buffalo hunt in Zimbawe
When I got engaged to my wife, I told her that one of my goals was to go to Africa every decade for the rest of my life. I had already spent a summer hiking, exploring, trekking, sailing, and climbing in Kenya, and fell in love with the African continent, its people and its game. I wanted to continue exploring what southern and eastern Africa has to offer. I have a good wife. We had a deal.
Shortly after getting engaged, I headed to Botswana for a bow hunt. It was unbelievable. I hunted the Okavango Delta and the Kalahari. It was a tough spot and stalk hunt. What I learned was that while I love to bow hunt in America, rifle hunting Africa was just more fun. Just walking, tracking, and enjoying the country was what I enjoyed the most. While I was successful with my bow, I also ended up rifle hunting for about 4 days of that trip. I knew that the next time I returned, it would be with a rifle and it would be for dangerous game.
Fast forward 8 years. I now have four young children, a busy practice, and not a lot of time. However, I also have a father who would soon be turning 70. He’s been my hunting partner for 33 years. I don’t know how many more years I have with him. So, to celebrate his retirement, my 40th, and his 70th, we began planning another safari. As I am inclined to do, I researched for months. I talked to dozens of folks who had been with various outfits. I finally narrowed my search to Zimbabwe, and my outfit to Zambezi Hunters. Dad would hunt leopard, while my focus would be cape buffalo. We would hunt out of the tented Sango camp in the Save Valley Conservancy.
The Save Valley Conservancy is an almost 1,000,000 acre concession. It is broken into numerous sections, one of which is Sango. Sango is known for its above-average dangerous game, as well as its plethora of quality plains game. I would hunt 10 days, while dad would hunt 14.
We flew to Johannesburg, SA in early June. After overnighting, we flew to Harare, Zimbabwe and then took a bush plane to the Save. There, we met our professional hunters. I would hunt with Ian Rutledge (descendant of Rutledge of the Rutledge House), while dad would hunt with Thierry Labat. Both of them are absolute professionals and badasses in their own right. Ian is a former SAS who fought to preserve Rhodesia in the late 70s/early 80s. Ian is about my age and was PH of the year in Zim in 2016.
I won’t get into the politics to any great degree, but the history of Zimbabwe is utterly fascinating. Zim was formerly Rhodesia, a British Colony. In the 1970s, two communist-backed groups fought to gain control of Rhodesia. One was backed by Korea, the other by the Soviet Union. Around 1981, the people were awarded independence. Britain let the country go back to “the people,” essentially screwing the white colonists who had settled Rhodesia for Great Britain. Robert Mugabe, with communist-backing, took control of the country as President. Things were fine for a while. However, once Mugabe got everyone comfortable, he started implementing his master plan- take everything from the white colonists and return it to the people. That continues to this day. Both of our PHs were kicked off of their farms. In fact, Ian’s head tracker, Willy, is the son of Ian’s old head tracker, who was murdered because he tried to hold on to Ian’s farm and refused to leave. The farm had been in the family for several generations.
It is hard to contemplate putting everything into your farm for generations, improving the land, making it profitable, and then someone showing up one day and telling you that you have 48 hours to take everything you can carry and leave. 90% of the whites have left Zim. A few, like Ian, have held on trying to scratch out a living farming other people’s land and hunting. (I could go on for pages, but know that most won’t be particularly interest in all of this.)
So, to the hunting.
Once we arrived, we got sighted in at the air strip. Fortunately, my .300 win mag was still on, as was my .416 rem mag. We got to camp and got settled. We would eat in an open air, thatched hut. The meals were excellent- game meat for every meal. We stayed in traditional east African tests on concrete foundations. Very nice. Very comfortable.
