SOUTH AFRICA: My African Hunting Story Part II: Return To Quagga Safaris

[Hemingway's Karl]

“The only man I envy is the man who has not yet been to Africa - for he has so much to look forward to." – Richard Mullin

Background:
This was my second excursion out to South Africa with Quagga Safaris, my first being two years ago in June 2022 (as previously covered in my earlier report). In fact, this latest trip was only the second hunting trip of my life, with my first Africa trip constituting my first hunting trip…ever. When I say hunting trip, I mean hunting period. I didn’t grow up hunting and I didn’t hunt for the first time until I was the spry age of 39. Rather, I grew up in the Midwest of the U.S. (think where championship football is currently played in the U.S.) and spent a lot of time fishing. I loved the outdoors but had zero interest in hunting the local whitetail (I never found their meat appetizing, but to each their own…).

Long story short, as hashed out in my previous report, I went to South Africa in 2022 with my father, my brother, and my sister-in-law and hunted with Quagga Safaris. Knowing that the odds of this previous trip happening were 50/50, I didn’t really do much research for the first trip. Although I did very well on my first hunt - I got a beautiful buffalo (shown below), a beautiful sable, an eland of questionable intelligence, a suicidal kudu, a barking bushbuck, and a nice nyala - my lack of research definitely showed during this first trip. For instance, our first trip was an auction hunt from DSC, and I was the one delegated (by my brother and father) to hunt the bushbuck with the tag we had from the auction. At that point, I had absolutely no idea what a bushbuck was or what it looked like. I looked for a bushbuck shoulder mount at the lodge and that was my gauge on what to look for (along with the PH’s amazing patience, directions, and teachings). Fortunately, I was incredibly lucky on this first hunt and was able to take everything down with one shot, except the sable (it took two and that was my first ever animal I hunted). Needless to say, I was fairly ignorant and naïve, but incredibly lucky on this first experience. Regardless of my inexperience, I fell absolutely in love with the African bush and vowed with my brother that we would be back one day (as long as my wife didn’t leave me for bringing back twice as many trophies as I thought I would get…).

However, based on unfortunate developments, our planned return was expedited well ahead of schedule. Shortly after returning from our first hunt, my mother’s cancer came back and took her from us only a few months after our return. My father was devastated and inconsolable. Grasping for any means to console our father, my brother and I proposed a return to Africa in 2024, in the hopes of giving our father something to look forward to (and, selfishly, also for something to distract my brother and I during this time). For us, Africa provided us with a distraction and, ideally, an opportunity to escape and possibly heal some of our wounds. As Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “In the presence of nature, a wild delight runs through the man, in spite of real sorrows.” Thus, we booked this return trip with Quagga Safaris for June 2024. For this trip, it would be my father, my brother, my sister-in-law, my nephew (my sister’s son), and myself.

Why have I shared all this personal information with you? Because I think it’s relevant for understanding and appreciating my frame of reference when reading the following report. As can be extrapolated from above, I lack extensive experience in hunting, but have grown immensely in my understanding, studies, and appreciation over the last two years. However, due to my lack of experience, I am not blinded by hubris and am more than willing to admit my faults and naivety. Furthermore, my work and life are stressful enough as it is, so I try to take a lighthearted approach in my hunting report (because hunting is supposed to be my escape). This approach does not mean I do not respect the hunt or the animals that I have harvested. On the contrary, I have nothing but fondness and respect for the animals I have pursued and taken in all of my hunts. I could tell a long and descriptive narrative about each of the 13 animals I’ve hunted in my life. In fact, in a rather unorthodox tradition, I give names to each of my animals, which always relate to the story of their hunt and my thought process at the time (it’s also a way to guilt my wife into letting me put my mounts in certain places in the house because it personalizes the respective animal – strategery).

If you want to distill anything out my background from above, it’s that I truly find Africa to be a magical and special place, and I was very excited to be returning.

Location and Outfitter
Like in 2022, we hunted with Quagga Safaris (Erik Visser), who is based out of Limpopo near Lephalale. We originally hunted with Quagga after my brother drunkenly won Erik’s auction hunt at DSC back in 2019 (or it may have been 2020). Long story short, we have gotten to know Erik and his phenomenal team well over the last two years since our initial trip (heck, our primary purpose of going to DSC, and soon SCI, is just to meet up with them). The Quagga team includes many wonderful people, including some fantastic PH’s, Eon, Etienne (E.T.), Jaco, and Neil. This is a team that you can hunt all day with and then have no issues sitting around the fire afterwards back at camp. For this 11-day trip in 2024, my father got paired with Eon, my brother got paired with E.T., and I got paired with Jaco (my nephew started with my father but joined Jaco and I halfway through the trip). Serendipitously, these pairings would bear some wonderful and unique hunts.

Quagga operates the Manketti Game Reserve, which is owned by the Exxaro Grootegeluk mine. The Manketti Game Reserve has two main hunting areas: (1) an area of about 10,000 acres that surrounds the lodge and chalets and (2) the main Manketti area of about 56,000 acres. The two areas are separated by a parcel of fenced land, which the mine is trying to acquire, and are about a five-minute drive from each other.

The lodge area has smaller hunting blocks, while the main Manketti area has significantly larger blocks. The main Manketti area actually surrounds the mine, and while there were fences on the exterior of this area, there were many areas bordering the mine where fences were down or being replaced (hunting is not allowed in the mining areas for obvious reasons). Thus, in the main Manketti area, there was plenty of area for the animals to roam and even areas where they could fully evade hunters.

I know there’s a lot of discussion and debate about South Africa hunting and the term “high fence hunting” is commonly used as a derogatory assessment. However, I spent most of my time hunting the main Manketti area and I can attest that I seldom ever saw a fence, even after walking for hours (and, man, did we walk). I think any person would have no issue considering the hunting at the Manketti Game Reserve to be “fair chase,” in accordance with recognized standards in the industry.

Lodging and Food
“Relax, you’re in Africa now” was the phrase that the Quagga team greeted us with upon our arrival and they do their absolute best to maintain that motto and take care of you. Quagga will cater the trip to however you want it. If you want to do nothing but spend every waking minute hunting and only taking breaks for meals, they can facilitate that. If you’re like us, we loved to hunt hard, but then enjoy ourselves at the end of the day with a nice fire and a few cocktails.

The chalets at the lodge were phenomenal and very comfortable. Each of us had our own chalet, which was complete with bathroom, outdoor shower, and bathtub. It was way more than I needed, and it was very comfortable. A picture of the inside of my nephew’s chalet is provided below.

I was also fortunate that my chalet was right by the lodge’s waterhole, and I had plenty of nyala and waterbuck to watch.

The food at camp was amazing. Chef Lucky always does a phenomenal job with providing an exquisite and delicious dinner every night. We ended up trying various dishes made from wildebeest, gemsbok, sable, impala, kudu, buffalo, and eland. My personal favorite dishes were the eland tenderloin, the country fried sable, Lucky’s buffalo tails, and Lucky’s wildebeest stew (which is always amazing).

Breakfasts were generally simple and light, with various cereals, yogurts, and fruits being provided (the focus is getting out for the hunt). Lunches were delicious and varied depending on where you were hunting. If you were hunting in the lodge area, then you would generally go back to the lodge for lunch and Lucky would provide an amazing spread. I seldom was by the lodge for lunch (except the two afternoons I had to stay in for work Zoom calls), so I got to generally enjoy Lucky’s “bush lunches,” which were four-layered metal containers with each layer containing various appetizers, sandwiches, and/or other snacks prepared and provided by Lucky. It was a TON of food and, while we would usually take lunch sitting in a blind (make hay when the sun is shining…), it could be difficult staying awake in the blind after eating so much delicious food. I’m not ashamed to admit that I fell asleep on numerous occasions after a filling bush lunch.

Finally, there may be those of you who have an interest in the Devil’s Elixirs, such as fermented beverages and distilled spirits. I can assure you that the bar at the lodge is wonderful and stocked with whatever you want or need. We always had beers in the cooler for the sundowners and return trip back to camp (man, those are the BEST tasting beers in the world). Back at camp, we would enjoy the South African staple (i.e., vuil coke) and/or some delicious whiskey around the fire, and then South African wine with dinner. Erik knew our preferences (Single Malt Scotch and Irish whiskey) and had the bar stocked beforehand for our arrival. Many sound decisions were made around the fire, supplemented by a few sundowners.

Target Animals and the Boomsticks
Syncerus caffer caffer. Buffalo*. Nyati. Mbogo. The Black Death. The Widowmaker. Murder Bovine. Once you hunt a buffalo, you’ll want to do it again. It gets in your blood. Words just cannot adequately describe the adrenaline-filled escapade when you track and hunt a buffalo in the thick bushveld of Limpopo. In my previous buffalo hunt, we were on the old boy’s tracks for about five miles before I finally got a shot at about 25 yards (with minimal brush). After experiencing that endeavor in 2022, I was ready for another intimate dance in the Limpopo bush with another murder bovine. This was a sentiment also shared by my brother and father. My brother had also gotten a buffalo in 2022 and was ready for a second time. My father had previously gotten a buffalo back in Mozambique in 2009 and was wanting to go after one this time with my brother’s .375 double to reflect the “classical” buffalo hunt.

Besides the buffalo, I didn’t really have any other target animals. I had already lucked into completing my spiral slam on my last trip, in addition to getting a sable. Plus, I only had a finite amount of space for mounts (except for the buffalo, everything has been placed in my home office**). If presented with the opportunity, I figured I would take the “classic” African animals that people usually get on their first safaris, which I kind of skipped over previously (e.g., impala, wildebeest, warthog, etc.); however, I wasn’t inspired to make any of those animals a specific focus. Rather, I would just work with whatever the bush gave me. That being said, I did have a desire for “unique” trophies. More specifically, I’m not one to get too bent out of shape about inches; rather, I’d rather have something unique and unusual, such as broken horns (i.e., unicorns) and other oddities that most hunters won’t pursue because they’re not SCI trophies. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. All I know is that we had 11 days at the lodge, so we had some time to kill (literally and figuratively).

My predominant rifle that I used was a Ruger M77 Mark II Magnum .416 Rigby with 400 grain Swift A-Frames. This was the rifle originally purchased and used by my father in Mozambique back in 2009. I've become its sole user since then, especially as my father has moved on to his new custom .375 H&H. I also utilized a .300 Win Mag with Swift A-Frames on some of my later hunts when my nephew joined me.

*Inevitably will be referred to as the Asiatic “water buffalo” whenever someone unfamiliar with African fauna comes into my house and sees the mount (so pretty much every houseguest I have).

