Day 3. Early into this morning we encountered two sets of Livingstone Eland bull tracks. I came to Mozambique for buffalo and eland so Dempsey felt that we needed to try to get a look at these bulls.
NOTE: Through five months of this year's safari season no eland had been taken on the concession. Largely in part it was attributed to the abundance of water in the bush having all of the plains game very spread out.
If there was one thing I learned in 2024 it is that you kill an eland with your feet!
With that, we walked and walked, observing signs that these bulls enjoyed the vegetation that grows on termite mounds. They rubbed their horns on saplings and broke trees with their horns to take a nibble from the new growth on top.
Eventually, without us knowing, the swirling winds betrayed us and they bolted. We continued following trotting tracks for hours before they finally stopped in wait watching their back trail. In the moment that we spotted them they quickly vanished. Dempsey determined that one of the bulls was a shooter. However he was not to be seen again on this day.
After around ten miles of walking, and lots of sweat we knew that there was a nice bull on the concession. We took that as a positive and headed for camp in the shadows of dusk.
NOTE: On day 7 this old bull would make a mistake that would cost him dearly and bring a great deal of prime meat to the camp and the neighboring native village!
Days 4, 5, 6 & 7.
All long days. Up and out early every day in the dark and we finished with sweeping trails every night well after dark. We had several close call encounters and witnessed many buffalo on the concession with the trackers suggesting a total of 600+ were in those herds. The buffalo were clearly not going to the pans for water regularly and ever shifting August winds certainly were proving very troublesome.
On day seven after several more hours of eland tracking we took the old bull we had followed on day two. The celebration was filled with exuberance since we were on a seven day drought and felt blessed to bag this magnificent bull.
We also were starting to think (but not vocalize) that we might not get a buffalo so we really enjoyed our time with this grand eland before we headed back into the bush that evening on the fresh tracks of three buffalo.
We caught up with them in the fading light of dusk. Two soft bosses and one nice old bull that were trying to give us the slip as 5 elephant bulls decided to come in close and remind us that we didn't belong! It was as if the elephants were hired by the buffs to get us off their trail. It worked!
Day 8. The magical day that our team could only dream of. That morning the anxiety was palpable as my stomach wrenched with tension. Two days were left to hunt in Moz and as hard as we were working, as many things as we were trying we couldn't make our own luck. Hunting is much more than shooting animals and more days than not one returns from the bush with nothing more than sore feet and fond memories. But I have to admit that I would be deeply disappointed to leave Moz without an old dagga boy in the salt.
Before sunrise we drove to the northwestern corner of the concession to the Zimbabwe border. The night before one of the anti poaching teams had reported they crossed a single large set of buffalo tracks in this area coming into the concession from Zimbabwe.
As time was running out it became a complete Mutemba Team effort to get us on a bull. Will and his team had taken a great dagga boy on day four so his team along with the maintenance staff, and the three anti poaching teams were all sorting out opportunities to help us track a bull that was not with a herd.
Shortly after daybreak the jeep came to a quick halt when we found a set of tracks near the border. A bull alone, huge tracks that were likely the bull the team had spied last evening.
So overwhelmingly large that for the first time in two safaris with Dempsey I watched him take a few pictures of the tracks. I noticed a nervous excitement come over his face.
When the trackers returned from scouting they reported that a huge herd had crossed the trail and were headed south alongside the single bull.
It appeared he was now likely to be shadowing the herd. My heart sank! We had failed at this drill several times this safari and I could feel the same pattern of trouble and tribulation in trying to sort a bull out of a herd in the thick mopane.
The trackers noted that his tracks were not fresh; they wanted to drive around the block and see if he/they had come out.
If they were in this block, (which was a few square miles of thick mopane) it could get very frustrating. So we loaded into the jeep and started a slow trek. First we went west and crossed no tracks. Then south, no tracks. Last we started east and about 5 minutes into the drive we observed buffalo everywhere. All around us like a sea of black. Left, right but with a great stroke of luck none on the jeep trail. The jeep crept through the herd as they stood alert but remained calm and undisturbed. After having successfully passed through the herd we stopped to devise a plan.
We slowly walked back to where we had encountered the herd only to find their tracks. Lots and lots of tracks. The trackers continued west on the trail determining that all the buff were heading south. They estimated around 150 buffalo in the herd. Most importantly they had found the large set of tracks that we had crossed a few kilometers north when this encounter began. Again my heart sank. But we all agreed we had to try since this could be a very special bull.
We started to move slowly on the large bull tracks. The soil was sandy, the wind was good and the trackers were easily making slow deliberate work of following this old gent through the bush. We cautiously moved step by step over a few hundred meters when the scent of bovine became overwhelming. The bush was coming to life with what was clearly a large herd of undisturbed buffalo grazed just ahead in the thicket.
This was the tipping point. Little did I know that Dempsey had a trick up his sleeve that I’d never heard of and the trackers rarely see that was about to change everything.
The trackers took a seat in heavy cover while Dempsey and I slowly moved forward another 50 meters. Dempsey put us into a position where we would use the high grass and wind to our advantage. We pulled our facemasks below our eyes and I got settled in a comfortable shooting position.
Next Dempsey cupped both hands around his mouth with an index finger pressed over a nostril and started a distressed buffalo calf call. In very short order as if they had a spell cast over them, the herd was showing interest in the calling. The ground began to shake as this army of buffalo started toward us!
