NAMIBIA: Namibia Hunt Report- Free Range Plains Game Hunting With DIVAN SAFARIS

Congratulations beautiful hunt and story!! I did the this hunt with Divan Safaris in 24 and can confirm this experience, would 100 percent recommend as well!

Well done Sir! Sounds like you had a grand time on Safari in Namibia. I love the terrain in Limpopo but am currently looking to book a Safari in North Eastern Namibia near the Etosha National Game Reserve for mainly some specific PG. The terrain where you hunted looks very flat. A lot like the Texas costal plains where my son and I hunted this past winter. Thank you for sharing your hunt with us.

PS - I loved the warthogs. I know how difficult and random it can be to get a chance at a big tusker.

BryceM said:

What a great report. Great animals. I was on the same Frankfort-Windhoek flight as you, just one day earlier. We also got the offer for the $300 upgrade to business, but there were four of us and only 3 seats……. So we didn’t do it. Oh, that would have been nice!

The rains in that region have been unreal lately. We hunted in the Kalahari region and had a massive, massive rain shower on our way back to the airport Thursday afternoon. We even had hail at one point. The grass in the region we hunted was tall enough to make spotting warthogs a problem. Nice critters. Sounds like a quality hunt with an excellent outfitter.

Know what the kudu measured?

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I think 51.5 ish. Were you on the flight to Munich Thursday evening?

Yes indeed. The same flight. The rain showers on the way to the airport were IMPRESSIVE!!!! compared to any I've seen on 4 continents.

I would have said about 52" on the kudu, so nice guess. Yours is bigger than my first trophy bull. I have the devil of a time judging them. In the taxidermy shop I guessed 59" on one bull. It measured 54". The depth of the curl can add or subtract plenty of length.

I also shot a unicorn springbok, many years ago. Fun memory.

BryceM said:

Yes indeed. The same flight. The rain showers on the way to the airport were IMPRESSIVE!!!! compared to any I've seen on 4 continents.

I would have said about 52" on the kudu, so nice guess. Yours is bigger than my first trophy bull. I have the devil of a time judging them. In the taxidermy shop I guessed 59" on one bull. It measured 54". The depth of the curl can add or subtract plenty of length.

I also shot a unicorn springbok, many years ago. Fun memory.

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The turbulence through most of Africa made the women next to me wake me up the entire night. I can sleep through bumps, she could not haha. I’ve learned curl depth is everything with kudu. We saw tons of bulls after I shot mine, and would have taken another, but they needed to be 55+

Day six

We were back at the red hartebeest property early again the next morning looking for fresh tracks. Thankfully, because of the rain from the evening before, the ground was extremely soft and made tracking much easier. The downside, though, was that everything was soaking wet and ultra quiet, which made it almost impossible to hear animals moving ahead of us or sneak in unnoticed.

We picked up several fresh tracks throughout the morning and eventually caught up to a small group of hartebeest, but once again there were no bulls with them. Worse yet, we accidentally bumped them without ever really getting eyes on them. We followed them for a while longer, bumping them a second time, before finally realizing we were wasting our time. At that point those animals were completely on edge and there was almost no chance we were going to get a shot opportunity.

We moved into another area and picked up a different set of tracks, but ended up in almost the exact same situation. We bumped them, they took off, and we struggled to get back onto them cleanly. Eventually they crossed underneath a fence and moved onto another section of the property.

At that point we figured it was best to back out, have lunch, and let things settle down a bit.

After lunch and a very quick ten-minute nap, we jumped right back on the tracks. We followed them across almost the entire block. At one point we started seeing fresh deep hoof marks torn into the soft ground and figured the herd had broken into a run. We picked up the pace and moved quickly through the brush trying to cut them off.

Suddenly we burst out toward the road and found the herd running along the fence line.

Every single one of them was a cow.

There were probably around twenty red hartebeest spread all over the area. Some were standing in the road, some had already disappeared back into the thick brush, and several had gone underneath the fence onto the neighboring side.

Once we realized there still weren’t any bulls mixed in, there was no point continuing the track.

We climbed back into the truck and spent the rest of the afternoon driving the perimeter trying to locate another set of tracks or another herd entirely, but by then we were starting to believe most of the bulls had either left the property or buried themselves deep into the thick interior where we simply had no way to pick up a clean track.

We eventually headed back toward camp and took a quick drive around Divan’s property looking for steenbok, but never connected on one.

