Rubberhead
AH fanatic
- Joined
- Apr 24, 2021
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- South Carolina
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- South Carolina, South Africa
First of all, my apologies to anyone who tries to read this. I'm an engineer, not a writer but I get weird ideas that I occasionally write down. This one sat half-finished on my hard drive for almost 20 years before @Tokoloshe Safaris's post the other day about the passing of Zimbabwe PH, Dion Stephens, gave me the ending I needed. Thanks Dion and Tokoloshe Safaris. I hope at least one person can get some level of enjoyment out of "Bob and the Lion".
Bob and the Lion
Even after two years of retirement Bob still likes to get up early. He had scrimped and saved his whole working life just to be able to retire early. Now that he is in his early fifties, he lives in a nice but secluded corner of a small town and has enough money to do just about anything he wants. He likes to hunt elk in the fall and fly fish in the mountains near his Arizona home in the summer. Most mornings he does exactly what he is planning to do this morning – read the paper and drink coffee.
Younger Bob liked cold weather but retired Bob appreciates mild, maybe even hot, weather. The warm arid air feels good as he walks out to the mailbox to get the morning paper. He notices something is a little different this morning. He closes his eyes and breathes in the desert. It’s easy to imagine how it must feel in Africa on a warm winter’s morning where the air smells like big animals. He has never been to Africa but has read enough Capstick, Ruark, and Hemingway that he likes to think about what it would be like. He had once briefly considered a safari but his elk hunting was about as wild as he cared to get. In the house, he walks past the big bay window that overlooks his backyard. The area beyond his house is typical high desert but enough moisture comes out of the mountains that the brush stays thick and high.
A flash catches Bob’s eye. He looks just in time to see something moving from his cultured rock garden to the desert brush. He takes a deep breath and tries for all he is worth to think what it could have been. His first thought was that a cougar is in the area but they tend to stay in the foothills. A big dog would be more likely but the tawny color just didn’t look right for a dog. Maybe it was the wings of a hawk gliding low through the brush. Bob often saw hawks hunting mice, jackrabbits and desert reptiles in the thick brush. The hawk explanation made some sense but once again the tawny color made it unlikely since the Harris’ hawks that he usually saw are nearly all black.
Based on the quick glimpse it looked most like an African lion but he was in Arizona not Africa so he quickly put the thought from his mind. He waited by the window for some time hoping to get a better look at the ghost in the brush but he did not see any more movement. He finally concluded it was a deer but curiosity being what it is, he decided to go outside and have a look. He put his shoes back on and headed for the door. Halfway to the door he thought again about the possibility of it actually being a cougar. He decided to get his elk rifle, a .338 Winchester Magnum. The round is overkill for elk and Bob knew it. Whether he would admit it to himself or not, the heavy, somewhat uncommon caliber was just a way to cover a rather ordinary and pedestrian life. Regardless, he was glad to have it now. He considered waking his wife and having her watch by the window in case he needed help. He knew she enjoyed sleeping late and he thought the whole idea was rather silly anyway so he let her sleep. Loading his rifle with three rounds, he headed out of the door.
The thick cartridges and heavy bullets gave him a sense of security as he walked around to the back yard. The abundant, familiar and pleasant sounds of the morning desert eased his nerves as he crossed the rock garden. He went to where the animal jumped from the rock garden. The base of small rocks had been disturbed but it was impossible to tell by what. He looked out across the high brush and began picking his way through the open sandy areas. Life is abundant in the desert brush and the sand was full of tracks but all them too small to explain what he had seen. About 60 yards into the brush, he decided that the whole thing was rather ridiculous and turned back to the house. As he did, he noticed a large track crossway with the trail. He stooped to look and absolute fear shot through him. There in the desert sand was the pugmark of a huge cat.
A sense of panic began to take hold as he moved his thumb to the safety of his rifle that, all the sudden, seemed too small. Part of him wanted to make a run for it while another part wanted to hide under the nearest bush and cry. Bob looked toward his house as he struggled to regain his self-control. He wondered how things could have changed so quickly. Just a few minutes ago, he was planning to drink coffee and read the newspaper. Now, he is trapped in chest-high brush with a big cat of some kind. It was the same feeling he had had as a youngster trying to walk out of a store with a handful of shoplifted candy.
