NathanOrszaczki
AH member
After a big day chasing kudu and nyala the day prior, Mark suggested we head to an area known for its free range waterbuck. I couldn't wait. He explained that the property consisted of rolling farmland, scattered hills and a river system that divided the farm—perfect waterbuck country.
The alarm sounded at 4:00 a.m. Any concerns about jet lag had disappeared, replaced by pure excitement and anticipation. Before first light we were already on the road, making the hour-and-a-half drive west from our camp at WasBank in search of one of Africa's most iconic antelope.
The morning looked promising from the outset.
On the drive into the property I spotted a common reedbuck standing in a harvested cornfield alongside a couple of duikers. With a reedbuck high on my wish list, it was difficult to drive past, but Mark insisted we focus on the waterbuck first.
"We'll come back for him later," he assured me.
After noting exactly where the ram was and the patch of cover he would most likely retreat to, we continued deeper into the property. The farmland felt surprisingly familiar, reminding me of western Victoria. Apart from the incredible variety of game animals, it could almost have been home, with working cattle country and broad cropping paddocks stretching into the distance.
Our first stop was the river system where Mark had taken several impressive waterbuck bulls over the years. As confident as ever, he told me we wouldn't have to wait long before spotting a bull worth chasing.
Within minutes he was proven right.
Through the binoculars we picked up plenty of waterbuck, including a couple of mature bulls, along with kudu and more reedbuck scattered throughout the property. I had to keep pinching myself at the sheer number of animals we were seeing.
One particular bull, accompanied by several cows, looked too good to ignore. We shouldered our packs, checked the wind and slipped into the African bush, using every bit of cover we could find.
Time and again we thought we'd closed the distance, only for the bull to disappear before we could get into position. Rather than becoming frustrated, the challenge only made me more determined.
The bull was accompanied by younger bulls and few females which added the extra layer of difficulty.
As we edged close to the bull a small reedbuck ram found himself between us and the waterbuck. He let out a sharp, distinctive whistle before disappearing into cover—a sound I'd never heard before. We dropped to the ground, hoping the waterbuck hadn't heard the alarm and would continue feeding towards us.
Luck wasn't on our side.
Eventually the wind betrayed us, swirling just enough to put the animals on edge. Rather than push our luck, we backed out and decided to return that afternoon.
As we walked back, I mentioned the reedbuck we'd seen earlier and Mark agreed he was worth pursuing while we waited for another opportunity at the waterbuck.
During the walk, Mark explained that many South African hunters regard the waterbuck as the country's equivalent of Australia's sambar deer. After spending the morning trying to stalk one, I understood exactly what he meant. They were wary, elusive and always seemed one step ahead. I'd also read that waterbuck possess an incredible will to survive and are renowned for their toughness.
They had already earned my respect.
I knew where that bull lived, and I made a promise to myself—I wasn't leaving Africa without a waterbuck.
That's hunting. Sometimes the animals win.
With the morning waterbuck hunt over, we headed back towards the area where we'd first seen the reedbuck. To our surprise we found not one, but three mature rams spread across different paddocks. After studying each of them through the binoculars, I settled on the ram I wanted.
He was bedded in the middle of a harvested cornfield with very little cover. Mark suggested we drive further down the road before using a line of trees to conceal our approach.
The plan worked perfectly.
Before long I was set up on the safari sticks, the crosshairs resting steadily on the ram's chest at less than 100 metres.
I squeezed the trigger.
The rifle barked.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder, followed by Mark's laughter.
I'd missed.
The ram had been standing at under 100 metres and I'd completely missed him.
It wasn't the rifle's fault.
It wasn't the ammunition's fault.
It was me.
Back home in Australia, most of my shooting on our game species is done prone off a bipod (where practical) or off a sand bag and I simply hadn't settled properly into the shooting sticks. It was a lesson I would learn quickly, but at the time it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I couldn't believe I'd travelled halfway around the world only to miss such a straightforward shot.
Fortunately, the ram hadn't gone far. Instead of disappearing, he bounded another hundred metres before stopping.
Mark looked at me calmly.
"Let's get around the other side and have another go."
