- Joined
- Jan 28, 2003
- Messages
- 13,341
Well guys I just got back from Zimbabwe and South Africa where I spent the better part of May. From the get go I am going to tell you that this wasn’t one of the best hunts that I’ve been on in Africa. It all started with two broken rifles and some very tough hunting conditions. The day before I was to leave I took my .470 NE out for a final shake down and sight verification. When I got to the range the my right trigger was DEAD! Believe it or not the main spring on the right barrel had snapped and the gun was now effectively a single shot left barreled rifle. After some consternation and a bit of fancy foot work I determined that the double rifle was staying home on this trip as there was no way to fix it without a serious delay. That hurt guys, this rifle was the primary reason I booked the trip. Oh well stuff happens on to plan B!
No worries I just happen to have a perfectly good .458Lott sitting in the safe. I rushed home grabbed the rifle and hastily returned to the range. At the range the rifle was shooting clovers at 50 yards and functioning like a true hero of the bush after about 25 or 30 rounds of pure fun I determined that the Lott would do. So I packed her up and headed to the airport early the next morning.
In any case I arrived in South Africa slightly worse for the wear after the 30 hours of travel. I slept the night and awoke the next morning excited to take the rifles out for a spin and check them for function. Jaco took me to a friends farm and I proudly unpacked my shiny high speed .458 lott. A custom rifle to boot, what could possibly go wrong with this fine piece of operating machinery?
The first shot cut the bull in half, dead center. I gazed down the sights with pride at my prowess with an iron sighted heavy rifle. At that moment I was the finest shooter in all of Southern Africa holding the best shooting .458 Bore rifle in all of the world.
With cool smugness I announced to the gathering crowd that I would now put another round through the same hole just so that I could verify zero. I flicked the empty round and tried to feed the next one in the magazine. The round slipped the feed rails stove piped. With my ears turning red from embarrassment I quickly cleared the jam and chambered another round.
With great concentration and steely eyed skill I gently squeezed the trigger . The rifle went CLICK instead of BANG like it was supposed to! Hmm I commented. “must be a bad primer”, the next one went bang. The next one miss fed, and the next one went click, as did the rest. The Lott was dead, an evil spirit had entered her soul while in the belly of the airplane. I don’t yet know what went wrong but it was something bad!
Here is a photo journal and a summary of my trip I hope that you enjoy it.
With good friends Jaco and Lynette in South Africa. While there I had the privilege of watching a rugby tournament where I got to meet several of the future South African Springboks. These are some tough kids and they all had a great time playing rugby. Here is Wikus and his friend, these boys know how to put some "smack down" on!
After several days of messing around in town we were able to get away and travel to to near Kimberley and spend several days out on a friend of Jacos game farm. Here I was fortunate enough to be able to look at some very fine buffalo bulls. How is this for a mac daddy buff bull. NO you can’t shoot him he is for viewing pleasure only!
While on the farm I was asked if I like to cull an old oryx from the herd. He was fully mature and as you can see had very limited genetic potential as his horns were very short. After a 500 yard belly crawling/ crouched stalk we were able to close the distance to just about 200 yards. I had to wait for several minutes until he was clear. I hit him on the shoulder facing on to me with a 300gr Rhino. He ran at the shot and disappeared into some thick brush. The bullet had taken off the top of the heart and he didn’t go far. The picture shows the exit wound. The good old .375 strikes again. This rifle and I have a long term love affair I’ve killed hundreds and hundreds of head of game with this rifle and she’s never let me down and even though she is getting worn and battered she still shoots half inch groups all day long with anything I put in her. Old reliable!
After 6 days in South Africa I boarded the SA flight to Zimabawe. The first day of the hunt was spent collecting game scouts and generally getting ready for the hunt. Here is Sindisou or tracker and his family in the village of Keneymba. I hunted with Sindi back in 2004 when we had our horrible charge incident with a wounded buffalo. Sindi is a first class tracker and first class gentlemen. I consider him a friend. I love this picture of him standing proud with his new wife and beautiful family.
By day two I started to realize that the hunting conditions were going to be very tough. It had been a very rainy year and the jess bush was as thick as it had been in years. Here is a view of some of the country we were to hunt. The Zambezi is wild Africa and I find the countryside alluring. Especially knowing that it is filled with all kinds of mega fauna. It puts a tingle in my spine just looking at this country and knowing that soon I’ll be walking it with a rifle in hand.
The whitest legs in Africa! Enough said.
A poster form the latest election in Zim. The Zanu Pf is the current ruling party in Zim.
A picture that I think captures the true village life in rural Africa. Just a woman and her daughter walking home with some millet.
More village photos. Happy children always make for a good photo!
After 3 futile days we were able to finally track into a herd and make a contact with some good bulls. Unfortunately the one I killed wasn’t one of them. This is a bit of a long story but if you’ll stick with me I’ll try and do it justice.
