SOUTH AFRICA: Out Of The SEC A Family Adventure In South Africa

WFet said:

The Great Zebra Odyssey began as many epics do: seeing the prize, only for it to run over the hill, repeat ad nauseam. Slowly creeping up the trail to crest the current ridge, we spotted a small herd grazing up the slope of the bowl of the adjacent hill. Only two things stood between Katelyn and her stripes, a mile of distance, and the ever watchful gaze of the hartebeest herd that the zebras had thoughtfully placed in front of them. To avoid detection, Katelyn, Ty, and Mario would use a ravine to move above the herds and come at the zebra from the hilltop. An hour passed, those of us remaining with the Land Cruisers panning the scene with our glasses to watch the movement of the herds. Another hour saw the arrival of three large Oryx, their pale masks pinpointed against the dull gold of the long grass. Still no sign of the stalking party could be seen and the zebra had begun to slowly march toward the scrub-line. With the third hour waning along with the sun, the Zebra had exited and we call the stalking party to let them know the game was up. They returned, tired and drained from a 7 mile route that, to quote the huntress, “was spent mostly butt-scooting all over Africa.” We returned to camp to recover for the evening with our goal to return to the field in the morning.
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You have a very good writing style, I can practically hear the zebra's laughter as it goes up one side and down the other! Please keep the report going!

Perfect! Look forward to the rest.

Nice warthog!

WFet said:

We returned to camp to recover for the evening with our goal to return to the field in the morning.

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"...I didn't come for easy..."

This was Katelyn's response when Mario, our PH, started describing how hard it would be to climb the ridge from the Orange River Valley to get above the zebra the next morning.

If her third grade students had heard the force of her statement, they would walk into class, sit square in their seats, and say nothing but yes ma'mm and no ma'mm.

Departure from the truck for the 2nd hunt for zebra.




Now, back to the story teller.

The cold wind of determination…the frigid grip of focus…there is no elegant turn of phrase other than it was cold the next morning! But a little weather never stopped a hunter, especially one who “didn’t come for easy.” We returned to patrolling the base of the hills, eyes slightly watering from the wind and morning sun. Stopped besides an out-cropping, we heard a rumble from the right. From out of the bush, rolling across the road in a dark mass came a sight new to all of us: Syncerus caffer, The Black Death, the Cape Buffalo. Upon seeing us, the herd (15-20 bulls and cows) put on the afterburners and vanished behind the dust of their hooves. We collected our jaws from the bed of the trucks, new hopes delayed by wives with iron grips on check books, and returned to our scanning of the hills. Shortly, stripes were spotted and the huntress and her crew were out again as the rest of us moved the trucks a quarter mile up the road to a better position. An hour later, shots rang from the ridgeline above us and the success text was sent. Katelyn had downed a magnificent zebra, thankfully with minimal crawling this time. As we prepped the zebra for pictures and recovery, Africa teased us once again. 50 yards from the zebra, huddled around the meeting tree, were 5 enormous Dagga boys. PH Mario, a veteran of many treks through Botswana and RSA, was visibly drooling over these. As I looked at these titans of the plains, I did not feel as though I owed them money, it was more akin to not only cash, but also my house, collection of Cohiba cigars, the rights of primae noctis, and my dog to boot. They were truly impressive! With the Zebra loaded, we conceded the field, and headed to dig up a warthog for Ty. One was found quickly, and the remainder of the day was a fruitless search for my hartebeest. While the hartebeest would have to wait until the next day, we all concluded that the trip, regardless of trophies taken, was a success due to the buffalo.

