gearguywb
AH enthusiast
We (my wife and I) wrote this story for Parkwest Arms. I chatted with them again this year at SCI and expressed how pleased I was with the rifle that I had picked up the year before.
They asked if I would mind doing a story for them…hence the link below.
I did a first draft, and my wife was the wordsmith! I think she did an admirable job!
This was my (first but certainly not last) buffalo!
parkwestarms.com
If I’m being honest, I had an ulterior motive. I was hoping she would fall in love with Africa the way so many of us eventually do. If that happened, I suspected there might be more safaris in our future. We currently call Kansas City home, though I spend a great deal of time in Chicago at a corporate office. This trip would be a welcome break from airports and boardrooms and a return to the wild places that originally drew us both outdoors.
It began with a challenge. Our journey to South Africa began with what should have been a routine flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg. Instead, after boarding and sitting on the plane for a couple of hours, the flight was cancelled. What followed was the kind of travel disruption every hunter dreads when a safari is waiting on the other end. By the time we finally arrived in Johannesburg, we were three days behind schedule.
Thankfully, one constant throughout the ordeal was the professionalism and patience of our outfitter. Conrad, our professional hunter with MPETI Safaris, had stayed in contact throughout the delays and was waiting for us when we finally arrived. From the moment we stepped into the airport terminal, Conrad took charge. Anyone who has traveled internationally with firearms understands that clearing customs can sometimes feel like an expedition in itself. Conrad handled the process smoothly, guiding us through the paperwork and procedures until my rifle was safely in hand.
From there we began the final leg of the journey—an hour and a half drive into the South African countryside before stopping for the night at a comfortable hotel. The plan was to reach the lodge early the next morning and get straight to work. The next morning we arrived at the MPETI lodge, and the first impression was simple: this place is special. Beautiful surroundings, welcoming accommodations, and the kind of atmosphere that immediately makes you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
But before any hunting could begin, there was one important stop. The range. My primary rifle for the hunt was a Parkwest Bushveld chambered in .416 Rigby, brought specifically for Cape buffalo. A dangerous game hunt begins with confidence in your equipment, and I wanted to confirm everything after the long trip. The rifle was exactly where it needed to be.
The first shots confirmed the zero—the Bushveld was spot on.
The hunting plan was simple. On the wish list were Cape Buffalo, Zebra, Warthog and Nyala. But, make no mistake, buffalo was the focus. At one point Conrad asked what kind of buffalo I hoped to find if I had my choice. My answer came quickly. “An old warrior. Past his prime. Kicked out of the herd.” To me, a trophy has never been about measurements. I’ve never hunted with a tape measure and never will. The real reward lies in the experience. It’s the tracking, the patience, and the respect earned by pursuing an animal that has survived for years against predators, drought, and hunters. Those old bulls carry stories in every scar.
While searching for fresh buffalo sign, we were able to take a couple of plains game animals, but the real focus was always on finding the dugga boys. The country was thick in places with dense brush, heavy overhead cover, and limited visibility. In some of those areas, if a buffalo appeared the distance would be measured in feet, not yards.
At one point, while pushing slowly through a particularly tight section along the edge of a pond, I glanced back at my wife. Her expression clearly said, What exactly have I gotten myself into? That may have had something to do with a joke I had made earlier about buffalo having a tendency to charge the smallest person in the group. At just five feet tall, she qualified. I probably owe her one for that. But to her credit, she stayed right there through every step of it.
On the third day, things finally came together. We were driving slowly down a rocky dirt track when we caught a brief glint of horn and boss through thick scrub along the side of the road. It was only a momentary glimpse, but it was enough. Conrad immediately had us make a wide loop to get the wind right before beginning our approach. From that point forward, everything slowed down. We moved quietly and deliberately, glassing every few steps and scanning every shadow in the brush. After some time, Conrad caught a glimpse of a dark shape ahead.
Two buffalo. Dugga boys. The kind of old bulls that spend their days wallowing in mud and living on the edges of the herd. We dropped down and began crawling forward until we reached a small scrub tree that offered a bit of support. It wasn’t an ideal shooting position. It was somewhere lower than a kneel, awkward but workable. Then we waited. Time stretches in moments like that. Minutes feel like hours. It might as well have been six months. Finally, the bull moved. His head cleared the brush. At 26 yards, quartering toward us, we got our first clear look. Heavy drops. A massive boss. A weathered gray face. Perfect.
