_Decay_
New member
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2023
- Messages
- 3
- Reaction score
- 38
- Hunted
- Tanzania, Zimbabwe, South Africa
Good Day everyone!
I first ran across AH 6 years ago when I started researching my first African Safari. I have never posted, but I stalk the forums regularly. I figured I could do an introductory story that I recently wrote about my most recent trip to South Africa With Bayly Sippel Safari. I hope you enjoy and I hope to continue to learn from everyone.
-Decay
Grab you gun! Buffalo!
Cape buffalo hunting and wall tents are made for each other. This camp, while having modern amenities like electricity and a borehole water source, had the feel I immediately recognized as an ‘old school’ buffalo camp. Shortly after arriving at the Bayly Sippel Safari camp near Botswana and bordering Madikwe Game Reserve we went to the range to verify the rifles performance. Once accuracy was confirmed, we decided to take the long way back to camp so Dempsey, my PH, could show us the 12,000-acre property that we will be hinting buffalo in the next eight days.
While I didn’t have a very extensive list of plains game on this trip I told Dempsey, “If we see something good, we should stop and take a look at it”. Twelve minutes later, while driving past a small heard of Tsessebe, we see a good-sized warthog run off. We tried to watch where he ran but he just vanished in the grass. So, we grabbed the 300 win mag rifle and went to where we last saw him. Just as we were saying ‘he was right behind this bush…’ the warthog busted out of the bush and ran away from us. After a quick shot we had our pig. Just slightly under Rowland Ward size, we said ‘Wow, this is some good luck to start our safari.’ We took a few pictures and then enjoyed the evening as we slowly made our way back to camp for a fire. Along the way we drug the roads with branches and set up a couple trail cameras to help us narrow our search for buffalo spoor the next day.
Early the next morning, the real first day of hunting, as we were having our coffee and rusk, the chef said that he heard some animals at the watering hole near camp. We walked to the water’s edge and could easily see the fresh buffalo tracks. We checked the game camera, and it showed two hard boss buffalo drinking shortly after 4am. Considering it was 6:30am, we figured those would be good tracks to follow. We finished our breakfast, grabbed our guns, and started walking up the mountain on a trail riddled with loose stone. After about 15 minutes we hear a few branches crack 150 yards off the trail. We start to stalk the noise, keeping the wind in a good direction, when Dempsey stopped and grabbed his binoculars. “Give me the sticks” he whispered to our tracker, Big John. As I was getting the gun into position I asked, “Where are the buffalo?” Dempsey said, “Old Eland bull”.
Before this trip Dempsey and I talked about how we love the look of old eland bulls. Eland and Buffalo are two species that I will always choose age over inches. Dempsey said, ‘We have some really old eland bulls on the property, but once they hit maturity they disappear into the bush and are rarely seen.’ So, it was a surprise to both of us that we are looking at three.
Dempsey got me lined up on the old boy with stubby rounded horns and a thick bush on his forehead. A gorgeous old bull. I squeezed the trigger on the 416 Ruger and the bull dropped.
We took a few pictures and walked back to camp to get the vehicle, my wife Amanda, and some camp staff for help. When we arrived, we were all smiling and Amanda said ‘Wow, 19 minutes and you are done!” We said, ‘Nope, Eland!’ After gathering supplies, we headed back to the old bull and along the way I said to Dempsey ‘I sure hope this luck carries throughout the whole safari, but I feel we may have used it all up.’ Over the next couple hours, we carried the eland out, piece-by-piece, off the mountain and to the vehicle.
After lunch we were driving around looking for tracks on the roads. This was a change from previous buffalo hunts. In other buffalo hunting areas, we usually cut tracks early and we tried to catch the buffalo before they bedded for the day. Once they bed, we would take a break and resume afternoon tracking when the buff were back on their feet. Dempsey explained ‘buffalo on this concession drink at night and are in the thick bush by sun-up and they only come out after dark.’
The thick bush here is some acacia but mostly sekelbos. Acacia bushes look menacing with their little green leaves with long white thorns. The thorns are sharp but they separate from the branch when some pressure is put on them. Sekelbos also has long spikes, but they differ from the acacia because the ‘thorns’ are the branch. They do not break off, they scratch, poke and tear anything they get hooked to. Dempsey continued, “This is where the old hairless daggaboys like to spend their days. If the tracks go in there we do too!”
