SOUTH AFRICA: Game 4 Africa Safaris 2018 Brothers In Arms

Zebra turned out to be a wonderful surprise-one of my favorites of the trip. I very badly wanted a zebra rug but had mixed feelings about shooting something that will come eat a sugar cube from your hand. By this time I had photographed the chalet field zebras a thousand times and they seemed to confirm my fears-too easy, too tame. Well I will call myself naive only dumbass is closer to the bullseye.
This was also the day I started to recognize one of several Wik isms. Wik drove us out behind the lodge not too far, stopped the truck and said, simply and with an accent I purely loved "LETS WALK." This became my motto and I couldn't get enough! This wasn't a command, more like a suggestion, could have said "lets open your birthday presents now or something, its the same inflection.
So we get out and I double check to make sure the magazine is full but the chamber is empty and the trackers grab the shooting sticks and we start down the road, purposely kicking dust to check the wind trying not to make too much noise. We had not gone far and I'm pretty sure I was trying to pick up a porcupine quill or photograph some bird when Wik spotted zebra in the distance. The stalk was simple and straight on, away from the road but straight at them. But zebra are switched on! They soon got nervous and trotted with heads high into some trees that reminded me of cedars from home. We followed slower this time, watching zebra tracks and impala tracks and something that looked like cattle tracks only bigger, weird. . . Spooked again, this time by warthogs-or so I thought. I thought that because I could hear them grunting and pig snorting at us from the trees. Wik explained later, when it was all over that these were the impala. I would later witness a big ram at the Pumba game reserve posturing and snorting like a skinny lyre horned piggy as he threatened other males-really similar to a whitetail buck now that I think about it.
On the edge of the trees Wik got me on the sticks but we got busted again and were about to give up. Then we saw a new batch of zebras farther on and started duck walking that way. Wik asked if I was ok shooting a mare and I said I was, but preferred a stallion (doesn't everyone) but I needed to be prepared for any option. We had barely left the trees when something else left the trees on our right, big, noisy and cattle scented. All I saw was big dark shapes in the trees as they left. Wik was using the sticks to try and figure the sexes of the small herd of zebra that were feeding in a ravine bottom with some impala. Talk about eyes and ears! My brother stayed back with the tracker at the treeline as we stooped and tip toed closer. Wik would use the sticks to glass and I would hide behind a bush trying to stay in the shade and use my rangefinder or binos. At one point a mongoose bounded across the road only ten feet from us. Finally Wik and I agreed on a large dark striped animal which we believed to be the boy. One was an obvious mare with a big yearling associated with her and there were a couple others we lost interest in. But the dark one never gave me an angle. Shell in the chamber, me wobbly kneed on the sticks for long minutes. I could have tried him straight on at a hundred yards but passed a couple times, just not comfortable with it. Then the animals started to get nervous and were milling about acting tense. I was losing my mind and the sunlight at the same time and Wik started talking fast about another zebra and he took the sticks and threw them into position to the east. No time to range the incoming stallion (obvious this time and dark and handsome) and I got on the sticks, followed the front leg up and when the crosshairs got to the chevron I started to yank. Yup, yank. The bullet hit a bit forward and I called it that way but great bullets will do great things and this big guy made it (ranged) 43 yards and went down in a cloud of dust. We almost always left a tracker with the truck and the dogs that stayed in the back of it and Wik called him to bring the truck and some other muscle. While we waited we snapped pix and shook hands and celebrated. This is the end of day three and I have killed the four top trophies from my list. It is worth mentioning here that I plan to have my zebra dipped and packed and shipped home which takes time and it will be awhile before I get my amazing zebra rug. But on our way home we discovered the "out of Arfrica" store in the Joburg airport where I was able to spend the remainder of my fortune among which included an already tanned zebra skin with paperwork. Now I have something that is very Africa in my trophy room and when I do get my own zebra I will use the one I bought for a pedestal for a sable mount and a rifle sling I want to make. Out of Africa was awesome and zebra are not much like a horse and definitely one of my favorites to hunt!
On the way out those cattle with the funny horns were crossing the road. I think I would love to have one!

