trip. If nothing else to wolf up all of the heart and liver on toast.

 

[Slaton]

Loving the report. The writing style is wonderful. Cant wait until the next installment.

 

[Slickshooter]

This is such a great write up, I am reading it out loud to my wife and son and enjoying every entry! Keep up the good work and we are diligently waiting for the next report.

 

[Datchew]

You are truly too kind. I'm having fun taking notes and dropping them here.

There's more dead fluffy things coming when I get a min on the laptop.

I am still new to most critters over here and I noticed today the Afrikaans folk named everything in a rudimentary etymology.

It's in this format: type-buck.

Bushbuck
Treebuck
Dirtbuck
Gravelbuck
Waterbuck
Oceanbuck
Blesbuck
Reedbuck
Gemsbuck
Springbuck
Autumnbuck
Happybuck
Grumpybuck
Sleepybuck
Bashfulbuck

You get the idea

 

[SETH RINGER]

You are truly too kind. I'm having fun taking notes and dropping them here.

There's more dead fluffy things coming when I get a min on the laptop.

I am still new to most critters over here and I noticed today the Afrikaans folk named everything in a rudimentary etymology.

It's in this format: type-buck.

Bushbuck
Treebuck
Dirtbuck
Gravelbuck
Waterbuck
Oceanbuck
Blesbuck
Reedbuck
Gemsbuck
Springbuck
Autumnbuck
Happybuck
Grumpybuck
Sleepybuck
Bashfulbuck

You get the idea

WHO'S HAVING MORE FUN THAN YOU? NOOOBODY!

 

[WMU05]

This is A+ material. Keep it up, my friend.

 

[Datchew]

Day 4 – Africa wants me dead – or - Those aren’t allergies!



The whitefaced buffalo made me recall the skull emblem of Frank Castle aka The Punisher. So we decided to call him Frank as it’s easier than calling him that buffalo we saw on that date at such and such a place. Chatty Cathy claims he can id Frank when we come across his tracks.

That’s encouraging as Frank and I now have a score to settle but today I’m convinced Africa wants me dead. At least the portion of the population that is photosynthetic.
Snotty, clogged head, losing my voice. (I’m sure the PH will be heartbroken about that bit.) On the bright side, he says being phlegmy means it’s not South African tick bite fever. Great.
As Monty Python sang, always look on the bright side of life.
Also… no signs of ebola yet. Things are looking up!

I tell myself (convincingly) it’s just allergies. We then deployed the Mark 0 mod 1 handkerchief as a snot countermeasure and took an allergy pill and a few packets of vitamin c powder in barely sub-lethal dosages.

PH says another bull came to the camp in the night but it’s not Frank. Clearly my taunts and jeers from the other evening are starting to gnaw at him like a worm in his apple of self confidence.

I gargle a bunch of saltwater up the schnoz and shake out the clogs and we hit the road for a 0530 deployment. I am not “feeling it” but I’m here to hunt.

It’s only slightly cool. Almost warm. PH shed so much blood on the thorns yesterday that I’m backing off my lizard people theory except that he still has 2 layers on so I’ll table that one for later.

Asked Chatty Cathy if he knows the temp. “mmmm … 15.”
I try to recall the conversion method. 9/5, 5/9, something with 32, carry the 8, dot the I’s and t’s. Too much thinking this early with clogged up head. I ditch the jacket but take the beanie.

A bull and a few cows are spotted on the far side of a big opening doing their eating thing so we tumble out and start a quick march to get in an ideal position to play the wind. We have just enough light to see them with the nekkid eye as big dark blobs so we start the stalk. Unfortunately they also start the walk.
An hour of hurry up and wait and we make no real headway. Then some stupid eland comes bounding across from stage left and spooks them. Stupid eland. If I didn't have a priority list, you’d be tomorrow evening’s dinner.

We drive to another area and find some fresh mud wallow and tracks leading out. We start the stalk and end up covering 9.7 miles according to the PH’s fancy gadget watch.
I myself am not wearing a watch. It messes up my tan line. Also I don’t have one.

Finally, we get up on a long hillside interior of a large saddle and have a blessedly upwind stalk. Chatty Cathy suddenly disappears. This is kinda weird to me but PH gives me a look that says just sit tight. It’s his thing. So we wait.

He returns and in a truly deadpan fashion mentions (casually mind you) that the buffalo are 50 yards ahead and there is a big bull and he’s laying there napping. PH lights up like he just got plugged into a 115V socket. Off we go but in stealth mode. I lose a little footing and jostle a rock and PH looks back at me.
“Do you like Soccer?”
“Yes”
“Well don’t play it now.”

A few minutes later, PH bumps a rock and sends it tumbling so I ask him if he likes soccer.
I get a big toothy grin which indicates we both have waved the checkered flag to give each other shit for the remainder of the hunt. Love it. But shut up now, keep quiet, and stalk.

Last 50 yards are on hands and knees and I can hear the beasts breathing like a giant bellows pump. I'm trying to set my rifle down at each step forward without making noise. This is something I failed to practice. Wing it.

