10 am...the day still had that slightly cold snap in the air even though the sun was brilliant in the sky. We were driving along the road in a very slowly, meandering fashion. There just wasn't any rush at this point. It was the last day of the hunt, the last hours to be savored and enjoyed in the pursuit of game and adventure.
Kevin has his five in the salt with a Beest, Blesbok, Impala, Steenbok and Zebra. I had a Blesbok, an Impala, two Kudu, a Beest (/sigh, still running around out there somewhere) and a Springbok to my name. I still had a couple of "critters of opportunity" on the list: Steenbok and Duiker though i'd long since resigned myself to not actually seeing them on this trip. While such magnificent game as Gemsbok and Hartebeest weren't directly on the menu per se, they WERE in the area and we still had several huntable hours to go.
A gentle tap on the roof had Craig gliding the truck to a gentle halt.
I gave my wife a peck for luck and rolled out of the truck. Shane handed the rifle off from the back and I thumbed four rounds of slender .300 H&H into the magazine. I left my vest behind and swapped binoculars with my beloved. The 10x42 Leica's were magnificent glass...but just too heavy for a stalk: The 8x33's were perfect for that role. Two back up rounds in the pockets and we were off.
Craig and I didn't really bother with much planning for this walk. Shane had seen something off to the right and we would go for a walk on the flat karoo. Low grass brushed my shins and we dropped down gently into a low streambed, dry and sand filled. There would be no sound here...
We followed for a couple hundred yards, coming up for air every fifty yards or so and checking the view for game. The streambed turned sharply back to the left and we rose up the four foot high edges and stood above, glassing from the shadows of the acacia. Nothing.
We enjoyed the walk for some time before a number of Gembok came into view. Four, four to the left walking towards our right about 600 yards out. I chambered a round and flipped the safety on. Craig nodded a "let's get a better look then" look and we rolled in behind a row of brush to close the distance. At 300 yards we came out and the Gemsbok were ahead of us but moving away. Either they sensed us or they just decided to move on, still it didn't matter. We both knew they hadn't given us the look we wanted so off we moved again, following them with the wind to our face and the sun to our backs.
We bumped the Gembok along for near 30 minutes before finally stopping on the edge of a brush line 240 yards away. They were just slightly off to the left, again moving to the right. Craig set the sticks up and balanced the bino's carefully on the edge of the yoke. One, the other, the next, my PH was sizing them up slowly. I glassed the edges of the area, glassing the Boks. Something said "no" to me...
Time passes slowly in moments like this. Like a soft, gentle warm breeze that one enjoys on a summer day. I slowed my breathing, inhaling the scent of Africa. The dust in the air, the gentle flower blooms in winter. I shifted softly and glanced about.
"Craig, to the left. Three more, no, four more Boks coming in at 300 yards, edge of the clearing". Gently, without moving his eyes from the binos he shifted his gaze. "behind the trees now, wait thirty seconds. Two smaller one's I think, possibly one decent one."
Slowly the long slender horns moved out from behind the trees. The Boks were calm, feeding and moving through the screen. Craig shifted the sticks and made room while I silently slipped the big .300 off my shoulder and onto the yoke. I dialed my scope to 4x and relaxed. There just wasn't any hurry or rush here. I shouldered up and rested my cheek on the Bastogne stock and smiled, looking over the scope at the seven or eight Boks in front of us.
The display went on for another 8-10 minutes. Every now and again Craig would shift from one side to the next, studying the two biggest. But neither really seemed spectacular. Sure, they were representative Gemsbok for the area but...they weren't the kind of Bok I wanted. I was looking for thick bases...old horns...an old warrior.
"70 yards, straight out. Steenbok."
Dead in front of us, without warning at all, a Steenbok stood up and was staring straight at us in the shade.
Craig shifted, brought the bino's down and back up squarely on the Steen.
"Take Him".
WHAM!
Holland & Holland's finest plainsgame cartridge flamed on primer ignition and the Steen punched the ground with it's skinny legs twitching at the sky. The Gemsbok scattered
"Nicely done Hunter."
I cycled the action and pocketed the spent brass, pausing for a moment in thought before thumbing a spare round into the magazine and closing the bolt on an empty chamber. Nearly 80 years old this old, obsolete, magnum rimmed cartridge was still doing it's thing with aplomb. I can't exactly say why but I love this cartridge. There's something "old-school supermodel" about this beauty. Like a Marylin Monroe or Jane Russel...or maybe Audrey...she had a long, tall, slinky look to her. In my office at home I keep several cartridges laying about...and there's no doubt the .300 H&H gets the most attention, the tarnish on the case rubbed bright on one side of the shoulder from a thumb worrying the case.
We walked up to the Steen, covering the distance in no great hurry. "Where did he come from?" Craig asked. A smaller female jumped up, stared at us and then left the area with great haste. The little mated Steens had been laying in front of us the whole time - we'd never known until he stood up to get a better look at us.
I loved this little guy - his pelt was a mess at this point, the TSX and hydrostatic shock had emptied him rather completely. "Shane will be happy he doesn't need to clean this one". We offered a short chuckle and thanked Diana for the fortune of the hunt. Sometimes the hunt simply offers itself up.
The Steenbok was truly beautiful. He would be a beautiful shoulder mount. His near 4" horns had great secondary age growth. More importantly, mine was bigger than Kevin's.
:laughing:
After posing the Steen, Craig tied it's feet up and carried it over his shoulder telling me about the "Royal Hunt".
"Steenbok and Duiker...and many of the other game animals that make up the Tiny Ten are also known as the Royal Game. Only the Royals - Kings, Queens, Princes were allowed to hunt these wonderful game. See, back in early times these animals weren't hunted much because they didn't provide enough food or sustinence for the effort. I mean, they're small, they aren't common and they are darn hard to spot. Heck, I had no idea this little guy was even there" He patted the Steen before going on.
"You may never hunt these guys again. In a lot of cases they are really considered a 'target of opportunity'. If you see them, you take them. This is the great falacy of the 'packaged hunt'. Sure, we can put a lot of critters on a first timers menu of game animals but the truth is that you never really know what you will see. Often they just show up during the hunt, flushed from whereever they've decided to bed down for the day. Shane Shane, come in? Pick on the road. Yes, Steen. Nice one too."
And right at that moment I knew exactly how I would plan my next African hunt. There would be no "menu". No planning. I would hire the PH and we would walk. Miles upon miles upon miles and we would find whatever game Diana would offer. And only the game that Diana would offer that met Her standards would be acceptable.
In all the walks, the stalks, the fired rounds...it was THIS Steenbok, the smallest of the game I'd taken that meant the most.
I think Diana smiled too.
raying:
