SOUTH AFRICA: A First-Timer's Journey 2012 South Africa Leopards Valley Safari's

[rnovi]

There's always a certain melancholy...catharsis at the end of a hunt. Whether or not things go as planned, whether or not all the game animals were found and taken...or not taken...it's still a moment to sit back and reflect. Packing up the spent cases, knowing full well there's still a half dozen laying about the Karoo...carefully casing up the big .300 and admiring the new scratches and dings in the finish. Reflecting ont he gracious nature of our hosts, the implacable smiles and laughter of the trackers, the overall professionalism of our PH and the absolute "at ease" nature of the entire safari.

In my job all I do is make decisions. One after the other, next after the next. Here, in Africa, decisions just weren't there. They were easy: did I want Red wine or White with dinner? Or seconds on Wildebeast pie?

The entire camp had a certain calmness to it this morning. With no rush we'd all slept in a bit longer, waking at 8am to the ever present NesCafe instant. Grey winter skies had krept in over the night and a cold frost crunched underfeet and clung to the ground. Winter in July...so majestic.

We had some housekeeping to do. Taxidermy was high on the list, maybe a bit of trinket hunting for gifts. We'd visit two local taxidermists - I'd pretty much made up my mind to let the taxidermy happen here in Africa. My beloved wife wandered about, staring at the various trophy positions in the rooms at the ranch, deciding "which way should the Kudu face" and "I think that one should be a Euro Mount".

She mused "I kinda wish we'd taken a Black Springbok. They are so lovely."

Granola, yogurt and fresh berries for breakfast...and off we drove into town. Shane Shane, not needed in the tracking of trinkets (*My beloved is highly accomplished in this regard) stayed behind leaving Kevin and I to fight over who would open the gates. The Diesel Toyota Hi-Lux 4x4 Bakkie rattled and ronked along the roads with Craig expertly guiding us through the ruts and washboard. The bakkie was remarkably quiet that morning...

We fueled up, hit the taxidermists and decided that we much preferred the look and work that the smaller of the two facilities offered. The "big guy" taxidermist, besides being more expensive were also much less "lifelike". There was a certain oddness to their poses that just didn't feel right. The smaller taxidermy group (*name escapes me just now) was very open, friendly and quite happy to welcome into their shop. I was amazed to see Fallow Deer in the shop but apparantely South Africa has travelling hunters too!

Paperwork signed we headed back to the ranch. Trina had found a lovely carved Sable Horn - that wouldn't fit our luggage in any way. The Taxidermist was happy to accept it into our shipment and would include it in our package...in about a years time. Everyone was incredibly willing to be of help.

So unlike the States...I miss that willingness...

As we came back to camp it was barely 3pm and we still had a couple hours of light to play with. Craig looked over at me and winked...

"Trina? Care to take a shot at a Springbok? It's a gift, on the house as it were. So what do you say?

"Can I have a black one?

:fishing:

 

[enysse]

You are creating a hunting machine. It all started with a springbok!

 

[rnovi]

"Can I have a black one?

"Sure, I think we can find a very nice cull for you." Craig gave Trina a BIG smile and I spun on my heels and made a beeline back to the room where my rifle was. I grabbed a handful or cartridges, jammed the camera into my pocket and slung the rifle over my shoulder. No way was I going to miss this!

The sun was bright and the day was cool. I had a spare sweatshirt wrapped around my waist and a bottle of water in my jacket. Trina had stolen my favorite hat (with the very wide brim) and left me to play "porter". I trudged along behind the two hunters, cautious to keep to the shadows and stay as quiet as possible. I so desparately wanted my wife to enjoy the hunt - I sure wasn't going to be the person to blow a stalk!

We were after Springbok, preferably a black one and this would be a light stalk, mostly driven hunt. Craig was chatting quietly with Shane Shane on the radio. He would drive out a couple miles, get behind the Bok's and walk them towards us. The real question was, where could we set up and be in an ideal position? We rounded a corner and saw a few tails running off. The Bok's were here and we might not have to wait for Shane!

