HoosierHunter
New member
While hunting in Africa there is a relationship developed between you and your professional hunter. Having local knowledge that would rival the knowledge of area biologists. The PH is the epicenter of what your time in Africa is going to revolve around.
What if I told you, I developed more of a relationship with my tracker. A man who spoke practically no English and defined the phrase, “Actions speak louder than words”. While hunting there isn’t much you can’t get across with a light tap on the shoulder and a finger pointing in the right direction. He would hold his hands out when he wanted you to pass him something. Even though, there wasn’t a feeling of him wanting to pamper me. When he came to help, my mind was already in motion of what I was going to do. He was a first-class person that had a second nature for hospitality.
The bushveld that we called home for the last 4 days has started to fade out. The farmland starts to open the landscape to make the mountains in the background the celebrities of the sunrise hour. The evening prior I was told we would be hunting a property on the border of Botswana. This was a large, game rich property located right on the Limpopo River. The PH added, we cannot be late because entry into the property is cut off at 0730 sharp. We make our way closer to the border of Botswana with shacks dotting the side of the road, soon turning into a full-blown roadside market. The market was set up for truck drivers to eat, shop, and socialize while waiting to pass through border customs. We turned off the paved road onto a rippled dirt road littered with potholes. We were forced to stop at an automated gate guarded by a security guard, and we were pointed to another gate with a large pole barn a couple hundred yards away. My PH steps out of the truck and starts repeatedly yelling the name Sam. I soon ask, “Why are you yelling for Sam?” He said, the property owner requires us to use one of his personal trackers to help navigate the property. This man Sam will soon be someone I will never forget. After a couple more yells, a Honda enduro comes tearing from the back of the pole barn with a dust trail behind it. Heavy on the front brakes, leaning forward to a complete stop the man starts speaking Afrikaans with my PH; I’m assuming was about, who we are? Why we are here? I hear the name Sam being thrown around. Assuming already this gentleman was not Sam.
The man starts his bike and speeds off again back behind the barn. Asking several questions, I can see my PH is getting a little on edge with the whole situation, being that it is past 0730. No sooner than a couple minutes, I see the dust trail from the enduro before I hear the 4-stroke purring closer to us. I see a skinny man with blaze orange pants, black hoodie, knee high rubber boots, and a heavy cotton Balaklava riding on the back. By default, again assuming – This had to be Sam. As he gets off the back of the bike, we shake hands and I introduce myself “Hi, I’m Andrew”. He does a quick and deep nod and says “Yes”. My thoughts… Okay, here we go.
Jonkman was the tracker originally paired with my PH. Jonkman immediately starts conversing with Sam and translates to Afrikaans for the PH to understand. It was already known from Jonkman that Sam speaks broken Tswana. However, Sam’s native language is Tonga. He speaks no Afrikaans and no English. Between the four people on the hunt, at any given time there could be four different languages being spoken about the same topic.
Jonkman and Sam hop in the back of the Toyota Raider, my PH and I hop in the cab for the short drive down the dusty roads to the gate of the hunting concession. We pass rich soil. The soil looked so perfect it mirrored the image of coffee grounds. Green pepper, onion fields, and some of the owners’ families’ homes perfectly manicured.
We stopped at another gate. Sam hops down from the truck, unlocks the gate and pushes it open for the truck to drive through. Sam has already spiked my interest. In the 10 minutes we have been in each other’s company he has done nothing but smile. Being from United States, and this is my first time out of North America- It might be my first time looking at someone and being able to see contentedness. You can tell his mindset wasn’t a staged act for the customer. He was here to work, he wanted to hunt, he was alert to his surroundings and was happy with what he had. More importantly he wanted to please. He was proactive about holding out his hands to show he wanted to help you, grabbing the rifle as we climbed up and down the ladder to get into the back of the truck, taking things from the truck’s back seat and quickly presenting them, still with a smile on his face. Again, it wasn’t a feeling of being pampered. He was someone that wanted to make a difference.
