SOUTH AFRICA: ZIMBABWE: 2014 Hunt

[BRICKBURN]

…….. most importantly, what do you mean "if you ever get into a situation like that again?!

baas303 just has that sense about you Hank. Know's you'll do it again.
Maybe not an Ostrich. Mark can't stop himself either.

 

[Hank2211]

You're probably right!

 

[richteb]

Grilled or Fried?

Sounds like a KFC moment - finger licking good.

 

[Hank2211]

I'm not sure I can top the ostrich story, but the insomnia isn't going away . . . . so the adventures continue!

Days 9 and 10

Traditional buffalo hunting – at least as I know it – means you get up early and get to the water holes to see if you can find fresh tracks of buffalo that had drunk during the night. That was our plan as we set out on day 9. But the plan hadn’t taken the weather into account. Every water hole we went to was completely frozen over – no buffalo could have drunk during the night. And they seemed to be aware of that, since there were no tracks to be found.

When we did ultimately find some tracks by a frozen water hole, we followed them for some hours, only to find that the herd – 8 or so – had gone full circle and been to the water hole later in the morning. In fact, we saw their tracks over our own tracks!

We had lunch in the field, and started looking for any signs of buffalo we could find. We did find a small herd in the early afternoon, but they busted us and were off at full speed. We could have tried to follow them, but there didn’t seem to be any big ones in the herd, so we let them go.

By late afternoon, we came upon four or five buffalo heading up a hill across a valley. I thought I could make a shot, but John thought we could do better, and in any event, it was late enough that if I wounded one, we’d have a difficult job following up. I wanted him to put the sticks up so that I could have a closer look (left my binos in the truck), but John knows me too well. He said if you get one of them in your sights you won’t be able to hold back, so best you take my advice. No sticks!

The next morning we were at it again, checking water holes, and this time sending our tracker ahead on foot to cover more ground. John knew that yesterday was the first day I hadn’t put anything in the salt since we started the hunt, and I was getting itchy. I know he knew because I told him.

At about 10 am, after a few hours of walking, following some tracks that seemed to be going nowhere, we met up with out tracker who said that that he thought that the few we had been following had joined up with more. So we continued to follow these tracks, though by this time my mind was, I’ll admit, wandering just a bit. At one point John called a halt and said he just wanted to have a look around. He got up on a rock and began scanning with his binos. All of a sudden I heard him whisper ‘shit’ and he ducked down as if he’d been hit. “They’re right over there” he said, and though where “there” was, was a mystery to me, I understood the most important fact, which was that the buffalo were close.

John had us crawl about 20 yards to the left, and hide behind some large boulders. He told me to wait there as he went a few yards up a little rise, and slowly got up with his binos. Within a few minutes he motioned Dean over, who also slowly got up with his binos. At this point I’m getting a bit frustrated – I haven’t even seen these buffalo, and everyone else seems to know what’s going on!

After about 10 minutes of this – it’s now about 10.30 – both John and Dean come back. They tell me that there’s a herd of about 10 buffalo, 60 or so meters in front of us, down and in a bit of a bowl. There’s at least one buffalo which looks pretty good – they estimate about 37 inches, he isn’t exactly the shape I told them I was looking for, but he’s pretty good, and they want me to take a look. The buffalo seemed to have bedded down, so John thought there was no particular urgency.

We slowly moved upwards to where John and Dean had been standing. The vantage point was perfect – there were large boulders shielding us from sight when we were sitting or crawling, and even when fully standing, the buffalo would have to look up to see us. I slowly took in the picture, holding as still as I could. John whispered that the one we were interested in was about 80 meters directly in from of us, lying down facing away. It took me a moment to actually see him – most of his body was covered by grass, and it wasn’t until he moved his head that I properly saw him. I’m not really a judge of buffalo horns, but he looked pretty good to me, so I said yup, let’s go for it.

That was at about 10.40 am. And then the waiting began. We had set up the sticks, and my rifle was right next to them. I was ready to get up at a moment’s notice if the herd began to move. In fact, from where I was sitting, I could just see his horns through a gap in the boulders if he moved his head the right way. But these buffalo were comfortable and had no intention of going anywhere any time soon.