**Affectionally referred to as “The Celebration of Life Room” by me and “The Room of Death” by my wife and daughters.

The Actual Hunting Report (Finally)
The Arrival (Day 0)
Thankfully, our Delta flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg was rather uneventful. Learning from my previous trip in 2022, I didn’t screw around with trying to get myself to sleep on the plane. Thus, I made sure to medicate myself with a few drinks, melatonin, and a muscle relaxer (i.e., the good ol’ Jet Lag Cocktail). After that exquisite (and questionable) combination, I had no issue sleeping for half of the flight.

Upon landing, we spent the night at the Intercontinental Hotel at Tambo Airport. The next morning, we took a small plane out to the landing strip near Lephalale, where Erik picked us up. We arrived at the lodge in about 30 minutes, ate lunch, had a vuil coke (when in South Africa…), sighted in our rifles at the range, and then proceeded for a group drive through the lodge concession (i.e., the 10,000 acres surrounding the lodge). We ended up bringing out rifles with us because, hey, you never know what you may find.

Shortly after our departure, we spotted a nice impala, so my nephew got off to begin his first ever stalk. Like me on my first trip, my nephew had never been hunting before; thus, this was his first time. We figured putting him on a stalk for an impala was a good start to his trip. Meanwhile, while my nephew was stalking the impala, we came across a very nice black impala in the distance. Deferring the opportunity to my brother, he got off the truck and began his stalk. I was fine foregoing the black impala because it wasn’t on my list (besides, that is an animal that truly requires a shoulder mount and I only wanted Euro mounts).

During the aforementioned stalks, my father, sister-in-law, and I continued to drive around and just enjoy the bushveld. It was that time that we saw the biggest buffalo that we had ever seen in our lives. This bull was akin to a dinosaur. My previous buffalo back in 2022 was 42”, as was my brother’s, while my Dad’s from Mozambique was about 36” (however, it should be noted that any buffalo is special and amazing because they’re buffalo and it’s all about the hunt). This buffalo put all those previous buffalos to shame. According to the PH driving the truck, this monster was at least 50”. Numerous scenarios began running through our heads (heck, even my sister-in-law’s head and she doesn’t even hunt…) of pursuing this behemoth of the ages, but alas, we ended up just passing by and remained awestruck in his grandeur. I really, really wish I had a camera ready, but when you catch something so amazing, it can seemingly pass in an instant without giving you time to react.

During our buffalo encounter, we had our first successful hunt on the trip. My brother found and took down the black impala (shown below). It finished a first successful day of hunting. We ended the day by heading back to the lodge, sitting by the fire, eating a wonderful dinner, and going back to the fire for whiskey and cigars. It was a fantastic start to our safari.

The Pursuit of “Vader” – The Buffalo (Day 1)
“I lurched up and looked at Mbogo, and Mbogo looked at me. He was 50 to 60 yards off, his head low, his eyes staring right down my soul. He looked at me as if he hated my guts. He looked as if I had despoiled his fiancee, murdered his mother, and burned down his house. He looked at me as if I owed him money. I never saw such malevolence in the eyes of any animal or human being, before or since. So, I shot him.” - Robert Ruark

It's very difficult trying to describe experiencing the African bush to someone who has never been, especially when that person has never traveled abroad and/or has very limited outdoor experience. However, trying to describe the experience of hunting a buffalo to someone who doesn’t hunt (and sometimes even to those who do hunt, but have never hunted dangerous game) is seemingly damn near impossible.

To me, and it seems to be a sentiment shared by several other buffalo hunters I have discussed it with, hunting Nyati is reminiscent of an emotional dance of life and death in very intimate corridors with an animal that could easily flatten you, impale you, and otherwise just maim and kill you in any way that best suits it. And don’t overlook the emotional aspect of this endeavor (even if you consider yourself a stoic man, we all know what we face internally). A true excursion after buffalo can be populated with a myriad of emotions, such as hope, fear, despair, regret, anger, fear (yes, again), doubt, bravado, happiness, and jubilation. However, all of these emotions are generally suppressed during the hunt by a healthy dose of adrenaline. Ah, yes, adrenaline, that happy little hormone that pushes everything to the back of our mind during the pursuit of a large bovine that could absolutely murder you in a second and not think twice, especially when you’re entering his home turf and the surrounding thorns are simply “baby kisses” to him, while they’re meat tenderizers to us. It’s always good to push “that” last intruding thought to the darkest and deepest corners of one’s mind while entering the thick bush for Nyati.

The other issue about buffalos is that they are built like an Arnold Schwarzenegger Terminator. As the conventional saying goes, “If your first shot fails to kill Nyati, the subsequent ten will only serve to annoy him.” When you’re built like an armored truck, and your only natural predator are lions, you can be somewhat difficult to take down. That is why a proper caliber rifle and shot placement are so important.

One last important note about an unintended side benefit of buffalo hunting is your firsthand inspection and education of the local African flora. Although you may not be able to cite the scientific genus and species of the various flora in Nyati’s bushveld, you will soon be very physically intimate with them all. Upon rapid realization, you will discover that most of them have thorns of various sizes, and everyone calls them something different. There are the long thorns of the Acacia (not bad); the severe hooks of the “hat stealer” (my term) or “stick around” trees (easily love to stick into your arm and leg); and the ubiquitous buffalo thorns with their small detachable thorns that love to attach and imbed themselves in your skin. If you aren’t careful in Nyati’s home, you can emerge looking like a pincushion; although, that’s the least of your concerns with Nyati being around and disapproving of your presence.

Turning back to my individual exploits, I awoke on this day knowing we would be looking for buffalo tracks. I was hunting with Jaco Kruger, the new PH at Quagga, but a PH with over 20+ years of experience (he has known Erik for years and recently joined Quagga from another outfitter). We were venturing out to the Manketti area (i.e., the 56,000-acre concession) to an area where Jaco had previously spotted and attempted to track an old dagga boy. However, this dagga boy was known to be quite clever and would constantly evade tracking by commonly venturing into the “no hunting” zone of the mine.

It was a beautiful, crisp morning in Limpopo. The wind was in our favor and sky was overcast. We departed for the far expanses of the Manketti to search for buffalo tracks and to see if this old dagga boy had left any fresh tracks. On the way to the area, we passed by a herd of about five giraffes who watched us very curiously.

Upon arriving to the waterhole that the dagga boy had been known to frequent, we discovered some fresh buffalo tracks, and the game was afoot!

We followed the tracks for about 25 minutes through the thick bush when, suddenly, the bush about five feet to the left of me started to shake and move. Alarmed, I quickly pulled up the .416 into position and got Jaco’s attention. With the intensity of ten burning suns, we carefully watched the shaking bush not knowing what could emerge. Was it the buffalo, hellbent on dispatching us early in our hunt? Was it some spooked antelope destined to scare everything in the area by haphazardly running for miles? We stood there with intense apprehension when, suddenly, two adult porcupines emerged and waddled away from us obviously annoyed that we disrupted their sleep and/or coital embrace. Fortunately, the porcupines decided not to take out the frustrations over their disrupted sleep and/or lovemaking by attempting to deposit several quills into our legs, which would have sorely hindered our pursuit of the buffalo.

Leaving the porcupines to their desired pursuits, we kept on the tracks of the buffalo. For another 30 minutes, we diligently followed his tracks through the thick bush. Suddenly, Jaco told me to get down. About 70 yards away, you could see the horns of a large buffalo cow sticking out from the bush. Slowly and methodically, with the patience of Job, Jaco put the sticks up and whispered for me to look in the direction to the right of the cow. I quietly crawled to the sticks and slowly positioned the .416 in the direction noted by Jaco…and there he was, or at least, just his head sticking out of the thick bush. The right side of the buffalo was positioned towards us, but only his head was visible through the thick bush. I had the scope positioned on him and we were waiting for him to emerge so I could get a shot on his shoulder. However, he was staring right at us. He saw us, but he couldn’t quite figure out what we were, especially since we were mostly concealed behind a bush. I looked through my scope at him just staring me down at about 50 yards away. We stood in that passive staring contest for about ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity. The sticks felt a little high, but I didn’t dare move an inch to adjust them in fear of spooking this magnificent animal. I could feel my body tighten up with the adrenaline and I had to do my best to control the shaking of my extended leg. Any millimeter of movement could betray our position and intent.

During this eternal staring contest, the innocent thought occurred to me, “Wow, we sure found this buffalo quickly this time, as opposed to the last trip, which took about four solid days of buffalo hunting. I’m so lucky because this just seems so easy!” Why, OH WHY, did I have this intrusive thought pop in my head? The hunting gods, who took pity on me during my first trip, would ultimately make me pay for my hubris and insolence.

Finally, after a period of time in which it seemed that stars were created and destroyed, the buffalo finally decided we were just some disinteresting ugly antelope, and he stepped forward and it was there – the shoulder or the possible heart/lung shot! In that split second, I decided to go after the heart/lung shot because it had worked so well on my first buffalo. I quickly aimed the .416 accordingly and let it sing…and in that split second of pulling the trigger, THE BUFFALO QUARTERED AWAY FROM US. Thus, rather than getting my desired heart and lung shot, I accomplished a gut shot through the rear right side that likely went through the stomach, nicked a lung, and stuck in the liver. According to Jaco, if I was four inches higher and went after the shoulder shot, I would have had him down regardless of the quartering. By the time I had reloaded for a second shot, the buffalo had already run off. Thus, I was now dealing with a wounded buffalo, enhanced with adrenaline, who rapidly took off despite his wound.

Buffalos love the thick bush. Wounded buffalos love the thickest bush imaginable. And that’s where we had to go and track him. At first, we hoped he was in the original thicket where he was spotted. We circled it until we got favorable wind and then slowly went in. Unfortunately, only a couple of steenboks ran out of the thicket in the position where we thought he was. Thus, we had to go track him. Complicating matters were the initial tracks of about three buffalo cows and another bull who was hanging around the cows. After finding the blood trail, we were on his tracks.

I really wish I could say we found him after a short track, but that buffalo kept ahead of us with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. We then backed off for a short period and took a break for lunch. It was our hope that by pausing our pursuit, his adrenaline levels would dissipate, and his wound would largely incapacitate him, thereby making his tracking easier. Pushing him while his adrenaline levels were still high proved difficult because he was able to push through everything. A buffalo on one lung can still push himself to do amazing feats of strength and resilience.