While we started the slow drive looking for game, I gave him my binoculars to try out. He was very apprehensive about taking them, and I gave him the nudge as the universal gesture to, “go ahead”. He takes the binoculars and holds them the wrong way. He put the objective lens to his eyes and immediately puts them down and looks at me. I flip them around and show him the correct way. He puts the binoculars back up to his eyes and uses them as a monocular. I thought to myself, we can work on how to use binoculars. After seeing his lack of familiarity with binoculars, I figured I could at least teach him how to use hearing protection. He had an idea of what they were, but as I showed him how to roll them in your finger and slide them in your ear canal. He simply just placed them in his ear. The first pothole we hit, one fell out and the second just went in his pocket.
With Jonkman driving and Sam standing on the tailgate with the PH, my head was on a swivel, seeing a plethora of animals already. I feel calm taps from Sam pointing at different animals, assuring I don’t miss anything. From sable, eland, warthog, and impala this property seemed to be well-managed. Animals were abundant and seemed to be curious with the vehicle passing through. Having hunted for several days in Africa, these animals reacted with more curiosity and were timid to the vehicle. My assumption was this property got less pressure than other properties we have hunted. I think Sam knew I tried to help him as much as he was trying not to let me miss anything. He was very active in showing me and my PH what this property had to offer and pointing out animals that were of quality.
Shortly into the hunt a mature ram impala was seen standing in the road. The impala was in a large group and all of them staring straight at us. A mature impala was on my list and my PH was quick to draw his binoculars signaling to me that this was one that I would be happy with. I hurried to settle the rifle on the truck mount and an approximate distance of 100 yards was conveyed. I eased the trigger and saw a plum of dust puff up behind the impala. The ram took off running and I hear from the back, “Ah, you shot low.” Before I eased the trigger I thought to myself the ram was much farther, but as they always say to trust your PH, I did just that. When we got to where he was standing, we found bone shards and a few drops of blood. The consensus was that I hit him high on the leg. We tracked him for about 30 minutes and made the decision to return hunting. That 30 minute I was able to see the talent of the trackers and that this is a learned skill to have such a keen eye. In a clump of grass, they would pick out a single drop of blood. I attempted to help but asked to be more of a spectator. You are instructed not to get ahead, so you don’t risk ruining any tracks they have not been able to analyze.
We all got back to the truck and settled into our positions. My PH leans over to make small talk and says, “Other PH’s have reported a 60” kudu running around this property.” He asks me if this is something I’d be interested in taking. My response was honest and quick, “No, I do not have that kind of money, being a younger man with four young kids. I’m honestly just lucky to be here.” We continue meandering down the same dirt road, and not 20 minutes into the drive I see a kudu. I throw my hand to the right and point at it, and my PH just puts his hand on my shoulder and states, “That is the one you don’t want to shoot, that is that 60” kudu.” I ask him to still back the truck up so I can get a glimpse of it with my binoculars. So, he gets on the radio and tells Jonkman to stop and reverse. Jonkman backs the truck up to a perfect alley where the kudu is broadside and perfect in every way. My PH with his binoculars glued to his eyes says with a little hesitation, “That might not be the 60” and it looks closer to 52”. Is this one you would like to take? I couldn’t get the word “Yes” out of my mouth fast enough. I get down from the truck, he grabs the shooting sticks and were off to try and close the distance with a stalk on this beautiful animal. As we slowly meandered through the bush, the closer we got to the kudu the less cover we had to close the distance. My PH throws the sticks out from the bush we are hiding behind and I immediately set up to take my shot. I ask him how far he thinks the kudu is and he states about one hundred yards. He stated one hundred yards on the impala. So, knowing I shot a little low, I placed the crosshairs a little higher on his shoulder. I ease the trigger and the kudu falls immediately. Filled with joy we briefly celebrate, and I get right back on the sticks. My PH walks 30 yards back to the road and signals for the trackers to bring the truck back. All this time the kudu is fighting its last fight and thrashing the ground and I’m waiting patiently with it still in my scope to be at rest. I hear the truck pull up and my PH is talking to Sam and Jonkman, and I turn my head to see if they’re looking and I point in the direction of where the kudu lays.
Several steps behind the trackers, my PH and I follow talking about the stalk and the shot. Looking in front I pick up on the frantic motions the trackers start making. Motions of the universal signs of confusion. Not even knowing any of the words being said, my stomach started to churn with anxiety, and I sped up to close the gap between us. I found the pool of blood with no kudu in sight, my heart sinks to a new all-time low. The animal I dreamt about for 2 years has vanished. With the nickname “Grey Ghost”, The kudu is living up to its name with not only being an expert with blending into its surroundings but now vanishing into thin air.