We had picked up a good looking spoor at about 0900 and decided to follow. The track took us through some rugged country past the spring where these buffalo had watered the night before. After about 3 hours of tracking we made visual contact with the buffalo just as they were heading into the thick stuff to take a nap after having a drink at another spring called Anzou (the elephant). Initially we thought we were in business with a very wide deeply swept bull but after looking him over decided that his boss was still to soft indicating that he was a young bull and not of trophy quality.
We stayed with the buffalo which consisted of a herd of about 100 animals until they retired to the thick jess and bedded for the afternoon heat. We also retired to the shade of an ancient red mahogany tree and spent the heat of the afternoon napping in the shade. At about 1700 the buff started to move and we decided to follow but ran out of daylight before we could work in for a closer look and possibly a shot.
We decided to stay the night out in the bush and slept under the red mahogany tree for the night. Before daylight the next morning we awoke boiled some water for tea and biscuits and took the track we’d left the day before.
After about 45 minutes of tracking we caught the herd milling in a valley and set up to have a look. We almost immediately found a nice old bull and decided to try for a shot. Twice we were busted and bumped the herd . On the third try we got into the herd and were able to watch them as they started to lay down for a mid morning nap.
Now the waiting game began. We sat and waited and watched for about an hour . We were able to look at many buff including one old warrior with a broken horn . I turned him down as I didn’t want to shoot a one horned bull even if he was an old gangster.
Finally the wind shifted and the herd caught our sent and started to trot off. We followed and caught them one more time but the buff were growing weary of us and decided to go.
Now here is where the confusion happened. We charged the herd running into the buffalo and confusing them. This often makes the old bulls stop and have a look. Picture if you can 100 buffalo running in all directions some of them mere yards away. There is thick dust in the air and buff mawing and grunting and slamming into each other . I think general mayhem is the best description. It’s also could also be described as the fog of "war" as this is a similar situation in that there is a lot of movement, visibility is limited and the confusion level is high.
I am trying to keep up with Lance my PH when I come around a small clump of brush lance is trying to set up his shooting sticks and is pointing and saying “ that’s him shoot!” I ask once are you sure that’s him he replies yes. I can not see the buffaloes head as it is behind a bush. The bull isn’t 20 yards away. I completely disregard the shooting sticks as I often do (I hate shooting sticks they just get in the way most of the time). My familiar old .375 comes to the eye and when the cross hairs are on the right spot I slap the trigger sending a 300 gr Barnes TSX into the bulls shoulder and he’s gone disappearing into the brush just that fast.
Lance asks me where I hit him and I tell him just perfect on the shoulder. He then tells me that it wasn’t the same bull. The one we were after had a stump for tail, this one had a full tail. I say whoops.
In about 10 seconds we hear the bull cough and give the death bellow. The bullet has taken the bull perfectly penetrating just behind the on shoulder getting both lungs and the vessels over the top of the heart and stopping in the off shoulder. He’s gone less than 20 yards and died. This is a very quick kill on a buffalo bull. He never knew what hit him.
As we approach the bull my enthusiasm quickly turns to disappointment as I soon realize that the bull I killed was the one horned old warrior. I tried to maintain a good attitude as what was done was done there isn’t taking back a bullet. As hard as I tried to not show my disappointment I am sure it was impossible for me to fake it and the mood soon turned gloomy. I had traveled half way around the world
And saved for 4 years for this hunt and worked my butt off to arrange the time off. This hunt was gift to myself for my 40th birthday which had occurred several days before. I’ve never experienced a let down like I did when I walked up to that poor old dead buffalo bull. Maybe I saw a bit of my future lying there on the ground that day in Northern Zimbabwe a crumpled up broken old man who was a victim of the circumstances and died for no other reason than he was standing in the wrong place with his head down.
I have to admit that this was pretty much the end of the safari for me on a physiological level, there was no recovery from this mistake. I should have packed up and headed home but I stuck it out for the next 6 days half heartedly going through the motions. The hunt was over for me on an emotional level that I’ve never experienced before on any hunt. I am usually very enthusiastic no matter what. Quite simply this crushed me and I am still not 100% sure why.
Another view of the old warrior
I fired a grand total of one shot at game and that shot killed both the buffalo and my spirit. I didn’t have the opportunity to shoot at anything else the entire hunt. Here is an abandoned house out in the bush hat I thought was neat.
On day 5 or 6 we had to take Sindi to a local clinic because he had a severe case of tonsillitis. I took a picture of the health information poster on the wall. I expect all of you to take notice and pay attention. This could happen to you.
In closing I just want to say that while the hunting conditions were tough there was no lack of hard work on the part of the hunters or any of the staff. We hunted hard every day. The camps were all very nice in fact top notch as is always the case in this area. Between the thick bush and the full moon we just were having a very hard time getting into any game. In fact we saw very little game to speak of other than buffalo. Which we saw nearly every day.
