Face to Face with Black Death
My first realization that something was amiss was Jaco screaming "David shoot it! Shoot! David Shoot!" I vividly remember that I had been holding my rifle awkwardly with it cradled over the crook of my left arm. I did not look up when I heard Jaco yelling. Instead, I watched myself thumb the three-position safety forward to fire. I then looked up while rotating the rifle towards my front. I saw the buffalo charging full speed at me, head lowered. I instinctively realized two things: First, he was too close for me to have time to shoulder the rifle, aim and fire. Second, he was so close that even if I shot him, he would still hit me at full speed, if I did not move out of his path. It is funny how the mind works under stress. What seemed like an eternity, was a split second. I dodged to my right, while firing my .500 Jeffery point blank from the hip into the buffalo. After that, I remember a massive impact. I have no recollection of what happened after the initial impact, nor what happened between impact and my next moment of conscious thought. I came to and became immediately aware that I was on my back, with the buffalo laying his full weight on my chest using his huge boss to try to crush the life out of me. Both of my hands were pushing against his boss in a futile effort to push him away. I am now the one screaming "Shoot it!! Help me! Shoot it!!
One might wonder, what the hell could have possibly gone wrong for the events described above to have happened? Well, a few things went wrong. But one must give a wily buffalo credit, for at that moment, he had gotten the best of us. He was well on his way to finishing what I had started the day before.
But let's go back to the beginning. I had been dreaming for many years of hunting in one of Africa's last true wilderness areas for free range buffalo. I had been reading of Africa since I was a teenager. I had two areas in Africa in which I was interested. The Selous in Tanzania or Niassa in Mozambique. My next step was to find the right outfitter and professional hunter. I attended the 2020 Dallas Safari Club Convention. I met with several outfitters who offered hunts in the Selous or Niassa. I ended up booking my hunt with Kwalata Safari's after meeting with Jaco Strauss. He had the rights to a great concession in Mozambique's Niassa Special Reserve. What sold me on Kwalata was Jaco's passion for Niassa and just how fun it was to talk to and hang out with him. I knew it would be a memorable hunt. The 10-day hunt was originally booked for September 2020, but we delayed it to October 2021 due to Covid.
I want to talk a little bit about my rifles. I purchased a CZ .500 Jeffery in 2019. The rifle was part of my plan. What would be more nostalgic than hunting free range buffalo in an African wilderness with a .500 Jeffery? When I received it, I knew I had a bit of a project on my hands. It looked like it had been drug behind a pickup truck. It had deep gouges in the stock on both sides and had obvious feeding issues. I decided to start by focusing on things I could do myself. I added a NECG rear sight. I filed and regulated the rear sight to my loads at 50 meters. I then sanded and refinished the stock while adding an ebony fore tip. In June of 2021, I became aware that Matrix Gunsmithing was taking over for American Hunting Rifles to manage the custom CZ business that Wayne Jacobson had done so successfully over the years. Matrix was within a couple of hours of me in Colorado. I reached out to them to inquire about getting their number one package. Gerald and Tim graciously worked me in in July of this year and I had my rifle back in two weeks with a straightened and filled bolt handle, three position safety, recrowned barrel and most importantly the feeding issues fixed. While I waited for the hunt, I finalized loads for the .500 Jeffery. For plains game, I decided to take my Mark V .300 Weatherby. I put in quite a bit of practice shooting from sticks over the next few months that would pay off later.