The tracking was done very slowly and carefully. Partially, due to the damage the sekelbos did to our body and clothing, but most importantly, because we needed to move as quietly as possible. Each step was calculated to reduce the amount of sticks and leaves we crunched beneath our boots because there was the possibility that the bulls were bedding a short distance ahead of us.
After cutting tracks on the road, we followed the bulls into the bush. An hour later the crack of a small branch 20 yards away alerted us. Big John crouched and could see the darkness that was unmistakably buffalo.
At this time, I realized that my definition of ‘thick stuff’ was nothing compared to what we were in the middle of. It was so thick that someone bow hunting would not be able to draw the bow without hitting branches, let alone having a clear shooting lane for an arrow to fly.
Less than 20 paces away were three bulls, hidden in the shadows. Suddenly, the bulls stood up and one looked through the bush and stared at us as only Black Death can. Luckily for us, we had a bright sun at our back and a steady breeze on our face. The buff knew something was up, but since we were motionless, he stayed there for a minute. As I looked at the great mass and length of this soft bossed bull, I thought ‘We caught this guy two years too early.’ We slowly scanned the area for the other two bulls that were in this bachelor group and although we could not see them, we could clearly hear them defecate. Suddenly and violently all three buffalo ran away, crashing everything in their path as their feet thundered on the hard ground. An encounter like this is bittersweet, we were so close but ended up with nothing. This is buffalo hunting!
That was where our luck ran out. For the next six days we were on the roads at first light and we stayed on tracks until last light without any shot opportunities. Every day buffalo would meander around in thick bush, crossing and recrossing their tracks until we would lose them in a block or they would bust us before we saw them. Most times we were within 30 yards of them when they ran off. During these days, every poke and scratch made me realize this is the hardest hunt I have ever been on. Being a concession should have made it easier because we know that buffalo are there. In reality, it was much more difficult. These buffalo were born in the sekelbos and have no problem living there. We were having to play their game and they were winning. It was mentally and physically difficult.
Over drinks by the fire on day 7, I expressed to Dempsey that I would be at peace with not shooting a buffalo this trip. “I have shot buffalo before, and I really wanted a good hunt. I feel we have truly hunted in some difficult situations and put in a lot of time on good tracks, but the buffalo are just a step ahead of us.” Dempsey responded, “We can make 100 mistakes, but we only need a buffalo to make one. We still have time.’
Day 8, the last day of our safari, Dempsey and I prepared for another chilly morning ride. Between watching the road for crossing tracks, we would enjoy the sunrise and scan for any buffalo that were on their final steps toward the sekelbos for the day. Suddenly Dempsey signaled for the bakkie to stop. He grabbed his binoculars and looked in the distance. “Grab your gun! Buffalo! Let’s go, quickly!” I grab my Winchester rifle and we start running across the open section of land. After 400 meters of running, I was breathing heavily and starting to wonder how far the buffalo were away. We stopped to relocate the buffalo and Dempsey noticed two bulls steadily making their way to the sekelbos. As quickly and quietly as we could, we closed another 200 meters. At this time the sticks came out and the rifle fell into the rest as I chambered the expanding bullet. “One is coming to the gap.” Dempsey whispered between heavy breaths. As I mounted the rifle I heard the mock bellow from Dempsey and I located the buffalo, stopped between two small trees. This was this buffalo’s one mistake. Dempsey said, “Hold high shoulder.” A high shoulder shot was recommended because we were still a distance away, but well within the capabilities of my skill and the bullets performance. I settled the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger. I hear a ‘CLICK’. A dead round. I quickly chambered the next round, which was a solid, and settled back on the shoulder and squeezed again, this time the rifle fired and as I came out of recoil, I saw a cloud of dust behind the buffalo. The bull quickly turned 180 degrees and ran towards the bush. We tried for a follow-up shot, but there was no opportunity.
As we walked to the road, we discussed the shot. Neither of us heard the ‘thwap’ that usually accompanies a hit. We had different opinions if the dust was from a shot that was high, low, or forward. As we reached the road, Big John and Amanda said ‘We had a big bull run across the road about 70 meters from us. He was running hard and strong.’ One of the two bulls was accounted for so we decided to circle the block to see if the other bull exited. After a few hundred meters we found another set of tracks leaving the block. It has always been my philosophy that a clean miss is better than a bad hit. But, that didn’t make me feel better about my missed opportunity.