The plan for the next morning was to hunt an adjacent property bordering the one we had been chasing red hartebeest on. Divan had spent some time getting permission to hunt there in hopes that one of the bulls had slipped across onto that neighboring ground.

Honestly, this is the beauty of true free-range hunting. Sometimes the game simply goes where you can’t get to them, and that’s just part of it. They aren’t held in by high fences or trapped on small properties. The animals move naturally, and sometimes that means they win.

Day seven

We headed out early to the new property bordering the one we had been hunting for red hartebeest on the previous few days. This was a completely different owner with a much larger cattle operation, noticeably nicer fencing, and very well-maintained grounds overall.

We entered through the main gate and had barely been on the property ten minutes when Johnny spotted a herd of red hartebeest off in the distance. We immediately bailed out of the truck and started sneaking in, trying to close the distance enough to see whether there were any bulls mixed into the group.

We finally caught up with them and stayed tucked behind some brush while Divan glassed through the herd trying to locate horns. Eventually he spotted one and whispered that it was a very nice bull.

Game on.

But just as we sat there planning the stalk, the wind swirled. I could feel it hit the back of my neck, and I instantly knew we were running out of time. Seconds later the herd exploded.

Not again.

These animals were unbelievably difficult to hunt. They were hyper-aware at all times, and once they ran, they ran far, sometimes for miles.

We slowly worked after them and tracked for another 300 to 400 yards before spotting the bull again. Suddenly I saw the sticks fly up. The bull was standing about 275 yards away partially hidden behind a low tree and a bit of brush. He clearly thought he was concealed, but from where we were set up I could see him well enough.

I got on the sticks, but we had sprinted into position and I wasn’t nearly as steady as I should’ve been. Just as I settled in, the bull stood upright in full alert like he was about to bolt again.

I put the crosshairs on the shoulder and squeezed.

Pow.

I immediately heard the heavy thud of impact.

Relief.

We hurried up to the area expecting to find him piled up nearby, but there was nothing there. No dead bull. No bull standing. Nothing.

We spread out searching for blood and tracks. At one point several warthogs busted out of the brush directly near me and nearly gave me a heart attack charging past before veering off.

Eventually we located blood. Then more blood. Then even more blood.

But still no hartebeest.

We tracked and tracked and tracked. At least another thousand yards before finding a large pile of blood. I kept thinking to myself, “There’s no way this animal can keep going losing this much blood.”

But it did.

And then came that awful feeling every hunter eventually experiences, the fear that you may have wounded an animal you’ll never recover.

That thought completely consumed me.

But Johnny and Divan never slowed down for a second. Johnny was unbelievable. He could locate the tiniest speck of blood while staying on the tracks through tall grass and thick cover. At one point he mentioned the bull was favoring one side and believed the shot might have been low, but still mortal.

We continued farther until eventually we reached the fence line where the bull had crawled underneath onto an adjacent property we did not have permission to hunt.

At that point my stomach dropped.

I honestly thought it was over.

But Divan always seemed to have a plan. We jumped in the truck and drove until he got enough cell service to make a call. He contacted the neighboring property owner and explained the situation. Thankfully the gentleman gave us permission to continue tracking. He just mentioned he’d notify his anti-poaching team since they were armed and active on the property.

Back on the track.

We crossed under the fence and kept following blood. Eventually Divan caught sight of the bull again and instantly took off running.

When I say running, I mean full sprint through horrible terrain trying to close the distance before the bull disappeared again. But once more we lost him.

We continued tracking and eventually found a spot where the bull had stumbled and laid down briefly before getting back up again. The blood piles kept growing larger and larger. I truly could not understand how this animal was still moving.

But that’s Africa.

These animals simply do not quit until they physically cannot continue anymore.

A little farther on I suddenly saw Divan point and break into another sprint. I ran after him as fast as I could. Then I saw the sticks go up.

The bull was standing near a few bushes about 70 yards ahead.

I got on the sticks, settled the crosshairs on the shoulder, and squeezed again.

The bull collapsed instantly.

We charged up to him and I put one more insurance shot behind the shoulder just to make sure. And finally… that was it.

What an absolutely insane hunt.





After looking over the bull carefully, we realized my first shot had actually struck high in the upper leg area and never entered the vitals. Somehow the bullet must have clipped a major artery because the amount of blood this bull lost was unbelievable.

Honestly, the fact that Johnny and Divan recovered this animal felt like a miracle to me.

