- Joined
- Jan 28, 2003
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Not often will a hunter air his or her dirty laundry when writing about their hunting experiences. I've come to consider many of you as part of the family. A family of like minded people in a synergous role that is hunting. With that in mind I would like to share this with all of you. You are welcome to critique my actions, my writting and anything else to do with this post. that is what makes THR a great place to be.
I'll tell you right now however that it is experiences like these that either kill us or make us stronger. I learned plenty of lessons from this incident you could call it a turning point in my hunting career and part of the reason that I don't mince word when speaking of DG hunting and the equipment and mind set involved. It was shortly after this incident that I started saving for a double rifle and why you'll never see a scope on one of my DG rifles. With that in mind....
It has always been my impression that history tends to repeat itself that a major world event leaves a scar in the worlds energy paths. For instance I always have a sense of forbearance and
reverence on December 7th, And June 6th and other days of historical importance especially those days that included major loss of life.
The day was September 11th 2002. I had gone to sleep with a strange feeling in my stomach as visions of that fateful day exactly one year prior crashed about in my head. 911 had hit close to me as several of the crew members killed on several of the airplanes had been friends of mine. I am a pilot for one of the airlines that were used to perpetuate the attacks. Just a week before the newest day of infamy I’d sat and had a brief conversation with the captain of the one of the ill fated flights. I had sat and watched my friends and countrymen die that day and had the feeling of intense anger flood every pore of my body. A year later I had put most of it behind me I thought. When I woke up on the morning of Sept 11th 2002 I felt just as I had one year prior. I was angry and sullen and feeling sorry for the fact that I hadn’t had the chance to punch back. To me this was and still is a personal matter. I really should have grabbed a bottle of the nearest rock gut and went fishing but hunting was on the schedule and a hunting we did go.
The day was pretty much unremarkable in the start. We ran upstream and got some good photos of a young bull elephant who presented us with a very nice mock-charge pulling up at around 35 yards with ears spread wide. That made a really nice video! We had a pleasant lunch along the banks of the river and started down stream mid afternoon.
The ride home was pleasant but my mind wasn’t in Africa hunting buffalo. I was wandering in and out of deep thoughts about the now fatherless children that were once a happy family and how much I’d love to kill some terrorist rat bastard with my bare hands and a small fork. Or the on going fantasy of having Osama’s head in my cross hairs bringing up the trigger pressure then before breaking the sear shifting my aim ever so slightly into his crotch just as the trigger breaks. In my daydream I was just walking up to the sorry pig loving scum and getting ready to rub some Tabasco in the open wound when I was abruptly shocked back into reality.
There in the bend of the river just inland in a mud wallow lay two massive dugga boys. Everything happened quickly a little too quickly. I am standing on the observation platform of the boat I clearly remember my PH saying “The one on the right!!†I reached down for a rifle with the sharp order of “Banduki†and one of the trackers handed me my .458Lott. I quickly chambered a round lined up sights on the massive bull who is now standing giving me a quartering on shoulder shot. The bull is standing about 100 yards the boat is gently rocking side to side my sight is rhythmically swinging with the boat as the front sight passes through the buffs chest I snap off a shot which misses the entire buff and sluices into the muddy wallow leaving a geyser of mud and water in suspension as the 500gr Woodliegh solid thuds in to the mud to the right of the bull. I make an exclamation under my breath something to the effect of you stupid SOB and as the bull takes off towards the tall grass I snap another round home and hit the bull. I can clearly see that the round is too far back as a puff of dust explodes off of his flank then the bull is gone disappeared into the long grass.
Reality quickly flows back to my head much like a drunk reaching a moment of clarity. I mumble to myself and think what in the heck are you doing you stupid jerk!! You just pulled two of the biggest sins in hunting especially DG hunting. And there is a very likely chance that someone is going to pay the bill very shortly. As I climb down the ladder my PH gives me a skewed look and says “well?†I am almost too disgusted to answer him as I reply with an angry yet humble “gut shot.†With no hint of discord or sarcasm he replies that we should get cracking as it’s it’ll be dark soon. He calmly starts to gather his tools of the trade much like a carpenter gathering his tools for the upcoming day.
