Let's see, where did we leave off? Oh that right's we left a couple dagga boys resting in the afternoon sun.
The team reassembles as the sun begins its descent into the late afternoon shadows. Heading back to the area we last left the buffalo, we run into three locals walking from a fishing area back to their huts. I realize we are very close to our intended destination. I hope they have not bumped our resting bulls. Into the mopani we trek. Several hundred yards in York laments he forgot his binos in the truck. Oh very good sign! Every time you forget something you need; it usually results in you needing it. I hand him mine and advise him,” Make sure he’s big”. Our group is leisurely working our way toward where we left the resting bulls earlier. Suddenly Zvito comes unglued, pointing to our left. It’s as animated as I have seen Zvito all trip. York snaps to attention. All I hear him whisper is that we are “shooting this bull”. He hasn’t even used his newfound binos yet. Behind the shoulder, behind the shoulder.
I don’t even see this bull yet. I’m frantically scanning up the ridge to the brush line 125 yards ahead. Then in the bright sunlight below, I recognize the back of a buffalo standing in the tall grass just 50 yds ahead. He doesn’t know we are there, and I get settled on the sticks. All I have is his right hip and partial head visible. He is feeding straight away but in front of a large tree. He will have to go left or right. He leans right. We slowly slide 10 yards to our right. It’s a better angle now. He begins to come clear and I’ve yet to get much indication of what caliber bull this is. The sun and bush leave nothing more than a big, black silhouette as my target. I find the shoulder the best I can figure and touch off the buffalo poison.
He reacts to the shot and moves up the hillside I was scanning earlier. He stops within 20 yds and again nothing more than a big black blob, but I know his head is to the right. I send another. He is up over the ridge. Again, everyone is nodding it was a good first shot. Second was a bit more of a wild card, yet it connected also.
Gingerly but quickly we head up. I have already refilled the magazine with more poison. As we crest the ridge, he is now moving right to left but clearly hurt. Dang fangled three stage safety trips me up and I encourage York to shoot if he can. York’s rifle barks once or twice if I remember correctly and the bull disappears into yes, another gully. Our group reassembles and reloads. Then the bellow, that glorious bellow. All interested parties are relieved. We make our way down to a beast of a bull. I dispatch the $16 insurance policy, and all is quiet again.
He is noticeably bigger bodied than my first bull. York performs the ritual eye touch and proclaims us successful. Zvito gets to the bull next and there is an exchange of him being the “Mackenzie Tank”, the “Mackenzie Tank”. Yes, even Tinashe confirms, “Mackenzie Tank”. I was going with “big ass buffalo” myself.
Double upped bulls. This was the adventure I had waited four previous safaris and 14 years in total to fulfill. He’s everything one could want is a bull. Old, worn down, polished smooth bosses, heavy, and wide (if that’s your thing and I kinda like it). Someone later taped him at just over 42” for the inquiring minds.
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