We hurried back to the ute, drove around the paddock and slipped into position once more. Again we closed the distance to under 100 metres.
This time I talked myself through every step.
Relax.
Breathe.
Don't fight the sticks.
Squeeze the trigger.
Everything came together.
The shot struck the ram cleanly through the boiler room and he collapsed within sight.
The feeling of relief was enormous.
Mark couldn't stop laughing about the first shot, and eventually I laughed too—although I didn't find it nearly as funny at the time. Missing had shaken my confidence, but I remembered something I'd been told growing up: nobody counts the bullets when you recover the animal—only when you don't.
With the reedbuck safely recovered, we still had some time before the afternoon waterbuck hunt. Instead of rushing, we enjoyed a proper sit-down lunch in a nearby country town.
It felt like a luxury.
Back home, most of my hunting involves backpacking through the Victorian High Country chasing sambar deer, where lunch usually consists of whatever can be eaten while walking. Sitting down for a hot meal in the middle of a safari was a welcome change and gave me time to reflect on a morning that had already taught me a valuable lesson.
Before long we were heading back into waterbuck country. The wind was blowing steadily in our favour, giving us confidence that, if we found the bulls again, we'd have a real chance.
We began glassing the ridges and riverbanks.
Soon enough I spotted a bull crossing an open patch.
I pointed him out to Mark, convinced he was a good animal. Mark quickly found him through the spotting scope as he slipped into thicker cover.
He looked over at me.
"We're going after that bull."
Instantly the adrenaline kicked in.
I was excited, nervous and determined all at once.
I knew how badly I wanted a waterbuck, but I also knew how tough they were. Mark reminded me that shot placement had to be perfect because recovering a wounded waterbuck could be extremely difficult.
We slipped along a ridgeline and relocated not one, but two mature bulls travelling with several females. One bull however was slightly more mature and bigger.
Mark whispered that I needed to be certain I shot the correct bull and told me he'd simply say "yes" or "no" when an opportunity presented itself.
Everything happened incredibly fast.
The bulls worked their way along the ridge towards us. I settled onto the shooting sticks while Mark whispered that they'd appear through a small opening in the bush about 80 yards away.
I focused on the gap.
Moments later a bull stepped into the opening.
"Yep," Mark whispered.
The crosshairs settled on the centre of his chest and I touched off a round from the .30-06.
The bullet struck just behind the shoulder.
To my surprise, the bull spun and disappeared into the thick bush.
Mark and I were convinced we'd heard him crash and fall over.
We waited a minute before walking in.
There were high fives and plenty of smiles.
Little did we know the hunt wasn't over.
As we entered the bush I expected to find the bull lying where he'd fallen.
Instead, two bulls suddenly exploded from cover.
I believed the uninjured bull had broken right while mine veered left.
Without thinking I sprinted diagonally through the bush, hoping to cut him off before he disappeared into the thick scrub beyond the ridge.
Then everything stopped.
There he was.
Five yards away.
The bull stood staring straight at me.
For a split second time seemed to freeze. My heart was pounding and I honestly didn't know what he was about to do.
I locked eyes with the bull and admired him in all his beauty.
Then he spun.
As he bolted, instinct took over.
I mounted the rifle, swung through his chest and fired.
The bull collapsed before disappearing into the African bush.
The relief was instant.
After an entire day of glassing, stalking, missed opportunities and persistence, I finally had my dream waterbuck.
Another lesson had been learnt.
Never celebrate until you've got your hands on the animal.
But I was in Africa, living out a lifelong dream, and in the end it all worked out, not a care in the world. It was my shout for a few well deserved beers for the way home.
I'm not sure we could have scripted that day any better. To hunt free-range country, pursue such incredible animals and take trophies of that calibre was something I'll never forget.
Mark was quite happy I didn’t let off any ‘warning shots’ this time.
As if the day couldn't get any better, on the drive back to camp Mark added a warthog to the tally.
We'd seen countless waterbuck, taken a beautiful common reedbuck and finished the day with a mature waterbuck bull after one of the most adrenaline-filled encounters of the entire safari.
It was one of those days that reminds you why people travel halfway around the world to hunt Africa.
