Dan the Man
Member
Excerpted from www.nature.ca:
"Syncerus caffer
In Africa, the water buffalo is represented by the African or cape buffalo. This bulky animal is one of the most dangerous mammals to be found anywhere. Weighing about 700 kg on average, with much larger individuals reported, the horn span of some mature bulls is more than a metre in width. It is said that more big game hunters have been killed by the cape buffalo than by any other African animal.
Cape buffalo prefer areas of open pasture, close to jungle and swampy ground where they can wallow.
Other than man, they have few natural predators and are capable of defending themselves against (and sometimes killing) lions, who will attack only old, sick, or immature buffaloes. The leopard is a threat only to newborn calves."
We had been sitting patiently in the sand for about an hour. I was starting to think a "pee break" was in order. We had spotted these two bulls late yesterday evening, and we had spotted them again first thing this morning, and had now stalked to within about 30 yards of them. They were both still laying down and we had not yet gotten a good look at their headgear. Still, I was feeling like this was going to be it. We had been hunting for six days.
On the second day of the hunt, we had plenty of excitement. The other client was the 'first shooter' and we had bumped into a group of eight "dagga boys" in thick jess (brushy terrain). The other client shot a beautiful big bull, but put his second shot into a second buff
. After the other client had shot five .375 H&H magnum solids into buff #2, the PH yelled 'Dan get up here and get involved'. I went forward and saw one buff down and another standing. As I watched, buff #2 collapsed. The PH called for the other client to shoot buff #1 again. Meanwhile, I circled around to the back of buff #2. That's when buff #2 let out a bellow, came to his feet, and started turning towards us. The PH yelled 'Hit'em! He's coming! Hit'em!' My .475 jumped up and I sent a softpoint in just behind his shoulder as he swung towards me, only 20 yards away. The impact of the bullet shook him, his knees buckled, and down he went again. I hit him again, with the solid in the left barrel. The PH was yelling 'Reload! Reload!' as I dropped the empties and popped two more cigar-sized cartridges into the chambers. But that was the end of it.
In the intervening days, we had stalked two herds (one of which stampeded not twenty yards from us). However, the big bulls were in bachelor groups. You know you are dangerous game hunting when the PH turns around and whispers 'I have five rounds, do you have all your ammo?' Well, uh, yeah, I have 11 cartridges, will that be enough? Or when we're tracking a group of four bulls through a narrow canyon, and he points to the sheer walls and says 'You need to learn to climb those quickly.' I wondered when I'm going to be able to practice.
The evening of the fourth day of the hunt, we had found a nice bull. When we were stalking them, we went through a dried creek bed. As we got to the bottom of it, I heard the leaves rustling. Not six feet away was a snake, black and yellowish, maybe two feet long. The PH whispered 'That's not a good one' and we hastened out towards the resting buff. In the intervening moment, I asked what it was, and he said 'spitting cobra'. He than asked me if he could buy my boots (my boots were a source of humor, being 17" snake boots, but quite nice and comfy. Nobody believed I could hike around in them, but I kept up OK). My boots, of course were 'priceless' at that moment.
We managed to get 30 yards from a good bull, but I didn't like the shot--too many branches in the way--right through the vital area of the buff and midway between us. With just an hour of daylight, I didn't want a shot to deflect and have a wounded buff to chase at dusk. We got into a better position, just 11 yards from the nearest buff (with the nice one soon to approach), but the wind was playing tricks and they caught our scent. I wondered that night whether I should have taken that shot, but the consensus was I had made the smart choice.
Anyway, back to the pee break. This had been a fun stalk; I had crawled around on my back, which was not too uncomfortable with the sandy soil. I smeared ashes on my face (there had been a burn earlier in the year here and plenty of ash). The PH was finally tired of sitting watching. We decided to loop around them and cut them off once they headed to water. Once we were 200 meters or so from the buff, I got my pee break. We moved carefully along a treeline (mostly shrubby trees, but a couple substantial ones), when we say the buff moving from our left to right. The lead tracker was about 20 yards behind us, with the #2 tracker and game scout even farther back. The PH asked if I could make that shot. I said 'what is it, about 40 yards?' He said 'More like 70 yards' (I'm not a great judge of distance, and those buff are so darn BIG). Anyway, I said 'yeah, I can make that shot'. He said 'Hit it right on the point of the shoulder', I took one step to the right to get out from behind a bush, raised the rifle, and took the shot. The sight picture looked good, and the buff hunched when he was hit (I take that as a good sign). He turned and ran, kicking up dust. I fired my left barrel as he ran, and then he disappeared in the dust.
We watched the other buff to be sure he wasn't going to be trouble and I hastily reloaded. We moved out into the open; then the tracker came up and said he saw a buff go down. In all the dust I didn't see it fall. However, as we moved to our right, we could make out the buff on the ground. I told the PH the first shot was good, but I didn't think the second shot had hit. We approached carefully, and I put one more solid in him at 10 yards (cheap life insurance). It was an exhilarating moment. We had hunted hard for a long time, had made a dozen or so stalks, and I had held up my end of the bargain with a good shot. When we rolled the buff off his side, the PH pointed at an entrance wound just behind the ribs where the second shot had hit him perfectly as well. I was pretty darn pleased with myself.
The first shot had hit right on the point of the shoulder, 1/3 of the way up. It had penetrated both lungs and tore off the top of the heart. The second bullet had struck just behind the rib cage and had stopped in the breast bone. The soft point had expanded to 0.9" (don't ask me weight retention, I haven't measured it!!).
This was my first buff (well, my second if you include the other client's accident). The hunting was quite fun: stalking and sneaking and so forth. And that is one big, ugly trophy to hang on the wall!
Regards
--Dan
p.s. pic attached. I'll post another with the recovered bullets.
