Day - Again Who Cares
Getting towards the end of our 16 days, and still no wildebeest, Eland or Black Giraffe. Oh we have seen the giraffe several times. Either too late in the day to allow for the recovery and skinning operation(a five hour ordeal), or he gets the one up on us and is gone into the bush.
On this morning, I decide we will head up to Humani, the sister property, about an hour away. Mike was up the day before and took a nice wildebeest, so I figure now is as good a time as any. Pete’s land cruiser only has seats for two, and Big Mike has decided to go with us and let Brent check baits and look for any sign of Big Mike’s lion.
It is a very cold morning, so I tell Big Mike to ride in the front and I will ride on back and smoke cigars. Ummm, big mistake. I bundle up with all I brought and we head out. By the time we arrive, I am a cigarcicle. I have pulled my beanie down over my face, pulled my neck gaiter up to my nose, and left a little slit to puff cigars. My hands are numb. My legs are permanently frozen bent. Who was that dumb ass from Tennessee saying “its not cold, I’ll be fine!” Oh yeah, that was me, El Gordo.
We arrive and immediately slow to hunting speed on the two track. I glance to the right as our local tracker we picked up taps on the roof and starts pointing. I see a magnificent kudu. I have several already mounted, but Pete jumps out and says this one is a dandy if I want him. I pause for a nanosecond and climb off the truck. This is when I really feel, how should I say this, frozen and non-limber I am. With a truckload of guys as an audience I follow Pete into the bush. Not 50 yds into the stalk I drag a foot which hangs on a vine. TIIIIIMMMMBEEERRRR! I start the slow fall of a face plant. I chuck my rifle to the side, as my firearms training has taught me to do, and land with full force flat on the ground. I look up, and verbatim from Pete “ For fuck’s sake, what happened?”
It was pretty clear Pete, walking in front, intent on the kudu, thought I was just making noise. When he turned around, the look on his face said it all. He’s had a heartattack. He’s fallen and broke a leg. He’s having a stroke. Well, I stood up with great effort and proclaimed the stalk over with that much noise. Of course, the whole truck had seen my swan dive, and were just waiting to find out I was OK before the jokes started.
We drove on and say several other animals, and even put a failed stalk on a wildebeest at a water hole but were busted by impala.
Shortly thereafter, I mean a couple of minutes, Big Mike looks over and says”There is your wildebeest”. Sure nough, there about 100 yds from the round stands a lone bull looking at us like “what you guys doing?”
I climb down, move to the sticks Pete has set up, take aim for frontal quartering shot, and let him have a load. The bull bucks, runs 30-40 yards and is down. Like a lot of my other animals he is a fine old bull. We take pictures, load up, and head to the skinning shed.
Of course, Pete, with Big Mike, photo bomb my camera, again.
After dropping off the wildebeest, we take a stroll through Humani camp. It is beautifully situated on a hill over looking the river.
We head back to Arda, past a couple of local villages and return for lunch and a couple hours of hunting with no success. A nice evening none the less with the fire and a cigar, and memories of a great old wildebeest spotted by one of Africa’s great white trackers, Big Mike.