Somberly, we went to the tracks Big John and Amanda saw. The tracks confirmed, he was running hard and strong. As we drank a bottle of water and tried to cool ourselves off from the abrupt physical exertion, Big John walked to a small acacia bush near the tracks and said ‘Blood.’ After searching the tracks a little further, we found a small, but consistent, dark red blood trail. Bittersweet feelings hit me. I know dark red blood means that lungs were not hit, and he would not have run a few hundred meters if it hit the heart. Since we were unsure of where the buffalo was hit and the fact that they are known to be strong after a shot, we decided to leave the area and give the buffalo some time to lay down and stiffen up.
As we waited, I remembered my first safari and why I love hunting buffalo. In 2018, my business partner, Rob, and I hunted Africa for the first time. We were in the Karoo area, near Graaf Reinet. Our list included many ‘first trip’ animals like the Wildebeest, Hartebeest, Springbok, Blesbok and a few others. While hunting a Gemsbok, we had to do a little tracking job on it. It didn’t go far, but it needed a follow-up shot to close the deal. During the tracking, led by the Jack Russell Terrier, we bumped the Gemsbok in the thick brush. We were close enough to feel the footsteps on the ground and the branches break across its chest. At that moment of excitement, I visualized Capstick’s Death in the Long Grass description of buffalo moving, unseen, through the abyss of golden colored thatch and I told myself “I have to go buffalo hunting!”
The next year while on the tradeshow circuit I met an outfitter from Tanzania. They hunted the Niassa Corridor in an area the borders the Selous Game Reserve. I figure if I am going to chase a buffalo I might as well try there. Even though I did not hunt the Selous, I could throw a stone on to it without much effort. After a few weeks, we booked the hunt for later in the year. This would give me time to practice and prepare for the hunt in wild Africa. It is official, I was going to hunt Black Death.
Many people have heard the adage, ‘A shoemaker has no shoes.’ This is very similar to my situation. At this time, I had been working for Boyds Gunstocks for 13 years and have had my hands on hundreds of thousands of gunstocks. I built them, designed them, fixed them, and customized them, but never for myself. So, I took the opportunity to FINALLY make my own. One night over sundowners my good friend Montana Ron and I talked about suitable calibers for Mbogo. He has hunted numerous dangerous game so I trusted his opinion that the Winchester Model 70 chambered in 416 Ruger, which he conveniently had for sale, will be suitable with the proper bullet selection. Or maybe he was just trying to make a quick buck! Either way, I now had my rifle.
A gunstock defines the aesthetics of a rifle. I wanted a stock that looked traditional, but with modern flare. I used a beautiful piece of walnut that had wonderful smokey lines along with shimmering chatoyance. To allow quick sight acquisition when I pulled the rifle up, I shaped the stock with a slightly higher monte carlo style comb to align my eye with the scope. The lines that followed the monte carlo comb down to the subtle shadow-line cheekpiece were beautiful. I added a black tip and grip cap to accent the richness of the wood and tie it into the bluing of the rifle. After some custom checkering, I was ready to hand finish the stock with tung oil. The finish process took me 8 days with 10 coats being applied. Everything on this rifle was perfect. Over a few months, I reloaded ammo, softs and solids with exact trajectories to maintain a consistent point of aim and shot over 200 rounds to ensure I was completely comfortable and ready to hunt buffalo. I finally built myself a rifle and I loved every detail of it.
September 2019 arrives, and I load my rifle, ammo, and gear up for the long trip to camp. The flight path was South Dakota to Phoenix to New York’s JFK to Johannesburg South Africa and then to Dar Es Salaam Tanzania. After a night stay in Dar Es Salaam, we hopped a single prop plane to Songea Tanzania before a 6-hour ride to camp. It was a long travel made even worse by the fact that my rifle was left in Phoenix with no way to catch up to us. I was heartbroken because my hard work and visions of hunting with my rifle were lost. We had a good safari using a camp rifle and my first buffalo was on its way to the taxidermist.
