Part 8 – Once in a lifetime
I write this last part conflicted. My conflict is with the incredible fortune to have had this opportunity vs the fact that I may never have the opportunity to top it.
We were after Bushbuck. The little guy had eluded me on my first trip and as we progressed through this one I was getting the feeling he may elude us again. The word on the street was that they were mostly nocturnal in this area. The odds of finding one that would come out during the day were slim.
Evan was on the case though and when it came to the day to hunt them he had found us a spot that both him Chris thought would give us the very best opportunity. Through his contacts he had reached out to a landowner that had a large cattle ranch, according to the owner there were many bushbuck in the area and there had been no hunters on the ranch in several years.
Good enough for me. Trust in your PH’s I have learned. We loaded up and headed out. The area was high in the hills and heavily forested…perfect Bushbuck country.
From the ranch we formulated a plan. In the distance there was a large pasture that extended up to the side of a steep hill. The hill was completely treed and there were no cattle in the pasture. It was far away from the ranch that it would not be disturbed often. There was a small knoll that overlooked the majority of the pasture and the tree line on the adjacent hill. We were going to head to the knoll and wait until dusk hoping that something would pop out.
Off we went and before we knew it we were in the pasture head for our little hilltop outlook. What seemed like second later we hear frantic thumping on the rooftop and urges for us to stop…stop…stop. I don’t know what was said (I really need to pick up some Afrikaans).
After what seemed like an eternity Chris spoke only four words, “there’s a white one”. I made the not so risky assumption that this was a big deal by the way the energy level had risen by about 10,000%. Everyone’s binos were out and sure enough there was one lonely Bushbuck right against the tree line with fur whiter than Chris’ hair.
We had no shot from where we were so we quickly decided that we would move up through a burned area next to the pasture to try and get into a shooting position. We moved as quickly and quietly as possible through the burned out brush on an intercept course with the Bushbuck who was lazily feeding his way across the hillside.
Finally we were in a position for what would be roughly a 250 yard kneeling shot off the sticks. This is where I should have opted for a different position. I am not sure if it was the fire that caused it but for whatever reason the feet on the shooting sticks would not grip the hard soil and kept slipping out. I tried to brace the shot as well as I could, caught up in the excitement I decided to go for it. This was nearly the biggest mistake of my hunting career.
I dropped the crosshairs on the little guys shoulder and squeezed. Like it often does when we make a catastrophic mistake everything slowed down to a crawl. As I squeezed the trigger the right leg of the stick slipped ever so slightly and the crosshair jerked to the right….BOOM…… I didn’t wait for the confirmation I was racking a round and I believe my words were “that shot was dogshit”. Evan confirmed, you hit him…..in the leg….
At this point I was running on training. The little guy bolted into the trees and abruptly turned around to face whatever bit him. I could hear Chris and Evan telling me he was just inside the tree line. I could see him facing us. He was almost completely head on and about 4 feet in the brush. This would be the most difficult shot I have ever made. I had maybe 6 inches of opening to shoot through with a full frontal shot. I pulled down on the sticks as hard as I could to ensure the feet were anchored this time and locked into the rifle. A slow breath to calm the nerves and a slow squeeze. I don’t remember the report of the rifle or the recoil. I only remember hearing “he’s down”.
The bullet had struck exactly where I wanted it to, just left of center chest to counter for the slight right quartering he was giving us. That was quite possibly the worst shot of my life followed up with the best.
I don’t think I realized how rare an opportunity I had, Chris, Evan and Sammie were ecstatic. He will never admit it but Chris and Evan actually hugged each other. I think we have it on film. As it turned out the Bushbuck wasn’t completely white as well. His body was mostly whit but his face, legs and a strip down his belly were a rusty brown.
It was an incredibly memorable moment and sharing it with my family and friends was the cherry on top.
I have at least one more safari left in me. I still have a score to settle with a Buffalo and a Waterbuck.
I couldn’t be more proud of my daughter, she took top shooting honors with perfect shots on both her animals and toughed out her illness even though she suffered greatly. She is excited to complete her Springbok slam and have the opportunity to hunt Kudu and Eland.
I found a new level of respect for my wife and will always remember her belly crawling through rocks and dust to get her Zebra, and patiently sitting on scope for an eternity waiting for the shot on her Impala. She speaks about going back often and I’m pretty sure there is a mountain Zebra with her name on it.
Thanks a million Chris, Sabina, Sammie and Evan.