We had conversations from time to time about shooting him lying down, but we knew that wasn’t a realistic possibility. Even if we could have seen his whole body, it would have been a low percentage shot. Since we couldn’t even see his body the shot was out of the question. We also discussed breaking a branch, or whistling, or making some other noise to try to get him to stand up. Both Dean and John felt that it could work, but both also thought that there was a better chance the buffalo would just move so fast that I wouldn’t get a shot, or a decent shot. We kept coming back to patience being the best plan. And so we told bad jokes, and even some dirty jokes, to pass the time. The lack of laughter could have been a concession to the presence of the buffalo, or just a commentary on the jokes. Hard to tell.

By about 1 pm John decided to send our tracker back to the truck to get lunch. He was back within 20 minutes, and everyone except Mr. Nerves (that would be me) ate and drank heartily. I wouldn’t even drink – I was too scared if I had to go to the bathroom, the buffalo would move off.

By about 2 pm, John thought we might get a shot from a different location, so we moved the gang about 40 yards down and to the left. When we got there, we found that the shot was actually worse than where we’d been, so back up we went! I couldn’t believe this – at some point they’d hear us or see us and we’d lose them! I’d have torn my hair out, except I’m glad I have some at my age and don’t want to give it up.

So back to where we started, with the sticks up, and some hope that this endless waiting would have to end soon. And, of course, it did.

By about 3, some of the buffalo began to stand. As luck would have it, Hannes was relieving himself in the bushes behind us, but we whispered that they were moving and he came – I wouldn’t say running, because it’s hard to do that with your pants around your ankles, so waddling will have to do. As my buffalo got up, John urged me to take a second – no rush he said, take your time, get a good sight picture and squeeze off. All of the hours of waiting were forgotten in an instant and I did just as he said.

When the shot finally rang out, the buffalo did something I’d never seen before – he dropped to the ground, on the spot, much as a brain shot elephant drops. I knew I hadn’t hit him in the head – had I? I quickly reloaded and kept looking through the scope, though I couldn’t see him as he’d fallen into the tall grass he’d been sleeping in. The other buffalo were milling around, not really knowing what to do. John insisted on complete quiet – no point in riling these guys up more than absolutely necessary. Finally, after about 5 minutes, they began to wander off, and guns in hand, loaded with safeties on, we began to walk towards the downed buffalo. As we got closer the reason for the reaction to the shot became apparent – I’d shot too far forward, and instead of just at the point of the shoulder, I hit him in the neck, and broke his spine. He wasn’t dead, but he also wasn’t going anywhere. A quick shot to the heart put him out of his misery, and I finally let out the breath I’d been holding for 5 hours!

As it turned out, he was a brute, and both my PH’s had seriously underestimated the size of his horns. John had been at about 37 inches, and Dean a bit smaller, and while PH’s – at least good ones – like to estimate low, this guy came in just under 43 inches. I was thrilled, and completely exhausted.

We had a slow drive back to the camp, feeling pretty satisfied with ourselves. At one point, John said he’d spotted another cull impala and that I had to shoot it. Oh well, work’s never done. We hopped out, climbed a small hill, and took a one-horned impala. I wish I had a picture of the bullet, because on the off side, it was sticking out of the impala, backwards! I was using Barnes VOR-TX for the .300, and the bullet must have tumbled, and started to go out the off side when the petals got caught on the skin. I’ve had bullets against the skin on the off side before, but never coming out, and never backwards.

So now it really was time to call it a day, and an amazing day at that. And so we did.

 

[Bobpuckett]

Awesome read and Pics Love the East Cape and a great place to start a Safari.

 

[gizmo]

Ok, the absolute best read I've had thus far on AH! and thats saying something. Excellent story, great trophies, and great pics Sir !

 

[hunting4sanity]

Very enjoyable story and great photos of some great trophies. This is really making me want to get back to Africa .................. I have that thought daily, but this is making it even more intense. Congratulations on the trophies to this point!

 

[Hank2211]

Thanks very much for the kind words gentlemen. As soon as you get bored, feel free to let me know! And now, Day 11.

Day 11: Wintershoek

After the amazing buffalo the day before, I felt that almost anything would be an anti-climax. Which is a bad reason not to go hunting, but it may be a good reason to hunt with a bit less planning. We knew we had other plans for tomorrow, so for today, we decided to see what mother nature would offer us.

After driving around for a bit John said he knew where some eland liked to feed. I pointed out that I’d already shot an eland, and a nice one, some years before. The only response this provoked was “And?” So I said you’re right of course, lead on! My wife says I am easily led in these things, and she is entirely accurate (on this point).

