LAST EDITED ON Jun-23-11 AT 12:01PM (MST)[p]A recap of my 2003 10-day hunt on the East Cape in South Africa with John X Safaris. Enjoy
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On the first morning, we traveled about 5 hrs. north from the main lodge and stayed at another lodge. After checking our rifles on the range, we hunted gemsbok that afternoon on a concession that hadn't been hunted in years.
Here's the result.
Back to the lodge for a hearty dinner and a second night for my hunting partner Troy Morzelewski and me to ease the jet lag from the long flight. Next morning we went to another concession about an hour from the lodge to hunt springbok. There were hundreds of them, and they were about the fiddgitiest (is that even a word??) critters I've ever hunted.
We spent a few hours glassing and trying to get close to several good bucks, but some other 'bok would always spook the herd. I finally told Ed Wilson, my PH, that I was perfectly comfortable shooting out to 300 yards with my .264 if necessary and suggested we just set up under a tree somewhere and wait for something to wander in range. Soooo...that's what we did.
After about a 20 min. wait, a small herd that was about 1/2 mile distant started moving our way. We surmised my hunting partner and his PH were probably near them and unknowingly acted as our drivers while we were set up like stump hunters.
I was already in a sitting position with my SnipePod, and as the herd moved parallel to us, my PH ranged the biggest buck at just over 200 yards. The 140-gr. bullet passed through, and the buck ran about 30 yards before he tumbled butt-over-tea kettle in a heap.
I was quite pleased with both the length and lyre-like shape of the horns.
After my partner killed his a while later, we took the photos, caped the animals, packed our gear at the lodge and then drove east to the lodge and concession owned by Troy's PH, Ray Kemp.
When we arrived at Lalapa Safaris, we still had some daylight left so my PH and I went after a black wildebeest while Troy and Ray chased a blesbok. We glassed bulls in three different herds before I shot this one.
The next morning we drove to another area of Ray's property to find a zebra stallion. We eventually located a good one that was hanging out with about a dozen other zebra. We managed to stalk close enough for a 100-yd. shot, but the biggest stallion seemed content to hang out in the middle of the herd. Finally, after about 15 minutes of waiting, I saw the opening for a shot as a mare moved far enough past the stallion so I had a shot at his shoulder -- barely. When I raised my .300 WM, I could even see the mare's tail twitching just left of the vertical crosshair. The shot hit right where the stripes all come together over the front leg, and the herd immediately went into overdrive. The stallion followed, but not for long.
He raced at full gallop for about 50 yards, then went straight up in the air, rolled in mid-air and landed on his back in a cloud of dust with his feet sticking straight up at first. It was one of the more dramatic ends I had witnessed.
We needed a bit of help with the loading.
Tracker Boysano and PH, Ed Wilson
Once we got the zebra back to the skinning shed and hung, we left the skinner and went in search of a "elusive" blesbok. This was probably the least exciting part of my entire hunt. It seemed a bit like hunting a domestic goat or such because of the large numbers and their penchant for grazing in mostly open terrain. Plus, they seemed quite docile and easy to stalk. Obvisouly, putting a bullet in one at 75 yards wasn't much of a challenge or a thrill for me. It amounted to, "Well, it's on the list of included critters."
So here's my "hard-earned" trophy.
After another successful day, we returned to Ray's place for a nice dinner of wildebeest roast.
After a good night's sleep, we awoke to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Then it was off to the hills again. I went after impala and Troy sought a big eland.
The area we hunted impala in was huge and consisted of mosly grassy rolling hills with scattered trees. So it was easy glassing. In fact, we even spotted Troy and Ray while they drove along a road about 2 miles from us.
After checking out several impala bucks over the course of two hours, we decided to move to a new location. While climbing a steep slope, however, we could see the heads of several impala, including a dandy buck, moving slowly along the top of the ridge. They were only about 150 yards away, but we were too far down the slope to see the bodies for a shot.
We dropped down quickly and started duck-walking farther up the hill, which had little cover to hide our approach. Just when we got far enough to see bodies, one of the critters spotted us. While most of them began to move out, the buck turned toward me, raised its head a bit and snorted. I was already kneeling, and had the rifle up with the safety off. When the crosshairs hit his chest between the tops of his legs, I let one go. He took off on a full-out run and piled up dead after 25 yards. The .264 took out the heart and one lung and exited out the buck's left haunch near the tail.