All of a sudden, I get to hear for the first time the rolling burp sound from the buffalo.
It's as if Neptune himself is belching. BWUUUUUUUUUH.
PH is tense but nothing happens. On we crawl. 15 yards. PH can see them. Wants us to skooch forward and left a bit and shoot off his shoulder.

We’re about to move and suddenly the nice, lovely, gentle, steady wind stops being so lovely and steady. It reverses and swirls. Betrayal! I sense it but I can’t say it actually registers but there is a sinking feeling in my stomach.

About 30 seconds later, the earth stops shaking and the trees stop swaying, at least those that aren’t mangled. PH emits a few choice phrases that I’m pretty sure my salty old Master Chief never even heard before. I'm actually mildly impressed.

We get ourselves dusted off and thankfully, all personnel are present and accounted for and no injuries noted in the ship’s log.

We’re mocked on our march back to the LC by a baboon that we can’t locate, else, he’d have bore our frustration with a solid copper 2600 fps enema.

Back to camp for a shower, saltwater gargle and quick nap and we’re off again. We find a good trail and it’s not Frank but it IS a big bull. This is the day I get to learn about the go-away birds. We get busted more than 100 yards out.

For those that haven’t met said bird, it’s sort of cockatoo looking and grey. It makes this cute, almost cartoon character like cry that you can hear only once and then it’s no longer cute. It’s annoying.
Also, when it sees you or anything else moving around, apparently it makes it it’s business to alert the entire area. Like a motion sensor alarm mixed with a dog’s squeaky toy.

You will come to hate these birds and it won’t take very long. They remind me of the dog in the old video game Duck Hunt that shows up after you miss the ducks to mock you.

We carry on. Irritated but determined. Discussing ways and means of killing these stupid birds when the PH asks me if I’m ready to shoot the wildebeest we decided was on the list. Thankful for the change of subject, I say “twist my arm” and I clip on my gear belt and we bail out.

It’s at this moment that I realize this isn’t allergies. I’m sick. Dammit.
The burning nose, watery eyes, and lots of sneezing and the geyser of snot bursts forth from the deep.
Great timing. Just great. Maybe I can get some dysentery too.

On another topic that is loosely related, I like a sling but I’ve ditched it after thorn-pocalypse. Mine is rubber and called a mountain sling or something like that so you can put 1 strap over the head and carry like a backpack. However, it’s magnetic to thorns so I have ditched it. Without the sling, I like to carry cross body like a shotgun carry with my right hand through the thumbhole in the stock and the foregrip across my left elbow.

This is apparently unfortunate because as we get closer and closer to the wildebeest bull, I’m keeping body movement to a minimum and just letting things go since I can’t blow my nose or even wipe my nose without movement that will get us busted. I’m basically in "let it drip" mode. I realize I’m drizzling snot right onto the action of my r8 and on the rear portion of my leupold 1-6. Thankfully the flip cover is down. Lovely. Simply brilliant. Mental note to decontaminate later.

We get up on sticks after some careful maneuvering and the bull is quartering towards us with his right side visible. 120-ish yards. No time for dope. No need for dope. Make it happen.

I aim just inside the front shoulder to cross both lungs and send it. He jumps and PH says I hit him a little too far left and to shoot again but I’ve already cycled the action and am leading him slightly as he starts to pivot away counterclockwise from me to run away with the herd.
A small bit of my brain noticed the bolt cycled in an exceedingly smooth manner. I may be on to something with this snot lube trick. Evaluate later. Maybe start a brand.

The 2nd one hits him as he rounds about and he bucks and kicks the air and runs behind a row of trees. PH calmly says in his cheery S. African accent “follow me please” and takes off at dead run.

Hmm. I practiced shooting from sticks but not sprinting with rifles. No time to dwell on it. Off we go.

Turns out after about a 100 yard sprint we noticed bull is not with the rest. He made it about 30 yards after the 2nd hit and we find him easily. He looks like he’ll cook up really well. We get a couple pictures but my heart’s not in it as I feel like crap at this point. Load up the beast and off we go.

The good news is that just yesterday I had introduced PH to a Texas cultural tradition when hunting. The roadie. He pulls out a couple Windhoek beers from the cooler. Bloody hell mah boi! Salvation in a can.
Make safe and stow the guns.
Cheers. Make sure you make eye contact. It’s a thing. Let’s get out of here.

PH pulls some voodoo magic medicine out of his bag of tricks. NeoCitran. Apparently it’s made in Switzerland and banned in Germany. What could possibly go wrong? It’s written in Ze German but PH sprechen’s sie Deutsch so he translates.
It’s basically Theraflu with multivitamin. So I down a hot cup of water with the pixie dust, push some stuff around the plate at dinner which I can’t really taste, have a slightly larger than necessary gin n tonic (for medicinal purposes you see) and hit the sack.

Quote of the day: That boy is so skinny he’s just cock and ribs!

 

[Datchew]

Day 4 pics - Wildebeest, 270gr barnes from wildebeest, and Frank's tracks next to a 458 rem mag.