All eyes were on me.
“Why did you not shoot again when you saw the animal get up?”
“I never saw it get up.”
The hypothesis came to be, the brief second, I turned my back to see the truck pull up, the kudu must have gotten up and ran off.
I felt bad for the animal because it wasn’t a clean shot, and I felt bad that I just made a long day for my PH and trackers. The tracking skills of Sam and Jonkman were about to be shown again.
Several minutes turned into hours. Hours turning into a half day. Sam and Jonkman never gave up. Getting confused with sets of tracks we would even go back to where the animal was shot. We did this three times, each time taking us in a slightly different direction. Eventually, hoping that we will find a deceased kudu behind the next bush. The beautiful spiral black horns highlighting against the brown prairie grass. Those were my thoughts that never happened. We spotted two kudus while walking but we were not able to see any blood because of the tall grass. Lunch was the only time we weren’t in pursuit.
With the evening rolling in and the long drive back to camp. The hard decision was made to leave. Two shots on two animals and nothing to show for it. That’s a hard pill to swallow for a hunter. Confidence was at an all-time low for me. Confidence in my shot and confidence in my equipment. Did my gun get bump, is the scope off? It was a quite drive back to camp with a lot of emotions running through my head. All thoughts were none I expected to be thinking when I was planning a trip to Africa.
When back at camp the lodge owner immediately pulled me aside and asked me to convey all the details about the day. It was explained in detail, but the main issue I had was the distance being conveyed was in question. I walked the kudu shot one time we went back to look at tracks. 100 yards was told to me, and I stepped out more than double that.
A plan was made between the lodge owner and I; an additional PH and tracker would go with us to provide more support. This additional PH just happened to be the lodge owner’s son. He has a lot of confidence in his son, and he provided me with assurance for the next day to come. He also told me that his lodge is the only lodge hunting that area and even if we don’t find the kudu tomorrow, they will find it one day, and it will eventually be in my possession. Knowing this means a lot to me.
0445 could not come soon enough. All personnel accounted for, and the trucks were off in our small convoy. The drive was quiet. Only road noise and a slight murmur of music filled the cab. It was hard to be positive knowing how much ground we covered yesterday and how hard we worked. When pulling up the gates to get Sam he was already standing, waiting in the same clothes he wore yesterday. Smiling and eager to help. All 5 of us loaded up and we were off to the concession. Sam hopped down and opened the gates and it was like déjà vu, but no one was hunting. We were going back to the pool of blood and starting from scratch.
Driving the main road looking out the driver’s side window. Simultaneously, wife and I say “Kudu, Kudu, Kudu.” There is a big kudu laying in a tree row. His head is slumped, and his neck is straight as an arrow. Everyone hurried out of the truck with binoculars. I got my gun from Sam as Jonkman got the shooting sticks out of the bed of the truck. The kudu is about 250 yards away. With the binoculars no sign of blood was not visible. I took a different rifle for the day, one rifle I had more confidence in. I dial the scope to 12X, and I can see some red stains on the hide. With still not a lot of confidence we slowly ease closer. The lodge owner’s son who is walking with me says, “The kudu has not moved, and this is not a normal behavior. Take your scope to minimum power and follow closely behind.” I do as he says. We stopped about 70 yards away and still hardly any movement from the kudu. From here, we identify a faint blood stain between his shoulder blade and his spine. As the PH sets up the shooting sticks the kudu gathers his strength and starts to get up. I shot and it hit him low. The bird hunter in me starts to swing the rifle and on the run, I shoot the kudu one more time and he starts to stumble. The animal starts to plow into the ground headfirst and rolls. The grey ghost is down. No time is wasted, and the last breath was witnessed with me beside it. Honoring the animal for the pain and struggle he endured yesterday and through the night. Yesterday’s shot was high - the shot landed where they call “No man’s land”. The small muscular area between the lungs and the spine. The initial shock wave from the bullet going through the body must have shocked the spinal cord making it fall.
Putting our hands on the animal signifies more than just this hunt. An elegant animal that was a true warrior. An emotional roller coaster truly about life, pain, and closing with death. The pictures that were taken after the unexpected turn of luck were none of just me and the kudu. This kudu belonged to everyone involved.