Conrad leaned over quietly and said, “Take him on the shoulder when you’re ready.” I didn’t need to be told twice. The Parkwest Bushveld .416 Rigby came up naturally onto a bent tree branch, settling solidly into position despite the awkward angle. When the trigger broke, the rifle delivered exactly what it was designed to deliver. The .416 hammered home just behind the edge of the shoulder. The bull humped up instantly and spun away, crashing into the brush with his companion. The cover was so thick that a follow-up shot wasn’t possible. The shot felt good. Still, patience is everything with buffalo. We waited several minutes before beginning to follow the track downhill. About 70 yards from where he had been standing, we found him piled up.
Walking up on that bull was one of those moments that stays with you forever. The kind of moment that reminds you why you hunt. Here was exactly the animal I had hoped for. He was an old warrior, heavy bossed, scarred, and weathered by years of survival. A bull that had lived a full life in wild country. To share that moment with my wife, with Conrad, and with the assistant PH made it even more meaningful. It was a dream fulfilled.
A hunt like this also reinforces the importance of equipment you can trust. The Parkwest Bushveld in .416 Rigby proved itself perfectly suited to the task. Reliable, balanced, and built for hard use, it performed exactly as a dangerous-game rifle should when the moment arrived. I have always believed hunting rifles are meant to be used. Fine bluing and beautifully figured wood certainly have their place, and I appreciate them as much as anyone. But for this hunt, I wanted a rifle that could handle whatever Africa threw at it including dust, brush, hard travel, without worrying about every scratch or ding. The Bushveld delivered exactly that confidence. When the time came, it simply did its job.
Africa has a way of getting into your system. The landscapes, the wildlife, the people, and the shared experience of a hunt combine into something that’s hard to describe to anyone who hasn’t been there. And as for my original plan? Watching my wife experience Africa for the first time and seeing her excitement at every new animal, every sunrise, every moment of the hunt, I’d say the plan worked pretty well.
Something tells me it won’t be another 25 years before we go back.
They asked if I would mind doing a story for them…hence the link below.
I did a first draft, and my wife was the wordsmith! I think she did an admirable job!
This was my (first but certainly not last) buffalo!
An Old Warrior in the Mopane - Parkwest Arms
Twenty-five years is a long time between safaris. Africa had never quite left my mind after my last visit, but life has a way of filling the calendar. Careers
parkwestarms.com
A return to Africa with the Parkwest Bushveld .416 Rigby and MPETI Safaris
Twenty-five years is a long time between safaris. Africa had never quite left my mind after my last visit, but life has a way of filling the calendar. Careers grow, responsibilities expand, and years pass more quickly than expected. My wife and I are avid outdoors people. Our time is often spent hunting in the West, climbing, hiking, and exploring wild places. Still, Africa remained unfinished business for me. For my wife, it would be something entirely new.
If I’m being honest, I had an ulterior motive. I was hoping she would fall in love with Africa the way so many of us eventually do. If that happened, I suspected there might be more safaris in our future. We currently call Kansas City home, though I spend a great deal of time in Chicago at a corporate office. This trip would be a welcome break from airports and boardrooms and a return to the wild places that originally drew us both outdoors.
It began with a challenge. Our journey to South Africa began with what should have been a routine flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg. Instead, after boarding and sitting on the plane for a couple of hours, the flight was cancelled. What followed was the kind of travel disruption every hunter dreads when a safari is waiting on the other end. By the time we finally arrived in Johannesburg, we were three days behind schedule.
Thankfully, one constant throughout the ordeal was the professionalism and patience of our outfitter. Conrad, our professional hunter with MPETI Safaris, had stayed in contact throughout the delays and was waiting for us when we finally arrived. From the moment we stepped into the airport terminal, Conrad took charge. Anyone who has traveled internationally with firearms understands that clearing customs can sometimes feel like an expedition in itself. Conrad handled the process smoothly, guiding us through the paperwork and procedures until my rifle was safely in hand.
From there we began the final leg of the journey—an hour and a half drive into the South African countryside before stopping for the night at a comfortable hotel. The plan was to reach the lodge early the next morning and get straight to work. The next morning we arrived at the MPETI lodge, and the first impression was simple: this place is special. Beautiful surroundings, welcoming accommodations, and the kind of atmosphere that immediately makes you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
The first shots confirmed the zero—the Bushveld was spot on.