When I boarded the plane to leave home on October 9th, I was excited but also felt very well prepared. Flying into camp by bush plane let me view the amazing expansive beauty of Niassa. With its many forests, inselbergs, and the snaking beauty of the Lugenda and Luembeze rivers, the Niassa Special Reserve must be one of the most beautiful parts of wild Africa left in existence. After unpacking and orientation to camp, we sighted in the rifles and talked about the plan for the next morning. On the first day we walked about 10 miles tracking two dagga boys and stalked up to evaluate them. Jaco decided they were both young bulls and not shootable. But, during the walk back to the Land Cruiser, I was able to take a very large old Hardebeest with a nice shot on the shoulder from about 60 yards with my .300 Weatherby. Day two begins the story of how I became face to face with black death. Jaco decided we would look for buffalo tracks near what they call Repeater Mountain. We found a nice set of tracks of two bulls. Joe, Jaco's lead tracker determined that one track, due to its size, had to be a massive bull. We tracked the bulls for a few hours through short grass and finally into the long grass, but the wind began to swirl. We decided to find a spot to have lunch and then return later in the evening after lunch. About 3:30pm we drove back to Repeater Mountain and got back on the tracks. The tracking was a little tough due to matted low grass, but Joe always seemed to pick up the track if the other trackers Jethro or Dalu lost the spoor. We followed the spoor for a couple of hours, finally spotting the two buffalo standing about 50 yards away. They were standing in a circular patch of matted short grass surrounded on all sides by thick long grass. The long grass surrounding them made it appear as though they had created their own Alamo. We stalked to within 30 yards. Jaco glassed the two bulls and whispered to me that the bull on the right was an old polished, hard bossed, bull. The sticks went up, I lined up the right bull through my irons. The bull was facing me when I first got on the sticks. He was on the right with a younger bull on his left. He dropped his head slamming his horn into the young bull to his left flicking him away like he was a small child. He then repositioned and appeared to turn broadside. I fired for what I believed was his shoulder. At the shot, he and the other bull bolted to the right. Jaco asked me how the shot felt. I had a feeling that I had just taken a shot that I should not have taken. Through the tall grass, it was difficult without a scope to perfectly see the positioning of the bull. My instincts were right. When we advanced on the position a few minutes later, it was obvious I had hit him too far back. We followed the blood trail for about 30 minutes. Jaco quickly realized that the wounded dagga boy had circled back to his original position. The sun was going down. What little sun that was left was now in our eyes. Joe looked at Jaco and said in Afrikaans "the Nyati was looking for his friend." Jaco responded "No Joe. He is looking for you!" Jaco decided it was not safe under those conditions. We would come back in the morning.
After a sleepless night, we arrived back at Repeater Mountain at sunrise. Joe and Jethro quickly picked up the blood trail. We walked in silence with Joe and Jethro alternating as lead tracker. Dalu followed next, then Jaco. I brought up the rear. The trail became more difficult as the wounded dagga boy moved into short grass, then matted grass and finally on to river rock. Onward we pressed through the harsh terrain, dotted with monkey tails, repeatedly losing the blood trail due to the short grass leaving no blood smears. Finally, after two hours we lost the track completely. Jethro, Dalu, Joe and Jaco spread out in ever widening search areas trying to find the blood trail. We searched and searched, my heart sinking and the heat taking its toll on my body. I drank a water, but it did little revive my body or my spirit. Two and a half hours later, we were still searching, and I was sure I was starting to get heat exhaustion. I grabbed my knees every time we stopped. The voice in my head was tormenting me...damn monkey tails.... damn heat.... damn lost blood trail.... damn bad shot. Jaco called me over at one point, to show me what Jethro had found. We all huddled and took pictures of Jethro holding a Pangolin. Jaco explained they are rare and finding one is considered good luck. I didn't realize at that moment how much I would need that luck. About 30 minutes later, we went through a small ravine with some short grass on the other side. Old reliable Joe found a small speck of blood on a few strands of tall grass left by the buffalo as he exited the ravine. We huddled briefly to make a plan, drink water and enjoy a little bit of shade. We are all drinking water. We are laughing a bit, feeling better now that we are back on the blood trail. Jaco handed his rifle to Joe so he could drink a water and light a cigarette. Jethro decided he needed to relieve himself. He walked a couple of meters over the ravine to a patch of slightly taller short grass. To his surprise, he almost walked up to the wounded buffalo who was lying in the patch of short grass. The Buffalo stood, gave a throaty baugh and charged our group from less than 5 meters. Jethro ran to climb a tree. We had no chance. We were on water break, guns held awkwardly, completely caught off guard. Jaco and Joe were closer...less than 4 meters. He plowed right past Jaco, Joe and Dalu....all of them diving in different directions. The Buffalo ignored everyone but me, the fool who had started this fight. The fool who was distracted, unaware of the danger until Jaco yelled for me to shoot.