DAY FOUR: Started on the lodge property but up high, place I hadn't seen yet. Yes the place is fenced but up here on the flat in the scrub that reminded me of Arizona or maybe Texas or parts of New Mexico, you couldn't actually see a fence and on the map at the lodge there are days of country between the fences. We were strolling happily in the morning cool when Wik spotted them. I had been busy picking up quills or bugs or something equally marvelous when the threesome actually ran straight down the two track road we were walking down for a couple hundred yards. They finally turned and Wik said "that one" and Mike took the shot. It was long but I don't remember the range-not a mile but not 150 yards either, something in between. . .like I said, I was busy with stuff. Well zebras aren't horses and these zebra were not chalet pasture zebra and they left in a trail of dust until they were merely dusty dots in my binos. Wik laughed it off and we checked for a hit but there was no sign of one and we moved on. Later in the morning three different zebras almost ran over Mike while he was on the sticks and we were waiting for the tracker to push them our direction, those exploded like a giant striped covey of quail when they figured us out, running through spekboom (finally spelled it correctly) sending busted branches in all directions-heart pounding stuff. Maybe they've learned some tricks from those big wonderful cattle looking things. At any rate, zebra turned out to be the thing we had the most trouble with-We went to a new part of the ranch (ranch, concession, farm?) and were doing more walking. We had seen giraffe up close which was a thrill and wonderful photography session and we had bumped warthogs a couple times but no boys. We came over a rise and there was a lovely lake and on the edge was a sable bull. I was snapping pix and loving the experience and Wik is waving me over to him. Doesn't he see I am busy-shees! But what he can see that I cannot is the other bull that is putting on a display that would make a bull elk envious. Big bull is using his curved sabres to tear apart some brush, swinging them back and forth like a mad russian scything grain. His majesty was moving so much that the pix turned out awful (maybe the photographer was shaking) but he would pose for just a second on his way out. The lake bull would join him at a gallop and they would be lost to us in the brush, but what a majestic animal and a treasured experience. I'm not a guy that can afford a sable. Not a Mozambique sable, not a South Africa sable. But now I had an experience with them and some pictures of them and that made me very happy.
Maybe the next ridge or two farther on, Wik spotted a duiker coming down the hill toward us. I had thought about the first duiker I had passed and we had seen some since, always going away like big cottontail rabbits. So when Wik asked Mike if he wanted it, I offered that I did and took the rifle away from Mike. I was selfish because I was ruining his morning zebra hunt but by now I had thought about it and I did want a duiker and I understood better why guys get excited about the tiny ten. I don't want to join that obsession but I wouldn't pass another opportunity to take one either.
Sticks up and at 100 yards Wik says he is a big one and "YOU MUST TAKE HIM!" Another Wik ism that I love. Not a command or said in a rush, more like a happy suggestion. You must try ice cream with your cherry pie! Scope from bottom up and soon as I see hair in the scope I fire. Yup, hair in scope, not shoulder or a spot, just hair. Like some kind of rookie idiot. I've killed my top four very well with well placed shots and not I gut shoot a simple duiker at 100 yards no less. Well there is obviously an entry and an exit and the trail is easy to follow but he can still move and he is suffering so I am grateful when Wik calls for the dogs. I would always rather miss anything that to hit it in the guts. The little jack russels have the buck located and held in literally seconds and Sader administers the coup de grace even faster and we have our duiker.
Wik has a very certain way he likes to take his pictures and sometimes it made sense to me while other times it did not. I was very grateful for his experience with the duiker. A picture gives an animal the opportunity to be remembered and apprciated by many people for many years to come so it should be done well. Plus it is your only trophy to have until you get the animal back from the taxidermist, so the pix should be done as well as the eventual mount will be. Wik had to hide my 215 pounds behind the 15kg duiker which you recall was badly gutshot not long ago.
If you don't like the pose your ph sets up-change it! Let him get the shots he wants for his website and you will want those also but if you want more or different then speak up. Looking back I do not have side shots of my nyala or kudu which is a shame because they have wonderful markings on their faces. I did ask Wik to back up for some of the shots as I was starting to see shadows creeping into my pix and I was not able edit them for other use. I'm just saying your ph will be good at trophy pictures but make sure you get what you want also.