The hunting plan was simple. On the wish list were Cape Buffalo, Zebra, Warthog and Nyala. But, make no mistake, buffalo was the focus. At one point Conrad asked what kind of buffalo I hoped to find if I had my choice. My answer came quickly. “An old warrior. Past his prime. Kicked out of the herd.” To me, a trophy has never been about measurements. I’ve never hunted with a tape measure and never will. The real reward lies in the experience. It’s the tracking, the patience, and the respect earned by pursuing an animal that has survived for years against predators, drought, and hunters. Those old bulls carry stories in every scar.
While searching for fresh buffalo sign, we were able to take a couple of plains game animals, but the real focus was always on finding the dugga boys. The country was thick in places with dense brush, heavy overhead cover, and limited visibility. In some of those areas, if a buffalo appeared the distance would be measured in feet, not yards.
At one point, while pushing slowly through a particularly tight section along the edge of a pond, I glanced back at my wife. Her expression clearly said, What exactly have I gotten myself into? That may have had something to do with a joke I had made earlier about buffalo having a tendency to charge the smallest person in the group. At just five feet tall, she qualified. I probably owe her one for that. But to her credit, she stayed right there through every step of it.
On the third day, things finally came together. We were driving slowly down a rocky dirt track when we caught a brief glint of horn and boss through thick scrub along the side of the road. It was only a momentary glimpse, but it was enough. Conrad immediately had us make a wide loop to get the wind right before beginning our approach. From that point forward, everything slowed down. We moved quietly and deliberately, glassing every few steps and scanning every shadow in the brush. After some time, Conrad caught a glimpse of a dark shape ahead.
Two buffalo. Dugga boys. The kind of old bulls that spend their days wallowing in mud and living on the edges of the herd. We dropped down and began crawling forward until we reached a small scrub tree that offered a bit of support. It wasn’t an ideal shooting position. It was somewhere lower than a kneel, awkward but workable. Then we waited. Time stretches in moments like that. Minutes feel like hours. It might as well have been six months. Finally, the bull moved. His head cleared the brush. At 26 yards, quartering toward us, we got our first clear look. Heavy drops. A massive boss. A weathered gray face. Perfect.
Conrad leaned over quietly and said, “Take him on the shoulder when you’re ready.” I didn’t need to be told twice. The Parkwest Bushveld .416 Rigby came up naturally onto a bent tree branch, settling solidly into position despite the awkward angle. When the trigger broke, the rifle delivered exactly what it was designed to deliver. The .416 hammered home just behind the edge of the shoulder. The bull humped up instantly and spun away, crashing into the brush with his companion. The cover was so thick that a follow-up shot wasn’t possible. The shot felt good. Still, patience is everything with buffalo. We waited several minutes before beginning to follow the track downhill. About 70 yards from where he had been standing, we found him piled up.
Walking up on that bull was one of those moments that stays with you forever. The kind of moment that reminds you why you hunt. Here was exactly the animal I had hoped for. He was an old warrior, heavy bossed, scarred, and weathered by years of survival. A bull that had lived a full life in wild country. To share that moment with my wife, with Conrad, and with the assistant PH made it even more meaningful. It was a dream fulfilled.
A hunt like this also reinforces the importance of equipment you can trust. The Parkwest Bushveld in .416 Rigby proved itself perfectly suited to the task. Reliable, balanced, and built for hard use, it performed exactly as a dangerous-game rifle should when the moment arrived. I have always believed hunting rifles are meant to be used. Fine bluing and beautifully figured wood certainly have their place, and I appreciate them as much as anyone. But for this hunt, I wanted a rifle that could handle whatever Africa threw at it including dust, brush, hard travel, without worrying about every scratch or ding. The Bushveld delivered exactly that confidence. When the time came, it simply did its job.
Africa has a way of getting into your system. The landscapes, the wildlife, the people, and the shared experience of a hunt combine into something that’s hard to describe to anyone who hasn’t been there. And as for my original plan? Watching my wife experience Africa for the first time and seeing her excitement at every new animal, every sunrise, every moment of the hunt, I’d say the plan worked pretty well.
Something tells me it won’t be another 25 years before we go back.
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