I could hardly eat anything at lunch. Like the buffalo, I was hopped up on adrenaline. Worst yet, I was berating myself for the stupidity of my shot and questioning everything about my thought process. Why did I have to go after the heart/lung? Why did I take that shot? Why did I have to think that this hunt was going to be easy after finding him so early? I decided during that lunch that I had jinxed myself. As I mentioned previously, a good buffalo hunt can be an emotional rollercoaster and this hunt was no exception.

Joining me for lunch, because their PH (E.T.) was assisting us on the buffalo track as an extra rifle, were my brother and sister-in-law. My brother had a productive morning and bagged his first blue wildebeest bull. Stuck in my own headspace, I think I mumbled “congratulations” to him, mostly consumed by own pursuit and conflicted by jealously over his success.

The pursuit began again after lunch, and we went at it hard. Tracking a wounded buffalo can be a nerve-racking endeavor. You are carefully trekking through the buffalo’s home terrain, where movement can be difficult for you, but not them. At any moment, you could encounter the buffalo and deal with a charge at very close proximity. Thus, not only do you have to trek through difficult terrain, but you constantly need to be at your full attention. I recall being in about six different spots during our trek through incredibly thick bush thinking to myself, “If we get charged here, I’m royally ****ed.” You do your best to push those intrusive thoughts to the back of your mind and focus on the agenda at hand. I was cradling the .416 like a loving mother with her infant child and I wasn’t going to let my baby get too far from me during this endeavor.

All-in-all, we trekked about six miles through the thickest bush and all of us looked like minced meat from the various thorns. Like a courteous host, the one thing that the bushveld is very gracious on providing is thorns, particularly thorns of every variety. It made me greatly appreciate the trackers (Clive and Jackson) and the PHs (Jaco, and E.T.), particularly since they were taking this damage on my account. Near the end, everyone was cut up and exhausted. To make matters worse, in a moment of excitement and distraction (likely exacerbated by exhaustion), I tripped into a warthog hole. In attempt to help me, Jaco similarly fell in a separate nearby warthog hole. It was at that point that I hit bottom (both literally in the hole and mentally). We were pushing hard after this buffalo, and yet he kept eluding us. I questioned every decision I had made that day and kept calling myself a “damned fool.”

Finally, after what seemed like ages traveling through a purgatory of thorns, we found him, and just in the nick of time as we were approaching dusk. The strategy had worked. He was laying down and not moving when we approached. I regret making this magnificent animal suffer like I did based on my poor shot placement, so we wanted to quickly end his suffering and make sure he was fully incapacitated to deter any possible charges. I put another shot from the .416 near his spine in attempt to fully disable him and put him down. However, that shot seemed to put a surge of energy through him and he raised his head in an attempt to get up. At this action, I put another two insurance shots from the .416 in him and Jaco assisted with a shot from his .375. That was the end of him.

I had him. I had finally got “Vader,” which was the name I designated for this magnificent animal. As noted above, I give my animals names that reflect the hunt. However, Vader was different. To me, this buffalo represented the purpose of our trip, which was based on my father. Thus, I felt “Vader,” which is Dutch and Afrikaans for “father,” to be a good symbolic name for this buffalo (furthermore, it can be argued that “Vader” had a similar temperament to my actual father, but we’re not going down that patricidal rabbit hole). Furthermore, if you want to tie in popular cultural references, I am in my early-40’s and, therefore, Star Wars was a huge influence on me growing up. Thus, a predominantly black buffalo would be an adequate representation of “Darth Vader” in the animal world. Regardless of my proffered rationale, I had finally got “Vader,” who measured about 42” wide.

Finally, I feel it necessary to discourage the wearing of any shirt containing wool while in the bushveld. For this hunt, I was wearing one of Kuiu’s light merino wool shirts, since it was winter in South Africa. I might as well have been wearing double-sided tape. That shirt attracted thorns like fat guys to a picnic. As shown below, the shirt got cut up fairly significantly during my trek.

Turning back to my nephew and father, they spent the day out in the lodge hunting area with Eon. My father’s target animal for this hunt was a monster sable, but they were also looking for something interesting for my nephew’s first animal. Lo and behold, they crossed paths with a sable that my nephew ended up taking (as shown below). Thus, like his uncle, the first animal that my nephew ever hunted and harvested was a beautiful 43” sable! My father was very proud and on cloud nine at this point.

The return to camp was festive and highly upbeat. It was an excellent day of hunting and as we convened at the lodge, Erik informed us that we were the first group ever to get a buffalo and sable on their first full day. Thus, it was a time for celebration. I went back to my chalet and grabbed the special bottle of Redbreast Irish Whiskey (Tawny Port Cask) I had brought along in the event of my successful buffalo hunt. The environment at the lodge turned festive and, before we knew it, my Dad got Neil (Erik’s son-in-law) to open up the lodge’s new social room (complete with TV and surround sound) and start blasting classic rock from the 70’s and 80’s. I’m sure there were some antelope in the distance around the camp grooving to some AC/DC and Grand Funk Railroad. My father continued the musical show later in the night when he serenaded the camp in his outdoor shower at his chalet (his voice carried well into the night).

As time passed into the night, I decided it was time to take the “buffalo plunge.” If there is anything that I have contributed to the operations of Quagga Safaris, it’s the “buffalo plunge.” Two years ago, after successfully hunting my first buffalo, I jumped into the pool in order to officially baptize myself in the crocodile-free waters of Africa. Similarly, after my brother finished his buffalo hunt two years ago, he also ended up taking the plunge. As you may note, it was wintertime in Limpopo when we travel down there, so the pool doesn’t see a lot of use at that time. Since our departure two years ago, a tradition has started that buffalo hunters, who can tolerate the cold, take their plunge and celebrate their conquering of the buffalo. Knowing my time had come once again, and shedding the emotions from the crazy day, I ripped off my cut-up hunting shirt like the Incredible Hulk and took my plunge. The water felt great – not as cold as a cold spring in the Ozarks, but a little brisk on an African night where the air temperature was about 62°F (16.6°C). Feeling the need to savor my victory over Nyati, and having a natural resistance to the cold, I lit up a cigar and stayed in the pool for the next hour.

This is probably a good interlude to tell you about my magical whiskey glass at the lodge that night. It was a modern marvel and one of the greater mysteries in our universe today because it seemingly violated the Law of Conservation of Matter, which dictates that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed. However, in defiance of the physical laws governing our universe, my whiskey glass never seemed to get empty. Rather, every time that I looked away, my seemingly almost-empty glass would somehow fill itself. And I, as a man who respects the time and effort that a distiller puts into making the Devil’s Elixir, felt obliged and ethically compelled to consume all the beautiful tapestry of flavors put before me.

Normally, according to Neil at Quagga, most buffalo hunters finish the hunt brimming with adrenaline, start the night super excited, and then quickly crash when the adrenaline subsides. Fortunately (or unfortunately), I was not affected by this affliction. Rather, my physics-defying whiskey glass combined with the brisk pool water kept me going until I ascended into the next state of being. This ascended state of being may be best described by the late, great Jimmy Buffet when he claimed, “I wasn't knee crawlin', slip slidin', Reggie Youngin' Commode huggin' drunk…I was God’s own drunk and a fearless man!” Now that I had officially ascended to become God’s Own Drunk and a fearless man, who had conquered the buffalo, I knew I was impervious to all and everything that the bush had thrown at me. What could possibly hurt me?

 

[Hemingway's Karl]

The Buffalo Hangover and Zoom Meetings– Day 2

“For every action in nature there is an equal and opposite reaction.” – Newton’s Third Law of Motion

The next morning. That’s what could hurt me. When my alarm went off at 5:00 am the next morning after my divine ascension into drunkenness, I could still feel the lingering effects. I concede that I may have “slightly” overindulged the night before, but given the events of the previous day, I felt it was sorely needed. However, I was definitely paying for that overindulgence the next morning. As I stumbled out of the lodge and into the truck, I could feel the aches and pains of yesterday’s buffalo chase combined with the lovely effects of the hangover. I was happy to go out into the bush again, but man, it was going to be a challenge. I also had to get back to the lodge in the afternoon because I had to participate in a work Zoom meeting from 1400 to 1800. Thus, I had a shortened day ahead of me, so I tried to make the best of it.

Unfortunately, the buffalo hangover decimated me on Day 2. Thankfully, Jaco took pity on me, and he informed me that we were going to stay in the lodge area (i.e., the 10,000 acres) that day since I had to be back at the lodge for work in the afternoon. So, we spent some time driving around the lodge area, searching for animals, and “looking for poachers” (bless Jaco for creating this narrative on my behalf because when we tried actually stalking a wildebeest, I wanted to lay down and sleep after 40 yards). We saw some zebras and a golden wildebeest, but neither were on my list at the time (and, let’s be honest, I was in no proper state to stalk them even if I wanted them). The extent of my hangover manifested itself when I fell asleep on the truck…while we were driving. Fortunately, Jaco got a video and picture, which I have included below for your amusement.

I actually recall this moment very well. The coat was making me feel nice and warm, and the gentle rocking of the truck and the hum of the engine put me to sleep. I was woken up when the truck hit a bump and I felt like I was falling out of my seat. All-in-all, the buffalo hangover ruined this morning of hunting. While it was certainly unfortunate, I have absolutely no regrets about the previous night’s activities.

The most painful thing of the day was the four-hour Zoom meeting. I felt like a caged animal. I could literally watch troops of monkeys, nyala, and waterbuck at the waterhole right outside my chalet while I was on a work call. The worst part was missing the hunting time during the witching hour. It was painful watching the sunset on some potentially magnificent hunting time (at this stage, I was at least quasi-physically competent after taking a nap for 30 minutes before my meeting).

Although my day didn’t produce any results, my nephew did land his second animal of the safari, a beautiful golden wildebeest.

A Day of Giants, Zoom Meetings, and Frustrations– Day 3
I woke up on this day with renewed vigor, as I was no longer encumbered by the buffalo hangover. Like the day before, I had a Zoom meeting that I had to attend to at 1400 for work, which would greatly limit my afternoon. However, I was hoping that today’s meeting would end early, and I get at least get some hunting in during the witching hour.

We ventured out to the Manketti area that morning and followed up on the tracks of a small buffalo herd in the hopes of finding a sizeable old buffalo cow that we saw when stalking Vader. During our previous stalk, we saw two impressive older cows that Jaco thought were barren, so we stalked them that morning. Unfortunately, we didn’t find any new or active sign of the small buffalo herd associated with the two cows and I went back for my Zoom meeting.