Dempsey continued with a varied calling sequence changing the volume and intensity as many black shadows were obviously closing in on the sound.
At this point Dempsey gave me a glance with wide eyes. Game on, this was about to get intense!
As the calling heated up black shadows turned into beasts, horns, wet noses and intense brown eyes that were framing up the situation. Clearly all of them were working together as if deciding which of them was going to make the a move.
Then with the bull still nowhere to be found a large cow nervously broke from the herd and came rushing to us. She was drooling from her mouth and nose with long strands of saliva tangling on her face, neck and now in the tall grass as she put the brakes on at 6 or 7 meters distance from us! I put my thumb on the rifle safety as my instincts screamed that a split second decision might be needed if she decided to close the gap further. I studied her eyes and concentrated on placing a bullet between them if she decided to come and clear out the bush we were sitting in to save this calf in distress we were pretending to be!
Then as fast as she came, she nervously jumped back several meters. Again it was time to scan the area for a bull. From the left my eyes caught the sun reflecting off a boss at 40 meters. Clearly my eyes could see that this was a large bull in the cover. If the beast would take a few more steps we would be able to determine if it was “the bull”.
At this moment I could see that this figure had Dempsey’s attention too!
Once again, Dempsey let out a call sequence and the herd closed even further.
Again this overly agitated cow made a run at us. Snarling and snorting wet with anger my attention had to shift back to this threat that was once again too close for comfort.
Glancing left I verified that the large shape in the bush had not moved. Clearly on edge the cow jumped back only this time she ran a trailing calf over in her retreat. Now we had a posse of buffalo primed to get these distressed calves back to the safety of the herd.
The smell of adrenaline primed bovine, the shuffling of feet, rubbing of bodies and breaking of brush from many buffalo now bearing down on us was most exciting and even a bit overwhelming.
Then, to my left this magnificent beast of an old bull stepped out from behind the thicket of mopane that was concealing him. He stopped broadside in an opening as poised as a lion in the middle of his pride. First his eyes locked on mine. Then within seconds he shifted his attention past me to Dempsey. He clearly had located the source of the distressed calf call!
All of this seemed to be happening in slow motion when I heard Dempsey softly, sternly and with a great sense of urgency tell me, “Take Him”!
I was in the moment and nothing else mattered. My eyes were now locked on his shoulder and I could feel the rifle coming to my face as I pulled the buttpad to my shoulder.
In this instant I had a moment of great clarity. The scope’s crosshairs were clearly centered on his shoulder. This was it, I said to myself, be calm and touch the trigger gently not forcing the shot. In the distance I heard the report of the rifle as the 416 Rigby roared and sent a 400 grain Swift A-Frame through his shoulder. “Reload and Shoot Again” Demspey clearly commanded! I cycled the bolt and fed a Barnes solid into the chamber.
After taking a solid hit in the boiler room the bull lurched forward and took a labored stride into the mopane.
We were both up in seconds and in fast pursuit. There Dempsey pointed, in the heavy cover, shoot again he commanded!
I heard labored breathing from the bull as I spotted his large black outline in the mopane. The rifle reported, dirt flew and Dempsey said, no good a miss, reload!
We were off running again on the bull's next attempt to leave. He ran another 20 meters and stopped. This time I had a clear view of his neck and head. I quickly found the middle of his neck and fired the third round. Down and down hard he went.
We paused, not having a clear view in the bush to his body. Quickly we moved into the bush behind the buffalo. Dempsey told me to put one up through his lower chest into the vitals as the bull made another attempt to move. The rifle reported, all four legs kicked into the air a few more times and then the bull went still.
The bush was now silent as we stood in awe looking at this magnificent animal.
The herd had cleared out vanishing like ghosts. All that remained was the huge dust cloud from the stampede of the departed.
The trackers were now standing behind us. All 4 of us were silent as we stared in awe and disbelief.
After a minute passed Dempsey moved in and touched the buff's eye with his rifle barrel muzzle. There was no sign of life. The king had passed.
I dropped to my knees at the bulls head and put a hand on one of those magnificent bosses. My mind was clear, my hands trembled and I was peacefully grateful for this moment of success on a proper buffalo hunt.
A clean kill, a wonderful memory, an incredible trophy and a tremendous amount of protein for the camp staff and the natives.
Eventually I stood, looked at Dempsey and he hugged me with glassy eyes. We separated and Sadrack shook my hand. I turned to Palo as he jumped forward putting his arms around my waist, picked me up, screamed and carried me around totally elated for what we had accomplished on this eighth morning of a now special but most difficult safari.
We spent the next few hours with the bull celebrating as the entire camp showed up to witness the passing of this grand old bull and to hear the story of Dempsey calling him and the herd into our position.
The character that this dagga boy wore from many years in the bush was quite special.
He carried several busted ribs and loose front teeth from fights gone by. His face was aging white and his ears frayed. His huge bosses were being worked to a gloss while the base of his horns were thinning out from many years of rubbing on bushes and jostling with other bulls.
At this moment we took what the bush gave us. It was a great team effort done the right way. For eight days, in the heat, with wet brows and sore we tracked many kilometers. That was the bitter, today we celebrate the sweet.
As Africa pulsed through my veins I reflected on all her splendor knowing that God must have spent a little extra time on her.