What if I told you, I developed more of a relationship with my tracker. A man who spoke practically no English and defined the phrase, “Actions speak louder than words”. While hunting there isn’t much you can’t get across with a light tap on the shoulder and a finger pointing in the right direction. He would hold his hands out when he wanted you to pass him something. Even though, there wasn’t a feeling of him wanting to pamper me. When he came to help, my mind was already in motion of what I was going to do. He was a first-class person that had a second nature for hospitality.
The bushveld that we called home for the last 4 days has started to fade out. The farmland starts to open the landscape to make the mountains in the background the celebrities of the sunrise hour. The evening prior I was told we would be hunting a property on the border of Botswana. This was a large, game rich property located right on the Limpopo River. The PH added, we cannot be late because entry into the property is cut off at 0730 sharp. We make our way closer to the border of Botswana with shacks dotting the side of the road, soon turning into a full-blown roadside market. The market was set up for truck drivers to eat, shop, and socialize while waiting to pass through border customs. We turned off the paved road onto a rippled dirt road littered with potholes. We were forced to stop at an automated gate guarded by a security guard, and we were pointed to another gate with a large pole barn a couple hundred yards away. My PH steps out of the truck and starts repeatedly yelling the name Sam. I soon ask, “Why are you yelling for Sam?” He said, the property owner requires us to use one of his personal trackers to help navigate the property. This man Sam will soon be someone I will never forget. After a couple more yells, a Honda enduro comes tearing from the back of the pole barn with a dust trail behind it. Heavy on the front brakes, leaning forward to a complete stop the man starts speaking Afrikaans with my PH; I’m assuming was about, who we are? Why we are here? I hear the name Sam being thrown around. Assuming already this gentleman was not Sam.
The man starts his bike and speeds off again back behind the barn. Asking several questions, I can see my PH is getting a little on edge with the whole situation, being that it is past 0730. No sooner than a couple minutes, I see the dust trail from the enduro before I hear the 4-stroke purring closer to us. I see a skinny man with blaze orange pants, black hoodie, knee high rubber boots, and a heavy cotton Balaklava riding on the back. By default, again assuming – This had to be Sam. As he gets off the back of the bike, we shake hands and I introduce myself “Hi, I’m Andrew”. He does a quick and deep nod and says “Yes”. My thoughts… Okay, here we go.
Jonkman was the tracker originally paired with my PH. Jonkman immediately starts conversing with Sam and translates to Afrikaans for the PH to understand. It was already known from Jonkman that Sam speaks broken Tswana. However, Sam’s native language is Tonga. He speaks no Afrikaans and no English. Between the four people on the hunt, at any given time there could be four different languages being spoken about the same topic.
Jonkman and Sam hop in the back of the Toyota Raider, my PH and I hop in the cab for the short drive down the dusty roads to the gate of the hunting concession. We pass rich soil. The soil looked so perfect it mirrored the image of coffee grounds. Green pepper, onion fields, and some of the owners’ families’ homes perfectly manicured.
We stopped at another gate. Sam hops down from the truck, unlocks the gate and pushes it open for the truck to drive through. Sam has already spiked my interest. In the 10 minutes we have been in each other’s company he has done nothing but smile. Being from United States, and this is my first time out of North America- It might be my first time looking at someone and being able to see contentedness. You can tell his mindset wasn’t a staged act for the customer. He was here to work, he wanted to hunt, he was alert to his surroundings and was happy with what he had. More importantly he wanted to please. He was proactive about holding out his hands to show he wanted to help you, grabbing the rifle as we climbed up and down the ladder to get into the back of the truck, taking things from the truck’s back seat and quickly presenting them, still with a smile on his face. Again, it wasn’t a feeling of being pampered. He was someone that wanted to make a difference.
While we started the slow drive looking for game, I gave him my binoculars to try out. He was very apprehensive about taking them, and I gave him the nudge as the universal gesture to, “go ahead”. He takes the binoculars and holds them the wrong way. He put the objective lens to his eyes and immediately puts them down and looks at me. I flip them around and show him the correct way. He puts the binoculars back up to his eyes and uses them as a monocular. I thought to myself, we can work on how to use binoculars. After seeing his lack of familiarity with binoculars, I figured I could at least teach him how to use hearing protection. He had an idea of what they were, but as I showed him how to roll them in your finger and slide them in your ear canal. He simply just placed them in his ear. The first pothole we hit, one fell out and the second just went in his pocket.