Yes I am aware I have an awful camera smile, some sort of mix between an ogre and a guy that needs to poop. We took a lot of pix in order to get one or two where I look sort of happy. Mike figures he has the same problem and combats it by not smiling at all-Wik was usually a good sport about the hunters with bad camera smiles behind good trophies.
I had told Wik we wouldn't bring any trophy scoring books with us or tape measures but we did expect good trophy quality or very old animals. I would shoot animals without trophy horns provided their teeth were worn down and they were short for time. But I told him to please measure the duiker and it stretched the tape at 5 inches. I didn't care if Wik measured stuff for his own interests but I wasn't here to shoot inches or compete with my brother- the flipside is I also wasn't here to shoot young or small stuff. Wik estimated the duiker I passed to have been half inch bigger than the one I took, and it was unique and wide. I'm ok with it, actually very excited about the one I took, already have the mount planned in my mind.
The duiker was pretty simple to leave at the skinning shed so we still had time to pursue Mike a zebra. We went back to roughly where I killed mine and started walking. I think maybe I spotted them first this time but I know I was trying to photograph some bird at the time. I hung back a ways and Mike and Wik went a-stalking. they got within 200 yards too and Mike was on the sticks. Mike picked the darkest one and in the absence of a young one, any of them could have been fair game I guess. I heard the bullet strike but the zebra didn't react, they all just ran off in a jet stream of dust. Wik had it pegged as guts, zebras have alot of guts and if you aren't in the vitals, guts is a likely place and a bad place. Really bad. So he was on the radio and the trackers left in the truck in their own dust plume, trying to route the zebras. Before they left Wik pulled his own rifle from its case-something unspoken between us all, and 100% the right move. It was awhile before we saw the zebras coming back, the black one in the middle and going strong. Sticks up, and Mike trying to hit a galloping zebra, or maybe it paused and he put one in the vitals at a solid 200 yards. The zebras started that hard thundering gait again and Wik fired offhand and the zebra died in mid stride, very well spined. Mikes second shot would have ended the race soon and we would all later agree with that just like we all agreed that Wik did the right thing with his finisher. Remember Mike is a muzzleloader guy and I bowhunt so running shots are not our thing. Wik is a ph and comes from a family that supplies a butchery, his running shot was not luck, but the very definition of experience and skill.

I confess I have a thing for the beests. Show me a wildebeest or hartebeest and I get pretty excited. So when Wik said this evening we would try for a blue w. bull, I was really excited. We had seen them on the ranch but for this evening we drove a relatively short distance, through a couple gates and onto a mountain property. I call this place, the place where the cricket player lives. We saw ostrich for the first time and the biggest group of eland we had seen and the first red hartebeest we had seen. It was thick brush down low but higher the ridge tops were open flat grass that dropped into deepish canyons that were thick and choked with trees, some of them quite tall. We started by walking and we were always glassing but there was some wind and Wik figured most animals would be low out of the breeze. We had done alot of foot work and Wik decided to drive up the mtn, gain some elevation and let leica do the work. This proved an excellent choice as he soon spotted a lone blue bull on top of the ridge in the open and definitely stalkable. Wind in our favor we were making great time hunting down the ridge and just behind the roll of the hill. Then some nervous zebra threatened to ruin us then a darned big awful baboon started barking. I guess I could have shot the baboon, but the blue was still unawares and he was my main goal. We left Mike and a tracker behind and made it to under a tree, behind a termite mound and only 100 yards away.
Wik had already given it to me pretty straight about where to shoot a blue and their legendary toughness. Not the animal to screw up on. I had time to think about all this while the bull gave us bad shooting angles then stood in front of a bush then walked a bit, all the while with me on the sticks with a steady breeze in my face. And then he was clear and Wik calmly saying to take him low on the shoulder and the crosshairs dancing all around his front half and finally, maybe I squeezed the trigger just right or maybe not but at the boom there was a magnificent cloud of dust made when a very serious bullet hits a really solid animal in a really serious place. And then he was down just that fast and I was racking the next shell in place but the bull was done.
He was probably the oldest animal I took this trip, teeth worn impossibly low, nearly gone. Probably why he was the only animal on a windswept ridge feeding while the rest of the animals were holed up in the bottoms. Bullet placement was wrong-I had gotten lucky catching the spine at base of his neck, too far right for the shoulder, but dead is dead and with luck like that I would actually rather be lucky than good.
But not really, so after pix and when the trackers found us and started with the stomach ritual, we exited to the truck. We set up a couple coke cans at 100 yards and i proceeded to hit them from a sandbag off the rack of the truck. Its not the gun buckaroo, the misses to the right are all me.

I love these photos, you captured some terrific images. Especially love the giraffe....