That afternoon, we did the 5-hr drive back to Lentaba Lodge, one of the two main ones John X has on Lalibela Game Reserve. By the time we arrived there, the sun was already setting. We had started our actual hunting on a Sat. and it was now Tues. night. So the next morning it was off in search of a kudu.
Again, we went off the John X property to another big ranch, and I was starting to understand why John X claims it has 3,000,000 acres to hunt. By this time, I felt like I had visited 1/2 of it. In reality, though, we hadn't touched foot on most of it.
As we drove up the ranch road to the house so we could check in with the landowner before going in the field, I noticed a distinct difference in the terrain. Although there were a few open pasture areas, most of the ranch was rolling hills covered by lots of trees and brush. In short, it was pretty dense except for myriad but narrow bands that had been cut through the trees in order to build the fence lines, which were just simply wooden posts about four feet high with three or four strands of wire.
In contrast, the outside perimeter of the ranch was high-fenced. But the second-generation owner told me that his kudu herd was a self-sustaining population, having been started there by his father over 50 years ago. And after spending hours that day searching for a good bull, I believed him; we saw dozens of cows and youngsters either browsing in openings or moving through the trees.
My PH turned down every bull we saw, however, claiming we could find a better one since we had plenty of time to hunt yet. Left to my own devices, there were at least two I would have taken.
So after a fruitless day, we were headed back to the truck just minutes before the sun set. As we rounded a bend, we saw four kudu standing right along the 4-strand, 3-ft. high fence line next to the dirt two-track. The biggest one was right behind a fence post and tight against the wires, perhaps ready to jump them. He was about 200 yards off. Ed told me he was a good one and to shoot if I wanted to.
I dropped to a knee, pushed the safety off and put the scope on him. The fence post was directly in line with his leg and shoulder and the upper part of the fence between the top two strands of wire had some sort of mesh on it. I held just over that and to the left of the fencepost.
At the shot, the other bulls wheeled and ran off, probably from whence they had come. But the bull I hit jumped the fence and immediately disappeared into the trees on the opposite side of the road by the time I chambered my second round. My PH thought I had gut shot the bull. I told him I didn't think so.
We headed to the spot we last saw it and started tracking it as best we could. We found little blood. Then, even with flashlights, we lost the trail in the dark. The PH made the decision to come back the next morning and start fresh with the landowner and some of his employees helping out. We drove to the house to tell the owner what happened and what we planned.
We got there bright and early and started where we had lost the sign the previous night. Fifty yards later, we found the dead bull. Although my shot had been a tad high and back, it hit both lungs, and the bull had actually gone less than 300 yards from the fence line.
Unfortunately, both the jackals and birds had found him before we did. Most of the guts and the rear quarters had been eaten by the jackals, and the birds had pecked out one eye and the area around it.
I was concerned about hair slippage since the cape had been on the dead animal too long. The PH agreed with me and said he would get me another cape in the coming weeks to replace it at no charge. I think he realized that he didn't put enough effort into locating the bull the night before, no doubt upset about my supposed gut shot. Just in case, however, we did take my cape and immediately immersed it in a water & salt solution while still at the ranch.
As an aside, I later found out that Ed was having a bad year -- sort of jinxed. All nine of his hunters that he had guided so far in 2003 had lost at least one wounded animal. So he assumed I had become No. 10.
Ed followed through on his promise and sent another cape to the taxidermist a couple months later. I told them to trash the other one or use as they might.
My kudu, which went 48.5".
While chasing kudu the previous day, we had seen several decent warthogs roaming about. Since we were already there to retrieve the kudu, we decided to stay that afternoon and try for a good hog.
We hadn't been out an hour when we saw a pair moving down one of the fence lines toward the little dirt road we were walking along. So rather than stalk them, we decided to stay put and ambush them. I set up with my Snipepod and waited for them to get to the crest of a little hill that was about 75-100 yards from me. They didn't want to play that game, though.
