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Thread: June 28, 2022 - Day 2 in Africa

  1. #1
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    Default June 28, 2022 - Day 2 in Africa

    As much as I want to experience every moment possible in Africa, the alarm clock here is just as rude as it is before a late season duck hunt in the US. A hot shower and a shave have me feeling more ready for my second day. I enjoy the irony of being a guy who hasn’t bothered to shave for work in years but would shave in the hopes of killing a gnarly warthog.

    I’m already getting used to having a hot breakfast. This might be a problem when I’m back in the real world but for now it’s a great start to the day. Nick and I talk about yesterday’s brindled gnu and the possibilities for today. Our tracker made his way down from his cabin on the hill and we load our gear on the truck.

    Big John noticed a newborn giraffe just as we got started with our “road work”. I was able to get a few good photos. I can’t wrap my head around the amount of wildlife that these acacia flats can support. It would be like having 50 whitetail deer visible from the road at any time. I just don’t understand.

    We plodded along looking for the right animals to give us the right opportunity. It was really windy which made for tough conditions. I don’t know exactly why but Big John accompanied the guide and I on the first stalk of the day.

    Big John, like everyone else I met in RSA, is multi-lingual. I don’t think they do it on purpose but he and Nick would slip between Zulu and English like it was one big language. They probably discussed the reason for him joining the stalk but I just didn’t pick-up on it. Besides, I’m either arrogant enough or self-confident enough that I never asked them to translate. If they wanted to talk about their goofy American client behind his back, I was fine with that since I was having the time of my life.

    Africans stalk game in single-file lines with the PH in front. Their theory is it lowers the profile visible to whatever animals are being hunted. This doesn’t really make sense to me because three men standing abreast would look more like another large ungulate and less like a human than a single person line. Besides, there are animals everywhere not just directly in front of us. I get the feeling that this single-file thing is more of an unquestioned tradition than a valid hunting strategy but I was in Rome so I did what the Romans were doing…Big John followed the protocol, too, although the silhouette of our line was certainly a bit broader with him in mix.

    We pushed forward with the morning’s stiff wind in our faces. Nick and John both hunkered and whispered ‘zebra’ at the same time. They pronounce it zeb-ra where most Americans say ze-bra. They pointed but all I saw was thick early winter grass and scrub acacia. I was starting to suspect a prank again when they both straightened and said we’d been busted. I still was dubious until I heard the unmistakable and impossible-to-imitate vocalizations of unhappy zebra. Somehow, with my color vision and supposedly larger brain, I couldn’t see a dozen rather audaciously patterned zebra before they and their black-and-white vision saw us. On the walk out I started wondering what it was going to take to get the less than 150-yard shot that I needed for me and the 5x scope I brought.

    Our next attempt, a fast-paced and lengthy stalk through acacia scrub for impala, was fruitless but we came out to a road with a steenbok at about 250 yards away. We stopped in our tracks. As I slowly got the gun on the sticks, a common gray duiker came onto the road right near the steenbok. I had both of these species on my “by chance” list and this was certainly by chance. Nick whispered that he wanted to try something. My guide reached into his pocket and pulled out what sounded to me like a predator call. The duiker ram loved it and started coming towards us in several high-speed spurts and sudden stops. I’ve seen this done on Youtube for red duiker but it seemed to work equally well on the gray duiker too. My heart was in my throat but I’m not sure if it was because Nick was calling one of those fascinating pygmy antelopes into gun range or if I was worried that a local leopard might take a liking to the duiker call. Either way, just before getting into range the duiker spooked and dove into the brush very reminiscent of an Olympic swimmer jumping into a pool. It’s not a coincidence that “duiker” is the Afrikaans word for “diver”. The Steenbok, it turns out, was a ewe and the Duiker was now gone so our hunt was over. I didn’t get to see a leopard either.

    We checked a couple of trail cameras and walked to a salt lick. No game but I saw my first Black-headed Oriole – an almost indescribably beautiful bird with a voice to match. Another stalk was busted by a big group of Giraffe. It’s humbling to be on the ground with these giants. This was not a zoo. There were no fences. The only thing between me and an animal that’s known to kill a lion with a single kick was red dirt and grass. They proved a point though; it is nearly impossible to hunt on foot with giraffes around. They can see you coming from a literal mile away and once they run everything else runs too. Anyone who can bow hunt a giraffe on foot has my upmost respect.

    The long road back for lunch and Big John spotted some elephants on the side of a steep hill in the neighboring Madikwe Game Reserve. Even with my Zeiss binoculars, I could barely tell they were elephants yet Big John had seen them while driving a truck on a bouncy, rugged road. For me, this just substantiated the legendary reputation of African trackers and their superhuman vision.

