Tintin
AH elite
With the Southern winter starting to bite, it was time to head North for the annual migration.
It was to be an all Rigby affair, I was to carry the .416, a fine rifle, but just a pup alongside the 1902 .450 Nitro underlever hammer double that was to accompany @Marrakai .
On our first morning, we had stopped the Land Rover to repair a washed out creek crossing that had not survived the wet season. While looking for suitable repair rocks down the creek, we came across fresh dung. The road work was put on hold and the shovels and crow bars dropped in favour of rifles.
A welcome break, the humidity was already undermining player comfort, and I'd ruled out road repair work up north as a career option.
The source of the sign was soon spotted, a bull at about 60 metres, just poking out from cover and looking a little cagey, he knew something was up. A 450 grain Woodleigh soft from the .416 had him on the deck.
Being an expert marksman and the consummate hunter, I carefully chose the shot to ensure he dropped in the shade to make the meat recovery that bit easier.
Backstraps and rump were recovered and hung to cool while post mortem head separation surgery was underway.
Certainly not a monster, but will make it's way to the trophy room, once nature has cleaned it up a bit more.
Later that day we found some remnants from the country's former life as an army training area during WW2. These firing positions overlooking a track, presumably part of rehearsing ambush / counter ambush tactics. With memories of my failed road repair career still fresh, a renewed sense of admiration for those poor blokes digging in positions in this harsh country, under a hard sun 85 years ago came over me.
Then followed our first encounter with the most aloof dingo we'd ever seen. He was beyond ambivalent, refusing to even acknowledge our presence with as much as a glance or the pretence of a sniff, just going about his business as if we were invisible. silent and scentless. We saw him twice more during the trip, he never warmed to us.
Feeling snubbed, we pressed on, and weary at the end of a long day, while driving back to camp came upon a buffalo carcass, probably a week or so old. As we drew closer, I quickly realised that in addition to the foul stench pervading the scene, there was a pig feeding on it, producing an abruptly whispered STOP STOP STOP - always important to whisper when one is approaching prey in a diesel vehicle.
A quick dismount and the .416 had once again had the final word. He looks brown, but was black underneath the fairly fresh mud. We found his wallow and likely bed the next day. He had been dining out close to home.
That night the adventures continued as we ate chese and delicious Bruce Bertram made venison kranski while trying to summon the energy to prepare the evening meal.
A snort of displeasure came from the darkness, the Olight Perun Mini headlamp picked up two large green eyes in the bush about 20 metres from camp, followed by another pair, closer to the ground. With the headlamp in turbo mode a buffalo cow and calf came into view. Uncomfortalbe with the unwanted attention, they ambled off into the night. A bit of night time light entertainiment.
More to follow.
It was to be an all Rigby affair, I was to carry the .416, a fine rifle, but just a pup alongside the 1902 .450 Nitro underlever hammer double that was to accompany @Marrakai .
On our first morning, we had stopped the Land Rover to repair a washed out creek crossing that had not survived the wet season. While looking for suitable repair rocks down the creek, we came across fresh dung. The road work was put on hold and the shovels and crow bars dropped in favour of rifles.
A welcome break, the humidity was already undermining player comfort, and I'd ruled out road repair work up north as a career option.
The source of the sign was soon spotted, a bull at about 60 metres, just poking out from cover and looking a little cagey, he knew something was up. A 450 grain Woodleigh soft from the .416 had him on the deck.
Being an expert marksman and the consummate hunter, I carefully chose the shot to ensure he dropped in the shade to make the meat recovery that bit easier.
Backstraps and rump were recovered and hung to cool while post mortem head separation surgery was underway.
Certainly not a monster, but will make it's way to the trophy room, once nature has cleaned it up a bit more.
Later that day we found some remnants from the country's former life as an army training area during WW2. These firing positions overlooking a track, presumably part of rehearsing ambush / counter ambush tactics. With memories of my failed road repair career still fresh, a renewed sense of admiration for those poor blokes digging in positions in this harsh country, under a hard sun 85 years ago came over me.
Then followed our first encounter with the most aloof dingo we'd ever seen. He was beyond ambivalent, refusing to even acknowledge our presence with as much as a glance or the pretence of a sniff, just going about his business as if we were invisible. silent and scentless. We saw him twice more during the trip, he never warmed to us.
Feeling snubbed, we pressed on, and weary at the end of a long day, while driving back to camp came upon a buffalo carcass, probably a week or so old. As we drew closer, I quickly realised that in addition to the foul stench pervading the scene, there was a pig feeding on it, producing an abruptly whispered STOP STOP STOP - always important to whisper when one is approaching prey in a diesel vehicle.
A quick dismount and the .416 had once again had the final word. He looks brown, but was black underneath the fairly fresh mud. We found his wallow and likely bed the next day. He had been dining out close to home.
That night the adventures continued as we ate chese and delicious Bruce Bertram made venison kranski while trying to summon the energy to prepare the evening meal.
A snort of displeasure came from the darkness, the Olight Perun Mini headlamp picked up two large green eyes in the bush about 20 metres from camp, followed by another pair, closer to the ground. With the headlamp in turbo mode a buffalo cow and calf came into view. Uncomfortalbe with the unwanted attention, they ambled off into the night. A bit of night time light entertainiment.
More to follow.
was a welcome change after a week in the weeds up North.