Luckily, my Zoom meeting ended early, and we were able to race over to a blind at a waterhole with about an hour of daylight left. Jaco had known about a cull wildebeest bull that would frequent the area that almost had a skullcap (the game camera showed that his horns had been broken and worn down into little nubs). It was a glorious looking trophy and, although the odds were low that we would come across it, we hung out in the blind that evening during dusk. Alas, it was not meant to be. The only thing we attracted in that blind was a troop of vervet monkeys, which ended up surrounding us. I had one of the monkeys hang out about five feet from me outside of the blind and stare right at me (it couldn’t quite figure out what I was). We also could hear a wildebeest grunting behind our blind, but that animal never ended up showing itself. Thus, we got skunked for the second day in a row.

Meanwhile, my brother was still pursuing his buffalo and spent the day on buffalo tracks. Although they came close to a bull, the day ended without them getting in close enough proximity for a shot. However, they did manage to land a very nice warthog with distinctive characteristics over lunch.

Additionally, the hunting gods were also favoring my father and nephew on this day. After spending three days searching for it, my father finally landed his giant sable that he was hoping for (shown below).

The sable measured somewhere between 50” and 51”. This sable was taken in the lodge area (i.e., the 10,000 acres) of the concession.

Not to be outdone, that evening as dusk approached, my nephew continued his hot streak and took a giant eland bull with 40” horns out in the Manketti area.

 

[Hemingway's Karl]

Missed Opportunities and The Last Stand of “Charger”– Day 4

“It’s déjà vu all over again.” – Yogi Berra

Finally, a day where I could finally escape work and all its commitments! It was a brisk morning with a clear sky, and we were off to the far side of the Manketti in search of whatever the Manketti offered us. It was a beautiful morning full of waterbucks and giraffes, as shown below. However, neither of these animals were on my radar (for now).

Alas, our explorations of the far side of the Manketti were cut short that morning when we got news on the radio that my brother had shot a buffalo bull and was in the process of chasing it through the Manketti block in which they shot it. They were close to the buffalo, but needed some extra support to watch a nearby road to make sure the buffalo didn’t cross over into an area of the reserve where hunting was not allowed. Thus, Jaco and I raced over there to give support.

Upon arriving near their location, we disembarked from the truck and proceeded to slowly and quietly walk down the road near their purported location, all the while looking for any sign of the bull. However, they had gone completely radio silent, and we were not sure of their exact location and status. Suddenly, about 200 yards from us, we heard the unmistakable sounds of a strange buffalo grunt/call (but not the death bellows) in the thick heavy bush, followed by three rapid rifle shots to the front and left of us. We had no idea what was going on, so we immediately paused and were ready to support anything that was necessary from us (including dealing with a possible marauding buffalo emerging from the bush). After waiting a few minutes, we finally heard what sounded like a buffalo death bellow in the same general area, and then we started to carefully make our way in that direction. The moment we had visuals of my brother and E.T., a final rifle shot from my brother rang out in the bush into the down buffalo to make sure he was down. The buffalo had fallen in some incredibly thick bush, and we watched as E.T. slowly and methodically work his way through the bush to the down buffalo in order to verify its demise. After touching the buffalo’s eye with his rifle, we all took a breath of relief as it was finally confirmed that this bull was down.

It was at this stage that my brother and E.T. let us know what we had heard. It turns out my brother and E.T. had found the injured buffalo in very thick bush and the buffalo decided that it was time to raise the stakes and began the process of a charge at about 10 yards away from them. The buffalo grunted (which is the sound we heard), thereby indicating his murderous intent, and my brother and E.T. had responded in kind with a volley of rifle fire (two initial shots from my brother and one from E.T.). You could literally see the adrenaline coursing through them at this moment.

The buffalo didn’t have the biggest spread (he measured just under 36” wide), but he had beautiful looking bosses. In fact, in my opinion, he was my favorite looking buffalo out all of the buffalos that we hunted on this trip. His horns were full of character. Furthermore, even though “Charger” was not the biggest buffalo, he was definitely a fighter and one not to be trifled with.

The next issue we faced regarding “Charger” was getting him out of the thick bush. You almost had to crawl in certain places to get to him, and it took the Quagga team about an hour to cut through to him. In fact, they ended up having to get the backhoe in order to get around one particularly stubborn Acacia tree. However, after considerable effort by the trackers and Neil, they were able to build a rough road to the buffalo.

After recovering Charger, I joined my brother and sister-in-law for a relaxing non-hunting lunch by a waterhole, where E.T. and Jaco built a fire and cooked some delicious eland sausages. It was a nice, peaceful lunch. We just kicked up our feet for a little bit and unwound after the buffalo hunt. Afterwards, the two groups split back up to continue pursuing our individual hunts.

Staying on the topic of my brother, E.T. decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in a blind at a waterhole to let the adrenaline of the buffalo hunt subside a bit and pursue a more relaxing environment, particularly since they had just dealt with a charging buffalo that morning. Good fortune was still smiling on my brother that afternoon, as a nice male gemsbok bull showed up at the waterhole. My brother, ever the consummate gentleman, gave the gemsbok the courtesy of two warning shots, one above the gemsbok and one by its feet, yet the gemsbok remained in its position (in other words, my brother was still incredibly jacked up from adrenaline from the buffalo hunt, which caused a slight tremor in his hand, thereby affecting his initial shots). However, the gemsbok’s dismissal of my brother’s warning shots proved its undoing, as my brother finally mitigated his adrenaline tremors and dispatched the gemsbok with the third shot. Personally, I think the gemsbok may have been deaf and/or suicidal, and therefore, was waiting for the inevitable at the waterhole. Regardless of the gemsbok’s state of mind (or lack thereof), my brother had landed a beautiful male gemsbok after getting a buffalo.

Turning quickly to my father and nephew, their day was fairly quiet. They hung around the lodge area and took a relative easy day after their sable/eland combo from the previous day. Additionally, my father was fairly tired after spending the first three days looking for his giant sable. While they didn’t get anything today, my father did use what opportunities he had to get a good nap in.

As for me, Jaco and I went back out to the Manketti to see what we could find. Unfortunately, like the last two days, we weren’t having much luck on encountering something that would be on our list. Rather, we just saw a bunch of giraffes, waterbucks (both cows and bulls), and kudu cows. We did see a few large wildebeest bulls in the distance at one point, but when we finally stalked to near their position, they had pulled a “David Copperfield” and vanished without a trace.

Finally, as the day was winding down, we did encounter a herd of female wildebeests. At this stage, I was okay with any wildebeest, and I didn’t mind if it was a female cull (the Manketti had a large number of cull tags they needed to take on female wildebeests). Thus, I was more than happy to do my job in aiding conservation. We stalked the herd for a short distance, and we got into shooting position. I had a beautiful female in my sights at 60 yards and at an angle that the .416 would have made short work of her; however, the wildebeests were bunched and there were about two others behind her. Thus, I couldn’t take the shot without possibly wounding at least one other wildebeest in the process. Unfortunately, the herd then took off and we didn’t get another opportunity for a shot. Thus, despite our best efforts, we were skunked for the third day in a row.

I knew that dry spells are just a natural part of hunting (that’s why it’s called hunting, not shooting), but I was growing frustrated, partially due to the lack of sleep (I tend to struggle with jet lag) and my previous inability to actually escape from real life (i.e., work), which was preventing us from establishing a regular daily routine and my total embrace of the trip. To top it off, I was feeling jealous over everyone else’s success, particularly my brother’s. He had already landed four animals at this stage, including all animals I was hoping to find. Hell, he had even managed to get a gemsbok on the same day as a buffalo!

On this last matter, there is some poetic justice to be acknowledged. On our previous trip in 2022, my insane luck had driven my brother mad at times. He was the one that thoroughly prepared for the trip in 2022 and then there was me, someone who was essentially winging it with great luck, who was just having no issues whatsoever. Back in 2022, he was Hemingway in “Green Hills of Africa,” and I was Karl (i.e., a “bad hunter with infinite luck,” as characterized by Hemingway). Of course there was no actual animosity based on this jealously; rather, it’s a byproduct of sibling rivalry that is forever ingrained in our strong relationship. Now, in this trip, the inverse was true. My brother was enjoying immense success, and I was finding myself to be the jealous one.

Thus, for the reasons presented above, I was in a foul mood that night, but I did my best to hide it, congratulate my brother on an excellent day of hunting, and enjoy the night’s festivities (which I did, because it’s hard not to at Quagga’s lodge where they help you forget such arbitrary worries). However, I couldn’t sleep that night. The jet lag and my reliance on the Jet Lag Cocktail had taken its toll. I had discontinued the use of the muscle relaxers, but not even the melatonin and alcohol could put me to sleep. I was getting to that stage where I was getting increasingly frustrated over the fact that I couldn’t sleep, which, ironically, kept me awake even more so. It all came to a head when I got out of bed at 1:00 am, walked outside to the porch of my chalet, and yelled in the direction of the bush, “Let me ****ing sleep!” For some reason that I cannot fully understand or comprehend, this was exactly what I needed to do at that time. I went back into my chalet and fell right to sleep.

 

[Hemingway's Karl]

Eureka – The Day of “Leeroy Jenkins,” “Kneecap,” and “Miss Piggy” – Day 5

“In Africa, time becomes more fluid; everything happens in its own rhythm.” – Ernest Hemingway

I awoke today afresh and anew, determined not to be encumbered by nonsensical matters that I had no control over. Jaco, Clive, and I departed for another wonderful day in the far reaches of the Manketti, and we were blessed with a glorious sunrise on our departure.

We spent the morning looking for buffalo tracks in the vicinity of where I got Vader, in the hopes of finding that small herd of buffalo cows, which possibly contained two massive old females. There was a buffalo cow tag remaining on the Manketti, and I thought it would be a nice and challenging hunt to pursue for the rest of my time, especially since this small herd was very skittish and hard to sneak up on (so many eyes, noses, and ears to detect you).

While looking for buffalo tracks, we spotted a herd of gemsbok in the distance and slowly began a stalk on them. Unfortunately, this was a relatively open area for the Manketti, so we had to be very slow and methodical in our approach. Unfortunately, the gemsbok ran further into the thick bush of the Manketti upon sensing something was amiss. We followed their tracks and took a detour to a nearby thicket, where Jaco knew that the buffalos liked to bed down in sometimes. We made our way into the buffalo thicket and found ourselves surrounded in thick bush and many piles of buffalo scat, but none of it was fresh and there were no fresh tracks. Jaco captured a photo of me crouched in the midst of the buffalo thicket, surrounded by buffalo scat.