Fast forward a few more years and a few more safaris, all without my rifle, I took a trip to the Limpopo Province in South Africa with my Brother-in-Law and his wife for their first trip to the dark continent. During this safari I was talking to Dempsey about the buff I hunted in Tanzania and Zimbabwe. He wanted me to hunt one with him in South Africa. I explained that I like buffalo hunting for the chase and the adventure, and to hunt a buffalo in South Africa it must have comparable excitement. He told me about a concession that has very hard buffalo hunting. After a few more conversations we booked it for July 2022 and I immediately planned the, second, debut of my Winchester rifle.
As we started to prepare for this trip, I shot the rifle to ensure accuracy and after a few rounds I was completely comfortable and reunited with it. I packed it up with my safari shirts and shorts, gaiters, and Courtney boots and a few weeks later we started our travel. This time our flight plan was significantly easier. It was Omaha to Atlanta to Johannesburg. Once in Atlanta we had a 5-hour layover and were able to see on our travel app that the bags all arrived from Omaha and have been sent to sorting for the flight to Jo’Berg. About an hour before the departure time, the app informed us two of three checked bags were loaded on to the aircraft. I leaned to Amanda and said, ‘Here we go again, the firearms were not loaded onto the flight.’ Minutes before the cabin doors were scheduled to close, I checked the status again, the rifle was still in ‘sorting.’ I showed Amanda the status and my heart sank again. I popped on my headphones and started to read my book and process another missed opportunity. After 20 minutes, Amanda nudged me and said, ‘The Captain just announced they are running a few minutes behind because they are waiting for the last baggage to be loaded.’ I turned on my phone and checked the app one last time. Seventeen minutes after the aircraft was scheduled to depart and one minute before the plane pushed away from the gate, my firearms were loaded! I let out a sigh of relief and enjoyed my Robert Ruark novel and 20 hours later we arrived at the tent camp.
Back at the buffalo’s blood trail, we started the process of locating the wounded him. After a short while Dempsey was the first to see him as he ran off. I asked “What did he look like? Does he have any specific characteristics? Where is he bleeding from?” I wanted information so when I saw a buffalo with these characteristics, we wouldn’t have to take time to confirm it was him and we can follow-up quickly. He looked at me and said, “He’s really messed up…you will know!” A few minutes later I see the buffalo and it has a broken shoulder and is leaning against a tree as to not fall over. We moved to a better position and the buffalo laid down and was actively expiring. A couple follow-up shots sped up the process and ensured our safety. Dempsey and I finally had a hard-earned buffalo!
As we were inspecting the buffalo’s wounds, it appeared the first broadside shot was almost textbook placement. But, after examining the exit we realized that he was slightly quartering away, and the exit was on the opposite shoulder and neck area. The solid bullet punched right through and, we believe, weakened the shoulder blade and took out some smaller blood vessels. This would explain why the leg broke after running hard and he was bleeding internally. I believe if that first expanding round would have fired, we would have been able to watch him go down much quicker.
At this point I was able to truly admire the animal. He was a beautiful old bull. Smooth and shiny bosses. With a 42.5” spread of blunted and chipped horns. His back was hairless, and his body covered in scars. This is a bull that deserved every ounce of effort we put into him.
After an hour and a half, we had all our pictures taken and a road was cut into the sekelbos. We headed to camp and the bull headed to the skinning shed. We decided to end the safari on a great note and spend the remaining time celebrating as we watched the sunset with a fire and camaraderie.
Now that I am home, I have been able to relish some otherwise tedious tasks…It was time to clean my rifle and gear. As I wiped the blood and sweat spots off, I could still see my dirty fingerprints on the gun where I held the rifle all week. Scratches on my hand align with scratches on the stock and will remind me of the effort we had to put into getting this buffalo. All of it with MY Winchester rifle.
The tent camp’s boma had the traditional buffalo camp feel and included a 48” buff skull that was found a few years earlier
The subtle features of a gunstock are what make all the difference. Notice the beautifully shimmering chatoyance in the buttstock of this rifle.
The shaggy bush on this old eland bull’s forehead is all we needed to see to know he was a shooter.
Demspey and I caught this big old boy sneaking into the camp watering hole late one evening. It shows the excellent genetics and the age of buffalo on the concession.
A beautiful 42.5” smooth boss buffalo.
There is an indescribable feeling of touching the big bosses of a buffalo after a long week of hunting
This is my favorite trophy picture. The scars, scratches, dirt, and blood sum up the safari perfectly.
