Day 9 If loving you is Roan, I don’t wanna be right
Good news last night, the paperwork has been cleared for a roan hunt. Other breaking news, there must have been one helluva an impala showdown outside the villa last night. Several rams were causing quite a disturbance with their grunting and carrying on as they tried asserting dominance over each other in a moon lit standoff. A real gladiator’s battle royale. We start with the usual breakfast- eggs, bacon, toast. It’s warmed up to a balmy 40 degrees. Hopefully the animals will start getting back to normal.
If only hopes were reality. The morning has started slow. We run into the usual cast of characters- impala, zebras, a giraffe or two and even see a jackal that is too fast to present a shot. As the day progresses, we begin checking waterholes for sign. Finally, a fresh roan bull track leading off to the north. My wife remarks that it’s 10 am and no visual of any roan yet. We do see a very nice warthog boar running with a sow and two smaller hogs. Are they called piglets? Other than slower than normal morning observations, it’s a beautiful day to be out. The clouds have backed off for the time being, the sun is shining and it’s not too warm yet. I can think of worse places to be, work comes to mind. John Henry picks up more fresh sign on the road. We are a long way from the area we saw the good roan bull on day one, but not too far from where we had seen him last. We cover another two waterholes in the area, but nothing.
I’m basically lulled to sleep in the warming morning air. The rhythmic jostling of the bakkie is like the motion of an old, solid rocking chair. I could definitely take a nap as the days of travel are compounding my fatigue. Lisa perks to attention and exclaims she sees a roan to our right. We stop and confirm it is a very good bull peering through the bush. His black and white face has given his hiding location away. This bull is too busy exerting a dominance display toward two others we spot nearby to notice us. He appears to be the boss as the other bulls’ acquiesce to his presence.
John Henry and I work our way into position, but he is quartered hard away. I whisper the shot angle is too severe to risk it. The bull continues to walk away from us as we move to our right staying 100 yds to his flank. The bull cuts back to the north now aware of us and stands broadside in a small opening in the bush. The view from the scope detects a lone tree branch is covering his shoulder. I could try and slide one in behind the shoulder, but it would be further back than desired. We have to let him slip away. Making a move into the proceeding block doesn’t produce another sighting. He has worked his magic. After sorting the tracks, we figure out he has doubled back. A little later and we have located him again. Things are in our favor this round. The angle isn’t perfect but it isn’t too bad either. If I can get steady, it will be an acceptable shot. It all falls together rather quickly as the crosshairs settle just above the elbow against his tawny hide as he is keenly aware we are on his back trail and slightly quartered to us in an alert pose. Just enough pressure on the trigger sets events in motion. He bucks at impact. I can see the shot is perfect. Of all the shots I have taken this trip, this one was the one I’m most confident in.
We find the place where he kicked and the tracks head off into the thick stuff. John Henry stays on the track, which is easy for the moment. There are no other tracks this size, running in this direction. 30 yards, 40 yards, 50 yards- no blood. I turn to my wife and express an ever so slight uncertainty about the course of events. As soon as I turn back to the trail, we hear one last gasp ahead. We approach the downed roan cautiously. He is definitely larger in body than I had expected, noticeably larger than the sable. A later search reveals a mature roan weighs 550-675 pounds. I’d have to say, he was at the upper limit of this range. The roan is not as decorated as his celebrity cousin, the sable. Although similar in shape, the roan’s horns are markedly shorter; although his face is splashed in black and white markings, his body doesn’t maintain the full sophisticated dress; his ears are floppier with less dazzle than his counterpart. The blue color worker of the family. In a straight up bar fight, I might have to go with Mr. Roan.
We arrange for a few pics- the tape shows 26 ¼”s with 9 ½” bases. The last minute decision to hunt this roan is one of my better ones.
Did someone say it was lunch time? Chicken tortilla wrap. During my first trip over in 2007, I never saw anything remotely resembling a tortilla. It was the food I missed the most coming from South Texas. This might be the second or third time this trip tortillas have been featured. Globalization at its finest.
During the midday, clouds have rolled back in from the south. Because of the large warthog sighting from this morning we decide to take a break and sit by a waterhole this afternoon. Conditions aren’t good as the cloud cover keeps the temperatures cooler than normal. We do see two sows and a real good boar. Probably a shooter but I have one maybe slightly bigger already. The wife again stayed back this afternoon. Too bad, it would have been perfect for her. We don’t stay too long as we have a date with a genet tonight.