"Syncerus caffer
In Africa, the water buffalo is represented by the African or cape buffalo. This bulky animal is one of the most dangerous mammals to be found anywhere. Weighing about 700 kg on average, with much larger individuals reported, the horn span of some mature bulls is more than a metre in width. It is said that more big game hunters have been killed by the cape buffalo than by any other African animal.
Cape buffalo prefer areas of open pasture, close to jungle and swampy ground where they can wallow.
Other than man, they have few natural predators and are capable of defending themselves against (and sometimes killing) lions, who will attack only old, sick, or immature buffaloes. The leopard is a threat only to newborn calves."
We had been sitting patiently in the sand for about an hour. I was starting to think a "pee break" was in order. We had spotted these two bulls late yesterday evening, and we had spotted them again first thing this morning, and had now stalked to within about 30 yards of them. They were both still laying down and we had not yet gotten a good look at their headgear. Still, I was feeling like this was going to be it. We had been hunting for six days.
On the second day of the hunt, we had plenty of excitement. The other client was the 'first shooter' and we had bumped into a group of eight "dagga boys" in thick jess (brushy terrain). The other client shot a beautiful big bull, but put his second shot into a second buff
. After the other client had shot five .375 H&H magnum solids into buff #2, the PH yelled 'Dan get up here and get involved'. I went forward and saw one buff down and another standing. As I watched, buff #2 collapsed. The PH called for the other client to shoot buff #1 again. Meanwhile, I circled around to the back of buff #2. That's when buff #2 let out a bellow, came to his feet, and started turning towards us. The PH yelled 'Hit'em! He's coming! Hit'em!' My .475 jumped up and I sent a softpoint in just behind his shoulder as he swung towards me, only 20 yards away. The impact of the bullet shook him, his knees buckled, and down he went again. I hit him again, with the solid in the left barrel. The PH was yelling 'Reload! Reload!' as I dropped the empties and popped two more cigar-sized cartridges into the chambers. But that was the end of it.In the intervening days, we had stalked two herds (one of which stampeded not twenty yards from us). However, the big bulls were in bachelor groups. You know you are dangerous game hunting when the PH turns around and whispers 'I have five rounds, do you have all your ammo?' Well, uh, yeah, I have 11 cartridges, will that be enough? Or when we're tracking a group of four bulls through a narrow canyon, and he points to the sheer walls and says 'You need to learn to climb those quickly.' I wondered when I'm going to be able to practice.
The evening of the fourth day of the hunt, we had found a nice bull. When we were stalking them, we went through a dried creek bed. As we got to the bottom of it, I heard the leaves rustling. Not six feet away was a snake, black and yellowish, maybe two feet long. The PH whispered 'That's not a good one' and we hastened out towards the resting buff. In the intervening moment, I asked what it was, and he said 'spitting cobra'. He than asked me if he could buy my boots (my boots were a source of humor, being 17" snake boots, but quite nice and comfy. Nobody believed I could hike around in them, but I kept up OK). My boots, of course were 'priceless' at that moment.
We managed to get 30 yards from a good bull, but I didn't like the shot--too many branches in the way--right through the vital area of the buff and midway between us. With just an hour of daylight, I didn't want a shot to deflect and have a wounded buff to chase at dusk. We got into a better position, just 11 yards from the nearest buff (with the nice one soon to approach), but the wind was playing tricks and they caught our scent. I wondered that night whether I should have taken that shot, but the consensus was I had made the smart choice.
Anyway, back to the pee break. This had been a fun stalk; I had crawled around on my back, which was not too uncomfortable with the sandy soil. I smeared ashes on my face (there had been a burn earlier in the year here and plenty of ash). The PH was finally tired of sitting watching. We decided to loop around them and cut them off once they headed to water. Once we were 200 meters or so from the buff, I got my pee break. We moved carefully along a treeline (mostly shrubby trees, but a couple substantial ones), when we say the buff moving from our left to right. The lead tracker was about 20 yards behind us, with the #2 tracker and game scout even farther back. The PH asked if I could make that shot. I said 'what is it, about 40 yards?' He said 'More like 70 yards' (I'm not a great judge of distance, and those buff are so darn BIG). Anyway, I said 'yeah, I can make that shot'. He said 'Hit it right on the point of the shoulder', I took one step to the right to get out from behind a bush, raised the rifle, and took the shot. The sight picture looked good, and the buff hunched when he was hit (I take that as a good sign). He turned and ran, kicking up dust. I fired my left barrel as he ran, and then he disappeared in the dust.
We watched the other buff to be sure he wasn't going to be trouble and I hastily reloaded. We moved out into the open; then the tracker came up and said he saw a buff go down. In all the dust I didn't see it fall. However, as we moved to our right, we could make out the buff on the ground. I told the PH the first shot was good, but I didn't think the second shot had hit. We approached carefully, and I put one more solid in him at 10 yards (cheap life insurance). It was an exhilarating moment. We had hunted hard for a long time, had made a dozen or so stalks, and I had held up my end of the bargain with a good shot. When we rolled the buff off his side, the PH pointed at an entrance wound just behind the ribs where the second shot had hit him perfectly as well. I was pretty darn pleased with myself.
The first shot had hit right on the point of the shoulder, 1/3 of the way up. It had penetrated both lungs and tore off the top of the heart. The second bullet had struck just behind the rib cage and had stopped in the breast bone. The soft point had expanded to 0.9" (don't ask me weight retention, I haven't measured it!!).
This was my first buff (well, my second if you include the other client's accident). The hunting was quite fun: stalking and sneaking and so forth. And that is one big, ugly trophy to hang on the wall!
Regards
--Dan
p.s. pic attached. I'll post another with the recovered bullets.