I first ran across AH 6 years ago when I started researching my first African Safari. I have never posted, but I stalk the forums regularly. I figured I could do an introductory story that I recently wrote about my most recent trip to South Africa With Bayly Sippel Safari. I hope you enjoy and I hope to continue to learn from everyone.
-Decay
Grab you gun! Buffalo!
Cape buffalo hunting and wall tents are made for each other. This camp, while having modern amenities like electricity and a borehole water source, had the feel I immediately recognized as an ‘old school’ buffalo camp. Shortly after arriving at the Bayly Sippel Safari camp near Botswana and bordering Madikwe Game Reserve we went to the range to verify the rifles performance. Once accuracy was confirmed, we decided to take the long way back to camp so Dempsey, my PH, could show us the 12,000-acre property that we will be hinting buffalo in the next eight days.
While I didn’t have a very extensive list of plains game on this trip I told Dempsey, “If we see something good, we should stop and take a look at it”. Twelve minutes later, while driving past a small heard of Tsessebe, we see a good-sized warthog run off. We tried to watch where he ran but he just vanished in the grass. So, we grabbed the 300 win mag rifle and went to where we last saw him. Just as we were saying ‘he was right behind this bush…’ the warthog busted out of the bush and ran away from us. After a quick shot we had our pig. Just slightly under Rowland Ward size, we said ‘Wow, this is some good luck to start our safari.’ We took a few pictures and then enjoyed the evening as we slowly made our way back to camp for a fire. Along the way we drug the roads with branches and set up a couple trail cameras to help us narrow our search for buffalo spoor the next day.
Early the next morning, the real first day of hunting, as we were having our coffee and rusk, the chef said that he heard some animals at the watering hole near camp. We walked to the water’s edge and could easily see the fresh buffalo tracks. We checked the game camera, and it showed two hard boss buffalo drinking shortly after 4am. Considering it was 6:30am, we figured those would be good tracks to follow. We finished our breakfast, grabbed our guns, and started walking up the mountain on a trail riddled with loose stone. After about 15 minutes we hear a few branches crack 150 yards off the trail. We start to stalk the noise, keeping the wind in a good direction, when Dempsey stopped and grabbed his binoculars. “Give me the sticks” he whispered to our tracker, Big John. As I was getting the gun into position I asked, “Where are the buffalo?” Dempsey said, “Old Eland bull”.
Before this trip Dempsey and I talked about how we love the look of old eland bulls. Eland and Buffalo are two species that I will always choose age over inches. Dempsey said, ‘We have some really old eland bulls on the property, but once they hit maturity they disappear into the bush and are rarely seen.’ So, it was a surprise to both of us that we are looking at three.
Dempsey got me lined up on the old boy with stubby rounded horns and a thick bush on his forehead. A gorgeous old bull. I squeezed the trigger on the 416 Ruger and the bull dropped.
We took a few pictures and walked back to camp to get the vehicle, my wife Amanda, and some camp staff for help. When we arrived, we were all smiling and Amanda said ‘Wow, 19 minutes and you are done!” We said, ‘Nope, Eland!’ After gathering supplies, we headed back to the old bull and along the way I said to Dempsey ‘I sure hope this luck carries throughout the whole safari, but I feel we may have used it all up.’ Over the next couple hours, we carried the eland out, piece-by-piece, off the mountain and to the vehicle.
After lunch we were driving around looking for tracks on the roads. This was a change from previous buffalo hunts. In other buffalo hunting areas, we usually cut tracks early and we tried to catch the buffalo before they bedded for the day. Once they bed, we would take a break and resume afternoon tracking when the buff were back on their feet. Dempsey explained ‘buffalo on this concession drink at night and are in the thick bush by sun-up and they only come out after dark.’
The thick bush here is some acacia but mostly sekelbos. Acacia bushes look menacing with their little green leaves with long white thorns. The thorns are sharp but they separate from the branch when some pressure is put on them. Sekelbos also has long spikes, but they differ from the acacia because the ‘thorns’ are the branch. They do not break off, they scratch, poke and tear anything they get hooked to. Dempsey continued, “This is where the old hairless daggaboys like to spend their days. If the tracks go in there we do too!”
