Stephen Ausband
AH veteran
- Joined
- Apr 15, 2019
- Messages
- 153
- Reaction score
- 468
- Location
- Oak Island, NC (USA)
- Media
- 8
- Member of
- NRA, Ducks Unlimited, Wild Turkey Fed.
- Hunted
- South Africa, Zimbabwe
Who knew, that is, that a wildebeest could pose a serious threat? But Wyck, the PH, said this was the second time he had almost had his chips cashed in by a blue wildebeest. Here's the long story, in case anyone is interested.
I started an online conversation with Ernest Dyason, owner of Spear Safaris, about three years ago regarding the possibility of another hunt for buffalo. This was to be my third. I explained that I had taken a nice bull in Zimbabwe and another in South Africa, and I would like to do another hunt. The big black animals fascinate me. I added that this time I was not interested in taking home a trophy; I just wanted the experience of the hunt. Most of all I wanted to hunt in a place where I could sit by a fire, nurse a drink, and listen to lions. Ernest had the perfect plan.
We could hunt cow buffalo in the Timbavati APNR area, a vast place of 150,000 acres that shares an unfenced border with other reserves (Klasserie, Umbabat, Thornybush, etc.) and with the five million acre Kruger NP. Animals roam without fences or other constraints over a landscape of nearly 6 million acres, and all the iconic fauna are there--lions, leopards, elephants, and of course lots of buffalo. Hunting cows would be more like hunting herd bulls than stalking a lone dugga boy but the challenge would be the same. The cost would be considerably less. He applied for and recieved permits for two "older, dry cows without calves," and we started making serious plans.
My nephew Evan Ausband accompanied me on the trip. We would fly from Myrtle Beach, SC, to Atlanta, then to Johannesburg, and from there take another flight to Hoedspruit, where we would meet up with Ernest and another PH, Wyck. Evan made a list of several plains game animals he wanted, and I had decided the floor of my cabin in Virginia really needed a wildebeest rug, so the second part of the trip would be to a camp Ernest runs right up near the Zimbabwe border, less than an hour from Musina.
I approached the Delta counter in Myrtle Beach with some trepidation, having read disturbing reports of the difficulties of flying with firearms, but the nice young lady simply asked if the gun was unloaded, gave me a red tag to stick inside the case, and assured me that rifle would be in Hoedspruit when I got there. Gotta love the South. There are other places where I might have been subject to a body cavity search after I announced I was traveling with a gun.
The flights were uneventful, just very long, and the Delta cabin crew took good care of us in Premium Select. (We're both 6'4'', and the little extra leg room in premium select was a real necessity.)
The camp in the Timbavati area was of the "old east Africa" tented style, but with en suite bathrooms and hot water. Not bad. Our two tents overlooked a dry river bed where we found tracks of various animals, including lions, and we heard lions roaring several nights. There was a young resident leopard (caught on game cameras) who apparently regarded the camp as partly his once everyone had gone to bed, and hyenas wanted through nightly (also caught on camera), looking for whatever scraps they might find. We were cautioned not to leave our boots out, or the hyenas would surely eat them. While riding around looking for tracks or other signs of buffalo, we came upon a big lion with a pride of 19 females, sub-adult males, and cubs of various ages. This was less than three mile from our camp. Wyck said it was the largest pride he had seen. A couple of the young males would probably be ready to challenge the old boss for leadership in a year or two.
The first day and a half we hunted hard for a herd containing the appropriately aged and barren cows, driving many miles on the sandy roads and doing some interesting stalks. Late in the afternoon of the second day we tracked a herd of about 200 buffalo that looked promising, and we decided to try to find them the next morning. When we finally caught up with them, it took a while and some skillful maneuvering before Evan could get a clear shot. The herd would break into smaller groups, reform, and send out hostile-looking spies to see what we were about. Eventually Ernest pointed out one cow that was separate from the rest, and Evan took the shot.