I wanted to get settled into hunting before trying to get on buffalo. We started the first day just looking for more common plains game. Game was everywhere. Impala, zebra, wildebeest, giraffe, etc. were around every corner. You could frankly make it as challenging (or not) as you wanted with respect to these game animals. I wanted a challenge and am not a road/truck hunter, so we did a lot of walking. The first target of opportunity was a jackal. I really wasn’t particularly interested, but Ian wanted to see how I would perform on a small target at a decent range, so I got on the sticks (three pronged shooting sticks- far from a bench rest, but I had practiced A LOT and was fairly comfortable on them). The jackal dropped at the shot. It was an average sized female, but I was surprised at how small it was. I thought it would be coyote-sized, but was more akin to a fox.
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We continued on. My wife only wanted one thing from Africa- a zebra rug. I told Ian that I only wanted a stallion and I really wanted it to have a tale. Zebras are not just striped horses. (I have never seen a quarter horse with fighting canines.) They are very spooky with excellent senses. They are also tough as nails. During a walk about, we spotted a herd of zebra while trying to approach some wildebeest. We stalked within about 75 yards and I got on the sticks. Ian was helping sort out the stallion and finally identified him as the one quartering almost directly on. (That tended to be the most common shot opportunity, as while the game often did not know we were there, they sensed something was amiss- probably seeing or hearing movement in our direction). I placed a 165 grain Barnes TSX on the inside of his shoulder. The stallion took off and I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I felt that I had been a little high. We gave him about 15 minutes, had a cup of tea, and then set off. Fortunately, I found him piled up about 100 yards away. He had not bled much, but the shot had been close to perfect. He was an awesome stallion. Old, but still had a nice hide. His ears were tattered from fighting, but his tail was still in tact (although Ian acknowledged that he had forgotten to check on that when he gave me the green light).
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After dropping the zebra at the skinning shed, we decided to do a little more warm up. My dad needed about 10 more baits for his leopard hunting, so we decided to find an impala. Shooting impala in Sango is like shooting squirrels in the neighborhood. They are everywhere. The key is finding a decent one. I had shot a nice impala with my bow in Botswana and was told that I would not be able to match him at Sango. So, I took the first mature ram we found. Similar shot at about 130 yard- inside of shoulder while quartering on. He piled up 30 yards away.
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I was feeling pretty good about my shooting. It was now day 2. We would start looking for buffalo. We headed to the river to see if we could cross over to the islands to find a group of dugga boys. We got to the river bank (elevated about 50 feet) and quickly learned that this plan would not work. They had super heavy rains this year and the river was quite high. With high water comes easier access of aquatic animals. It took us about 30 seconds to spot some crocs, and within 5 minutes we had spotted at least 3 crocs between 12-15 feet. No one was crossing this river, including me.
We went to plan B- find the buffalo in the mopane or anywhere on this side of the river. While cruising for tracks, we spotted another herd of wildebeest. I had said that I wasn’t concerned about inches, I just wanted a really old bull. We found him. He was ancient. Heavy bosses and heavy horns all the way out. The problem was that the herd was on to us. We played cat and mouse with them for a while and were finally able to crawl up to a mass of brush while the wildebeest filtered away into the brush. Our bull was about 175 yards away and had just turned back to look at us. We were short on time, and I rushed the shot from the sticks. Fortunately, while I was a solid 6 inches off the mark, I hit him at the junction of the shoulder and neck, angling back into his thoracic cavity. He dropped on the spot and did not require a follow up. He was a stud. Not super wide, but very heavy with his teeth worn down to next-to-nothing. I was very excited with my “proper bull.”
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It was now buffalo time. We would concentrate on buffalo until we got what we were after. Along the way, if we encountered one of my other targets- eland, kudu, bushbuck, warthog, or bushpig- we would make a decision in the moment as to whether to pursue.
My only experience with hunting buffalo was my dad’s hunt in Botswana in 2007. He hunted for one day and shot an absolute stud of a 44 inch buffalo. A true dream bull. I knew the place I was hunting had big bulls and lots of buffalo. I figured it would be easy. It was not.