The tracking was done very slowly and carefully. Partially, due to the damage the sekelbos did to our body and clothing, but most importantly, because we needed to move as quietly as possible. Each step was calculated to reduce the amount of sticks and leaves we crunched beneath our boots because there was the possibility that the bulls were bedding a short distance ahead of us.
After cutting tracks on the road, we followed the bulls into the bush. An hour later the crack of a small branch 20 yards away alerted us. Big John crouched and could see the darkness that was unmistakably buffalo.
At this time, I realized that my definition of ‘thick stuff’ was nothing compared to what we were in the middle of. It was so thick that someone bow hunting would not be able to draw the bow without hitting branches, let alone having a clear shooting lane for an arrow to fly.
Less than 20 paces away were three bulls, hidden in the shadows. Suddenly, the bulls stood up and one looked through the bush and stared at us as only Black Death can. Luckily for us, we had a bright sun at our back and a steady breeze on our face. The buff knew something was up, but since we were motionless, he stayed there for a minute. As I looked at the great mass and length of this soft bossed bull, I thought ‘We caught this guy two years too early.’ We slowly scanned the area for the other two bulls that were in this bachelor group and although we could not see them, we could clearly hear them defecate. Suddenly and violently all three buffalo ran away, crashing everything in their path as their feet thundered on the hard ground. An encounter like this is bittersweet, we were so close but ended up with nothing. This is buffalo hunting!
That was where our luck ran out. For the next six days we were on the roads at first light and we stayed on tracks until last light without any shot opportunities. Every day buffalo would meander around in thick bush, crossing and recrossing their tracks until we would lose them in a block or they would bust us before we saw them. Most times we were within 30 yards of them when they ran off. During these days, every poke and scratch made me realize this is the hardest hunt I have ever been on. Being a concession should have made it easier because we know that buffalo are there. In reality, it was much more difficult. These buffalo were born in the sekelbos and have no problem living there. We were having to play their game and they were winning. It was mentally and physically difficult.
Over drinks by the fire on day 7, I expressed to Dempsey that I would be at peace with not shooting a buffalo this trip. “I have shot buffalo before, and I really wanted a good hunt. I feel we have truly hunted in some difficult situations and put in a lot of time on good tracks, but the buffalo are just a step ahead of us.” Dempsey responded, “We can make 100 mistakes, but we only need a buffalo to make one. We still have time.’
Day 8, the last day of our safari, Dempsey and I prepared for another chilly morning ride. Between watching the road for crossing tracks, we would enjoy the sunrise and scan for any buffalo that were on their final steps toward the sekelbos for the day. Suddenly Dempsey signaled for the bakkie to stop. He grabbed his binoculars and looked in the distance. “Grab your gun! Buffalo! Let’s go, quickly!” I grab my Winchester rifle and we start running across the open section of land. After 400 meters of running, I was breathing heavily and starting to wonder how far the buffalo were away. We stopped to relocate the buffalo and Dempsey noticed two bulls steadily making their way to the sekelbos. As quickly and quietly as we could, we closed another 200 meters. At this time the sticks came out and the rifle fell into the rest as I chambered the expanding bullet. “One is coming to the gap.” Dempsey whispered between heavy breaths. As I mounted the rifle I heard the mock bellow from Dempsey and I located the buffalo, stopped between two small trees. This was this buffalo’s one mistake. Dempsey said, “Hold high shoulder.” A high shoulder shot was recommended because we were still a distance away, but well within the capabilities of my skill and the bullets performance. I settled the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger. I hear a ‘CLICK’. A dead round. I quickly chambered the next round, which was a solid, and settled back on the shoulder and squeezed again, this time the rifle fired and as I came out of recoil, I saw a cloud of dust behind the buffalo. The bull quickly turned 180 degrees and ran towards the bush. We tried for a follow-up shot, but there was no opportunity.
As we walked to the road, we discussed the shot. Neither of us heard the ‘thwap’ that usually accompanies a hit. We had different opinions if the dust was from a shot that was high, low, or forward. As we reached the road, Big John and Amanda said ‘We had a big bull run across the road about 70 meters from us. He was running hard and strong.’ One of the two bulls was accounted for so we decided to circle the block to see if the other bull exited. After a few hundred meters we found another set of tracks leaving the block. It has always been my philosophy that a clean miss is better than a bad hit. But, that didn’t make me feel better about my missed opportunity.