The cow was hit hard and made a dive for thick cover, while the rest of the herd either milled about or just thundered away. Surprisingly enough, another very old animal hung around for a little longer, and I shot it through the heart/lung area. It ran into a tangle of vines and bushes and fell down, only to stand up again and watch us from the dense foliage. They give you "the look" from heavy cover. It's their way of saying, "One of us is about to have a very bad day." While I was trying to get a clear shot at it (I could see an ear twitch; is that a head?, where's the shoulder?), we looked behind us and saw a very large male lion. He had been stalking the same herd, and he looked as surprised to see us as we were to see him. He eventually loped away, I put the finishing shot on the buffalo, we collected Evan's animal, and the morning was a success. I wish we had had a videographer with us to record the lion as observer, though. You just can't script something that unique and fine!
The next day we moved to the camp in the far north of Limpopo. This was a solid lodge, not tents, and the place was really more like a nice, small hotel than a "camp." The grounds were immaculate, the food was excellent (as it had been in the Timbavati, as well), and animals like a couple of female nyala and smaller antelope wandered through the area frequently. There were buffalo here too, along with lots and lots of leopards, and the camp manager said that occasionally lions and elephants wandered through after crossing the Limpopo River a few miles away. Hunting here was very difficult, however, because of the heavy vegetation, as well as the sheer size of the place. A old wall map of the tract listed the area as having 9,333 hectares. That's over 23,000 acres, or about 35 square miles. It would be nice if some of the folks who have turned up their noses at South African hunting as being "too easy" would try the same long walks in thick brush and rocky hills that we were traversing in temperatures that ranged from the mid-80s to the mid-90s. There were damned sure no animals standing around with tags in their ears, and usually we only got a fleeting glimpse of whatever animal we were stalking. Evan got his zebra on the very last morning after having put in many hours of walking. A few days previously, both of us had gotten wildebeests, and he had taken an impala and a duiker. Which brings us the matter of the charging wildebeest.
We finally came upon a huge open area, a grassy flat that was part of a dry lake bed. Wyck had spied a lone wildebeest a long way from us, and we stalked from tree to rock to tree until we came to within about 200 yards of the animal. We could get no closer without being seen. I got on the sticks, held for the shoulder, and touched off the .375 in what felt like a perfect shot. It was semi-perfect. Windage was ideal, but I'm not used to flinging 300 grains downrange for 200 yards. The gun was sighted in for buffalo hunting, and I forgot about bullet drop at that range. As we found out later, the hit was perfectly centered for the heart/lung area, but it was a bit low, taking out mostly brisket, some lung tissue and exiting the shoulder on the opposite side. We tracked the animal a long way, finding blood, bumping the animal, and following some more. We gave it up until the next morning.
The animal was moving slowly now, obviously hit hard, but we bumped it again in the thick brush without having a clear shot. Wyck suggested going by himself, with just the trackers, to see if he could get close, then he would come back and get us for the shot. I said "No, if you get close, shoot it. I don't want it to suffer. Kill it quickly. My pride won't be ruined, and this needs to end." A few minutes later we hear a shot, followed by two very rapid shots. I'm surprised anyone could work three rounds through a bolt action rifle that fast.
When we came up on Wyck he looked pretty excited. He said the wildebeest had waited in thick brush and had charged immediately. His last shot was literally "from the hip," and the animal had skidded to a stop three feet from where he was standing. It was a beautiful bull, very old, and there were high fives all around. I tried to make a lame joke about being killed by a blue wildebeest being an undignified way to make the "gnus," but it would be true.
All in all it was a wonderful12-day hunt. My sincere thanks to Ernest and to his lovely wife Marita (the person in charge of planning, record-keeping, and other logistical matters), to Wyck, our PH for the second part of our hunt, to Jennifer Ginn of Travel Express (who made all our travel arrangements, including flights, help with rifle permits, lodging at Afrika Sky, and troubleshooting when we had mechanical difficulties getting home; I recommend her highly), to the staff in camps, including Cecelia the cook, John and Ree (short for Refer--or Reefer, I'm not sure which) the two trackers, Phineas the tracker/skinner, and all the other fine folks we met along the way.
I'm attaching only a few of the photos we took on the trip, because any flat photograph falls pitifully short of doing justice to the scene, to the experience. A picture can't capture the sounds, the feel of aching muscles and your own sweat stinging your eyes, the smell of a mopane wood fire with a tenderloin of game you have shot being grilled over it, the feel of the rocky soil and the reddish sand under your boots, the bird sounds and the incredibly raucous cries of monkeys and baboons when they realize a leopard is prowling nearby, taste of a good, stiff drink after a long day in the bush, or the sheer awe you feel when you find yourself in the middle of all that beauty and raw nature. Words can't do it either, but maybe the combination of words and a few pictures can bring it all back, at least in my own mind, if not for anyone else.