They dropped into a dip behind that hill and never came to the top. After waiting for about 15 minutes, we decided to move in on them, thinking they stopped in the dip to feed.
Big mistake!
As we stood up, we heard a snort and looked up the road to our right. Both hogs, standing in the tall grass along the edge, were staring straight at us. They had entered the trees from the dip and basically circled us. The breeze was blowing right at them, and by the time I snapped the safety off, they were gone. Thus, off we went to find another victim.
About an hour later, we were working our way along a road that led to a high point. Our intent was to get high and glass. Halfway up, a sow and her two youngin's moved out and began feeding about 100 yards above us. Ed figured a boar would be nearby. Hugging the trees, we soft-shoed up the hill and wound up only a few yards from the piglets. We watched for a bit but her mate never showed. After the trio passed under the fence and fed their way into the brush on the opposite side of the cut, we continued to the top. An hour of glassing turned up nothing worth wasting a bullet on.
We headed back down, then cut off on another of the "main" dirt roads. We call them cow paths here in AZ. As we passed a fence cut, I looked up and saw a hog walking uphill. Ed glassed him quickly and thought he was a good one.
While Ed ranged him, I moved up to rest my rifle on the top of a fence post. The hog was at 295 yards and still moving. I held at the base of his neck, and Ed called the shot as, "Geez, just left. Any closer and you would have taken a whisker or two off."
But, when the bullet hit the ground, the hog turned and started running directly at us. I again aimed at the base of his neck. This time we heard the "whap" as the bullet from the 268-yd. shot, hit home. The hog's butt immediately sagged and his rear legs became useless as he tried to make it into the brush by pulling himself along with his front legs. My bullet had obvioulsy hit the spine. Even though we could no longer see him, we knew he wasn't going far. Sure enough, he barely had moved off the fence row before dying.
So like every other day so far, this one was a success, both in finding my kudu and shooting a decent warthog.
It was now Friday, and my hunt was just about over, even though we would be at the lodge until the following Tues. morning. Of the animals I had originally selected, all that was left was an nyala.
But at the ranch where we hunted springbok, the owner had several full springbok hides covering coffee tables in between two couches that were also covered with hides. So I had told Ed I wanted to kill another one just to get the full hide. I really didn't care whether it was a buck or a doe. The going price was $50 for a second one. We put this on the back burner, however.
We drove toward Port Elizabeth and then west to hunt nyala. The ranch, like the one we hunted kudu on, was large, hilly and brushy. The nyala herd on it was also self-sustaining according to the owner. After some coffee and chit-chat, we boarded the truck and followed another cow path to the highest hill on the property and parked.
We walked about 200 yards into the brush before we saw the first game. It was a smallish bushbuck. Five minutes later, we pushed a nyala cow out of her hiding place. Yet it was two hours before we saw the first bull -- an 18" non-shooter.
Hungry, we decided to go back to the truck and eat some crackers and biltong. We never made it until much later. As we stepped out onto the dirt road, we spotted a nice bull. He was browsing just at the edge of the trees, less than 75 yards from us. Ed whispered, "Kill 'im.
I dropped to a knee, wrapped up in my sling and put the crosshair where the upper leg connected to the body. At the shot, the bull jumped straight up about two feet off the ground -- a typical reaction I've seen before with a heart shot. He hit the ground running, but not for long. Two seconds later, we heard him crash land in some brush. Unfortunately, there was also a cactus for him to land in, filling the hide with spines. After spending 15 minutes getting rid of them, we dragged the bull out to the road for photos.
Rather than head back to the lodge, we went into Pt. Liz so Ed could drop off his truck for service. While it was being worked on, we went to a seaside restaurant for some chow. Heck, I even got to see my first cricket match on TV, no less.
Now, my hunt was pretty much done -- kinda.
On Sat. Ed, another Ph, Gary, and I drove up on the hill about two miles from the lodge to get my springbok hide. We simply meant to kill one, not hunt it.
So here we are watching two different herds, trying to decide which one to go after. Suddenly, one of them takes off running right toward the truck, passed by the front end and then stops about 300 yards away. A good buck was standing out front. "Kill that buck," Ed said.