Craig motioned us low and I tucked into the shadows, reminding myself that this was Trina's hunt. I slipped the rifle off my shoulder and held in the ready in case Craig called for it. He stood there, calm as ever, glassing ahead silently. He turned and softly spoke to Trina.

"Ok, let's get over to that row of brush over there and set up. There is a group of Bok's beyond that line, let's follow the edge over there (motioning to the left) and stay in the shadows. We will come out on the other side, about midway up and set up there.

I slipped the rifle back over my shoulder and waiting for Craig and Trina to get a few yards ahead before following. We dropped down into a shallow gully and followed it for a hundred yards before coming back out and hooking right into the shrub Craig had pointed to. Trina was stumbling a little through the brush, staying quiet and keeping her hands close to her sides. Craig popped up the sticks and motioned to me.

Rifle in the sticks, Trina took up the position and then things got quiet...so very quiet.

 

[rnovi]

Trina relaxed on the sticks, waiting and enjoying the last few minutes of a setting African sun. The golden rays reached deep into the grasses and the shadows began to pop out. It was the begining of what photographers call "The Golden Hour" and it certainly was a great way to end the hunt.

The radio crackled and Craig turned to us: "Get ready" he said and right about that moment a long string of Bok's began to wander into view. About eight or nine, single file and stretched over a hundred yards. They were constantly looking over their backs, looking for Shane. I slipped down carefully and made myself small in the brush - it was Trina's hunt and I wanted her to have the full experience. There were a couple black springers in there...I know Trina was getting excited.

The Springbok paused, some 240 yards out and Trina slowly moved the safety off. They began milling about, turning, looking, nervous. And all at once they popped up - vertically jumping 4 or 5 feet in the air, bounding away in their classic hoping motion.

And then they were gone.

Craig sighed, Trina slipped the safety back on and handed me the rifle. Craig looked at the sky and then his watch. I could tell Trina was both relieved and disappointed at the same time. The Springs had come in but never really offered a shot. Craig thumbed the radio and gave a few instructions for Shane to swing around and pick up the Bakkie...

I gave my wife a kiss and stood there for a moment admiring just how wonderful this vacation was, and how inviting Africa had been. The people, the food, the game - it was all wonderful and joyous. I wished we had more moments, breaks in life to enjoy the simpler things. Like a sunset in a strange land. I passed Trina her sweatshirt to fight off the rapidly cooling night air and saw movement off in the distance behind her.

Craig peeled his binoculars away from his eyes..."They're coming" was all he said and Trina was back on the sticks.

A small group of 4 Springbok were moving slowly over a shallow rise, their horns giving them away before their eyes could scan the horizon. Trina snicked the safety off and waited. Slowly but surely, they began to file in a straight line, angling slightly forward in front of us, about 200 yards away. Three white Springs...and a Black on the end! Now it was all up to Trina.

The last Bok, the black, slowed down and paused some five or six feet from a brush, puting his head down to feed. I Craig was frozen in place and my breathing had stopped what seemed to be hours ago. I could hear Craig telephathically - Shooooooooooooooooooooooooooot....Shooooooooooooooooooooooot....

The Rifle Boomed in the night, a fireball streaking out in the dimming light and I watched the Bok flip feet up.

"GREAT SHOT!" Craig shouted.

Trina was shaking, desperately trying to shuck a new round in the rifle. I reached out "I got it" and held a hand out for the rifle. Trina stepped back, absolutely stunned. "It" was hitting her. I could see feet kicking on the ground and Craig was already sprinting for the downed Bok.

Trina started walking towards the Bok, now a measured 167 yards, hoping to get there before all the light of the evening faded. It still amazes me just how fast night falls.

I didn't know what to expect next. Trina had made her first kill, in Africa, with a rifle that didn't fit her, in fading light at the end of a long day. She'd seen the Boks come and go...and come again. The highs, the lows, the ragged emotional edge the comes from the first hunt.

She positively BEAMED with pride as we painted her cheeks.

This Bok was special in so many ways. Trina wanted a Black Springbok cull, an animal that she could be proud of taking from the herd. At 167 yards she'd made a great shot, hitting the animal just a bit high (and decidedly rough on the cape!) but putting it down instantly. What made this cull additionally special is that right horn...it had broken sometime in the Bok's brief life and was literally growing downward into the Bok's eye. This poor Bok was destined to suffer horribly. Diana had favored a new hunter with all the ebbs and flows of a great hunt...and a trophy Trina could hold with pride.