When I look back at that moment I’ve realized several things . First the PH never said shoot he merely mentioned the one on the right. Second by me ordering a Banduki sharply as I did the tracker just shoved me a rifle and was probably saying in Swahili you’re not going to shoot are you? I didn’t catch that part. I was wound around the axle and my mind was far away from the situation at hand. This does not excuse the fact that I pulled several of the dumbest things anyone can pull in hunting . First anyone knows who’s ever shot a BB guns knows that you can’t shoot from a moving platform and expect to hit your target. Second if you miss something as large as a cape buffalo bull at 100 yards standing still that should be the a clue and shooting at when it’s running is probably not going to achieve the desired result. Third one should never shoot from a vehicle when hunting DG that kind of defeats the whole purpose of why we hunt DG in the first place. And lastly you just don’t rush shots at big game. The entire incident was one huge example of bad form. My plea is guilty I DID THIS TO MYSELF. The bad part is that others were now involved and I had put them in a potentially deadly situation. I can deal with getting myself killed but it turns my stomach when I endanger others.
Several moments after the dust settled and the shot had echoed off into the distance a tense melancholy has settled over the crew nobody wants to say anything . People just go about readying themselves for the upcoming event in the long grass. Two apprentice PH’s who’d been tagging along on today’s hunt are giving a questioning glance at their mentor who nods his head then turns back and continues readying his rifle and personal kit. The apprentices dig about in the wheel house for a time then emerge with a bush battered old German Mauser 98 chambered in .458 and loads it with solids while the other emerges with a small back pack which is emblazoned with the EMT medical kit symbol which he opens and takes inventory of the contents . Mostly blunt trauma and blood loss devices. Andy, one of the apprentices asks me if “I’m positive I hit it?†I am too disgusted and ashamed of myself to look him in the eye I stare out into the see of grass spit out a plug of tobacco and exclaim “yeah he’s gut shot.â€
The boat comes to shore with a thump , I load my Winchester with three 500gr solids down and close the bolt on a fourth. Behind me I can hear two big actions slide home and the safeties click on. I’ve left all of my personal kit behind save a belt wallet with 10 extra solids and a knife. I’ve got the sneaking suspicion that rapid movement in tight cover may be necessary and extra gear is only a detriment in that situation. I’ve noticed that everyone has stripped down to bare minimum as well.
For those of you who’ve never experienced the “long grass†picture what it would be like to make your way through a corn field at harvest time only the grass is much taller and thicker. The only way to effectively mover through the grass is on the trails that the large fauna has created, to travel off of the trails is exhausting work and very loud.
Initially the trail is very easy to follow as the bull has smeared mud from the wallow on either side of his path up to about the 6 foot level. This is a good thing as we don’t have to watch the ground and keep an eye forward in case he comes. At first we find no blood at all after a hundred yards or so I’m starting to doubt myself and think maybe it was a miss after all. Suddenly the we stop and the tracker is looking at me with a hard stare that only a man raised in the African bush can give. Without averting his stare he points to the ground . A large shiny pool of blood mixed in with steaming fresh buffalo dung . The bull has definitely been hit. And it’s a gut shot as called. At least I haven’t lost my mind I reflect.
Among our small party of hunters there is a new tension. This situation has just officially become the real thing. We now are moving more slowly our senses are tuned to a razors edge hearing sight even smell and touch are far more acute than several minutes ago. I am now aware of the sound of the grass rustling in the near calm breeze. Birds are and rodents are scurrying along that I hadn’t heard before. After several more hundred yards the spoor becomes more difficult to follow as the mud is drying and as is generally the case with a gut wound there is only very sporadic blood. It is decided to split up and to cover more ground. Shortly after we split I hear a shout and the sound of a large animal crashing through the grass. The buffalo has broken cover and charged away behind the second group. I can distinctly hear him running and huffing until he comes to a stop not far from our position. I turn to head for his position. Wayne, the PH is off to my right as we close the gap on the bull. As we near his location we slow and shoulder rifles moving one foot at a time in the classic forward shuffle of the rifleman. The other group gives a soft whistle for location purposes . The bull hearing the noise grunts and once again charges off at an oblique angle to the perceived threat we can hear as he circles back and returns to his original position behind and to out left.
Three more times we advance and three more times the bull breaks not more than fifteen or twenty feet from us but we are unable to see him because of the grass. The sun is now going down and as a last ditch effort we decided to try and push the bull to a rifle. We send in all available men making a half circle and position ourselves at the edge of a clearing. The men start a push by walking shouting and throwing sticks into the grass ahead of them. But once again the bull breaks through a gap a gallops off into the long grass. It is decided to return the next day as we are fast losing light.
The ride back to camp is a silent one I sit in the bow of the boat running the empty brass from the infamous shot between my fingers. At camp that night we had a quite dinner followed by a night cap. I sleep better that night and awake with a fresh positive attitude. We returned to the spot and spent the day looking for the buffalo. He was never found. I can only hope that the lions found him at some point in the not to distant future and spared him the agonizing death that surely awaited him or worse him living to become a man killer.