    Over lunch I noticed that white South Africans seem to use the word “fantastic” a lot. I’m starting to understand that it’s not just a meaningless sentence intensifier. It’s because so many things here are actually fantastic including the lunch – fried potatoes and yesterday’s wildebeest. I can’t say enough about how good it was. After lunch, while my PH took a nap, I chased an African Gray Hornbill that I heard singing but I never got to see or photograph it. It struck me that I’m in the toddler phase in my Africa trip. I’m getting more and more bold on my own and starting to wander off further and further from those charged with my safety. I made a mental note to be more cautious because the toddler always ends up getting himself into trouble and running back, crying, to its parents. I made my way back towards camp.

    On the hillside behind our camp, I noticed what I thought was a large bird up a tree. When I looked with binoculars it was actually a pair of vervet monkeys. I whispered “monkeys” to the sleeping Nick who was up immediately. He ran to his tent and brought out a silenced .308 with a bipod mumbling something about Chris Kyle. He, again, offered to let me shoot a monkey. “No thank you”, so he set up hoping to drop the two out of the tree with one shot. Before the two of them lined up, another vervet came to the waterhole behind us. Nick turned, popped him in the head then turned back, and killed one out of the tree. All the sudden, I get the Chris Kyle comment. Using my Canon DSLR like a camcorder, I got both of these on video. Both were head shot and dead immediately. Nick showed me why the slang name for vervets is the “blue-balled monkey”…the mature males really have bright sky blue…well, you know.

    The monkeys were thrown in the back of the truck for a trip to the Vulture Restaurant. I’ve mentioned it before, but Africa’s vultures are all threatened species so the lethal management of camp vermin will benefit several threatened bird species. It’s a pretty good trade off in my opinion. Enough birding and pest control, we were back on the truck for big game.

    We only made it a little way from camp before either Nick or Big John noticed some impala behind the usual roadside tsessebe. We tried a stalk but it failed before it even got started with Impala running in several directions and the tsessebe stomping and blowing. This upped my opinion of the brown antelope with a reputation for speed. Up until now they seemed to be oblivious to humans in a truck but their attitude changed a little when we were on foot. They still didn’t run but at least they seemed uncomfortable. I doubt they would let us approach much closer on foot.

    We walked through to the opposite side of the block where we bumped a handful of warthogs that ran across the road just as John was coming around to get us. I didn’t lift the rifle. No harm, though, because there were no shooter pigs in the bunch.

    In Africa, just like the US, I really have no sense of direction so I’m not sure where we were but we got on a group of wildebeest that had some satellite zebra. The zebra spooked early but the wildebeests, cows and calves with one young bull, evidently knowing that I had my tag filled, just laid in the road that we had just crossed. Big John almost had to push a couple of tsessebe off the road with the bumper of the truck in order to come and get us. I’m back to being suspect of tsessebe. Man’s greed almost wiped them out. Now, man’s benevolence has them back in good numbers but their species didn’t seem to have learned anything from the matter.

    Recovering from the blown stalk we took another road where Nick spotted a one-horned gemsbok, aka oryx. Like all good PH’s, Nick had already figured me out and appealed to my basic primal nature. He told me that one-horned animals are half price – basically $700 for this stunningly beautiful unicorn. All I could say was, “Let’s go.”

    Halfway through a good stalk, my young PH whispered that it was an old cow. Oryx cows and bulls have very similar horns so gemsbok headgear is not a good way to differentiate the sexes. About that time something like a large piece of fruit fell off of a dead leadwood tree we were using as cover. Of course, there is no explanation for why a tree that was poisoned 20 years ago would still have fruit on it. Before my mind could grasp what had happened, a pearl-spotted owl with a lizard in its tiny beak flew up from where the “fruit” had fallen. Being birders, Nick and I counted ourselves lucky to get to see this diminutive owl hunting in the daylight. This reenforces the point, too, that hunters are more privy to nature’s secrets than those who don’t hunt.

    Continuing the stalk, I started having second doubts. It took another 100 yards for me to work up the nerve to tell my PH. I don’t know if it was because she was a cow, or if I just didn’t want to spend the money on something that I really wasn’t that interested in to start with, or if it was some other divine providence but I had simply had a change of heart. I hated that Nick had wasted a great stalk only to have me change my mind like some insecure kid. I looked around hoping to find something to try to salvage the effort. I found some zebra.

    “Well spotted,” is not an expression anyone in the US would ever use but that was Nick’s whispered response to my seeing the zebra. We started a fresh stalk. As we turned, I looked over my right shoulder at the old lone Oryx cow. She had lived her entire life in a world I had only dreamed of but I had to wonder if she, herself, wasn’t hoping for the mercy of a good stalk. Oryx are just not supposed to be alone.