Somberly, we went to the tracks Big John and Amanda saw. The tracks confirmed, he was running hard and strong. As we drank a bottle of water and tried to cool ourselves off from the abrupt physical exertion, Big John walked to a small acacia bush near the tracks and said ‘Blood.’ After searching the tracks a little further, we found a small, but consistent, dark red blood trail. Bittersweet feelings hit me. I know dark red blood means that lungs were not hit, and he would not have run a few hundred meters if it hit the heart. Since we were unsure of where the buffalo was hit and the fact that they are known to be strong after a shot, we decided to leave the area and give the buffalo some time to lay down and stiffen up.
As we waited, I remembered my first safari and why I love hunting buffalo. In 2018, my business partner, Rob, and I hunted Africa for the first time. We were in the Karoo area, near Graaf Reinet. Our list included many ‘first trip’ animals like the Wildebeest, Hartebeest, Springbok, Blesbok and a few others. While hunting a Gemsbok, we had to do a little tracking job on it. It didn’t go far, but it needed a follow-up shot to close the deal. During the tracking, led by the Jack Russell Terrier, we bumped the Gemsbok in the thick brush. We were close enough to feel the footsteps on the ground and the branches break across its chest. At that moment of excitement, I visualized Capstick’s Death in the Long Grass description of buffalo moving, unseen, through the abyss of golden colored thatch and I told myself “I have to go buffalo hunting!”
The next year while on the tradeshow circuit I met an outfitter from Tanzania. They hunted the Niassa Corridor in an area the borders the Selous Game Reserve. I figure if I am going to chase a buffalo I might as well try there. Even though I did not hunt the Selous, I could throw a stone on to it without much effort. After a few weeks, we booked the hunt for later in the year. This would give me time to practice and prepare for the hunt in wild Africa. It is official, I was going to hunt Black Death.
Many people have heard the adage, ‘A shoemaker has no shoes.’ This is very similar to my situation. At this time, I had been working for Boyds Gunstocks for 13 years and have had my hands on hundreds of thousands of gunstocks. I built them, designed them, fixed them, and customized them, but never for myself. So, I took the opportunity to FINALLY make my own. One night over sundowners my good friend Montana Ron and I talked about suitable calibers for Mbogo. He has hunted numerous dangerous game so I trusted his opinion that the Winchester Model 70 chambered in 416 Ruger, which he conveniently had for sale, will be suitable with the proper bullet selection. Or maybe he was just trying to make a quick buck! Either way, I now had my rifle.
A gunstock defines the aesthetics of a rifle. I wanted a stock that looked traditional, but with modern flare. I used a beautiful piece of walnut that had wonderful smokey lines along with shimmering chatoyance. To allow quick sight acquisition when I pulled the rifle up, I shaped the stock with a slightly higher monte carlo style comb to align my eye with the scope. The lines that followed the monte carlo comb down to the subtle shadow-line cheekpiece were beautiful. I added a black tip and grip cap to accent the richness of the wood and tie it into the bluing of the rifle. After some custom checkering, I was ready to hand finish the stock with tung oil. The finish process took me 8 days with 10 coats being applied. Everything on this rifle was perfect. Over a few months, I reloaded ammo, softs and solids with exact trajectories to maintain a consistent point of aim and shot over 200 rounds to ensure I was completely comfortable and ready to hunt buffalo. I finally built myself a rifle and I loved every detail of it.
September 2019 arrives, and I load my rifle, ammo, and gear up for the long trip to camp. The flight path was South Dakota to Phoenix to New York’s JFK to Johannesburg South Africa and then to Dar Es Salaam Tanzania. After a night stay in Dar Es Salaam, we hopped a single prop plane to Songea Tanzania before a 6-hour ride to camp. It was a long travel made even worse by the fact that my rifle was left in Phoenix with no way to catch up to us. I was heartbroken because my hard work and visions of hunting with my rifle were lost. We had a good safari using a camp rifle and my first buffalo was on its way to the taxidermist.