Being grabbed by an angry shop owner seemed, at the time, as bad as being grabbed by a big cat in the thick brush now. Then, as now, he knew that running would draw the unwanted attention so he remained frozen while his mind ran through scenarios. Keeping calm and slowly walking out of the candy store had worked as a youngster so he settled on the same strategy this time. Things changed again when he took his first step back towards the safety of the house.
Only a half step closer to safety, the low, guttural rumble of a big cat froze Bob in his tracks. Humans have difficulty pinpointing the source of low frequency noises. It’s why even the best sound systems need only one subwoofer. We tend to feel the sound more than hear it. Bob held his breath hoping the sound would turn into a distant helicopter or maybe a heavy work truck coming down his road. The rumble stopped as abruptly as it had started but Bob just didn’t know where it had come from. Panicked moments seem to last forever. Before forever ended, though, the cat cleared up the confusion on where he was.
From directly along the path back to the house came a deep, barking roar that silenced the desert’s morning fauna. Even animals and birds that had never seen or heard a lion know to pay proper deference to the King of Beasts.
The sound of the lion’s roar and the fear it created reminded Bob of the time when one of his business flights out of Phoenix lost the engine on his side during takeoff. Full of panicked passengers, the plane circled and landed without a problem. The blown engine story was the only contribution Bob could ever make to dinner conversations that turned to adventure, fear or death. He really had lived an unspectacular life but that was about to change.
Looking to where the sound had come from Bob finally made out the face and mane of an adult male lion tucked under some brush beside the trail. He could make out the irritated swishing of the big cat’s tail. He brought his gun to his shoulder clicking off the safety as the gun came up. As he stared, the cat’s liquid amber eyes seemed to soften and the cat’s shoulders came up slightly. Bob thought the lion might turn and run but the eyes solidified and the shoulders dropped and tightened. “He’s coming,” Bob thought, and he did.
Like a sprinter out of blocks the big cat was in the trail and coming at Bob so fast the hair of his mane laid flat back against his body. Without a conscious thought, Bob centered the rifle on the cat’s nose and fired. He hadn’t accounted for the speed of the cat so the bullet hit the cat’s right ham. It slowed him briefly but not much.
His senses heightened and he squared his stance as he worked the bolt. The reloading motion wasn’t something Bob had ever practiced but he was perfect. Bob was aware of the empty casing as it cleared his shoulder and the fresh cartridge as it slammed in the chamber. This time he compensated for the speed of the cat and put a .338 inch hole above the bridge of the cat’s muzzle. The lion’s four legs stiffened as he fell to his right side leaving a short furrow in the desert sand. The legs remained stiff but quivering with all 16 claws fully extended in the morning air.
As if he had done it a hundred times before, Bob ran to where the lion lay, worked his final bullet into the chamber and put the last shot between the beast’s stiffened front legs. The shot tapped a solid stream of garnet that pooled quicker than the dry desert sand could drain it away. He knew even “dead” lions can kill people in the first 30 seconds or so and he was now out of bullets so he busted through the brush until he reached the rock garden then ran around to the front as his wife was opening the door with terror on her face.
They waited in the house for the local police to arrive. The police wanted nothing to do with the situation so Bob, his wife, and the police all waited in the house for the Wildlife Department. Wildlife made a plan, guns of every imaginable configuration were drawn, and an army of blue and green waded through the rock garden and into the desert brush. The Captain returned almost immediately saying they had found the cat dead exactly where Bob had laid him. The same captain called a week later.
He told Bob that the lion had escaped from a private collector who had illegally kept it along with four other lions, three tigers and a pair of local mountain lions taken as kittens from a den in the mountains. The State ticketed the owner accordingly and relieved him of possession of the remaining cats. The captain told Bob that their biologists believed the captive lion wanted to avoid a confrontation with a human and that’s why he let Bob walk right past him the first time. Only when Bob turned around and faced the lion did it make the decision to fight. “I’m glad you’re okay”, the Captain told Bob before hanging up.