Figuring that it was time to head back to the truck and regroup with Clive, Jaco looked at his GPS to determine our next travel direction. Suddenly, and beyond Jaco’s sight, a random impala ram sprinted into the buffalo thicket and stopped about 30 yards from us, clearly oblivious to our presence since we were already crouching and downwind from him. I very quietly got Jaco’s attention and, to the best of my ability, inquired whether to attempt a shot. Jaco looked and quickly instructed me to “SHOOT.” Thus, I quietly lifted the .416 to my shoulder and was able to get a shot at the ram while he was slightly quartered from us. The ram dropped instantly from the shot.

Upon inspection, Jaco noted that it was a very old impala ram, as indicated by his teeth being worn down to essentially nothing. For me, I was very happy to have broken my unlucky streak and to have finally landed an animal on the list. I dubbed this ram, “Leeroy Jenkins” for his blatantly suicidal disregard for rapidly and casually venturing into a known home of buffalos. Rather than finding murder bovine, he unfortunately found us instead. Maybe it was hunting, maybe it was euthanasia. I like to think this impala episode was a little bit of both.

After navigating the truck to a location where we could pick up Leeroy Jenkins, Jaco and I ventured once more through the large block we were in to see what we could find. It was a nice day and so we decided to continue our walk on the other side to see if we could catch any new buffalo tracks. We walked for another mile but didn’t see anything of note. We came upon the road at the other side of the block and waited for Clive to meet up with us with the truck. When Clive got there, he informed us that he saw the gemsbok herd we initially saw that morning. It was right up the road about half of a mile. Thus, we quickly and quietly made our way in that direction and approached the herd’s position along a line of Acacia trees running mostly parallel to the road.

We could see the herd in a relative wide-open area about 175 yards away, although there was a line of brush separating their position from us. The only available coverage for us was the Acacia trees by the road, so we quietly crawled along the line of Acacia trees to conceal our position and get a closer shot. We reached the end of the row of Acacia trees, which was still about 120 yards from the gemsbok herd. Jaco slowly put up the sticks and told me crawl beside him, sit down, and position the .416 on the middle joint of a leg of the sticks. I slowly crawled over to get into this position.

Let me take a little detour here to talk about the Acacia tree and its thorns (as shown below). Out of all the thorns in the bushveld, these were the least troubling because they’re fairly obvious, easy to avoid, and don’t generally stick you because they’re not hook-shaped, like the buffalo thorns and the “hat stealers.” The only way you can possibly hurt yourself with these thorns is if you somehow propel yourself on them with enough force that they inevitably stab you, such as when you accidentally crawl onto an Acacia branch on the ground and slam your knee right into the plethora of thorns on the ground. I, unfortunately, learned that lesson while I was crawling to the sticks and slammed my knee right on top of a broken Acacia branch on the ground. The sensation wasn’t pleasant, and I can’t say I would recommend it to others. I didn’t make a sound, but I did take a moment to remove the now-imbedded thorns from my leg (luckily, the thorns were all conveniently connected to a single branch, which made removal super easy).

After removing the imbedded Acacia branch from my leg, I finished crawling to the sticks and carefully placed the .416 on the middle of the leg of the sticks. The sticks were a mass-manufactured tripod with extendable legs; thus, I attempted to rest the .416 at the joint of one of the legs while in the sitting position. This proved to be somewhat difficult as the leg provided some natural bounce, so I did my best to stabilize the .416 at the joint, but there was still a little wobble; thus, I placed my other hand on top of the rifle to better stabilize it. Most of the gemsbok were about 120 yards away and were concealed behind the aforementioned line of brush, but there was a rough opening in the brush with minimal brush. We saw two gemsboks in that area and Jaco told me to go for the one on the left, which had a nice set of horns, if I could get a good shot and I was comfortable taking it. He advised me to be wary of the brush around the opening. After surveying the shot and getting the gemsbok in my sight (it was facing broadside), I felt comfortable with the shot, even with the minimal brush. I aimed for the sweet spot and let the .416 sing…

There’s a joke that the PH’s like to tell in Africa, and I’ll share it all with you. What runs faster than a four-legged antelope? A three-legged antelope. And man, did I get to witness that in play on this day. My shot dropped further than I anticipated (likely because I nicked some of the aforementioned brush) and I ended up taking out one of the front legs of the gemsbok. It quickly took off and I very quickly reloaded after the first shot. I was able to take a second shot at it off the sticks while it was running by us at about 100 yards. Not being able to immediately tell if I had landed the second shot, Jaco quickly took the rifle and took another insurance shot just in case. Shortly after that, the gemsbok went down about 150 yards from us. We got up to it and noticed that my second shot had gotten it in the heart/lung area and had taken it down. To my dismay, I noticed that my first shot had essentially blown up the front leg at the knee position, which you hate to see (again, poor shot placement on my part).

Thus, we got “Kneecap,” the female gemsbok. She was a beautiful gemsbok with her longest horn being 39.625”.

At this stage of the day, I was ecstatic and enjoying my good change of fortune. I wasn’t thrilled about my shot placement on Kneecap, but I was feeling blessed by the hunting gods that day, especially since I got her with the second shot.

After the skinners picked up Kneecap, Jaco decided to take a break for lunch, so we headed down to a blind in a waterhole. We set up lunch in the waterhole and waited. It was nice and quiet, and we watched quietly and patiently while a number of female warthogs came and went. After we finished eating, I heard something move to the right of the blind and then a kudu bull emerged in the middle of the waterhole. It started to rub its horns in the mud and Jaco let me know that it was a shooter. I carefully aimed the scope on the shoulder of the kudu bull and…didn’t shoot. I smiled at Jaco and told him I already had a kudu of a similar size, so I was good bypassing this opportunity. He shook his head given the clear and easy opportunity, but he completely understood my position. I did take the opportunity to snag a picture of this beautiful bull.

That being said, I wasn’t going to bypass all hunting opportunities and would take a good-looking pig if one decided to come around. We did see one male warthog make an appearance, but unfortunately, it was at a position where I couldn’t get a shot from the blind. After waiting a little bit longer, a nice female warthog with no offspring made an appearance. After glassing the warthog, Jaco told me that she was a shooter, if I was interested in a cull warthog. Seeing that the bush was being a gracious host to me today, I didn’t dare turn down its hospitality, so I politely took aim with the .416 and dispatched “Miss Piggy” with a heart shot. She simply fell on her side and that was that. Now, I don’t pretend to be an expert on any African animals, but I thought Miss Piggy was a beauty in my eyes.

After dispatching Miss Piggy to the skinners (we were keeping them busy today), we proceeded back out to the far end of the Manketti to just walk and walk. We stalked the David Copperfield wildebeests (who disappeared yet again), we slowly crawled upon a herd of hartebeests with no shootable bulls, and we checked out an old, abandoned house on the Manketti that is now home to various baboons, snakes, and birds. This was the one time on the entire trip where I reacted with audible fear for a split second. We walked through the house and I had snakes on the brain (I really didn’t want to accidentally step on a door where a mamba was concealed). We toured the house and didn’t see anything alarming. Upon leaving the house, we walked by one of the windows when, suddenly, something darted out at us. I heroically exclaimed in surprise (Jaco alleges that I screamed, but I strongly disagree with his assessment). Turns out a rock pigeon decided that it was time to leave the house when we approached the window and fly in our direction. In my reaction, I thought, “SNAKE”; alas, it was only a snake of an avian nature.

We finished our stalk and began our long trek back to lodge. Jaco always referred to the far end of the Manketti as the “Dark Side” because it was always night when we got back to the lodge. We would hunt until visibility became an issue during dusk, and then we would begin our trek back. It was a “three-beer” journey (i.e., a first beer when you start your trip, a second beer when you get to the first main gate, and a third beer when you get to the other main gate). Although the hunting was done, I thoroughly enjoyed those return trips. I got to watch the last whispers of light disappear on the horizon, gaze at the Milky Way and the Southern Cross, and enjoy the cool, crisp air of the African winter. Most nights, Jaco and I were the last ones to roll into camp. Tonight, I finally felt like I got a load taken off my shoulders and I felt very happy and blessed. I came back to camp very happy.

As for my father on this day, he spent the entire day in the lodge area tracking and going after buffalo with no success. They were on the tracks of some bulls, but the bulls kept eluding them.

Meanwhile, my nephew had joined E.T. and my brother on their hunts. My brother took a step back on this day so our nephew could focus on his hunting of an impala. They didn’t get anything but did get some good bonding time together.

Given my successful day, I told Jaco that Joseph should join us the next day since my father was focusing on his buffalo, and my brother had some particular animals he wanted to focus on. When left to their own devices, my brother and E.T. can get each other in trouble (they work really well together). Besides, I was more than happy to share Jaco with Joseph and was eager to see my nephew hunt something. So, it was arranged that my nephew would join us the next day.

I had some celebratory drinks that night at the lodge, but nothing like the buffalo night (I had learned to be wary of the everlasting whiskey glass). I then went back to my chalet, talked with my wife on the phone, and called it a night. It was a good day, and much needed.

 

[Hemingway's Karl]

Wildebeest Vengeance and Waterbuck Offering – “Butt Shot,” “Stumpy,” and “Sundowner” – Day 6

In a changeup to routine, my nephew joined Jaco and I on our excursions to the Manketti and the “Dark Side.” I was very happy to have my nephew join us, as him and his younger brother are the closest things that I have to sons (I have two beautiful daughters who I love beyond measure). My nephew had actually turned 21 the day we departed from home, so I got to buy him his first “official” beer at the airport. We also bellied up to the bar in the Intercontinental Hotel on our arrival day and had a nice nightcap to appreciate his ability to do that now (although the drinking age in South Africa is only 18, so it was no big deal there). My nephew also represented my sister’s side of the family. My father wanted to have a representative from my sister’s branch on this trip, so he arranged to have our nephew (his grandson) come on this trip. He started hunting with my father and scored a number of animals (i.e., the sable, eland, and golden wildebeest noted above). However, since my father was focusing on hunting buffalo now, we thought it would be a good idea for my nephew to join us so he could have more opportunities to hunt. My nephew is a very good man and it’s always a joy to have him around.

We started the day by heading out to the Manketti and just observing what the bush had to offer. We ended up coming across a herd of wildebeests, so we decided to put a stalk on them. We were able to approach them as they were crossing a road, and Jaco spotted a cull female. Knowing that I was not averse to taking a cull tag (someone has to utilize the tags at some point and, again, I wasn’t particularly concerned about only getting a “monster” wildebeest), he identified an older female on the side of the road facing right at us. I crawled to the sticks, and using my nephew’s .300 Win Mag, I placed my shot right under the neck. The wildebeest went down, and in the chaos of flopping around, managed to turn herself in the opposite direction away from us, so she could run away. In order to prevent this possible contingency, Jaco instructed me to take a follow up shot to make sure she stayed down, so I put a shot right near her spine while she was facing away. That did it.

