May 27 – Day 10
On our first day in the Midlands, Peter and I were to split up for the first time. He was going to look for bushbuck, while I was going to look for the Reedbuck. Peter’s hunting would entail a fair amount of sitting and glassing the margins of forests on the hillsides, particularly in the morning.
I headed out to a local farm to see if we could spot a decent reedbuck. Upon arrival, we picked up a farm hand who would show us around, and he found us a spot where we could check John’s .300 win mag, which I had borrowed (I let Peter shoot my .300, because he was familiar with it). Both John and I fired a couple of shots through it, and while I found the extra-fine cross hairs a bit tough for my old eyes, I didn’t think it would pose an insurmountable problem.
Once we finished making all the noise, we got back in the truck and drove to the top of the hill we had been shooting into – not more than a couple of hundred yards away. We sat there, and began glassing. Within a minute, John found two males, about 600 yards away, feeding just past a large reed/grass bed. Within a few more minutes, another two were spotted. This was looking promising!
After about 10 minutes of glassing, John decided that one, lone, bull to our right had a nice set of horns, and we should try to take him. He was about 800 yards away, across some open fields, and there was really no chance to get more than a couple of hundred yards closer before he’d likely run. We could tell that he’d spotted us where we sat, and was keeping a bit of an eye on us. However, past him were some hills, and John figured if we could get behind the hills, we stood a good chance of stalking to within a couple of hundred yards of him from behind.
After a brief conversation with the farm hand, we began to follow a road – a cattle track more accurately – and hoped (at least I hoped) that the reedbuck would take us for everyday farm traffic and not spook. As we progressed, slowly, it looked like that part of my wish would be granted.
Once we’d gotten some ways behind the hill, we stopped, got out, and began to get ready. I chambered a round, put on the safety, and put the rifle over my shoulder. The walk didn’t look long, but it was uphill, through the very thick, if not overly high, brush. As we neared the crest of the hill, John signaled that we needed to get down, and move slowly, so that the reedbuck wouldn’t see us against the sky. We belly crawled the last 20 yards or so, something I love to do in tick country.
When we finally got to the crest of the hill and could see down the other side, we instantly saw our reedbuck, still feeding some 225 yards away, downhill, but attentive to what was going on around him. Clearly, a wary animal. John and I had been whispering about how to best take the shot, deciding that it was too risky to get up and use the sticks which John had brought. Rather, I would take the shot, prone, using the bipod on the front of John’s gun. I slowly and quietly extended the legs to their minimum length, and tried to find a good position. All of a sudden, the reedbuck looked straight at us.
I looked at John and whispered – how? And John grinned and nodded backwards. I looked behind us and there was Hannes, almost standing up, camera going! I was torn between laughing that we’d crawled through these tick-infested thorns while he was walking behind, and being more than a bit pissed that he might have ruined our stalk!
The reedbuck was still there, and still staring, so I figured what the heck, and settled in, got a good sight picture, and waited for a shot. At this point he decided to run, so I followed him in the scope, and he stopped some 50 or 60 yards further away, so now approaching 300 yards. I settled the crosshairs – at least what I thought were the crosshairs – and squeezed off the shot. I could tell it was a hit, again from the sound, but he seemed almost not to notice. He had reacted, but he hadn’t run, and he wasn’t showing any signs of falling. So another shot it was. Second shot was another hit, and this time, he did run, into a reed bed where he quickly lay down. I could see that his head was still up, so he wasn’t dead, but he didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere soon.
We slowly backed off of the crest of the hill, and got back in the truck, hoping to be able to get close to him that way. As it turned out, we couldn’t get the truck more than about 400 yards from where he was, at least not without some substantial effort, which would no doubt spook him if he had any run left in him. So out we got, and I loaded up again.
From about 300 yards, there was no way of approaching him without being seen and in fact, he spotted us almost immediately. We kept walking slowly, at an angle, but when we got to about 200 yards, John said best to finish him from here. He put up the sticks, I steadied myself, and as soon as the shot rang out, the reedbuck's head dropped, and that was that.
It had taken almost a decade, but I finally had my reedbuck! Funny how “easy” animals can elude you.
After we skinned the animal (the deal is the farmer gets the meat), we headed back to Beverley. Peter had been unsuccessful on his bushbuck, not having seen any in the morning. They planned to try again at dusk.
As for me, we were spending the afternoon checking cornfields for signs of bushpig activity. We had had reports of fairly extensive destruction in a nearby field which had not yet been harvested, so we checked that out first. Sure enough, the signs of bushpig activity were everywhere, and we scouted out locations to set up that evening. We located an area where we saw evidence of pigs having entered through a fence from an adjoining field which had already been harvested, and decided to set up there when the time came.
All of that prepared, we went back to camp for a nap. We headed back to the field at about 5 pm., to get in place before the sun went down. We set up on the back of the vehicle, and put a brown tarp and lots of vegetation over most of the vehicle. Bundled up against the cold as the sun went down, we were ready for the pigs!
We sat quietly for a couple of hours, with John glassing in the dark, and listening for sounds. We saw no activity at all, but all of a sudden, around 8 pm, we heard the unmistakable sounds of something breaking corn stalks and munching on the drying corn. After some time, we had to conclude these were the pigs, but evidently they had entered the field from the roadside, which was a bit surprising. Now, we had no shot unless we could get them in the corn, which wouldn’t be easy.
We got off the truck, quietly, and began to move towards a break in the cornfield, about in the middle of the field. We walked slowly – slower even than tracking – with the sounds coming to our left. It sounded like the pigs were coming towards the middle – if they did, then we could use a flashlight and get a shot at them. We stood, and waited, for a half hour or more, waiting for them to come out, or make a move in one direction or another.
All of a sudden, there seemed to be quite a ruckus in the corn, and then silence. John sighed; the pigs had winded us. On the off chance that he was wrong, we walked around the entire field (in the dark), but he was right. They had gone. These are wary animals!
Home, a hot shower to warm up, and then into a bed pre-warmed by an electric blanket. This is what I call roughing it!