We had probably covered close to three miles through tall grass, thick brush, and difficult tracking conditions. I personally would have never recovered that bull on my own. Watching those guys work truly showed me just how skilled they really are.

Divan laughed afterward and mentioned one of the nice things about plains game hunting is that you don’t have to stop every ten minutes worrying about a buffalo trying to kill you. You can move fast and aggressively when needed.

We talked quite a bit afterward about what happened on the shot. My personal thought was that I either misjudged the bullet drop or simply pulled the shot low. Johnny, however, was convinced the bullet clipped some small brush or sticks in front of the bull and deflected downward. We actually found fragments lodged under the skin near the belly later on, so his theory honestly may have been correct.

Either way, we recovered him.

And I still could not believe it ended the way it did.

We spent the rest of the morning congratulating each other, drinking coffee, and replaying the entire track job before finally loading the bull and heading back toward the skinning shed.

That evening we returned to Divan’s property to make one last attempt at steenbok and duiker. We cruised around in his old open-top 1975 Land Cruiser, which was honestly a blast because you could jump out so quickly anytime something was spotted.

We saw several steenbok, but they were either too small or females.

Eventually we slowly made our way back into camp, and just like that, the hunt was over.

I had an incredible seven days in Namibia, and honestly I still can’t believe we managed to come home with that red hartebeest bull. For many hunters it may not be a primary target species, but after everything that went into chasing that animal, it became incredibly special to all of us.

We had one final great dinner that night, packed up gear, shared stories around the fire, and got ready for departure the next morning.

I love the story about the hartebeest and I always love hunting them. You shot a great bull. They are so incredibly aware. It is sooooooo very common to bump them five or six times before getting a shot opportunity. Patience, and the willpower to keep on the track is what it's all about.

I've had a couple of my own adventures like that in Namibia. I did a poor job with a bull gemsbok on my first trip. After the blood dried up and we were five or six kilometers in, I was firmly convinced we were chasing nothing at all. A bit later he was found and I was able to clean it up. Watching trackers in Africa work is like watching poetry in motion. Their ability to read a track in desert sand and follow a particular animal is incomprehensible to me. Their ability to follow a certain elephant in a herd through a mopane forest is some sort of black magic.

If there isn't too much grass, I can follow a single giraffe, in sand, sometimes, if the wind blew hard the night before.

I remember a few bumps on that flight, but something I ate at the airport wasn't agreeing with me. Nothing terrible came of it, but focusing on keeping lunch down helped me ignore the ride.

I enjoyed your report. Glad you had a great hunt.

BryceM said:

I love the story about the hartebeest and I always love hunting them. You shot a great bull. They are so incredibly aware. It is sooooooo very common to bump them five or six times before getting a shot opportunity. Patience, and the willpower to keep on the track is what it's all about.

I've had a couple of my own adventures like that in Namibia. I did a poor job with a bull gemsbok on my first trip. After the blood dried up and we were five or six kilometers in, I was firmly convinced we were chasing nothing at all. A bit later he was found and I was able to clean it up. Watching trackers in Africa work is like watching poetry in motion. Their ability to read a track in desert sand and follow a particular animal is incomprehensible to me. Their ability to follow a certain elephant in a herd through a mopane forest is some sort of black magic.

If there isn't too much grass, I can follow a single giraffe, in sand, sometimes, if the wind blew hard the night before.

I remember a few bumps on that flight, but something I ate at the airport wasn't agreeing with me. Nothing terrible came of it, but focusing on keeping lunch down helped me ignore the ride.

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I didn’t eat at the airport for that reason ha. I did eat the dinner on the plane but skipped breakfast. I did catch a ride on the a380-800 to Boston, which was pretty cool

Departure day

We woke up a little early for one final breakfast before heading out. This one wasn’t buffet style, Monique made me a full sit-down breakfast with bacon, eggs, toast, and fruit before we hit the road.

Before leaving camp, all of my trophies had already been loaded into the truck, and we started the several-hour drive toward the taxidermist located just outside of Windhoek near the airport.

Once we arrived, we sat down and went through everything I wanted done. For the most part, I decided on dip, pack, and crate, but I did request all of the skulls be cleaned and bleached so I could hang them while waiting for my taxidermy work to eventually get completed back home in the States. My taxidermist lives only about 15 minutes from me, and he’s incredibly flexible with timing and pricing, plus his work is excellent, so I prefer doing the actual mounts locally.