    Back on the zebra, I did my usual things to try to make it not work. I stepped on a dry branch then stubbed my foot on a root ball but the enemy wind had become our friend. We got in double rifle range and the PH put up his shooting sticks.

    I don’t know if it was 10 minutes or 45 but I hunched over the sticks moving the crosshairs from one zebra to another as Nick’s mind and eyes worked through the herd. We lined up on what he thought was a good stallion but perfectly spaced morula trees and Nick’s uncertainty keep me from taking a shot. I will probably only kill one zebra during my entire life so I want it to be a nice, adult male.

    Unlike wildebeest and the roadside horses I’m used to seeing, zebra stallions don’t usually have a visible “belly button” so it’s tough to know for sure. Males are bigger than the females but not by much. Their heads and faces are more blocky and their backs are scarred from fighting but separating stallions from mares is based on gradations and is not, forgive the pun, black and white. At this point, I really had to rely on Nick’s experience to work through these subtilties and get me on the right animal.

    Because the sexes are so hard to tell apart, it’s considered okay to take a mare. Matter of fact, a lot of zebra hunters do it on purpose because the hide of females is not scarred up from fighting and makes a better rug.

    My PH pointed out a big mare with good, clean skin. I lined up the scope but that same change of heart thing hit me so I lifted the crosshairs harmlessly over her back. “It’s your hunt,” Nick genuinely assured me. We watched another possible stallion but a pair of half-size foals seemed to be sticking close behind him. He looked like a male but his followers caused some doubt. It’s only the evening of Day Two but it seemed I was at a possible pivot point for my safari. Would I look back and regret not taking that beautiful mare or would I reach of point of regret for actually taking her?

    A scuffle broke out in the bush that pulled me out of the self-reflecting trance I had put myself in. I could only see bits and pieces of the activity until it brought another handful of zebra into gun range. The fight ended with a nice, big stallion standing broadside at 90 meters. I poked a hole through the top of its shoulder badge. I seldom hear a bullet slap an animal but I knew we had a solid hit. Heart shots aren’t instantaneous so I asked Nick, “Should I hit him again?”

    “No.”

    “You sure?”

    “Yes.”

    It was over in less than 10 seconds and less than 20 yards from where it started. What I didn't know was that Nick could see a solid garnet stream coming from the hole I had made and knew we weren’t going to lose this zebra.

    Nick radioed Big John as we walked to where the zebra was lying on his side, unmoving. He pulled back its gums to show me that male zebras have a fang in the gap between the incisors and molars. This is the cause of the scaring on the backs of the stallions.

    Nick left me to meet Big John on the road so I got to spend some quality time photographing my zebra under the warm light of an African sunset. As with the wildebeest, it took a while for them to work the truck through the scrub while dodging stumps and aardvark holes. I enjoyed every second of the time with my zebra.

    After getting the truck to where I was, Nick got our help to roll the zebra on its other side. He was looking for an exit wound but found the 180 grain Accubond just under the skin on the opposite shoulder. He’s a big ballistics junkie and very interested in bullet performance. From there we did the usual set-up and took the customary trophy photos, me with my camera and he with his. Even so often, he’d look at the screen on his camera, smile and, again, mention the ingxoxo or discussion we were to have on the value of the photos he was taking. Big John would just laugh. If he wasn’t joking I had little to bargain with – I needed to change that…

    Sunset didn’t mark the end of Africa’s surprises. On the way to the skinning shed with the zebra properly loaded, a pair of honey badgers ran across the winding, grassy road just in front of our vehicle. Even Africans don’t get to see them very often so Nick and John went into a chorus of whoops and hollers. At the skinning shed, they hoisted my zebra where Nick jumped in and started the necessary knife work. He was amazingly efficient. He had to be. The zebra’s long yellow gut was blowing up like a party balloon on a helium nozzle. After dropping the insides into a huge basin, he dug around for the heart. It looked like head of a cartoon bunny. My bullet had literally fileted the top part of the heart into two perfectly equal halves that flopped over like a rabbit’s ears. Nick held it up for me to see. All I could say was, “I almost missed it”. They laughed and it became something of a joke but I wasn’t joking. I’d made two excellent shots so far but I still couldn’t shake that ominous feeling that I was shooting above my paygrade. Nick turned his attention to the skin on the zebra’s left flank.

    He dug around and pulled out my bullet. I’ve been something of a Nosler fan boy after finding out how much my rifle likes their bullets. I’m even more so now since the performance of their accubond on a big, tough-skinned animal looked almost perfect to me.