For four days we hunted hard. We would drive until we found fresh tracks from the night before or early that morning and then set off on them. We would track for miles until we caught up with the herd. We would usually hear them before we saw them. If we did not get on them by late morning, we were in trouble, as the wind would get very shifty from 11am until 4pm (or so). We were hunting is super thick stuff. The buffalo were being harassed day and night by a pride of lions, so they had headed to the thickest area they could find. We could often not see more than 10-20 yards. Rarely could we see 50 yards. It was tense. At times, we could hear them bawling and grunting just yards away, but could not see them. Suddenly, the wind would shift ever so slightly, and they would stampede. I puckered on the regular.
At the end of the first full day of buffalo hunting, we were able to maneuver into a good position. We had spent hours playing cat and mouse with a herd of about 75. They were slowly moving and feeding, while we were trying to play the wind but also get ahead of them. We had crawled for about 100 yards through thick stuff to finally get slightly above the herd to evaluate them. It was very thick, but we could catch glimpses of bulls through the brush. We finally slipped close enough to the group and located 2 absolute studs. This section of the herd sensed something was not quite right. They were very shifty. I was laying prone and had high grass in front of my face that I was trying to look through. The sun was setting almost directly across from me. With my naked eye, I could see the target bull. Through my scope, I would absolutely nothing. NOTHING. I was freaking out. My PH was trying to get me on the bull. I kept telling him that I couldn’t see shit. Finally, the herd spooked and we were done for the night.
Similar scenarios would play out over the next few days. At one point we were within 10 yards of a group of dugga boys crossing a small opening, yet we could not identify the right bull as they wouldn’t hold still. We were after a mature, hard-bossed bull. If he was super heavy and wide, then great. If he was above average, that would work too. What we didn’t want to do was shoot an immature or soft bull. It is HARD to tell the difference, and a good look is absolutely necessary. It’s kind of like a 20 inch spread whitetail. He can look really good at first, but once you start studying him, you realize that he is still young. Just because a bull is wide does not mean he is mature.
By the fourth day of chasing buffalo I was getting a bit disheartened. The previous evening we had been set up perfectly waiting for a small herd with a very solid bull to cross an opening in front of us. We were fairly close to one of the dirt roads. About that time, one of the anti-poaching units drove by on a motorbike (not once, but twice), and the herd turned and headed back in to the thick stuff. Everything had been going wrong. Ian explained that as many close calls as we were having, sooner or later, it had to work out.
On day 6 of the hunt, things finally came together. We were driving to the location where we had last been on the herd when we saw a herd cross 400 yards down the road. We backed up and set out to see if we could intercept the herd. We did a lot of running and scrambling over a few miles to try to get in position. Finally, it looked like it was going to happen. Just as we arrived at a small opening, some buffalo hit the opening. I looked to the left and saw that the rest of the herd would soon follow. I was up on the sticks as Ian and the head tracker looked over the buffalo as they hit the opening. All of a sudden, it clicked. Shit- I am not on the same opening as they are. I whispered to them that I might be out of position. They about stroked. We shifted me over so that we were evaluating the same buffalo. Ian then said, “there he is. He’s stopped in the brush to the left. He’s watching us. He’s going to come out.” After a solid minute or two, or bull walked out. “That’s him. Take him when you’re ready. I’ll stop him.” I never even looked at his horns. I locked onto the low shoulder and followed until Ian bawled. The bull stopped at 53 yards. I squeezed. It rocked his world. The 400 grain soft obliterated the top of his heart and got both lungs. He staggered and stumbled for another 50 yards and finally toppled. A bunch of bulls gathered around him, horning him and trying to pick him back up. We heard the death bellow. The bulls continued to harass and horn the bull. We approached and they finally bugged off. My bull was down.
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I was extremely satisfied. It was a good stalk and a quick death. The bull was not a stud. He was mature and solid and he pretty good. He was not close to as good as several others bulls we almost got. That was okay. It was a good hunt. We had worked hard. I had my first buffalo having hunted the right way.
We now had 4 days to have fun.
My number one and two after buffalo was eland and kudu. I had taken a kudu in Botswana, but it wasn’t that good. I wanted a good one. I wanted one better than the one my dad had gotten a few days earlier.