We got out, loaded up our gear, and began to walk. After nearly an hour, we spotted a small group of eland feeding slowly away from us. They hadn’t seen us at this point, so we could have a good look at them. There were no clear trophies in the group, so I assumed we would go on, but John asked if I minded shooting a “cull eland” (I should have explained earlier maybe, “cull” animals are non-trophy animals as you might expect but more importantly, are half the regular trophy price). I gave the only reasonable answer, which of course was “no”, no objection at all.

At this point it looked as though a female eland spotted us, but as were weren’t moving, they moved off but didn’t seem overly disturbed. We then moved as well, and John put the sticks up. As soon as I looked through the scope I saw that it was turned right down (in case I needed to put one last round into the impala the day before). I looked up and fixed the scope, only to see the eland see me, and run off. John was not pleased – we’d lost the shot because I was “fiddling with my optics”. I tried not to laugh, and was maybe marginally successful.

John kept after them, and lo and behold, in about 5 minutes we got another chance. No fiddling this time. I took the shot and the eland ran, as did the others. John asked me where I put it, and I told him – point of the shoulder. He thought it might be OK, but given the angle, I might have misjudged a bit. We went after them slowly, and within a few minutes found them again. I’ve known badly shot eland to run for miles, so I assume he as pretty badly hit. But that didn’t mean I shouldn’t put another one into him and bring this to an end, so I did, and got the angles right this time.

As we got closer to him we actually could see blood spurting out of the (second) bullet hole with every beat of his heart. I later measured the distance and he had spurted blood more than 10 feet from where he lay (says something for eland blood pressure). Bushes covered in blood and lung tissue. I took some pictures but they aren’t pretty. But he died very quickly, and I hope without too much pain.

Pictures taken, we decided to head back to the lodge for lunch. And of course, on the way, John spotted another “cull” impala. Amazing how many of these there seem to be! I won’t belabor this one – another shot where due to recoil I couldn’t see exactly what happened (this seems to be a problem only when they drop to the shot (into deep grass), otherwise I see what happens), and was told that it had turned and run into some bushes, apparently not badly hurt, and again, as we went looking for it, I almost fell over it before I saw it. And again, everybody thought this was outrageously funny. Some jokes never get old it seems, and revenge, when it comes, will be all the sweeter.

After lunch we went looking for nothing in particular. John had us climb a good-sized hill, and we sat there glassing for some time. The views went on forever, and were unbelievable. I could have sat there for days. After a bit (really, after I woke up from a nap – this place was far too relaxing!), John said he’d like to try to call jackal. John does predator control in the off-season, and he takes his jackal very seriously. And he won’t hunt jackal with you unless you’re just as serious. No ‘educating” the jackal by messing up shots!

We set up on the side of the hill, me wedged between some large rocks, looking down over a fairly broad expanse of ground. It was about 5 pm when John began to call – about an hour of light left. At first his calling was quite successful – he called two warthogs which may have thought that a rabbit in distress might just be food. We watched them for a bit, until they moved off. A short while later John snapped his fingers quietly. I looked over and he slowly pointed down – a jackal was trotting our way! John mimed that he would whistle and stop it in front of me. Unfortunately I had to move to be able to take the shot, and I made a bit of noise. The jackal stopped in a place where I had no shot, as he looked around. Fortunately, he didn’t look up! He soon began his trot again, and at the right time, John whistled. The jackal stopped and this time did look up – and I took the shot.

I have to say that a .300 win mag may be too much medicine for jackals. He did a complete summersault, and came to rest twitching, with his guts spread over a few feet. Dead on the spot!

Before going to fetch him we decided to try again, and of course, one of the warthogs came back. It was interesting to watch it circle the dead jackal and eventually go right up to it. One sniff and it decided to leave the area!

By this point it was getting dark, so we retrieved our trophy. The damage was such that after a few pictures, we left him there for his friends and family to find. Closure is important for jackals, I think.

 

[RogerHeintzman]

Stories like this keeps my appetite whet for the return to Africa!

Great read and trophies.

During a Hyena hunt in Namibia, I was able to get a Caracal and African Wild Cat.

 

[Bobpuckett]

Nice Old Eland awesome trophy! Good shot on the jackal as well.

 

[Hank2211]

During a Hyena hunt in Namibia, I was able to get a Caracal and African Wild Cat.

Roger, did you hunt for the wildcat or was it an opportunity that arose? I've been trying for the smaller cats on every hunt where they were available, and have had no luck with wildcat or serval. Had a chance on a genet, but blew it . . .