I started an online conversation with Ernest Dyason, owner of Spear Safaris, about three years ago regarding the possibility of another hunt for buffalo. This was to be my third. I explained that I had taken a nice bull in Zimbabwe and another in South Africa, and I would like to do another hunt. The big black animals fascinate me. I added that this time I was not interested in taking home a trophy; I just wanted the experience of the hunt. Most of all I wanted to hunt in a place where I could sit by a fire, nurse a drink, and listen to lions. Ernest had the perfect plan.
We could hunt cow buffalo in the Timbavati APNR area, a vast place of 150,000 acres that shares an unfenced border with other reserves (Klasserie, Umbabat, Thornybush, etc.) and with the five million acre Kruger NP. Animals roam without fences or other constraints over a landscape of nearly 6 million acres, and all the iconic fauna are there--lions, leopards, elephants, and of course lots of buffalo. Hunting cows would be more like hunting herd bulls than stalking a lone dugga boy but the challenge would be the same. The cost would be considerably less. He applied for and recieved permits for two "older, dry cows without calves," and we started making serious plans.
My nephew Evan Ausband accompanied me on the trip. We would fly from Myrtle Beach, SC, to Atlanta, then to Johannesburg, and from there take another flight to Hoedspruit, where we would meet up with Ernest and another PH, Wyck. Evan made a list of several plains game animals he wanted, and I had decided the floor of my cabin in Virginia really needed a wildebeest rug, so the second part of the trip would be to a camp Ernest runs right up near the Zimbabwe border, less than an hour from Musina.
I approached the Delta counter in Myrtle Beach with some trepidation, having read disturbing reports of the difficulties of flying with firearms, but the nice young lady simply asked if the gun was unloaded, gave me a red tag to stick inside the case, and assured me that rifle would be in Hoedspruit when I got there. Gotta love the South. There are other places where I might have been subject to a body cavity search after I announced I was traveling with a gun.
The flights were uneventful, just very long, and the Delta cabin crew took good care of us in Premium Select. (We're both 6'4'', and the little extra leg room in premium select was a real necessity.)
The camp in the Timbavati area was of the "old east Africa" tented style, but with en suite bathrooms and hot water. Not bad. Our two tents overlooked a dry river bed where we found tracks of various animals, including lions, and we heard lions roaring several nights. There was a young resident leopard (caught on game cameras) who apparently regarded the camp as partly his once everyone had gone to bed, and hyenas wanted through nightly (also caught on camera), looking for whatever scraps they might find. We were cautioned not to leave our boots out, or the hyenas would surely eat them. While riding around looking for tracks or other signs of buffalo, we came upon a big lion with a pride of 19 females, sub-adult males, and cubs of various ages. This was less than three mile from our camp. Wyck said it was the largest pride he had seen. A couple of the young males would probably be ready to challenge the old boss for leadership in a year or two.
The first day and a half we hunted hard for a herd containing the appropriately aged and barren cows, driving many miles on the sandy roads and doing some interesting stalks. Late in the afternoon of the second day we tracked a herd of about 200 buffalo that looked promising, and we decided to try to find them the next morning. When we finally caught up with them, it took a while and some skillful maneuvering before Evan could get a clear shot. The herd would break into smaller groups, reform, and send out hostile-looking spies to see what we were about. Eventually Ernest pointed out one cow that was separate from the rest, and Evan took the shot.
The cow was hit hard and made a dive for thick cover, while the rest of the herd either milled about or just thundered away. Surprisingly enough, another very old animal hung around for a little longer, and I shot it through the heart/lung area. It ran into a tangle of vines and bushes and fell down, only to stand up again and watch us from the dense foliage. They give you "the look" from heavy cover. It's their way of saying, "One of us is about to have a very bad day." While I was trying to get a clear shot at it (I could see an ear twitch; is that a head?, where's the shoulder?), we looked behind us and saw a very large male lion. He had been stalking the same herd, and he looked as surprised to see us as we were to see him. He eventually loped away, I put the finishing shot on the buffalo, we collected Evan's animal, and the morning was a success. I wish we had had a videographer with us to record the lion as observer, though. You just can't script something that unique and fine!