“Who was that?” Bob’s wife asked.
“The Wildlife Department,” Bob told her. He continued, “You know, I’ve been thinking, we’ve got enough money saved up to go on a trip. How about Africa? A safari in Africa?”
Bob and the Lion
Even after two years of retirement Bob still likes to get up early. He had scrimped and saved his whole working life just to be able to retire early. Now that he is in his early fifties, he lives in a nice but secluded corner of a small town and has enough money to do just about anything he wants. He likes to hunt elk in the fall and fly fish in the mountains near his Arizona home in the summer. Most mornings he does exactly what he is planning to do this morning – read the paper and drink coffee.
Younger Bob liked cold weather but retired Bob appreciates mild, maybe even hot, weather. The warm arid air feels good as he walks out to the mailbox to get the morning paper. He notices something is a little different this morning. He closes his eyes and breathes in the desert. It’s easy to imagine how it must feel in Africa on a warm winter’s morning where the air smells like big animals. He has never been to Africa but has read enough Capstick, Ruark, and Hemingway that he likes to think about what it would be like. He had once briefly considered a safari but his elk hunting was about as wild as he cared to get. In the house, he walks past the big bay window that overlooks his backyard. The area beyond his house is typical high desert but enough moisture comes out of the mountains that the brush stays thick and high.
A flash catches Bob’s eye. He looks just in time to see something moving from his cultured rock garden to the desert brush. He takes a deep breath and tries for all he is worth to think what it could have been. His first thought was that a cougar is in the area but they tend to stay in the foothills. A big dog would be more likely but the tawny color just didn’t look right for a dog. Maybe it was the wings of a hawk gliding low through the brush. Bob often saw hawks hunting mice, jackrabbits and desert reptiles in the thick brush. The hawk explanation made some sense but once again the tawny color made it unlikely since the Harris’ hawks that he usually saw are nearly all black.
Based on the quick glimpse it looked most like an African lion but he was in Arizona not Africa so he quickly put the thought from his mind. He waited by the window for some time hoping to get a better look at the ghost in the brush but he did not see any more movement. He finally concluded it was a deer but curiosity being what it is, he decided to go outside and have a look. He put his shoes back on and headed for the door. Halfway to the door he thought again about the possibility of it actually being a cougar. He decided to get his elk rifle, a .338 Winchester Magnum. The round is overkill for elk and Bob knew it. Whether he would admit it to himself or not, the heavy, somewhat uncommon caliber was just a way to cover a rather ordinary and pedestrian life. Regardless, he was glad to have it now. He considered waking his wife and having her watch by the window in case he needed help. He knew she enjoyed sleeping late and he thought the whole idea was rather silly anyway so he let her sleep. Loading his rifle with three rounds, he headed out of the door.
The thick cartridges and heavy bullets gave him a sense of security as he walked around to the back yard. The abundant, familiar and pleasant sounds of the morning desert eased his nerves as he crossed the rock garden. He went to where the animal jumped from the rock garden. The base of small rocks had been disturbed but it was impossible to tell by what. He looked out across the high brush and began picking his way through the open sandy areas. Life is abundant in the desert brush and the sand was full of tracks but all them too small to explain what he had seen. About 60 yards into the brush, he decided that the whole thing was rather ridiculous and turned back to the house. As he did, he noticed a large track crossway with the trail. He stooped to look and absolute fear shot through him. There in the desert sand was the pugmark of a huge cat.
A sense of panic began to take hold as he moved his thumb to the safety of his rifle that, all the sudden, seemed too small. Part of him wanted to make a run for it while another part wanted to hide under the nearest bush and cry. Bob looked toward his house as he struggled to regain his self-control. He wondered how things could have changed so quickly. Just a few minutes ago, he was planning to drink coffee and read the newspaper. Now, he is trapped in chest-high brush with a big cat of some kind. It was the same feeling he had had as a youngster trying to walk out of a store with a handful of shoplifted candy.