 

[RogerHeintzman]

Roger, did you hunt for the wildcat or was it an opportunity that arose? I've been trying for the smaller cats on every hunt where they were available, and have had no luck with wildcat or serval. Had a chance on a genet, but blew it . . .

Hank2211,
It was opportunistic with both. I also have a Genet but skin is only good for a hanging skin, was not prepped proper. I also shot a Genet in Namibia to replaced this one, but we lost it in the rocks.

I wish you well with the cats.

BTY, great ruff on the Eland.

 

[Hank2211]

Thanks Roger. Need a lot of luck on those cats.

Funny about the taxidermy - a common thread which runs through far too many hunts.

 

[BRICKBURN]

……………….
Funny about the taxidermy - a common thread which runs through far too many hunts.

Have to agree with that assessment. Far to often.

 

[Hank2211]

Day 12: Scimitar Horned Oryx

Those of you who have read this far will know that I am very big on public service. That’s just the kind of guy I am. So when I looked into the possibility of hunting scimitar horned oryx, I felt that this is something I should do, quite apart from the fact that it was a trophy I didn’t have (which never entered my mind!). These animals, native to the Sahel, are most likely extinct in the wild. There are specimens in zoos, and these may one day be used to re-introduce populations into the wild, but more important is the fact that game ranchers in South Africa (and Texas for that matter) have had more to do with saving this beautiful animal from extinction that any other group (certainly more than any government). This is where the public service comes in. If we, as hunters, don’t support game ranchers who are keeping these animals alive, then who will? Well, I will!

So it was off early to a property a couple of hours away. This was a large property in what seemed to be an ostrich farming area. (Far too many of those birds around for my taste, though I think word got out. None came too close.) The property was large enough that I was confident this wouldn’t be shooting fish in a barrel. As it turned out, this concern was entirely misplaced.

We arrived at the property at about 9 am and picked up a scout. As soon as we drove onto the ranch we saw a herd of oryx, and I was impressed with the size of some of the males in the group, and the size of the horns. John said it was way too early in the hunt to even try for a shot – we had to see what other animals might be there. Famous last words.

Eight hours later and we’ve battled all day to get within missile range of these animals, let alone rifle range. We’ve tried tracking (for some hours), waiting near water holes (great for a nap but not so much for anything else) and going after them in the truck. Nothing. Not a shot. It’s now past 5 pm and we need to get this done or that will be it for Oryx on this hunt. I know John’s feeling the pressure because I keep asking if it wouldn’t have been better to take one when we could have first thing in the morning. Then I tell him not to worry – most PH’s would have made the same call, and he can’t be criticized for the decision. I can’t tell which annoys him more, so I keep interchanging them!

By about 5.45, with less than a half hour of daylight left, we spot a group, and there seems to be a decent male among them. It looks like I may finally get a shot. At this point, having almost given up hope, I start to worry that I’ll blow it. I get the rifle up and we whisper back and forth to make sure I have the right animal (both males and females have horns) and that there isn’t another one in front or behind. Finally in rapidly fading light, I take the shot and the animal is down!

John gets to it first and says congratulations. You just shot a female, and from the looks of her she’s pregnant. I can’t believe it! I say I shot the one we talked about – John replies that I wasn’t listening since I shot the wrong one. At this point, almost beside myself for having made such a mistake, I come around on the animal and see – it has all the right – male – equipment. This time (and only this time) I let John have his laugh – I started it with the ribbing about not shooting early, and I probably deserved this one (but none of the others!).

We quickly set up for pictures, get them done, and head back to camp for a late and well-deserved dinner.

 

[BRICKBURN]

Nice trophy and a great relationship.
You got to trust those PH's but you sure have to watch out with what you trust them with.

 

[Hank2211]

You're absolutely right Brickburn. I've been lucky with PH's. Hunting should be relaxing but often its stressful. Getting along with the PH and the ability to have some fun is enormously important. Never had the experience some on this site have, and I thank my lucky stars for that.

 

[Wheels]

Another neat animal Hank. Congrats.

 

[Bobpuckett]

Love the Scimitar Horned Oryx Awesome Beast!

 

[Hank2211]

Well, I'm not sure these adventures need to continue, but having started, I need to finish. There are a few days of goofing off before I head to Zim, so here goes.

Day 13: Last Day of Messing Around?


Once again, the next day we had no plans. I still had a few animals on my want list – another giraffe (first one had taxidermy problems (again)), and a couple of zebras for some upholstery project of my wife’s, and of course the next day we were going to try for a lioness (more on that later). But today, I had told John that I had a particular animal in mind, though you probably couldn’t call it a trophy.