Long hours.
Missed opportunities.
Hard-earned success.
Split-second decisions.
Unforgettable memories.
Days like that stay with you forever.
The alarm sounded at 4:00 a.m. Any concerns about jet lag had disappeared, replaced by pure excitement and anticipation. Before first light we were already on the road, making the hour-and-a-half drive west from our camp at WasBank in search of one of Africa's most iconic antelope.
The morning looked promising from the outset.
On the drive into the property I spotted a common reedbuck standing in a harvested cornfield alongside a couple of duikers. With a reedbuck high on my wish list, it was difficult to drive past, but Mark insisted we focus on the waterbuck first.
"We'll come back for him later," he assured me.
After noting exactly where the ram was and the patch of cover he would most likely retreat to, we continued deeper into the property. The farmland felt surprisingly familiar, reminding me of western Victoria. Apart from the incredible variety of game animals, it could almost have been home, with working cattle country and broad cropping paddocks stretching into the distance.
Our first stop was the river system where Mark had taken several impressive waterbuck bulls over the years. As confident as ever, he told me we wouldn't have to wait long before spotting a bull worth chasing.
Within minutes he was proven right.
Through the binoculars we picked up plenty of waterbuck, including a couple of mature bulls, along with kudu and more reedbuck scattered throughout the property. I had to keep pinching myself at the sheer number of animals we were seeing.
One particular bull, accompanied by several cows, looked too good to ignore. We shouldered our packs, checked the wind and slipped into the African bush, using every bit of cover we could find.
Time and again we thought we'd closed the distance, only for the bull to disappear before we could get into position. Rather than becoming frustrated, the challenge only made me more determined.
The bull was accompanied by younger bulls and few females which added the extra layer of difficulty.
As we edged close to the bull a small reedbuck ram found himself between us and the waterbuck. He let out a sharp, distinctive whistle before disappearing into cover—a sound I'd never heard before. We dropped to the ground, hoping the waterbuck hadn't heard the alarm and would continue feeding towards us.
Luck wasn't on our side.
Eventually the wind betrayed us, swirling just enough to put the animals on edge. Rather than push our luck, we backed out and decided to return that afternoon.
As we walked back, I mentioned the reedbuck we'd seen earlier and Mark agreed he was worth pursuing while we waited for another opportunity at the waterbuck.
During the walk, Mark explained that many South African hunters regard the waterbuck as the country's equivalent of Australia's sambar deer. After spending the morning trying to stalk one, I understood exactly what he meant. They were wary, elusive and always seemed one step ahead. I'd also read that waterbuck possess an incredible will to survive and are renowned for their toughness.
They had already earned my respect.
I knew where that bull lived, and I made a promise to myself—I wasn't leaving Africa without a waterbuck.
That's hunting. Sometimes the animals win.
With the morning waterbuck hunt over, we headed back towards the area where we'd first seen the reedbuck. To our surprise we found not one, but three mature rams spread across different paddocks. After studying each of them through the binoculars, I settled on the ram I wanted.
He was bedded in the middle of a harvested cornfield with very little cover. Mark suggested we drive further down the road before using a line of trees to conceal our approach.
The plan worked perfectly.
Before long I was set up on the safari sticks, the crosshairs resting steadily on the ram's chest at less than 100 metres.
I squeezed the trigger.
The rifle barked.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder, followed by Mark's laughter.
I'd missed.
The ram had been standing at under 100 metres and I'd completely missed him.
It wasn't the rifle's fault.
It wasn't the ammunition's fault.
It was me.
Back home in Australia, most of my shooting on our game species is done prone off a bipod (where practical) or off a sand bag and I simply hadn't settled properly into the shooting sticks. It was a lesson I would learn quickly, but at the time it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I couldn't believe I'd travelled halfway around the world only to miss such a straightforward shot.
Fortunately, the ram hadn't gone far. Instead of disappearing, he bounded another hundred metres before stopping.
Mark looked at me calmly.
"Let's get around the other side and have another go."
We hurried back to the ute, drove around the paddock and slipped into position once more. Again we closed the distance to under 100 metres.
This time I talked myself through every step.
Relax.
