Trina was left to tend the flames of the Braii while the rest of us rolled out.
Springbok in the Karroo where we hunted was a driven hunt. The idea is to set the hunters down in a nice area with some cover and then have the trackers try to drive the springers towards them. The drive part really is not much more than two or three trackers starting a few miles away walking slowly a few hundred yards apart back towards the hunter. Kind of like fishing with a large net, the net is closed smaller and smaller and smaller until at last the game is in range for a shot.
This is not as easy as it seems?ut it sure makes for a truly wonderful opportunity to watch the behavior of animals being stalked.
Kevin, Craig and I sat in the shade of a large bush. I was up to bat again which seemed mighty unfair to me given the current odds and settled down. Craig told us how in the early days there might be ten, twenty or more trackers beating the brush in a long row to scare up the game. Now? Just two would do. Every now and again the radio would crackle and Craig would give a direction.
Eventually we saw heads?ots of heads. Somewhere around 20 or 30 700+ yards out. Nearly 500 yards further out we could see Shane and the Local, slowly walking along. Every now and again Shane would point a direction?hey would move there and the herd would shift?t was masterful watching how they could drive the game towards us and keep them from wanting to dart either direction.
"Robert, do me a favor. Try not to shoot Shane. He's the best skinner I've seen and a good skinner is hard to find.
He gave me a sly grin as he trailed off...Shane Shane was a good man.
There is something magical about Springbok. They are majestic...beautiful...delicate. Their horns making the shape of a heart...the Love of Africa. They would stand perfectly still and in one incredible move of beauty they would leap spring straight up and bounce in that spring loaded step for hundreds of yards. Poetry they were. Just poetry. They would slow and stop, staring intently at Shane deep in the distance and make adjustments to their direction.
They moved in a line, advancing closer and closer and closer. There was an ever so slight depression in the ground and their bodies would disappear, leaving only horns above the grass.
All at once they turned 180 degrees and they were gone.
"They're like that. Just up and go like that. Crafty but I don't think they saw us. Winds in our favor too. Nahh, I think we will just wait here a bit longer.
Craig leaned back, camo hat and a stalk of grass in his teeth. He looked like any Southern hunter I've seen...
We lay in the short grass enjoying the day when Craig froze. He looked at me, shifted his eyes left and stayed frozen. I gently looked left and barely 100 yards off were the sentry eyes of a vigilant Springbok staring left and right?nywhere but at us. I gently shifted my weight and brought the rifle to my shoulder.
Craig turned the radio down and gave two clicks on the clicker. I could see in the distance Shane drop the ground.
The Springbok were good, hovering near cover and not giving me a clear shot. Slowly they began to move off, keeping the brush between us. They didn't know we were there but they didn't like something either.
I stayed on them, knowing that there was a chance they'd make a mistake. They turned right, and started to head away. With Shane and Tracker on the ground they thought they might be free
At 178 yards they stopped in the open and sensing their freedom they dropped their heads for a few blades of grass.
It's all the time I needed.
Once again, I was greatful to be in Africa...
out: My hands are shaking, I am perspiring and shivering:sweat:-I seriously NEED my hunting story fix!:drooling: Pleeeeese!!!:crying:
I was afraid the story was going lost in space.
