RolandtheHeadless
AH veteran
- Joined
- Sep 3, 2015
- Messages
- 204
- Reaction score
- 209
A year ago I faced a big decision: whether to go to Africa. When that question was settled, the remaining question is where in Africa should I go? Little did I suspect that such inquiries would infect me with AAS, Africa Attachment Syndrome, a set of eccentric, but harmless behaviors.
When you've fended off the naysayers and made a pact with yourself by God to go, and settle your preliminary questions, you find yourself having to pin down the dates and put your money where your mouth is. And then you can sit and dream, anticipate the hunt. Each step forward on the process renews the dream. Buy the stuff you need to hunt in Africa, shoot your rifle regularly and with a sense of mission, get yourself in shape. You're doing all of that, marking the days off your calendar.
Then, lo, the day has arrived! You're getting on the plane wondering whether you practiced enough shooting on the sticks and would you make a fool of yourself in front of the PH. But whatever, you're on your way now, buckaroo.
And the next thing you know the hunt has begun. You're riding in or on a genuine African bakkie for the first time, and you're having the time of your life and shooting lots of animals with great company and it goes on a little while, and then it's over. It's all over. Africa is over.
And then. . . the next thing you know you're on the flight home, then you're home, home to your mundane life. Africa has faded away like a dream. There is no more hunt. The hunt is no more.
And after three weeks of despair you ask, what purpose is there to life?
When you've fended off the naysayers and made a pact with yourself by God to go, and settle your preliminary questions, you find yourself having to pin down the dates and put your money where your mouth is. And then you can sit and dream, anticipate the hunt. Each step forward on the process renews the dream. Buy the stuff you need to hunt in Africa, shoot your rifle regularly and with a sense of mission, get yourself in shape. You're doing all of that, marking the days off your calendar.
Then, lo, the day has arrived! You're getting on the plane wondering whether you practiced enough shooting on the sticks and would you make a fool of yourself in front of the PH. But whatever, you're on your way now, buckaroo.
And the next thing you know the hunt has begun. You're riding in or on a genuine African bakkie for the first time, and you're having the time of your life and shooting lots of animals with great company and it goes on a little while, and then it's over. It's all over. Africa is over.
And then. . . the next thing you know you're on the flight home, then you're home, home to your mundane life. Africa has faded away like a dream. There is no more hunt. The hunt is no more.
And after three weeks of despair you ask, what purpose is there to life?