    It was totally dark by the time we got started back to camp. Nick and I were on the back with my rifle loaded in case we saw a bush pig. Night hunting in Africa is completely acceptable and bush pigs are very, very nocturnal. I was actually feeling pretty lucky. About halfway to camp, my PH jumped out of the truck with his flashlight, he calls a torch, and said, “busy baby”. My jacked-up ears heard “bush pig” so I went for my rifle. “No, get the camera.” I was confused but followed orders.

    I got a few marginal photos of an African bush baby through the thick branches and awkward torch light. It wasn’t over, though. A group of Cape buffalo crossed the road on our way back into camp. It was dark enough by then that my camera shutter wouldn’t cooperate and I didn’t get any photos.

    After checking in with family and freshening up I met Nick by the fire. Chef Trust had prepared some Wildebeest Mountain Oysters as an appetizer. Under any normal circumstances I would have never even entertained the idea of trying them. Honestly compels me to admit that they weren’t bad. They kind of reminded me of very tender pork. Before I had time to retreat back into my warm, comfortable box, the Chef served Wildebeest liver, kidney and heart giblets on toast. I ate that too. Fittingly, diner was fresh Wildebeest loin with potatoes. It was the most awesome day I ever lived.


    Tsessebe antelope under a white-thorn acacia


    I have not words for this




    One of Nick's Pictures


    The bullet pulled from the zebra


    Bush Baby


    Grilled Wildebeest Loin
    Ephesians 2 : 8-9



    Charles Barkley: Nobody doesn't like meat.

  2. #2
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    Outstanding as usual! I'm green....
    "Only accurate rifles are interesting " - Col. Townsend Whelen

  3. #3
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    I gotta start saving for a trip like this, def just moved to the top of my to do list of things in life.
    every expert was once a beginner

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    Like button
    "Check your premise." Dr. Hugh Akston

  5. #5
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    Great read. Thanks for taking the time to share!

  6. #6
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    Excellent read, as always. I have the bullet from the first buck I killed. 30-06 Ballistic Silvertip that the processor found just under the skin when he was caping him out for me. It makes for a cool little memento.

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    Solid as it gets
    Quote Originally Posted by Mars Bluff View Post
    Only thing we need to be wearing in this country are ass whippings & condoms. That'll clear up half our issues.

  8. #8
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    Fantastic indeed.

    I am especially appreciative to see you write " the most awesome day I have ever lived"

    Wonderful. Congratulations Sir.
    F**K Cancer

    Just Damn.

  9. #9
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    Beautiful write up. You need to go every year so we can get a saga going.

    Sent from my Pixel 3a using Tapatalk

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    Quote Originally Posted by mrtroy4man View Post
    I gotta start saving for a trip like this, def just moved to the top of my to do list of things in life.
    Ha. That makes two of us.

    Day two was as good as day 1. Can't wait to read day 3.

  11. #11
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    Thank you

  12. #12
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    Excellent read!!! Second only to being there with you!
    Listen to your elders. Not because they are always right but because they have more experiences of being wrong.

    "We make a living by what we get, we make a life by what we give" Sir Winston Churchill

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    Thank you for taking the time to keep us updated!


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    Quote Originally Posted by mrtroy4man View Post
    I gotta start saving for a trip like this, def just moved to the top of my to do list of things in life.
    Yes in deed.
    Quote Originally Posted by Birddawg View Post
    I dont know how it was done. For all I know that weird bastard that determined it's gender licked it.

  15. #15
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    Very nice!
    "You are Citadel Men, you have no pension for failure, you wear the Ring, you never let a friend down, you will be good fathers, husbands, and leaders in the armed forces and industry, you are strong in heart, body, and mind. You protect such things as Honor and Fidelity. Your virtues matter not only in wealth, but in the richness of family, you are the last of the knights."
    - late President Ronald Reagan

  16. #16
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    I'm not sure which part I am most impressed with, the hunt or the story. Both are outstanding.
    Vegetarian: Native American for Piss Poor Hunter

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    Outstanding. Can’t wait for the next installment.

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    Fantastic indeed. This write up is one of your bbest. Good luck tomorrow

  19. #19
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    Paragraph 23, “subtleties” is misspelled.

    In case my paragraph count is off, it’s the one about the zebra not having visible belly buttons.

    I’m giving major kudos for the use of “upmost” in lieu of “utmost” as I feel, based on your nature, that it was intentional.

    I would like to see the monkey video.

    Incredible journey, thanks for taking the time to present it to us.

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    Quote Originally Posted by wskinner View Post
    Excellent read, as always. I have the bullet from the first buck I killed. 30-06 Ballistic Silvertip that the processor found just under the skin when he was caping him out for me. It makes for a cool little memento.
    With a handle like wskinner, you ought to be skinning and caping your own deer…


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