Fast forward a few more years and a few more safaris, all without my rifle, I took a trip to the Limpopo Province in South Africa with my Brother-in-Law and his wife for their first trip to the dark continent. During this safari I was talking to Dempsey about the buff I hunted in Tanzania and Zimbabwe. He wanted me to hunt one with him in South Africa. I explained that I like buffalo hunting for the chase and the adventure, and to hunt a buffalo in South Africa it must have comparable excitement. He told me about a concession that has very hard buffalo hunting. After a few more conversations we booked it for July 2022 and I immediately planned the, second, debut of my Winchester rifle.
As we started to prepare for this trip, I shot the rifle to ensure accuracy and after a few rounds I was completely comfortable and reunited with it. I packed it up with my safari shirts and shorts, gaiters, and Courtney boots and a few weeks later we started our travel. This time our flight plan was significantly easier. It was Omaha to Atlanta to Johannesburg. Once in Atlanta we had a 5-hour layover and were able to see on our travel app that the bags all arrived from Omaha and have been sent to sorting for the flight to Jo’Berg. About an hour before the departure time, the app informed us two of three checked bags were loaded on to the aircraft. I leaned to Amanda and said, ‘Here we go again, the firearms were not loaded onto the flight.’ Minutes before the cabin doors were scheduled to close, I checked the status again, the rifle was still in ‘sorting.’ I showed Amanda the status and my heart sank again. I popped on my headphones and started to read my book and process another missed opportunity. After 20 minutes, Amanda nudged me and said, ‘The Captain just announced they are running a few minutes behind because they are waiting for the last baggage to be loaded.’ I turned on my phone and checked the app one last time. Seventeen minutes after the aircraft was scheduled to depart and one minute before the plane pushed away from the gate, my firearms were loaded! I let out a sigh of relief and enjoyed my Robert Ruark novel and 20 hours later we arrived at the tent camp.
Back at the buffalo’s blood trail, we started the process of locating the wounded him. After a short while Dempsey was the first to see him as he ran off. I asked “What did he look like? Does he have any specific characteristics? Where is he bleeding from?” I wanted information so when I saw a buffalo with these characteristics, we wouldn’t have to take time to confirm it was him and we can follow-up quickly. He looked at me and said, “He’s really messed up…you will know!” A few minutes later I see the buffalo and it has a broken shoulder and is leaning against a tree as to not fall over. We moved to a better position and the buffalo laid down and was actively expiring. A couple follow-up shots sped up the process and ensured our safety. Dempsey and I finally had a hard-earned buffalo!
As we were inspecting the buffalo’s wounds, it appeared the first broadside shot was almost textbook placement. But, after examining the exit we realized that he was slightly quartering away, and the exit was on the opposite shoulder and neck area. The solid bullet punched right through and, we believe, weakened the shoulder blade and took out some smaller blood vessels. This would explain why the leg broke after running hard and he was bleeding internally. I believe if that first expanding round would have fired, we would have been able to watch him go down much quicker.
At this point I was able to truly admire the animal. He was a beautiful old bull. Smooth and shiny bosses. With a 42.5” spread of blunted and chipped horns. His back was hairless, and his body covered in scars. This is a bull that deserved every ounce of effort we put into him.
After an hour and a half, we had all our pictures taken and a road was cut into the sekelbos. We headed to camp and the bull headed to the skinning shed. We decided to end the safari on a great note and spend the remaining time celebrating as we watched the sunset with a fire and camaraderie.
Now that I am home, I have been able to relish some otherwise tedious tasks…It was time to clean my rifle and gear. As I wiped the blood and sweat spots off, I could still see my dirty fingerprints on the gun where I held the rifle all week. Scratches on my hand align with scratches on the stock and will remind me of the effort we had to put into getting this buffalo. All of it with MY Winchester rifle.
The tent camp’s boma had the traditional buffalo camp feel and included a 48” buff skull that was found a few years earlier
The subtle features of a gunstock are what make all the difference. Notice the beautifully shimmering chatoyance in the buttstock of this rifle.
The shaggy bush on this old eland bull’s forehead is all we needed to see to know he was a shooter.
Demspey and I caught this big old boy sneaking into the camp watering hole late one evening. It shows the excellent genetics and the age of buffalo on the concession.
A beautiful 42.5” smooth boss buffalo.
There is an indescribable feeling of touching the big bosses of a buffalo after a long week of hunting
This is my favorite trophy picture. The scars, scratches, dirt, and blood sum up the safari perfectly.
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