THANKS TO THE MODERATOR FOR FIXING MY PIX-Some work and some do not but I see not they are all becoming availabel for viewing. Dinner last night was soup, kudu liver, nyala roast, chicken with rice, beans and carrots. It was excellent. Every night here feels like Sunday dinner back home.
A family from Texas has joined us at the lodge. We had not requested to be the only hunters in camp. Game4Africa has the ability to house multiple groups or individuals as well as provide ph's for them and even supply them with rifles. So if you want to be alone in camp make sure you ask about it up front. I didn't care but I can see how this could be a bad deal.
DAY FIVE: On the road early to look for Mike a bushbuck. Drove to another Coetzee family property called mountain top which has truly deep canyons with grassy ridges in between. Steenbuck just inside the gate and cape zebra on a far ridge, already primed for flight at the sight of the truck.
Sent one tracker to look down a far ridge and Wik, Mike and myself went down a different one glassing as we went. Wiks eyes are amazing but it was still late morning before we actually saw a bushbuck. We also saw mtn reedbuck and kudu and heard the dreaded baboons. Wik saw the ewes first and was sure there was a buck in there somewhere but we never turned it up. The wind was blowing and we figured they were gonna stay tucked in this day. I was grateful to see the girls. It was very much like deer hunting at home.
Late morning we moved to the next spot. Crossed the road and onto the bare, windswept rolling prairies. There is lots to see here, black wilkdebeest, springbok (all phases) and scimitar horned oryx among others. My favorite hands down was Bontebok and next trip I will shoot one, importable or not. They are gorgeous. They also made up my mind to take a blesbok during the trip, I was on the fence about it up to this point.

Firebird said:

I very badly wanted a zebra rug but had mixed feelings about shooting something that will come eat a sugar cube from your hand. By this time I had photographed the chalet field zebras a thousand times and they seemed to confirm my fears-too easy, too tame.

Click to expand...

This is one of the things that, to me, sets a hunter apart from a shooter. I won't dog anyone else's opinion on the matter, we have enough external pressure without internal added, but I wanted to say my two bits. I also want to say this is a fantastic hunting report, I love the "extra" pictures you took! Those two waterbucks disagreeing is phenomenal!

The goal here was gemsbok. We drove awhile watched springbok flee for the horizon at the very appearance of the truck. Not unlike pronghorn hunting in Wyoming. Finally spotted a trio of oryx and tried a stalk. Man they were wild. We tried the rouse walking away from them while the trackers got around them and tried to push them back our way but it wasn't gonna happen. Wik was cussing the wind saying the animals aren't always this crazy. We tried walking over hills to catch animals on the opposite side or in a valley but this country isn't real conducive to that either. Finally we were back on the truck and driving and looking. Spotted a herd of oryx but they were all standing against a fence. They milled at our approach but did not break and run and Wik was trying to get mike a shot at something like 280 yards. Finally he said " you may take that one on the far right." I was chewing my lip because part of me was glad Mike would get a shot but the other half was screaming NO thats a small one!
I once had a tremendous chesapeake bay retriever. Once or twice a year he would do something out of character for him. He would retrieve a bird then eat it or maybe just drop it somewhere and refuse to go back and get it. Inevitably he would finish those days by doing something amazing and reminding me why I liked him so much.
Well Mike managed to hit the oryx square in the guts. So now we have a gutshot animal milling in a crowd and they seem as confused as I am. After a good while Mike's animal lays down but not in the clear where he can get in a finsher. Wik suggests I could also shoot one here if I still want and then maybe the herd will disperse and we can finish Mikes off. I catch a big cow on the edge with a very identifiable chipped tip and announce I will take her. I was in the crease of her shoulder, so not perfect but its good enough and she runs about 50 yards and topples, legs kicking in the wind. The herd does disperse and Mike is able to heart shoot his animal. Which lays back down are stubbornly refuses to die. Heartshot for sure. The recurring theme is that when hit on the shoulder we never had an animal go more than 100 yards and under 50 was more common. BUT hit one wrong and the became a nightmare to finish off. Well Mikes animal was noticeably smaller in body and horn and when I looked at the teeth I was angry. Mine was clearly older and longer.
I simply could not understand why Wik told him to take that animal, it went against our philosophy and really against his own. Maybe a quota thing or maybe it was the only clear shot. At any rate Mike did get to collect an oryx which was awesome and truly his cape is more sharp and pretty than mine and on its own on his wall it will be wonderful. But in the pix you can see the problem. The dilemma here is how to swat Wik on the nose with a rolled up newpaper about it. Do we complain and have a disgruntled ph the rest of the trip or let it fester. We chose to let it rest awhile and deal with it later. We did pix then before the stomach ritual, we all had lunch including the trackers. Soggy sandwiches didn't make the deal any more palatable but kudu meatballs were to die for and cold nyala roast was wonderful. Boiled eggs for added protein and all our favorite, South African oranges. I think we all felt better and due to our early start, a couple of us needed to shut eyes for a while. I sat in the truck glassing the far ridges and the multitude of animals around us and found it hard not to be grateful. But that oryx was so out of character for Wik and it bothered me. And it bothered Mike and I felt a responsibility to do some sort of moderating, but maybe later a good time would present itself. Mikes bad shot hadn't helped any. The bushbuck hunt was wonderful without ever seeing a male. We worked for it and it was just fine with us that we didn't see one-its hunting fellas, not shooting.
The gemsboks didn't provide the experience we wanted and I know that was bothering me too. And for the first time a fence had been a part of the hunt which was unfortunate but it happened. Both our animals will be wonderful on the wall, but its not the story I will brag about or relive in my mind every time I touch the mount-