Attached to the taxidermy facility was a curio shop, which honestly was a genius setup. It’s basically impossible for dads returning home from Africa not to stop and buy gifts for the kids and wife. You walk in thinking you’ll spend a little money and leave having spent twice what you planned. Smart business model.

I picked up a few things for the kids before we headed back out.

Before going to the airport, Divan had a few errands to run around town, and we also stopped at Joe's Beerhouse for lunch. If you ever find yourself in Windhoek, I absolutely recommend stopping there. Really cool atmosphere and a pretty iconic place.

I ordered a burger and fries while Divan had a steak, and we sat there talking about the hunt, future trips, and Africa in general.

After lunch, we stopped at a couple gun stores because I had burned through most of Divan’s ammunition during the hunt. He picked up more bullets, primers, powder, and a few other reloading supplies before we slowly made our way back toward the airport.

He dropped me off around 5 p.m., walked me inside, and we said our goodbyes before I settled in for the long journey home.

I finally made it back Friday night where my wife and kids were waiting for me at Logan International. I honestly couldn’t have been happier to see them.

And just like that, the trip was over.

I really can’t say enough good things about Divan Safaris and the entire team. I was beyond impressed with both the trophy quality and, more importantly, the style of hunting itself. Divan is a dangerous game hunter first, and I think that heavily influences how he approaches plains game hunting. A lot of the hunt involved tracking, staying on animals, moving quickly, and really hunting them rather than simply driving around looking for something to shoot.

Like I mentioned before, we certainly did some spot-and-stalk hunting, but there was also a tremendous amount of tracking involved, which honestly felt like the purest form of African hunting to me.

We talked several times throughout the week about future hunts and when I might be able to come back. Right now I already have an Alaskan grizzly bear hunt booked for 2027, and then in 2028 I’ll be hunting with Alan Shearing at CMS for leopard and buffalo.

So realistically, I’m not exactly sure where I can squeeze another trip in.

That said, I did mention to Divan that I would absolutely love to bring my son there someday for plains game hunting. I really think that’s something I could make happen. Or maybe even a leopard hunt someday, since Divan has a few areas he’s especially passionate about for leopard hunting.

Hope everyone enjoyed the report.

Forgot to add this one

I enjoyed the report immensely. Many thanks for sharing it.

Thank you for sharing! Congratulations on some great trophies

Thanks for sharing enjoyed the read of your good hunt.

Random pictures

Waidmannsheil! Great report, hunting the red Hartebeest was a trip through memory lane for me. Awesome animal to hunt and a great challenge. Undervalued animal by hunters I think. Not natures most beautiful but definitely a challenge.

revturbo9967 said:

Day seven

We headed out early to the new property bordering the one we had been hunting for red hartebeest on the previous few days. This was a completely different owner with a much larger cattle operation, noticeably nicer fencing, and very well-maintained grounds overall...

I got on the sticks, but we had sprinted into position and I wasn’t nearly as steady as I should’ve been. Just as I settled in, the bull stood upright in full alert like he was about to bolt again.

I put the crosshairs on the shoulder and squeezed.

Pow.

I immediately heard the heavy thud of impact.

Relief.

We hurried up to the area expecting to find him piled up nearby, but there was nothing there. No dead bull. No bull standing. Nothing.

We spread out searching for blood and tracks. At one point several warthogs busted out of the brush directly near me and nearly gave me a heart attack charging past before veering off.

Eventually we located blood. Then more blood. Then even more blood.

But still no hartebeest.

We tracked and tracked and tracked. At least another thousand yards before finding a large pile of blood. I kept thinking to myself, “There’s no way this animal can keep going losing this much blood.”

But it did.

And then came that awful feeling every hunter eventually experiences, the fear that you may have wounded an animal you’ll never recover.

That thought completely consumed me.

But Johnny and Divan never slowed down for a second. Johnny was unbelievable. He could locate the tiniest speck of blood while staying on the tracks through tall grass and thick cover. At one point he mentioned the bull was favoring one side and believed the shot might have been low, but still mortal.

We continued farther until eventually we reached the fence line where the bull had crawled underneath onto an adjacent property we did not have permission to hunt.

At that point my stomach dropped.

I honestly thought it was over.