Now for some backstory on why this wildebeest was named “Butt Shot.” This wasn’t because I took the “Texas Heart Shot” (my second shot spined her above her actual butt), but it was in response to the mockery I was receiving from my brother regarding my previous shot placement on my buffalo. As aforementioned, my buffalo quartered during my shot and so the shot went through the back portion of his right side and angled to the left front (i.e., it didn’t go through his rear as my brother insinuated). Despite the technical explanation of my shot placement on the buffalo, he was calling me, “Assmaster,” and other sphincter-related names. Given that I had arguably shot this wildebeest in the rear to spine her, I felt I would acknowledge the shot placement of the second shot and name her accordingly. Thus, if my brother felt the need to keep referring to me in accordance with his previous nicknames, his allegations would prove somewhat truthful in regard to the wildebeest.

After the skinners picked up Butt Shot, we continued on through the Manketti and discovered zebra tracks. While I initially told Jaco that zebras were “off-limits” for me because of my wife (who dislikes me hunting well-known animals you can see in the zoo), my nephew had expressed an interest in a zebra. Now the zebras in the Manketti are incredibly finnicky and skittish, so they provided a very challenging hunt. The herds in that area avoided any humans like the plague. So we started tracking and stalking the zebra herd, with my nephew at point to take the shot if we came across one.

We followed the herd for about 1.5 miles, and we got close for a shot; however, when we finally had visual, the herd must have sensed us and sprinted away. Although, an unexpected opportunity had arisen with the herd’s departure. It seems that a wildebeest bull with a broken horn (i.e., another cull) had been running with the herd and he remained. He was in a perfect position for a shot, and we were hidden behind a bush. Knowing my interest in shooting snagglehorns and other weirdos, my nephew asked me if I wanted to take the shot. However, I deferred the opportunity to my nephew since he worked so hard on this zebra stalk, and I felt it offered him a unique chance to get a very interesting animal (along with a beautiful rug). Thus, my nephew took the shot and got “Stumpy” on his first shot.

Thus, it came to pass that we had two successful cull wildebeest hunts before lunch. Once we had dropped off our second wildebeest of the day to the skinners, we ended up heading over to a waterhole and a blind for lunch. It was my nephew’s first experience of the “bush lunch," as he had previously gone hunting in the lodge area and, therefore, went back to the lodge for lunch. We did see some interesting animals, including a large number of waterbucks, but nothing that piqued our interest or demanded a shot.

After lunch and leaving the blind, we spent the remainder of the day trekking through the Dark Side and other parts of the Manketti. We had been very pleased with our results of the day and were enjoying the witching hour and the gorgeous sunset. At this stage, I was just happy to enjoy my first sundowner beer of the evening, watch the beautiful sky, and enjoy the long journey back to camp. However, the bush had other plans.

Before going on about the next hunt, let me tell you about waterbucks and me. For some inexplicable reason, waterbucks were throwing themselves at me this entire trip. It seems I saw at least 3-4 waterbuck bulls a day, and on some days, it seems like that number jumped to 10. It seems they were just showing up to greet me and see how I was doing. I wasn’t looking for waterbucks, and I didn’t have a particular desire to hunt one, so we ended up passing by each one; however, Jaco would always point out a shooter and inquire about my interest. I don’t know what it was about me. Maybe I emit a musk that is desirable to waterbucks? All I know is that if you’re desiring a waterbuck, you should bring me on your next safari as an attractant. After taking the hint from the hunting gods, I told Jaco that I would consider a waterbuck in the situation where we came upon an excellent shooter that he thought must be taken. Thus, I tried to set a high bar for a possible waterbuck hunt.

While driving at the end of the day, Jaco spotted a waterbuck in the distance that he thought was an excellent shooter and met my criteria. He then asked me the same question that he probably had already asked me a dozen times, “Do you want a waterbuck…this one looks to be an excellent one, but you need to decide now because the sun is going down.” Although I was looking forward to having my sundowner beer, I thought I would comply with the hunting gods’ demands, which was to hunt a waterbuck. Thus, in an attempt to not affront the gods, we began the stalk. We got in position about 100 yards out and got the sticks up. The waterbuck bull was facing broadside, and I took my shot. It hit near the shoulder, but he got up and started running. Unfortunately for him, he ran into another bull’s territory and that bull was standing there, so there was a bit of chaos. Fortunately, for me, that allowed me to get another quick shot at him to put him down. We got him at the perfect time, as the sun was finally setting. We loaded “Sundowner” into the truck and began the three-beer journey back to the lodge. It wasn’t the initial sundowner I was expecting, but “Sundowner” the waterbuck turned out to be a nice surprise.

Meanwhile, my brother had a rather uneventful day. E.T. and him had ventured throughout the Manketti and had a prolonged stalk on the mythical hartebeest, but that stalk ended up being busted. The most noteworthy activity of my brother on this day was his somewhat alcohol-induced declaration during dinner that he wanted to hunt another buffalo. How fortuitous and fateful this declaration later proved to be, as he would soon be getting his wish in the days to come.

Lastly, my father continued his buffalo hunt in the lodge area and had got a shot in and wounded a bull. They chased him all afternoon but had to call it a day at dusk. They had an idea where he was bedded down and would return there the next day. Thus, it was decided that all hands were on deck the next day to help Eon and my father track down this wounded buffalo…

 

[Hemingway's Karl]

Pater familias and “ODB” – Day 7

The next morning, we all gathered in the lodge area to help track and find my father’s wounded buffalo. Luckily, the lodge area has smaller blocks than the Manketti, which makes tracking between the blocks easier. Thus, the trackers and PH’s have an easier time identifying fresh tracks and if an animal has left a particular block. While Eon and my father ventured into a block looking for the buffalo, we would be strategically positioned outside the block to see if the buffalo departed. This cat-and-mouse chase went on for hours, until they were finally able to identify and take the buffalo. Given the extensive chase, and the beating my father took from the bush, my father dubbed his buffalo “ODB,” which is an acronym for “Old Dirty Bastard.” It was a fitting title. ODB was a massive bull, with a spread measuring 46.75” and qualifying as an SCI Gold Medal with an SCI score of 124.

Afterwards, we all gathered back at the lodge for lunch and then dispersed accordingly. I decided to stay back with my father, to celebrate his hunt with him and share in the consumption of the Devil’s Elixirs (Macallan 12 Sherry Cask this time). Additionally, despite the winter temperatures, we also ventured into the pool so my father could effectively ice his bothersome knee (which would be replaced on our return home). Erik and the Quagga team once again opened up the social room at the lodge and, once again, they blared my dad’s favorite old school rock for his amusement. He got to enjoy the fruits of his hunt, and then like most nights, serenaded the camp with his shower singing. My father was feeling no pain but had not quite ascended to the divine status reached by me after my buffalo hunt.

Knowing that I had bypassed an afternoon of hunting, Erik and Neil took me to a waterhole to do some bird shooting for sand grouse at dusk. I had never shot an over/under shotgun in my life, so it was a fun and educational experience. I had also never been bird shooting before and I was a TERRIBLE shot, but I did manage to land three sand grouse. That over/under was fun to shoot and I think I’ll have to get one in the future…

My brother and E.T. had also gone out that afternoon to track ODB’s buddy buffalo. It turns out ODB was traveling with another large bull, and given my brother’s previous declared desire to hunt another buffalo, they were on the tracks that afternoon. They didn’t find him that night but had a decent idea where he was.

Lastly, my nephew went with Jaco to go after zebras. My nephew had decided to sleep in that morning, and not assist with the buffalo hunt (there wasn’t much for him to do during it anyway). He showed up for pictures and lamented how he wished he could see a live buffalo. Well, the bush has a funny way of hearing such lamentations, and he got his wish. While stalking zebras in the Manketti that afternoon, a small buffalo herd with cows and calves ran across their pathway, and they saw one buffalo cow stop and call for its calf. Jaco and my nephew were close enough that they had to quickly hide to avoid any potential issues with the buffalo mother. Thus, my nephew got to see his first buffalo fairly up close, and in a possibly dangerous situation.

Jaco and my nephew continued their stalks and were able to land a zebra during the witching hour. My nephew landed a beautiful mare.

Of Throat Shots, Missed Opportunities, and the Haunting Hartebeests – Day 8

Turning first to my brother, they kept pushing hard after that buffalo that was traveling with the buffalo that my father got (“ODB”). However, it was a clever buffalo and it managed to evade them the entire day. Although, while tracking the buffalo, they did manage to complete a side quest when the bush offered them a nyala. Not turning down the opportunity, they committed to the stalk and landed this beautiful nyala.

As for my father, I know they didn’t get anything on this day, but to be honest, I don’t think they pushed too hard. I’m not privy to their activities on this day but seeing how the buffalo hunt did a fairly decent job of beating up my father, I think they took a lackadaisical approach on this day per my father’s request.

As for my nephew and I, we ventured out to the Manketti once again and came across the tracks of that small buffalo herd with the cows, so we ended up following and stalking the herd for about 2.5 miles. Unfortunately, they were always one step ahead of us and ended up crossing over in the area of the Manketti near the mine expansion, where we were not allowed to hunt. Thus, we had to end our pursuit and we made the long walk back to the truck.

For lunch, we moved onto a new waterhole and blind. The blind was fairly tight, but we all managed to fit in there. I had my nephew take point because I wanted to give him the opportunity to shoot a nice pig if one presented itself, particularly since I had already bagged a cull warthog. It was a fairly quiet afternoon, and the only thing of note was how the flies were pestering my nephew and only my nephew. He ended up sticking his head in his shirt and, somehow, fell asleep like that (ah, youth…). One notable logistical feature about this waterhole is that it is closer to where the mine is expanding; thus, you can hear the afternoon blasting fairly well, which occurs once a day in the afternoon. In fact, this was the loudest the explosions had sounded anywhere else I had been in the Manketti. Prior to the explosions, they have warning sirens go off for minutes and the blasts usually follow in a few minutes. All life in the Manketti around the mine is used to the noises and it doesn’t spook them. All the animals have become conditioned to it. The reason I mention this last part is that a female warthog and her baby had emerged from the waterhole to drink during the siren and blasting. It didn’t bother them at all, and they continued on with what they were doing. However, at the end of the blasting, a humongous entity emerged from the bush near the female warthog, and I couldn’t tell what it was. It seemed twice the size of her, and it was possibly a hairy monster. When it finally emerged, it was truly a monster male warthog. I had never seen tusks so big. They seemed to reach to the top of his head, and he seemed at least twice the size of the female. I was shocked how big this pig was.