With Jonkman driving and Sam standing on the tailgate with the PH, my head was on a swivel, seeing a plethora of animals already. I feel calm taps from Sam pointing at different animals, assuring I don’t miss anything. From sable, eland, warthog, and impala this property seemed to be well-managed. Animals were abundant and seemed to be curious with the vehicle passing through. Having hunted for several days in Africa, these animals reacted with more curiosity and were timid to the vehicle. My assumption was this property got less pressure than other properties we have hunted. I think Sam knew I tried to help him as much as he was trying not to let me miss anything. He was very active in showing me and my PH what this property had to offer and pointing out animals that were of quality.
Shortly into the hunt a mature ram impala was seen standing in the road. The impala was in a large group and all of them staring straight at us. A mature impala was on my list and my PH was quick to draw his binoculars signaling to me that this was one that I would be happy with. I hurried to settle the rifle on the truck mount and an approximate distance of 100 yards was conveyed. I eased the trigger and saw a plum of dust puff up behind the impala. The ram took off running and I hear from the back, “Ah, you shot low.” Before I eased the trigger I thought to myself the ram was much farther, but as they always say to trust your PH, I did just that. When we got to where he was standing, we found bone shards and a few drops of blood. The consensus was that I hit him high on the leg. We tracked him for about 30 minutes and made the decision to return hunting. That 30 minute I was able to see the talent of the trackers and that this is a learned skill to have such a keen eye. In a clump of grass, they would pick out a single drop of blood. I attempted to help but asked to be more of a spectator. You are instructed not to get ahead, so you don’t risk ruining any tracks they have not been able to analyze.
We all got back to the truck and settled into our positions. My PH leans over to make small talk and says, “Other PH’s have reported a 60” kudu running around this property.” He asks me if this is something I’d be interested in taking. My response was honest and quick, “No, I do not have that kind of money, being a younger man with four young kids. I’m honestly just lucky to be here.” We continue meandering down the same dirt road, and not 20 minutes into the drive I see a kudu. I throw my hand to the right and point at it, and my PH just puts his hand on my shoulder and states, “That is the one you don’t want to shoot, that is that 60” kudu.” I ask him to still back the truck up so I can get a glimpse of it with my binoculars. So, he gets on the radio and tells Jonkman to stop and reverse. Jonkman backs the truck up to a perfect alley where the kudu is broadside and perfect in every way. My PH with his binoculars glued to his eyes says with a little hesitation, “That might not be the 60” and it looks closer to 52”. Is this one you would like to take? I couldn’t get the word “Yes” out of my mouth fast enough. I get down from the truck, he grabs the shooting sticks and were off to try and close the distance with a stalk on this beautiful animal. As we slowly meandered through the bush, the closer we got to the kudu the less cover we had to close the distance. My PH throws the sticks out from the bush we are hiding behind and I immediately set up to take my shot. I ask him how far he thinks the kudu is and he states about one hundred yards. He stated one hundred yards on the impala. So, knowing I shot a little low, I placed the crosshairs a little higher on his shoulder. I ease the trigger and the kudu falls immediately. Filled with joy we briefly celebrate, and I get right back on the sticks. My PH walks 30 yards back to the road and signals for the trackers to bring the truck back. All this time the kudu is fighting its last fight and thrashing the ground and I’m waiting patiently with it still in my scope to be at rest. I hear the truck pull up and my PH is talking to Sam and Jonkman, and I turn my head to see if they’re looking and I point in the direction of where the kudu lays.
Several steps behind the trackers, my PH and I follow talking about the stalk and the shot. Looking in front I pick up on the frantic motions the trackers start making. Motions of the universal signs of confusion. Not even knowing any of the words being said, my stomach started to churn with anxiety, and I sped up to close the gap between us. I found the pool of blood with no kudu in sight, my heart sinks to a new all-time low. The animal I dreamt about for 2 years has vanished. With the nickname “Grey Ghost”, The kudu is living up to its name with not only being an expert with blending into its surroundings but now vanishing into thin air.