The mistake that was made on the buffalo was an honest one and could happen to anybody. I don’t lay blame or fault on the PH the staff or the outfitter.
That’s my story
I hope that I didn’t bring you down to much but I told it the way I saw it.
Greg
No worries I just happen to have a perfectly good .458Lott sitting in the safe. I rushed home grabbed the rifle and hastily returned to the range. At the range the rifle was shooting clovers at 50 yards and functioning like a true hero of the bush after about 25 or 30 rounds of pure fun I determined that the Lott would do. So I packed her up and headed to the airport early the next morning.
In any case I arrived in South Africa slightly worse for the wear after the 30 hours of travel. I slept the night and awoke the next morning excited to take the rifles out for a spin and check them for function. Jaco took me to a friends farm and I proudly unpacked my shiny high speed .458 lott. A custom rifle to boot, what could possibly go wrong with this fine piece of operating machinery?
The first shot cut the bull in half, dead center. I gazed down the sights with pride at my prowess with an iron sighted heavy rifle. At that moment I was the finest shooter in all of Southern Africa holding the best shooting .458 Bore rifle in all of the world.
With cool smugness I announced to the gathering crowd that I would now put another round through the same hole just so that I could verify zero. I flicked the empty round and tried to feed the next one in the magazine. The round slipped the feed rails stove piped. With my ears turning red from embarrassment I quickly cleared the jam and chambered another round.
With great concentration and steely eyed skill I gently squeezed the trigger . The rifle went CLICK instead of BANG like it was supposed to! Hmm I commented. “must be a bad primer”, the next one went bang. The next one miss fed, and the next one went click, as did the rest. The Lott was dead, an evil spirit had entered her soul while in the belly of the airplane. I don’t yet know what went wrong but it was something bad!
Here is a photo journal and a summary of my trip I hope that you enjoy it.
With good friends Jaco and Lynette in South Africa. While there I had the privilege of watching a rugby tournament where I got to meet several of the future South African Springboks. These are some tough kids and they all had a great time playing rugby. Here is Wikus and his friend, these boys know how to put some "smack down" on!
After several days of messing around in town we were able to get away and travel to to near Kimberley and spend several days out on a friend of Jacos game farm. Here I was fortunate enough to be able to look at some very fine buffalo bulls. How is this for a mac daddy buff bull. NO you can’t shoot him he is for viewing pleasure only!
While on the farm I was asked if I like to cull an old oryx from the herd. He was fully mature and as you can see had very limited genetic potential as his horns were very short. After a 500 yard belly crawling/ crouched stalk we were able to close the distance to just about 200 yards. I had to wait for several minutes until he was clear. I hit him on the shoulder facing on to me with a 300gr Rhino. He ran at the shot and disappeared into some thick brush. The bullet had taken off the top of the heart and he didn’t go far. The picture shows the exit wound. The good old .375 strikes again. This rifle and I have a long term love affair I’ve killed hundreds and hundreds of head of game with this rifle and she’s never let me down and even though she is getting worn and battered she still shoots half inch groups all day long with anything I put in her. Old reliable!
After 6 days in South Africa I boarded the SA flight to Zimabawe. The first day of the hunt was spent collecting game scouts and generally getting ready for the hunt. Here is Sindisou or tracker and his family in the village of Keneymba. I hunted with Sindi back in 2004 when we had our horrible charge incident with a wounded buffalo. Sindi is a first class tracker and first class gentlemen. I consider him a friend. I love this picture of him standing proud with his new wife and beautiful family.
By day two I started to realize that the hunting conditions were going to be very tough. It had been a very rainy year and the jess bush was as thick as it had been in years. Here is a view of some of the country we were to hunt. The Zambezi is wild Africa and I find the countryside alluring. Especially knowing that it is filled with all kinds of mega fauna. It puts a tingle in my spine just looking at this country and knowing that soon I’ll be walking it with a rifle in hand.
The whitest legs in Africa! Enough said.
A poster form the latest election in Zim. The Zanu Pf is the current ruling party in Zim.
A picture that I think captures the true village life in rural Africa. Just a woman and her daughter walking home with some millet.
More village photos. Happy children always make for a good photo!
After 3 futile days we were able to finally track into a herd and make a contact with some good bulls. Unfortunately the one I killed wasn’t one of them. This is a bit of a long story but if you’ll stick with me I’ll try and do it justice.
We had picked up a good looking spoor at about 0900 and decided to follow. The track took us through some rugged country past the spring where these buffalo had watered the night before. After about 3 hours of tracking we made visual contact with the buffalo just as they were heading into the thick stuff to take a nap after having a drink at another spring called Anzou (the elephant). Initially we thought we were in business with a very wide deeply swept bull but after looking him over decided that his boss was still to soft indicating that he was a young bull and not of trophy quality.