Unfortunately I don’t have an answer for you, I don’t know what the finally happened of the old dugga boy on the wallow.
Sincerely
H&Hhunter.
I'll tell you right now however that it is experiences like these that either kill us or make us stronger. I learned plenty of lessons from this incident you could call it a turning point in my hunting career and part of the reason that I don't mince word when speaking of DG hunting and the equipment and mind set involved. It was shortly after this incident that I started saving for a double rifle and why you'll never see a scope on one of my DG rifles. With that in mind....
It has always been my impression that history tends to repeat itself that a major world event leaves a scar in the worlds energy paths. For instance I always have a sense of forbearance and
reverence on December 7th, And June 6th and other days of historical importance especially those days that included major loss of life.
The day was September 11th 2002. I had gone to sleep with a strange feeling in my stomach as visions of that fateful day exactly one year prior crashed about in my head. 911 had hit close to me as several of the crew members killed on several of the airplanes had been friends of mine. I am a pilot for one of the airlines that were used to perpetuate the attacks. Just a week before the newest day of infamy I’d sat and had a brief conversation with the captain of the one of the ill fated flights. I had sat and watched my friends and countrymen die that day and had the feeling of intense anger flood every pore of my body. A year later I had put most of it behind me I thought. When I woke up on the morning of Sept 11th 2002 I felt just as I had one year prior. I was angry and sullen and feeling sorry for the fact that I hadn’t had the chance to punch back. To me this was and still is a personal matter. I really should have grabbed a bottle of the nearest rock gut and went fishing but hunting was on the schedule and a hunting we did go.
The day was pretty much unremarkable in the start. We ran upstream and got some good photos of a young bull elephant who presented us with a very nice mock-charge pulling up at around 35 yards with ears spread wide. That made a really nice video! We had a pleasant lunch along the banks of the river and started down stream mid afternoon.
The ride home was pleasant but my mind wasn’t in Africa hunting buffalo. I was wandering in and out of deep thoughts about the now fatherless children that were once a happy family and how much I’d love to kill some terrorist rat bastard with my bare hands and a small fork. Or the on going fantasy of having Osama’s head in my cross hairs bringing up the trigger pressure then before breaking the sear shifting my aim ever so slightly into his crotch just as the trigger breaks. In my daydream I was just walking up to the sorry pig loving scum and getting ready to rub some Tabasco in the open wound when I was abruptly shocked back into reality.
There in the bend of the river just inland in a mud wallow lay two massive dugga boys. Everything happened quickly a little too quickly. I am standing on the observation platform of the boat I clearly remember my PH saying “The one on the right!!†I reached down for a rifle with the sharp order of “Banduki†and one of the trackers handed me my .458Lott. I quickly chambered a round lined up sights on the massive bull who is now standing giving me a quartering on shoulder shot. The bull is standing about 100 yards the boat is gently rocking side to side my sight is rhythmically swinging with the boat as the front sight passes through the buffs chest I snap off a shot which misses the entire buff and sluices into the muddy wallow leaving a geyser of mud and water in suspension as the 500gr Woodliegh solid thuds in to the mud to the right of the bull. I make an exclamation under my breath something to the effect of you stupid SOB and as the bull takes off towards the tall grass I snap another round home and hit the bull. I can clearly see that the round is too far back as a puff of dust explodes off of his flank then the bull is gone disappeared into the long grass.
Reality quickly flows back to my head much like a drunk reaching a moment of clarity. I mumble to myself and think what in the heck are you doing you stupid jerk!! You just pulled two of the biggest sins in hunting especially DG hunting. And there is a very likely chance that someone is going to pay the bill very shortly. As I climb down the ladder my PH gives me a skewed look and says “well?†I am almost too disgusted to answer him as I reply with an angry yet humble “gut shot.†With no hint of discord or sarcasm he replies that we should get cracking as it’s it’ll be dark soon. He calmly starts to gather his tools of the trade much like a carpenter gathering his tools for the upcoming day.
When I look back at that moment I’ve realized several things . First the PH never said shoot he merely mentioned the one on the right. Second by me ordering a Banduki sharply as I did the tracker just shoved me a rifle and was probably saying in Swahili you’re not going to shoot are you? I didn’t catch that part. I was wound around the axle and my mind was far away from the situation at hand. This does not excuse the fact that I pulled several of the dumbest things anyone can pull in hunting . First anyone knows who’s ever shot a BB guns knows that you can’t shoot from a moving platform and expect to hit your target. Second if you miss something as large as a cape buffalo bull at 100 yards standing still that should be the a clue and shooting at when it’s running is probably not going to achieve the desired result. Third one should never shoot from a vehicle when hunting DG that kind of defeats the whole purpose of why we hunt DG in the first place. And lastly you just don’t rush shots at big game. The entire incident was one huge example of bad form. My plea is guilty I DID THIS TO MYSELF. The bad part is that others were now involved and I had put them in a potentially deadly situation. I can deal with getting myself killed but it turns my stomach when I endanger others.