Craig was positively ecstatic. Shane was thrilled. I was overjoyed and my beloved wife was literally beside herself.

She turned to me "I want the cape! And I want a Euro mount of that one!"

"Yes, Dear" was all I could say.

 

[Norwegianwoods]

Great way to end a great hunt!
Congrats and well done to you both

 

[BRICKBURN]

Congratulations Trina. Incredible non-typical trophy.

What more can you say than, Great Tale.

Thanks.

 

[enysse]

Excellent way to end the hunt!

 

[timbear]

Wow. Absolutely WOW!:cloud9:

 

[rnovi]

Parting is such sweet sorrow...

Excitement and melancholy at the same time surounded our last few days in Africa. One thing we had done was bring with us a very large extra suitcase full of clothes, jackets and other give-aways for the camp staff. My wife had tons of fun shopping at the Salvation Army for weeks prior to our trip. Somewhere in the Leopards Valley Camp is a kid running around with a Bullseye on his shirt...and another has a true "Gangsta" hoodie. I had shopped the clearance racks for knives and other goodies to give away. All in all it was a huge success. In fact, virtually anything that we didn't need we left behind and were happy to do so.

We had a couple days left for sightseeing which included a trip to a National Park as well as a trip to the Lion Cub Petting Zoo. Yeah!

Here are a few final pictures to close this trip out:

If you see a Kudu or a Warhog that looks like this, don't ask permission to shoot it. Just do it.

Apparantly the drinking laws in an African Park are a little different than in the USA...

Yes, if you look closely you will see...that little bugger drew blood! I can now officially say that I have been "Mauled by Lions in Africa."

Damn Straight.

 

[rnovi]

I eased the seat back when the plane climbed through 10,000 feet. Memories swirled about my head, the sights, the smells, the sound of Africa. This dream of coming to the Dark Continent, seeded so many decades ago, had come true. I simply cannot fully express the welcomed invite this country gave to my wife and I.

A stewardess came by with a couple bottles of wine. I swirled the ruby grape in my glass, wondering about "the real world", knowing the myriad of emails, phone messages, contracts and client questions that waited for me would, in fact, still be there...waiting for me.

I closed my eyes, drifting on white puffy clouds and dancing Springbok in the court of the High Kudu and his legion of striped soldiers. How the Boks vied for mates and how even the lowly Warthog held esteem.

A gentle voice softly coo'ed from the seat next to me.

"Hon?

"Yes, Dear?

"I think I want my own gun next time.

I took a small sip of my wine. There really was only one thing to say.

"Yes, Dear.

***********************

fin.

***********************

Why do I think you will be going back again? :biggrin:

GSTONE, to answer your question.


I just might.

 

[bluey]

thank you rnovi tyhat report is as well written as any novel ive read .
cant wait till trina has her own firearms in gods country and then both you guys can keep us gripping for several weeks /months
congrats to all three of you :first:

 

[Bobpuckett]

A Great story with a great end thanks for sharing.

 

[timbear]

Rnovi, thank you so much for sharing all this. I have enjoyed following your journey immensely, and I am glad you had such a wonderful time. With Trina now thoroughly bitten by the African bug, going back will not be a matter of if, but of when...

 

[BRICKBURN]

............

If you see a Kudu or a Warhog that looks like this, don't ask permission to shoot it. Just do it.

............

I appreciate this advice and hope to take it to heart.


Thank you for the story of your adventure.

 

[GSTONE]

Wonderful story...and you are truly a master storyteller! Thank you so much for sharing with us.

 

[kevin_stevens]

Amazing story-telling, Robert!

The only thing I can really add is my perspective as a neophyte hunter along on this trip. I'd had my Browning A-Bolt II Stainless Stalker in .30-06 for ten years or so, but never gotten any further than sighting it in on a 100-yard range. Though I grew up in the country south of Houston (explaining my hatred of horses), I'd never done any hunting, and my firearm experience was pretty much limited to shooting IDPA pistol qualifiers every month.