Congrats on some nice trophies, thanks for sharing!

Wik squinted on the way out and asked if I still wanted to hunt a red hartebeest because he could see a huge bull. Obviously I did but the beest was already trotting in the manner they have and clearly it had seen the truck. I opted as we could try to use the sparse bushes to get to the thicker bottoms where the bull wanted to be. Of course it didn't work and the bull seemed content to run circles around us. I think he wanted to be down in the thick stuff and we were making him thoroughly nervous. Wik led the stalk and the bull made a big half circle around us and we converged at three hundred yards as he made his way back toward the bottom. There was a bush over his vitals and I tried to sneak the shot into his shoulder and it was high and left. I didn't know that yet as he dropped in his tracks. I almost said that was the best shot I have ever made when it got up. Not slow and wobbly but out of the gates racing like a horse on fire. Wik is on the radio giving instructions to the trackers and leading me to where the bull may have gone. I could have sworn it went left and Wik kept going right and eventually I saw why. The bull had crossed the bottom and the thick stuff and gone up to an old homestead with a low height stone wall. He could have stepped over the wall but he wouldn't. He could still race along the wall showing the exit side of the bullet which was covered with lung blood. The tracker worked above the bull and sent it our way and now the pressure was on me again as his course would bring him past me at 200 ish yards-running. I have no experience with running animals and it showed. I missed at least three times and was now truly upset. Wik smiled, formulated a new plan with the trackers over the radio and said simply, lets go over here and get him. I was digging cases out of the grass, slump shouldered and disappointed and Wik laughed-"running shots don't count as misses!" I didn't want to lose the bull and I hate that I had shot it poorly and failed to finish it when I got the chance. It really could have run through the part of this area that didn't have a fence and if he did he could have run forever. But he held long enough in the thick stuff for the trackers to move him back our way and they reported on the radio that it was getting weak. The next time I saw it, the bull had stopped and was starring at us at 200 yards. So I missed it one more time, then as it turned to trot away I pulled a miracle and dropped him with a good shoulder shot-well not good, but it got the job done. Wik went for the truck and Mike and I went up to put hands on another trophy I had badly wanted. Like my old dog, Wik had done something uncharacteristic for him, then he had found and delivered an excellent trophy despite my many blunders. All was equal at that point but Mike and I talked it out and decided we needed to speak up when things didn't go as we expected them to. If you aren't willing to talk to the ph in the field then you sure don't get to badmouth him when you get home and Wik had just provided me with a hunt and salvaged it when I made it go bad, and I was very grateful to have him on my team at that point and every moment after that as well.

Did Wik intend the oryx for a trophy or was it one he wanted culled? I took Four Oryx on my hunt, one trophy. The other ones the PH just wanted out of the herd .

Beautiful pictures and animals ! Thank you for sharing your story looking forward to more!