Being grabbed by an angry shop owner seemed, at the time, as bad as being grabbed by a big cat in the thick brush now. Then, as now, he knew that running would draw the unwanted attention so he remained frozen while his mind ran through scenarios. Keeping calm and slowly walking out of the candy store had worked as a youngster so he settled on the same strategy this time. Things changed again when he took his first step back towards the safety of the house.
Only a half step closer to safety, the low, guttural rumble of a big cat froze Bob in his tracks. Humans have difficulty pinpointing the source of low frequency noises. It’s why even the best sound systems need only one subwoofer. We tend to feel the sound more than hear it. Bob held his breath hoping the sound would turn into a distant helicopter or maybe a heavy work truck coming down his road. The rumble stopped as abruptly as it had started but Bob just didn’t know where it had come from. Panicked moments seem to last forever. Before forever ended, though, the cat cleared up the confusion on where he was.
From directly along the path back to the house came a deep, barking roar that silenced the desert’s morning fauna. Even animals and birds that had never seen or heard a lion know to pay proper deference to the King of Beasts.
The sound of the lion’s roar and the fear it created reminded Bob of the time when one of his business flights out of Phoenix lost the engine on his side during takeoff. Full of panicked passengers, the plane circled and landed without a problem. The blown engine story was the only contribution Bob could ever make to dinner conversations that turned to adventure, fear or death. He really had lived an unspectacular life but that was about to change.
Looking to where the sound had come from Bob finally made out the face and mane of an adult male lion tucked under some brush beside the trail. He could make out the irritated swishing of the big cat’s tail. He brought his gun to his shoulder clicking off the safety as the gun came up. As he stared, the cat’s liquid amber eyes seemed to soften and the cat’s shoulders came up slightly. Bob thought the lion might turn and run but the eyes solidified and the shoulders dropped and tightened. “He’s coming,” Bob thought, and he did.
Like a sprinter out of blocks the big cat was in the trail and coming at Bob so fast the hair of his mane laid flat back against his body. Without a conscious thought, Bob centered the rifle on the cat’s nose and fired. He hadn’t accounted for the speed of the cat so the bullet hit the cat’s right ham. It slowed him briefly but not much.
His senses heightened and he squared his stance as he worked the bolt. The reloading motion wasn’t something Bob had ever practiced but he was perfect. Bob was aware of the empty casing as it cleared his shoulder and the fresh cartridge as it slammed in the chamber. This time he compensated for the speed of the cat and put a .338 inch hole above the bridge of the cat’s muzzle. The lion’s four legs stiffened as he fell to his right side leaving a short furrow in the desert sand. The legs remained stiff but quivering with all 16 claws fully extended in the morning air.
As if he had done it a hundred times before, Bob ran to where the lion lay, worked his final bullet into the chamber and put the last shot between the beast’s stiffened front legs. The shot tapped a solid stream of garnet that pooled quicker than the dry desert sand could drain it away. He knew even “dead” lions can kill people in the first 30 seconds or so and he was now out of bullets so he busted through the brush until he reached the rock garden then ran around to the front as his wife was opening the door with terror on her face.
They waited in the house for the local police to arrive. The police wanted nothing to do with the situation so Bob, his wife, and the police all waited in the house for the Wildlife Department. Wildlife made a plan, guns of every imaginable configuration were drawn, and an army of blue and green waded through the rock garden and into the desert brush. The Captain returned almost immediately saying they had found the cat dead exactly where Bob had laid him. The same captain called a week later.
He told Bob that the lion had escaped from a private collector who had illegally kept it along with four other lions, three tigers and a pair of local mountain lions taken as kittens from a den in the mountains. The State ticketed the owner accordingly and relieved him of possession of the remaining cats. The captain told Bob that their biologists believed the captive lion wanted to avoid a confrontation with a human and that’s why he let Bob walk right past him the first time. Only when Bob turned around and faced the lion did it make the decision to fight. “I’m glad you’re okay”, the Captain told Bob before hanging up.
“Who was that?” Bob’s wife asked.
“The Wildlife Department,” Bob told her. He continued, “You know, I’ve been thinking, we’ve got enough money saved up to go on a trip. How about Africa? A safari in Africa?”
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