We stayed with the buffalo which consisted of a herd of about 100 animals until they retired to the thick jess and bedded for the afternoon heat. We also retired to the shade of an ancient red mahogany tree and spent the heat of the afternoon napping in the shade. At about 1700 the buff started to move and we decided to follow but ran out of daylight before we could work in for a closer look and possibly a shot.
We decided to stay the night out in the bush and slept under the red mahogany tree for the night. Before daylight the next morning we awoke boiled some water for tea and biscuits and took the track we’d left the day before.
After about 45 minutes of tracking we caught the herd milling in a valley and set up to have a look. We almost immediately found a nice old bull and decided to try for a shot. Twice we were busted and bumped the herd . On the third try we got into the herd and were able to watch them as they started to lay down for a mid morning nap.
Now the waiting game began. We sat and waited and watched for about an hour . We were able to look at many buff including one old warrior with a broken horn . I turned him down as I didn’t want to shoot a one horned bull even if he was an old gangster.
Finally the wind shifted and the herd caught our sent and started to trot off. We followed and caught them one more time but the buff were growing weary of us and decided to go.
Now here is where the confusion happened. We charged the herd running into the buffalo and confusing them. This often makes the old bulls stop and have a look. Picture if you can 100 buffalo running in all directions some of them mere yards away. There is thick dust in the air and buff mawing and grunting and slamming into each other . I think general mayhem is the best description. It’s also could also be described as the fog of "war" as this is a similar situation in that there is a lot of movement, visibility is limited and the confusion level is high.
I am trying to keep up with Lance my PH when I come around a small clump of brush lance is trying to set up his shooting sticks and is pointing and saying “ that’s him shoot!” I ask once are you sure that’s him he replies yes. I can not see the buffaloes head as it is behind a bush. The bull isn’t 20 yards away. I completely disregard the shooting sticks as I often do (I hate shooting sticks they just get in the way most of the time). My familiar old .375 comes to the eye and when the cross hairs are on the right spot I slap the trigger sending a 300 gr Barnes TSX into the bulls shoulder and he’s gone disappearing into the brush just that fast.
Lance asks me where I hit him and I tell him just perfect on the shoulder. He then tells me that it wasn’t the same bull. The one we were after had a stump for tail, this one had a full tail. I say whoops.
In about 10 seconds we hear the bull cough and give the death bellow. The bullet has taken the bull perfectly penetrating just behind the on shoulder getting both lungs and the vessels over the top of the heart and stopping in the off shoulder. He’s gone less than 20 yards and died. This is a very quick kill on a buffalo bull. He never knew what hit him.
As we approach the bull my enthusiasm quickly turns to disappointment as I soon realize that the bull I killed was the one horned old warrior. I tried to maintain a good attitude as what was done was done there isn’t taking back a bullet. As hard as I tried to not show my disappointment I am sure it was impossible for me to fake it and the mood soon turned gloomy. I had traveled half way around the world
And saved for 4 years for this hunt and worked my butt off to arrange the time off. This hunt was gift to myself for my 40th birthday which had occurred several days before. I’ve never experienced a let down like I did when I walked up to that poor old dead buffalo bull. Maybe I saw a bit of my future lying there on the ground that day in Northern Zimbabwe a crumpled up broken old man who was a victim of the circumstances and died for no other reason than he was standing in the wrong place with his head down.
I have to admit that this was pretty much the end of the safari for me on a physiological level, there was no recovery from this mistake. I should have packed up and headed home but I stuck it out for the next 6 days half heartedly going through the motions. The hunt was over for me on an emotional level that I’ve never experienced before on any hunt. I am usually very enthusiastic no matter what. Quite simply this crushed me and I am still not 100% sure why.
Another view of the old warrior
I fired a grand total of one shot at game and that shot killed both the buffalo and my spirit. I didn’t have the opportunity to shoot at anything else the entire hunt. Here is an abandoned house out in the bush hat I thought was neat.
On day 5 or 6 we had to take Sindi to a local clinic because he had a severe case of tonsillitis. I took a picture of the health information poster on the wall. I expect all of you to take notice and pay attention. This could happen to you.
In closing I just want to say that while the hunting conditions were tough there was no lack of hard work on the part of the hunters or any of the staff. We hunted hard every day. The camps were all very nice in fact top notch as is always the case in this area. Between the thick bush and the full moon we just were having a very hard time getting into any game. In fact we saw very little game to speak of other than buffalo. Which we saw nearly every day.
The mistake that was made on the buffalo was an honest one and could happen to anybody. I don’t lay blame or fault on the PH the staff or the outfitter.
That’s my story
I hope that I didn’t bring you down to much but I told it the way I saw it.
Greg
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