Several moments after the dust settled and the shot had echoed off into the distance a tense melancholy has settled over the crew nobody wants to say anything . People just go about readying themselves for the upcoming event in the long grass. Two apprentice PH’s who’d been tagging along on today’s hunt are giving a questioning glance at their mentor who nods his head then turns back and continues readying his rifle and personal kit. The apprentices dig about in the wheel house for a time then emerge with a bush battered old German Mauser 98 chambered in .458 and loads it with solids while the other emerges with a small back pack which is emblazoned with the EMT medical kit symbol which he opens and takes inventory of the contents . Mostly blunt trauma and blood loss devices. Andy, one of the apprentices asks me if “I’m positive I hit it?†I am too disgusted and ashamed of myself to look him in the eye I stare out into the see of grass spit out a plug of tobacco and exclaim “yeah he’s gut shot.â€
The boat comes to shore with a thump , I load my Winchester with three 500gr solids down and close the bolt on a fourth. Behind me I can hear two big actions slide home and the safeties click on. I’ve left all of my personal kit behind save a belt wallet with 10 extra solids and a knife. I’ve got the sneaking suspicion that rapid movement in tight cover may be necessary and extra gear is only a detriment in that situation. I’ve noticed that everyone has stripped down to bare minimum as well.
For those of you who’ve never experienced the “long grass†picture what it would be like to make your way through a corn field at harvest time only the grass is much taller and thicker. The only way to effectively mover through the grass is on the trails that the large fauna has created, to travel off of the trails is exhausting work and very loud.
Initially the trail is very easy to follow as the bull has smeared mud from the wallow on either side of his path up to about the 6 foot level. This is a good thing as we don’t have to watch the ground and keep an eye forward in case he comes. At first we find no blood at all after a hundred yards or so I’m starting to doubt myself and think maybe it was a miss after all. Suddenly the we stop and the tracker is looking at me with a hard stare that only a man raised in the African bush can give. Without averting his stare he points to the ground . A large shiny pool of blood mixed in with steaming fresh buffalo dung . The bull has definitely been hit. And it’s a gut shot as called. At least I haven’t lost my mind I reflect.
Among our small party of hunters there is a new tension. This situation has just officially become the real thing. We now are moving more slowly our senses are tuned to a razors edge hearing sight even smell and touch are far more acute than several minutes ago. I am now aware of the sound of the grass rustling in the near calm breeze. Birds are and rodents are scurrying along that I hadn’t heard before. After several more hundred yards the spoor becomes more difficult to follow as the mud is drying and as is generally the case with a gut wound there is only very sporadic blood. It is decided to split up and to cover more ground. Shortly after we split I hear a shout and the sound of a large animal crashing through the grass. The buffalo has broken cover and charged away behind the second group. I can distinctly hear him running and huffing until he comes to a stop not far from our position. I turn to head for his position. Wayne, the PH is off to my right as we close the gap on the bull. As we near his location we slow and shoulder rifles moving one foot at a time in the classic forward shuffle of the rifleman. The other group gives a soft whistle for location purposes . The bull hearing the noise grunts and once again charges off at an oblique angle to the perceived threat we can hear as he circles back and returns to his original position behind and to out left.
Three more times we advance and three more times the bull breaks not more than fifteen or twenty feet from us but we are unable to see him because of the grass. The sun is now going down and as a last ditch effort we decided to try and push the bull to a rifle. We send in all available men making a half circle and position ourselves at the edge of a clearing. The men start a push by walking shouting and throwing sticks into the grass ahead of them. But once again the bull breaks through a gap a gallops off into the long grass. It is decided to return the next day as we are fast losing light.
The ride back to camp is a silent one I sit in the bow of the boat running the empty brass from the infamous shot between my fingers. At camp that night we had a quite dinner followed by a night cap. I sleep better that night and awake with a fresh positive attitude. We returned to the spot and spent the day looking for the buffalo. He was never found. I can only hope that the lions found him at some point in the not to distant future and spared him the agonizing death that surely awaited him or worse him living to become a man killer.
Unfortunately I don’t have an answer for you, I don’t know what the finally happened of the old dugga boy on the wallow.
Sincerely
H&Hhunter.