The next day we moved to the camp in the far north of Limpopo. This was a solid lodge, not tents, and the place was really more like a nice, small hotel than a "camp." The grounds were immaculate, the food was excellent (as it had been in the Timbavati, as well), and animals like a couple of female nyala and smaller antelope wandered through the area frequently. There were buffalo here too, along with lots and lots of leopards, and the camp manager said that occasionally lions and elephants wandered through after crossing the Limpopo River a few miles away. Hunting here was very difficult, however, because of the heavy vegetation, as well as the sheer size of the place. A old wall map of the tract listed the area as having 9,333 hectares. That's over 23,000 acres, or about 35 square miles. It would be nice if some of the folks who have turned up their noses at South African hunting as being "too easy" would try the same long walks in thick brush and rocky hills that we were traversing in temperatures that ranged from the mid-80s to the mid-90s. There were damned sure no animals standing around with tags in their ears, and usually we only got a fleeting glimpse of whatever animal we were stalking. Evan got his zebra on the very last morning after having put in many hours of walking. A few days previously, both of us had gotten wildebeests, and he had taken an impala and a duiker. Which brings us the matter of the charging wildebeest.
We finally came upon a huge open area, a grassy flat that was part of a dry lake bed. Wyck had spied a lone wildebeest a long way from us, and we stalked from tree to rock to tree until we came to within about 200 yards of the animal. We could get no closer without being seen. I got on the sticks, held for the shoulder, and touched off the .375 in what felt like a perfect shot. It was semi-perfect. Windage was ideal, but I'm not used to flinging 300 grains downrange for 200 yards. The gun was sighted in for buffalo hunting, and I forgot about bullet drop at that range. As we found out later, the hit was perfectly centered for the heart/lung area, but it was a bit low, taking out mostly brisket, some lung tissue and exiting the shoulder on the opposite side. We tracked the animal a long way, finding blood, bumping the animal, and following some more. We gave it up until the next morning.
The animal was moving slowly now, obviously hit hard, but we bumped it again in the thick brush without having a clear shot. Wyck suggested going by himself, with just the trackers, to see if he could get close, then he would come back and get us for the shot. I said "No, if you get close, shoot it. I don't want it to suffer. Kill it quickly. My pride won't be ruined, and this needs to end." A few minutes later we hear a shot, followed by two very rapid shots. I'm surprised anyone could work three rounds through a bolt action rifle that fast.
When we came up on Wyck he looked pretty excited. He said the wildebeest had waited in thick brush and had charged immediately. His last shot was literally "from the hip," and the animal had skidded to a stop three feet from where he was standing. It was a beautiful bull, very old, and there were high fives all around. I tried to make a lame joke about being killed by a blue wildebeest being an undignified way to make the "gnus," but it would be true.
All in all it was a wonderful12-day hunt. My sincere thanks to Ernest and to his lovely wife Marita (the person in charge of planning, record-keeping, and other logistical matters), to Wyck, our PH for the second part of our hunt, to Jennifer Ginn of Travel Express (who made all our travel arrangements, including flights, help with rifle permits, lodging at Afrika Sky, and troubleshooting when we had mechanical difficulties getting home; I recommend her highly), to the staff in camps, including Cecelia the cook, John and Ree (short for Refer--or Reefer, I'm not sure which) the two trackers, Phineas the tracker/skinner, and all the other fine folks we met along the way.
I'm attaching only a few of the photos we took on the trip, because any flat photograph falls pitifully short of doing justice to the scene, to the experience. A picture can't capture the sounds, the feel of aching muscles and your own sweat stinging your eyes, the smell of a mopane wood fire with a tenderloin of game you have shot being grilled over it, the feel of the rocky soil and the reddish sand under your boots, the bird sounds and the incredibly raucous cries of monkeys and baboons when they realize a leopard is prowling nearby, taste of a good, stiff drink after a long day in the bush, or the sheer awe you feel when you find yourself in the middle of all that beauty and raw nature. Words can't do it either, but maybe the combination of words and a few pictures can bring it all back, at least in my own mind, if not for anyone else.
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Congats on your hunt good sir.