But Divan always seemed to have a plan. We jumped in the truck and drove until he got enough cell service to make a call. He contacted the neighboring property owner and explained the situation. Thankfully the gentleman gave us permission to continue tracking. He just mentioned he’d notify his anti-poaching team since they were armed and active on the property.

Back on the track.

We crossed under the fence and kept following blood. Eventually Divan caught sight of the bull again and instantly took off running.

When I say running, I mean full sprint through horrible terrain trying to close the distance before the bull disappeared again. But once more we lost him.

We continued tracking and eventually found a spot where the bull had stumbled and laid down briefly before getting back up again. The blood piles kept growing larger and larger. I truly could not understand how this animal was still moving.

But that’s Africa.

These animals simply do not quit until they physically cannot continue anymore.

A little farther on I suddenly saw Divan point and break into another sprint. I ran after him as fast as I could. Then I saw the sticks go up.

The bull was standing near a few bushes about 70 yards ahead.

I got on the sticks, settled the crosshairs on the shoulder, and squeezed again.

The bull collapsed instantly.

We charged up to him and I put one more insurance shot behind the shoulder just to make sure. And finally… that was it.

What an absolutely insane hunt.



View attachment 766031

After looking over the bull carefully, we realized my first shot had actually struck high in the upper leg area and never entered the vitals. Somehow the bullet must have clipped a major artery because the amount of blood this bull lost was unbelievable.

Honestly, the fact that Johnny and Divan recovered this animal felt like a miracle to me.

We had probably covered close to three miles through tall grass, thick brush, and difficult tracking conditions. I personally would have never recovered that bull on my own. Watching those guys work truly showed me just how skilled they really are.


I had an incredible seven days in Namibia, and honestly I still can’t believe we managed to come home with that red hartebeest bull. For many hunters it may not be a primary target species, but after everything that went into chasing that animal, it became incredibly special to all of us.

We had one final great dinner that night, packed up gear, shared stories around the fire, and got ready for departure the next morning.

Click to expand...

Again, great hunt report. If one hunts long enough, sooner or later we find ourselves in a similar situation as you did with the Red HB. It is a BAD feeling. I know. A couple years ago, I had been tracking Gemsbok for three days without ever seeing one for more than a few seconds. Then on the fourth day, we came around a bend and there was one a small herd standing in the trail and they busted out running up hill. We tracked them for a while until I was gassed and asked to have the truck brought up. PH could not raise the driver on radio so, he left me chilling in the shade of a tree and walked back to get the bakkie. I unloaded my 308 and thumbed the round back into the mag before leaning it on the tree.

When the truck arrived, we mounted up and began a slow drive looking to regain sight of the herd. After an hour of searching we spotted them off in the distance and dismounted to put on a stalk. We had gone only a short distance when we rounded a bend and there stood a Gemsbok broadside at 80y. Up went the sticks as the PH whispered "Take him". Aim squeeze, click!??? WTF? - I had never reloaded the weapon and in my fatigued state had committed an unforgivable sin. I heard the PH whisper under his breath "!@#$%" as the Gemsbok loped away. Redfaced, I reloaded and set the safety. Opportunity missed.

We continued about half a mile and rounded another bend in the trail and off in the distance stood another Gemsbok, broadside. I got up on the sticks with a round chambered this time and as I was taking aim, I asked the PH the range and he said 150y. I estimated 200y but my rifle was zeroed at 200 and it was a point blank shot either way. Aim, breath, BAM. I heard the impact and the bull just stood there and then walked into the bush and was gone. The PH said, "You missed him". I turned and looked at him and said, "No, that shot was true, and we heard the impact." We walked down the trail about 150y and looked for a blood trail. Nothing. There were tracks leading into the bush and he and the driver followed them and left me sitting, wondering how I could have missed that bull. It is a terrible feeling as I knew, I had hit him.

I drank a water and then decided to do some looking of my own. I went downrange to about the 200y distance from where we had been standing and began scanning the ground. After going in larger and larger circles for a while I spotted one small drop of blood and one tiny pieces of lung tissue. I reached into my vest pocket and took out a small white tissue and hunt it on a thorn bush to mark the spot. Then I walked back to where we had parted and in short order rejoined the PH who announced that the driver had tracked my bull across a road some distance away and it was not bleeding and was lost. I could have accepted that statement and let it go but I knew I had hit the Gemsbok. So, I asked did you find the blood trail? Whereby, he asked "What blood trail?" I led him down the trail to my marked spot and put him on the trail. He called his lead tracker who arrived with four more and put them on the trail.