On a couple of previous stalks on this and other hunts, I had been busted by monkeys. I’ve also been busted by Egyptian geese, but I harbor them no particular ill will. For some reason I don’t feel the same about vervet monkeys. I find them annoying and almost as distasteful as baboons. So I asked John if we could try to thin the local monkey population a bit. John was happy to oblige.

We began by driving out to where a troop was known to live. We quite quickly saw a couple of large males sitting on rock staring at us, about 200 yards away. I quickly got my gun – I was using my .404 for this, not wanting to vaporize them – and took a shot. Too quickly, because I was low by about five inches. When we go to the spot we noticed a fair number of rock chips from the rock one of the targets had been sitting on, and a reasonable amount of hair. It looked like he must have gotten hit by shrapnel. We tracked them for a bit, but couldn’t find even a drop of blood, so decided he must have gotten nothing more than a shave and a fright.

We were then off to another location, and saw some high in the trees. We drove on a reasonable distance, stopped and got out. I loaded up and we slowly began to walk back. At one point John said he’d seen a head peek up from the very top of a large tree, but hadn’t seen the body. We set up the sticks anyway, and as I stared through my scope, a head popped up. John asked if I could see it, and I said yes. He said shoot just about 6 inches below the head, straight on. I couldn’t see the body because of all of the leaves in the way, but made a guess and took the shot - and the head disappeared. Lots of movement in the trees then silence. We walked up to the tree in question, and sure enough there was a monkey, caught in the fork of a branch not far from the top!

Thanks heavens for trackers, because none of us could have climbed that tree to retrieve the trophy. When it finally bounced down at my feet I looked at it and asked “Isn’t he a bit small?” John hummed and hawed a bit, and then Dean and Hannes began to laugh and said it was a baby, likely on its mothers back when I shot it! This poor thing still had its milk teeth. John had also started to laugh but one look from me seemed to stop him. A baby! Not exactly what I was after. In fact, when we got back to camp with this poor thing, Strauss Jordan, the Camp manager, said we would likely end up in hell for killing a baby. I pointed out that I had killed it by accident – but he was making money off of its death! He quickly said under no circumstances would he take a penny for such a thing, an offer I accepted on the spot!

I suggest if anyone is interested in shooting (baby) monkeys, the man to see is Strauss Jordan!

Monkeys having been harassed enough (we did get a large male on the way back to camp, which I told Strauss I assumed was also covered by his no charge policy), we spotted a small group of springbok in the distance. I told Hannes this was the time to put his shooting where his mouth was. I wanted to see him shoot a springbok at 500 yards. The deal was if he killed the animal with one shot at that distance, the trophy fee and taxidermy were on me. If not, then he paid for them and a few other things!

For the first time in my hunting life we actually went farther away from the trophy, until it registered at about 500 yards on my binos. I could barely see it from that distance without the binos. We handed Hannes the gun – a 25-06 of John’s. John probably cheated by telling him there was a crosswind so he should probably aim about 6 inches to the right, but it would be churlish to complain about that.

Hannes began to stare down the scope. My first thought was the man is solid – no movement at all. He gave it a few seconds, and took the shot. Unbelievably – at least to me – the springbok went down on the spot! I know people who can shoot long distances, but it’s usually with a better rest, and better equipment. This was impressive. I admit it. Hannes can shoot. And the joke turned out to be on me – when we went to get the springbok, he turned out to be larger than any I’d shot!

Pardon the appearance – I wanted the picture with the fan, and it would have disappeared by the time I was done if we’d washed it off. Heck of a good-looking animal!

The day ended up pretty much at it began. We saw an old warthog on the way back to camp that afternoon – another “cull” . He saw us, but his solution, rather than running, was to stick his head into the ground. I lined up a shot on the shoulder, and took, it, causing him to jump up and then drop. Didn’t go a foot, and as we watched, wasn’t moving either. So we went up the hill to fetch him, and once at the top, we realized he wasn’t dead! In fact, it looked like he might just get up and run off. Only problem was that neither John nor I had brought our guns – he had looked stone dead from where we shot. John asked our tracker to run back to the truck – and I do mean run – and get a rifle. Well, of course he doesn’t bring my .300 – he brings John’s .416 Rigby, so I quickly take the cannon to the warthog, hoping not to get a ricochet once the bullet goes right through him, as I knew it would. One shot, all safe, except for one warthog, now definitely down for the count. And lesson learned. Without a weapon, you can’t hunt much.