On the 4th day, the tracker said we are going to get that buffalo today! We had settled on chasing one particular buffalo that was past breeding age and had been kicked out by the younger bulls. This bull was pretty distinctive in his grey facial markings and big, beefy body with bosses that had separated in his old age with a tough leathery looking section in between….distinctive.
We took up the tracks once again and put some pressure on this bull. Twice that morning we were on the sticks and the second time, a brief hesitation on my part blew the only real open shot we had with him so all week. That’s disappointing when hours of effort and concentration give you a tiny window and it doesn’t work out but you take your lesson and solider on.
Every time something didn’t work out, Vusi the tracker would slowly wave his arm forward and start tracking again. This continued all morning and after a short lunch break we were on the tracks again. With this much pressure after several days, the bull had dipped into his bag of tricks and was sometimes circling back on us and we would find ourselves standing on OUR own tracks a few times. That’s an interesting experience to realize while you are looking for him, he is standing behind you watching you! Of course you swivel and check your angles time and again but I never caught him when he was behind us. Cheeky bastard.
As we approached last light of day, there was a quick discussion that the bull might turn to face us with the added pressure we had been putting on him. It certainly felt like something had shifted. The tracks led us out into a small clearing and there he was facing us from the other side with his head held high at around 50-60 meters. I quickly got onto the sticks and was so grateful for the lighted reticle as there was little definition to see in the black body in low light. I quickly thought…1/3 to 1/2 way up and centered in the gap between his front legs…squeeze…and the sound of the hit was distinct. I ran the bolt quickly on the sticks as he was spinning to his right towards the brush line. Surprisingly he fell right at the brush, within 20 meters of where he had been standing at the shot. In his death bellow, he lifted his head toward me to make one more effort and out of respect, I gave him a finishing shot. It’s over.
Anyone who has been there knows the mix and rush of emotions of dangerous game. There is such respect for the animal and their strength, courage and potential. There are highs and lows along the way. You feel alive and every day I do this, I feel a little stronger on the inside than the day before. I look down at myself and I have cuts and scrapes from thorns all over. It looks like I had a motorcycle accident! I feel different afterwards, like I left part of myself on the field. All the hours and miles of following his tracks…to end at last light as he turned to face us. An old bull…a proper bull, taken on his terms…this is the way.
In the end, this fantastic bull turned to fight and only the gun made it possible to beat him. We stayed up late that night around the fire to honor him and his courage. We have mixed emotions as hunters but we honor the game and their skills. He was old and losing his teeth and, in the natural order of things, would have been pulled down by lions or hyenas and eaten alive. I’m glad to have met him in the field!
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