The following scene in the blind was chaotic because these pigs were only about 15-20 yards away from us, so we didn’t want to move too much. Unfortunately, they were in a position that my nephew couldn’t get a visual on them, so he couldn’t get a shot. Thus, in the chaos, I was designated to take the shot because I had a visual angle and could possibly reach the rifle, which was secured on the stationary tripod sticks that Jaco brought specifically for the blinds (it minimized shakiness of the rifle while in the blind). I quickly leaned over and carefully tried to bring the rifle to my RIGHT (i.e., dominant hand) shoulder. I had to somewhat lean over my nephew because the blind was so tight in space, and it made positioning extremely difficult. I was able to peer through the scope and, holy smokes, I got the rifle aimed right between the eyes of this monster (I didn’t care if it had a hole in the middle of its forehead…that’s a story and character). However, in order to secure this angle and view, the butt of the .300 Win Mag, which was the rifle secured in the tripod, was pressed against my neck and part of my throat. I simply couldn’t get into the proper shooting position with the butt of the rifle placed against my shoulder in the cramped quarters with my nephew and me. Although I have strong neck muscles that I believe could take the recoil of the .300, I couldn’t say the same about my larynx and trachea, which would have likely also been impacted by the shot. Therefore, I didn’t take the shot, and in the next moment this monster, this Godzilla of warthogs, quickly left the waterhole. He was gone.

After his departure, order was restored in the blind and Jaco and I quickly told Joseph how big this pig was and how it was truly a specimen. It was crazy. Then Jaco looked at me and asked, “Why didn’t you just simply use your left shoulder to take the shot?” That was an excellent question and, I must be honest, the concept never even entered my mind during that chaotic 30 seconds. The rifle was secured to the tripod; thus, I could have easily used my non-dominant shoulder and hand to aim and shoot. Had I used my left shoulder to position the shot, I very likely would be sharing a picture of a once-in-a-lifetime warthog with you all. Instead, you have to simply settle for my glorified fishing story about a three-story tall warthog with tusks like an elephant. Hopefully, “Godzilla” the warthog has many babies with his genes and when I return in the future, I can finally remedy my warthog deficiency.

After the waterhole, we ventured back to the Dark Side of the Manketti, particularly in the area with sand dunes and tall grass, which Jaco said was reminiscent of Botswana. We were looking for red hartebeests, my family’s “red ghost.” In our previous trip, my brother had two long stalks for one that went bust. Likewise, back in 2022, I actually came upon a beautiful ram, but unfortunately, when I got up on the sticks, my scope was all fogged over (it was a cold, cold morning). By the time I was able to get it clear, the hartebeest ram was out of sight. Thus, red hartebeests continued to elude all members of my family.

Back to the present, we had stalked some hartebeests in the Dark Side before. However, the hartebeests always seemed to be one step ahead of us and would disappear into the high grass like red ghosts. We never even got to the chance to get the sticks up. It was maddening.

As noted above, I’m not afraid to admit my faults and mistakes. Acknowledging your mistakes helps one grow and learn. And, in my case, the afternoon hartebeest on this day was a hard lesson for me and something I’m still not happy with myself about. We were getting near the end of the day and were on the trail of some hartebeests again. We finally came across some, and very slowly, Jaco put up his long-range shooting sticks since they were probably about 160-180 yards away. We were positioned behind a lone tree in the vast grassland. I looked through the scope and I saw three hartebeests in the distance. Jaco was glassing the hartebeests and mentioned looking for the males, but in my adrenaline and excitement, I heard the words “males” and reacted. In my overeagerness and excitement to finally get on the sticks and possibly get a shot on a male hartebeest, I had the scope zeroed in on the hartebeest to the far left that was broadside and…I took the shot. I realized the stupidity of my action almost instantaneously. Right after my shot, and to my immediate horror, the three hartebeests had blown up into a confetti of about nine hartebeests. It was utter chaos. Jaco quickly asked what in the world I was doing and rapidly inquired which one I shot at because he hadn’t told me to shoot yet, let alone which one to aim at. I had allowed myself to be consumed by adrenaline and excitement, and it caused me to act incredibly foolishly and rash. I apologized profusely to Jaco for my brash actions and violating the PH-client protocol, which is there to protect everyone’s best interests and provide a great hunting experience.

Luckily, my ineptness at long range shots proved beneficial in this circumstance. It appeared that I missed the hartebeest. However, I was now incredibly shaken up from this incident. I was beyond angry with myself for my brashness and foolishness. I was also angry at myself for putting Jaco in a tough position as a PH and for being a crappy client who clearly failed to adequately follow the PH-client protocol. Unlike my last trip, when I was shooting beautifully, I was starting to suffer the yips on this trip because I was getting inside my own head. However, this incident pushed me overboard. I had convinced myself that I was a terrible hunter who was prone to stupid mistakes, and I should just stop. I was in a bad headspace.

At this junction, I want to give my accolades to Jaco, who is an excellent PH. I think that many hunters who travel to Africa overlook everything that a good PH does for their clients. They’re constantly on alert, looking for animals, keeping us safe, and making sure we’re having a good time. They must be "on" anytime their client is around and active, and let’s be honest, that must get exhausting. A PH works his tail off on your trip and they do much more than we ever think as clients. A good PH deserves all the accolades and acknowledgment that they can get. Jaco knew that I messed up, but he could tell that I quickly realized my mistake and that it shook me up fairly badly. When venturing back to the lodge that evening, Jaco, along with my nephew, did their best to help me get out of my own head. I have great appreciation for Jaco and my nephew for that.

Unfortunately, I knew I had to walk the gauntlet when we got back to camp (i.e., walk by the fire where my dad, my brother, and the other PH’s would be located and I would have to explain to the group about what I did). However, given the freshness of the event, I was not in the mood about rehashing my brash stupidity to the group. I just wanted to go to sleep, regroup my thoughts, hit the reset button, and start the next day anew. But I went to the fire, admitted my mistakes and the consequences, and went to my chalet to clean myself up for dinner. I have to give my brother credit. He came over and talked with me, and he helped get my head straighten out over the whole affair. In addition, Erik and the Quagga team were very understanding at dinner that night. I rightfully got some playful jokes at my expense that night, and I was glad to put it behind me and learn from my mistakes.

But I definitely felt I had the yips at this point…

 

[Hemingway's Karl]

The Demise of “Polaris Magnus” - Day 9

The next morning, Jaco, my nephew, and I went back out to the hartebeest area to once again verify that I hadn’t wounded an animal and do one last look around. On the drive over the Dark Side of the Manketti, we ended up passing by the small buffalo herd that we had been chasing for days. They just watched us race by, seemingly knowing they were safe and taunting us with their presence.

Upon arriving at the hartebeest area, we all diligently looked for any sign of a wounded hartebeest, but our thorough search just reaffirmed our position from the previous day. We continued the day traveling through the Dark Side until we went to lunch at the waterhole where I had previously gotten my female warthog. We sat in the same blind and we had my nephew sit point in the blind. It was an active day and it included one of my favorite, and funniest, moments of the trip. Naturally, the large bush lunches that Lucky packed us can make anyone sleepy, especially in the shade of the blind. My nephew dosed off for a few minutes and that’s when we noticed a large pregnant gemsbok walk into the middle of the waterhole. Clearly, she was not huntable because she was pregnant, but I got a video of the gemsbok with my nephew asleep at the rifle in the blind. In addition to the gemsbok, the waterhole was very active that day with warthogs. We ended up seeing 37 warthogs, although all but one were females or young ones. There was one decent male that showed up, but my nephew wasn’t able to get positioned for a shot in time before he ran off. Thus, we got skunked at the waterhole.

While packing to leave the waterhole, I told Jaco that I had decided that I would now consider hunting a zebra if the opportunity arose. I figured we had two-and-a-half days of hunting left, so I would be willing to consider hunting one, despite the potential blowback from my wife (she mostly didn’t like my father’s zebra rug with the head on it, so I could simply get a headless rug). Besides, it got me away from the haunting hartebeests.

We continued our trek through the Dark Side of the Manketti, but we didn’t observe much for the rest of the day. During the later hours, we ventured off onto a less-traveled road north of the area where I got my buffalo. It was dusk and we were losing light. Suddenly, Jaco told Clive to stop the truck and quickly whispered to me to grab my rifle and follow him. I instinctively grabbed the .416 and followed Jaco. We ventured out in the bush and Jaco whispered he saw some zebra, which we began stalking. We got to a small opening that was saturated with dust in the air, where you could tell where the zebras had just been. We continued on the perceived direction of the zebra when, suddenly, Jaco’s actions abruptly changed. I thought I heard him say the word “buffalo,” but I wasn’t entirely sure. We slowly made our way toward a thicket, but the light was quickly disappearing. We then began crawling toward a bush to hide behind, near the thicket and an adjoining opening, when Jaco told me, “Only shoot if you’re absolutely certain about your shot.” Seeing how that’s always sound advice, I was curious on the basis of his statement because I thought, at the time, that we were hunting zebras with a .416, which gave me some latitude in shot placement. Thus, I whispered to Jaco, “Are we hunting zebras?” And in one of my favorite exchanges in the trip, Jaco looked back at me half-crazed and said “Buffalo, man!” Well, the dynamic of our stalk definitely changed right then and there.

It turns out that while hunting the zebras, Jaco had seen the small buffalo herd in the nearby thicket, particularly a buffalo cow. That’s when I heard him mutter, “buffalo,” but I didn’t realize that our objective had changed (again, not that it mattered because I had enough rifle for a buffalo). Thus, we had made our way close to the thicket and were positioning ourselves in the event that the buffalos entered the nearby opening for a shot. Unfortunately, the bull that was in the herd noticed us, and they once again eluded us. That was the last we saw of the herd and my dream of a buffalo marriage (i.e., getting a buffalo bull and cow) on this trip was over. I did have a laugh about how the dynamic of the hunt changed so quickly and rapidly, and I didn’t even realize it at first. We then enjoyed our last three-beer return journey of the trip.

Turning back to my father, I believe Eon and him just hung around the lodge area that day, and possibly went to a blind. They once again took it easy, giving my father’s knee some time to recover.

