Hyde
AH senior member
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2022
- Messages
- 68
- Reaction score
- 274
Chapter 10: Farewell to My New Friends
Although it’s been two weeks since I returned home, I find that—mentally and emotionally—I’m still in the Eastern Cape. My wife reminded me the other day that it might be time to finally unpack. She’s right, of course. But I suspect I’m not the first one who’s struggled to empty their suitcase after returning from Africa. Doing so is inevitable, but if I put it off just a little longer, I can stay in “Africa” a few more days.
It reminds me of that Jackson Browne lyric, where he asks his roadies to:
"Just make sure you got it all set to go before you come for my piano."
That’s how I feel—wanting to hold onto the rhythm and emotion of this trip for just a few more verses. I keep reliving the stories—retelling them, even the ones that don’t make sense to anyone else. The inside jokes. The fleeting images. The details etched in memory but hard to explain. Eventually, time will soften the ache of separation, but I’m thankful that I’m not there just yet.
As I bring this story to a close, I need to recognize a few people who made this journey extraordinary.
First, Marius Goosen.
From the beginning, he answered every one of my questions—no matter how minor or repetitive—with patience and professionalism. His willingness to guide me through the planning process made my decision to book with KMG Hunting Safaris an easy one. He set the tone for everything that followed. I’m not sure if I’ll ever make it back to Africa, but if I do, you can bet that trip will start with a call to Marius.
Then there’s Lloyd.
I met several KMG professional hunters during my stay, and each of them is someone I’d happily hunt with. But I’m especially grateful that I had the opportunity to spend this safari with Lloyd. Day after day, he answered my questions with calm assurance, all while scanning the dense bush for our quarry. I never once felt the need to second-guess his decisions. His work ethic and dedication were evident every day across our 11 days together. Thanks to him, I was able to fulfill every hunting goal I had dreamed of. I’ll never forget the way he spotted my kudu—just a fleeting glimpse from over 600 yards—and somehow managed to put us perfectly on top of him.
I also have to mention Sive, our daily companion, tracker, and skinner. Always smiling, always steady, and always sharp. His skill in preparing my trophies was masterful. When I see these animals mounted on my wall back home, I’ll think not only of the hunt—but of Sive, and the care he took with each one.
I would also like to thank the AH community for all the stories, reports, advice and guidance. There were also 3 individuals who personally helped me a lot (you know who you are). It made a huge difference, and I appreciate it more than you know.
And finally, my wife, Alona.
I admit, at first, she wasn’t too warm about my plan to leave home for two weeks and fly halfway around the world to chase animals we wouldn’t even eat. It took me the better part of two years to convince her. I wasn’t going to let anything detract from this lifelong dream—even if it meant not going at all. She finally came to understand, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
Epilogue: Africa Remains
Africa has a way of staying with you.
It clings like red dust to your boots, finds its way into the folds of your memory, and settles deep into places you didn’t even know were empty. It becomes a quiet voice inside you—calling not just to the hunter, but to the human being who’s stood still long enough to feel something ancient stir beneath the wind.
I came to the Eastern Cape in search of kudu, eland, and the other spiral-horned ghosts that fill a hunter’s dreams. I found them—but I also found more: a rhythm of life that is slower, yet somehow fuller. I found friendship in a land I had never stepped foot in. I found silence that spoke volumes. And I found a piece of myself I didn’t know I was missing.
Now, back home, I look at the pictures and relive the experience in my mind, and I feel that pull again. Not because I’m ready to go back tomorrow, but because I know—someday—I will. Or maybe it’s enough to know I was there once. That I sat beside the orange firelight with good men and listened to the jackals call. That I watched the sun set over the veldt with dust on my face and gratitude in my chest.
I’ve been told that once you’ve been there, you never really leave Africa. Not completely. I get it now.
You may unpack your bags and put your photos in frames, but part of you will always remain where the acacia trees cast long shadows and the spiral horns slip between thorn and twilight.