The drive out seemed lighthearted and happy. We had a truck full of wonderful animals and we had not lost any despite poor shooting on our part. Then in plain daylight we spotted an aardwolf. We had seen a bat eared fox on entering this area and now an aardwolf on our way out-thats something not many veteran hunters have gotten to see. It was awesome.
We had not met Wik's mother yet as she was not feeling well. But tonight when we dragged in, tired, and stinky, she was sitting by the fire. She rose to greet us and I had to run and empty my arms so I could come back for a true introduction. Amanda is a wonderfully classy lady with a big smile and a lovely social demeanor. She was a pleasure to meet and share conversations with around the table. We met a farmer later that referred to her with an Afrikaan word that began with "D" (i cant remember the word) but it was intended as a compliment. I mentioned it to Amanda later and she laughed-the word means "neck shot" and gives you an idea that the husband and boys aren't the only ones who have spent their lives keeping a butchery well stocked. -Pleasure
Impala stew, mealie meal, and squash for dinner. There was dessert but I was too full to eat any. I always look forward to breakfasts. I love the bacon here and warthog sausage is great, the oranges are the best I've ever had.

DAY SIX: I was excited to hunt impala. We saw them everywhere we went but rams were not so common and they were very wary. Mike was first on the gun and we started not far from the lodge just after first light. "lets walk!" We saw some going away from us and after some dust kicking we circled to go after them. The stalk was exciting and I had a feeling that we were closing in. I even saw them 200 yards ahead in a little bottom area where we often saw game. We go to 150 yards or so and Wik was on the sticks glassing the area. Mike was gesturing me to stand up so I could see the sable that were with the impala. Wik pulled us close and said that one bull was getting old and was going downhill and would we take him at a discounted rate. Well money was an option but for the right price who wouldn't want a sable?! Wik mulled it over and dropped a figure and I jumped on it without hesitation. Mike never even got a chance to think about it. . . Wik stalked us a bit closer but with eyes and ears on alert we had to shoot from here. I got on the sticks and slowly the bull turned. He was still slightly quartering to me but was fully alert the crosshairs weren't getting any more steady. Boom! He stumbled a couple steps and I was just about to put another on his shoulder when he went down. Wik was calmly coaching over my shoulder and when it dropped we all celebrated a little bit. At the bulls side I saw my first shot too far back-right in the crease of the shoulder but with the angle it was worse. It still managed to catch the back of a lung, clip the liver and get lost in his stomach. Pictures, pictures and more before we hauled him to the skinning shed. I spent alot of time marveling at the open chest cavity and realizing just how far forward the diaphragm and important vitals really are. What a blessing, something I never dreamed I would get to shoot. If you look at the pics of the sable from the first day we saw them, you can see the bull by the lake is my bull and his bones were awfully visible.

Grabbed an orange and headed back out for an impala for Mike. Went behind the lodge then to my mind took a hard right and headed off through the trees. We had the wind in our faces and were on fresh tracks. So fresh we could see where animals had peed and steeped in it as they walked away. As the flat we were on dropped into a flat bottomed ravine, Wik signaled us down. He could see the impala on the far side on that ravine. One was a very good ram and Mike got on the sticks at 200 yards and let loose. His ram ran about twenty yards; hit very well, then dropped in the open. It was a great stalk and shot and we spent some time taking pictures and posing the ram. It was one of those times where we let Wik take the pix he wanted then I insisted on a whole new set that I wanted. We were finished hunting for the morning and no one was in a hurry and it was a very pleasant morning. Wik teased me-"don't ask for a better one John, I won't be able to find a bigger one that that!"
About three that afternoon we went back out. To get the wind we drove clear around the ranch to the back entrance by the canal. The concrete canal in fenced to prevent the animals from drowning in it-something to think about. We passed little monkeys and warthogs and Wik said the magic words-"lets walk." It was wonderful, quietly walking and seeing kudu, nyala and others and after about an hour we find impala above us on the hill by an old homestead. Wik and I stalk up the hill and I can see one old female has us made. I get on the sticks and Wik is coaching-wait, wait, here he comes from the left. The shot could have been a hit or a miss, I wasn't sure. We walked up and called for the truck and the dogs but around that magic 40 yard mark we found the dead ram, hit about like Mikes at 120 yards and done. Really loved hunting impala, one of my favorites. Such a subtle beauty, jumpy and nervous and the rams horns are fantastic. Mine had a diamond shape where Mike's had a set of field goal posts.

Congrats! Some excellent animals taken! A lot of hunting experience gained in Africa.