WFet said:

The cold wind of determination…the frigid grip of focus…there is no elegant turn of phrase other than it was cold the next morning! But a little weather never stopped a hunter, especially one who “didn’t come for easy.” We returned to patrolling the base of the hills, eyes slightly watering from the wind and morning sun. Stopped besides an out-cropping, we heard a rumble from the right. From out of the bush, rolling across the road in a dark mass came a sight new to all of us: Syncerus caffer, The Black Death, the Cape Buffalo. Upon seeing us, the herd (15-20 bulls and cows) put on the afterburners and vanished behind the dust of their hooves. We collected our jaws from the bed of the trucks, new hopes delayed by wives with iron grips on check books, and returned to our scanning of the hills. Shortly, stripes were spotted and the huntress and her crew were out again as the rest of us moved the trucks a quarter mile up the road to a better position. An hour later, shots rang from the ridgeline above us and the success text was sent. Katelyn had downed a magnificent zebra, thankfully with minimal crawling this time. As we prepped the zebra for pictures and recovery, Africa teased us once again. 50 yards from the zebra, huddled around the meeting tree, were 5 enormous Dagga boys. PH Mario, a veteran of many treks through Botswana and RSA, was visibly drooling over these. As I looked at these titans of the plains, I did not feel as though I owed them money, it was more akin to not only cash, but also my house, collection of Cohiba cigars, the rights of primae noctis, and my dog to boot. They were truly impressive! With the Zebra loaded, we conceded the field, and headed to dig up a warthog for Ty. One was found quickly, and the remainder of the day was a fruitless search for my hartebeest. While the hartebeest would have to wait until the next day, we all concluded that the trip, regardless of trophies taken, was a success due to the buffalo.
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Dude. It is ok. You will be back for your buffalo. It is a disease - incurable and unavoidable. And Geaux Tigers!!!!

@WFet, I know exactly what you mean. I saw my first herd and took my first one, a cow buff in Limpopo only a month ago. Even though I hunted much harder for a pig, the buffalo hunt is the sharpest in my memory!

Hunt Day Three

The night before, over many sun-downers and excellent braai, a challenge had been set by Peter Thormahlen. According to him, it would be impossible to take a red hartebeest and black wildebeest before lunch. Well versed in the miracle-creating business as all good Texans are, we accepted to prove him wrong. Thus, with “East-bound and Down” playing as the sun rose, we took to the field again. Sighting a small herd of hartebeest grazing along the river flats, Mario, Ty, and I slipped off the back of the Land Cruiser and flowed along the grass laden gullies to close distance. The herd, though not sensing us, continued to feed and move and a quick pace. We sought to cut them off by using a small hillock to block our movements, and we crept along the rocky edge, feeling the morning rays beginning to heat our backs. Crawling to the top, we saw that the large male of the herd hand broken off and was standing almost directly below us at a steep angle. The close proximity (40 yards) and strange angle made for an interesting shot from a rifle sighted in a 150 yards, but I managed a hit in the shoulder. He did not immediately go down, so two follow up shots were sent, connecting with the tough animal, who lopped around a line of trees. Circling after him, we jumped him out of a ravine, and finally dropped him with the fourth shot. The recovery went smoothly, and we were halfway towards our goal by 9:00. The Bandit could not have been making better time than we were.

We relocated to the south as there were several large herds of black wildebeest circling through the flats. From our position on the bluffs, the black specks flitted across the grass, content in the safety of the open ground and their telescopic vision. I will never cease to be amazed that our PH and trackers could actually pick out a good shooter from the pack. Mario, Ty, and Katelyn slide down the hillside and out of our sight. Thus began the longest stalk of the trip. The hunting party crouched, crawled, and creeped, using trees, gullies, and even large bits of grass as cover. We watched from the top of the cruiser, a seat that provided more entertainment than the 50 yard line at the Super Bowl. The first shot rang out and the chase was on! Over six miles of open plains they chased their quarry, shooting distance ranging from 200-300 yards. We briefly worried about a shortage of ammunition after the fourth shot, and contemplated the merits of chasing a wounded wildebeest with a pointed stick. Worked for the Zulus right? Thankfully, Katelyn had extra rounds in her pocket, and on the fifth hit, the wildebeest gave up the ghost. He was a massive old bull, and had gone down fighting. The sun then crested to noon, and we smiled all the larger knowing that we could inform Peter that he had lost the bet over lunch.

Looks like a successful hunt. Hope your football season is as rewarding! War Eagle!