The next morning, I awoke before my alarm, this time refreshed and not wrecked by illness or the stress of travel. Better prepared, I was up and out early enough to start the coffee pot and was finally feeling excited for what the day would bring. When Frikkie joined me, he instantly noticed the marked changes, and we both remarked that this day would be a good day. We had croissants for today’s light breakfast fare. Hunger slaked and minds awake, we headed out to see what the bush had in store. Chris greeted us with a smile as Frikkie made known the plans for the morning drive. First order of business was to check the water holes and cut lines for lion tracks. Nothing but some brown hyena tracks. I marked the time with the flying of the sandgrouse, 0936. Next, we would continue the search for gemsbok same as the day before.
Brown Hyena Tracks Make an Appearance
As we strove along the game trails that connect the cut lines, we saw little game until nearly 1030. Then they started to appear: hartebeest, springbok, impala, ostrich, buffalo, giraffes, and gemsbok. It was the giraffes that caught my eye. All my months of researching on AH had revealed a key point about these gentle giants: they can see, for miles. This gave me pause as Frikkie identified group after group of gemsboks, clever gemsboks. In one herd, he had seen a decent bull and so like any good PH, he made a plan.
He instructed Chris to take the long way around, to get the wind in our favor. Along the way, we spotted a committee of vultures perched in a large shepherd tree. “What are they doing here?” we collectively wondered. There are predators in the area, and the sight of the most obvious member of the savanna sanitation squad gives one pause. Frikkie and I disembarked from the now silent diesel, always keeping a side eye on the committee’s proceedings. We stalked single file towards the nearest herd of gemsbok, some 500 yards away, as we began to get the feeling that we were being watched. Nearing the grazing herds, there was a sudden start and run from the black wildebeests. What could it be? It was overcast, so we shouldn’t have been a cause of panic. Predator perhaps, but no, it was something else, something we had seen thirty minutes before the hysteria that would drive off our quarry out of range. The giraffes were all staring at us from nearly 700 yards away. Our cover had been blown by these towering sentinels. The casting of their gaze in our general direction was enough to unsettle the herds that relied on their advanced warning of danger.
The Skyscraper Sentries that Gave Our Positions Away
Defeated, Frikkie called for the truck.
“Chris, Chris, Chris…” his Afrikaans accent rolled over the radio. Nothing.
“Chris, Chris, Chris…” Nothing again.
Three more attempts, and Frikkie decided to radio Marie and see if she would have better luck with the big camp radio. Nothing. Frustrated, but undeterred, Frikkie decided to try a long shot: a phone call. Now phone service was garbage in this part of the Kalahari, but enough signal for a text could be found. Chris replied. He had been to the committee to witness the proceedings. Apparently, there was nothing on the docket, only idle chatter. Typical politicians.
“He is brave, he doesn’t even have a rifle,” Frikkie remarked with a chuckle.
The familiar lumbering image of the diesel bakkie was a welcome sight. It had been a long, cold, uneasy stalk for those gleaming rapiers in the distance. It was 1130. It was finally starting to warm as the clouds and dust cleared. We were driving back to camp for an early lunch, or so we thought.
As we passed by a large pan where there was a congregation of antelope and the stray giraffe, Frikkie spotted gemsbok on our right. A large bull was in the group, so with a snap of the fingers, the truck stopped, and with a twist of the wrist, mimicking keys, the engine fell silent. After a long look, Frikkie climbed out of the truck, and I handed him my rifle. This would be the third stalk for gemsbok in two days. I was undeterred. I was having an adventure, and Frikkie was determined to see something in the salt. We crept forward, much as before, and much as before, these clever beasts were on to our game. Only a few hundred yards into the stalk, Frikkie had a change of heart, or rather, a change of plans.
Frikkie had noticed with the aid of his binoculars while looking for our roving gemsbok bull, amongst the mingling herds, was a springbok, a nice one. Unbeknownst to me, he had made a plan.
“There’s a nice springbok right there.”
Suddenly our direction changed and our paced quickened as Frikkie tried to intercept the new target. I was shooting a 416 Remington Magnum, overkill for a springbok, but also a bit slow for long shots on such a small target. We weaved quickly in and around some black thorn and dormant camel thorn, suddenly reaching a broad opening. Sticks went up.
“He’s the one at the back.” “I’m going to support your elbow, you just put it right above the stripe, at the shoulder. Like we talked about.”
The night before we had discussed where to put the bullet on the various game planned for the week. Considering the drop, I would have to aim just above the stripe to drop the bullet at the center of it where it met the shoulder. I dialed the scope to 6x and rested it on the designated target. My breathing was quick but not heavy. A slow exhale calmed the whirling crosshairs. The bullet was sent, and the next round chambered. The springbok jerked skyward, and Frikkie let go of my elbow to shake my hand.
“You got him, congratulations.”
Rifle safe and handshake secured, we proceeded to the spot where he lay. The springbok had staggard backwards roughly 15 yards before expiring.
“That’s the definition of overkill,” Frikkie clucked as we walked up.
I emptied the chamber and hanged the rifle on the once again setup sticks.
“That was a tough shot with a 416, 140 yards probably and a small target. I can work with that," my PH said with a smile.
