DUGGA BOYS OF TANZANIA

I’m Ewan Holtzhausen from South Africa, and my journey into hunting began at just nine years old when I had the incredible opportunity to accompany my Dad, Johan, on his first buffalo hunt in Tanzania (Kilombero North Safaris next to the Selous). Despite my initial skepticism about hunting, being outdoors and spending time with my Dad was incredibly special. That trip was transformative for both of us, a dream come true, that ignited a spark within me, even if I didn’t fully realize it then.
Fast forward a decade, and now it’s my turn to embark on my first dugga boy hunt, with Dad as my observer. The experiences we shared back then shaped my passion for hunting, particularly dangerous game hunting in Tanzania’s vast, unfenced concessions. We had meticulously planned this adventure for years, discussing every detail from the right clothing and equipment to the perfect caliber rifle. I had spent countless hours practicing with a .22 for muscle memory and a .375 to get used to the feel of a bigger gun. Although I was experienced with bird shooting and plains game hunting, I had never owned a big caliber rifle—only a shotgun.
We decided to utilize one of the outfitter’s rifles, and I felt fortunate to be guided by PH Dadi(Mr Karambeki of Nzohe Hunting Safaris), who assured us that the Rungwa Valley in Tanzania ( on a ±220 000 hectare concession close to various national parks) was home to many old dugga boys. The anticipation was electric as we prepared to track and hunt these magnificent creatures, fully aware that our efforts contribute to the preservation of wildlife and the local community.
The night before our departure, I could hardly sleep, caught up in the excitement and nervous energy that is always present when one prepares for a hunt.
At last, on the morning of Friday July 5th (2024) we arrived in Dar es Salaam. Although it was early, the heat of the day collided with the adrenaline coursing through us. After a brieflocal flight to Mpanda, we were picked up by our outfitters and we made a quick stop in thenearby village for last-minute provisions. An hour and a half later, we entered the concession area, driving through the savannah and Mjambo forest. Our hearts raced as we finally reached camp, welcomed by singing staff who celebrated our arrival.
The camp was beautiful, just as I had imagined—tented rooms lined the Rungwa river, with the mess area nestled nearby. Everything felt perfect; a crocodile was basking in the sun on the opposite bank, and I could hear a hippo splashing not far away. It was a reminder that we were truly in Africa, surrounded by its raw beauty and inherent dangers.
After a hearty lunch, we inspected the rifles. Unfortunately, the .416 I had hoped to use wasn’t ready, so I had to settle for the .375. I felt comfortable with it on the target shoot, and we took a slow drive along the Rungwa River, looking for tracks. After fending off the relentless Tsetse flies and examining various signs, we stopped when our tracker spotted oxpecker birds nearby. The birds signalled buffalo. The thrill of seeing those dark bodies in the grass sent my heart racing, but as we glanced at them, we realized they were young bulls, not the hardened bosses we were after.
Returning to camp that evening, the excitement remained. This was real hunting, and I felt the energy of the wild all around me. The game scout assured me that the next day I would find my dugga boy, sharing that he had prayed for me that morning.
Day two began early. We woke up at 4:30 a.m., eager to find fresh tracks. Our initial anticipation and hope was replaced with stony frustration as we kept losing rather than finding tracks. About six hours later we found signs of two dugga boys. Tracking them was some of the hardest work we had done; they had crossed over their tracks and walked in circles. We paused around 1 p.m. for a quick sandwich and some water, knowing they would likely lie down in the heat of the day.
Around 3 p.m., we resumed our search, but the elusive dugga boys kept ahead of us, and we ended the day tired and aware that we had been fortunate to see any sign of them at all. That evening, back at camp, we sat around the fire, reflecting on our adventure. Even though we were not successful on the day, the game scout still felt confident that we would find my dugga boy.
On day three, we woke up early the sounds of lions roaring across the river echoing in our ears. We had to burn some elephant dung in a tin to ward off the Tsetse flies that had begun to invade our camp and hunting vehicle. We went out again, taking some “spoor” early in the morning. The day passed slowly as we walked for hours, with the ground hard and unforgiving. My body ached from the heat and the effort, but I felt determined. Hunting in Africa requires positive thoughts and determination.
By late afternoon, we abandoned our search, but the pressure began to lift when PH Dadi allowed me to take a Common Reedbuck on license. It was a beautiful shot from about 120 meters, and the trophy ram went down instantly. That evening, we cooked the meat over the fire, savoring the tastes and flavors of our hard work.