The big story of the day was my brother. He had finally gotten his second buffalo bull, “Polaris Magnus.” It was an epic hunt and story, but alas, it is not mine to tell. I can verify that it was an epic struggle filled with many days of hard hunting, and both my brother and E.T. were exhausted afterwards. This second bull was a monster, having a width of 46.5” and a Gold Medal SCI score of 122. This mammoth buffalo was the last buffalo of our trip.

 

[Hemingway's Karl]

The Bush Lunch Gathering, The Drowning Gemsbok, “Dennis,” and The Running Man Dance – Day 10

The next day we would all once again go our separate ways, but then all three hunting groups would reconvene together for a braai in the bush. None of us had much luck that morning (but I don’t think we were pushing too hard).

It was a nice setup for the braai. We sat back, enjoyed some beers and a nice braai, while Jaco and E.T. set up some fishing poles at the nearby waterhole. My sister-in-law caught the only fish, a nice-looking tilapia. It was a relaxing lunch, and different from the previous days. It was also nice to connect with the other hunting groups during the day, instead of only at night upon our return.

After lunch, each hunting group split off and went in their own directions. My brother and E.T. were productive, and my brother landed the zebra that he was long gunning for.

As for my nephew and I, we ventured out with Jaco also looking for whatever we could find, including impala for my nephew and zebra for myself. After a few hours, Jaco noticed some zebra tracks near an open salt flat, so we went to investigate. Upon approaching the salt flat, Jaco quickly jumped and pulled me behind a nearby bush. He had spotted a zebra herd in the distance, and they were distracted by a fight between two stallions. Jaco carefully pulled out his long-distance shooting sticks and told me that this shot would be the longest I would have taken on this trip (about 180 yards) and he asked me if I was comfortable with it. Suppressing the idea that I was plagued with the “yips” and knowing I had to get back on the horse at some point, I got up to the sticks with the .300. We first focused on the head mare, who was broadside to us, but she was pregnant and, therefore, not a shooter. Then we noticed the stallion facing right at us, looking at us. It was a straight ahead shot at about 180 yards and Jaco told me to take it, if I was comfortable. I took a breath and let lead fly. It was the best shot I probably had all trip. The stallion jumped around for about 10 yards (I was ready for a second shot), and then fell. And that is how I got “Dennis.”

As a side note, my nephew helped me with this name, and the name is derived from “Dennis Rodman”, the basketball player, who was known for rebounding – fitting as I was rebounding from the yips – and causing mayhem, which this zebra was possibly going to do on my home front when I told my wife that I had shot a zebra. I was elated. The fact that I had made a good shot after the hartebeest fiasco made me feel like I wasn’t a terrible hunter anymore. I was proudly a below average hunter once again.

We spent the rest of day walking and stalking around the Manketti; although, the bush wasn’t giving us anything else for the night. I counted myself lucky for getting “Dennis.” As most nights down there, there was a beautiful sunset and I had Jaco capture one of my favorite pictures from the trip, which was a picture of my nephew and I.

We then returned to the lodge and joined everyone at the fire. It was there that we got to hear back from my father on his trip after lunch, and it was eventful. First, Eon and my father had come across a monster waterbuck that Eon thought was about 30”; however, my father had decided he didn’t want or need a waterbuck, so they passed it up. Second, they came across a “monster” steenbok with at least 4” horns. Eon strongly encouraged my father to go after it and told him it was an excellent steenbok. However, my father could not be persuaded and questioned his need for an animal so small. Upon hearing that, we asked if he had gotten anything or what else they did. My father then paused, looked us in the eyes, and told us with a straight face, “Well, I drowned a gemsbok.” I have to be honest, that was not a statement I was expecting to hear, and it clearly warranted further clarification, which we all inquired about. If there is one thing my father does well with his stories, it’s burying the lede.

Well, it turns out that my father and Eon were sitting at a blind near a waterhole, and a gemsbok approached and started to drink at the waterhole. My father had a good angle for his shot and took it, which caused the gemsbok to fall face first into the water. Although the shot ultimately dispatched the gemsbok, its resulting fall into the water didn’t help its cause. Thus, my father did not (deliberately) drown a gemsbok but did manage to a hunt one with an aquatic assist.

The night ended with a special surprise. Erik had arranged for an African dance troupe that specializes in native African dances to perform for us. It was a very impressive and educational experience. There may be a few videos of us dancing out there. In my head, while I was “dancing,” I was perfectly in rhythm and feeling the vibe. Alas, Jaco got video evidence of my dance skills, which simply look like me running in place (i.e., The Running Man). Sadly, I am graceful as a beached whale, but it was a fun experience and nice change of pace. We went to bed knowing that tomorrow was our last full day.

 

[Hemingway's Karl]

Winding Up and Down – The Last Day of Hunting, Festivities, and Shenanigans – Day 11

“All I wanted to do was get back to Africa. We had not left it, yet, but when I would wake in the night I would lie, listening, homesick for it already.” - Ernest Hemingway

I woke up on this day conflicted. I was excited for the prospect of seeing my wife and girls again. I hated being away from them for so long, but the thought of being away from the African bush for an indeterminable amount of time in the future was a difficult prospect to contemplate. However, I had to get focused on the task at hand. We were all going to break up into our three groups that morning, do some lackadaisical hunting, meet back up and head into a local PH bar in Lephalale for lunch, and then head back to the lodge and camp for more shenanigans.

Jaco, my nephew, and I ventured out one more time to the Manketti to see what we could see. At this stage, I let my nephew take lead and deferred any hunting opportunities to those he wanted to take. We finally came upon a herd of gemsboks that we slowly approached and crawled behind a bush to conceal ourselves. The herd was about 120 yards away and there was one gemsbok that Jaco noticed that was in excellent position (broadside to us). My nephew was uncertain whether he should take the shot, especially with our afternoon plans, but I strongly encouraged him to do so. This could be his only trip to Africa and it’s his last day, so I told him to shoot for the moon (well, technically a gemsbok in this circumstance). Thus, my nephew got on the sticks and, BAM, nailed the gemsbok and, in a rather impressive feat, quickly caught the discarded brass in the air as he reloaded and moved in for the follow up (he was blessed with coordination from his father’s side). Unfortunately, while the gemsbok fell after my nephew’s shot, the shot was in the middle of the animal and high (right under the spine), so it essentially nailed the backstrap and stunned the animal. After about five seconds, the gemsbok got up and sprinted off. Jaco and my nephew tried to get a second shot off, but the gemsbok was able to clear out before it could be done.

Jaco and my nephew sprinted after the gemsbok in attempt to get in position for a follow-up, but unfortunately, the opportunity just didn’t occur. In fact, I almost lost them during their sprint. Jaco and my nephew have a third gear that I do not possess (I am 5’6 and built dense like a neutron star). The scenario was akin to a scene from the Lord of the Rings’ movie, “The Two Towers” when Gimli was struggling to keep up with Aragorn and Legolas, who are sprinting after the enemy. Luckily, I was able to catch up to them. Eventually.

We tracked that gemsbok for miles, until it was time to meet up with everyone and go for lunch. Jaco decided that my nephew and him would go back out after lunch to continue the tracking. It was Jaco’s hope that the adrenaline would subside from the gemsbok, and it would bed down. My nephew was mad at himself, but I told him he did well, and it happens with hunting. Heck, I reminded him that he didn’t make an utter ass out of himself like me with the hartebeest incident.

Meanwhile, my brother didn’t really push for anything crazy, and they took it easy, as did my father. However, despite not really trying, my father did come across this impala ram for a nice last day surprise.

Turning to lunch, the PH bar was an awesome expensive. We had a good time, hung out, drank many vuil cokes, and got destroyed in pool by Jaco and Neil (I knew we were SOL when I saw how Jaco was holding the pool cue). It was a nice change of pace.

We got back and Jaco and Joseph went back out to track the gemsbok. Unfortunately, they ended up not being able to find it; however, the subsequent events of the night helped my nephew process the disappointment.

After getting back to the lodge, Erik told us we were going out for a final drive as a single group and to grab our rifles in case we spotted a cull. Little did we know, it was a ruse to get us to a nice sundowner get together at a waterhole, where we had a nice setup with drinks (and a minor bird hunting competition between my brother and I).

Later on, Erik opened up the new social room where we gathered for an easy dinner and festivities. Now, in the interest of self-preservation, I will just summarize that there was some loud music being played, and I think there was some crazed dancing. Erik also provided us with tokens of appreciations, including parting gifts and Quagga Safari vests indicating that my father, my brother, and I were part of the “Bwana Club” for our buffalo hunts. Chef Lucky also presented each of us with a special bread depicting the most notable animals from our individual hunts.

Afterwards, and the timeline is a little fuzzy, my father, my brother, and I all took the buffalo plunge (my second time doing it). We got out, cleaned up, and let the festivities continue.

Once again, I did manage a divine ascension to “God’s Own Drunk,” but I wasn’t the only one in the group reaching divine status on the night. I think everyone in our group was feeling no pain that night for the most part, and that includes some from Quagga. The only pain I felt from the entire night is when my brother haphazardly threw a shot of tequila in my eyes (I was in the pool – again – and for some reason, he tried to discretely discard the shot he was given by tossing it over his shoulders…into my eyes). Turns out tequila in the eyes is not a pleasurable experience.

Thus, ended our last night in Africa, in the midst of fun and shenanigans.

 

[Hemingway's Karl]

Departure – Day 12

“Farewell, my friends, my path inclines to this side the mountain, yours to that. We are no longer the representatives of our former selves.” - Henry David Thoreau

Thus, we had to come the conclusion of our journey. I was sad to see it end and found myself yearning for more time. However, I greatly missed my family, and it was time to return to them. My wife, who is a phenomenal woman, has allowed me to venture out to Africa twice and, outside of the two beautiful daughters she gave me, I could think of no better gift.

I think the trip achieved its objectives. My father was very happy, and at times, was as giddy as a schoolboy. My brother got to escape his chaotic work for two solid weeks and didn’t even carry his phone with him the entire time. It was something that he wanted and needed to do. My sister-in-law got to experience the bush with her husband and appreciate the grandeur of Africa once again. My nephew got to experience Africa and hunting for the first time. It was amazing to spend time with him and I’m very proud of the man that he has become. I recall him telling me that there was no way that he could effectively explain this trip to anyone, and I told him that he was right. You can’t adequately describe this experience to another soul. It must be experienced. It's almost like a religious experience.

As for me, I was just happy to be back in the midst of nature and the bush. To me, it has an almost spiritual and healing factor to it. I can’t adequately describe it or put it in words, but it’s something that just feels right. I know that I’ll return someday, and while I don’t know when that day will be, I will always carry part of Africa with me.

Until next time…