I put the muzzle of the .264 out the window, fed a single round into the chamber and put the rifle across the forearm of my left arm that was resting across the window sill. The buck dropped in place. Gary, watching through binoculars from atop the truck had only two words for me, "Well done." When we drove up to it, he facetiously asked me if I wanted to take photos. My answer with a laugh: "No, I don't need any photos of that fine HUNT."
Though it wasn't as good as my other one, it was still a nice buck. So I'll probably mount the horns on a plaque and label it as my "Drive-by Springbok."
Later that day, nearly the entire camp headed into a small town to the north to attend the area's annual game sale and festival. I even got interviewed by a local TV station that was there with a live feed. They probably knew I was a foreigner. Then on the way home we stopped at a pub for some snacks and beers. I also had to endure watching another cricket match that RSA was involved in.
And now the hunt was over -- NOT!
After breakfast Sunday, everyone else except me left the lodge to hunt. Even my PH went to help a couple of guys from Ohio who were hunting 2x1 with another PH.
I was left to amuse myself, which I did mostly by sitting on the terrace with my tripod and 15X binoculars. I spotted an incredible amount of game from there, including at least a 16" bushbuck and a big kudu bull. But the area for about 1 mile around the lodge is a self-imposed No Hunting area. Oh, and I even sipped a few beers that day. Still it was a boring day, and I started getting the DTs from not killing anything for so long.
So that evening in the bar, I said to Ed, "Tomorrow's my last day here, and I don't want to hang out here for the entire day. Let's go let the air out of something."
I told him I would like to shoot a bushbuck and a blue beestie. So that's what we planned to do. Of course, it meant another $1,500 in trophy fees, plus the related costs. Gulp.
And the last...
Monday morning we left the lodge at daylight and drove north an hour to a ranch. As we wandered down a dirt road, we spotted a herd of blue wildebeests and stopped to glass them. I immediately noticed a nice bull that I would gladly shoot.
Ed drove past the herd and up a hill, then stopped next to a grove of thick trees. He and I piled out while the tracker continued on with the truck -- a little ploy to keep the beesties calm.
Getting through the thick underbrush was a chore, but we eventually worked our way to the opposite edge of the forest that bordered the open area where we had last seen the bull. He was standing facing us about 250 yards away, but the cows around him were starting to get antsy. So I decided to take him right then.
I aimed just below his nose and waited for him to lift his head a bit. When the 140-gr. bullet hit him, all four legs immediately splayed out to the side and he crashed down dead in a cloud of dust. It was as if someone had hit him on the head with a 2-ton sledge hammer.
Ed's comment: "Holy $hit." As we walked toward the dead critter, Ed held out his hand and said, "Look, I'm shaking like a leaf."
He then told me that he had nine hunters so far that season, and only one other managed to drop a blue with one shot. And even that one had run 50 yards. Four others required follow-up shots, two needed three shots and the others went unrecovered.
When we skinned it, we found my bullet up against the hide just to the left of its tail. The bullet...Winchester factory load with 140-gr. PSPs
That afternoon we drove two hours to another ranch and met the landowner. Ed had never hunted this one before, so he wanted to get some direction as to where to go. The owner said he would show us some of the better areas himself.
So we all hopped in the truck and drove about 20 minutes to the top of a high ridge and started glassing another ridge across a lake. For an hour or so, nothing was stirring, not even a mouse.
I was using my 15X binocs on a tripod and eventually picked up a bit of movement in the trees. At first, we couldn't make out what it was. Then we saw just neck and head of a decent bushbuck. I ranged him at 285 yards across the pond and moved to the branch of a nearby tree for a rest. When I shot, the head disappeared, but we had no idea if I hit or not.
Fortunately, the landowner had a small canoe/kayak down at the lake, so we drove down to it and Ed took it across the pond, saving a very long walk around the lake. When he climbed the hill, he found my bushbuck dead right where he was standing at the shot. My bullet hit him right where his neck connected to his body.
Ed bringing the bushbuck back to our side. The X is where he was when I shot him.
Lastly, some pix of LIVE animals from Africa. I'll start it off with me and my friend, Savanah.
A few lions ....
A couple leopards....
A couple king cheetahs....
And some miscellaneous....
TONY MANDILE
How To Hunt Coues Deer