Watching a good native tracker work is magnificent. I describe it like a pack of hounds. He walked at a steady pace, never slowing or stopping and followed the wounded bull into the bush. It was like he could smell it. I had tried to follow this trail and never got more than 30y into the bush without loosing the track. Our trackers were on the track and within minutes had located my Gemsbok down and dead only 60y from where I had shot it. My feelings went from the lowest low to soaring to a high that is hard to describe. I had not missed. The 180g bonded fusion bullet had hit exactly where I had aimed but about 2" high and was a double lung impact that also wrecked some of the major arteries above the heart. The shot was later ranged to be 202y.

Your Red HB is a magnificent bull. You worked a good bit harder than I did to find him. Well done Sir! and congratulations on this well earned animal. Red HB is on my list for Namibia along with Eland and a few others. Again - thx for taking the time to share your hunt with us.

Congrats on a fantastic hunt! Great animals taken and lots of action.

JG26Irish_2 said:

Again, great hunt report. If one hunts long enough, sooner or later we find ourselves in a similar situation as you did with the Red HB. It is a BAD feeling. I know. A couple years ago, I had been tracking Gemsbok for three days without ever seeing one for more than a few seconds. Then on the fourth day, we came around a bend and there was one a small herd standing in the trail and they busted out running up hill. We tracked them for a while until I was gassed and asked to have the truck brought up. PH could not raise the driver on radio so, he left me chilling in the shade of a tree and walked back to get the bakkie. I unloaded my 308 and thumbed the round back into the mag before leaning it on the tree.

When the truck arrived, we mounted up and began a slow drive looking to regain sight of the herd. After an hour of searching we spotted them off in the distance and dismounted to put on a stalk. We had gone only a short distance when we rounded a bend and there stood a Gemsbok broadside at 80y. Up went the sticks as the PH whispered "Take him". Aim squeeze, click!??? WTF? - I had never reloaded the weapon and in my fatigued state had committed an unforgivable sin. I heard the PH whisper under his breath "!@#$%" as the Gemsbok loped away. Redfaced, I reloaded and set the safety. Opportunity missed.

We continued about half a mile and rounded another bend in the trail and off in the distance stood another Gemsbok, broadside. I got up on the sticks with a round chambered this time and as I was taking aim, I asked the PH the range and he said 150y. I estimated 200y but my rifle was zeroed at 200 and it was a point blank shot either way. Aim, breath, BAM. I heard the impact and the bull just stood there and then walked into the bush and was gone. The PH said, "You missed him". I turned and looked at him and said, "No, that shot was true, and we heard the impact." We walked down the trail about 150y and looked for a blood trail. Nothing. There were tracks leading into the bush and he and the driver followed them and left me sitting, wondering how I could have missed that bull. It is a terrible feeling as I knew, I had hit him.

I drank a water and then decided to do some looking of my own. I went downrange to about the 200y distance from where we had been standing and began scanning the ground. After going in larger and larger circles for a while I spotted one small drop of blood and one tiny pieces of lung tissue. I reached into my vest pocket and took out a small white tissue and hunt it on a thorn bush to mark the spot. Then I walked back to where we had parted and in short order rejoined the PH who announced that the driver had tracked my bull across a road some distance away and it was not bleeding and was lost. I could have accepted that statement and let it go but I knew I had hit the Gemsbok. So, I asked did you find the blood trail? Whereby, he asked "What blood trail?" I led him down the trail to my marked spot and put him on the trail. He called his lead tracker who arrived with four more and put them on the trail.

Watching a good native tracker work is magnificent. I describe it like a pack of hounds. He walked at a steady pace, never slowing or stopping and followed the wounded bull into the bush. It was like he could smell it. I had tried to follow this trail and never got more than 30y into the bush without loosing the track. Our trackers were on the track and within minutes had located my Gemsbok down and dead only 60y from where I had shot it. My feelings went from the lowest low to soaring to a high that is hard to describe. I had not missed. The 180g bonded fusion bullet had hit exactly where I had aimed but about 2" high and was a double lung impact that also wrecked some of the major arteries above the heart. The shot was later ranged to be 202y.

Your Red HB is a magnificent bull. You worked a good bit harder than I did to find him. Well done Sir! and congratulations on this well earned animal. Red HB is on my list for Namibia along with Eland and a few others. Again - thx for taking the time to share your hunt with us.

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Thank you!