I yelled for someone to shoot the beast who was crushing me. Unbeknownst to me, Joe had been the first to recover his footing and he had Jaco's .416 Rigby. Jaco still trying to climb to his feet yelled for Joe to shoot. I am yelling for someone.....anyone.... to shoot. Joe fires a shot into the buffalo’s neck, missing the spine. But the buffalo lurched and raised his head at the shot. When the pressure was lifted from my chest, I kicked and kicked... driving myself out from under the buffalo. I rolled into the ravine, crawling halfway up the other side. Simultaneously, Jaco recovered to his feet. He had Joe toss him his rifle chambered a round and maneuvered to a better angle. I now have my back against the ravine and the buffalo is repositioning to come finish me. He glares at me while squaring up and begins to lower his head. Jaco yells "drop your head!!" As he had lined up to shoot, my head was in his sight picture. At Jaco's command, I fell backwards crossing my arms falling flat against the backside of the ravine. I see the buffalo starting to launch towards me. Boom! There is a shot. The Buffalo drops from a clean brain shot. I raise my head. Jaco yells "lay back down! I am going to shoot him again." Bang! another shot. The devil is not moving. Immediately, I realize that I am not seriously injured. I climb out of the ravine laughing and said, "Now that is what I am talking about!" Jaco is yelling "lay down! Let me check you!" I refuse to lay down telling him I am fine. What I did not know is from Jaco's vantage point he saw the buffalo come in with a big sweep of his horns, like a boxer's right cross aiming for my left thigh. He assumed, I had been gored through the thigh or groin. That is besides the fact that he just witnessed the beast crushing me with his massive boss. My pants on my left side were destroyed also giving the impression to Jaco, I had been gored. I stood while Jaco and I inspected my body for damage. The Buffalo had come very close to goring me. His horn had caught my left pocket and ripped it right off! Another inch and I would have been gored through the thigh or groin. I was not unscathed. I could tell from the pain, that my left ribs were fractured. I used to be a full contact martial artist when I was younger. I know well what broken ribs feel like. But I could breathe. No punctured lung. There was a big red mark from the barrel of my .500 Jeffery being crushed into my chest. Somehow, I had held onto my rifle after impact. The beast was using it like a lever to crush me with his boss. I have attached a couple of pictures of the aftermath. You can see my .500 Jeffery under the buffalo. My destroyed pants and my red and quickly bruising chest are evident in the other picture. I had also broken my left big toe from kicking so hard to free myself. But what hurt the most, was the web and palm of my right hand from hip firing my .500 Jeffery. I do not recommend that trick to my friends and family. Amazingly, my .500 Jeffery had a few dings, but only needed a cleaning to be back in business. After convincing Jaco I was going to live and did not need emergency medical care, we called for support to recover the buffalo. On the way back to camp, Jaco looked at me and said" Don't take this the wrong way. But I was honored to share this experience with you." I replied, "I think we will be friends and brothers forever." Later in the conversation we agreed that this was like falling off a horse. We needed to get back on the horse and hunt another buffalo. After all, this was day 3 of a 10-day hunt and Jaco had an extra buffalo on quota.
I drank a couple of restore rehydration packets that night. I also realized I had been taking a diuretic blood pressure medicine that was causing me to dehydrate. I stopped taking that and had no issues with the heat during the rest of the hunt. The next day we were on a mission to find the best buffalo we could find. I was still very sore. My back hurt. My ribs were very sore, and it was agonizing to walk with my broken toe. However, I pushed on past the pain. I was focused only on the potential of new success and putting as much distance as possible from my previous failure. For the next several days we tracked small groups of dagga boys. We went after a large bull Jaco had seen a week prior to my arrival. For three days we tried to track and stalk that bull. Him and two other younger bulls would only leave the Jess early in the morning or late at night to feed. We tried everything to get to them. Swirling winds picked up in the late mornings as we entered the Jess forcing us to return in the early evening. In the evenings, the bulls were moving too late due to a full moon. Over the three days, I was thoroughly introduced to “Jessica” as Jaco affectionately referred to the Jess. Three days of navigating in and out of the Jess twice a day made my arms and legs and one ear look like I had been in combat with a weed eater. Unfortunately, sacrificing one’s body does not guarantee success. Jaco finally decided we would not get a chance at them until the full moon subsided. We moved on to other opportunities.