Until next time, Africa—thank you.
Although it’s been two weeks since I returned home, I find that—mentally and emotionally—I’m still in the Eastern Cape. My wife reminded me the other day that it might be time to finally unpack. She’s right, of course. But I suspect I’m not the first one who’s struggled to empty their suitcase after returning from Africa. Doing so is inevitable, but if I put it off just a little longer, I can stay in “Africa” a few more days.
It reminds me of that Jackson Browne lyric, where he asks his roadies to:
"Just make sure you got it all set to go before you come for my piano."
That’s how I feel—wanting to hold onto the rhythm and emotion of this trip for just a few more verses. I keep reliving the stories—retelling them, even the ones that don’t make sense to anyone else. The inside jokes. The fleeting images. The details etched in memory but hard to explain. Eventually, time will soften the ache of separation, but I’m thankful that I’m not there just yet.
As I bring this story to a close, I need to recognize a few people who made this journey extraordinary.
First, Marius Goosen.
From the beginning, he answered every one of my questions—no matter how minor or repetitive—with patience and professionalism. His willingness to guide me through the planning process made my decision to book with KMG Hunting Safaris an easy one. He set the tone for everything that followed. I’m not sure if I’ll ever make it back to Africa, but if I do, you can bet that trip will start with a call to Marius.
Then there’s Lloyd.
I met several KMG professional hunters during my stay, and each of them is someone I’d happily hunt with. But I’m especially grateful that I had the opportunity to spend this safari with Lloyd. Day after day, he answered my questions with calm assurance, all while scanning the dense bush for our quarry. I never once felt the need to second-guess his decisions. His work ethic and dedication were evident every day across our 11 days together. Thanks to him, I was able to fulfill every hunting goal I had dreamed of. I’ll never forget the way he spotted my kudu—just a fleeting glimpse from over 600 yards—and somehow managed to put us perfectly on top of him.
I also have to mention Sive, our daily companion, tracker, and skinner. Always smiling, always steady, and always sharp. His skill in preparing my trophies was masterful. When I see these animals mounted on my wall back home, I’ll think not only of the hunt—but of Sive, and the care he took with each one.
I would also like to thank the AH community for all the stories, reports, advice and guidance. There were also 3 individuals who personally helped me a lot (you know who you are). It made a huge difference, and I appreciate it more than you know.
And finally, my wife, Alona.
I admit, at first, she wasn’t too warm about my plan to leave home for two weeks and fly halfway around the world to chase animals we wouldn’t even eat. It took me the better part of two years to convince her. I wasn’t going to let anything detract from this lifelong dream—even if it meant not going at all. She finally came to understand, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
Epilogue: Africa Remains
Africa has a way of staying with you.
It clings like red dust to your boots, finds its way into the folds of your memory, and settles deep into places you didn’t even know were empty. It becomes a quiet voice inside you—calling not just to the hunter, but to the human being who’s stood still long enough to feel something ancient stir beneath the wind.
I came to the Eastern Cape in search of kudu, eland, and the other spiral-horned ghosts that fill a hunter’s dreams. I found them—but I also found more: a rhythm of life that is slower, yet somehow fuller. I found friendship in a land I had never stepped foot in. I found silence that spoke volumes. And I found a piece of myself I didn’t know I was missing.
Now, back home, I look at the pictures and relive the experience in my mind, and I feel that pull again. Not because I’m ready to go back tomorrow, but because I know—someday—I will. Or maybe it’s enough to know I was there once. That I sat beside the orange firelight with good men and listened to the jackals call. That I watched the sun set over the veldt with dust on my face and gratitude in my chest.
I’ve been told that once you’ve been there, you never really leave Africa. Not completely. I get it now.
You may unpack your bags and put your photos in frames, but part of you will always remain where the acacia trees cast long shadows and the spiral horns slip between thorn and twilight.
Until next time, Africa—thank you.