All eyes were on me.
“Why did you not shoot again when you saw the animal get up?”
“I never saw it get up.”
The hypothesis came to be, the brief second, I turned my back to see the truck pull up, the kudu must have gotten up and ran off.
I felt bad for the animal because it wasn’t a clean shot, and I felt bad that I just made a long day for my PH and trackers. The tracking skills of Sam and Jonkman were about to be shown again.
Several minutes turned into hours. Hours turning into a half day. Sam and Jonkman never gave up. Getting confused with sets of tracks we would even go back to where the animal was shot. We did this three times, each time taking us in a slightly different direction. Eventually, hoping that we will find a deceased kudu behind the next bush. The beautiful spiral black horns highlighting against the brown prairie grass. Those were my thoughts that never happened. We spotted two kudus while walking but we were not able to see any blood because of the tall grass. Lunch was the only time we weren’t in pursuit.
With the evening rolling in and the long drive back to camp. The hard decision was made to leave. Two shots on two animals and nothing to show for it. That’s a hard pill to swallow for a hunter. Confidence was at an all-time low for me. Confidence in my shot and confidence in my equipment. Did my gun get bump, is the scope off? It was a quite drive back to camp with a lot of emotions running through my head. All thoughts were none I expected to be thinking when I was planning a trip to Africa.
When back at camp the lodge owner immediately pulled me aside and asked me to convey all the details about the day. It was explained in detail, but the main issue I had was the distance being conveyed was in question. I walked the kudu shot one time we went back to look at tracks. 100 yards was told to me, and I stepped out more than double that.
A plan was made between the lodge owner and I; an additional PH and tracker would go with us to provide more support. This additional PH just happened to be the lodge owner’s son. He has a lot of confidence in his son, and he provided me with assurance for the next day to come. He also told me that his lodge is the only lodge hunting that area and even if we don’t find the kudu tomorrow, they will find it one day, and it will eventually be in my possession. Knowing this means a lot to me.
0445 could not come soon enough. All personnel accounted for, and the trucks were off in our small convoy. The drive was quiet. Only road noise and a slight murmur of music filled the cab. It was hard to be positive knowing how much ground we covered yesterday and how hard we worked. When pulling up the gates to get Sam he was already standing, waiting in the same clothes he wore yesterday. Smiling and eager to help. All 5 of us loaded up and we were off to the concession. Sam hopped down and opened the gates and it was like déjà vu, but no one was hunting. We were going back to the pool of blood and starting from scratch.
Driving the main road looking out the driver’s side window. Simultaneously, wife and I say “Kudu, Kudu, Kudu.” There is a big kudu laying in a tree row. His head is slumped, and his neck is straight as an arrow. Everyone hurried out of the truck with binoculars. I got my gun from Sam as Jonkman got the shooting sticks out of the bed of the truck. The kudu is about 250 yards away. With the binoculars no sign of blood was not visible. I took a different rifle for the day, one rifle I had more confidence in. I dial the scope to 12X, and I can see some red stains on the hide. With still not a lot of confidence we slowly ease closer. The lodge owner’s son who is walking with me says, “The kudu has not moved, and this is not a normal behavior. Take your scope to minimum power and follow closely behind.” I do as he says. We stopped about 70 yards away and still hardly any movement from the kudu. From here, we identify a faint blood stain between his shoulder blade and his spine. As the PH sets up the shooting sticks the kudu gathers his strength and starts to get up. I shot and it hit him low. The bird hunter in me starts to swing the rifle and on the run, I shoot the kudu one more time and he starts to stumble. The animal starts to plow into the ground headfirst and rolls. The grey ghost is down. No time is wasted, and the last breath was witnessed with me beside it. Honoring the animal for the pain and struggle he endured yesterday and through the night. Yesterday’s shot was high - the shot landed where they call “No man’s land”. The small muscular area between the lungs and the spine. The initial shock wave from the bullet going through the body must have shocked the spinal cord making it fall.
Putting our hands on the animal signifies more than just this hunt. An elegant animal that was a true warrior. An emotional roller coaster truly about life, pain, and closing with death. The pictures that were taken after the unexpected turn of luck were none of just me and the kudu. This kudu belonged to everyone involved.
