Well, I can't sleep with my body still being on Africa time so I cleaned up the last bit and compiled some stuff to finish.
Enjoy. I certainly will cherish the memories.
Day 11 – The one mistake I needed.
It’s early and cold. Really cold.
Frost forming on the windward side of your jacket and condensation on the barrel of the gun near where you held it with gloves on cold.
A strange sense of calm has settled on the group. Reminds me a little of that healthy sense of fatalism you develop after a few night landings on a frigate in a storm with a crappy helicopter pilot.
Just embrace it.
Maybe it ends well, maybe not.
Let it go and do your job.
Moon is still one hand above the horizon and it wears a strange lemon yellow as it descends to it’s resting place.
Glad we didn’t sleep in today because suddenly we spot one and lo and behold, it’s out in the open country!
This time we bail out still moving, haphazard, unprepared, and half asleep, directing Chatty to keep the vehicle moving and catch-up later. I manage to grab my belt with cartridges and rifle and PH and I assemble in a crouch just inside the grass to size up the opportunity.
The wind is from our right rear quarter, from the Southeast, as we stalk in. Each step testing for crunchies before committing with our weight. I want to move quicker but not louder so we're stuck at this pace. Tortuous
135 yards. Too dark to shoot but we can see the black SUV sized mound with our naked eyes.
120 - Please God let the wind hold.
80 - Still dark. The black blob is massive and it’s clearly feeding.
70 - I want to stay here and wait for more light. PH wants to push our luck and confidently creeps forward. Bold. Nerve-racking.
63 - I shake my head at moving forward. We get on the sticks.
Now we see who loses their nerve first while we sit here and slowly start shaking from the cold.
Purple on the horizon goes to pea green and then a glowing orange and someone is blowing on the coals. It creates an exciting profile of the situation.
It’s a bull. Even I can see that now. They say the camera adds 10 pounds but, in this case, it’s more like 1000. The size is intimidating.
He’s facing to the right, upwind, horn tips showing just above the tops of the chest-high grass.
Is that 1 bull or 2? The horns can't be that wide can they?
I have both eyes open. One in 6x keeping that little red point on my best interpolation of the sweet spot and one taking in the situation. Both are being washed out from the blazing orange dawn.
Stay focused.
He rotates to his left to face downwind and then slightly quarters toward us. I reset my cheek weld.
Suddenly he lifts his head and looks right at us.
That gaze. You feel it.
I keep the dot just below the lowest curve of his left horn and just inside his near shoulder. PH is whispering “wait… wait”
I’m afraid he’s going to see us and bolt. Or charge us. Or vanish in a puff of smoke.
However, the big lemon moon is behind us and illuminating him to us more than the dawn is shining us to him. Thankfully.
“Can you shoot him in the head?”
I can see the eyes so I draw a line between them and find the midpoint.
“Yes”
I start to squeeze and the head goes down again and I have to pry my finger off the trigger.
Breathe Daniel-san.
Light builds. I can hear PH breathing and this time, much harder than me.
I’m trying to determine 1/3 up from the bottom which is difficult when you can’t see the bottom, so I go for a location where his natural resting head would be from when I saw him walking. I could really go for a gap in the grass right now.
Crusty eats on, undeterred. Perhaps unaware.
The beast has steam coming off him in the growing dawn light. One last gift of confidence showing the wind is still right as it curls off his girth.
Shaking in the cold. Holding my breath sporadically because it stops the shivering.
Can he hear my heart beating in my ears?
Eternity stretches out.
Then he gives us a step forward to a break in the tall grass and I let it fly.
Psheeeewwk-WUHP. The suppressor really helps you hear a positive hit on the other end.
PH says “Hit him ag…” and he’s interrupted with a 2nd hit and then a 3rd.
The bull turns slightly right immediately after the 1st hit but I know the first 2 were solid hits.
He starts to run. I land a 3rd quartering away and he stumbles but does not slow and I fall off the sticks trying to cycle the bolt and turn further than they’re willing to support.
PH still has him in sight and he slows and lays down.
I’m reloading. +3 from the belt. (Huh. Never knew I could pull that off with gloves on.)
Back on the sticks. Watching.
He rises and circles clockwise away from us and upwind. I hit him once more and PH also sends his greetings. The 458 Win Mag shattering the morning decisively. He’s down again.
Reload +1. My cartridge holder from my kids is starting to feel like the cupboard is bare.
Maybe I should have brought a 2nd one.
We’re both freehand aiming last known location. The rifle weighs nothing.
PH radios Chatty to bring the dog for the approach and his face says this is where it gets interesting.
There's a burping angry sound from the wiggling grass that we're looking at.
Lucky Bucky, lacking any type of sense of danger, leads the approach.
I drop the zoom to 1x and turn up the volume of the reticle for red dot mode. We move.
This impossibly strong bull is back up and burping. He's facing to the South still and turns our way while I hit him twice more. He goes back down, thrashing his head around but he stays on the ground.
“Make sure you don’t hit the dog!"
“Copy”
PH calls the dog back and he immediately complies. Impressive. Bucky will get a rusk this morning.
We press forward, cautious, intimidated by anything that can take that much punishment.
Bwunuuuuughhhhhhhhh. That’s what we were waiting to hear. Crusty gives it up.
I start breathing again.
We walk up close now and I put one more through the boiler room just to make sure. PH pokes him with his rifle. He’s done.
And the shakes finally catch up to me.
There's this awkward moment when you 2nd guess whether it's safe to switch from red alert to celebration mode.
I'm compelled for some reason so I do. Last 2 from the belt. OCD I guess.
Then we safe the rifles and shake hands. I'm quite sure my big stupid grin is as big or bigger than PH's.
PH wrestles the massive head from the grass while I close my scope caps and wipe my nose.
Suddenly he explodes, “I think it’s Frank! It’s really Frank!”
Chatty steps up to verify and PH pulls out his phone to compare to a photo (wait… you had a photo?!)
“Mmmm… ees Frank.”
Score settled Frank.
You gave me the mistake I needed.
We say a quick prayer of thanks and enjoy the moment.
Thank you God.
Waidmannsheil
Quote of the day:
“This is the earliest I’ve ever had a breakfast beer and brother did we ever earn it!!" - PH
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Sigh! It is what it is.