On day 7 we got on a herd of eland. Eland are huge. They are the largest antelope in the world. They can weight close to 2000 pounds. I wanted a blue bull. The old bulls get a steely blue color and have big mops of fur on their forehead, as well as a large dulap. The mop is for when they stick their heads under a cow when she’s peeing so they can savor the smell of her urine and determine if she’s ready. Hunting eland is a spot and stalk or tracking affair. They walk long and fast. It’s a really, really fun hunt. We were able to track several groups, but each time we closed the distance we found that there was not a blue bull. We ultimately got on a set of tracks of a group with several bulls. We tracked and slipped for quite some time, finally getting into a position in the mopane forest to get a look. Fortunately, the one bull we could see was a good one. There was no time for the sticks, as the bull was walking through a small gap. I got onto a knee and braced the .416 across a fallen tree. I squeezed and I got lucky. He was quartering more than I had realized, and while I hit forward, catching him in the neck, because of the angle, it crushed the spine at the junction of the chest and neck. He went down on the spot. I rushed forward and finished him as quickly as possible.
This eland was exactly what I had wanted. He was a true blue bull with a big mop. His horns had decent length and he had started to broom at least one of them. He was a stud.
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The last three days were spent looking for a kudu, bushbuck, and warthog. We were spending most of our time in the thick riverine areas. Lots of walking and glassing the edges of the river. My dad was seeing kudu left and right. We weren’t. We had seen one shooter during the entire hunt. What we were finding was stud waterbuck and stud waterbuck. Really good ones. However, that was not on my list. I don’t exactly know why (other than the trophy fee), but they just don’t really do it for me. Having come home, I now regret not shooting one of them, but that gives me a reason to go back.
On the very last day of the hunt, we finally found our kudu. We found a small group of cows with a young bull and a mature bull. We tried to get on them, but they busted us and took off. We followed. While tracking, we fortuitously came across three bushpigs as they headed to water. I don’t know how they didn’t see us, as they crossed 30 yards ahead of us. My PH headed toward them and set up the sticks. I was torn. I wanted my kudu. However, you just don’t have chances at bushpigs in the daylight. The board was quartering away hard, so I shot him way back. He took off and crossed ahead of me at full speed going left to right. I swung ahead of him and squeezed off, shooting him square in the head. He rolled as only a hog can. He was awesome. A fully mature bushpig with good cutters.
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We continued our stalk. A few hours later, we finally caught up with our kudu. We got into position as the cow crossed an opening at about 100 yards. I was on the sticks. The bull was in cover to the left, but would follow the cow across. The son of a bitch decided to haul ass across the opening, rather than just walk like the cow. I don’t know what came over me, but rather than continue tracking and catch up with them later, I decided to take the shot. Had I not just shot the bushpig on the run, I doubt I would have taken this shot on the kudu. I did. Ian immediately declared a miss, along with, “There’s no way you made that shot, and what the fuck did you do that for.” He was right and wrong. Unfortunately, I had “made” that shot, but not well. Over the remaining 8 hours, we tracked my bull. We jumped him twice. We poured lead after him. We missed again and again. Finally, the bull got into a rocky area that we couldn’t sort out. We lost him. It was a sad ending to a great hunt. I think the kudu was hit in the leg, and I am optimistic that he is still out there, but who knows. (I do know that I paid for him, though. You draw blood, that’s your trophy.)
By the end of the hunt, I had my buffalo, why wife had her zebra, and I had also gotten a wildebeest, bushpig, two impalas, a jackal, and an eland. My dad had taken a zebra, a very good kudu, a nice waterbuck, a decent leopard, a not-so-great bushbuck, and the largest impala ever taken at Sango (as well as 25 other impalas for bait and rations).
I know that this was a lengthy report. I figure without much else going on this time of year, you might want to kill some time. If you have any interest at all in hunting Africa, do it as soon as possible. Things are changing fast. Botswana, where I first hunted, is now closed to hunting. Zimbabwe, were I hunted this time, cannot export elephant to the USA, and it is believed that many other species will follow. Cheers, CC
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Originally Posted by Rebel Yell
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