Day four brought renewed hope. We set out early, feeling positive as we searched for fresh tracks. An hour out from camp, we found fresh dung, still steaming, and our excitement surged. Guns checked, ammo sorted, and we were ready. The heat intensified as we moved slowly through the dense bush, remaining cautious after ‘’bumping’’ buffalo in the past.
We stumbled upon signs indicating the dugga boys had turned back toward the river. The tension grew as we crept through the tall grass, our hearts pounding with anticipation. Then, just as we were closing in, I spotted two black shapes about 80 meters ahead. The wind shifted, and they caught our scent, bolting away. Disappointment washed over me, but I reminded myself that this was part of the hunt.
After regrouping, we decided to continue searching, but the day ended with only old tracks to show for our efforts. As I lay in my tent that night, I couldn’t shake off the growing anxiety. Time was slipping away, and I couldn’t help but wonder if we would ever outsmart that elusive dugga boy. I had to force myself to stay positive.
By day five, we set out again at dawn. The hyenas were calling in the distance, and our bodies were slower to rise. The Tsetse flies had left their marks on us, but we pressed on. An hour into our search, the trackers stopped the vehicle, their excitement visible. They had found fresh tracks, and we quickly moved to follow them.
As we navigated through the Mjambo forest, every sound heightened my senses. The trackers pointed out small signs—a broken twig here, a small indent in the ground there. I felt hope surge through me. After an hour of careful tracking, we saw fresh urine and crouched low, knowing we were getting closer. The tension was thick as we took our time, fully aware of the stakes involved.
Then, just as we thought we had them, the wind shifted again, and we heard the dugga boys running. My heart sank as we sprinted forward, only to see two black bodies like moving hillocks/boulders vanish into the tall grass. We regrouped, and the PH indicated we wouldn’t follow them further; we did not want to spook them anymore. Instead, we headed back to camp for an early lunch, trying to stay calm and positive despite the disappointment.
After resting, we set out again in the afternoon, determined to catch up with the buffalo. We returned to the area where we had last seen the fresh tracks the previous morning. It felt like we were closing in, but the tension never eased. Each step felt loaded with potential, and I could feel my pulse quickening with every passing moment.
Suddenly, our tracker clicked his fingers: pointing to the left. My heart raced as we spotted two breathing boulders in the thick bush, about 60 meters away, blissfully unaware of our presence. I dropped to my knees, adrenaline surging, as I raised my rifle. The old dugga boy stood there, turning his head towards us, death in his eyes. I took a deep breath, squeezed the trigger, and felt an electrifying rush as chaos erupted around us.
I managed a follow-up shot, my heart pounding as I watched the first buffalo run towards us,stagger and then collapse. Relief washed over me, momentarily. The second buffalo stopped. Stood frozen, its fierce gaze locked onto me. My instincts screamed that it might charge, and I held my breath, my rifle still on it. Time seemed to stretch as we remained motionless, the air thick with tension. Acutely aware that I only had one round in the rifle.
Moments felt like hours. The fallen dugga boy lay close by and I saw a slight movement, a magnificent creature, a testament to years of survival, but I couldn't approach it just yet. I was torn between putting a security shot in it or staying focused on the second one. The second buffalo was still watching, its muscles coiled, ready to spring at any sign of danger. I could see the strength in its frame, and a chill ran down my spine. I wished I had a .416 in my hand for more impact.
After an eternity, the second dugga boy finally turned and lumbered away, seemingly resigned to the fact that we posed no immediate threat. It retreated into the dense brush, leaving us in stunned silence. Only then did I feel the weight of what had happened.
I glanced at my Dad, our eyes reflecting a mix of excitement and relief. Slowly, we approached the fallen buffalo, each step heavy with reverence. A security shot followed. As I knelt beside this magnificent creature, I was overwhelmed by a tide of emotion. I took in the details—the worn horns, the scars that told stories of survival, the missing teeth and the soft fur that felt surreal beneath my fingertips.
In that moment, I understood the profound respect I needed to have for the animals we pursue. This hunt had transformed me. It wasn’t just about the thrill; it was about the bond I shared with my Dad, the lessons learned, and the respect for nature that shaped me into a true hunter. I knew this experience would stay with mforever, a reminder of the wild and the responsibilities that come with it and the gift it bestows on us
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You will think about until you can't. You will never be the same!