GAME RESERVE: At dinner we determined the weather tomorrow would be high winds and chance for rain. We were both keen to hunt blesbok which would be hard to do in the weather. We had decided previously that if we had extra time we would visit a local game reserve and take some pictures. We had three or four good options. There is Addo elephant park, a cheetah rehab park, a tour to places that have bushman art and the one we selected Pumba game reserve. Wik made the arrangements for us and provided transport to and from the park. I strongly recommend a day to do an activity like this. I was not expensive and I literally wore my nikon out! The animals are wild but used to the safari vehicles and even a run of the mill 35mm camera could get some great pics. Of course I am a man and still believe bigger is better so a 300 or 500 lens would serve you better especially for little birds and to get close up head shots etc. I took over 1000 pictures there-We are in Africa after all and its all about the animals!

We also toured the butchery today. Coetzees employ around 35 people. When the trackers aren't hunting and caring for game taken by hunters-they are working at the butchery. It was an impressive business model and there was something for everyone at the meat counter. While we were there an obviously poorer woman came in and selected a package that was marked as lungs\organs. I was touched to see someone was going to eat something I would never bring off the mountain.
FINAL DAY: Drove the farthest we have been today more mountainous country and a lovely working cattle\corn operation. On the edges of the field I saw my first fallow deer and some waterbuck and as drove deeper into the property we saw springbok, impala, ostrich and finally our target animal for the day, blesbok. They are in herds so seeing them and shooting one are not the same! I loved the rolling grassy hills interspersed with mature tree stands. There are fences of course and it was reassuring to watch a group of five blesbok at about 30mph go under a fence and never break stride. The trackers became pushers\drivers here, so we would set up far from the herd and the guys would walk or use the truck to move the animals our way. Ahhh the best laid plans of man and animal. . .Mike was first on the rifle and as a herd milled along the top of the hill, Mike languished on the sticks while Wik glassed the mass in search of a male. There were many cows and yearling so finding a male was tedious work. Finally Wik talked Mike through the herd-fifth from the left, now third, the one facing us next to the calf licking itself. . .And then it was broadside and Mike shot it perfectly on shoulder and it dropped where it stood-an excellent experience.
I should leave mine out as it was so ugly. But in fairness and honesty-here are the basics. I missed plain and simple a nice bull at 400. Wind or whatever, simply I missed. Later in the morning the same bull came running back our direction nearly straight on and what should have been an easy shot barely creased its shoulder, entered then exited his gut. They ran past us at less than 50 yards and as they turned to run to our right I managed a running shot at 200 yards ish that hit lungs and he went down not much farther in our sight. I was happy to have a good animal but my shooting was a let down.
Kudu meatballs and sandwichs and wonderful oranges and boiled eggs for lunch while the guys did the stomach thing and loaded him for the trip home. It was beautiful country, be fun to be here during the fallow rutting season.

That knot you see there on the shoulder in the pic of me and my blesbok is the second bullet. I thought Mike the tracker would cry when I cut it out-I figured why not, there's also a tear in the skin on the other shoulder. The 200 grain tbbc retained 195.4 grains. The bullet entered four or five inches behind the shoulder crease on the opposite side and angled across and you can plainly see where it came to rest.

We got home in early afternoon and Wik asked if I was still interested in a warthog. He figured they would be in the fields on a day like this and maybe we could find one. We found pigs in every field we came to and I admit being tempted by several young boars-the quality is there but they need a couple years to reach their full potential. We saw two huge nyala in broad daylight and saw a giant kudu Wik had never seen before, among others. And we followed last nights buffalo tracks. In one spot the bull had dismantled a tree with branches as big as my lower leg.
We crossed the canal and were closing the gate when Wik spotted a kudu bull. I was in the back on the rack with my camera and all I could see were horns in the brush. Wik offered out the window as it was a very old bull and doing poorly. Good horns but not one he would normally take. Did we want to shoot it for the same price as a warthog? The cape was in tatters but we could keep the skull and horns. I said yes and Mike reminded me that it was his turn to shoot. So Wik and Mike made a short stalk up the hill to where they could see the bulls shoulder and Mike put him down. It was an old bull for sure and going downhill fast and it was good to finish him quickly and by someone who will cherish those lovely horns for the rest of his life. The alternative would have been sickness or starvation and slow death followed by jackals and birds.