Robert was talking about his latest hunting trip a year or so ago, and I was listening intently as I snacked down on his deer meat. "That sounds like fun, except for the outdoors part.", I commented, and his immediate response was "Want to go? I can arrange for a cabin."

"Ok. Can I shoot a horse? I hate horses."

"We'll have to go to Africa for that. Or Montana."

"I've driven through Montana - I'll take Africa."

And so it began.

The problem was, I was a terrible rifle shot. Starting with a .30-06 probably didn't help, but in true engineer fashion I had looked up caliber info before I bought it, decided that with suitable bullets I could shoot just about anything in North America, and decided on the then-innovative Stainless Stalker because I can make glass rust, and I liked the 60* bolt throw and the BOSS system (which it turns out I've never used). Once we decided on a plains game hunt, it proved eminently suitable, so I put a VX-R 2-7x33 on it (I figured I couldn't hit anything more than 200 yards away, so I didn't need a zoomier scope), and started practicing.

I sucked. By necessity most of my shooting was done at a local indoor 100 yd range, and I was too nervous to ask about alternate shooting positions rather than the bench. The Browning BOSS comes with a muzzle brake. Ever fired a .30-06 with a muzzle brake INDOORS? I wasn't just flinching, I was dropping the rifle and trying to run out of the room before the sound hit me!

Robert took me in hand and we started our serious prep with refreshing three-hour drives to the LA 300-yard outdoor range. Fifty-yard targets, alternating between standing with shooting sticks, and sitting off bags when I got too depressed at the standing results. Fifty rounds a session. I still sucked, my groups weren't awful, but they moved all around the paper every time I changed position. "Robert, I could do better with my handgun. Can't we get the steenbuck to charge us??"

Finally I got serious about fixing the problem and started reading up on rifle shooting. What became immediately obvious is that my technically perfect Browning didn't fit me at all. The cheek was too low, and the scope too high - I couldn't get any kind of consistent cheek weld. And to add to the problem, apparently I have arms like an orangutan. Doing the "stock in the crook of the elbow" test left the pad of my trigger finger well over an inch past the trigger.

That's how my rifle ended up looking like this:

I ripped off the scope mounts I had and installed the lowest-profile solution I could find - DNZ's Game Reaper one-piece mount with integral rings. I searched Brownell's and found the sorbathane cheek pads to keep my head in place and aligned with the scope. A call to Browning got me a BOSS weight without the compensator holes. And I ended up having to add 1 1/2" to the LOP on the rifle with cunningly sanded plastic spacers. Yes, it didn't look very "safari" when I was done. But I could at least mount the rifle quickly and see through the scope, and my groups would stay in the same place. I can live without the burled walnut.

More practice. LOTS of practice. Back at my indoor range I informed them firmly that I had to be able to shoot off sticks, and I promised I would pay for anyone I killed by accident while learning to do so. I started a routine - rifle lying on the ground in the stall, me back at the wall. Three fast steps, mount the rifle, safety off, on the sticks, BANG!, work the bolt, BANG!, work the bolt, safety on, assess. They thought I was nuts.

By the time we left for Africa, I'd put almost a thousand rounds through the .30-06. Not much for most of y'all, nothing compared to my pistol practice - but the best I could do. My one single goal was to stay within my limitations, and to give nice clean quick kills to all my critters. To that end, I stuck with factory Federal loads of 180g TSX. Robert is the gunsmith and reloader - I didn't want to have to think about any of that. Zeroed at 200 yards I was point-blank from the muzzle to 250 yards, and I wasn't going to take a longer shot than that.

(cont.)

 

[Norwegianwoods]

Great start and welcome to the forum Kevin

 

[BRICKBURN]

Great solutions on the rifle Kevin. You have a future in gun smithing.

That is quite an interesting motivation to hunt in Africa. It worked.

 

[Bobpuckett]

Welcome to AH Kevin! Great start glad you joined in so we could enjoy your side of the hunt as well.

 

[enysse]

Welcome to AH, Kevin....glad you got your 30-06 shooting at the target!