Breathe.
Don't fight the sticks.
Squeeze the trigger.
Everything came together.
The shot struck the ram cleanly through the boiler room and he collapsed within sight.
The feeling of relief was enormous.
Mark couldn't stop laughing about the first shot, and eventually I laughed too—although I didn't find it nearly as funny at the time. Missing had shaken my confidence, but I remembered something I'd been told growing up: nobody counts the bullets when you recover the animal—only when you don't.
With the reedbuck safely recovered, we still had some time before the afternoon waterbuck hunt. Instead of rushing, we enjoyed a proper sit-down lunch in a nearby country town.
It felt like a luxury.
Back home, most of my hunting involves backpacking through the Victorian High Country chasing sambar deer, where lunch usually consists of whatever can be eaten while walking. Sitting down for a hot meal in the middle of a safari was a welcome change and gave me time to reflect on a morning that had already taught me a valuable lesson.
Before long we were heading back into waterbuck country. The wind was blowing steadily in our favour, giving us confidence that, if we found the bulls again, we'd have a real chance.
We began glassing the ridges and riverbanks.
Soon enough I spotted a bull crossing an open patch.
I pointed him out to Mark, convinced he was a good animal. Mark quickly found him through the spotting scope as he slipped into thicker cover.
He looked over at me.
"We're going after that bull."
Instantly the adrenaline kicked in.
I was excited, nervous and determined all at once.
I knew how badly I wanted a waterbuck, but I also knew how tough they were. Mark reminded me that shot placement had to be perfect because recovering a wounded waterbuck could be extremely difficult.
We slipped along a ridgeline and relocated not one, but two mature bulls travelling with several females. One bull however was slightly more mature and bigger.
Mark whispered that I needed to be certain I shot the correct bull and told me he'd simply say "yes" or "no" when an opportunity presented itself.
Everything happened incredibly fast.
The bulls worked their way along the ridge towards us. I settled onto the shooting sticks while Mark whispered that they'd appear through a small opening in the bush about 80 yards away.
I focused on the gap.
Moments later a bull stepped into the opening.
"Yep," Mark whispered.
The crosshairs settled on the centre of his chest and I touched off a round from the .30-06.
The bullet struck just behind the shoulder.
To my surprise, the bull spun and disappeared into the thick bush.
Mark and I were convinced we'd heard him crash and fall over.
We waited a minute before walking in.
There were high fives and plenty of smiles.
Little did we know the hunt wasn't over.
As we entered the bush I expected to find the bull lying where he'd fallen.
Instead, two bulls suddenly exploded from cover.
I believed the uninjured bull had broken right while mine veered left.
Without thinking I sprinted diagonally through the bush, hoping to cut him off before he disappeared into the thick scrub beyond the ridge.
Then everything stopped.
There he was.
Five yards away.
The bull stood staring straight at me.
For a split second time seemed to freeze. My heart was pounding and I honestly didn't know what he was about to do.
I locked eyes with the bull and admired him in all his beauty.
Then he spun.
As he bolted, instinct took over.
I mounted the rifle, swung through his chest and fired.
The bull collapsed before disappearing into the African bush.
The relief was instant.
After an entire day of glassing, stalking, missed opportunities and persistence, I finally had my dream waterbuck.
Another lesson had been learnt.
Never celebrate until you've got your hands on the animal.
But I was in Africa, living out a lifelong dream, and in the end it all worked out, not a care in the world. It was my shout for a few well deserved beers for the way home.
I'm not sure we could have scripted that day any better. To hunt free-range country, pursue such incredible animals and take trophies of that calibre was something I'll never forget.
Mark was quite happy I didn’t let off any ‘warning shots’ this time.
As if the day couldn't get any better, on the drive back to camp Mark added a warthog to the tally.
We'd seen countless waterbuck, taken a beautiful common reedbuck and finished the day with a mature waterbuck bull after one of the most adrenaline-filled encounters of the entire safari.
It was one of those days that reminds you why people travel halfway around the world to hunt Africa.
Long hours.
Missed opportunities.
Hard-earned success.
Split-second decisions.
Unforgettable memories.
Days like that stay with you forever.
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