On day 7 we tracked a couple Dagga Boys into some thick Jesse only to have them wind us as we stalked up to evaluate their potential. On day 8 we walked over 7 miles tracking a group of 5 bulls only to have Oxpeckers go mad and alert them. They bolted in a cloud of dust. We came back after lunch walked another 5 miles tracking them only to have them spot us as they laid up watching their backsides. On day nine, everything came together. I remember this morning well. We were in the Land Cruiser swatting Tetse Flies back and forth to each other like some Darwinian version of pong. Joe spotted tracks crossing the road near the Luembeze river. This was where Jaco liked to go to find large dagga boys that would cross the river and feed, then return to the Jess surrounding the river. Joe and Timotio were the tracking team after the first buffalo. They were used to working together and made a great team. They easily followed the spoor of the two dagga boys for about 2 miles. We then heard the ox peckers. We stalked silently in the direction of the ox peckers spotting two dagga boys grazing under a large rain tree surrounded by short and long grass about 30 meters away. We stalked to within 25 meters. Jaco evaluated them with binos and told me we were going to take the one behind the tree. He put the sticks up and told me to shoot the bull when he cleared the tree. Lessons were learned from the first buffalo. After that experience with iron sights, I had affixed my Nikon 1-4x scope with qd rings and ensured it was zeroed. When the old bull cleared the tree, I put the cross hairs on the shoulder and squeezed the trigger. I didn't feel the recoil of the big .500 Jeffery. I knew it was a perfect shot. Jaco continued to watch through his binos. He was puzzled. The bull was feeding on grass when I fired. The bull didn't move at the shot. He didn't lurch. There was no flinch. His tail didn't move. His head didn't raise. Jaco was about to say "You missed! He is deaf! Shoot him again!" When the bull fell over. He gave a soulful death baugh. At the sound, the other dagga boy gave a short grunt and charged. He charged in a semi-circle to our right, avoiding some brush, and headed for us at full speed. At 25 meters I pivoted to line up for a shot. Jaco seeing me readying to shoot yelled "Don't shoot!" Cover the downed bull!" I turned back, trusting Jaco to sort out the incoming bull. Jaco screamed profanity in Afrikaans at the incoming dagga boy! He waived his arms, continuing to curse him. I only recognized a couple of words. “Fook off!” At 15 meters the bull stopped. He glared at us, then turned and walked away. He stopped again and glared then walked away into some tall grass. After taking a moment to catch our breath, we advanced on the downed bull. I gave him an insurance shot to the spine. It was not needed. The celebration ensued, flowing with much emotion, relief, and joy.
He was a very big old hard bossed bull. He was a proper trophy measuring out at 41.5". Joe said something to Jaco in Afrikaans that I did not understand. Later that evening, Jaco told me that Joe had told him that I must have thrown lots of apples (slang for fighting) when I was young because all the buffalo wanted to fight me. Joe was insightful. I am a former 11B (Infantry) Desert Storm Veteran and a Martial Artist with many full contact fights under my belt. We all got a laugh out of that! I asked Jaco that evening over a few drinks, if he liked hunting with me. He responded "I love it! But it is dangerous!" Jaco says you earn a buffalo with your feet. We had certainly earned this second buffalo. We had walked well over 100 miles in 10 days. After day three, those miles were agonizing for me. But every painful step was a step towards redemption. It was one step further away from the buffalo who almost sent me to my maker. People have asked me. "Was it the Pangolin? Was I just lucky?" I think it is hard to discount the Pangolin as a coincidence. But I like to think it is far less mysterious. Jaco and Joe saved my life. I played a part as well. We communicated. We kept calm. We did what we had to do to overcome the worst possible circumstances. For Jaco and Joe's part in saving my life, I will be forever grateful. I cannot wait to hunt buffalo with Jaco and Joe again.
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